___

The kitchen side door slams shut, rattling the trinkets in the corner display cabinet. The delicate chandelier crystals shake above your head, swaying shadows around the dinner room. 

You don’t need to look up to know it’s that quiet boy that Father has taken under his wing recently. Mother is glad to see the young man though, knowing that her husband isn’t far away from trailing after him.

The dinner formality is becoming more and more frequent, and as much as your family is quite talkative already, the black-haired boy seems to make the dinner atmosphere twice more lively with conversation. 

Anton Lee comes in as if he lives here, smelling like earthy rain and wet dress shoes trekking mud into the house. It vexes you to no end, especially when your housemaid gets up in a hurry, not bothered at the sludge he’s trudging in. 

“So sorry for the mess, Edna—” He murmurs with such empathy, “Hi everyone.” 

“Hello, dear! Got caught in the rain, have you?” Mother smiles with a twinkle as she unsteadily stands up, pushing her chair back with a scrape. 

“Yes, gosh. It started downpouring so suddenly in the cab back. I hope you don’t mind that I'm joining the table tonight, ma’am.”

“Love, you’re practically here every night. We always have room for you, stop with the nonsense.” 

You can feel Mother’s glance at you— probably a hint for your bumble of an agreement but you press your gaze further onto the words of your novel. 

As much as you were previously enraptured with this current chapter of your romance novel, Anton’s arrival is distracting to you. Much is the rest of his stuck-up-ness to your parents. It’s times like these you wish Mother wasn’t so gullible. Always too kind for her own good to be believing of this ridiculous, out-of-nowhere boy.

“This soup looks great, Edna, you always outdo yourself.” Anton grins a boyish smile, readily accepting her offered steaming bowl of soup over the table.

“Is my husband behind you?” Mother quips.

“Yes ma’am, Professor just had to drop his things in his office. He went through the front door.”

Glancing up at the sound of this, you peer at the archway and wait for Father to come gliding in soon enough. 

“And how was your day, dear? Productive, I hope?” 

You finally chance a look at Anton, lashes fluttering at his wet hair. 

His shoulders are broad in his thin sweater, ridiculously soaked with rainwater. His black tendrils that are usually neat, expose his forehead— messy like he had taken a shower. It’s too devastating to keep admiring, so you spoon soup into your mouth and look away, ears tuning back into the conversation. 

“— And the results were extraordinary, Mrs. L/N. Professor will expand more on it, but today was a complete breakthrough.” 

You can hear the grin in Mother’s voice. 

“Oh, and I’m sure I will. My husband does love to bring his passion to the dinner table. Oh, there he is.”

Instantly, you tug your velvet page holder in place and slam your book closed. Father comes in with two towels in his hands, looking just the same as Anton, albeit more disheveled. His wrinkled smile is the same, the natural curvature and homeliness of the gesture making your chest warm. 

“Oh, look at this! A full table almost.” Father cheers. 

You get up as he goes around, pressing on Mother’s cheek first and then following a chaste kiss in your hair. 

“How was your day, Father?” 

“Fantastic, baby. I assume Anton here has already spilled the news?” Father side-eyes Anton and the latter nods resolutely. Handing over a towel to the young man, Anton ducks from view under the table to dry himself. 

Father settles into the chair right next to Mother’s at the other end of the table. The only seat empty was Carl’s, your family’s chauffeur. 

“It only started raining cats and dogs after me and Lee here called it quits for the day. What luck, huh?” 

A lighthearted laugh goes around the table. You stuff your novel under your thighs, just as the oven dings and Edna hurriedly beelines to the kitchen oven. 

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Father sniffs, roughly patting his own soaked self down, “It smells amazing.”

“Pot roast.” You smile lightly, unconsciously wringing your hands on your lap in excitement. 

Anton catches the movement of your sock-clad toes tapping against the dining room rug, smiling to himself before straightening back up. “That sounds amazing.” 

“Oh, yes it is!” Edna’s voice rises, skittering back in to place the big olive green dish at the center of the table. “I hope everyone here has a lot of room in their stomach! It took five hours to cook!”

Everyone except for Edna lifts from the cushion of their seat to see steam curl and escape as the lid lifts. 

“Goodness, Edna. This is so much food! You’ve made a feast today!” Mother exclaims.

“Oh, I had to,” Edna says, tone somehow scolding and happy at the same time; she takes Mother’s plate diligently, beginning to serve everyone. “I heard your husband on the phone, saying Anton skipped breakfast today. He’s so skinny!”

Anton laughs lightheartedly. “I told you, Edna, it’s the clothes I wear. I’m not as skinny as you’d think.” 

Hurriedly gesturing toward Anton’s plate, he refuses, gesturing towards you first. Edna piles meat, carrots, and potatoes on yours quickly. 

“If you were my grandson, you’d be plump as a peach! You work in the sun, day in and day out with the workaholic over there!” 

Father chokes on his bite of food.

“He would barely survive if me and Madam here didn’t feed him!”

“I take care of myself just fine,” Anton shyly fights back, “I was just in a rush to leave the apartment today. I got busy packing boxes and lost track of time.”

Father snaps his fingers, swallowing a large mouthful of meat. “Right! About that, son. Me and my wife here were thinking you stay at ours for a month or two. Until that new place of yours opens up, of course.”

Your mouth becomes slightly agape.

“Just so you don’t have to stay in some hotel for weeks on end, dear.” Mother nods in agreement. 

Your heart seems to stop briefly, wondering where on Earth this idea is coming from. You try not to let your emotions show easily.

“But where will he stay?”

Every head turns towards you in rapid succession. Your cheeks warm in response.

“Honey, there’s two guest bedrooms that collect dust every summer. He’ll manage.”

Anton catches the swallow of your throat, shaking his head and bringing water droplets to the dining table.

“It’s no problem, really. Thank you, I appreciate the offer but—”

“Don’t be silly! I know you haven’t put down the deposit for the hotel yet. I spoke to Brad this morning. Besides, that old man charges the hell out of any visitor of this town. Takes advantage anyone in a bad situation, really—” 

Father was ever so nosy and in everyone’s business all the time. As much you adored how kind he was, it was a nuisance in some cases, this being one of them. 

You had planned on having a peaceful and quiet rest of your summer here. Slow mornings of sitting by your pool and reading. Some badminton games with the little kids near the creak. Maybe camping out at the small bookstore down the street, gouging yourself on the mandarins Edna grows. A few late-night walks on the deserted streets downtown. 

But now you’re expected to see this boy Father is mother-birding every day, even more than at your dinner table every other night?

Tugging your book out from under you, you prop it back up to disguise the scowl curling your lip. Attempting to tune out the back and forth of everyone’s day, you cannot entertain the usual spout about research, Mother's gardening, and whatever else tonight.

The novel also successfully removes Anton’s annoyingly handsome face from your view, a reprieve you were going to take advantage of now that he was moving in soon. You knew for a fact he would, because it was too good of an offer to not grab and your parents always got their way.

Who in their right mind would refuse living in their kind mentor’s luxurious house for two months? Have their laundry and every meal taken care of? 

No one, that’s who. 

Now, every word on your novel’s page withers off. You wish every night that you didn’t have to hide behind a book at the dinner table because… 

Life used to be so much easier when you didn’t have to deny you found Father’s recent research assistant to be god-awfully attractive.

___

The next time you see Anton, he’s drenched in sweat from lugging his stuff to your house. Carl is still visiting family so he couldn’t use your chauffeur to move. To avoid paying for a cab, he had stupidly walked all his things from across town. 

It’s a ten minute walk usually, but with about a million boxes with him, the tall boy had no chance of not soaking through his clothes. Father is furious that he didn’t call him for help.

Besides being genuinely bewildered on how a man could have brought so many belongings with him on a research trip, it was odd to catch Anton in casual clothes. Mainly because every time you did see him, he had on semi-professional attire. 

Even in the glaringly awful heat of the summer, it was all sweaters and khakis. Long sleeves and slacks. The most normal-looking he’d ever been to your age group was when he’d worn Father’s old tee after Edna spilled coffee on him. 

That was a big shocker, seeing as his arms were way more… firm than you thought. Packed with muscle, but still somehow lean. Amazingly fit for a scientist most believe don’t have to lift anything remotely heavy.

Now, Anton is sporting a flowy short-sleeve button-up and shorts that cut off after his knees. Worse of all are these gold-framed glasses sitting on his nose. It’s almost like some sick fantasy of yours come to life, trudging up on your porch and invading your personal space when he squeezes past you. 

Everyone in the house is forced to help Anton transport stuff to his room, to which he blubbers apologies and thank-you’s out constantly. It would annoy you more if it weren’t for the fact you had to break more awful news to him, and to yourself outloud. 

“We have to share a bathroom, by the way. The bedroom you were supposed to be in has a draft from the attic above. The other guest room is connected to mine.” 

Your drab way of delivery makes his noise of understanding that much bleaker. 

“Oh. Like a—”

“Jack and Jill bathroom, yeah.” You cross his room, gesturing grandly to the white-tiled layout. 

Mother had made you move all of your skincare products to the side, at the same time scolding you for how much you had. Besides that, the bathroom was quite ordinary. 

You’re sure that Anton wouldn’t speak up about the pink shower curtains, or pink bathroom mat. He never complained about much of anything actually. Instead, his eyes wander to the oak door plainly revealing your room at the end. Books litter the surface of your bed, with posters peeling off your wall and pens haphazardly placed everywhere. 

You swear in your head, forgetting to have closed your door to the bathroom. Swinging his door closed with a slam, you tightly smile while avoiding Anton’s surprised face. His hair is blown out from the wind produced from your action. 

“Is there not another bathroom I could use?” He nervously asks. 

“Nope. The only other one not connected to anyone’s living quarters is being renovated. So just knock.”

“Oh. Okay, thanks—”

You’re already heading out of Anton’s new space before he could finish speaking.

___

Ignoring Anton’s existence is easier than you had thought. 

He woke up early for a daily run, precisely at 6:30 every morning. He made sure to be as quiet as possible while showering, before changing and going to work with Father. They’d come back around dinnertime, sometimes late and sometimes early, where you’d ignore him the same as always at the dinner table. Everyone usually separates and goes about their nightly activities, where you have no clue where Anton is, either in the house or in town. And it starts all over again. 

Once the first weekend hits though, Mother has had enough and starts a tightly worded conversation with you Saturday morning. 

No more being cold. No more being ignorant. 

She’s smart in how she handles her words, not trying to seek out why you were so bothered by Anton’s presence, or why you so strongly despise him. She knew part of the reason why.

The other reason… Well, you’ve never been the type to discuss anything concerning crushes or boys with Mother. It’s territory you’re not willing to explore. So you suck up the scolding as usual and agree. Mother even finishes it off by suggesting you give him a proper tour of town.

That was the only thing you were going to protest, if it weren’t for Anton’s happy stumbling into the kitchen. 

He slows to a stop at the tense look on both women’s faces, looking like he just got caught stealing from the cookie jar. 

Mother waves away his worries though, tugging him closer for a cup of fresh orange juice and throwing the idea into the air. Anton seems to actually wince at the thought while catching your cold gaze over Mother’s shoulder. He can’t ever say no to her though, so he politely agrees, earning him a slap on the back.

After breakfast, you silently lead the both of you out to the shed, where Carl is sharpening a pair of garden shears while sitting on a milk crate, safe from the heat of the sun. 

Not catching how Anton admires your interaction with the silver-haired man, you grin softly while you converse with your chauffeur. Your gentle hand sits on Carl’s tanned shoulders, the grandpa wiping off dirt from his calloused hands before they curl around your back for a hug. 

“Wait a second,” You murmur to Anton, before jogging into the house. 

Anton only awkwardly nods, a half bow to Carl in stilted conversation before you’re back, a little breathless. A cold glass of water and two mandarins sit snug in your palm, before handing them over in exchange for the bikes from the dusty corner of the shed. 

You politely wave off Carl’s offer to drive you around. Shouting a goodbye and a smile over your shoulder, you squint from the brightness of the day before giving Anton one of the baby yellow bikes.

Anton is curious about your close relationship with the old man, as well as your relationship with Edna— but that question has been sitting on his mind for a while. Many questions have been, actually. 

He just isn’t sure whether you’d reply if he asked. In the short time he’s known you, the three attempts Anton has made to get closer to you have been shut down with short answers and ice-old looks. It’s dizzying to him when you seem so… different with everyone else. 

You adore your father— even if the quirky man seemed to make you roll your eyes at his dad jokes. Your mother, you treated kindly, stomaching her snide comments about your books and writing and standoff-ishness even when you didn’t have to. 

And Edna, you laughed with so easily. Felt comfortable enough with to revert back to your child-like self, tugging at her apron when you wanted a fresh tart out the oven. You even danced around the island counter, tapping her shoulder before nicking one off the baking sheet.

Now the new mystery with Carl. Your crinkling eyes when speaking to him, same with your gentle touch and warm hug. Hurrying back into the house to gather a drink and fruit for him. Your chauffeur. 

Had you known him for long? Did the old man watch you grow up into the woman you were now? Why were you so adamant on being kind to everyone but him… Anton?

He felt like he hadn’t done anything wrong… Besides when he forgot to knock on the bathroom door and caught you with a toothbrush and foam in your mouth. Or when he creased your Mary Janes by accidentally stepping on them in the entryway.

Even now, as he peeks past his long lashes to peer at you… he thinks you’re ethereal. Placed perfectly in the scenery with blue waves crashing along the shoreline below. Carefully walking and watching where both of your guys’ feet land you, the crumbly gravel road leading down the driveway.

Anton’s mouth opens before he can think the words through. 

“Beautiful.” 

… He hopes the sounds of the ocean drowned him out.

“What?” 

You curl your hair behind your ear, finally looking his way before hovering a hand to hide your eyes from the blinding sun. You’re still incredibly beautiful and he refuses to deny that.

“Um— where are we headed?”

“At the bottom of the hill, we can bike to the downtown plaza. Maybe get Gerardo’s. Then park our bikes around the creak, walk around.”

“Gerardo’s?”

You give a pity smile. 

“The only gelato place in town?”

You seemed to have a special way of making Anton feel like his heart is about to blow up, even if the soft grin is half way to teasing him. 

“Right. What about that bookstore?”

That manages to catch you off-guard.

“Huh?”

“You know… the one you always talk about. With the fiction aisle that rotates every week?” 

“Oh,” You’re stunned into a short silence.

Reaching the end of the driveway, you nod imperceptibly. Anton almost misses it.

“Okay, I’ll show you there too.” 

Then, you hop onto the high seat of your bike, gesturing to him to do the same. You lead the way, your hair whipping in the wind as you build up speed. And Anton follows you closely behind, still far enough though to see your side profile as you breathe in the salty smell of your seaside town.

He only wishes he was good at being inconspicuous enough to admire you like this more often.

___

Anton has been recruited to cut pears. 

He thought the task would take a maximum of five minutes but instead, he’s been sat on a stool in the kitchen for thirty. His hands hurt.

Edna only slaps Anton’s lower back to sit straighter when he slouches. He desperately hopes his professor’s wife will come and try to save him, but instead the older woman waltzes in, happily joining the festivities. She says that now a lot of the fruit has ripened, the baking day can begin. 

Anton doesn’t ever really know what to do with his free time on the weekend when not working; usually going to the creak and talking to some of the grandpas there. Maybe picking up a random ball game with the local kids in town. Or his favorite, which is keeping you quiet company by the pool in the backyard. He didn’t really imagine baking to be on the list.

His eyes sparkle in reprieve when you jog into the kitchen, jolly as a clam compared to usually. You murmur a hi to everyone between a pear sunk between your teeth, not even flinching when Mother slaps your bare back. One for not washing the fruit and another for not announcing where you’d be running off to avoid the kitchen today.

Anton so desperately wants to appreciate the expanse of your skin, exposed from the bikini top you have on. But instead, he’s respectful and his eyes are laser-focused on cutting slices of green pear over and over. 

You’re forced to explain you’re off to see rare friends down by the water, ones that have returned for the summer after being abroad from school. From the way you’re so happy, Anton would figure your boyfriend was amongst them.

Edna catches the black-haired boy red-handed, looking up at the sound of your words. She swiftly snatches the knife from his grip, pulling Anton up with the tag of his shirt like a kicked puppy. 

“Bring this poor boy along with you dear, he’s cutting the pears chunky enough to choke a toddler.”

Anton tries to catch whether your face is twisting in irritation at this suggestion, but instead the whirl of commotion in the kitchen tosses him around like a rag doll between three women. 

You agree to appease the arguing between Edna and Mother, stealing more fruit from the counter before escaping to the living room. 

Anton figured you’d immediately shut down the idea. He sits on the armrest of the plush couch, patiently waiting for your dismissal as you scurry about and toss a book in your bag; but your protests never come, even as you look past your shoulder while toeing on your slides.

“Well, go get changed. What are you waiting for?”

“Oh! Uh, give me one minute!” Anton springs into action, leaving into the foyer and going up the stairs two steps at a time.

You’re glad that just as he disappears around the corner, your fight against a growing smile is lost.

___

“You can read?”

Anton jumps out of his seat at the sound of your voice.

Your hair is messy from sleep, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. It’s practically drowning you, and Anton wonders why you’re up. It’s two A.M. in the morning and you’re rarely moving around at this time. 

He settles back into his reclining chair, blowing out a breath and praying his heartbeat to come down. 

“Rude. And yes, I can— at least… I’m trying to. You scared me.” 

You don’t apologize, instead reaching the balcony railing and staring out into the ocean twinkling from the moonlight. “What are you reading?”

“Uh…” Anton keeps a thumb on his page, flipping to the cover, “Advanced Series in Ocean Physics.” 

A scoff leaves you, drifting out into the cool air. “Do you ever not think about research?”

“It’s my life.” 

The defense in Anton’s tone shocks you enough to look over at him. 

You’ve never once hit a nerve before. He was always so meek with you, always willing to go about with anything. At the pause in conversation, Anton clears his throat and looks back down at the pages. 

He’s clearly not reading anymore. “I’m really interested in what I’m studying. It’s why I’m here after all.” 

Your heart hurts suddenly. You feel an unexplainable, pressuring guilt building in your chest. 

“... Do you enjoy Father’s company that much? He talks a lot, doesn’t he?” 

“Professor has great things to say.” 

“I suppose so.” 

The dismissal makes the tenseness in Anton’s body stronger. 

“Your father is incredible. He’s made bounds of advances in climate models, and is probably the only person in my field that cares about how climate change is affecting submesoscale dynamics.”

You laugh a little, no humor evident. “You don’t think I’ve heard that my whole life?” 

“Well, it’s true! … I’m lucky to work with him.” Anton shifts in his seat, uncomfortable.

“I’m sure you are.” You sneer, thinking it’s the end of the conversation. 

But now it’s anxious, sitting in this quiet space together. Especially with how much you’ve grown in handling Anton’s steady being in this house. You’ve actually gotten used to it. 

Waking up and him being in the kitchen helping with breakfast. Dinner with his bursting laughter while bending over and almost hitting his forehead on the table. His toothbrush next to yours in the bathroom, the smell of his shampoo and conditioner, mixing together in the heat from his shower. Weekends with the both of you quietly soaking in the backyard sun. Watching your parents try chess in the evenings, Edna playing a beautiful tune on the piano. Being coerced into picking weeds with Carl on blazing hot afternoons. 

And when it rains… sitting on the front porch steps together. Just looking out into the stormy sea and watching it rumble. The smell of petrichor after several days of dry heat torturing your little town.

The last thing you were expecting when coming out here was running into the black-haired boy, but… here you were. You just wanted fresh air after a nightmare but now you wonder how long he’s begun this habit of sitting out here in the dark, with only the pale moon to give him reading light.

It seems like your aloof demeanor has finally pushed him enough. You knew you were confusing with how mean you were to him sometimes, and in the past two weeks, you’ve been more apologetic to it. You were breaking the habit of being cold, forgetting how you first felt about him at the start of the summer… but not now. Not on this topic.

“Why do you dislike me so much?”

You train your eyes on the waterline, determined to not have your heart waver at the hurt in Anton’s strained voice. 

“I don’t.”

He’s fast to respond.

“You act like you do. Sometimes you do, and sometimes you don’t. It’s confusing.” 

“I let you join me and my friends at the beach.” 

“You were forced to do that.” Anton sounds bitter.

“And I showed you my bookstore.” 

“Again! Forced to do that.” 

Your eyes are ablaze, gaze on fire. “You don’t get to come here and demand that everyone be kind to you, you know? That’s entitlement!”

Anton sits up straighter, book abandoned on his seat. “I never asked to stay here, or for anything! If you think I asked more from your father, you’re insane for thinking so!” 

“Insane?” You stomp forward, blanket dropped by your feet. “Don’t call me insane for being distrustful of you!” 

“Why the hell would you have reason to be doubtful of me? Have I done anything to make you think so?”

You’re huffing in each other’s faces now, and you have stalk to the other corner of the balcony to calm down. 

“The past assistant my dad took in stole his research— his last big breakthrough.” 

Anton finds it hard to intake any oxygen suddenly. 

“... What?”

You’re not looking at him either, talking to the ocean again. 

“His last partner then went off to present to some big-shot panel and made a lot of money off it. The worst part is that Father doesn’t even care. He just wants people to make the world a better place— I’m sure whatever that guy used my dad’s research for, doesn’t think the same.”

“I— I didn’t know that—”

“Yeah. You didn’t,” You whip around to glare, eyes watery. “Because you don’t actually know my family, Anton. You see this glittery, rose-colored version of us in the summer. As much as you want to think we magically got rich or something, Father doesn’t make that much doing what he does. And Mother doesn’t work anymore because she can’t.”

Anton feels like someone has slapped him. 

“You know she used to paint? She was really good. Good enough for us to live like this. But now she’s retired, scared to pick up a paint brush and watch it shake. And Father sells textbooks that he hates writing and talking to publishers for.” 

You don’t even register Anton approaching through your tear-blurry eyes, a gentle touch settling on the crook of your elbow. You’re hugging your torso to self-soothe. Or… maybe you were just cold. 

“I’m… so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

His eyes are shiny with apology and your anger is melting before you can fight it. You hate so much that he can do that so easily. More and more frequently, your resentment with him can’t seem to hold anymore.

“It’s fine—” You try to shake out of his grip. 

“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have assumed anything. Anything at all. I didn’t know your mother was sick. And I’m sorry that your father was taken advantage of like that.” 

His touch slides down to wrap around your wrist, swallowing them in his hold. Anton’s skin against yours is like gasoline in your veins.

You find the strength to use your voice again, watching the way his calloused thumb strokes your hand. “It is fine now, though. They’re happier with you here. It took a while for Mother to convince him to take in another assistant. I can tell they always wanted a son.” 

Your futile attempt of a smile makes Anton’s heart brittle. His long fingers finally interlace with yours, guilt fresh on the forefront of his mind. 

“That can’t be the truth. You’re the sun they orbit around, I can see it.” 

You laugh wetly, breaking your handholding to wipe at your cheeks. Feeling ridiculous crying, you step back to collect yourself.

“Yeah, I’m glad to have them.”

Embarrassed at what’s occurred, you pick up the blanket on the floor, brushing Anton’s fingers again when he goes to hand it to you himself. You wordlessly reject his offer at more comfort, eyes catching at his empathetic gaze again before tugging your sliding door open. 

“Goodnight, Anton.” 

And then… he’s left to his own festering thoughts, shoulders heavy with remorse and a tongue itching to say more. 

___

You can feel tension between you two at the breakfast table.

Anton, who has grown out of his shell since the beginning, is quiet and can’t seem to look at both of your parents the same anymore. Father is none the wiser while having conversation with Carl about the car. Mother, discussing sandwiches with Edna.

You had restlessly rolled around in your sheets, able to feel Anton’s presence through the bathroom separating you two. 

Immediately after you’d walked away, you had desperately wished you hadn’t— just to see what Anton would’ve said. Would’ve done. Then the fear of rejection ripped through every cell in your body, seizing your hands still before it could tug his bedroom door open. 

Just maybe Anton felt the same way, because when you accidentally cough while swallowing a bite of scrambled eggs, Anton practically jumps across the table to help you. You feel a little sorry about how flustered he gets, trying hard to appear normal and avoid your housemaid’s eyes fluttering between you two. 

After dragging on breakfast, Mother suggests the two men take their lunch break at home for Edna’s special sandwiches. When Father rejects with words of busy work, Edna tosses the idea of it being brought to them. Her stealthy eyes lean over to you, gripping your cheek strongly. 

“Our dear here has nothing else to do! She’ll bring it to you.”

Before a whine of no’s can leave your mouth, she raises her brows in warning. You’re silenced, slouching into your seat before you can say much else. 

“Perfect! Your lovely daughter will bring those sandwiches to you at 1 P.M. sharp. Have a great day, boys!”

Father leaves the back porch with a kiss to Mother and your pouting forehead, waving before entering the house again. You try to ignore Anton’s wide eyes but in the end, give in, catching the glimmer of aching in his glance.

___

Just as Edna said, the promising maid sends you off with a picnic basket at 12:40 P.M. exactly. The sky is a cloudy and stormy grey as you bike across town, where Father usually bothers the local fishermen to sit in their boats and allow him to throw testing gear off-deck. 

You grab their attention by waving a large red handkerchief Mother gave you in the sky. And patiently, you sit as they come back, docking and hopping off their rocky boat. 

Both Father and Anton scarf down their sandwiches, moaning in delight at the roast beef Edna had slow-cooked. The latter shyly offers a bite to you, but you push away his worry, having stuffed yourself full before arriving at the dock.

When rain droplets start to catch on your clothing, all of you scurry to find shelter quickly. It’s only when you’re all stood under an awning does Father realizes his clumsy self had forgotten his phone on the fisherman’s boat. He rushes off to find the man and call Carl to pick you three up.

Now it’s just you and Anton, watching as heavy rain lands on hot pavement and thunder rumbles before you two. Only yesterday, this type of scenario wouldn’t have terrified you; sitting here with the sound of the sky crying, the smell of earthy dirt in Anton’s company. It really wouldn’t have struck fear in your heart. 

Only now it does, and your tongue is twisted in knots, same with your stomach. You’re not confident in how you’re supposed to be around this boy anymore. 

Peeking at his side profile, Anton is deep in thought while crouched beside you. His nimble, veiny fingers are curled out to feel the droplets of water. You appreciate the beauty in his quietness, wondering when you started to find solace in your shared silence together. 

Alas, you’re not fast enough to turn away when Anton finds your gaze. He’s surprisingly peaceful in meeting your eyes, the depth of them stealing the breath in your lungs. You’re not sure either if you’re imagining it, but… you see desire in them. 

Desire for you. Right here, right now. Even though you’re sitting beside him currently, satisfying his craving.

“What’s that look for?”

“Nothing. I’m just admiring you.”

You wish you could sputter out something to ease the seriousness in his words. You can’t and your eyes only move around his face, trying to seek out any telltale signs of a lie.

There’s none. 

“Admiring me?”

“I’ve been admiring you since I first met you,” Anton is the first to tear away from your connected gaze. “You just didn’t notice. Too busy disliking me.”

“As I said before, I don’t dislike you.” You lament.

“Then tell me how you really feel for me.”

It’s stunning how confident he is in his words suddenly. In your imagination, late at night, Anton is always bumbling and bashful in a confession to you. Something must have changed from last night.

“Nothing?” Anton raises an eyebrow. “You feel nothing between us, even now?” 

You do feel something. Something strong, and it scares you to no end.

You don’t know how to word that easily though. So he stands up after looking in the distance, gently taking hold of your hands splayed out to help you straighten; your elbows had rested on your knees while squatting for too long. Anton takes special care in swiping the water off the skin of your legs, before tugging the laces of your sneakers tighter. 

Just in time, Father comes back looking like he had momentarily drowned and come back to life, phone in hand. 

“Carl is on the way. Not to worry.” He grins breathlessly to you two, cluelessly stepping between you both to shield himself from the downpour. 

And as Father wipes at his phone screen, swearing at the torrential rain, you force your hands from trembling. 

Not from the freezing cold water, or your wet hair. But from the effect Anton’s confession had on you.

___

“Are you writing?”

Instinct seizes your muscles, making you place your lower forearms down on your paper.

Anton’s voice is almost a whisper, trying not to break the peace in your kitchen. His feet pad closer, shadow getting larger as the candlelight in the room flickers. 

“You scared me. What are you doing up?”

“I could say the same. It’s three A.M.” Anton grins softly. 

He’s charming with his hair ruffled, like he had climbed from his sheets moments ago. This yellow-orange lighting from the flame makes him look much more… mellow.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Another nightmare?”

You didn’t even know Anton knew you had those. Instead, you just nod a little, going back to your writing. Smoothly flipping the pencil in your hand, you erase the streak of graphite down your paper from fear earlier. 

“What are you writing about?”

“Unicorns and fairies.”

Anton’s snort is a little too loud for the time in the night. You glare through your lashes and he gets the clue, nursing his mug of water closer to himself. 

“No, really. What do you write about? You’re always scribbling away in secret.” 

“I don’t scribble in secret.”

“Sci-fi? Romance? Oh, don’t tell me it’s an autobiography.” 

You only pretend to stare back in annoyance, shaking your head. It’s embarrassing to admit so you whisper it out into the echoey kitchen, afraid of someone else besides you two hearing in. 

“Romance.”

You’re not looking up in order to see Anton’s tender smile.

“Is it any good?”

A long sigh leaves your supple lips, synchronized with your chest rising and falling; it mesmerizes Anton for a moment.

“No. It never is, really.”

Anton shifts his hips off from leaning against the counter, swinging around the island in the kitchen. His strong elbows plant on the marble, peeking down at the words you’re so protective of.

You’d try harder to hide your writing from his prying gaze if it weren’t for his flexing arms distracting you. Anton is emitting a heat after sleeping soundly in his bed several minutes ago, tempting you to get closer and warm up beside him.

“You can’t say it’s bad before any constructive criticism. Let me read it.”

Now you genuinely slide your work away. “No, it’s embarrassing.” 

Anton manages to give you a look that’s slightly degrading. “C’mon. I’ll be fair, I swear.”

“You won’t make fun?”

“Never.”

You wait for a more serious response.

“I might. But only a little.” 

You huff without another word, slowly handing the paper over. The pencil between your fingertips twirl around, pupils flickering between Anton’s features. His pretty mouth purses once, brows pinching together twice, and that’s about all. 

“It’s shit, isn’t it? It’s fine, it was just a whim anyway—”

Anton pulls away before you could snatch the paper from his hold.

“YN. Don’t put yourself down like that. It’s good, I like it.” 

You’re dying to hear more praise, eyes lighting up like you’re in front of a colorfully-decorated Christmas tree.

“… Really?”

“Really,” Anton nods, crossing his arms. “I can tell the books you stick your nose in, help.”

You scoff, a silly grin flitting across your bright face. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

“Honestly though, I like it. Your vocabulary is so descriptive. It’s like I’m there. I’d probably just use the word ‘smile’ less,”

You nod in agreement, moving on with lightness in your body.

“Do you always write romance?”

“Most of the time.”

“Do your parents influence you?”

You’re caught off-guard. “How do you mean?”

“You clearly admire them. Their relationship. It’s nice.” 

“I guess so,” You admit while picking at your hands. “It feels a little unobtainable really.”

“How they found each other?”

“How easy they seem to love each other. Despite everything.” 

“I find it admirable. They choose each other every day, ‘despite everything’ as you say. Isn’t that commendable?”

You only hum, distracted from other thoughts. Anton can tell immediately.

“Have you told them this is what you want to do with your life?”

Anton full-belly laughs at the expression on your face. “It’s clearly your passion. Do they not know?”

“They know,” You groan, standing from your stool. “They just don’t take me seriously.”

Anton follows closely behind you as you head to the fridge.

“How?” He scoffs, not understanding. “Isn’t your mother trained in the arts? Writing is precious, it runs the world.” 

You giggle, nodding to his words. You knew it was a bit hypocritical of your parents, being the “intellectuals” they were. You pour a mug of water for yourself.

“They both hate writing and always wanted me to pursue one of their studies. I don’t understand it either.” 

“They wouldn’t hate it if they read yours. I promise you.”

“Hm, maybe.” You sip at your drink, peering at Anton before you.

He’s so… uninhibited recently. Here in your kitchen, drinking from Father’s mug and dressed in breezy pajamas. No shame in trying to pursue you anymore. It’s like a snapshot of another life you daydream, far away where in another universe, this is your life together. 

Maybe it’s just the hopeless romantic in you talking from all those books you read. 

“Are you nervous around me now?”

You set out to not clang your ceramic against the marble loudly. 

“No. I’m not. Why would I be?”

Anton takes a step closer, crowding your personal space immediately. Alarms bells in your head would be ringing if you had enough time to consider panicking more. 

“Are you sure? Your hands shake so much with me near.” 

“Anton…” The call of his name brings out the most gorgeous smile to greet your eyes. “What game are you playing?” 

“Do you still want to deny how I feel for you?”

You’re about to melt on this specific tile in the kitchen. 

“At least tell me to stop then.” Anton whispers, the soft hem of his shirt brushing your fingertips. You clung to it before you can think rationally.

Your head jerks a no, taking in the carbon dioxide that leaves Anton’s nose. His own breathing is stilted, almost as if waiting for you to reject him; you couldn’t even if you wanted to. 

His pink lips hover before yours as you steal your eyes shut, wishing for Anton to achingly make the first move. 

“Let me in. Please.”

His begging snaps the taut string in you, tippy-toeing up to curl your arms around Anton’s neck. His encompassing hands straddle your hips, pressing them urgently against the edge of the counter so you kiss breathlessly. 

You feel as if you’re about to die if you don’t continue to connect your mouth to his. Your bodies want to meld together, the way Anton flattens himself on you. You can feel his sculpted back flexing in cupping your cheek, the other hand seamlessly hoping to explore your curves. 

“Jump.” Anton murmurs against your hot neck, finger curling under the bend of your knees before placing you gingerly on the marble surface.

He slots between your thighs without a second thought, pinching open your jaw to kiss you wild again. Anton’s tongue licking the seal of your mouth has desire fluttering in your lower stomach, your hands unsure while playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck.

He firms your grip around the threads of his hair, urging you to be more confident in both of you. The whole expanse of his right arm hugs your torso closer to him, sliding under your shirt to scorch a blazing path from his fingertips brushing your skin.

A gasp involuntarily escapes you as Anton bites the bottom of your lip, thumb circling your belly button and traveling up to rest in the middle of your ribcage. You didn’t know you could be so needy for someone’s touch. So needy for Anton to continue his demonstrations on you.

“Anton.”

Your whine of his name, coupling with you arching into him, seems to awaken something, his hips grinding into yours instinctively. 

“Tell me you want this. Tell me.”

The desperation for you in Anton’s voice sends your heart soaring. 

“Yes. I do. I’m all yours.”

Anton wraps his arms around your waist, connecting you to the floor before interlocking your hands together. Before you can form a coherent thought, he’s tugging you towards the foyer, up the stairs, to your bedroom, and to your deepest, dirtiest wishes coming true; ones you’ve only dared to dream of with him front and center.

___

A dribble of rain comes the next morning, gentle and persistent. 

You wake first, curled in a warm tangle of limbs, the rise and fall of Anton’s chest beneath your cheek. Through your cracked window, the scent of petrichor drifts in—earthy and familiar mixed in with Anton’s body wash.

Anton stirs just enough to tighten his grip on you, mumbling something incoherent into your hair while you smile into his skin. 

That half-finished story of yours is still on the kitchen counter, and you’re usually scared to leave your writing lying around. That fear isn’t moving your heart now though, especially after Anton’s words last night.

You wouldn’t want to disturb this moment for anything.

When you finally make your way downstairs, Mother and Father are chatting while squatting near flower brushes. The latter tips up your mother’s rain hat, earning him a slap on the arm. Edna is setting the breakfast table on the back porch, and Carl is already on his second cup of coffee, beginning to bother your housemaid for another. 

You and Anton are still barefoot, still sleepy-eyed while hovering near the kitchen sink’s window. You manage to find your paper exactly where you left it, smudged from the night before. Although, it’s in a different spot than you remember and Anton subtly brushes his hand along your back.

“You going to finish it?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

He squeezes his hand on your shoulder, the one you’re resting your chin on. After, Anton leans in while brushing your hair to the side, looking to see if anyone is watching before brushing a chaste kiss to your neck.

This promise, this unspoken understanding between you both—it’s real if you choose for it to be. That’s what Anton said last night anyway.

Because for once, maybe you’re ready to stop reading about romance and start writing it true in the real life.

The wooden front door unlocks with a noticeable click, the hinges creaking loudly as you push it open. You bite back a smile as you step inside, noting how nothing has changed. The walls are still plastered with a faded rose patterned wallpaper, interrupted only by framed photos every few paces. The mostly wooden furniture has been worn down, scuffs and scrapes scarring their surface. Even the leather of the couches is riddled with holes that you remember from your childhood, the result of multiple movie nights and family gatherings. 

The house still vaguely smells of early 70s summers as you move throughout the different rooms. You can hear the laughter of your cousins and feel the stickiness of watermelon on your face. You see a few mason jars on the windowsill, fireflies lighting up in a distinguished rhythm. Your grandparents dance around the kitchen, blasting blues music and asking their grandchildren what they know about good music. 

Back then, they knew nothing. 

You sigh when you finally make it back to the front hallway, grabbing your discarded suitcase as you make your trek upstairs. Instead of making a left into the master bedroom, you make a right and end up in the room you used to spend your summers in. The walls are still painted a pale yellow and the blanket has Winnie the Pooh printed on it. You can’t help but rub your fingers over the faded fabric, feeling your chest tighten. 

The wooden night stand is littered with colorful marker streaks and stains, empty save for a lamp perched on top and a gilded picture frame next to it. You’re quick to pick it up, taking a seat on the bed that welcomes you with a sigh. The picture is faded, and the glass is dusty, but the memory it contains is bright in your mind. 

Two children beam at the camera, missing teeth and ice cream stains around their mouths. The boy’s inky black hair falls messily across his forehead while the girl’s hair is pulled up into two pigtails. The sun beats down on them, forcing them to squint up at the lens. They say cheese with all of their might, loudly enough to make the woman behind the camera chuckle. Her laughter makes the picture come out slightly unfocused, but it’s beautiful anyways. 

Y/N + Wonbin, July 1978

.         .         .

You knew that in their older years, your grandparents had a lot of help on the farm. Although they never went as far as to hire official farmhands, they would enlist the help of locals and neighbors whenever they needed it. Your only condition for taking over the farm was that you would still have that help. But you didn’t expect that help to be knocking on your door at eight in the morning. 

The smiling face that greets you is way too cheery for so early in the morning, but you try your best to match their expression. 

“Can I help you?” You ask, rubbing the residual sleep from your left eye. 

“Good mornin’, ma’am. You must be Y/N. I’m Sungchan. I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, but I wanted to come introduce myself. I used to help your grandparents ‘round here sometimes.”

You are almost taken aback by the thickness of his drawl, country accent oozing from his every word. You try your best to conceal your surprise, opening the door wider and motioning for him to step inside. 

“It’s nice to meet you. Why don’t you come on in? Any friend of my grandparents is a friend of mine.”

You lead Sungchan through the house and into the kitchen, motioning for him to have a seat at the small breakfast table. There’s a bit of silence, only filled by the occasional gurgle of the coffee maker. Sungchan looks conflicted, as if he’s mulling over his words. It isn’t until you pass him a steaming mug that he chooses to speak. 

“I’m sorry about your grandparents, by the way. It really is a shame what happened to ‘em.”

You sigh, fighting the wave of sadness overcoming your chest. “I appreciate that. And it is, but they lived great lives. I don’t think either of them left us with any regrets.”

“They were lovely souls, the two of ‘em,” Sungchan states, round eyes seeming a little glassy. “They really treated everyone in the town like we were family. We all appreciated everythin’ they did for us.”

“And I'm sure they appreciated you all too. Thank you, by the way, for always taking care of them.”

Sungchan smiles prettily, wide eyes no longer seeming so dreary. You easily note how remarkably handsome he is, suddenly regretting not changing out of your pajamas and taming your hair into something better than a frizzy bun. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t the city. Fancy looks and spotless appearances don’t mean a thing out here. 

“It was my pleasure, always. And I’m lookin’ forward to doing the same for you. Anytime you need anything, just give me a holler. My boys and I will roll around here every so often just to do the regular upkeep. But if there’s anything that comes up, we’d be happy to take care of it.”

Relief floods your chest. “Thank you, really. I’ll see to it that you guys at least get paid for what you do.”

Sungchan cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t you worry about it, sweetheart. We do these things because we want to, not for the money. Plus, your grandparents would never forgive us if we left their pretty city-slickin’ granddaughter with all of this to take care of.”

“City-slicking, huh?” You can’t help the chuckle you let out, pointedly ignoring both the petname and the compliment. “Well still, I’m going to try my best to be useful and help you guys, too.”

Conversing with Sungchan is easier than you expected, even though he spends the next hour or so trying to assure you that you won’t have to lift a finger on the farm. There is a certain warmth that overcomes you at the thought of being taken care of. Despite having always prided yourself on your ability to be independent, a trait that was absolutely vital to surviving in the city, you would always daydream about having people to lean on. The daydream would always suspiciously end up having inky black hair and a too-wide smile. 

Sungchan leaves with a hug and a request for you to join him at the local bar later that night. He seems all too giddy at the knowledge that the two of you are close in age, insisting that you meet all of his friends. You had always known that young people were hard to come by in the town, so you agree with the hope that you could maybe make some friends of your own. Succumbing to loneliness is the last thing you need on your plate. 

The only pair of flared jeans you own mock you in the mirror, hugging the curve of your hips a little too tightly. They’re long enough that only the tips of your boots are shown, which are also the only pair of cowboy boots you own. You silently thank your city friends for convincing you to not throw out your older country clothes, insisting they’ll make a fashionable comeback in the next few years. As much as you doubt that, they are coming in handy for tonight. With one last twirl in the mirror, you deem yourself ready to go.

The Crawl is an old dive bar off the main road in the center of town, the only bar within miles. It’s been a local favorite for years, often considered the grimiest pride and joy of town. You have vague memories of your family members heading here after they put the children to sleep, not returning until the wee hours of the morning. You and your cousins always said that you would have your first legal drinks at The Crawl, planning to convene once everyone turned twenty-one. Of course, it never materialized, and the taste of liquor has always been inexplicably bitter ever since.

There’s loud music playing when you walk in a little after 9pm, the newest Shania Twain having attracted quite a few people to the dance floor. Through the crowd, you spot Sungchan’s towering figure by a booth, easily one of the tallest in the room. He looks to be surrounded by a few people, most of them men around their age. 

You slink closer to the group slowly, avoiding bodies as they twirl around you. It’s only when someone nods his head your way that Sungchan notices your approach, quickly turning to greet you with a wide smile. You do your best to return it, pointedly avoiding the stares from the rest of the people around the table.

“Y/N! I’m glad you made it, sweetheart.”

You just nod tensely, suddenly shy under the weight of everyone’s gaze. With a gentle hand on your arm, Sungchan nudges you to face the rest of the occupants of the table. There’s a whirlwind of greetings, but your eyes are fixed on one face in the crowd. You would be able to recognize those bright eyes anywhere.

“Wonbin?”

“Hey Ducky. Long time no see.”

Before you can blink, Wonbin is standing from the table and pulling you into a hug. It’s an odd feeling, to be embraced by someone that you haven’t seen in at least thirteen years. He’s much taller, shoulders broader, and arms lightly muscled, strength evident in the way he squeezes your middle. His inky black hair is much longer now, hanging down in front of his eyes and curling around the base of his neck.

“You look good,” Wonbin says once you part, eyes sweeping over your figure.

“You do too,” you breathe out. “I didn’t know you still lived here.”

Wonbin chuckles, prominent cheekbones making an appearance. “Never left, actually. Unlike some people.”

Before you can respond, someone pipes up from the table. “This is Ducky? Your first love?”

You blanch at the question, but Wonbin just smiles, never once breaking eye contact.

“Yep, sure is.”

.          .        .

You wake up with a raging headache. As the world around you spins and the sunlight burns your eyes, you regret letting the boys teach you how to shoot whiskey. Apparently, you were the only one in the group who didn’t enjoy a good brown juice, and they were determined to change that. But after the fourth shot, your memory gets a little hazy.

You vaguely remember being tucked under Wonbin’s arm at some point, letting him recount the story of how you got the nickname Ducky. Rina, who had Seunghan’s cowboy hat perched on her head, kept laughing about your reported clumsiness as a child. She emphasized that the minute you two fell into nickname territory, you and Wonbin should have known you were in love. You tossed back another glass without second thought at the remark, letting your mind fall peacefully blank for the rest of the night.

Bile burns in the back of your throat at the memories that surface from the prior night. You were touchy, much more than was polite, probably. You danced and made a fool of yourself to country songs you had never heard before. You laughed and joked with Wonbin like you were still friends, like nothing had changed in the thirteen years you were apart, like you hadn’t claimed the title of his first love—like he hadn’t claimed yours. 

The heavy click of machinery outside the window is what snaps you out of your reverie. With squinted eyes, you peek beyond the blinds, surprised to see a tractor plowing through rows of raised beds. A large brown hat obscures the driver’s face, but the black hair that flows beyond it is a dead giveaway. 

You get dressed in a whirlwind, quickly tugging on your only pair of cowboy boots before making your way out to the back porch. Wonbin seems too absorbed in his work to notice you, though, maneuvering the tractor to dig neat rows for crops. It takes a few moments, but eventually he powers the machine down and hops out, startling when he notices you looking at him a few paces away. 

“Gosh, Ducky. You scared me.”

You bite back a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. It’s just…you’re here early?”

“Huh?” Wonbin checks his watch. “No I’m not. It’s ‘round half past ten. That’s honestly a little late for when we normally start.”

“No, I mean, after last night.”

Wonbin chuckles, prominent cheeks pulling upwards. “Oh Ducky, last night was nothin’ for everyone else. You clearly had a time, though.”

“It was Sungchan’s fault! He made a big deal over the whiskey.” You don’t have to see your face to know that there’s a pout pulling on the edges of your lips. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with being a lightweight, sugar.”

You choke a bit at the pet name, thankful that the heat flooding your face can be blamed on the sun beating down on you both. You have to remind yourself that this is normal for the people down here, letting pet names flow from their lips without it meaning anything. It’s a futile attempt to try and calm yourself, but you try and remind yourself that this isn’t flirting, this shouldn’t make you feel anything. Even still, Wonbin seems to know the effect he has on you, full lips twisted into a satisfied smirk. You take a deep breath, attempting to regain your composure. 

“Whatever. But, uh, do you need anything? Water? Coffee? Some food?”

Wonbin smiles. “Some coffee would be lovely, Ducky.”

When you return with two mugs, Wonbin joins you on the porch, thanking you softly as he settles into the rocking chair beside your own. The chairs are older than the two of you combined, the wood creaking with every sway. The once white paint is chipped in some places and faded in others, leaving everything a splotchy gray. The worn wicker seats have been covered with faded cushions to hide the holes. You don’t think you’ve ever sat in a comfier spot. 

“I never thought this would happen,” Wonbin murmurs after a moment of silence. “I thought you were gone for good.”

You sigh. “As I got older, there couldn’t be any more summers spent out here. Life just happens, I guess. I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“I was born here and I think I’ll die here, Ducky. It’s not like anyone in my family has known anything else.”

The warm April breeze blows across your faces, your hair swaying in the wind. You look out to the vast plot of land in front of you, some places completely barren while others teem with blooms and buds. It’s not quite the lush summer you are used to, but you know that you’ll have to learn to embrace the farm in all seasons. 

“What Seunghan said last night, about me being your first love. Was that true?”

Wonbin takes a long sip from his mug. “I’m a lot of things, but a liar’s not one of them.”

“Oh, well,” you mutter, fighting the awkwardness crawling up your throat. “You were mine, too. Just for the record.”

“And now?”

“And now what?”

“You have some fancy boyfriend waitin’ on you back in the city or somethin’?”

You snort at the ridiculous thought. “No, I definitely do not. And you?”

“And me what?”

“You have some country girlfriend wearing your hat in The Crawl or something?”

Wonbin hides his smile in his mug, taking another long sip before answering. “No, Ducky, I definitely do not.”

.          .         .

Warm spring eventually settles into a hot summer, intense heat slowly settling over the farm day by day. Despite slowly settling into life on the farm, the heat is enough to have you restless, never feeling cool enough from the small window air conditioner in your bedroom or the plethora of fans across the house. Rumor has it that it’s the hottest summer in history, almost bordering on dangerous territory. 

So, when Sungchan’s pickup truck rolls into the driveway with four other bodies seated in the bed, talking about heading to the lake for the day, you can do nothing but accept. 

The lake is beautiful, but small, slowly drying out over time. As a kid, you and your family would often spend the hottest days by the lake, adults sharing beers from an overly packed cooler while disco hits streamed from the radio. You find yourself smiling as you lay out on the familiar lakeside, almost able to hear the Donna Summer hits that your family would blast. 

“When’s the last time you’ve been out here, Y/N?” Seunghan asks as he helps you set out a blanket on the rocky shore. 

“Hmm, probably about thirteen years ago.”

Wonbin chuckles from the truck bed as he helps Sungchan unload the cooler. “We were babies last time you were here, Ducky. Remember when I threw you in and you nearly lost it?”

You smile at the memory, it popping vividly back into your mind. You had been in the beginning stages of puberty, feeling awkward in your changing body and the pimples that began to adorn your face. The awkwardness had you refusing to take off your outerwear and sunglasses, not wanting anyone to see your figure or your face. Wonbin didn’t care, though. He simply used his newly developing muscles to haul you over his shoulder and drop you into waist-high water. 

You remember crying for so long and so loud that Wonbin himself began to cry as well, both of you still submerged in the water. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t cry too, Bin.”

Wonbin grins, pearly white teeth almost reflecting the bright afternoon sunlight. “Sure did. My Ducky bein’ upset made me upset. What can I say?”

You fight not to roll your eyes at the admission, trying your hardest to take it as anything other than a confession. Hearing all about how Wonbin used to feel shouldn’t matter to you. It’s all in the past. But there’s something gnawing at you, something chipping away at your calcified exterior, telling you to melt into your past. After all, if country fashion can make a comeback, then maybe you can too.

.         .         .

You have only received flowers from one man, and they were peonies. At seven years old, a few days shy of Fourth of July, you were sitting on your porch when Wonbin approached. He had a shy smile on his face when he held out a tiny bouquet of only 3 flowers, light pink peonies. You grinned from ear to ear, missing teeth creating holes in your smile. Wonbin tipped his hat to you, comically large for a child, and left with a blush poised high on his cheeks. Apparently, his mother grounded him for cutting the flowers from her garden, but the boy refused to apologize, knowing that it was worth it to see you smile.

What you don’t expect is the next time you receive flowers to be from the exact same man, seventeen years later. 

Wonbin’s knock at the door is an insistent wrap of knuckles that seem to shake the whole house. You wipe your sticky fingers on a faded dishtowel, leaving your attempt at canning apricots unattended on the kitchen counter. You know that you probably look a mess, face shining with a thin layer of sweat. The scent of apricots lingers around you, but the aroma is quickly replaced by that of peonies when you open the door to reveal Wonbin. 

“They’re still your favorite, right Ducky?”

You blame the blush that overcomes your cheeks on the oppressive southern heat and nothing else. Even as you accept the bouquet and usher Wonbin deeper into the house, the heat of your face feels permanent. Wonbin has a similar blush painting his cheeks, although it darkens once he sees the mess strewn across the kitchen counter. 

“Apricots?” The question comes out slightly breathless. 

You smile sheepishly. “I know how much you loved my grandma’s apricot jam, so I was trying to make some. I know it won’t be as good as hers, but it was worth a shot! I’m new to the whole canning and jam thing but it never looked that hard, so I thought, why not? Especially since you know—,”

“Ducky,” Wonbin cuts you off with a breathy whisper. “Sugar–.”

He encroaches on your space minutely, backing you into the counter. You blink at the sudden close proximity, struggling to keep eye contact. Something about the intensity of his dark irises makes it impossible to return his gaze. He reaches a hand out to rest on your waist, right underneath the strings of your faded apron. The contact makes you shiver despite your entire body being on fire. 

“Can I…damn, I know this isn’t polite, but I need to…Ducky, can I kiss you?”

Your breath stutters in your chest. With Wonbin so close, you’re sure he notices, especially as his gaze falls down to your lips. All it takes is a minute nod of your head before Wonbin surges forward to capture you in a kiss. 

You would be lying if you said you didn’t dream of this, of kissing the object of your affection since you knew what affection even was. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t dream of the way his plush lips would feel against yours, slightly chapped from the dry heat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t dream of the way his callouses would feel rubbing circles into your waist as he pressed you into the faded countertops. 

You’d be lying if you said you expected Wonbin’s kisses to taste of anything other than apricot jam, made sweeter by time spent in the jar, tucked away from the world. 

[smut warnings: consensual virginity loss, love making / emotional sex, groping, nipple play / sucking, yn kisses eunseok's tip.., marking, unprotected sex (yn is on birth control), fingering, handjob]

you had already been here for a week.

the town moved slowly, and so did you. you’d slipped into a rhythm without realizing—waking around eight, making yourself tea or something simple to eat, then finding a corner of the house or garden where you could sit and read while the world stayed quiet. by late morning, you’d wander into town, where time felt like it had forgotten to hurry.

your afternoons changed depending on your mood. some days, you sat on the beach with your book, letting the wind flip the pages for you. other days, you floated aimlessly in the pool behind the house, watching the clouds drift by.

on your walks, you’d sometimes stop at the small market for fruit, or at the café where the same old men played chess out front. the town belonged to them—the lifelong locals, the retirees, the ones who spoke softly and carried the sea salt in their skin.

that’s why he stood out.

the first time, it was just a glimpse. he passed by on a bike, the breeze pushing through his dark hair, the sleeves of his white linen shirt rolled to his elbows. you watched him until he turned the corner, wondering where someone like him was going in a place like this.

the second time, it was the market. he was holding a basket, quietly choosing peaches like it was something sacred. you didn’t even realize you’d stopped walking until he’d disappeared down another row of stalls.

by the third day without seeing him, you started to wonder if you’d made him up. maybe your mind conjured him—this beautiful boy with the quiet eyes—to fill the empty corners of your summer.

the sun had been gone for half an hour when you finally climbed out of the sea.

you hadn’t meant to stay so long. but the water had been warm, the sky soft and heavy with clouds, and the hush of the waves had felt like something you didn’t want to leave. you’d floated on your back for what felt like forever, watching the light drain from the sky, letting your thoughts drift like the tide.

now the breeze bit a little cooler. you walked slowly along the wet sand, water dripping from your fingertips, feet sinking with each step. you stopped for a moment to wring out your hair, then tugged your sweatshirt over your damp swimsuit, the fabric sticking slightly to your skin.

and that’s when you saw him.

he was sitting in the sand not far ahead—alone, quiet, legs stretched out in front of him, a blanket beneath him like he’d been there for a while. his head turned just as you noticed him. his gaze met yours, steady, soft, and somehow familiar.

you froze. because all this time, you thought you’d been the one watching him. you never imagined he might have been watching you, too. for a long, still moment, neither of you spoke. then, his voice—low, gentle, like the night itself.

“nice night.”

you hesitated, glancing up at the thick clouds, the darkening sea.

“it’s a bit gloomy,” you said quietly.

a smile ghosted at the corner of his mouth. “that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

you shook your head, heart beating a little too fast now. “no. no, not at all. i just—” you looked down, scuffed your foot in the sand. “i guess it just got a little nicer.”

the blush on your cheeks felt warm despite the chill in the air. when you dared to glance up again, you found him blushing too, eyes shining faintly in the last of the light.

without a word, he shifted to the side, patting the empty space on his blanket.

you hesitated, then you crossed the sand and sank down beside him. close enough to feel his warmth, but not quite touching. the kind of closeness that made you aware of your every breath.

the two of you sat like that, listening to the waves, the sky deepening from slate to black.

“i’m eunseok,” he said after a long while, voice almost lost beneath the sound of the water. you told him your name, softly, like a secret. and that was enough. when the clouds finally broke and a few stars blinked through, he stood and offered his hand. “can i walk you home?”

you nodded.

you barely spoke on the walk back. just your names exchanged, and the quiet understanding that he now knew where you lived, so he could find you again. and you hoped with everything in you that he would.

you thought maybe the sea air would’ve made you tired—but all night, it was him you kept thinking about. how he sat there so quietly, as if he belonged to the night. how his voice was soft but certain. how he looked at you like he’d seen you, when no one else ever had.

you turned over a hundred what-ifs: what if he hadn’t been there? what if you hadn’t stayed out so long? what if you hadn’t dared sit beside him?

what if you’d dreamed the whole thing?

but morning came, soft and gray, the clouds still hanging low, and you felt the pull of the outside. you weren’t sure where you meant to go—just that you needed air. you slipped on your shoes, pushed open the front door, and stepped into the quiet of the garden.

that’s when you saw him.

outside your gate, leaning on his bike, head tilted like he wasn’t sure if he should knock or wait, eyes lighting up the moment he saw you. you froze for just a second. then smiled, heart fluttering.

he straightened, hands resting on the handlebars. “hi.”

“hi.” your voice was soft, breathless without meaning to be.

he hesitated, then asked, “do you have time?”

you didn’t even have to think. “always,” you said, the word slipping out easier than you expected. and it made him smile—the kind of smile that felt like a secret between you. he pushed the gate open gently, nodding for you to follow.

you didn’t ask where you were going. you liked the quiet between you. liked the way it felt to just walk beside him, matching his pace, your hands brushing once or twice and both of you pretending not to notice. he led you down a narrow path, one you hadn’t explored yet—between wild grass and low trees, where the world felt small and yours alone.

after a while, you came to a hidden overlook. the sea spread out below, the town small and still behind you. gulls drifted slow in the sky. everything smelled like salt and pine.

“i come here when i don’t want to think,” he said quietly, sitting on a rock and patting the spot next to him. “or when i want to think too much.”

you sat beside him, legs drawn up, head tilted to watch the sea. “what do you think about?”

he glanced at you, shy but honest. “right now? you.”

your breath caught. the sea murmured below, steady and low. the breeze lifted strands of your hair, cool against your cheek. you didn’t know what to say—not right away—so you let the quiet settle again, warm between you.

he glanced sideways at you, half-shy, half-curious. “have you always been this quiet?”

you smiled, tucking your knees closer. “maybe. the same could go for you.”

he let out a soft laugh, low and almost self-conscious, and gave a little shrug that somehow felt like a whole story. i guess so.

another stretch of silence, but it wasn’t empty. the kind that made you aware of your heartbeat, of the way the air seemed softer here, of how close his shoulder was to yours. finally, you spoke, your voice quiet as the breeze. “i thought i imagined you. when i saw you before. on the bike… at the market. i wasn’t sure you were real.”

his eyes found yours, gentle and a little surprised. his voice was lower now, like it was just for you. “i thought the same,” he said. “except once i saw you once… it was like i saw you everywhere.”

that made your chest ache a little, in the best way. you looked down at your hands, smoothing your thumb over your knuckle. “where did you come from, anyways?” he asked.

“just house-sitting,” you said. “for my aunt and uncle. they’re out of the country for the summer, and i was available.”

you realized, too late, that you hadn’t asked him in return—but he didn’t seem to mind. “i’m here for the summer, too,” he offered anyway. “helping my grandparents run the bookstore in town.”

you smiled at that. “the one with the green awning?”

he grinned. “that’s the one.”

you fell into easy conversation after that—small things, simple truths. how he’d come here for a week or two in the past, but never the whole summer. how you liked your tea. what book was in your bag right now. little pieces of yourselves offered up without thinking too much about it.

as the sun climbed, the clouds thinned, and the world brightened just enough to remind you of the time, your stomach grumbled softly, making you both laugh.

“come on,” he said, standing and offering you a hand. again, you took it and followed him without asking the destination. he led you to a street food vendor, and he paid before you could pull out your own wallet.

you ate standing up, leaning against a low stone wall, watching the slow stirrings of the town. the food was warm in your hands, the kind of simple that tasted perfect because of the company. when you finished, he walked you home again, slower this time. like neither of you wanted to reach the gate.

at the top of your steps, he stopped, rubbing the back of his neck like he didn’t want to leave. “come by the bookstore tomorrow,” he said. “if you want. it’s… quiet there. but i think you’d like it.”

you smiled, heart warm. “i’d like that.”

“good.” he lingered for just a beat longer, like there was more he wanted to say. then he gave a small nod and stepped back.

and you watched him go, already wishing it was tomorrow.

the next morning came soft and gray, clouds still heavy in the sky. you found yourself watching the clock, willing the time to pass faster. when you couldn’t take it anymore, you slipped out the door, following the path down into town like your feet already knew the way.

the bookstore was easy to find—the one with the green awning, tucked between the café and an antiques shop, its windows lined with plants and old editions that looked like they’d been sitting there for years. you hesitated on the step, heart beating quick with anticipation.

you saw him through the window, behind the counter, flipping through a hardcover. as if he belonged to this quiet place, as if he was part of its bones. he looked up, like he felt you there. and his face lit up in that soft, crooked way that made your stomach flip.

he met you at the door, holding it open. “you came.”

“of course i came.”

he stepped aside to let you in, the little bell above the door chiming softly. “welcome to my kingdom,” he teased, gesturing to the narrow aisles, the stacks of books that filled every corner. you laughed under your breath. “it suits you.”

the shop smelled like old paper and wood polish, warm and comforting. the kind of place where you wanted to lose track of time. “sit with me?” he asked, nodding behind the counter. you slipped around and sank onto the little stool beside his. your knees bumped—just barely—and neither of you moved.

for a while, you watched him work. he checked inventory, stacked a few books, helped a quiet customer find something. every so often, he’d glance at you, and you’d both smile like you didn’t mean to. when it slowed again, he nudged your shoulder gently with his. “come on. let’s pick something out.”

“for who?”

he tilted his head, grinning. “for each other.”

you wandered together between the shelves, pointing things out, quietly debating, teasing a little, learning what the other liked. his fingers brushed yours once when you both reached for the same spine, and neither of you pulled away right away.

finally, he handed you a slim volume of poetry. “this feels like you,” he said simply.

you gave him a novel, soft from many readings, with a girl on the cover who looked like she carried secrets. “and this feels like you.”

you returned to the counter, books in hand, and settled close again.

“what do you do? when you’re not house-sitting in small towns?” he asked, voice low like he didn’t want to break the quiet of the shop.

“i’m in school,” you said. “pharmacy major. not very poetic, i guess.”

“i don’t know,” he mused. “you’re helping people. that sounds poetic to me.”

you looked at him, caught off guard by how genuine he was. “what about you?”

“literature arts,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, almost sheepish. “i want to go into publishing. or maybe editing. or maybe i’ll just end up living in a bookstore.”

“that wouldn’t be so bad.”

he smiled at you, softer now. “no. not if you came to visit.”

your heart flipped again.

you stayed like that for hours. reading bits of the books to each other. sharing little things about your lives at school, your families, your favorite places to escape to when things felt too loud. your knees kept bumping beneath the counter. you didn’t move them.

when it was time to go, he walked you to the door, reluctant. “same time tomorrow?” he asked, hopeful but trying not to sound like it.

“same time tomorrow,” you promised. and when you stepped out into the cloudy afternoon, the world felt a little warmer.

the next day bloomed soft and hazy, the kind of morning where the air smelled faintly of sea spray and wildflowers. when you reached the shop, you found him waiting outside, leaning on his bike, a second one propped beside him.

he straightened when he saw you, that familiar soft grin lighting up his face. “ready?”

“for what?” you teased, though you were already smiling, already eager.

“trust me.” and you did.

the ride was slow, easy. the narrow road followed the curve of the coast, the sea glinting silver-blue to your left, fields and wild grass stretching to your right. the breeze tugged at your hair, cool against your skin, and the quiet between you felt comfortable now. not empty—just full of everything you weren’t saying.

every so often, you glanced sideways at him. his profile in the morning light, the way the wind played with his hair, the soft focus in his eyes. beautiful. unreal.

when he stopped near a stretch of empty beach, you swung off your bike, brushing the hair from your face. “i never thought i’d be riding a bike with you,” you said, almost to yourself. “the imaginary boy who looked so beautiful and windswept.”

he shot you a look, half amused, half shy. “you flatter me.”

you laughed, nudging his arm lightly. “you like it.”

“maybe.”

the sand was cool beneath your feet as you stepped out of your shoes. the sky was soft gray, the water calm and endless. you pulled your sweatshirt over your head, suddenly aware of the way the air moved against your skin. he didn’t stare, but you noticed his eyes flick toward you for just a second longer than necessary.

you felt his gaze, steady, quiet.

“what?” you asked, teasing.

he blinked. “nothing. just… you look nice.”

“you’re bad at compliments.”

“you’re bad at accepting them.”

before you could reply, he tugged his shirt over his head, revealing lean shoulders, smooth skin kissed faintly by the sun. you tried not to stare, but your mouth betrayed you. “not too bad yourself, song eunseok.”

this time, both of you blushed, the kind of warmth that settled deep and made your chest feel light. the water was cool but welcoming as you waded in together. soon you were far enough to tread water, the world narrowing to just the two of you and the endless sea.

you floated near each other, quiet, sharing soft smiles, letting the waves rock you gently. your fingers brushed underwater once, and you didn’t pull away. for a while, it felt like nothing else existed. just salt on your lips, the steady sound of your breaths, the space between you shrinking without meaning to.

when you finally made your way back to shore, you found a dry patch of sand and sat side by side, letting the sun and breeze do the work. your hair dripped onto your shoulders; his fell into his eyes until he pushed it back with one hand. neither of you hurried.

when it was time, you walked your bikes together, the ride slower this time, like you wanted the moment to last. he walked you all the way to your gate. you could feel your heart beating faster—not just from the day, but from what you wanted to say.

you stopped, turning to him, courage building in your chest. “so when are you going to take me on a real date?” you asked, laughing softly, trying to sound casual but feeling anything but.

he blinked, caught off guard. the tips of his ears turned pink. “a real date?” he echoed, like he needed a second to process it.

you nodded, watching him, waiting.

he rubbed the back of his neck, that shy grin tugging at his mouth again. “i mean… yeah. i want to. i just didn’t want to—rush you. or mess it up.”

your heart ached, in the best way. “you’re not messing anything up. i don’t think you could.”

he met your gaze then, steadier, braver. “tomorrow night,” he said. “a real date. i promise.”

“i’ll hold you to it,” you teased, but your smile was soft, full.

he lingered another moment, like he didn’t want to go. “you make it hard to leave, you know that?” and then he was gone, walking backwards a few steps before turning, glancing back at you once more.

you watched him until he disappeared down the path, your heart full of the day, and the promise of what came next.

you stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the soft white fabric down over your hips. the dress felt like air, like the sea breeze had woven it just for tonight. the delicate straps framed your shoulders, the bodice fitting you just right, and the skirt floated lightly when you shifted your weight. your cardigan hung loose over your arms—you wouldn’t need it yet, but something told you the night would carry you past sunset.

you looked at yourself and thought, this doesn’t feel real. he doesn’t feel real. but the way your heart raced at the thought of seeing him again—that felt real. too real.

he was waiting at your gate, leaning against it, looking up at the sky like he was trying to steady himself. when his gaze dropped and found you, he went still for a second, like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“wow,” he said, softly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. his eyes traced the lines of you, from the soft white of your dress to the way the breeze played with your hair. “you look…”

you raised a brow, biting back a smile. “what?”

“beautiful.” it left him in a rush, like he couldn’t hold it in.

your cheeks warmed. “you clean up pretty well yourself.”

and he did. a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled just so, loose slacks, his hair a little messier than usual from running a hand through it. he offered his hand without a word, and you took it without hesitation.

he led you down winding paths that opened up to the beach—the world stained gold and rose by the sinking sun. a blanket was spread out, a basket waiting beside it, a lantern flickering softly as the light faded.

“you planned this?” your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.

he rubbed the back of his neck, a little shy. “i tried.”

you both sat, close but not quite touching, and he unpacked the basket—fresh bread, fruit, a little jar of honey, pastries from the bakery. sparkling water that caught the light like stars in a bottle. simple. thoughtful. perfect.

you talked in soft voices, sharing quiet smiles, as the sun bled into the horizon. and after a while, as if he’d been working up to it all evening, he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

“i wrote you something. it’s not much. i mean, i haven’t known you that long, but—i wanted to.”

your heart beat louder. you unfolded it carefully, the paper warm from being in his hand.

i haven’t known you long enough to write something grand. but long enough to know you feel like quiet mornings and books i never want to finish.

you feel like a sunset that makes me want to stay a little longer.

you told me to read that book— “she had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if she wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.” that’s how you make me feel.

your throat tightened. you didn’t know what to say, so you folded it gently and held it close. “you make me feel that way too,” you managed. he smiled, soft and sure, like he’d waited his whole life to hear you say that.

the stars came out slowly, one by one. you slipped on your cardigan as the breeze cooled, and he shifted just enough to close the space between you, resting his hand where yours lay on the blanket. it wasn’t intentional—or maybe it was. either way, neither of you moved.

the night wrapped around you, salt in the air, the hush of the waves, the warmth of his skin against yours. when you turned to look at him, he was already watching you, his gaze so full of unspoken things that it made your breath catch.

he kissed you—slow, soft, sure. like he’d been waiting for this moment since the first time he saw you. your hand found his jaw, your thumb brushing the line of it, and he leaned into your touch like he couldn’t help himself.

when you smiled against his lips, he kissed you again, slower this time, like he never wanted the night to end. like he wanted to memorize the taste of you, the warmth of you, the quiet wonder of sitting under the stars with you.

you stayed like that for a long time—hearts racing, hands intertwined, heads tipped together as you whispered about nothing and everything. and when he walked you home, he didn’t let go of your hand until he had to. “thank you for tonight,” he said, voice low, full of meaning.

“i should be the one thanking you,” you whispered back, heart too full for anything else. and he left you there at your gate, the night stretching out behind him, the promise of tomorrow already blooming between you.

you replayed every moment of that night.

the way he looked at you like you hung the stars yourself. the way his hand found yours so easily, so naturally. the way his kiss felt like a promise you hadn’t dared to hope for.

but after that? nothing.

no quiet messages. no visits. no soft smiles from across the street.

the bookstore sat closed the two times you’d passed it. your heart sank each time, but you told yourself he’s busy. there’s a reason. there has to be.

but the days kept passing, and the silence stretched too long.

you tried not to spiral. you tried to focus on your books, the sea, the breeze that always felt lonelier without him. but you found yourself wondering—did he ghost me? was that all it was to him?

your mind whispered through every detail, overanalyzing. we had one date. maybe it was just that to him. maybe i imagined the rest.

the storm came hard and fast on the seventh night. wind rattled the windows, rain lashed the world outside, thunder rolled low and unending. you sat curled on the couch, cardigan wrapped tight, watching the storm like it might give you an answer.

you didn’t expect the knock, but there it was—frantic, loud, desperate.

you ran to the door, heart in your throat, and swung it open.

there he was. soaked through, hair dripping, chest rising and falling like he’d run the whole way. eyes wild, searching for you.

“eunseok?” your voice cracked.

“i’m sorry,” he gasped out, breathless. “i’m so sorry. i should’ve—i didn’t mean to—”

you grabbed his wrist and tugged him inside before the rain could drown him. “are you crazy? you’re going to get sick!”

he stood there, water pooling at his feet, and still all he could say was, “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to disappear. my grandpa—he had to go to the hospital in the city and it all happened so fast and i should’ve called, i should’ve found a way to tell you but—”

your emotions rushed out before he could say more. “you didn’t mean to disappear? eunseok, it’s been a week.” your voice shook, but you couldn’t stop. “i’ve been here, wondering if i imagined it all—if you even liked me, if that date meant anything to you.”

his mouth opened, but you went on, the words spilling like the rain outside. “do you know what it felt like? waiting? checking my phone, thinking maybe you’d come by the house, or the bookstore, or something. i went to your shop—you weren’t there, no note, nothing. not a word. nothing.”

he looked stricken, eyes wide, tears mixing with the rain on his face. “yn, i—please—i didn’t want to hurt you. i didn’t want you to think—”

but your voice rose, hurt and angry and breaking all at once. “what was i supposed to think? did i do something wrong? was it all just in my head? i felt so stupid for hoping—”

“yn, no—god, no—”

he tried to step closer, but you instinctively took a small step back, overwhelmed. your voice dropped, trembling. “i waited for you. i wanted to see you. and you were just gone.”

he shook his head, rain dripping from his hair, hands clenched at his sides. “it happened so fast. i’ve been with him, helping my family, i didn’t know how to reach you. i didn’t want you to think i didn’t care—”

his words tumbled over each other, panicked and desperate, his breath ragged. “i thought about you every day. every second. i couldn’t stop thinking about how it must’ve looked, how you must’ve felt—i hated myself for not—”

“eunseok.”

but he kept going, voice breaking. “—finding a way to tell you, for leaving you in the dark, for—”

“eunseok.”

his eyes flicked up, wild, like he hadn’t truly seen you until now. you stepped forward, voice soft, tears blurring your vision. “eunseok!” he stopped, finally meeting your eyes. you didn’t realize you were both crying until you felt the tears slide warm down your cheeks.

“you’re here now,” you said, voice trembling. “that’s what matters.”

but his guilt kept pouring out faster than the rain outside. “i should’ve—”

you kissed him. you kissed him to shut him up, to quiet the storm inside him, to quiet the storm inside you. his hands rose, unsure at first, then desperate, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. when you pulled back, you both gasped for air, foreheads pressed together, tears mixing with rain.

the house was dark, only the soft flicker of candlelight illuminating his soaked form, the way his eyes searched yours like he was still afraid this was a dream.

“come here,” you whispered. “come hold me.”

“i’m soaked,” he said, shaking his head, but his voice cracked.

“i don’t care. i’ve been so cold.”

he let you pull him onto the couch. neither of you spoke. the storm outside spoke for you—the soft drum of rain on the roof, the occasional low rumble of thunder, the sigh of wind against the windows. his body was cold and damp against yours, but it didn’t matter. you pressed into him, curling your arms around his middle, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.

his arms came around you, tentative at first, then tighter—like he was learning you, like he was memorizing how you fit against him. and for a while, that was all it was. the two of you breathing together, hearts slowly calming in sync.

you felt his heartbeat beneath your cheek—quick, nervous, real. you wanted him closer. you needed him closer. your hands slipped beneath his wet shirt, fingertips brushing the warm skin of his back. he shivered at the contact, but didn’t pull away. he only held you tighter, like you’d anchored him to the earth.

your palms flattened against him, pressing him impossibly nearer, as if you could close the space that had hurt so much the past week. as if you could keep him with you, right here, right now.

the fear hit you, sharp and soft at once. what are we? what if i fall and he leaves? what if this hurts later?

you swallowed hard, blinking fast, but the tears came anyway. he felt it—the way your breath hitched, the way your shoulders trembled just slightly against him. without a word, his hand rose, smoothing gently over your damp hair, as if to soothe both of you.

he pressed his lips to the top of your head. a soft, steadying kiss. one that said i’m here.

you closed your eyes, breathed him in. felt the shape of him, the warmth beneath the cold. and for a moment, the storm wasn’t so loud.

the power was still out. the only light between you came from the flickering flame of a single candle you’d set on the coffee table. its glow made everything feel softer—the room, the storm, even him.

finally, after the quiet had stretched long and fragile, you spoke. your voice tried to come out teasing, but it wavered, cracked just slightly at the edges. “so… did you really think about me every day?”

his gaze flicked to yours, and you saw it—how the question hit him right in the heart. he gave a soft, breathy laugh, almost disbelieving. “yeah,” he said, simply, truthfully. “every single day. probably more than was healthy.”

you wanted to smile. you tried. but your chest ached with everything you’d felt this past week. you lowered your eyes for a second, gathering your courage, then looked back up at him.

“i like you,” you whispered. the words felt big. you forced yourself to keep going. “i like you a lot. and i hated feeling so stupid for hoping… for wanting this to be something real.”

he didn’t hesitate—not for a breath. “it is real. yn, it’s so real it scared me.”

your heart clenched at the softness in his voice. he reached out, his fingers brushing yours, tentative but sure. “i’ve never felt like this before. not this fast. not this deep. i’m sorry i hurt you. i swear i didn’t mean to.”

the power flickered back on then, bathing the room in sudden warm light. neither of you moved. you just stared at each other, memorizing, breathing, feeling. you lifted your hand, fingertips ghosting over his cheek, thumb resting beneath his eye. his skin was cool, but his gaze burned into yours. 

“you don’t look real,” you said softly. “you don’t feel real.”

he leaned into your touch, eyes closing for just a second. “i’m real,” he said. “i’m right here.”

the moment hung there, weightless and full of meaning. you smiled, small and shy. “do you want to shower here?”

he hesitated, glancing down at his soaked clothes. “tempting, but… what’s the point? my clothes are still wet. might as well go home.”

then his eyes lifted back to yours, vulnerable, open. “i don’t want to leave. not yet.”

you didn’t want him to leave either. but you nodded, standing. “okay… let me make us something before you go. you need to warm up more.”

he watched you disappear into the kitchen, busying yourself with tea, with small snacks, with anything that kept your hands moving so your heart didn’t burst.

while you weren’t looking, he reached into his bag, pulled out a scrap of paper, and wrote. wrote the things he hadn’t said out loud.

the letter:

yn,

i don’t know how to say all this when you’re looking at me, so i’m writing it down.you scare me, in the best way. how fast you’ve taken up space in my heart. how much i want to be near you.i’m sorry for hurting you. i never want to do that again.i want to know you. i want to make this count. i want you to know i see you, and you’re not something i imagined either.

i hope you’ll let me show you how much i mean this.

(and because i don’t want to risk losing you again—)here’s everything:my number, my email, my instagram, my everything.

no more disappearing. not when it comes to you.

—eunseok

when you returned, he tucked it into your book on the coffee table, where he knew you’d find it once he left.

he didn’t say much more before finally dragging himself up, murmuring, “thank you. for tonight. for not shutting me out.” and as he stepped out into the night—his hand lingering a little too long on yours—you felt, somehow, like you’d just found something worth holding onto.

you found his letter before bed, folded delicately and tucked between the pages of your book. he must’ve slipped it there without you noticing.

you recognized his handwriting immediately. neat but a little rushed, like he had too much to say and not enough space to say it. you read it once, then again, each sentence blooming in your chest like sunlight after rain. you sat in silence for a while afterward, hands in your lap, the note still open beside you. your heart felt too full to speak, to even think clearly. and before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed your phone.

[you] when are you free?

[eunseok] tomorrow, anytime for you

[you] come over to swim? and a movie

[eunseok] do i get to hold your hand this time?

[you] maybe if you behave

[eunseok] i’ll be there early

you spent all afternoon getting everything ready. the outdoor couch was fluffed with soft pillows and layered blankets. you strung fairy lights from the fence to the trees, letting them fall just low enough to cast a gentle golden hue across the yard. the projector was already set, the screen draped against the siding of the house.

he arrived just before sunset, a hoodie pulled over his head, his usual canvas bag slung over his shoulder.

“hey,” you greeted softly, heart skipping at the sight of him.

“hey,” he echoed, his voice low and warm as ever. your eyes met, and the quiet stretched—comfortable, close, familiar.

“come on,” you said, breaking into a smile. “you promised to behave.”

“i didn’t promise anything,” he murmured, brushing past you with the smallest, shyest smirk. “you just assumed.”

the water was cool on your skin as you floated beside him, your shoulders just barely touching now and then as you drifted closer and then apart again. you giggled when he splashed you gently, and in return, you cupped your hands and sent a soft wave of water in his direction. it was nothing wild or dramatic, just gentle. playful. like the two of you were figuring each other out without needing to say much at all.

at one point, he caught you by the waist—carefully, like you might disappear—and lifted you slightly before letting you slip back into the water with a laugh.

you turned toward him, face flushed and eyes bright. his expression softened when he saw you smiling.

“you’re beautiful,” he said so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

your breath caught. “what?”

“nothing,” he murmured quickly, cheeks tinged with pink. “just… you look happy.”

you bit your bottom lip, eyes lingering on his. “i am.”

and he smiled back, small and real.

you changed before the movie—slipping into your softest loungewear: a delicate knit tank and matching shorts, barely-there fabric that felt like a second skin. you didn’t think much of it until you came outside and caught the way he looked at you. his eyes widened slightly, his breath audibly caught in his throat before he averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. “sorry,” he mumbled.

“for what?” you asked, trying not to smile.

“you just—” he swallowed. “look pretty.”

your cheeks warmed. “thank you. i was just getting comfortable.”

he nodded, eyes still downcast. “comfortable’s good.”

you sat beside him on the outdoor couch, pulling the blanket over both of you. his thigh brushed against yours. he didn’t move.

neither did you.

you played Spirited Away on the projector, both of you curled under the blankets, limbs slowly drawn together over the course of the film. you rested your head against his shoulder, and he quietly pressed his cheek to the top of your head.

you could’ve stayed there forever. but partway through the movie, the first drops of rain tapped gently at the fabric of the couch.

you froze, then sat up. “no—no, it wasn’t supposed to rain.”

eunseok blinked slowly, watching you.

“i had more planned,” you said, a little too fast. “a playlist, dessert, i was gonna—ugh.”

he just smiled.

“you’re not upset?” you asked, frustrated at yourself for being visibly sulky.

“no,” he said. “i like the rain.”

you stared at him.

he reached for your hand, squeezing lightly. “it reminds me of you.”

your heart jumped.

“that first night out on the beach. it was cloudy and gray, and i kept thinking how soft the world felt around you.”

you looked at him, stunned.

“i’m not here for the plans,” he said gently. “i’m here for you. that’s what makes it perfect.”

your throat tightened, and you didn’t know what to say. so you nodded and let him lead you inside.

you restarted the movie from the couch, this time with your legs draped over his lap again and your body pulled close. your mood was still quiet, uncertain—but he reached for you anyway, gently guiding your head against his shoulder.

“you okay?” he whispered.

you nodded. but when he rested his hand over yours, you turned it over and kissed the back of it—soft and slow, like a thank you.

he looked at you, gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes. then kissed you, once. then again.

your hand slipped to the nape of his neck, and you kissed him like you had something to prove. your lips parted slightly, moving with more certainty this time, and he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head to deepen it.

he kissed you slowly, fully, his hand resting just beneath your tank top at your waist. he didn’t rush. didn’t take more than you offered. he just held you and kissed you and made you feel like nothing else existed.

it wasn’t a grand declaration or a sudden shift in the air. it was the way the days began to melt into one another, soft and golden, each one strung to the next by shared laughter, quiet glances, and fingers brushing in passing.

like a slow tide pulling you both in.

sometimes, you just listened to each other breathe. there were more beach days.

he’d tug your hand as you walked barefoot through the warm sand, guiding you toward the shoreline without saying a word. you’d splash each other, laugh until your stomach ached, and then float side by side in the water, arms and legs outstretched, letting the waves rock you gently.

you didn’t need to talk. not really. everything you felt shimmered in the silence between you.

you rode bikes again, this time with no real destination—just two bodies in motion, chasing the ocean breeze. he taught you how to ride hands-free, and when you failed, he reached out and steadied you by the waist, his laugh warm in your ear.

he started cooking at your place. the first time, he wore one of your aunt’s old aprons—white with tiny cherries on it—and looked absolutely unbothered. “don’t laugh,” he warned, eyes narrowed playfully.

“i’m not,” you smiled, biting your lip. “you just look… committed.”

he taught you how to make a dish, gently guiding your hands and correcting your knife technique with the softest patience. “you don’t have to be good,” he murmured. “you just have to try.”

you set the table while he finished plating, and he kissed your cheek just before you sat down to eat. you blushed so hard you forgot how to hold your spoon.

you visited the bookstore more regularly, sometimes just to sit behind the counter with him and do nothing at all. he always saved you a spot—tucked behind the desk, cross-legged on a cushion, with a small stack of books he thought you might like.

you shared music through one earbud each, working in silence, his knee occasionally bumping yours under the table. once, you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder, and he let you rest there for a full hour.

every night, when he walked you home, you found yourselves lingering outside your gate. you never wanted to say goodbye first. you always waited until he kissed you gently, like he was promising to see you again the next morning. and he always did.

you didn’t need to say it aloud. you were both falling.

slowly. surely. like the quiet descent of the moon into the sea. and you wondered, privately, what the end of this would look like.

because every day, you were beginning to feel like this wasn’t just summer. this was something real. something you’d carry with you—no matter how far you had to go.

he only sent one message.

[eunseok] wear your big girl clothes tonight.

you stared at your phone for longer than you should’ve, reading the message over and over again until your heart fluttered like it had somewhere to be.

your big girl clothes.

you opened your suitcase and pulled out the black mini dress you hadn’t dared wear yet—a fitted House of CB number with soft, ruched fabric and a sweetheart neckline that framed your chest a little too perfectly. it cinched right at your waist, and you found yourself adjusting it in the mirror longer than necessary, cheeks warm.

you sprayed your perfume just once—right at the dip between your collarbones, letting it settle there like a secret you wanted him to find. your hands shook slightly as you touched up your lips. why were you so nervous?

because it was eunseok. because you liked him. because you were falling. and tonight, something felt different.

he was waiting for you outside your gate, leaning back slightly against the stone wall, dressed in head-to-toe black.

he looked unfairly good. his shirt clung to his frame just right, sleeves cuffed at the wrists, collar open at the neck. his black trousers sat high on his waist, legs long and clean, and his hair—his hair was styled back, revealing that sharp forehead and the soft slope of his brows.

he looked up the moment he heard the gate click open. and when he saw you, his entire face softened.

you saw his eyes drop just slightly—just long enough to notice the dress, the way it hugged you, the shape of you framed by the faint light from the porch. he blinked once, then again.

"hi," you said, suddenly shy.

he didn’t speak for a second.

“you smell like you,” he finally said, voice quieter than usual. “but more dangerous.”

you bit back a smile. “that’s the perfume.”

his eyes lingered on your chest for a half-second too long before he looked away quickly, ears red. “i noticed.”

he led you through the town by hand, wordless but warm. the evening air was thick with salt and music—distant chatter from diners and the sound of the tide shifting just beyond the hill.

when you reached the tucked-away bar, it felt like entering another world.

the space was dim and intimate, with warm amber lights strung across wooden beams. soft jazz floated from a small stage near the back, where a band played with easy, practiced rhythm. the bar sat right at the edge of a cliff, windows open to the ocean breeze, the waves crashing gently below.

eunseok pulled out your chair. you couldn’t stop looking at him. “what is this place?” you asked, heart full already.

“my secret spot,” he said, leaning forward. “thought it deserved someone special tonight.”

you smiled so hard your cheeks hurt.

dinner was slow and lovely, every bite punctuated with teasing glances and quiet laughter. he refilled your wine glass each time it got low, brushed his fingers against yours when he passed you the bread.

he complimented you halfway through the meal, unprompted.

“you look unreal tonight,” he said suddenly, eyes on your lips. “like a painting. but—like, if the painting could kill a man.”

you blushed so hard you had to hide behind your water glass.

he just watched you, pleased.

after dinner, as the band began to play something slower, he stood and offered his hand.

“dance with me?”

you took it without a second thought.

the two of you moved together quietly—bodies swaying in slow rhythm. he held you like he didn’t want to let go, hand steady at your waist, the other wrapped in yours.

your head rested against his chest, the smell of his cologne, faint and clean, filling your nose. he was warm. solid. real.

“i wish this night would last longer,” you whispered, barely above the music.

he dipped his head so his lips brushed your ear. “me too.”

he walked you home under a full moon, fingers interlaced, your feet aching in your heels as you walked through the sleepy streets. it was quiet. still. like the whole world had gone still just for you two.

he stopped in front of your gate and looked at you.

his hair had fallen slightly, a few strands brushing his forehead. his shirt was wrinkled from dancing. his lips were slightly pink from wine. and he was smiling at you like you were something precious.

you didn’t want to say goodbye.

“stay,” you said, heart in your throat.

his smile faltered. “what?”

“just… stay tonight.” you stepped closer, suddenly shy. “i don’t want this to end.”

he studied you for a beat, then nodded slowly.

“okay,” he said, voice soft. “okay.”

you reached for his hand, guiding him inside with a quiet thrill fluttering in your chest.

tonight, you weren’t just infatuated. you were in love.

when you step inside, the hush of the night follows you.

neither of you say anything as the door closes behind. it’s like words would only break whatever magic you’re caught in.

eunseok drops the keys gently on the counter. you slip off your shoes. the wine from dinner still buzzes softly in your veins, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of him beside you.

he reaches for your hand. you let him pull you toward the couch, where you both collapse in a quiet heap—your limbs tangled, his chest against your back at first, then you roll until you’re face to face, curled together. your nose bumps his shoulder. his breath warms your temple. you’re not even sure how long you lay like that—just holding, breathing, hearts thudding softly in sync.

“drunk?” you murmur.

“off the wine?” he hums.

you laugh into his shirt. “no. off me.”

he pulls back enough to look at you, one brow raised.

“because i am,” you admit, your voice gentle. “on you.”

his eyes soften. “same.”

your fingers drift down to his hand, playing with his knuckles, tracing his lifeline. you twist his pinky gently, make it wave. he watches you quietly, like he’s committing the image to memory.

you glance up and find him looking at you differently tonight. not like he wants something from you. just like he wants you.

“what are you thinking about?” you ask, pushing his hair back. it falls right back into his eyes. you try again, brushing your thumb along his temple, and then down, softly tracing his cheekbone. he closes his eyes.

“you,” he whispers.

you still.

his lashes flutter open. “i’ve been thinking about you since the day we met. maybe even before that, when i just saw you. glimpses. it’s like you existed in the quietest parts of my brain. and then suddenly, there you were. floating in the water. looking so sad and calm and beautiful all at once.”

you don’t say anything. just keep watching him. his voice lowers. “i didn’t know i could feel something this real. something so quiet and sure. but with you, it’s not just wanting. it’s needing. and hoping. and—” he pauses to breathe. “and i love you.”

your heart slips sideways in your chest. he looks like he means it with his whole body. like he’s terrified and relieved and everything in between.

“i love you,” he says again, barely a breath. “i had to say it tonight or i’d regret it.”

you lean in, pressing your forehead to his. your voice is fragile, but steady. “i love you too. i think… i think i’ve been waiting for something like this. not even realizing it. just always hoping love would feel like this. quiet. but full.”

he kisses you then. it’s soft at first—like he’s asking for permission with every movement. your hands slide up his neck, into his hair, anchoring him to you.

you melt into him, breath hitching when he shifts closer, when his hand slips under the strap of your dress. the world shrinks to this moment—his lips, his warmth, the soft sighs shared between you.

your heart races but not from nerves. from the knowing. this isn’t just infatuation. not just a fling. this is falling. and when he kisses you again, deeper this time, like he wants to feel every inch of your soul—there’s no more doubt. you let yourself get lost in him. in his hands. in his whisper of your name between kisses.

when he pulls away to look at you, you’re breathless. you took his hand, fingers lacing through his, and brought it to your lips for a small kiss before rising to your feet.

neither of you said a word.

just the sound of your breathing, your heart loud in your ears as you gently wrapped your fingers around his wrist. you felt the steady beat under your touch—his pulse, strong and quick, just like yours. his eyes searched yours, wide and filled with wonder as you quietly led him down the hallway toward your room, the pads of your bare feet pressing into the cool floor.

the door clicked softly shut behind you.

still holding his wrist, you turned to face him, bringing his hand up toward the thin straps of your dress. he followed your lead without speaking, fingertips ghosting over your shoulder. you exhaled, guiding his touch to slide the straps down slowly.

your skin prickled in the silence. then, without looking back, you reached for your hair and gathered it up, exposing the curve of your neck and spine to him.

“can you…?” you asked softly, nodding toward the zipper at the back.

his fingers hesitated against the fabric. “are you sure?”

you nodded, still holding your hair up. “i love you. and i want to do this—with you. for you.”

he pressed a kiss to your shoulder first, reverent and sweet, before moving to the zipper. he was so slow—like he didn’t want to rush, like he wanted to feel every breath of this moment with you. the sound of it lowering felt louder than it should’ve. each inch he unzipped was followed by the soft graze of his fingers over your back.

when the fabric finally slipped down to the floor, a hush settled in the room.

you stepped out of the dress, standing before him in only your panties—lace ones you hadn’t worn before, ones you’d saved for someone you loved. his eyes traced every part of you, his jaw slack with awe. you brought his hand to your chest, letting him cup you fully.

“you can touch me,” you whispered, guiding him. “i want you to.”

his hands were warm and gentle, cupping your breasts like he was trying to memorize the weight of them. you tilted your head up and kissed him again, slow and open-mouthed, letting your tongue slide against his.

 your kiss was soft at first—then deeper, laced with urgency, emotion. you gasped into it when his other hand found your waist, fingers digging into your skin like he couldn’t bear not to be touching you.

he gasped softly when you started working at the buttons of his shirt, palms moving over his chest as it opened. you let it fall from his shoulders, fingers slipping over his collarbones, down his stomach. he was firm and lean beneath your hands, skin flushed pink.

his hands came up to your cheeks, cradling you with such tenderness it almost made you cry. when you found his belt and unfastened it, his breath stuttered. pants hit the floor, leaving him in his boxers—already tented, his thighs tense.

you leaned forward, kissed him again—this time hungrier. he lifted you with a breathless sound, carrying you the rest of the way to the bed.

you let out a soft, surprised laugh as your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. his hold was secure, strong. he carried you to the bed as if you weighed nothing and gently laid you back onto the sheets, your hair fanning across the pillow.

he leaned over you, forehead resting gently against yours, one hand braced beside your head and the other holding your waist like you might float away.

“you’re so soft,” he whispered, almost to himself. “so lovely.”

you pulled him down with you, into a kiss that grew hungrier the longer your lips stayed connected—tongues tangling, breaths stolen, soft gasps exchanged like promises.

his hand returned to your chest, cupping you again, but this time rougher, more confident. his thumb brushed over your nipple and you whimpered into his mouth. he broke the kiss to trail his lips down your jawline, down your neck, nipping and licking, sucking softly.

“you’re so perfect,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin.

your fingers found his hair and tugged, and he moaned as he pressed his mouth to your chest, pulling one nipple between his lips. your back arched as he teased it with his tongue, then moved to the other, squeezing the breast in his hand. when he grazed your nipple with his teeth, your breath hitched. he soothed the spot with his mouth again and you tugged him back up, crashing your lips together once more.

your kisses moved this time—your lips on his cheeks, his temples, his neck. every small peck felt like a whispered secret, a vow you hadn’t said aloud yet.

when you found the hollow of his collarbone, you sucked a mark into the skin, mumbling, “all mine,” before kissing down his chest. your hand slid between your bodies, pressing against the hardness straining his boxers.

“fuck—yn,” he breathed, hips twitching under your palm.

you looked up at him through your lashes. “can i take these off?”

he nodded quickly, voice shaky. “yeah… yeah, of course.”

he lifted his hips to help, and when he was bare before you, you wrapped your hand around him gently—soft but deliberate. his breath caught. your strokes were slow at first, admiring the weight of him, the warmth. then your grip tightened and your pace picked up, and he groaned, falling forward to press his forehead to yours.

you kissed him again, drinking in every moan he gave you, and his hands gripped at the sheets like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“yn, i’m—” he gasped, “i’m close—”

you pulled your hand away.

his eyes fluttered open in shock. “wh—?”

“sorry,” you whispered, grinning against his lips. “i’m greedy.”

before he could ask what you meant, you kissed him again, then slowly trailed your way back down. and when you finally planted a single wet kiss on his tip, his whole body jolted.

“shit—yn,” he choked out, his voice airy, wrecked.

“couldn’t help myself,” you said, breathless, crawling back up his body.

he cupped your face again, like he always did. “don’t apologize.”

you kissed his palm. then you brought his hand between your legs, tucking his fingers under the band of your panties.

“feel me, seok,” you murmured. “i need you.”

you both gasped when his fingers touched your clit—his thumb circling the swollen bud so gently it made your thighs twitch.

“fuck,” he whispered. “you’re so warm… so wet.”

you whimpered. “inside. please.”

he didn’t rush. his fingers slipped lower, exploring, learning. and when he finally pressed one inside of you, you clenched hard around him. he moaned at the feeling.

“you feel so fucking good,” he said, eyes wide and dark.

he added a second finger, then a third, pumping them slowly as he pressed his lips to yours again. the stretch made your breath catch, but it also made your body come alive.

your forehead pressed to his, your breathing stuttering. “eunseok—i love you,” you whispered.

he kissed you again, over and over. “i love you too, yn. i love you so much.”

his fingers curled, and you cried out as heat bloomed deep in your belly. his thumb returned to your clit and rubbed small circles, coaxing you over the edge.

you came undone with a moan of his name, hips stuttering as your climax hit hard and fast.

he held you through it, kissing your temple, his fingers slowing but not leaving you yet. your body trembled.

when the aftershocks faded, he kissed your forehead. “are you okay for one more?”

you opened your eyes and smiled sleepily. “song eunseok, if you aren't inside of me soon, i might cry.”

he laughed softly at your words, eyes crinkling as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“you’re cute,” he teased under his breath, but his gaze was full of reverence.

his lips found yours again, slower this time, mouths moving in sync like you had all the time in the world. one of his hands caressed your waist while the other moved to stroke your thigh, kneading the flesh before hooking it around his hip. he paused with his tip nudging at your entrance, eyes locked with yours.

you nodded silently, both hands pressed to the sides of his face. “you can… i want this. i want you.”

he kissed you softly, his voice low. “if i asked you to come closer, would you?”

you smiled. “i’d never leave.”

and then he pushed in, inch by inch, letting you feel every stretch, every shift.

you gasped, arms tightening around his back, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“you’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, kissing the tears before they could fall. “i’ll stop if you need me to. you just have to say.”

“don’t stop,” you breathed, holding his face. “you’re just… really big.”

he groaned, burying his face in your neck as he sank in deeper. “fuck—don’t say that, yn… i’ll lose my mind.”

your legs wrapped around his waist as he bottomed out, and for a moment, you both just breathed—chests rising and falling, bodies finally one.

he pulled back slightly, and your lips met again. slow.

“move,” you whispered into his mouth.

and he did.

each thrust was slow and deep, angled just right. his hips rolled into yours, and with each stroke, your breath hitched. he moved like he was memorizing you—how you gasped, how you clenched, how your fingers dug into his back when it got too good.

“you’re so perfect,” he groaned, “i don’t know how i lived without this.”

you kissed him again, needy now, whispering, “i’m gonna get addicted to you.”

“good,” he said, his thrusts picking up. “because i’m already obsessed.”

his words made your walls flutter and he gasped, losing rhythm for a second.

“fuck—yn… you were made for me. and i was made for you.”

you whimpered. “i feel so full. like i was made to hold you.”

he moaned, hips stuttering.

“where do you want me?” he asked breathlessly. “baby, tell me—”

“inside,” you cried out. “please. i’m on the pill, just—just don’t pull out.”

“god, yn,” he said through clenched teeth, kissing your lips again. “i love you.”

your hands found his cheeks, cradling his face as he chased his high. you watched the way his eyes fluttered shut, the way he gasped when he felt you pulse around him again.

your climax came first—hot and powerful—your mouth falling open as you clenched tightly around him. you dragged your nails down his back as you sobbed his name, and that was all it took.

he followed you with a strangled moan, warmth flooding inside of you in long, slow waves. he didn’t stop moving right away, letting you ride it out together—breathless, messy, completely consumed.

you held him to you when his weight collapsed against yours, both of you panting, your chests sticky with sweat.

“you’re the only one who’s seen me this way,” you whispered into his ear.

his head lifted, eyes blown and soft. “i was your first?”

you nod.

he didn’t say anything at first.

just looked at you.

his brows slightly pulled together, lips parted like he couldn’t find the right words—not because he was shocked, but because he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. the pads of his fingers brushed over your cheek as his eyes searched yours, wide and unreadable.

“you should’ve told me,” he said quietly, voice fragile like the hush of waves through the open window.

you smiled faintly, eyes glassy from the emotions swirling inside you. “would it have changed anything?”

his thumb ghosted across your lips. “no,” he admitted. “just… i would’ve gone even slower. held you longer. memorized every sound you made.”

your throat tightened at that. “you did all of that anyway.”

a pause. “you gave me something no one else ever will. not just your body, but… your trust. your love. all of you.” his voice cracked slightly at the end, and his gaze dropped for a moment. “i just—i want you to know that i don’t take any of it lightly. not even a little.”

you could see the earnestness in his face, in the furrow of his brow and the way he pressed his lips to your forehead like a quiet promise.

“it was never just about the sex,” he whispered. “i love you, yn. you’re it for me.”

your breath hitched, something warm blooming behind your ribs. you nudged your nose against his. “you’re it for me, too.”

he kissed you again, this time slower—less like he needed you and more like he had you, and that was enough. he pulled out carefully, brushing his lips over your shoulder as he whispered, “let me clean you up.”

you nodded, still blinking back tears.

he returned a minute later with a warm towel, and the gentleness in his touch made you feel everything all over again. you watched him in silence as he cleaned you up like it was second nature to him—tender, patient, reverent.

“come here,” you whispered when he was done, reaching for him with outstretched arms.

he slid back under the covers and gathered you into his chest, your cheek resting over his heartbeat. his hand rubbed slow circles into your back, his other arm curled around your waist.

“do you feel okay?” he murmured after a moment, kissing the top of your head.

“better than okay.”

he smiled into your hair. “you’re incredible. you know that, right?”

you shook your head, and he kissed your temple again like he was trying to convince you.

moonlight spilled softly through the windows, casting faint silver streaks across the floor and the tangled sheets wrapped loosely around your legs. the only sound was the slow rise and fall of your breath as you curled into his chest, your fingertips absentmindedly tracing the curve of his collarbone.

eunseok had gone quiet.

not in the way that meant he had nothing to say—but in the way where everything he wanted to say was in the way his hand moved slowly over your back, the way his lips rested against the crown of your head.

you tilted your head up just slightly. the moonlight hit his features just right—dark lashes, soft eyes, slightly flushed cheeks, lips still kiss-bitten and warm. and for a moment, all you could do was look. you didn’t say it right away. it sat on your tongue like the taste of something sweet you didn’t want to swallow too soon.

“eunseok?” you whispered.

his hand stilled, then resumed its slow rhythm. “mm?”

you reached up, brushing his hair gently from his eyes. your fingers lingered along the curve of his cheekbone, and he leaned into your touch without hesitation.

“you’re like the moon to me,” you said quietly.

his brow furrowed just slightly in confusion, a small tilt to his head. “the moon?”

you nodded, heart hammering.

“you don’t chase like the sun,” you explained, your voice steady but low. “you wait. you watch. you light up the dark without trying to outshine anything else.”

you took a breath, eyes locked on his. “you’re soft and constant. the kind of quiet that makes everything feel okay.” he blinked, and his hand tightened just a little at your waist.

“and even when you’re not right beside me… i feel you. like you’re always there. always watching. always waiting.”

a silence stretched between you. not uncomfortable—just heavy with emotion. he looked at you like he didn’t know how he’d go this long without hearing those words before.

“yn…” he whispered, voice catching on the swell of his feelings.

you smiled, a bit shy, heart open and beating wildly in your chest. “i mean it.”

he brought a hand up to your face, cradling it like you were something sacred. his thumb brushed the edge of your jaw, then your cheek. “you have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured. “you’re… i don’t even have words.”

you leaned forward and kissed him, soft and slow. when you pulled back, he was smiling—wide and dazed and just a little glassy-eyed. “you’re the only person who’s ever said something like that to me.”

you pressed your forehead to his. “i’m glad i got to be the first.”

the silence returned, but it felt different now—like something warm and golden had settled between you. and even though your eyes were starting to slip closed, your hand found his beneath the blanket, fingers lacing together.

he kissed the back of your knuckles. “i love you,” he said quietly. you smiled into the crook of his neck. “i love you, too. more than words could ever explain.”

and in that soft, moonlit quiet, your heart was the fullest it had ever been.

you loved waking up in his arms.

even before your eyes opened, you could feel him—his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek, his bare chest warm against your skin, his breath slow and even near the crown of your head. the weight of his arm around your waist was grounding, fingers twitching ever so slightly against your spine, like he was dreaming of you.

your lashes fluttered, and in the pale morning light that spilled through your curtains, you looked up at him—sleep-soft and beautiful. his lips were parted slightly, hair tousled and falling into his brows. you reached up, brushing your fingertips against his mouth, then his cheekbones, then the bridge of his nose.

you smiled to yourself, cheeks already warm.

your thighs ached when you shifted slightly beneath the covers, but the ache was sweet—a quiet reminder of what the two of you had shared under the stars just hours ago. a reminder of how loved you felt.

you snuggled impossibly closer, nose tucked against the hollow beneath his jaw.

he stirred at the movement, a sleepy hum leaving his throat as his arm tightened around you. his lashes lifted slowly, and the second his eyes landed on you, his whole face lit up. it wasn’t fair, you thought—not when his smile could melt every part of you.

“morning,” he murmured, voice still hoarse with sleep. his thumb brushed your hip lazily, like he couldn’t stop touching you even if he tried. “how are you feeling, baby?”

you hummed into his chest, pressing a kiss just above his heart. “a little sore,” you admitted, lifting your gaze shyly. “but… really happy.”

he chuckled softly, a low sound that vibrated through his chest. “i figured. i wasn’t exactly gentle, was i?”

you swatted his side lightly, and he grinned.

“i’ll help you shower,” he offered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “if you want.”

your face heated instantly. “you’re just trying to see me naked again.”

“i’ve already seen you naked,” he pointed out, smirking slightly.

you buried your face in his shoulder. “eunseok!”

his laugh was everything you wanted to hear first thing in the morning. he kissed the side of your head and whispered, “i love you.”

you peeked up at him again, biting back a smile. “i love you too.”

his eyes softened as he cradled your jaw and kissed you properly this time—slow and sleepy and full of meaning. and then, without another word, he gently pulled the blanket off your body and lifted you from the bed as if you weighed nothing.

“you really don’t have to carry me—”

“shh. my girl’s sore. i’m taking care of her.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you whispered, arms around his neck.

“and hopelessly in love,” he replied, nudging your nose with his.

you let yourself be held, let yourself fall in love even more with the way he held you—like you were everything. and as he carried you into the bathroom, whispering soft, flirty nothings and promises of a warm shower and warmer kisses, you knew that waking up like this—heart full, limbs tangled, love heavy in the air—was something you’d never forget.

eunseok didn’t officially move in, but he might as well have.

he still technically stayed at his grandparents’ place in town—but most nights, he ended up here. he’d bring extra clothes, his toothbrush, his half-read books. he never meant to take up space, and yet somehow, every corner of your little beachside house now had traces of him.

but the most noticeable thing was him, always beside you.

sometimes, you’d be reading on the couch while he cooked dinner. other days, he’d be drawing or writing something by hand while you scribbled in your journal across the table. you didn’t always talk. you didn’t always touch. but you didn’t need to. just knowing he was there—existing quietly in your space, filling the room with his slow breath and thoughtful presence—was enough to settle something in your heart.

you hadn’t realized how much of yourself craved that until he gave it to you. a love so gentle, it never needed to speak loudly to be heard.

some afternoons, you still made it down to the beach. the water was warmer now. the sun hung lower. everything had a golden tint. you’d run along the sand, racing him and laughing when he cheated with long strides. sometimes he tackled you, both of you collapsing into a heap of giggles and flushed cheeks.

“you’re such a menace,” you’d groan, brushing the sand out of your hair.

“you love it,” he’d grin, rolling off you just enough to press a kiss to your cheek.

he kissed you constantly now—when you woke up. when you walked past. when you handed him a cup of tea. when you laughed at one of his dumb puns. and he always said it, too. “i love you.” like it was the easiest truth in the world. you said it back, always.

you meant it more each time.

he took you back to the overlook one evening. the same one from weeks ago, where you sat close but didn’t touch, where he said all he thought about was you. now, the space between you didn’t exist. your head rested on his shoulder, his arm around your back, your legs stretched out and tangled slightly.

“pretty sky,” you whispered.

he looked at you instead. “yeah.”

his fingers laced with yours, thumb brushing the inside of your wrist like he was trying to memorize the beat of your pulse. like the rhythm of your heart had become his favorite song.

you stayed until the sky turned lilac and the first stars blinked into existence. neither of you moved. not even when the night breeze kicked up.

you just stayed, like you could stay forever.

back at home, you danced.

there was an old jazz record spinning on your aunt’s dusty player—something warm and slow, all saxophone and crooning vocals—and the living room lights were off. only the soft glow of the kitchen light lit your silhouettes, casting shadows that swayed across the walls.

your arms looped around his neck. his hands settled naturally on your waist. you rested your cheek against his chest and let yourself be held.

“you’re good at this,” you mumbled against him.

he laughed, breath warm in your hair. “at what?”

“being here.”

“with you?” he asked softly. “it’s the easiest thing i’ve ever done.”

you lifted your head, just to see the look on his face. it was full of something you didn’t have words for—just love. the kind that simmered low and quiet, never showy, but endless.

you kissed him slowly, the music spilling through the open windows like a lullaby.

one night, you were curled up in bed, cross-legged with your guitar in your lap. the strings felt worn under your fingers, the wood smooth against your palms. you didn’t know what made you start humming. something about the quiet. or the fact that he was just lying there—on his stomach, chin resting on his arms, watching you with that look.

his whole body was still, like any movement would break the moment. his eyes were soft, full of something unspoken.

you looked up from your guitar and caught his gaze. “what?”

he didn’t blink. “nothing,” he said. “just… i think i’ll remember this forever.”

you bit the inside of your cheek, cheeks warm. “you’re just saying that.”

“i’m not,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “i mean it. the way you look right now. the way you sound. the way this feels… it’s something i don’t want to forget.”

your breath caught in your throat. you didn’t know how to respond.

so instead, you kept strumming—quiet and clumsy—and let the weight of his words settle into your heart, where they’d stay. where he’d stay.

somehow, he became your home.

there wasn’t a clear moment you could point to—no dramatic turning point, no flash of realization. it just happened gradually, like the way light fills a room in the morning. quiet. natural. complete.

you’d wake up with his arm around your waist, your cheek tucked against the curve of his chest, the soft inhale and exhale of his breath lulling you in and out of sleep. sometimes he’d murmur something you couldn’t fully hear, not yet awake enough to process. other times, he’d just hold you tighter, like he’d been waiting all night to feel you again.

mornings were slow now. you didn’t rush anything.

eunseok made coffee the way you liked it—too sweet, too milky. you’d perch on the counter while he moved around the kitchen barefoot and soft-eyed, hair messy from sleep. he always kissed you on the cheek first, then the nose, then the lips. you pretended to be annoyed, but your heart bloomed every time.

you both did your own things during the day. sometimes he’d read on the couch while you tried to teach yourself a new recipe. you didn’t need to fill the silence. it never felt empty.

the days blurred together full of soft edges, quiet joys.

you swam again—often. sometimes at sunset, your skin glimmering gold as he chased you through the waves. other times in the middle of the night, when the world was still and moonlit, and he whispered your name like it was sacred as he held your hand beneath the water.

he cooked dinner often. you’d sit on the counter and kick your feet while he stirred sauces and diced vegetables, humming to whatever vinyl you put on. sometimes he made you try things with your eyes closed. you always trusted him.

there were days when you’d walk to the bookstore just to be near him while he helped customers. he’d give you that little smile from across the room—just enough to make your stomach flip—and pass you folded notes when no one was looking.

miss you already. meet me behind the shop later?do you know how pretty you look when you read?thinking about kissing you for the rest of the day.

he always smelled like warm paper and clean soap. you were always a little dizzy around him.

some nights, you danced again.

not for long. just a song or two. his hands always found your waist. yours always found his chest. you moved slowly, letting the music fill the space between your bodies until there was no space left.

you told him you loved him every night. he always said it first. and it never sounded routine. never lost its magic. it always sounded like a promise.

one afternoon, you asked if he wanted to see your favorite secret place—a hidden spot beyond the dunes, near a crumbling old dock. he followed without question, carrying a blanket and a bag of snacks. you sat cross-legged, toes buried in the sand, watching the tide roll in.

he laid beside you, one hand tucked under his head, the other reaching for yours. you traced shapes on his palm. he closed his eyes.

“what are you thinking?” you whispered.

he was quiet for a long time.

“…that i wish time would slow down.”

you didn’t answer. you didn’t know how.

you just scooted closer and tucked your head beneath his chin, and stayed there. still. quiet. warm.

the first time you realized how used to him you’d become, you were brushing your teeth and found yourself reaching for a second toothbrush to hand to him. he wasn’t even in the room.

another time, you caught yourself reaching for your phone, your fingers already typing his name without thinking, like he was the default person for everything now.

every plan you made included him.

every thought bent toward him.

every part of your day felt shaped around his presence—even the quiet ones, even the ones where you didn’t speak much at all.

you weren’t sure what it meant, what it would become. but it felt real. and it felt like forever, even if you didn’t say it aloud.

one evening, the sun dipped below the horizon in a pool of peach and pink. you’d been outside watching the sky fade when he appeared behind you, arms wrapping around your waist.

“pretty,” you murmured.

“you’re blocking the view,” he teased.

you rolled your eyes. “i’m taller than the sun?”

he didn’t answer, just pressed a kiss to the back of your shoulder. “you’re all i can see.”

and you swore, in that moment, that even if you forgot everything else about this summer—the names of flowers, the taste of peaches, the sound of ocean wind—you would remember this. his arms around you. the quiet sky. the way he said it like he meant it.

the storm rolled in slow, but the air was heavy all day.

you felt it before the first drop of rain even hit—something restless in your chest, tight and aching. it wasn’t just the weather. it was the creeping sense that something was shifting. like summer itself was slipping through your fingers, and with it, everything you’d come to know and love about your days here… about him.

eunseok’s bag was by the door. his shoes lined up beside yours. his toothbrush next to yours. he belonged here. but lately, everything had felt a little off-kilter. your silences had grown longer. your thoughts had gotten heavier. he didn’t say anything about it at first. he just gave you your space. let you drift and recenter the way he always did.

but space only gave you more time to spiral.

you were lying on the couch while he cooked dinner, curled under a blanket, eyes unfocused on the ceiling. rain pattered softly at the windows, not yet a storm, but enough to paint the world gray. he called your name from the kitchen once. twice.

“yn?”

“what?”

he paused. “…nothing. just checking.”

you heard the hesitation in his voice. the quiet concern. the way he always softened when he spoke to you—but tonight it scraped against your nerves.

later, at dinner, you barely touched your food. you were pushing pasta around on your plate, nodding absently as he told you something about the bookstore. the town. a neighbor's dog. you weren’t even pretending to listen, not really. your mind was a million miles away.

“hey,” he said gently, finally putting his fork down. “what’s going on?”

you looked up too quickly. “what?”

“you’ve been somewhere else all day,” he said. “all week, actually. you keep disappearing.”

“i’m right here.”

“no, you’re not.”

you exhaled sharply. “i just have a lot on my mind.”

“then talk to me,” he said. “you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

“you wouldn’t get it.”

his brows furrowed. “try me.”

you stood, suddenly needing to move, to get away from the heat rising in your throat. “you’re always acting like you understand everything about me, eunseok, but you don’t.”

that stopped him cold. “what?”

“you think you know me,” you said, pacing now. “you think because we’ve spent weeks together in this little bubble that you understand everything i’m feeling? you don’t. you can’t.”

“so tell me,” he said, his voice growing sharper. “stop assuming i wouldn’t understand. stop deciding for me.”

“you don’t want to understand,” you snapped. “you just want me to smile and be quiet and read next to you and not say anything when it all starts falling apart.”

he stood now too, jaw clenched. “that’s not fair.”

“it is fair,” you said, breath catching. “because i’m the only one here thinking about what happens after this. you’ve just been floating. pretending this isn’t temporary.”

he looked like you’d slapped him. “you think i haven’t thought about the end?”

you turned away, arms crossed. “i think you’re just fine pretending like we’re in a fairytale, and when it’s over, you’ll just… go.”

“go?” his voice cracked. “yn, do you honestly think i could just go?”

you didn’t answer. your silence said enough.

“god,” he whispered, pushing a hand through his hair. “i love you, and you still don’t believe me.”

you flinched. the words shouldn’t have hurt. but they did.

“don’t say that right now,” you said tightly.

“why? because you’re angry? because you want to push me away before i can leave you first?”

your chest rose and fell with the effort to hold back tears. “maybe because you saying that doesn’t fix everything.”

“i’m not trying to fix everything,” he said, stepping closer. “i’m trying to get through to you. i don’t want this to end either. do you think it’s been easy for me to love someone this much, this fast?”

you shook your head, but he kept going.

“i think about you all the time. i wake up thinking about you. i fall asleep next to you and i still miss you when you roll over. i’m terrified, yn.”

your eyes met his, wide and wet.

“then why didn’t you say any of this before?” you asked, voice trembling. “i’ve been walking around like i’m the only one who’s scared to lose this.”

“because i didn’t want to make it worse,” he said. “because i thought if we just held onto each other a little tighter, it wouldn’t feel like slipping.”

a long silence followed.

the rain had gotten heavier, now hammering against the windows like it was trying to break in.

you were both breathing hard, chest to chest, heat between you still crackling with the remnants of the fight.

and then you stepped into him. buried your face in his neck. his hands came up instantly, pulling you into him like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered.

“i know,” he murmured. “i’m sorry too.”

the storm had slowed to a whisper, nothing more than soft streaks of rain sliding down the windows now. everything inside the house was hushed, the air thick with apology and the fragile tenderness that always followed a breaking point.

you sat together on the floor, backs against the kitchen cabinets, legs stretched out in front of you. the dishes were still on the table, untouched. his hand was loosely holding yours, thumb brushing slow arcs against your skin like he was trying to memorize it again.

you were both quiet. not because you didn’t have anything to say—but because you were still finding your way back to each other. and neither of you wanted to rush it.

eunseok was the first to break the silence.

“can we…” his voice was quiet, unsure. “can we not fight again?”

you looked over at him, and your heart softened at the slight tremble in his brows. he looked so young like this—like a boy trying to figure out how to love someone with his whole chest.

“ever?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the sting still in your chest.

he mirrored it. “ever,” he repeated. “or, at least… not like that again. not the kind where we forget we’re on the same team.”

you leaned your head against his shoulder, and he rested his cheek on the crown of yours.

“i didn’t mean it,” you whispered. “what i said earlier.”

“i know,” he murmured.

“i just got scared,” you said. “i started thinking about the end before we were even close to it.”

“me too,” he admitted. “just… in a different way.”

you pulled back slightly to look at him.

“i started imagining what it would be like to not have you near me every day. and it made me—i don’t know. defensive, i guess. it’s dumb.”

“it’s not dumb,” you said quietly. “it means you care.”

he reached for your hands, fingers lacing with yours.

“i do,” he said, looking at you with that calm, steady expression he always wore when he meant something. “i care about you more than i’ve ever cared about anything.”

your throat tightened. his grip didn’t loosen.

“and yeah… sometimes i think it’ll hurt. but that just means it matters.”

you nodded slowly, his words sinking into your chest like rain into soil.

“so,” he said gently, “let’s not fight like that again. and let’s not run from it when it gets hard.”

“what do we do, then?” you whispered.

he smiled, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. “we keep choosing each other. that’s it. we figure out the rest along the way.”

you felt your breath catch. a tear slipped out before you could stop it, and he reached up to wipe it away with the softest touch.

“even long distance?” you asked, barely audible.

“especially long distance,” he said. “we’ll make it work.”

you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his.

“no rules? no timelines?”

“no rules,” he promised. “just us.”

and when he kissed you, it felt like sealing something sacred—like promising to keep your hearts stitched together, even from miles apart.

you woke with your face pressed against his chest, his arms still around you—heavy and sure, like he hadn’t moved all night. like maybe he was scared to, in case you disappeared.

you shifted a little, just enough to look up at him.

his lashes fluttered, and then his eyes cracked open, already smiling before his mouth caught up. he looked at you like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. like nothing else existed outside of the bed you shared.

“good morning,” he murmured, voice low and still soaked in sleep.

you swallowed. your chest ached, but not the painful kind. it was soft. a slow swell. full of something that had grown too large to carry in silence any longer.

“i love you,” you whispered, voice barely a breath. “i really love you.”

he blinked slowly, like your words had wrapped around his entire body. then he kissed your forehead, once, twice, three times.

“i love you, yn,” he said gently. “so much.”

his hands rubbed slow circles into your back and you nuzzled closer, pressing yourself against him like you needed to fuse into him to stay alive. you felt him shift a little beneath you and glanced up with a small pout. “don’t go,” you whispered.

“i wasn’t,” he said, voice warm. “just moving. you’re glued to me, remember?”

“you’re my air,” you mumbled into his chest.

he laughed softly, rubbing your back. “okay. okay, i’m not going anywhere.”

you stayed like that for a long while, until the morning light was fully spilling into the room, the storm outside gone, the sky calm.

eventually, you got up—reluctantly, lazily, moving around each other like a dance as you brushed your teeth and tied your hair. he offered you his hoodie even though the sun was out again, just because he knew you liked to feel wrapped up in him.

you made a simple breakfast—toast, eggs, fruit—and sat close enough to share a plate. your feet brushed under the table. neither of you said much, but every glance, every quiet smile felt like its own sentence.

afterward, you took a trip into town for groceries, fingers laced as you strolled the aisles of the little local market.

it wasn’t busy. soft instrumental music floated overhead and there were only a few other shoppers. everything felt slow, gentle.

you read labels aloud to each other. picked out your favorite fruit. bickered over which pasta shape was superior.

“this one,” you said, holding up penne.

“wrong,” eunseok replied, grabbing the farfalle. “but okay.”

you rolled your eyes and he leaned in to bump his shoulder into yours.

he let you push the cart after that, walking with his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, stealing glances at you every few minutes like he couldn’t quite believe you were really here, still choosing to stay.

and you couldn’t stop watching him either.

how he picked up a bag of flour with too much care. how he smiled at a little kid who waved at him by the cereal aisle. how he always circled back to you like you were home base.

you wanted to freeze the moment and live in it forever.

on the walk back, the air was cool again, clouds thin and silver overhead. you shared an umbrella even though it wasn’t raining. your heads leaned into each other, and you walked like that the whole way back.

when you got home, he helped you unload everything, setting things gently in the cabinets like he’d done it a hundred times. like this was his place, too. and maybe it was now.

you glanced at him as he placed a bunch of bananas on the counter. you’d fought yesterday, but you were still healing today.

the summer wasn’t slipping away all at once—it was unraveling slowly, in golden threads. and you held on to each one. the days had softened into something quieter. less urgent, but no less intense. you and eunseok had become impossibly close—entangled in routine, in memory, in rhythm.

on monday, he brought you iced tea in a mason jar with lemon slices floating in it. you were lying on your stomach in the backyard, sketching half-baked drawings into your journal, when he plopped down beside you, stretching out like a cat in the sun.

“what’re you drawing?”

you rolled over to show him. “nothing, really.”

he looked anyway. “i like your nothings.”

he stayed like that for hours. didn’t speak much. didn’t need to. he read next to you while you traced shapes into the grass with your fingers, your ankles touching, warm and comfortable. it felt like forever, even though it was just a monday afternoon.

the next day, you rode bikes into town. you wore his sweater even though it was hot—it still smelled like the skin behind his ear.

he led the way down the slope of the hill, glancing back to check on you every few seconds, like he couldn’t help himself. when you caught him smiling at you, you grinned so hard your cheeks hurt.

“you’re gonna get us both hurt looking at me like that,” you teased.

he stopped at the corner and let his bike fall over in the grass. “can’t help it. my girl looks pretty on a bike.”

you tried to roll your eyes but blushed instead.

you stopped by the bookstore, where he let you sit behind the counter while he tidied up some returns. you curled your legs under you and read aloud from a poetry book, your voice soft enough that he had to keep leaning in to hear you better. when you got to a line about the ache of loving someone quietly, you paused.

you both looked up at the same time. you smiled, your heart full and fragile.

“read it again?” he said, eyes too tender to look at directly.

afterward, you wandered into the cafe and split a flaky pastry dusted with powdered sugar. you didn’t talk much—just held hands under the table and looked at each other like the world was made just for this. just for now. he wiped sugar from your cheek with his thumb, so gentle it made you want to cry.

later in the week, you found yourselves on the beach again. it was cloudy, the kind of sky that made the ocean look steel-blue, endless.

you rolled around in the sand like kids, play-fighting and giggling until your limbs were sore. he pinned you once, his hands on either side of your head, and you blinked up at him with a breathless smile.

“say you surrender,” he murmured, nose brushing yours.

“never,” you whispered.

he kissed you like a sigh. like you were something soft he couldn’t stop reaching for.

that night, you lay tangled on a blanket by the dunes, tucked away in your own world. the moon hung heavy above the water, casting light across his face like a painting.

“you’re staring,” he said, not looking away.

“i’m allowed.”

“how come?”

“because i love you,” you said easily.

he blinked. smiled, slow. “well. when you say it like that.”

he kissed you again. soft, gentle. like he meant to memorize the way your mouth tasted under moonlight and you let him.

you barely made it through the front door.

his hand was wrapped around yours, fingers laced, like letting go wasn’t an option anymore. you giggled softly as he backed you against the door, kissing you between breaths like he was trying to tell you something he didn’t know how to say with words.

you brought your hands to his face, holding him close as your mouths moved in rhythm, slow and searching. his lashes fluttered when you whispered his name.

“come with me,” you said, tugging gently at his hand.

the lights inside were dim, shadows curling in the corners of the room, the only real glow coming from the moonlight spilling through the windows. you led him up the stairs, barefoot and quiet, hearts thudding a little too fast.

by the time you reached your bedroom, his touch had turned reverent—fingertips brushing your wrist, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the back of your hand.

you turned to face him, walking backward until your knees hit the bed. “you always look at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like i’m the only thing you want,” you whispered, barely above a breath.

he stepped closer, the moonlight outlining his jaw, his throat, the soft part of his chest where your hands always found home. “you are.”

you smiled and sat back onto the mattress, pulling him toward you. he climbed on with you, kneeling between your legs, kissing your shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his neck. your bodies moved slow, like you both knew you didn’t have forever—but you had this.

he leaned in to kiss you again, and this time it was deeper, more lingering, more patient. your hands trailed down his back, under the hem of his shirt. you felt his breath catch when your fingertips grazed his spine.

“take this off for me?” you asked gently, tugging at the fabric.

he nodded, and you watched him lift his shirt, slow and shy. your hands followed, smoothing up his torso as you memorized every inch of skin revealed. once it was off, you pressed a kiss to the center of his chest.

“your turn,” he murmured.

you leaned back slightly, letting your arms slip from the sleeves of your oversized top. the cotton fell to your waist, and his hands moved up your sides, warm and careful.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

you kissed him before he could say more, your lips soft and certain. his touch grew bolder, mapping you gently, his hands cupping your breasts again, but this time slower, as if learning them all over again. your thighs bracketed his hips, bodies slotting together naturally, and it felt like something that had always been meant to happen.

the two of you moved in sync, undressing each other like a slow dance—pausing between every shift to kiss, to touch, to look. when you lay back and opened your arms to him, he came to you easily, resting on his forearms, his face hovering just over yours.

“you okay?” he asked softly, searching your eyes.

you nodded, breath shaky but steady. “i want this. i want you.”

his lips brushed your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth. “you have me,” he said.

the way he entered you was slow, careful, his eyes on yours the entire time. you both gasped when your hips met fully, your fingers digging into his shoulders, his mouth slack with emotion.

you held him close. not just physically, but emotionally. like the summer might slip away if you didn’t.

he moved slowly at first, tender, each roll of his hips punctuated by kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your temple. you whispered each other’s names like prayers, your bodies speaking the words your hearts couldn’t contain.

when it built—when the heat curled low and unbearable—he moved deeper, a little faster, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

“you feel like home,” you whispered in his ear, trembling.

“so do you,” he said. “you’re everything.”

you kissed as you came undone, together—him whispering how much he loved you, how he’d never stop, your tears slipping between your lips as your limbs trembled. he stayed inside you even after, holding you like the moment could last forever.

and in the quiet after, your breathing eventually matched. the world outside was still cloudy and gray, but it felt beautiful again.

because you were with him, and he was with you.

the morning came slow.

filtered through gauzy curtains, light bled across tangled sheets and soft skin, casting a golden sheen over your bare shoulder. eunseok lay beside you, one arm tucked beneath your head, the other resting heavy over your waist, fingers twitching like they couldn’t bear not to be touching you.

you blinked awake to the sound of his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

you didn’t move. didn’t speak. you just breathed with him, letting each slow inhale keep time with your own, like it had all summer.

you tilted your head slightly to look up at him. his lips were parted, lashes casting small shadows under his eyes, hair sticking up at odd angles from the pillow. your hand found his chest, tracing the dip of his collarbone, then up the bridge of his nose, the bow of his lips.

he stirred. eyes fluttering open, his smile bloomed the second he saw you.

“hi,” he whispered, voice hoarse with sleep.

you leaned up to kiss his cheek. “hi.”

his arms tightened around you instinctively, like he’d forgotten for a moment that things were changing. but then the weight returned to both your chests—the knowledge that this was the last morning.

“how are you feeling?” he asked gently, brushing a thumb beneath your eye.

“sore,” you admitted with a smile. “but happy.”

he laughed softly, kissed your forehead. “wanna shower?”

you hesitated, burying your face in his neck. “not yet. just… a little longer.”

he didn’t argue. didn’t move. just held you tighter, like you were something too precious to rush.

you stayed that way until the sun was high, and you had to start moving, packing, letting go--piece by piece.

he helped you, of course. folding clothes, zipping your suitcase, slipping small notes into jacket pockets when he thought you weren’t looking. neither of you said much. there wasn’t anything left to say that hadn’t already been whispered between lips, pressed into skin.

when the time came, you kissed him goodbye not at the airport, not at the door, but right there—amidst the rumpled sheets and shared silence.

you cried a little. so did he. but there was no desperation in it. no begging or unraveling. because you both knew this wasn’t the end.

your bedroom at home smelled like detergent and dust.

you stood in the doorway for a long moment, blinking in the unfamiliar quiet, the ache in your chest deepening at the absence of him. you unpacked slowly, letting the familiar sounds of your house anchor you. and then, folded into the sweatshirt he had let you keep, you found the letter.

his handwriting was careful. not perfect, but soft in its own way—just like him.

yn,

i wanted to give you something that didn’t need a signal or battery. something that couldn’t glitch or lag.

i love you. you know that by now. but what you might not know is how deeply. how every part of you—your laugh, your frown, the way you kick your feet when you read, the way you can’t take a compliment—has found a place inside me.

this summer changed me. you changed me.

i’ll be counting the days until i see you again.

always, eunseok

you sank down onto your bed, holding the letter to your chest, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket.