My National Boyfriend

After dinner, the sky was already inked with deep blues and whispers of black. The streetlights flickered weakly as we walked down a narrow alley toward my home.

Rabin: "Is this the only way to your house?"

Y/N: "Yeah. Why?"

Rabin: looks around, hands in his pockets "It's weird… and dark."

I didn't reply right away.

I just kept walking.

But inside, something twisted in my chest.

Y/N's thoughts:

"Huh… You remember what you did to me in this alley?"

I stop for a second. My voice was quiet—but it cut through the silence.

Y/N: "Yes. This alley… haunts me every time."

Rabin halted too, like my words hit him right in the gut.

He didn't say anything at first.

The breeze brushed past us, carrying dust, maybe memories too.

He turned to look at me—but I didn't meet his eyes.

I kept walking.

Rabin POV:

Is this… what she meant?

The nightmare she keeps having… is it about this alley?

My steps slowed.

I stared at the ground beneath us—the cracks in the pavement, the shadows swallowing the corners, the silence too loud between us.

It has to be.

It's not just a place for her. It's a memory.

And I…

I want to ask.

I want to know what happened here.

But I don't.. i have no guts to ask her 

We passed the alley.

The silence between us still lingered—like a thread neither of us wanted to tug.

We reached in front of her house.

Y/N: "Go back."

Her voice was soft, final.

She didn't even look at me when she said it.

Rabin: "Okay… stay safe. You're alone."

Y/N: "It's my home."

Rabin: "Goodnight."

She walked away without another word.

Didn't even turn back.

And I drove.

Scene: Hotel Room

I reached the hotel and threw myself on the bed, not bothering to turn on the lights.

The room was cold. Sterile.

Nothing like the wooden warmth I just left behind.

After a quick shower, I lay down and opened my phone.

I scrolled. Nothing new.

Social media was still buzzing with the same headline.

My agency was doing its usual damage control—

Polished statements. Staged photos.

Fake peace.

Then I checked my messages one by one.

My manager's text flashed on screen:

"Don't go back to your apartment yet. Lay low for a few days."

I stared at that message for a while.

I didn't even realize when my phone slipped from my hand…

The city noise outside faded.

The buzzing in my head quieted.

The weight in my chest… didn't.

And just like that—

I drooled off.

DREAM SEQUENCE:

It's the alley again.

Dim. Cold. Unfamiliar.

But this time… I'm watching.

Then I see her.

Y/N.

Trembling.

She's surrounded—three guys, maybe four.

Laughing. Mocking.

One of them shoves her shoulder.

Her hair's a mess.

Her lips are trembling.

She's trying to stay strong.

But I can see it—

The panic.

The fear.

The helplessness.

I try to move.

To run.

To scream.

But my footsteps feel like they're sunk in concrete.

My mouth won't open.

The harder I try, the further she feels.

"Move… damn it… MOVE!"

And then—

I snap awake.

Gasping.

Soaked in sweat.

Heart racing like it's going to break through my chest.

I stare into the darkness of the hotel room.

The silence almost feels like it's choking me.

"Again…"

My voice is hoarse.

I sit up in the middle of the bed, dragging my hands across my face, massaging my temple like it would press the memory back inside.

I look at my shaking hands.

And I whisper to no one—

to the walls, to the ghosts, to the version of me I'm scared of—

"Why is my dream getting clearer now…?"

My heart hadn't settled.

That dream—it didn't just shake me.

It rattled something inside I didn't even know was still alive.

I leaned back on the pillow, exhaling slowly.

3 a.m.

And I was still wide awake.

No point forcing sleep when my brain was running like a director on a caffeine high.

I opened the script on my iPad—

Scene 12, take 3… dialogue revisions, camera notes…

None of it registered.

I just kept scrolling, pretending like I was doing something productive.

But all I could think about was that dream.

That alley.

Her.

Then—

Light started spilling in through the window.

The first sign of dawn.

Golden, calm, and blinding in a quiet way.

I rubbed my eyes and groaned.

"I didn't even sleep and now it's morning. Perfect."

I got off the bed and headed to wash up.

The cold splash of water was the only thing keeping me grounded right now.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

My shirt was crumpled.

Still wearing the same jeans from yesterday.

No toothbrush, no comb, no change of clothes.

"Tch… I didn't even bring anything."

I ran a hand through my messy hair.

"Hmm… need to buy some today."

I stepped out of the bathroom, still drying my face, then glanced at my phone.

No new messages.

No missed calls.

Silence.

But somehow…

my mind kept drifting to the small house with wooden floors and coconut juice.

And the girl inside it…

I kept glancing at my watch.

Again.

And again.

6:43 a.m.

I swear the seconds were crawling just to mess with me.

I didn't sleep.

Didn't change.

Didn't even brush my hair properly.

But I was planning to go to her house by 7 a.m.

Because—

I think she wakes up around that time. Right?

She seems like the kind of girl who wakes up early.

Maybe does the dishes.

Sweeps the yard.

Talks to plants or something.

Anyway, people were already starting to wake up outside.

Doors creaking.

Footsteps.

Voices echoing through the morning air.

I stood by the hotel room window, arms folded, watching the quiet street stretch into life.

"Should I go now? Or is that creepy?"

I muttered under my breath.

But then I grabbed my jacket anyway.

Because whether it's creepy or not—

I wanted to see her.

I screeched to a halt in front of her house.

My car hissed softly as the engine cooled.

I didn't move right away.

My hand rested on the steering wheel,

index finger tapping rhythmically—

nervous?

Maybe.

Definitely.

What am I even doing?

Showing up at her door this early… with no reason?

She'll kill me.

But still—

after a couple of minutes,

as if my body made the decision without me,

my feet pushed open the car door and walked to her gate.

One step.

Two.

Three.

I stood there in front of her house,

that same warm wooden door,

that same scent of flowers hanging in the morning breeze.

Ding dong.

I pressed the bell.

Silence.

Only birds chirping.

I adjusted my mask.

Fixed my hoodie.

Then tried to act casual like I didn't just rehearse my lines in my head for five minutes.

Please open the door… before I turn into a statue.

No answer.

I rang again.

Still nothing.

One more time. Ding dong.

Just when I was about to accept defeat and turn back like a rejected Amazon delivery—

click.

The door creaked open.

And there she was.

Messy hair falling lazily over her shoulders.

White nightsuit a little wrinkled.

Eyes still half-asleep.

But the sunlight—

The sunlight kissed her face like it belonged there.

For a moment,

I forgot what I came here to say.

Forgot everything, really.

She blinked at me slowly, like processing whether it was a dream or a mistake.

Y/N: "Why are you ringing my house like it's a fire alarm?"

I scratched the back of my neck.

Tried to act cool.

Failed.

Rabin: "Uh… good morning?"

She squinted at me, unimpressed.

I pointed at her face.

Rabin: "You've got a pillow line here."

(I lied. Just wanted her to check the mirror and stop looking so… distractingly cute.)

She groaned, covering her face.

Y/N: "Do you even know what time it is?"

Rabin: "I do. I've been counting the seconds."

Author POV:

Y/n crossed her arms, clearly not amused—still half-asleep, hair tousled, but eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Y/n: "So… why are you really here?"

Rabin: "I don't have a dress to change into after shower… and even toiletries…"

She raised a brow.

Y/n: "Hotel provides toothbrush, shower gel, shampoo… everything. What do you even need?"

There was a pause.

Rabin cleared his throat, looking away like a guilty schoolboy.

Rabin: "I don't use what hotels provide."

Lie.

Big, fat, Rabin-level lie.

Y/n squinted at him, catching on.

Y/n: "Oh, so Nation's Boyfriend only showers with gold-infused water?"

Rabin chuckled.

Rabin: "I'm delicate."

Y/n: "You're spoiled."

She turned around and left the door open. Rabin took that as a silent invitation and followed her inside, trying not to smirk like a winner.

He looked around—same cozy wooden floors, that floral scent from yesterday still lingering in the air.

Home. Again.

Y/n (without turning): "Sit. I'll get you my brother's old shirt and a spare toothbrush. But I swear, Rabin, if this is a trick to freeload breakfast—"

Rabin (interrupting): "Too late. I smelled something already. Hope it's coffee."

Y/n: "Snap out of your thoughts. It's from the neighbours."

Rabin blinked.

He'd been sniffing the air like a bloodhound in a bakery, already imagining toast, eggs, and freshly brewed coffee.

Rabin: "Ohh…!!"

He tried to play it cool, but the disappointment was written all over his face.

Y/n smirked as she tossed a clean shirt at him.

Y/n: "Here. This is the biggest T.shirt . Don't stretch it."

Rabin: "Can't promise. These shoulders are insured, you know."

Y/n: "By who? Your ego?"

He let out a light laugh, rubbing his neck, and took the shirt. It smelled faintly of detergent and lavender. Somehow, even the shirt felt like it belonged to this quiet home.

Y/n: "Bathroom's second door on the left. And don't take an hour. I'm not running a spa."

Rabin: "Yes, ma'am."

As he walked off, Y/n shook her head, trying not to smile.

But something lingered in her chest.

A strange, warm feeling.

He looked… oddly comfortable here.

Rabin paused mid-step, turned around with that mischievous glint in his eyes, and casually said—

Rabin: "Ohh… let's go shopping."

Y/n, who was halfway to the kitchen, froze and spun around like she misheard.

Y/n: "Aehhh??? Are you gonna move here or what?!"

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, completely unfazed by her reaction.

Rabin: "Didn't you see the message the manager sent?"

Y/n rolled her eyes dramatically.

Y/n: "I did. He said stay low-key, not invade your assistant's hometown and settle down like a retired uncle."

Rabin: "Tomato, tomahto."

She sighed and muttered, "Unbelievable," but there was no real anger in her voice—just exhaustion mixed with faint amusement.

Rabin: "Come on. I don't even have proper clothes. Do you want the villagers to think I'm some wandering monk?"

Y/n: "Too late. You already look lost."

He grinned.

Rabin: "So you're coming?"

Y/n (grumbling): "Fine. But I swear if someone recognizes you—"

Rabin (smirking): "Then I'll say you're my manager and you forced me here."

Y/n: "As if I'd willingly claim you."

They exchanged a brief look. He was already moving toward the door, his mood lighter, hers quietly flustered.

They didn't head toward any fancy mall or glossy boutiques—just the local marketplace tucked between narrow lanes, small shops with colorful awnings, and the scent of fresh vegetables, spices, and hot fritters floating through the warm air.

Y/n: "You sure you want to shop here? This isn't your usual luxury lane."

Rabin: "Exactly why I want to. No crowds. No eyes. Just air."

Y/n (teasing): "You mean just cheap stuff."

Rabin (grinning): "Said the girl who tried to feed me a sandwich and milk like I'm in daycare."