My National Boyfriend

Rabin stepped into the crisp Seoul air, sunglasses shielding his tired eyes. The airport crowd was nothing like home—more polite, less chaotic—but still, eyes followed him.

A chauffeur stood holding a small sign: "Mr. Rabin Angeles."

He nodded silently and followed the man, who gave a courteous bow and said in accented English,

"Welcome, sir."

Rabin replied with a polite smile.

"Thank you."

He understood the words—but just barely.

Korean was still a struggle.

Even after a year of attempting online classes between shoots.

He sat in the car, watching the city pass by—towering signs he couldn't read, cafés with names he couldn't pronounce

Seoul, South Korea – Hotel Suite

The door clicked shut behind him.

Luggage wheeled in.

Shoes kicked off.

Rabin didn't even bother to look around.

He walked straight toward the massive bed, still in his airport clothes, and flopped face-first into the thick, expensive mattress.

His arms spread lazily to each side.

His eyes shut tightly.

His body heavy—not from the flight, but from everything else he couldn't say out loud.

He just closed his eyes and let the stillness wrap around him like a blanket.

Ding-dong.

The sound rang sharply through the suite, slicing through the quiet.

Rabin's eyes fluttered open.

"Huh..?" he mumbled, disoriented.

He blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling, then turned his head.

The sun was lower now—he must've fallen asleep without realizing.

His body still felt heavy, his chest a little tight.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly, brows furrowed.

Ding-dong.

Again. More persistent this time.

He dragged himself off the bed and shuffled toward the door, heart pounding just a little—maybe from the nap, maybe from something else.

The hallway light spilled into the dim hotel room as Rabin cracked the door open, his messy hair flopping over his forehead, sleep still clinging to his eyes.

He barely registered the bell… barely remembered walking to the door.

Feet dragging, shirt wrinkled, mind foggy—

"Why did you open the door without asking who is it?"

A voice.

So familiar. So sharp.

So her.

His sleepy eyes blinked wide.

Then brighter.

A slow jolt ran through his spine.

"Y/N?"

His voice came out half-sleepy, half-stunned.

There she stood, arms crossed, her travel bag still slung over her shoulder. Hair tied up messily, a mask hanging from one ear, and that look on her face—half tired, half annoyed, but unmistakably real.

"You expecting someone else?" she scoffed, brushing past him and walking into the room.

Rabin turned slowly, like his body was still catching up with the surprise.

He watched her set down her bag, take a deep breath, and start pulling out her laptop and notes like this was routine.

Like she hadn't been gone for days.

He closed the door behind her, leaning on it for a second.

She didn't say anything about the look in his eyes but she must've noticed.

"I thought you'd be hungry. I brought something from the airport lounge. Heat it up later."

Rabin stayed frozen by the door.

Then finally, he whispered—

"You came …"

She looked at him.

Eyes steady.

"I said I would."

Y/N sat herself down on the small round table by the window, flipping open her folder like she hadn't just stepped off a flight and walked into the room of a man who stared at her like she was gravity itself.

From the folder, she pulled out a few neatly stapled papers and handed them over to Rabin, who was still lingering in the middle of the room, a bit dazed, his tea now lukewarm.

Y/N:

"This is the list of people you'll meet tomorrow."

Her tone was professional, almost cold.

He blinked, slowly taking the sheets from her.

Y/N (without looking at him):

"Designers. Producers. Han Atelier's senior PR. You should know the names… including faces. They've worked with A-listers only."

Rabin glanced down at the sheet.

Photos. Names. Positions.

Small notes in the margin—her handwriting.

She even wrote how to pronounce some of their names.

That detail alone made something in his chest hurt.

He wanted to say something like,

"You really care, huh?"

Or

"Thanks for coming, even when you didn't have to."

But instead, he just muttered,

"Right… I'll go through them tonight."

There was a pause.

Rabin stared at her, the stack of papers still in his hands, his brows knitting in confusion as Y/N abruptly closed her folder and began walking toward the door 

His voice, low and unsure, followed her steps.

"Where are you going?"

She turned slightly, hand already on the doorknob.

"Aeh? I'm going to my room."

Her tone laced with sarcasm and tiredness.

"Should I be staying with you or what?"

Rabin was silent for a second, then scratched the back of his neck and gave an awkward laugh.

Y/N blinked, then rolled her eyes.

"Stop overthinking."

She opened the door.

But before disappearing into her room, she paused.

Still not turning to him, she said in a quieter voice—

"Sleep early. Big day tomorrow."

And the door clicked shut behind her.

Rabin stared at it for a long second.

Ding.

Rabin's phone lit up 

Y/N:

"Call me if anything happens. I'm at the last room of this hallway."

He stared at the message.

Short. Direct. Typical Y/N.

But beneath those few words… it felt like something else.

His thumb hovered over the screen.

He thought of replying, "Will you come if I say I miss you?"

But he didn't.

Instead, he typed:

Rabin:

"Noted. Don't ignore if I actually call."

Y/N POV – Hotel Room, Seoul – Night

It was a long flight.

Long, draining, and silent.

The moment I closed the door to my room, I tossed my heels to one side and dragged myself to the bathroom.

A warm shower always feels like a reset… and I needed that.

Now wrapped in a soft cotton pajama set, my damp hair clinging to the back of my neck, I padded across the room, glancing around.

"Where the hell is the hair dryer?"

I checked the bathroom again.

Nothing.

I crouched near the vanity drawer.

Still nothing.

Seriously? Five-star hotel with no hair dryer?

I sighed and picked up the phone, dialing for hotel service.

A polite voice answered.

Hotel Staff:

"Yes ma'am, how may I assist you?"

Y/N:

"Hi, I'm in Room 514. I can't find the hair dryer in here."

Hotel Staff:

"Ah, apologies for the inconvenience. Some of the dryers were moved for replacement."

I hung up the call, let the phone drop back to the receiver with a soft clack,

and stood there for a moment, arms crossed.

"Damn… it's only October but it's already chilly here at night."

My damp hair clung to my neck like icy strands of betrayal. I tried towel-drying it a bit more, but it didn't help much.

I stood near the window, watching the city. Seoul at night looked like a painting lit by neon.

My thoughts wandered…

"Five days…"

I sighed, plopping onto the edge of the bed.

"Five long days living under the same roof—or hallway—with that devil boss."

Tch.

I grabbed the blanket and cocooned myself, lying down flat and staring at the ceiling.

Sure, he wasn't being annoying lately. In fact… he's been soft. Too soft.

Ugh.

"No. No. Snap out of it, Y/N."

I rolled to the side, pulling the blanket over my head.

I reached for the remote and turned the AC higher—just enough to numb the thoughts racing in my head.

A soft hum filled the room.

Cool air wrapped around me like fog, dulling everything.

Damn you, Rabin.

I closed my eyes, forcing my mind to go blank.

Little by little…

My thoughts blurred.

My body softened.

And finally, I drifted off to sleep.

Author pov

He hadn't really slept the whole night.

Restless.

Eyes open at every hour.

Twisting and turning under hotel sheets that didn't feel like his own.

So when the knock came—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

His bare feet padded across the floor, eyes half-open.

He swung the door open.

There she stood.

Y/N: "Shoot is at 11. It's already 8. Take a shower, I'll bring your breakfast."

He blinked.

Rabin: "…O."

His lips formed the letter, no actual words following.

She didn't wait—just turned on her heels and walked off like she had a hundred things to do.

He watched her go for a second, then shut the door gently behind.

He moved back into the room and stepped into the bathroom.

Steam fogged the glass, hot water pouring over tired muscles.

For the first time that morning, his mind cleared a little.

But the moment he stepped out, towel wrapped around his waist—

He threw on a pair of baggy jeans and a plain hoodie—nothing fancy, just effortless. The kind of effortless that still made him look like a damn magazine cover.

Hair still slightly damp, he heard it—

Knock. Knock.

He didn't need to ask. He just walked over and opened the door, leaving it wide as he turned back toward the room.

She stepped in, holding a paper bag.

Y/N: "Here."

No dramatic greetings. No teasing. Just that calm, composed assistant voice she always wore like armor lately.

She handed him the package—

A warm scent instantly floated out from it. Toasted bread. Eggs. Something fresh ..

He opened the package slowly, letting the warm steam brush his face. The smell of eggs, grilled mushrooms, and toast wafted out—comforting, grounding.

Beside him, she placed a bottle of warm soy milk on the table.

Y/N: "Drink it while it's still warm," she said casually, almost like routine. But it wasn't.

Not after all that had happened between them.

Rabin: "Where's yours?"

Y/N (still scribbling something on her clipboard): "I'm not that hungry… I'll eat later."

Without hesitation, he held the bottle out toward her.

Rabin: "Drink this. What if my assistant faints while I'm shooting?"

She gave him a sideways glare, unimpressed.

Y/N: "That will never happen."

But before she could toss another dry comeback—

Achoo.

She sneezed.

Rabin: "Did you catch a cold?"

Y/N (turning away): "I'm not…"

Her voice trailed off. Her nose was slightly red, her eyes glassy—but she stood straight, not wanting to show even a sliver of weakness.

He watched her for a second—those defensive walls, the exhaustion, the unspoken things between them.

Rabin: "Liar."

She looked at him.

He took another bite of breakfast and spoke without looking up.

Rabin: "Finish this soy milk or I'll report you to the assistant union for self-neglect."

That earned a faint snort from her.

Y/N (reluctantly): "There's no such thing."

But she took the soy milk anyway.

One sip. Then two.