Y/N's POV
I stood in his walk-in closet, holding his boxers like I was holding some kind of sacred relic.
"Damn."
I muttered to myself.
"Fans would literally sell their souls to be in my position right now… and here I am packing this man's undies like I'm his mom."
I shoved them into the side of his luggage , face deadpan.
"Black, Calvin Klein, size… definitely not my business."
I packed everything. A to Z. From his moisturizers that probably cost more than my rent, to his travel cologne, his favorite rings, even that damn satin sleep mask he swears he doesn't use (but I've seen it).
I zipped up the final compartment and flopped down onto his perfectly made bed for exactly three seconds before realizing—
This is his bed. His actual bed.
Cue immediate panic-flop-off like I touched holy ground with dirty shoes.
"God, Y/N. Get a grip," I whispered, dusting off absolutely nothing from my jeans.
I stood there for a second, looking around the room.
It was clean. Too clean.
No photos. No clutter. Just that sterile, expensive emptiness.
Like he lived here, but didn't really live.
As I stepped out of his bedroom, I noticed it —
A door across , slightly ajar.
Dark inside. Quiet. Too quiet.
Something about it pulled me in.
Like… it didn't belong in this sleek, perfect apartment.
I didn't mean to.
But my hand moved toward the knob like it had a mind of its own.
Just a peek.
Just—
"Witch!!"
His voice cracked through the hallway like a whip.
I froze.
Rabin:
"I told you to pack my things. Not peep into rooms that don't concern you."
Before I could even blink, he was there—slamming the door shut in one smooth motion. The sound echoed against the walls, making the silence after it feel heavier.
He pulled a small key from the doorknob and slipped it into his back pocket, locking it away without a trace.
Y/N (awkwardly):
"I-I wasn't peeping. The door was open. My hand was just… exploring air."
Rabin (flatly):
"You breathe too much air."
He walked past me without another word, his jaw a little tighter now. No smirk. No tease.
Just a flash of something unreadable in his eyes.
Something like warning.
I stood there for a moment longer, my heart racing.
What was in that room?
Why lock it like that?
[Basement Parking – 3:27 AM]
The sound of my boots echoed lightly against the concrete as we made our way to the car.
The Porsche GT3 RS sat there gleaming under the dim parking lights like it knew it was out of my league.
I reached out my hand.
Y/N:
"Give me the key."
Palm out. Confidence half-fake.
Rabin (without looking):
"Witch, I'll drive today."
His voice was cool but final — no room for arguing.
I lowered my hand slowly.
Y/N:
"Oh… right."
I moved to the passenger side without another word, quietly slipping into the seat. The leather was cold, the silence colder.
He got in beside me, tossing his bag into the backseat and starting the engine. The soft roar of the car filled the space between us.
Neither of us spoke.
But I could feel his eyes occasionally glance at me.
And I hated how aware I was of his presence. How every second ticked a little slower when he was near.
As we pulled out of the parking lot, city lights slowly fading behind us, I broke the silence.
Y/N (softly):
"So… that locked room. What's in there? Your haunted ex? A collection of cursed wigs?"
He smirked without looking at me.
Rabin:
"You're not funny. Don't try."
Y/N:
"Then don't act like a walking mystery novel and expect me not to be curious."
He didn't respond immediately.
Just tapped the steering wheel with his fingers.
Rabin (lowly):
"Curiosity gets people in trouble, witch."
That shut me up. For now.
I folded my arms, turned my face toward the window, and leaned back into the seat.
Didn't say a word.
Didn't need to.
The city lights blurred past us, orange and white streaks against the glass. The hum of the car was the only thing breaking the silence now.
But it wasn't peaceful.
It was tense.
He didn't speak either.
Good.
Let him sit in it.
I wasn't some clueless assistant who'd let his boss throw around vague threats and treat her like a curious pest.
My breath fogged the window as I pressed my forehead against it slightly.
Before I knew it, I slept off …
Rabin's POV
When I glanced at her again, she was already asleep.
Head tilted against the window, hair slightly messy, arms still folded like she was guarding her dreams.
I didn't mean to look that long.
But I did.
And then I felt it—
The corner of my mouth lifted.
Just a little.
What the fuck—am I… smiling?
I blinked hard and turned back to the road.
No. No way.
She's annoying. Nosy. Talks too much. Stubborn as hell.
She doesn't know how to shut up…
Except now, when she finally does.
Peaceful. Quiet.
Breathing steady like nothing can touch her when she's like that.
I tightened my grip on the wheel.
I don't smile. Especially not because of someone like her.
The sound broke the silence.
Heavy breathing.
I snapped my gaze to her — her brows were furrowed, chest rising faster than before. She shifted slightly in her seat, face twisted in panic.
Y/N:
"…please… let me go…"
My hands froze on the steering wheel.
I pulled over without thinking. Slowed the engine down and stopped by the side of the road.
It was quiet outside. Not even birds yet.
I leaned slightly toward her, just enough to hear.
Y/N (murmuring):
"…please…"
Her forehead glistened with sweat. She looked—
Terrified.
My throat tightened.
What the hell was she dreaming?
I didn't know what to do. I never do when it comes to things like this.
But…
My hand moved on its own.
I reached out. Slowly.
And I held her hand. Lightly. Barely a touch.
Like I might break her.
She didn't flinch. Her breathing softened. Her grip even twitched slightly, like she was holding on.
Then—quiet.
She drifted back into sleep. This time peaceful.
I sat there, staring at our hands.
Rabin (thinking):
A nightmare?
That wasn't just a bad dream.
That was pain.
Real, buried pain.
I leaned back into my seat, eyes fixed on the road ahead, but my mind was somewhere else.
Who are you really, witch?
And why do I feel like I've seen that fear before?
I slowly loosened my hand from hers.
Careful not to wake her.
She stayed still.
No more murmurs. No more struggling breaths.
Just quiet sleep.
I exhaled—didn't even realize I was holding it.
Back behind the wheel, I started the engine again.
The tires rolled softly on the empty road.
She didn't stir.
Just leaned back, still resting, like nothing had happened.
Y/N's POV
"Hey witch… we arrived."
Ugh. That voice.
Sarcastic, smooth, and way too early in the morning to tolerate.
I blinked my eyes open slowly, rubbing them with the back of my sleeve. My neck hurt a little from leaning against the window too long.
Wait—how long did I sleep?
I sat up straighter, looking around. We were parked in front of a small but classy villa-type building. The shooting location, I assumed. Early morning mist still clung to the ground.
I stretched my arms with a tiny groan, then turned to him.
Y/N: "You could've said it in a nicer way."
Rabin: (smirking) "But where's the fun in that?"
Ugh. There it is.
Still, something felt… weird. My body felt lighter than usual, like I'd slept well. Too well.
I rolled my eyes, unbuckling my seatbelt.
But as I stepped out of the car and stretched again, I couldn't help but wonder…
Why did I feel safe?
Of course. No café. No vending machine. Not even a decent whiff of caffeine anywhere near the set.
I sighed dramatically and headed to the dusty little pantry tucked behind the equipment room. At least it had a water heater.
I pulled out my emergency stash — the instant coffee I kept like treasure. Because, of course, someone wouldn't survive five minutes without his precious morning ritual.
Y/N: "Our world-famous, too-handsome-for-his-own-good, global icon baby boy won't tolerate a single second without his coffee and protein bar."
I muttered it under my breath while tearing open the sachet. The steam rose, finally giving me some warmth.
Y/N: "Vanilla almond. Ugh. Who even picks that flavor like it's some royal decree?"
I found the bar I'd tucked into my bag earlier and dropped it into a paper bag along with the hot coffee cup.
Holding it like a delivery girl from hell, I strutted back out toward the main set.
Assistants were running around, the director yelling something into his headset, and Rabin—
There he was. Sitting coolly in his chair, sunglasses on, script in hand like some Greek god waiting for the clouds to part.
I approached and dropped the bag into his lap—not gently.
Y/N: "Your highness, your sacred breakfast has arrived. Do not smite me."
He looked down, lifted his sunglasses slowly, and raised a brow.
Rabin: "Vanilla almond?"
Y/N: "Tch. Do I look like I'd get that wrong?"
He smiled — the kind that was more like a challenge than gratitude.
Rabin: "Good. I was about to fire you."
I rolled my eyes.
Y/N: "Try it. I'd leak your coffee addiction and vanila almond in five minutes."
He took a sip and hummed like a smug prince.
Rabin: "You wouldn't. You like me too much."
I froze for just a second.
Then scoffed.
Y/N: "Delusion tastes better than that coffee, huh?"