Keonho's arms were loaded, shopping bags hanging off his wrists, a drink pressed against his forearm, your jacket draped over his shoulder because you got cold earlier.

You walked beside him, fingers brushing his elbow on purpose.

“baby. why aren’t you holding my hand?”

He paused mid-step, eyes flicking down at you with that quiet, slightly amused look he always gets when you’re being dramatic on purpose.

“…I literally don’t have hands right now,” he murmured, deadpan but warm.

You nudged him again.

He exhaled through his nose, that soft, fond sound, then shifted the bags into one arm, balancing them awkwardly but determined. He freed his other hand, immediately reaching for yours.

Without saying anything, he laced his fingers with yours and kept walking, his pace slowing a little to make sure you stayed close.

“Happy now?” he asked, voice low.

You didn’t answer, you just squeezed his hand.

He glanced at you again, the corner of his mouth lifting, almost shy.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but the way he adjusted the bags so he wouldn’t lose your hand made it clear he didn’t mind at all.