A Shared Moment

The aroma of burnt toast, a familiar scent in my life, hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the usual sterile scent of San’s apartment. He’d been trying to make breakfast, a valiant effort that ended in a smoke alarm symphony and a rather charred piece of bread. I’d rushed in from my room, armed with a dishtowel and a frantic, “San-oppa, are you okay?”

He’d turned, his dark hair slightly disheveled, a smudge of soot decorating his cheekbone, and for a split second, the idol facade crumbled. He looked… human. And a little sheepish. He gave a small, almost imperceptible sigh, his broad shoulders slumping. “I think the toaster has a personal vendetta against me.”

I couldn’t help but giggle, the sound escaping before I could clamp a hand over my mouth. It was ridiculous, the situation. Here I was, living with Choi San, my absolute bias, and he was burning toast. It was a scene ripped straight from a fanfiction, except it was real, and I was living it, breathing it, and trying desperately not to combust from sheer adoration.