squid

Seo-Yeon was warmth in a cold world, all easy smiles and gentle touches, the first person to hold Hyun-ju’s hand in public without hesitation. Their first year together was everything Hyun-ju had craved: stability, affection, laughter echoing through their apartment in the quiet hours of the night. For the first time since she could remember, Hyun-ju thought she had found someone who truly saw her.

But happiness has a way of splintering.

The cracks appeared slowly–missed dinners, late nights at work, small arguments that bloomed into bigger ones. And then, the confession: Seo-Yeon had been with someone else. The world tilted beneath Hyun-ju’s feet. She wanted to scream, to walk away, to burn it all down–but instead, she stayed. Because how could she leave the only person who had offered her love after everyone else had turned away?

So she tried. God, she tried. She swallowed her resentment, only for it to seep out in sharp words and colder silences. They fought often–first in voices raised too high, then in words sharpened to cut. Eventually, the fights spilled into actions: slammed doors, shattered glass, a lamp knocked off its table. One night, in the heat of it all, Seo-Yeon’s hand struck her across the face.

The sting of it faded; the ache did not.

Still, Hyun-ju clung to hope. Hope that love meant something worth salvaging, hope that the woman she married was still somewhere beneath the bitterness and betrayal. It was Hyun-ju who suggested counseling, her voice hoarse from another night of shouting. She couldn't let go, not yet. Not when she’d already lost so much.

If she had to fight for this marriage with every last thread of herself, then she would. Because Seo-Yeon had been her anchor in a storm, and Hyun-ju didn’t know if she could survive another loss.

You never meant to end up here, in a softly lit clinic with muted art prints and shelves of books you’ve read a dozen times over. If someone had asked you when you were younger what you wanted to be, you might have said a writer, maybe a teacher. Something safe. Something ordinary.

But ordinary had never been in the cards.

You grew up in a house where fights were a kind of background noise, the way some kids grew up with the hum of a television always on. Your parents weren’t cruel, not exactly–but they didn’t know how to love each other without wounding in the process. You watched slammed doors and sharp words leave fractures that no one ever bothered to mend. By the time you were old enough to understand what you were seeing, you had already decided: you never wanted love like that.

College had been an escape. At first you tried psychology because you thought you might understand yourself better through it. What you didn’t expect was to fall in love with the idea of helping others learn to untangle the knots in their lives. While some of your peers dreamed of research, or of running clinics, you gravitated towards couples’ work almost instinctively.

People often asked you why–why take on the endless cycles of resentment, infidelity, distance? Didn’t it get exhausting? Didn’t it feel hopeless?

It did, sometimes. But there was also something beautiful in watching two people lay their wounds bare and try. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. But there was power in giving them a space to say the things they’d been holding inside.

And maybe, deep down, you believed that if you could help others avoid the mistakes you’d grown up watching, then it meant those years weren’t wasted. That you could turn the chaos of your childhood into something that mattered.

Now, with your own practice established and a roster of clients who trusted you, you knew your role inside and out. You had boundaries. Rules. Professional distance.

You weren’t there to pick sides. You weren’t there to rescue anyone. You were there to guide, to listen, to hold steady no matter how messy things became.

At least–that was the idea.

You hadn’t yet learned that sometimes, no matter how high the walls you built around yourself, someone could still walk right in and make you forget why you put them up in the first place.

Your schedule was packed, as usual–back-to-back appointments, most of them faces you already knew well. But when you glanced at the 3:00 slot, a new name jumped out at you. 

Marriage Counseling – Kim Seo-Yeon & Cho Hyun-ju

You exhaled, closing the folder you’d been reviewing. New couples were always an unknown. Some came desperate to save what little was left. Some came only to confirm what they already knew: it was over. Either way, it meant walking into a storm and trying to hold your ground.

The knock on your office door came right on time.

When you stood to greet them, the first thing you noticed was the distance. Not physical–not yet–but emotional, carved like a canyon between them. Seo-Yeon walked in first, sharp heels clicking against your office floor, her expression already set in a scowl. Hyun-ju followed quietly, her steps heavier, slower, her gaze lowered until it lifted just briefly to meet yours.

You smiled, professional, steady. “Please, come in. Make yourselves comfortable.”

They sat on opposite ends of the couch, leaving a stretch of space between them like an invisible wall. You took your seat across from them, clipboard balanced in your lap, pen poised.

“I’m glad you both could make it,” you began, tone warm but neutral. “I know starting therapy can feel daunting, but this is a safe space for both of you. Why don’t we start with what brought you here today?”

Seo-Yeon laughed–a harsh, bitter sound. “What brought us here? Take a guess. Maybe the fact that my wife refuses to act like an adult in this marriage.”

You felt the sting of the words even from across the room. Hyun-ju only blinked, lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t rise to the bait, didn’t snap back. She sat in silence, hands folded loosely in her lap.

“Could you elaborate on that, Seo-Yeon?” you asked gently.

“Oh, I could elaborate all day. She’s irresponsible. She shuts down when I try to talk to her. And God forbid she actually admit when she’s wrong.”

Your pen scratched across the page, though your chest tightened. This wasn’t communication; this was target practice.

You turned your gaze toward Hyun-ju. “Hyun-ju, how does it feel to hear that?”

Her answer was quiet, almost careful. “It feels like…nothing I do is ever enough.”

Seo-Yeon scoffed. “Oh, please. You don’t do anything. You just sit there, acting like a martyr. Maybe if you actually put effort into us instead of playing victim, we wouldn’t be here.”

The silence after that was thick, oppressive. You kept your expression steady, but inwardly you sighed. Couples who came in swinging rarely left with their marriage intact.

You leaned forward slightly. “I can see there’s a lot of hurt between you. What I’d like to do is slow this down. Seo-Yeon, I hear your frustration. Hyun-ju, I hear your exhaustion. This space is about making sure both of you feel heard, without cutting each other down in the process.”

Seo-Yeon rolled her eyes. “Right. Heard. Except nothing ever changes, no matter how many times I say it.”

Hyun-ju’s gaze stayed fixed on her lap. She didn’t argue. She didn’t defend herself. She absorbed the words like she’d absorbed a thousand others before, with a quiet patience that hurt to watch.

You kept your posture straight, your tone calm. But a voice in the back of your mind whispered what you already suspected: this wasn’t a marriage built on repairable cracks. This was a house already half-collapsed, with two people standing in the wreckage pretending it could be rebuilt.

Still, you smiled, professional to the end. “Let’s take this one step at a time. Why don’t we start with one small thing each of you would like to see change? Just one thing, for today.”

Seo-Yeon leaned back, arms crossed, her answer sharp as glass. “I’d like her to finally grow up.”

Hyun-ju’s lips parted, but whatever she wanted to say, she swallowed it back down. When her eyes flickered to yours again, just for a heartbeat, you saw it–the weight of someone who had been carrying battles for far longer than this marriage had lasted.

You jotted a note, cleared your throat, and continued. But deep down, you knew: this storm wasn’t passing. It was only the beginning.

The silence stretched, heavy enough to press into your chest. You waited, giving them space, but Seo-Yeon was already shifting in her seat, her arms crossed so tight you could almost hear the strain.

“She does this,” Seo-Yeon muttered. “Shuts down. Always shuts down. No wonder I–” She cut herself off with a sharp inhale, jaw snapping shut.

But Hyun-ju’s head lifted then, eyes flashing. “No wonder you what?” Her voice was low, steady, but beneath it ran something dangerous. “No wonder you went looking for someone else?”

The words landed like a grenade.

Seo-Yeon stiffened, cheeks coloring with fury. “Don’t you dare–”

“Why not?” Hyun-ju’s tone sharpened. For the first time since stepping into your office, she didn’t sound quiet, or resigned, or tired. She sounded like someone who had been holding her breath for months and finally couldn’t anymore. “You want to sit here and talk about how I don’t try? About how I don’t put effort into this marriage? While you’re busy climbing in other people’s beds?”

Seo-Yeon shot forward in her seat, voice rising. “Maybe if you weren’t so goddamn cold, I wouldn’t have had to!”

“Cold?” Hyun-ju laughed, humorless, bitter. “I fought for us when you were ready to throw it away! I stayed when anyone else would have left. And you want to call me cold?”

The air in the room thickened, voices clashing like thunder.

“You think staying makes you a saint?” Seo-Yeon snapped. “You stayed because you’re pathetic, Hyun-ju. You need me. You need someone to validate you, to play the part of the loving wife so you can pretend you’re not still the same broken person you’ve always been!”

For a second, the only sound was your own pulse in your ears. Hyun-ju’s face had gone pale, her hands curling into fists in her lap.

You let the silence hang just long enough to catch both of their attention, then leaned forward, your voice firm, cutting through the air. “Alright. That’s enough.”

Both women snapped their eyes to you.

“This is exactly why we’re here,” you continued, keeping your tone steady, even as your chest tightened. “I understand the pain, the betrayal, the anger. But yelling accusations across the room isn’t going to get us anywhere. If this is going to work–if either of you wants it to work–we have to find a way to speak to each other without tearing each other apart.”

Seo-Yeon scoffed, leaning back, arms crossed like armor. “Good luck with that.”

Hyun-ju’s jaw was still tight, but the fire in her eyes dimmed just a little, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, pen still poised over your clipboard. First sessions were always revealing. But rarely did the truth spill out this quickly, this viciously.

And as you looked between them–the resentment etched deep in Seo-Yeon’s glare, the quiet devastation in Hyun-ju’s posture–you thought again of what you’d felt the moment they walked in.

This wasn’t a storm you could stop. Only one you could try to weather.

You always tried to go into each session with cautious optimism. Couples sometimes surprised you–sometimes the ones who seemed the most hopeless found a way to claw their way back toward each other.

But when you glanced at the 3:00 slot again, the same names waiting for you, you braced yourself.

Seo-Yeon arrived first this time, already flipping through her phone as though this appointment were another chore on her list. Hyun-ju followed a moment later, shoulders squared, but her eyes looked tired, rimmed with sleeplessness.

You gave them both a warm nod. “Welcome back. Last time, we ended on a difficult note, but today I’d like to check in on the homework we discussed.” You smiled gently, clipboard balanced on your knee. “You were each asked to write down some of the stressors you feel your partner has placed on you–things that weigh on you individually. Would anyone like to start?”

Seo-Yeon smirked faintly. “Oh, I’ll start.” She pulled out a neatly folded paper from her purse and held it between two fingers like evidence. “How long do you want the list to be?”

You kept your expression neutral. “Just a few to begin with is fine.”

“Alright,” she said, voice sharp with satisfaction. “First one? Her debt.”

Hyun-ju’s posture stiffened, but she didn’t speak.

Seo-Yeon leaned back, crossing her legs, tone dripping with disdain. “Do you know what it’s like, living with someone who drags you into a financial hold you never asked for? Always stressing about bills, about credit, about how to stretch the money because she couldn’t stop herself from–”

She cut herself off, but her eyes flicked toward Hyun-ju with something venomous.

You waited, giving Hyun-ju the space to respond if she wanted. Sometimes silence could coax out the words a person couldn’t yet force themselves to say.

But before Hyun-ju could open her mouth, Seo-Yeon kept going. “Tell me, did she mention to you where all that money went?”

You frowned slightly. “I don’t need to know the specifics of financial arrangements. What matters is how the stress affects your relationship.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you,” Seo-Yeon snapped, leaning forward now, eyes narrowing at Hyun-ju. “Tens of thousands of dollars. Down the drain. On surgeries she just had to have. Because apparently looking like herself was more important than having a stable marriage.”

The room went silent.

It took you a moment to process the words, the way they dripped with contempt. Then your gaze shifted to Hyun-ju.

She wasn’t moving. Not a muscle. Her jaw was tight, her eyes fixed on the floor, but her hands clenched so hard in her lap that her knuckles blanched.

And then, slowly, her eyes lifted to yours.

There it was–the truth she had never spoken in your office, the piece of her life she had never needed to disclose, because why would it matter here? She looked at you like someone waiting for judgment, braced for the blow, as if she already knew what your face might betray.

But all you saw was the sheen of tears she was fighting back, the way she refused to let them fall.

Your chest ached.

Seo-Yeon leaned back, satisfied. “See? She won’t even defend herself. Because she knows I’m right.”

You let the silence hang for a breath, forcing yourself to steady your tone even though your pulse hammered. “I want to pause here.” Your voice was calm but firm, cutting across the venom. “This space is not for demeaning one another. We are here to explore stressors, yes, but not to shame or belittle. Hyun-ju’s choices about her body and her identity are not up for debate. Not here. Not ever.”

Seo-Yeon scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Of course you’d take her side.”

But you ignored the jab, keeping your gaze on Hyun-ju a beat longer, softening your voice. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Just…know that I hear you.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, eyes darting away again. But you didn’t miss the way her shoulder’s sagged–like the smallest weight had been lifted, even if the larger one still pinned her down.

And sitting there, in the thick silence, you thought: this marriage is breaking her.

Session six.

The difference was obvious the moment they walked in.

Seo-Yeon’s hand was looped loosely through Hyun-ju’s arm, her smile softer than you’d ever seen it in this office. Hyun-ju herself looked lighter, a faint warmth in her posture that had been absent for weeks. For the first time, they didn’t sit on opposite ends of the couch–they sat closer, knees brushing, a tentative closeness that felt almost fragile.

You couldn’t help it–your chest eased with something like relief.

“So,” you said gently once you’d greeted them both, “it seems like things might be going a little better this week?”

Seo-Yeon grinned, smug in a way that almost made you weary. “We actually had a really good few days. No fighting. No cold shoulders. Just…good.”

Hyun-ju nodded, her eyes flicking down briefly before she added, “It’s been…nice. We even…” She trailed off, a flush rising to her cheeks.

Seo-Yeon laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “We had sex. For the first time in months. Guess we’re not completely broken after all.”

You smiled, careful to keep your expression encouraging but not intrusive. “That’s wonderful. Physical intimacy can be an important part of feeling connected again. What do you think made the difference this week?”

Hyun-ju hesitated, but Seo-Yeon jumped in quickly. “Because I put in the effort. I stopped nagging, gave her space, and finally, finally she came around.”

Hyun-ju’s smile faltered just a little, but she didn’t correct her. She just nodded, as if agreeing was easier than picking apart the details.

Still, you let yourself hold onto the small spark of home. Maybe, just maybe, they could find a rhythm again. Maybe the storm was passing.

Session seven.

That hope didn’t last.

The very next week, they came in with the distance back in place like it had never left. Seo-Yeon’s arms were crossed, her mouth set in a sharp line. Hyun-ju trailed behind her, her shoulders hunched, gaze fixed on the floor as though it held all the answers she couldn’t say aloud.

You noted the shift immediately but kept your tone warm. “How have things been since our last session?”

Seo-Yeon let out a bitter laugh. “Guess the honeymoon phase lasted a whole five minutes.”

Hyun-ju’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

“Would you like to talk about what changed?” you asked.

Seo-Yeon waved a hand dismissively.  “She went right back to shutting me out. Acts like she’s present, but she’s not really there. I can’t live like this, playing house with a ghost.”

Hyun-ju’s head snapped up then, her voice sharper than usual. “Maybe I wouldn’t feel like a ghost if you actually treated me like a person instead of a checklist of failures.”

That silenced the room for a moment. You held still, pen paused over paper, waiting to see if either of them would soften. 

Seo-Yeon didn’t. She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “There it is. The martyr act again. Poor Hyun-ju, everyone’s always against her. God, I’m so tired of this.”

Hyun-ju sat back, shoulders curling inward as though she were retreating into herself.

You watched quietly, weighing the room. Last session, they’d given you a glimpse of what reconciliation could look like. But today, the hope felt like a cruel trick–dangling the possibility of healing before snapping it away again.

And as you studied them both, you felt it deep in your gut: they weren’t climbing out of the wreckage. They were circling it, pretending it was a foundation. 

The Tuesday afternoon slot had been theirs for over a month. Every week, without fail, you’d brace yourself for the storm of them–Hyun-ju’s weary silence, Seo-Yeon’s sharp edges, the way the air always seemed to thicken around them.

But this week, your calendar was blank.

At first you assumed it was a scheduling mistake. Maybe they’d called to reschedule, maybe they're on hold at the front desk. But when you checked your messages, your heart dipped. The note was simple, clinical, typed out in the receptionist’s neat shorthand: Client cancelled future sessions. No reschedule requested.

You sat at your desk a long moment, staring at the words.

They were gone. 

In your field, it wasn’t unusual. Couples often dropped out without explanation. Sometimes it meant they were working things out on their own. More often, it meant they weren’t together anymore.

Your pen felt heavy as you pulled out the file. You flipped through your own notes–angry words, exhausted silences, brief flickers of hope that had never lasted more than a week. Then, on the final page, you began to write:

Final report: Client couple discontinued therapy. Likely dissolution of relationship. Notable factors include infidelity, financial strain, unresolved identity conflict, persistent hostile communication. Prognosis poor. Case closed.

The words looked clinical, detached, exactly the way they were supposed to.

You signed your name at the bottom, slid the file into your cabinet, and shut the drawer with a click.

And that should have been the end of it. Another ase, another couple lost to the odds.

But as you stared at your empty schedule, your chest tightened. You thought of Seo-Yeon’s cutting voice, the way it filled the room like broken glass. You thought of Hyun-ju sitting quietly beside her, shrinking smaller with each passing week. You thought of that one moment–the sheen of tears in Hyun-ju’s eyes, her gaze flicking to yours as if searching for something she couldn't even name.

You told yourself to move on. Clients came and went. Boundaries were necessary.

But long after you locked up for the day, long after you went home and tried to lose yourself in your routine, she lingered.

Hyun-ju.

The echo of her silence followed you everywhere.

The day it ended wasn’t loud.

Hyun-ju came home from work the way she always did–keys jingling, shoes left by the door, shoulders heavy with fatigue. The apartment smelled faintly of the jasmine candles Seo-Yeon liked to burn, but there was no music, no sound of the television, no trace of life in the stillness.

She knew before she turned the corner.

The closet was empty. Drawers pulled clean, hangers swinging bare. Her uniforms, her jackets, the little collection of dresses she’d carefully built up over the years–all gone. She moved numbly through the apartment, checking each room like someone searching for a body, but all she found were gaps. Holes where her life used to be.

In the bathroom, the sight hit hardest. Her makeup bag–the one she’d pieced together little by little, every lipstick, every palette a step toward finally recognizing herself in the mirror–was gone. The shelf where her skincare had been was bare except for Seo-Yeon’s things. Her perfume bottle lay shattered in the trash, the scent sharp and bitter in the air.

Everything she owned, every piece of herself she had brought into this marriage, discarded like clutter.

Hyun-ju spent the next weeks at a friend’s place, sleeping on a pull-out couch in a living room that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and instant ramen. It wasn’t home, but it was safe, and safety was more than she’d had in a long time.

The divorce papers arrived not long after, handed over in a stiff manila envelope. Seo-Yeon’s name was already signed, scrawled with the impatient flourish she always used when she wanted something finished quickly.

Hyun-ju stared at the blank line beneath her own name.

Her hand hovered over the page for a long time, pen gripped too tightly between her fingers. Part of her whispered: fight it, stall, don’t let go so easily. But another voice, quieter and heavier, told her the truth: there was nothing left to fight for.

With a deep breath, she signed. The pen scratched against the paper, sealing the end of a marriage that had once been the brightest thing in her life.

Now, months later, she was still on that same couch. Still tucking her few remaining belongings into the corner of the living room. Still watching her paycheck stretch thin as she tried to save–first for an apartment of her own, then for the slow process of rebuilding everything Seo-Yeon had thrown away. Clothes. Shoes. Makeup.

Pieces of herself.

Every time she handed over money at a register, she thought of the drawer in that apartment–that one yanked open and left empty, all her things discarded like trash. And every time, she promised herself: she would fill those drawers again. Not for Seo-Yeon. Not for anyone else.

For herself.

But no matter how much she told herself that, there were nights she lay awake on the couch, staring at the ceiling, the silence pressing down like a weight. Nights where she wondered if she’d ever feel whole again.

It had been eight months since you’d last seen her.

Eight months since that Tuesday slot vanished from your calendar, since you closed their file with a heavy heart and told yourself to move on. You had clients to see, lives to listen to, stories to help untangle. You couldn't hold onto one case forever.

But she had lingered anyway. Hyun-ju, with her quiet resilience and the way her silence always felt heavier than the words hurled at her. You’d catch yourself thinking of her at odd times–passing a tall woman on the street, hearing a client’s spouse scoff in a familiar cadence, spotting a shade of lipstick in the drugstore that reminded you of the one you’d seen her wear only once.

And then, one morning, there she was.

You weren’t even looking for her. Just juggling a coffee and your tote bag, weaving through the crowded cafe on your way to the door, when someone barreled into you. The collision knocked the lid clean off your cup, hot liquid splashing dangerously close to your hand.

“Oh, shit–” a low, panicked voice said, deep and rough around the edges. Strong hands caught your arms before you could stumble. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see–”

You looked up.

And froze.

Hyun-ju froze, her mouth still half-open around the apology.

For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. She was taller than you remembered–though at 6’0, she would always tower over your shorter frame–and broader too, her shoulders filling the space between you. But it was her eyes that caught you, wide and unguarded, flashing recognition and something that looked an awful lot like…dread.

“...Hyun-ju,” you said softly.

Her grip loosened on your arms as though she hadn't realized she was still holding you. “You.” The word slipped out like she hadn't meant to say it. She cleared her throat, stepping back quietly. “I–wow. Hi.”

You adjusted the mess of your cup, trying to ignore the way your pulse skittered. “Hi.”

She looked different. Not unrecognizable, but changed in the subtle ways time leaves its mark. Her hair was longer, falling past her ears in waves. She wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, nothing remarkable, but the way she held her was. Lighter, maybe. Or maybe just…untethered.

You caught her glancing at you, then away, then back again, like she couldn’t decide whether to meet your gaze or flee out the door.

“I didn’t mean to…” she gestured vaguely at the coffee-stained sleeve of your cardigan, her ears reddening.  “I should’ve been paying attention.”

You shook your head gently. “It’s fine. Really. No harm done.”

Silence stretched, thick with everything unspoken–eight months of it.

Finally, you managed, “How have you been?”

It was such a simple question, but it landed heavy. Hyun-ju’s lips parted, then pressed into a thin line. She gave the faintest shrug, a practiced non-answer, though her eyes betrayed her–shadowed and tired, but searching yours as though looking for permission to say more.

And standing there, coffee cooling in your hand, you felt the weight of all the boundaries you’d once kept between you. Therapist. Client. Distance. Professionalism.

But here, in the middle of a crowded cafe, all of that was gone.

It was just you. And her.

Hyun-ju still hadn’t moved. She stood there, hands shoved awkwardly into her pockets now, as if she didn’t know what to do with them after nearly knocking you flat. Her shoulders hunched, all six feet of her trying to fold smaller, but she couldn’t hide from you.

And maybe she didn’t want to.

You licked your lips, pulse hammering, before blurting. “Do you…want to sit down? I mean–” you gestured toward the cafe around you, tables cluttered with laptops and mugs. “Since we’re both here. Coffee. My treat, especially since you almost made me wear mine.”

For a terrifying second, you thought she’d say no.

Hyun-ju blinked, her expression caught somewhere between guilt and surprise. But then her mouth tugged into the faintest smile, soft and crooked, the kind of smile you hadn’t seen once in your office. “Yeah…I’d like that.”

You found a small table tucked in the corner, away from the door. Hyun-ju carried your replacement drink herself, insisting on paying even after you tried to argue. She set it carefully in front of you, then sat opposite, her long legs folding awkwardly under the tiny table.

For a moment, the two of you just sat there. Steam curled from your cup. A pop song hummed faintly from the speakers overhead. And in that strange, suspended quiet, you studied her–really studied her–in a way you hadn’t been allowed to before.

The tension was still there, visible in the way her fingers tapped lightly against her knee, the way she seemed too aware of herself. But there was something else too. A rawness. A quiet kind of openness you’d never been granted when Seo-Yeon filled the room.

“So,” you said carefully, breaking the silence. “It’s been a while.”

“Eight months,” she murmured, almost without thinking. Then she froze, eyes widening a little at her own specificity. “Not that I was counting, just–time gets stuck in my head sometimes.”

Your chest ached at that, though you managed a small smile. “Eight months. Yeah.” Her gaze dropped to her cup. “Guess you figured out what happened.”

You hesitated. “I assumed.”

Hyun-ju huffed a laugh with no humor in it. “Yeah. She left. Took everything she didn’t want me to have. Signed the papers before I even saw them. So.” She spread her hands, voice flat. “That’s that.”

The matter-of-factness of it didn’t fool you. You could hear the hollowness beneath, the way she said it like if she rehearsed it enough times, it might finally stop hurting.

You wanted to reach across the table. To tell her that you’d seen, even back then, how much she’d been carrying. But your hands stayed wrapped around your cup instead, fingers tight against the porcelain.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly.

Her eyes flicked up to yours then, and for the first time since you’d sat down, they lingered. There was something in them–wounded, searching, maybe even relieved. As though just being seen, here and now, mattered more than the words themselves.

“...Thanks,” she said finally. Her voice was quiet, but steady.

And sitting there with the noise of the cafe buzzing around you and the heat of her gaze holding yours, you knew one thing for certain: this wasn’t going to be the last time you saw her.

For a while, conversation stayed light. You asked if she was still working the same job, and she nodded, fiddling with the sleeve of her cup. She asked how you’d been, and you gave her the safest answer you could: busy, steady, fine.

But underneath, there was a pull.

Her eyes lingered on you too long between sips. Your voice softened every time you said her name. It felt like standing on a fault line, the ground trembling beneath your feet, waiting for the crack to split wide open.

Finally, Hyun-ju set her cup down with a soft thud, her hands folding together on the table. Her mouth opened, then closed again, jaw tightening as if she were rehearsing the words behind her teeth.

“You know…” She stared down at her hands. “Sometimes I think–” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “No. Never mind.”

You tilted your head, gently. “What?”

Her lips curved into a humorless smile. “I was about to…start talking like we were still in your office. Like you were still my therapist. Old habits.” Her laugh was low and bitter. “Guess I’m not supposed to do that anymore.”

You let out a soft sigh. She wasn’t wrong–there were boundaries, rules. But seeing her bite down on her own tongue, shutting herself away out of fear of overstepping, made your chest ache.

“Hyun-ju,” you said quietly, making sure your tone carried no trace of judgment. Just her name, held like something fragile.

Her eyes flicked up to yours, guarded but searching.

“You’re right,” you admitted. “I can’t be your therapist anymore.” You let the words hang for a beat, then softened them. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t be here. Not like that. Just…here.”

For the first time since you sat down, she looked stunned. As though she hadn’t considered that you might want to be anything but her professional past. 

“...You’d want that?” she asked, voice low, almost disbelieving.

You gave her a small smile. “I wouldn’t have invited you to sit if I didn’t.”

Something in her shoulders eased, though not completely. She nodded once, then glanced away, reaching for her cup like it might anchor her. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time–it was tentative, like the space before a door creaks open.

Hyun-ju cleared her throat, steering the conversation elsewhere. She asked about your favorite books, about where you liked to travel. Nothing deep, nothing raw. But the way her gaze lingered, the way she seemed to be memorizing your answers, told you the door hadn’t shut entirely.

She just wasn’t ready to step through it yet.

And you could be patient.

Weeks passed in a blur. But your mind still wandered to her. To Hyun-ju. And what she was doing, how she was doing. Ever since that run in at the coffee shop, you’d felt things you hadn’t felt before. But you couldn’t admit that to anyone.

The day had been long already–three back-to-back sessions, two couples on the verge of collapse and one pair who left holding hands but with tension still lurking behind their smiles. You were jotting down final notes when your phone on your desk buzzed.

“Someone here to see you,” your receptionist said, her voice crackling through the line. “She didn’t have an appointment but, um…she asked for you by name.”

You frowned. “Did she say who she was?”

A pause. “Cho Hyun-ju.”

The name made your pen slip in your hand.

You stood before you could think better of it, smoothing down your blouse as you crossed the hall toward the waiting room.

And there she was.

Hyun-ju stood awkwardly by the front desk, her tall frame folded in on itself, hands lifted in that nervous way you’d seen before–fingers fumbling, curling, twisting together as though she didn’t know what else to do with them. The sight of it, so vulnerable, hit you like a punch to the chest.

She glanced up at the sound of your steps. The instant her eyes found you, she straightened a little, clearing her throat as if trying to compose herself. But it didn’t hide the way her face looked drawn, shadows under her eyes, her lips pressed tight to keep from trembling.

“Hey, Hyun-ju,” you said softly.

Her mouth parted, but whatever words she’d meant to say faltered. She gave a small nod, fumbling with her fingers harder.

You didn’t need her to say it. You could tell–something was wrong.

“Come on,” you murmured, gesturing toward your office.

She froze, alarm flickering across her face. “Oh–no, I…I can’t pay for any sessions, I just–” Her voice cracked slightly, and she stopped, shaking her hand. “I don’t even know why I came. I just…”

Your chest tightened. 

“It’s off the books,” you said firmly. You kept your tone gentle but left no room for argument. “Come on.”

For a moment, she looked like she might refuse. But then her shoulders sagged, the fight leaving her, and she followed you down the hall.

Inside, she stood in the middle of the room, stiff and restless, like a soldier awaiting orders. Her hands twitched at her sides before lifting again, nervous fingers tangling together as though she couldn’t keep still.

You shut the door softly behind you. “You don’t have to explain,” you said, taking your usual chair but leaving the seat across from you open. “Just sit. Breathe.”

Hyun-ju hesitated, then sank into the chair with a heaviness that looked bone deep. For a long moment, the only sound was the tick of the wall clock and her uneven breaths.

You didn’t push.

Finally, her voice came, low and raw. “I don’t…I don’t know what to do anymore.” Her fingers twisted hard against each other. “I thought I was doing okay. But it’s like–every time I think I’m finally standing up straight, it all just…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely, as if her hands could describe what words couldn’t.

You leaned forward slightly, softening your tone. “Then let yourself sit down for a while. You don’t have to carry everything standing up.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. She stared down at her hands, eyes shining, but didn’t let the tears fall. Not yet.

And as you watched her there, unraveling in the quiet safety of your office, you knew: this was the beginning of something different. Not therapist and client. Not duty and distance.

Just two people. One of them breaking. The other refusing to let her do it alone.

At first, she sat stiffly in the chair, jaw clenched so tight you could almost hear her teeth grinding. Her fingers twisted together, then stilled, then curled into fists against her thighs. 

You waited. You’d learned patience years ago, the quiet strength of giving someone space until the silence became unbearable and words clawed their way out.

And eventually, they did.

“She threw it all away.” Her voice was flat, but the tremor beneath it gave her away. “My clothes, my makeup, even my perfume. Said she didn’t want reminders of me. Like I was…like I was trash.”

Your breath caught, though you kept your face calm, soft.

“I keep going to buy new things, but it’s like–” She shook her head hard, as if to banish the thought. “I pick something up and I hear her voice. Telling me it’s a waste. That I’ll never be enough anyway. And then I put it back. Over and over.”

Her chest heaved.

“I thought…I thought leaving her would make it stop. But it’s still in my head. She’s still in my head.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she broke off abruptly, looking away. Her hands came up to cover her face, her breath stuttering unevenly.

And then, for the first time since you’d met her, you saw it.

The tears.

They slipped past her defenses, silent at first, then harder, spilling between her fingers as she pressed her palms against her eyes like she could dam them back. Her shoulders hunched, her body trembling as years of iron self-control fractured in front of you.

You swallowed hard against the ache in your chest.

“Hyun-ju,” you said softly. Her name was a lifeline, steady and careful, not tugging, just there. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hold it in here.”

She shook her head, a broken laugh spilling out, jagged and wet. “I don’t cry. I don’t–I can’t–”

But she was.

And in that moment, you didn’t see the stoic sergeant, the silent woman who endured insult after insult on your couch months ago. You saw the human beneath, raw and aching, terrified of being unlovable and finally too tired to hide it anymore.

You didn’t move closer–not yet–but your voice stayed steady, lower, a tether in the storm. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me.”

Her hands lowered slightly, just enough for you to glimpse her eyes–red, wet, glistening with everything she’d buried.

And in the silence that followed, something shifted. Not pity, not obligation. Just you, and her. And for the first time, Hyun-ju let herself be seen.

You rose quietly, not wanting to startle her, and crossed to the side table where a box of tissues sat. Pulling one free, you crouched a little so you weren’t towering over her, and held it out.

Hyun-ju hesitated before taking it, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. She dabbed quickly at her eyes, still avoiding your gaze, like she could pretend none of this was happening if she just didn’t look at you.

You gave her that space. But you didn’t sit back down right away.

Instead, you leaned lightly against the corner of your desk, watching her twist the tissue in her hand. Your voice was gentle when you spoke.

“Have you ever tried going shopping with a friend?”

Her head lifted slightly, a faint furrow between her brows.

“So you’re not left alone with those thoughts,” you clarified. “So it doesn’t feel like her voice is the only one in your head.”

Hyun-ju shook her head almost immediately, a rough motion that made the tissue crumple tighter in her fist.

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. Your eyes flicked instinctively toward the door, toward the walls, as though anyone could overhear.

And then, softer, like a secret: “I love shopping, you know.”

That got her attention. She blinked at you, surprised enough that the tears stilled for a moment.

“I’ve been meaning to get some new fall clothes,” you went on, your tone deliberately casual even though your heart was thudding in your chest. “Maybe even a new perfume.”

Her brows drew together, confused. “You…?”

You smiled faintly, tipping your head. “Yeah. Me. What, do I not look like the type?”

Something in her expression softened–confusion mingling with the ghost of a laugh, though it didn’t quite reach her lips.

For a beat, the air between you shifted. Lighter. Tentative.

You thought, maybe this is what she needed. Not a therapist with neat notes and careful questions. But a person. Someone who could sit beside her in a store, hold up a dress against her body, and say, this one. This one looks like you.

You let the silence stretch for a moment, giving her room to breathe after the hint of laughter that softened the edges of her tears. She wiped quickly at her eyes again, as though embarrassed to have let you see her crack at all.

You tilted your head, watching her carefully. The words perched on your tongue felt reckless, but they were warm too, brimming with something that tugged at you whenever you looked at her.

“What are you doing this weekend?” you asked gently.

Hyun-ju blinked. “What?”

“This weekend,” you repeated, a little steadier now. “Are you free?”

Her brows furrowed again, suspicion flickering in her eyes. “Why?”

You shrugged lightly, feigning casual even though your pulse was hammering. “Because… I thought maybe we could go shopping together. You said you haven’t been able to go, not without her voice in your head. But maybe if you weren’t alone…” You trailed off, watching her face, careful not to push too hard.

Her mouth opened, then shut again. She stared at you like she wasn’t sure if she’d heard correctly.

“You’d do that?” she asked finally, her voice rough.

“Of course.” You smiled faintly, soft but sure. “I told you, I love shopping. Besides, it sounds like you could use someone to tell you to ignore all the voices except your own.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed, gaze darting from you to the tissue clenched in her hand and back again. The silence that followed wasn’t hostile–it was heavy, thick with disbelief and something else she didn’t have a name for yet.

Finally, almost too quiet to hear, she said, “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Your chest ached at the words. You leaned forward slightly, making sure she couldn’t mistake your tone. “You wouldn’t be. Not even close.”

For a long moment, Hyun-ju just sat there, staring at you like she was searching for the trap in your offer. But when she didn’t find one, something softened in her eyes–cautious, tentative, but warmer than you’d ever seen them before.

“...Okay,” she whispered.

That tiny word, so small and fragile, felt like the bravest thing she’d ever said.

The mall’s glass doors whooshed open as a gust of cool, damp air trailed in behind you. You’d arrived ten minutes early, nerves buzzing in your chest like restless bees. Normally, you were calm, composed, the kind of person who could sit across from screaming couples without flinching. But today?

Today, you were just someone waiting for Hyun-ju.

You checked your reflection in the black mirror of your phone screen, tugging at the hem of your cream sweater. The outfit felt casual, maybe too casual compared to your usual blouses and slacks–but you wanted to feel approachable, not like you were dragging your office with you. Baggy jeans, a soft sweater, your platform Converse. Comfortable.

But still, you caught yourself smoothing the sweater down again, heart racing at every passerby in case it was her.

And then–she was there.

Hyun-ju stepped through the doors, tall and impossible to miss, wearing chocolate-brown trousers and a navy sweater tucked neatly at the front. The damp ends of her dark hair clung to her cheekbones, rain still glistening faintly against her skin. She looked like she’d walked straight out of some magazine spread–effortlessly elegant even with the weather tugging at her.

She spotted you almost instantly, her lips twitching in the smallest hint of a smile as she approached.

“Hey,” she said, voice soft but warm, a little shy in a way you hadn’t heard before.

“Hey,” you echoed, your own smile blooming before you could help it. “You made it.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “Would’ve been rude not to. You’re the first person who’s invited me shopping in…well. Ever.”

The way she said it made your chest ache.

“Well,” you said gently, brushing the hair out of your own eyes, “then we’ve got  to make it a good first.”

Her eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary, sweeping over your outfit. A flicker of amusement softened her features. “This isn’t your work uniform.”

You flushed, glancing down. “What, no blazer and heels? Yeah, I thought I’d give you the day off from Therapist Me.”

“Casual suits you,” she said simply, then turned toward the nearest store before you could think of a response.

It was a small thing, but it left you buzzing.

The two of you wandered in the first clothing store, the scent of new fabric and faith perfume wrapping around you. Racks of sweaters and coats lined the aisles, the autumn collection in full swing.

You gesture toward a display of jackets. “Okay, ground rules. First: if you even think about putting something back because of her voice in your head, I’ll snatch it right back up.”

Hyun-ju arched a brow, but there was a spark of amusement in her eyes. “That’s a little aggressive.”

“Necessary,” you countered. “Second: this is supposed to be fun. So no overthinking.”

She hummed, pretending to consider. “Do I get to set a rule?”

“Go ahead.”

Her gaze flicked toward you, unreadable. “You have to pick something for yourself too.”

The way she said it–it wasn’t just about clothes. It was about not hiding behind her, about letting this feel like the two of you, together.

You swallowed, then nodded. “Deal.”

You found yourself laughing more than you expected. She cracked dry jokes about mannequins with better posture than she’d ever have, rolled her eyes when you held up a ridiculously sparkly jacket “just to see,” and even allowed you to press a camel-colored coat tucked into her arms until she reluctantly tried it on.

And when she stepped out of the fitting room wearing it, tall and poised with the soft fabric draped perfectly against her, you couldn’t stop staring.

“Wow,” you said quietly, before you could catch yourself.

Her cheeks flushed faintly. She tugged at the lapel, frowning. “It’s too much.”

“It’s perfect,” you countered. “Hyun-ju, it looks like it was made for you.”

She ducked her head, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was fighting a smile. And for the first time, maybe ever, you saw her believe it.

The camel coat wasn’t the only thing you convinced her to try. A dark green cardigan that made her eyes look richer, a pair of fitted jeans that she begrudgingly admitted “weren’t that bad,” and even a pair of sneakers that weren’t her usual plain black–Hyun-ju tried them all. And though she rolled her eyes every time you thrust something into her arms, she never told you no.

By the third store, her stiff posture had started to relax. She walked beside you instead of half a step behind, and when you held up a sweater against her chest to “check the color,” she actually laughed, shaking her head as if you were ridiculous but letting you do it anyway.

It was strange and warm, like watching sunlight find its way into a room that had been locked for years.

The perfume counter came next.

The air was thick with overlapping scents–florals, musks, ambers–and you caught Hyun-ju hesitating at the edge of the display, her shoulders tense again.

“You don’t have to buy anything today,” you said gently, stepping up beside her. “We’re just looking.”

She nodded but didn’t move. Her eyes skimmed over the glass bottles like they were landmines.

So you picked one up yourself. A slim, amber-colored vial. You spritzed it onto a test strip and held it up. “What do you think?”

She leaned in slightly, cautious, and the faintest smile tugged at her lips. “Warm. like…cinnamon. Winter.”

“Exactly.” You handed it to her, then picked another. This one, pale and floral, almost too sweet. She wrinkled her nose.

You grinned. “Okay, not that one.”

The third you tested, you didn’t offer a strip. You sprayed the inside of your own wrist, then held it out to her without thinking. “Here.”

Hyun-ju froze, eyes flicking from your wrist to your face.

“Go on,” you said softly.

After a long pause, she leaned down, close enough that you felt her breath ghost across your skin as she inhaled. Her eyes flicked shut for half a second before she pulled back quickly, clearing her throat.

“It’s…nice,” she said, but her voice was rougher than before.

Your pulse was hammering at your wrist, right where her face had just been.

“Maybe you should try one,” you offered, trying to keep your voice light.

She hesitated, then finally picked up a sleek bottle herself. A soft floral musk, subtle but lingering. She sprayed her own wrist, then held it out awkwardly.

You didn’t even think. You leaned forward, inhaling slowly, the scent warm and grounding and so her.

When you looked up, her gaze was locked on yours, something unreadable in her dark eyes.

“Perfect,” you murmured.

She blinked, startled, then pulled her wrist back quickly, stuffing her hand into her pocket. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, smiling faintly.

By the time you’d wandered through a few more shops and picked up bags between you, the rain had slowed outside. The gray light filtering through the skylights made the mall feel softer, like the world itself had decided to hush for a while.

“Coffee?” you asked as you passed a cafe tucked against a corner.

Hyun-ju nodded, almost too quickly, as if she’d been waiting for you to suggest it.

You found a small table by the window, two paper cups warming your hands as the last drizzle of rain slid down the glass. Hyun-ju sat across from you, her damp hair curling slightly at the ends now that it had begun to dry.

She was quiet, but not in the heavy way you remembered from before. More like she was…thinking.

Finally, she spoke. “I almost didn’t come today.”

You looked up, surprised. “Why?”

Her fingers circled the rim of her cup, restless. “I thought…it would be weird. You’re not my therapist anymore, but still…” She trailed off, shrugging. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You leaned forward slightly, meeting her eyes. “You don’t. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to be here.”

Something flickered in her gaze–uncertainty, then something softer, warmer.

For the first time since you’d met her, she didn’t look like she was bracing herself for impact. She just looked…present. With you. And as the rain eased outside, you realized you didn’t want this moment to end.

A week slipped by like water through her fingers.

Hyun-ju’s life had boiled down to a pattern so rigid it felt like survival more than living. Wake up in her friend’s spare room, the air always faintly damp from the small window that never quite sealed shut. Dress for work, her clothes pared down to what she’d managed to buy back since Seo-Yeon had thrown the rest away. Go to the bus stop, earphones in though she rarely played anything, just using them as a shield against the world.

Work. Numb hours that blurred together until her shift ended. Then the gym, where she moved her body hard enough to quiet the noise in her head for an hour or two. Then back home, shower, dinner if she had the appetite, and then bed.

Repeat.

Her paychecks stacked slowly, methodically, each one bringing her closer to the possibility of her own place. But the numbers never seemed enough. The math was exhausting, the bills relentless, and every time she thought she was close, reality reminded her she wasn’t.

Nights were the worst.

She’d lie in the narrow bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, phone glowing faintly in her hand. The urge always started as a whisper–don’t look, don’t do this again. And then, before she could stop herself, her thumb would flick open Instagram.

Seo-Yeon’s page was still public.

Photos of her in cafes, in bars, in someone else’s jacket, smiling in ways she rarely had with Hyun-ju during the end. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with a man’s arm draped casually around her shoulders. 

Hyun-ju’s chest ached with each scroll. She told herself to stop, to put the phone down, but she never did until the tears slipped silently down her cheeks, darkening the pillow beneath her.

She hated herself for it. For still looking. For still caring. For still bleeding over someone who’d discarded her like she was nothing.

One night, out of desperation, she searched for you instead.

She typed your name slowly, almost afraid her phone would reject it. When your profile popped up, her stomach fluttered. A small, neat photo. A username that matched your name.

Private.

She stared at the lock symbol longer than she should have, disappointment washing over her. She didn’t know what she’d expected–that you’d post endless photos of yourself, maybe, or that she’d find something to hold onto that reminded her of the afternoon you’d wandered between perfume counters together.

She almost hit the “follow” button. Almost.

But then she pulled her hand back.

Because what was she, really? Not your client anymore. Not your friend, not anyone who had the right to take up your space. You had your own life, probably filled with people who weren’t broken, who didn’t show up at your office with their hands wringing like a child.

Still, she thought about you. Every day. In the silence of the bus ride, in the half-light of the gym mirrors, in the ache of her pillow at night.

She wanted to reach out. Wanted it so badly it left her chest tight. But you hadn’t exchanged numbers, hadn't blurred that line–until the mall. Until the coffee.

She told herself not to mistake kindness for invitation. That you had been generous, and she would ruin it if she asked for more.

So she let her days keep blurring, one into the next, the pattern tightening around her like a noose.

Wake. Work. Gym. Sleep. Repeat.

Through it all, all the thought of you lingered like the echo of perfume on her wrist.

Meanwhile, your days had returned to their usual rhythm: a full calendar of appointments, folders stacked neatly on your desk, sessions that bled into each other until your voice grew hoarse from hours of guiding other people through their storms.

On paper, it was fine. Normal.

But every so often, your mind snagged on her.

Hyun-ju.

You caught yourself glancing at your phone between sessions, as though some unspoken tether might tug and she’d appear in a message you hadn’t expected. Or course, she never did. You hadn’t exchanged numbers–too careful back then, too professional. 

Still, you remembered the sound of her laugh when you’d made her try on that ridiculous jacket. The way she’d gone quiet at the perfume counter, your wrist trembling when she leaned in closer. The weight of her eyes across the table at the cafe, soft and searching.

You thought of her when you passed a navy sweater in a store window, when you saw the rain darkening the pavement outside your office, when you caught a client’s nervous habit that reminded you of the way she fumbled her fingers together.

You tried to tuck it away, tell yourself it was just because her story had been so heavy, so raw. That you were a therapist–carrying pieces of people was part of the job.

But it was different.

Sometimes, at night, you’d find yourself scrolling through Instagram, half hoping she might’ve appeared in your “people you may know” list. She never did.

And you told yourself not to wish too hard. That if she wanted to reach out, she would. That maybe the one coffee, the one afternoon, was all you were meant to have.

Still, when the clock ticked past the last appointment of the day and the office fell quiet, you found yourself wondering what she was doing  at that exact moment.

Whether, wherever she was, if she was thinking of you too.

The office was still long after the receptionist had left.

You’d heard the soft knock, the gentle reminder, “I’m heading out for the night, need anything before I go?” You’d smiled and shook your head, assuring her you just had a bit of paperwork left to finish. The door clicked closed, and a few minutes later, the building seemed to exhale in silence.

No more voices in the hall. No shuffle of files or faint clatter of keys. Just the hum of the desk lamp and the distant tick of the clock.

Your heart beat a little harder in the quiet, pulsing heavy in your ears as your pen scraped across the form in front of you.

You filled out notes from your last session of the day:

Primary concern: partner communication breakdown persists.

Progress: minimal.

Recommendation: practice reflective listening exercises before next session.

Another file. Another life. Another set of storm-cloud problems you tried to hold in your hands.

But even as you wrote, your gaze kept drifting toward the closed cabinet at the edge of your office. The one where old files rested, tucked neatly into order.

You tried to push through it, focus on the page in front of you, but the thought pressed harder and harder until finally–sighing–you set your pen down.

Your steps across the carpet felt louder than they should have as you crossed to the cabinet, slid the door open, and pulled out the folder that had been haunting you for months.

Kim Seo-Yeon & Cho Hyun-ju

The paper felt heavier than it should, thick with the weight of all those sessions, all those fights, all those silences. You set it down on your desk and hesitated, fingers hovering.

You knew better. You knew the boundaries. The file should’ve been closed, tucked away, forgotten.

But your hand opened it anyway.

The last page you’d written–your final report–sat at the top. You skimmed it without meaning to, eyes catching on the phrases you’d chosen:

Status: assumed separation/divorce.

Outcome: relationship dissolved.

Final notes: prognosis for reconciliation unlikely.

You swallowed. The neat, professional summary didn’t come close to what you remembered. Not the quiet way Hyun-ju had looked at you in the aftermath of Seo-Yeon’s cruelty. Not the tremor in her voice in your office months later when she finally cried.

Beneath the report, older notes bled through in your handwriting.

Session 3: Hyun-ju raised concern over financial stressors. Debt linked to medical expenses. Seo-Yeon dismissive, escalated to argument. Outcome: unresolved, tension high.

Session 5: Discussion of intimacy avoidance. Couple reported no sexual contact for extended period. Both expressed frustration. Suggested exercise: non-sexual physical closeness. Compliance unclear.

Session 7: Major rupture. Seo-Yeon disclosed sensitive personal information about Hyun-ju (w/o consent). Tone accusatory. Hyun-ju shut down. Session ended with visible emotional distress. Note: monitor for client safety + boundaries in future sessions.

Session 10: Small improvement noted (“we had sex for the first time in a while”). Affect initially positive. Next session, affect reversed–distance, irritability, no resolution.

Each line felt clinical on the page, but as you read them, they became vivid memories–Seo-Yeon’s clipped tone, Hyun-ju’s hunched shoulder, the way her eyes darted toward you as though hoping you’d save her.

Your gaze slid lower, down to the corner of the file where their contact information was printed. Seo-Yeon’s name. Her number. And beneath it–Hyun-ju’s.

Your fingers hovered over it for what felt like forever.

Then, almost without realizing it, you reached for your desk phone. The receiver felt foreign in your hand, colder than it should.

You punched in the numbers slowly, each beep echoing in the empty office. Your chest tightened with every click.

When the last digit clicked into place, you pressed the phone to your ear, heart hammering so hard you could hardly breathe.

It was nearly eight at night. You had no idea if she’d pick up. No idea what you’d say if she did.

But the line began to ring.

And you waited.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Her friend had already gone to bed, and Hyun-ju sat at the small kitchen table, laptop open but ignored, a half-empty glass of water sweating onto a coaster. She’d been scrolling Seo-Yeon’s social media again–masochism in its purist form–until the sting behind her eyes had forced her to snap the laptop shut.

Her phone buzzed against the table.

An unfamiliar number.

For a moment she considered ignoring it. Wrong number, telemarketer, someone looking for anyone but her. But something tugged at her chest, and before she could talk herself out of it, she swiped to answer.

“...Hello?” Her voice came out cautious, low.

The sound of her voice hit you like a wave, warm and familiar even through the static.

“Hi, Hyun-ju? It’s…it’s me. From the counseling center.”

There was a pause. You imagined her frowning, trying to piece together why you’d be calling so late.

You straightened in your chair, fingers tight on the receiver, trying to keep your tone steady, casual, like this was perfectly normal. “I–uh, I check in sometimes. With former clients. Just to…see how they’re adjusting.” The lie slipped too easily from your mouth, dressed in professional polish.

Another silence stretched across the line, heavier this time. You could almost hear her thinking, measuring the truth of your words.

“How are you doing?” you asked softly, willing your voice not to betray the way your heart was racing. “It’s been a while, and I just wanted to…make sure you’re okay.”

There was a pause–long enough that your stomach flipped, that you nearly filled the silence with nervous chatter.

And then she spoke, sharp and rushed, like she’d been bracing for bad news. “Seo-Yeon told me she paid for the rest of the sessions. Did she not? Are you calling because I…I owe you money?”

The defensiveness in her tone caught you off guard. You straightened in your chair, words stumbling out faster than you intended. “Oh–no, no. That’s not–Hyun-ju, you don’t owe me anything. I’m not calling about payment.”

Another pause, this one laced with suspicion. You could picture her frown, the crease between her brows.

You forced your voice to be calm, professional, even as your chest squeezed tight. “Sometimes…I check in. With former clients. Just to make sure they’re doing alright after therapy ends. I hadn’t heard from you since…well… That’s all.”

There was a beat of silence. Then a shaky exhale, the sound of her fingers drumming against something–nerovus habit, maybe.

“Oh.” Her voice softened by a fraction, still wary. “I just…assumed there was a catch. That’s usually how it works with people. There’s always a catch.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “There isn’t one. Not with me. I just wanted to see how you’ve been. Nothing more.”

The quiet that followed stretched long, but this time it wasn’t cold–it was hesitant, searching. Like she was testing the ground beneath her feet before she stepped forward.

Finally, she spoke, softer still. “I…I don’t really know how to answer that.” A small, humorless laugh. “How I’ve been? Depends on the hour, I guess.”

Your heart ached at the sound of it.

“That’s okay,” you murmured, keeping your tone careful, steady. “Depends on the hours is still an answer.”

On the other end of the line, you heard her inhale, shaky and uneven. For the first time in months, she was letting herself breathe in your direction.

The silence hummed, fragile but alive, and you let your voice dip lower, gentler.

“Have you been wearing that coat you bought?” you asked softly. “The camel-colored one?”

A pause. You imagined her blinking in surprise that you remembered. “...Yeah,” she said finally, voice unsteady. “I wear it almost every day. It feels…good. Like it fits me.”

A warmth spread through your chest. You leaned back in your chair, eyes closing as you pictured her tall frame in that sleek coat. “I’m glad.”

You hesitated, then let another question slip, quieter this time, almost conspiratorial. “And…are you wearing your perfume?”

Her breath caught audibly before she answered. “Yes. I…I spray it on most mornings. Even when I don’t leave the apartment.” Her voice cracked, barely perceptible. “Makes me feel…put together. Like I’m not…falling apart.”

Your throat tightened. You hummed softly, a note of acknowledgment that said more than words.

There was a small shuffle on her end, like fabric against fabric, and then she added, almost bashfully, “I’m wearing that gray hoodie I bought too.”

Your lips curved despite yourself. “Oh yeah?”

“Mm.” Her breath shivered out across the line. “Yeah. I sprayed my perfume on it.”

Something low and tender curled in your stomach, a mix of affection and longing. You exhaled slowly, the sound filling the space between you.

Neither of you said much after that–just soft breaths, the quiet hum of the line, the fragile tether of two people pretending this was casual when it felt anything but.

Neither of you wanted to hang up.

You let the silence linger, warm and aching, before finally drawing in a steadying breath. “Well… I’m glad to hear you’re doing alright.” Your voice was soft, careful. “I’ll let you go.”

A pause.

“Okay…” Hyun-ju murmured, but she didn’t sound ready. Neither of you did. The line stayed open, both of you listening to the other breathe, reluctant to cut the tread between you.

And then, quietly, she said, “Before you go…”

Your grip on the receiver tightened. “Yeah?” The word rushed out faster than you intended, eager.

Another pause, like she was working the words over in her mouth before pushing them out. “Would it be alright if I…came by the office tomorrow? To see you?”

You blinked, your pulse stumbling over itself. “To…talk about stuff?”

“Oh, I–yeah.” She let out a nervous laugh, awkward and fragile. “Something like that.”

Your lips curved before you could stop them. “Then yes. Of course.”

Relief bled through her exhale. “Okay. Tomorrow, then.”

There was another pause, softer this time.

“Goodnight, Hyun-ju.”

“...Goodnight.”

You finally lowered the receiver into its cradle, but your heart was still thundering, and the thought of tomorrow was already pulling you forward.

Tomorrow came quicker than you’d expected. You told your receptionist that morning, “I’m working someone in today, not an official appointment. Just send her back when she arrives.” She’d nodded without question, and you buried yourself in notes, trying not to watch the clock too closely.

By mid-afternoon, the phone on your desk buzzed. “She’s here,” your receptionist said.

Your heart gave a small, traitorous leap. “Send her back.”

A minute later, the door cracked open.

Hyun-ju stepped in with that same hesitant posture you remembered–the way she tucked her shoulders slightly forward, as if trying to take up less space despite her tall frame. Her hands hovered mid-air, fumbling with invisible threads before she clasped them together.

“Hey,” you said gently, the corners of your lips lifting. “Hyun-ju. Shut the door behind you.”

She did as told, the soft click sounding final in the quiet office, then crossed the room and all but plopped down on the couch. Her movements were casual, but the stiffness in her shoulders betrayed her nerves.

You pushed back from your desk and rose, stretching your arms overhead, muscles loosening after hours of sitting. The hem of your blouse lifted just briefly, exposing the curve of your stomach before you lowered your arms again.

Leaning back against your desk, you folded your arms loosely, tilting your head as you studied her. “So,” you asked, voice soft but steady, “what did you want to talk about?”

Her gaze flicked to you, then away, her throat working as though she were searching for the right words.

Hyun-ju’s fingers twisted together in her lap, eyes darting between you and the patterned rug under her feet. For a long moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, finally, her voice came quiet but certain.

“I just…wanted to see you.”

Your chest tightened at the honesty of it. A hundred professional responses skimmed the edges of your mind, but none seemed to fit. You shifted your weight, leaning a little more against the desk, studying her carefully.

She seemed to realize how bare that confession sounded, because she added, almost hastily, “Oh–and I, um…I got an apartment. Of my own. Just the other day. I move in today.” Your face softened despite yourself. “Hyun-ju…” you let the warmth seep into your tone before you remembered yourself and smoothed it out. “That’s incredible. I’m proud of you.”

Her lips curved in the smallest smile, faint but genuine. She glanced up at you, almost shyly, as if your approval mattered more than she wanted to admit.

The air between you had shifted–less client-and-therapist, more something else, something dangerous and tender all at once. You pushed yourself away from the desk and crossed the room, lowering onto the couch beside her.

Not too close. But close enough.

“So,” you said lightly, folding your hands in your lap and turning toward her, “how does it feel? Having a place that’s truly yours?”

Her shoulders dropped as she exhaled, the tension easy by degrees. “Quiet,” she admitted. “A little lonely sometimes. But…it’s mine. No one else’s. That feels good.”

You nodded, eyes never leaving her face. “It should feel good. You’ve earned that.”

From there, the conversation began to flow–easier than either of you expected. She told you about arranging the few pieces of furniture she’d been able to afford, how she cooked simple meals at night and left the windows cracked open to listen to the city below. You listened, interjecting with small questions, letting the quiet laughter and steady rhythm of her voice pull you along.

For once, there was no clipboard between you, no ticking clock on the wall. Just the two of you, sitting close enough for your knees to almost brush, words weaving back and forth like something you both secretly needed.

A month passed in a blur of routine. Hyun-ju had become a near-constant in your days–slipping into your office between sessions, settling onto the couch like it belonged to her, filling the air with her voice. Sometimes she rambled about work, sometimes about the apartment, sometimes about nothing important at all. You don’t mind. You looked forward to it, even.

And then one day, she didn’t show.

You checked your phone once, twice. A text or two sat unanswered. She’s busy, you told yourself. She has her own life now.

The next day, silence again. A quiet ache tugged at you, but you forced yourself to focus on your clients.

By late afternoon, you were in the middle of a couples’ session, nodding along as they spoke when your desk phone rang. You ignored it with a small smile. “Go on,” you urged them.

Seconds later, it rang again.

“Sorry,” you murmured, holding up a hand. “Let me just–excuse me.” You crossed to the phone, picking up. “Yes?”

Your receptionist’s voice was hushed, tense. “She’s here.”

Your pulse stumbled. “Who?”

“Hyun-ju. She looks–bad.”

You exhaled slowly. “Tell her I have thirty minutes left, okay? Ask her to wait.”

There was a muffled conversation on the other end, your receptionist relaying the message. And then, faint but unmistakable, came a frantic voice: “I can’t wait!”

Your stomach dropped. “I–” You turned back to your clients, guilt already threading through your veins. “I’m so sorry, but something urgent just came up. There’ll be no charge for today. Let’s reschedule.”

They nodded, concerned, but you were already moving.

You all but rushed into the lobby, eyes scanning until you found her.

Hyun-ju was a wreck. Her usually neat hair was mussed, her cheeks streaked with tears, chest rising and falling like she couldn’t quite catch her breath. She was pacing, wringing her hands, her tall frame trembling with unspent panic.

“Come on,” you said gently but firmly, crossing to her. You guided her into your office, shutting the door tight behind you.

The moment it clicked closed, her composure shattered.

“I–I can’t–” she sobbed, words tumbling out faster than she could control. “The bills–they’re piling up, and then I saw–she’s–Seo-Yeon’s already engaged, she–she’s moving on, it’s only been a year, and I–”

Her voice cracked, shattering into broken fragments. She pressed her palms against her eyes, stumbling as she paced the carpet. “I’m still here–I’m still drowning–and she just gets to start over–like I never existed!”

“Hyun-ju,” you tried, keeping your tone steady, calm, professional. “Slow down. You’re okay. Just breathe.”

But your words only seemed to fuel her spiral. She shook her head, tears spilling freely now, muttering broken fragments about rent, money, being discarded like trash, like she was unraveling right there in front of you.

Something inside you snapped.

You crossed the room quickly, stepping into her path, reaching up before you could second-guess yourself.

Your hands framed her face, palms warm against her damp skin. “Hey.” Your voice dropped to a firm, steady whisper. “Shh. Look at me.”

Her eyes found yours through blurred lashes, chest heaving.

“Breathe,” you told her softly, thumb brushing along her cheek without thought. “It’s okay. You’re here. You’re safe. Just…breahte with me.”

And for the first time in months, Hyun-ju stilled.

Her sobs cracked into hiccups, her body trembling beneath your touch, but her gaze stayed locked on yours as though your voice was the only thing anchoring her to the present.

For a moment, your hand stayed against her cheeks, grounding her, coaxing her back into herself. You could feel her pulse hammering beneath her skin. When her breathing steadied just a fraction, you began to pull away–gently lowering your hands, ready to give her back the space she needed.

But Hyun-ju startled, eyes going wide, panic rushing back in. She grabbed your wrists before you could step away.

“I–I’m sorry,” she stammered, frantic, voice cracking. “Please, I just–I’m sorry, I need a hug.”

There was no hesitation in you. You closed the space instantly, wrapping your arms around her tall frame, pressing her in against you. She collapsed into it, sobbing into your shoulder, her height folding awkwardly as if she were desperate to make herself small enough to be held.

You rubbed slow circles into her back, whispered soothing noises against her temple. One hand slid up, smoothing her damp hair back gently, fingertips tracing comfort into her scalp.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, rocking her slowly, the two of you swaying in the center of your office like the rest of the world had fallen away. “I’ve got you.”

Her sobs cracked and stuttered, but you held her tighter, your own throat tight.

The words slipped before you even realized they were forming, soft and fervent against her ear:

“I love you. I’m here for you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You froze, every muscle in your body going taut as the weight of what you’d said settled over you.

Hyun-ju’s breath stuttered, breaking on a sharp inhale. She pulled back just enough to see your face, tears still glittering on her lashes.

“W–what?” she whispered, voice trembling with disbelief.

Your throat closed around the silence, panic sparking in your chest. “I–no, I didn’t–” The words tumbled out clumsy, rushed. “That wasn’t–I mean, I didn’t mean it like that. I just…”

But Hyun-ju shook her head, watery eyes locked on you, her hands still clutching your arms as though you might disappear. Her voice trembled when she cut you off.

“No. Wait. You said…” She swallowed hard, her lip quivering. “You said you loved…me? As in–me?”

The room tilted. You opened your mouth, searching for the right deflection, the professional boundary, anything–but the fight drained out of you in one slow exhale.

Your shoulders sagged. You gave the faintest nod. “Yeah.” Your voice cracked, small but certain. “You. Hyun-ju.”

She froze, staring at you like she couldn’t comprehend the words. “Is this a joke?” she whispered, breath hitching. “Like–are you just teasing me? Because that’s…that’s cruel.”

Your heart broke at the disbelief etched into her face. You shook your head quickly, desperately.

“Hyunnie…” the pet name slipped out unbidden, tender and aching, and her breath caught at the sound. “I would never do that to you. Never.”

Your hands tightened around her arms, grounding both of you. “I really shouldn’t have said it–not here, not right now…” you admitted, shame and yearning twined into your voice. “But yes. You. I love you.”

Hyun-ju’s lips parted, trembling. Tears clung stubbornly to her lashes, her whole body shaking like she didn’t know whether to collapse into you or run away.

Her breath came shallow, uneven, her whole body trembling like the ground beneath her hand given way. Her lips parted around words that barely made it out.

“I…I don’t know how to believe that,” she whispered, voice fractured. “Nobody’s ever–” Her throat closed, and she shook her head, choking on the truth. “Say it again. Please. I need to hear you say it again.”

Your heart ached. You reached for her, brushing your thumbs over the damp trails on her cheeks. You steadied your voice, letting it fall quiet and certain.

“I love you, Hyun-ju.”

Something shattered in her then–not in a violent way, but like glass breaking to let the light through. A sob escaped her, small and helpless, before she surged forward, closing the last inches between you.

Her mouth found yours in a kiss that was messy and desperate, all trembling lips and salts from her tears. She clung to you like you were the only thing keeping her alive, one hand fisting into your sweater, the other curling around your back to pull you flush against her.

You gasped softly into her, your hands tangling in her damp hair as you kissed her back, giving her everything she asked for without words.

The kiss broke only when she needed to breathe, her forehead falling against yours, tears still slipping down her cheeks. Her voice cracked, raw and aching.

“You really…love me?”

Your chest heaved, your lips brushing hers in the barest ghost of another kiss. “Yes,” you breathed. “I really do.”

She let out a broken laugh, half-sob, half-relief, before kissing you again–slower this time, but no less desperate, her whole body pressed into yours like she was finally letting herself believe.

Two months later, the rhythm of your lives had shifted into something warm and familiar. Coffee runs, lunches dropped off in the middle of your day, evenings tangled up in conversations that bled late into the night. There was a steadiness in it, a quiet joy that neither of you dared to name, but both of you clung to.

That night, the two of you sat across from one another in the soft glow of a candlelit restaurant. You wore your favorite dress, something flowing and soft, paired with delicate earrings that caught the light when you moved. Hyun-ju was in well-tailored trousers and a slate blouse that hugged her broad shoulders, her hair pinned back neatly. She looked beautiful in a way that made your chest ache.

The wine glasses between you were half full when Hyun-ju set hers down carefully, her fingers lingering on the stem. She looked at you with an intensity that made you straighten in your seat.

“I want to talk about some stuff,” she said quietly.

“Anything,” you answered without hesitation, resting your chin on your hand.

Her lips twitched in a half-smile, but her eyes stayed serious. “I know Seo-Yeon already told you some things about me. But I…I want you to hear my story from me. Not from her.”

You titled your head, voice soft. “Hyun-ju, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I want to.”

There was no wavering in her tone.

So you nodded, giving her your silence, your attention.

She drew in a breath, fingers tightening against her napkin. “I never really fit in growing up. Not in my own skin, not in my family, not anywhere. Everything felt…wrong. But when I joined the military, for the first time, people respected me. I climbed up the ranks, worked harder than anyone else. I became a sergeant. I thought…maybe this is what belonging feels like.”

Her throat worked around the next words. “And then, when I finally told my commanding officer that I was trans, they didn’t hesitate. They kicked me out. Everything I had built, everything I thought I was–it was gone in an instant. And my family? My friends?” She let out a bitter laugh, low and short. “They disappeared too.”

Your heart clenched, but you stayed quiet, letting her continue.

“I had some savings, though. Enough to…to finally do it. To become myself. All the surgeries, the hormones–every cent I had went into making sure that when I looked in the mirror, I could finally see me. Not the mask I had been wearing my whole life. And now, for the first time, I actually feel like a person. Like I belong in my own body.”

She stopped, her breath uneven. Her eyes searched yours, raw and vulnerable.

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything. You reached across the table instead, resting your hand gently over hers.

“Hyun-ju,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. “You’ve always been you. You didn’t need to prove that to me, or to anyone. But…thank you for trusting me enough to share it.”

Her lips parted, her eyes shimmering. She gave your hand a squeeze, voice breaking just slightly.

“Thank you for listening.”

Hyun-ju’s hand tightened around yours, her jaw shifting as though she wasn’t finished yet.

“There’s…another reason I wanted to tell you all this,” she said, her voice lower now, steadier despite the vulnerability glinting in her eyes. “When I started dating Seo-Yeon, I wasn’t honest with her. Not about everything. Especially not about my debt. And back then, it was…a lot worse than it is now. I thought if she knew the truth, she’d leave me before we even began. So I lied. Or… I left things out. Which is the same damn thing.”

Her eyes dropped to the tablecloth. “I don’t want to lie anymore. I can’t. You saw how that worked for me.”

You leaned in, your thumb brushing gently against her knuckles. “Hyun-ju…” You shook your head softly. “There were so many underlying issues in that marriage than your financial situation. Debt doesn’t excuse cruelty. It doesn’t excuse betrayal.”

Her throat worked, but she didn’t argue.

You pressed on, your voice firm but gentle, making sure she heard every word. “I watched you sit in those sessions week after week, trying. Fighting for a marriage where the other person had already checked out. I saw how hard you worked to make it last, even when it was breaking you. You didn't have to explain to me why. I understand it. She was the first person who showed you love after you transitioned. You held on because you thought she was all you had.”

Her lips parted, her breath catching, and her eyes shone wet again–but she didn’t look away from you.

“But the truth is,” you whispered, leaning closer across the candlelit table, “you’re so much more than what you survived. More than what she did to you. More than your debt. More than your mistakes.”

Her chest rose and fell, shaky, as you let the words spill out, raw and unflinching.

“You are strong, Hyunnie. You are resilient. And you’re beautiful. Inside and out. Do you know how rare it is to meet someone who’s been torn down over and over and still stands with their head high? That’s you. That’s always been you.”

Her lips quivered, and she bit down on it hard like she was afraid it would break into another sob.

Your name escaped her lips in a breath, almost reverent, her tone trembling.

You gave her hand another squeeze, anchoring her. “I see you. All of you. And you don’t ever have to hide from me.”

For a long moment, the world seemed to fall away. Just the candle flicker, the wine untouched, her gaze locked to yours like she was memorizing every word you’d said, clinging to them like a lifeline.

She learned to name the quiet things first.

Not the loud, obvious losses that had shaped the arc of her life–being stripped of a uniform she’d earned, the echoing silence of family doors closed on her, the sharpness of Seo-Yeon’s betrayal–but the small, persistent erasures that had lived beneath them: the morning she’d looked in the mirror and felt like a stranger, the times she’d bitten back a laugh because it never felt safe to be loud, the years of practice at making herself small so the rest of the world could breathe.

Healing, Hyun-ju discovered, began in those small, private rebellions. Buying a coat because it made her shoulders square in the way she wanted to hold them. Learning to keep a drawer for things that were only hers–lipstick she had picked without apology, a tiny bottle of perfume that smelled like cinnamon, apples, and hope. Choosing, day after day, to stand in front of the mirror and say the words that had once sounded dangerous: I am here. I am allowed.

It was not sudden. It was stuttering and patient and exactly as she needed it to be. There were mornings when the old weight sat on her chest like a fist and she had to breathe herself out of it. There were nights when Seo-Yeon’s face was a phantom, cropping up where it had no right to be, when the impulse to shrink back was nearly reflexive. But the more time she chose differently–the more times she dressed for herself, spat a truth she’d hoarded for too long, opened her door to an empty apartment and filled it with the ritual of making it a home–the softer the old edges became. They did not vanish. They rearranged, became parts of a map that showed her how to steer rather than what to avoid.

When she first walked into your office after the breakup, she had not expected gentleness. She had come thinking to be polite, to cross one more thing off the ledge of necessary humiliations. Instead, you offered her a room where being unstitched was allowed. You did not fix her. You listened. You held boundaries and then, when she left them behind, you stepped beyond them with cups of coffee and a ridiculous jacket and the stubborn insistence that she deserved more than the scraps she’d been given.

That insistence–soft, persistent–became scaffolding.

She learned the language of tenderness with you. It sounded, at first, like you rehearsing normal: “I’ll be there,” “I love this on you,” “You’re not a burden.” Then it became the language she taught herself to speak. The first time she said I love you and your answer–so small, like a hand pressed to hers across some too-bright table–did not undo years of fear, but it was the first real proof she ever had that love could be steady and warm and uncomplicated by obligation. That it could be given without ledger.

There were terrible, glorious afternoons when grief and joy occupied the same space–when she would stand in her own apartment, newly hers, and both ache for what had been taken and feel ferocious pride in what she’d rebuilt. She thought of the sergeant she had been: disciplined, precise. She thought of the girl who’d refused to let shame define her. She learned the odd new muscles of gentleness–how to treat her body as a friend and not a project, how to let someone hold her without session notes or clinical distance, how to accept being loved not because she had been reduced but because she was visible.

Loving you became part of that work and part of the reward. It was not a cure. It was an invitation–to live a life where tenderness was not transactional, where touch was not a test, where being seen did not mean being judged. With you, she could practice quiet human things she had long denied herself: waking up beside another person who made coffee while she tied her shoes, coming home to someone who knew the exact way she liked the window left open, laughing without calculating whether it would later be used against her.

Sometimes she would catch herself in private–catch the way her chest unfurled when you called her “Hyunnie,” the little satisfied straightening she did when you noticed the new scent of her perfume, the way she tucked her chin into your neck, finally certain that leaning in would not be an invitation to be discarded. Those moments pooled beneath the ordinary: folded laundry, shared takeout containers, the quiet agreement to hold each other’s pockets of darkness until the edges frayed. She learned that love could be both firenze and ordinary at once.

Hyun-ju kept the camel coat. Sometimes she wore it to the grocery store and smiled at herself in the reflection of the storefront window. Sometimes she wore the gray hoodie you’d teased her about and pressed her wrist to your face so you could breathe in the perfume she’d sprayed there. Those small ceremoiens–choosing a sweater, testing a scent, making coffee together on a Sunday–were not trivial. They were architecture of an everyday life she’d been denied and had rebuilt brick by brick.

There were still nights when shame rose–when the ghosts of other people’s words gathered like rain–but they were quieter now, easier to weather. Instead of spiraling alone, she texted you a photo of a sweater, or knocked on your door at an ungodly hour because she’d had a nightmare. You came. You sat on her couch and listened. Sometimes you said nothing at all. Sometimes you said that one, small, dangerous thing again: You are loved. You are enough.

She would tell this story–this messy, stubborn being-together–over and over in her mind until it caught in her throat like a benedication. Once, in the hush of a kitchen after hours, she said it out loud: I am more than what I survived. Not as explanation but as fact. As a map marked with the roads she had walked and the ones she had chosen.

And with that map, she began to travel differently. When Seo-Yeon’s name appeared in the corner of her mind she no longer reached for the old reflexes of blame or self-erasure. She would close her eyes, breathe, and remember instead the hands that had held her here—tender, guilty sometimes, perfectly human—and the life that was hers to steward. There was room now for grief and for joy, for the stubborn ache of yearning and the steady safety of belonging.

Years from the worst of it, standing with you on the small balcony of an apartment that hummed with a life you’d built together, she would tilt her head back and let the city air feel like new skin. The plane of her jaw was softer in sunlight than in memory. Her reflection in the glass looked like someone who had been meticulously reassembled: not pristine, not unscarred, but whole in a way she had never thought to demand.

“I was always a lonely bird,” she thought—used to holding herself aloft with impossible strength. But now, her wings beat differently. They beat with someone beside them. They beat toward a place where nest and sky could exist at once.

She still kept one small drawer, a private island: the old ticket stubs from the military base, a letter she never sent, the crushed perfume sample from when she first dared to love herself. They were relics, not anchors. When she opened it she did so without the old panic—curator, not prisoner.

When she loved you—openly, unquestionably—it was not to fill a hole. It was because she had made one day after another into solidity, because she had learned to tell her own story in her own voice, because she had decided that being seen would no longer mean being less. The love she gave you felt, finally, as if it came from her center and not from an urgent scramble to be kept. That made all the difference. There was freedom in it: freedom from the ledger of past debts, freedom from the stale, fearful arithmetic of what she owed the world.

You watched each other grow in public and private: the silly, domestic rites—burnt toast rescued with extra jam; arguments about the best route home that dissolved into laughter; hospital visits when a parent needed a friend—stitched between the larger, quieter moments of recalibration. Each small kindness compounded, a currency neither of you counted but both of you banked on. In the little acts—an offered sweater, a steady hand at the crosswalk—she found her proof that safety could be ordinary.

In the end, the biggest gift was simple: she had learned to be gentle with herself long enough that she could accept gentleness from another. That acceptance was a practice. Some mornings it was easier than others. Some nights she remembered the sting and would need to be reminded—by you, by her own quiet insistence—that she was not the sum of what had been done to her. You would remind her and she would breathe and the world would tilt back toward grace.

The lonely bird kept its wings. But it no longer circled out of fear. Now, it returned—again and again—to a place that looked like home.

She placed her hand over yours across the little kitchen table, fingers lace-fitting, and the world narrowed to that one undeniable, steady fact. The seasons shifted outside. The city lights blurred. Inside, there was a warmth that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the choice they had made every day: to show up, to stay, to love.

“I belong to myself,” she thought—then, as if tasting a new truth, added, “and to you.”

And that, finally, was enough.

You didn’t know how much time had passed–not exactly. The party had blurred around the edges, noisy and warm, and yet somehow distant. The thumping bass was softer in this corner of the living room, muffled behind conversations and laughter and Hyun-ju’s steady arms curled around your middle.

At some point, without really thinking about it, you let your body relax fully into hers. Your back pressed gently to her chest, your head tilted until it found the side of her face. Her cheek was warm against your temple. She shifted just enough to tuck her chin against your shoulder, and her hands–lazy, loose–rested on your thighs on, thumbs brushing absentminded shapes into your skin just below your skirt hem.

You could’ve melted right there.

“Tired?” a voice piped up, pulling you slightly back to earth.

You blinked and glanced over at Nira grinning at you from the arm of the couch, her sparkly earrings catching the light as she swayed a little with her drink.

You gave a sheepish little laugh. “I’m not usually a party person.”

Hyun-ju chuckled behind you and translated quickly. Nira squealed in response, dramatically clutching her chest and mumbling something rapid-fire in Korean.

“She says that makes you even cuter,” Hyun-ju murmured beside your ear, low enough that her breath made your skin prickle. “Like a little stray cat we’ve all adopted for the night.”

You made a face, laughing softly. “Not sure how I feel about that.”

“You don’t like being a kitten?”

You swatted at her arm without turning around, but the smile on your face gave you away. A quiet lull settled over your little corner of the party–not silence, but something peaceful beneath the noise. Hyun-ju’s fingers slowed their motion on your thighs, just holding you now, steady and still.

She shifted slightly, her voice softer this time. “You wanna head out?”

You glanced back, meeting her eyes briefly. “Oh–no rush,” you said, gently shaking your head. “I’m fine just…sitting here with you.”

Her eyes crinkled, something warm and private flickering there. Then, casually, she asked, “If you leave…are you going to bed?”

The question shouldn’t have made your heart skip, but it did. “I…don’t know,” you replied slowly, tilting your head just a little to look at her. “Maybe.”

She leaned forward, her lips brushing just barely over the shell of your ear. “If not…could I come over for a bit?”

You turned fully to face her then, just enough to see the spark of mischief in her eyes. She wasn’t teasing. Not really. Her voice was gentle. Careful.

Still, your mouth moved before your brain could stop it. “Yes. Yeah. I mean–sure. That’d be…nice.”

Hyun-ju smiled, slow and satisfied, and gave your waist a little squeeze. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She gave your thigh a light pat, her voice low and warm in your ear. “Hop up.”

You hesitated, just for a second—still reluctant to leave the comfort of her lap—but obeyed. Her hands slipped away from your waist as you stood, quickly smoothing your skirt and tugging your jacket back into place. Hyun-Ju stood a beat after, stretching her arms once before stepping into your space again. Her arm slid naturally around your shoulders like it belonged there, like it always had.

“We’re gonna head out,” she called to the group, her tone casual.

You gave everyone a small, sheepish wave. The chorus of reactions came immediately. “Ooooooh!!” Nira gasped, dramatically clutching her chest like she was scandalized. Another friend whistled. Someone muttered something teasing in Korean and cackled before they even finished their sentence.

You squeaked, cheeks burning, and instinctively ducked into Hyun-Ju’s side, hiding your face against her leather jacket. She just laughed, soft and fond, her hand squeezing your shoulder.

Outside, the air hit like a slap of cold. You hissed through your teeth, wrapping your arms around yourself. Hyun-Ju didn’t let her arm leave you—she just pulled you tighter against her side, her warmth a steady contrast to the chill.

The cab arrived quickly, headlights slicing through the night. You slid in first, shivering a little as you scooted toward the window. Hyun-Ju slipped in beside you, but instead of pressing close, she settled on the opposite end of the seat.

It should’ve felt distant. Except–her hand reached across the space and rested on your thigh. Just… settled there. Casual. Confident. As if that was simply where it belonged. 

Your entire body lit up like a fire alarm. She wasn’t even looking at you—she was watching the city blur past outside the window, thumb moving in lazy, unconscious circles over your skin.

Meanwhile, you were melting. Your hands were sweaty, your heart was doing somersaults, and your eyes kept flicking toward her in secret, hungry glances that never lasted more than a second.

But of course, she noticed. She turned her head just slightly, catching you mid-peek. Her lips curved slowly, wicked. “See something you like?”

You wanted to dissolve. “I—” you sputtered, voice cracking. “Shut up.” She laughed—low and quiet and ridiculously pretty—and didn’t move her hand.

When the cab finally pulled to a stop in front of your apartment building, you were halfway to combusting. You thanked the driver in a daze, then climbed out, digging frantically in your bag for your keys.

They were nowhere. Or maybe they were, but your fingers couldn’t feel anything through the panic. Behind you, Hyun-Ju hummed softly. “Calm down, baby,” she said, not unkindly. “Take a breath.”

You huffed out a laugh, your face burning. “Sorry—I just—um—okay, wait—got them—”

Your keys finally emerged, rattling in your hand, and you turned toward the door, unlocking it as quickly as your shaking fingers would allow.

“I didn’t clean,” you blurted as you stepped inside, still a little breathless. “I didn’t know you’d be coming over.”

Hyun-Ju’s voice followed you in, warm and easy. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

The door clicked shut behind her. You kicked off your shoes and set your bag down, trying not to look like you were internally spiraling. Then you felt her hands at your sides again—gentle, certain—and she tugged you close.

Her arms wrapped around you fully this time, no crowd, no noise, no teasing friends. Just the two of you in the quiet of your living room. You didn’t speak. You just leaned into her and let your arms wind around her waist. 

She smelled like cold air and peach soju and something familiar—something that made your ribs ache. You swayed there together, slow and aimless, your cheek resting against her collarbone, her chin tucked atop your head.

She didn’t let go. Neither did you. Not for a long while.

You stayed like that—tucked into Hyun-Ju’s warmth, swaying slowly in the center of your living room—until your heart started to calm down, until the world felt quiet again.

And then you felt her voice hum softly against your temple. “Do I make you nervous?”

Your breath caught. You pulled back just slightly, enough to glance up at her, eyes wide and blinking. “I—what?”

She didn’t tease. Her face was open, curious. Gentle.

You felt your tongue trip over itself. “I mean—no! Not like, um, in a bad way. It’s just—” You sighed. “You’re really… pretty. And nice. And you smell good. And you kissed me in the bathroom.”

She laughed, not mockingly, just with affection. “So… yes,” you admitted, cheeks pink. “You kinda do.”

Her hands stayed at your waist as she leaned back a little to take a better look at you. There was something in her eyes—something soft, steady. Like she was trying to memorize you. “I had fun tonight,” she said quietly.

You smiled, still a little dazed. “Me too.”

Hyun-Ju flashed you one of those grins that made your stomach flip, but didn’t say anything else. You surged forward for one more hug—brief but squeezing, like you couldn’t help it—and then pulled back, brushing your hair behind your ears.

“Um, do you mind if I take off my makeup real quick?” you asked, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. “I’m still in full glitter mode.”

Hyun-Ju shook her head. “You can shower if you want. I don’t wanna interrupt your nighttime routine.”

“Ohh no,” you said quickly. “It’s okay, I don’t—”

“No,” she cut in, and her voice was so sweet it made your chest ache. “I insist. Go do whatever you need. I’ll sit with you. Keep you company.”

Your mouth opened, then shut. You swallowed. “Okay,” you managed, voice suddenly very small.

You couldn’t help the grin that crept onto your face as you turned toward the bathroom, your heart going wild all over again.

Hyun-Ju was coming with you. Sitting beside you while you took your makeup off. She wasn’t teasing, she wasn’t flirting to get something out of you. She just wanted to be near you. And you were kind of losing your mind about it.

Hyun-Ju shrugged off her jacket, draping it neatly over the back of the toilet. You didn’t mean to look—but it was hard not to when the sleeves of her black tank top clung to her shoulders and her arms looked way too good under the bathroom lights. Defined. Strong. Kind of dangerous-looking. And she just… sat on the counter like she belonged there, watching you.

You kept your gaze fixed on the sink as you wet your hands and lathered your cleanser, trying very hard to ignore the fluttery feeling building in your chest.

Hyun-ju watched as you bent over, ever so slightly revealing the bottom hem of your lace panties. Her breath hitched, not enough for you to notice, but enough that she felt her heart speed up.

After rinsing off your face and patting it dry with a towel, you turned around and mumbled, “I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick.”

Hyun-Ju nodded, but didn’t move from her perch. You hesitated. Glanced at her, then at the shower. Then back again. She just blinked at you, like she didn’t understand why you were frozen in place.

Then: “Oh,” she said. “Did you want me to step out?” Your mouth opened but no words came. You just blushed, eyes dropping to the tile. Hyun-Ju tilted her head, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. “I’ll close my eyes,” she offered lightly. “As if we’re not both girls.”

That made your face burn even more, but you didn’t stop her. You quickly reached for the hem of your shirt, shimmying out of it before pulling off your skirt and underwear, all in a blur. You yanked the shower curtain closed behind you and ducked under the spray.

“You can open your eyes now,” you called over the running water.

“Okay,” came her easy reply.

There was a pause, then your voice floated out again—soft, a little hesitant. “You can go look through my dresser for something to sleep in, if you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Just… it might all be a little short on you.”

You could hear the grin in her voice. “I’m sure I’ll find something.” Then a second later, “How did I get so lucky that I get to spend the night?”

You tried not to picture her walking around your room, tried not to think too hard about what she might see.

But in your dresser—third drawer down, right-hand side—you had a few things you definitely didn’t intend for her to see. Cotton panties. A few matching lingerie sets. A stuffed bunny-print bralette. A tiny little pink thong you’d bought on impulse. And of course, tucked behind all that—a vibrator.

Hyun-Ju was quiet the whole time she changed, but you were pretty sure that was because she was trying not to laugh.

When you peeked your head out from behind the curtain a few minutes later, freshly shampooed and still dripping, you nearly jumped. She was right there again. Back on the counter. Sitting like a statue.

“Hey,” she said, looking up from her phone like she’d been there the whole time.

You flinched slightly. “Oh! Hi.”

Your voice came out small and breathy, and she smiled again. Soft. Like she could see right through you.

She was wearing your biggest shirt—one that hung oversized on you, but looked just barely relaxed on her tall frame—and a pair of black sweatpants that she’d rolled at the waist to fit right. Her hair was down now, a little mussed from changing, and she looked warm. Settled.

Like she’d always been here.

“You look cozy,” you said, wiping steam from your brow.

“I am,” she replied easily. “You take long showers.”

You squeaked a little at that. “Sorry…”

“No, I like it. Gives me more time to sit in your bathroom and spy on your makeup and skincare.”

You made a face, rolling your eyes as you turned off the shower. You wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel, tucking tightly beneath your arms before stepping out of the shower. The bathroom was still thick with steam, the mirror completely fogged over, but Hyun-ju didn’t seem to mind. She was still there, legs swinging gently where she sat, her eyes following you in a way that made your pulse flutter.

You crossed to the sink and began patting your face dry, suddenly hyper aware of the way the towel clung to your chest. You kept your eyes down, but you could feel her looking.

“Don’t stare,” you mumbled, only half joking.

“I’m not,” she said, not bothering to hide her smile. “I’m admiring.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Gross.”

“You like it.”

You didn’t respond. Just reached for your moisturizer and dabbed it onto your cheeks, then your forehead, your chin. Hyun-ju didn’t say anything else–just sat next to you, letting the silence settle again. It was somehow louder than before.

When you finally turned to face her again, she was watching you so openly it made you feel dizzy. “Can I…get dressed real quick?” you asked, fiddling with the edge of your towel. “In here, I mean. If you don’t mind.”

“I’ll close my eyes,” she said again, but there was a quietness in her voice this time. A softness. “Unless you want me to keep them open.”

Your breath caught, fingers stilling against the towel’s knot. “I don’t–” you stammered, blushing fiercely. “I mean–it’s not like–I just–”

“It’s okay,” she murmured, sliding off the counter. “I’ll step out. Take your time.”

But then you did the stupidest thing imaginable. You reached for her wrist. “Wait–” Hyun-ju stilled. You swallowed. “I just…you don’t have to go.”

She turned to you fully. And when you didn’t let go, when your fingers stayed curled around her wrist, something shifted between you. The steam still lingered in the air, warm and damp and intimate, and her shirt smelled faintly like your detergent now. Her hand turned in yours, fingers lacing with yours for just a second before she pulled you gently in by the towel.

“I can help,” she whispered.

You blinked. “Help with what?”

She misled, brushing your damp hair back behind your hair. “Getting you dressed.”

The words made you shiver. Not because of what they implied–but because of how careful her voice was when she said them. She wasn’t teasing. She wasn’t pushing. She was offering.

You gave the faintest nod. Then another. 

She bent down to the little pile of folded clothes you’d left on the counter. Cotton underwear, a soft tank top, a pair of old sleep shorts. Not sexy. Not intentional. Just your usual–comoftable and a little worn. She didn’t say a word as she picked up the tank top, holding it lightly in one hand.

“Arms up,” she said simply.

You obeyed without speaking. The towel slipped off and hit the floor, and Hyun-ju didn’t so much as blink. Or maybe she did, but she covered it well. Her hands stayed gentle as she helped you into the tank top first, tugging it carefully down over your damp shoulders, smoothing it at the sides like she’d done this a hundred times.

Then she knelt, fingers brushing your ankle as she guided your feet into your underwear. She pulled them up slowly, with quiet precision, knuckles grazing the backs of your thighs as she stood again. The air between you had thickened somehow–charged and hot–but she didn’t flinch.

“Shorts?” she asked, voice steady.

You nodded again, lips parted, barely breathing. She tugged those on too, thumbs gliding up your hips to adjust the waistband. Her hands lingered a moment too long.

  But her face never gave her away. She straightened at last, brushing invisible lint from the hem of your tank like it was no big deal. “There,” she murmured, like she’d just zipped up your jacket for you. “All dressed.”

Your heart was doing something borderline catastrophic inside your chest. Then her voice dropped. Soft. Sure. “Come on.”

She took your hand and gently tugged you out of the bathroom, her palm warm against yours. Your bare feet padded after hers through the short hallway, your breath caught somewhere in your throat.

You let her lead you into your bedroom. And suddenly you weren’t sure if she’d helped you get dressed…or if she’d just taken the scenic route to undressing you.

Your bedroom was dark except for the amber spill of light from the hallway, and Hyun-ju didn’t reach for the switch. She moved toward the bed like she’d done it before, like this was already something familiar. You followed without thinking, your hand still tucked in hers, your heart climbing higher in your throat with every step.

When she sat on the edge of your mattress, you hovered–unsure where to go, what to say. But Hyun-ju just smiled, soft and unbothered, and reached for you again. “Come here.”

You stepped between her knees and she wrapped her arms loosely around your waist, her cheek resting against your stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world. You felt her breathe you in–slow and deliberate–and it made your thighs tremble, just slightly.

“You smell like honey,” she murmured. “And soap. And you.”

You swallowed thickly. “Is that a good thing?”

“The best.”

She looked up, her chin now pressing lightly into your belly, and your hand found its way into her hair. It was damp from the shower steam, soft between your fingers, and the sigh of her kneeling slightly at the end of your bed looking up at you like that–God. You weren’t surviving this.

Her fingers found your hips again. “Lie down,” she whispered. “Just for a minute.”

You blanked. “Like–together?”

She tilted her head. “You don’t have to ask like I’m gonna bite you.”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, cheeks heating, “you’ve got that look.”

Hyun-ju laughed, low and warm, but she didn’t argue. She just scooted back and patted the space beside her.

You crawled in slowly, heart thundering. She lay down beside you, her head propped on one arm, the other arresting against the blanket between you like it wasn’t desperate to touch you. Your eyes adjusted to the dark, and you could make out the shape of her lashes, the faint curve of her smile, the rise and fall of her chest.

Neither of you said anything for a long moment. And then, softly, like a question: “Can I kiss you?”

You turned toward her so fast your head bumped hers lightly. “Ow–shit–sorry–”

But she was already laughing, pulling you closer with a hand at your waist. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The kiss started sweet. A brush of lips. A warm exhale. Her hand slid slowly up your back, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades as your bodies pressed closer beneath the sheets. Her mouth moved with yours–unhurried, gentle–but the warmth of it burned all the way through you.

She kissed like she wanted to savor. Like she’d been thinking about this for a long time. You whimpered a little without meaning to, and Hyun-ju smiled against your lips. “Yeah?” she whispered. “You like that?”

You nodded, already dizzy. Her hands moved again–one up to cradle your jaw, the other gliding down the curve of your waist. She didn’t grope, didn’t rush. She just held you there, fingertips brushing bare skin where your tank had ridden up.

When her thigh slid between yours, your hips twitched instinctively. Her breath caught–but still, she didn’t move fast.

She kissed your neck. Your collarbone. The corner of your mouth. She hovered, teased, breathed you in like she could live off your little gasps.

Her hand skimmed up under your tank and landed gently beneath your breast, and this time her mouth didn’t stop moving. She kissed you deeper, fingers curling slightly, her thumb brushing along the underside until you whined into her mouth.

Still no rush. Still so, so soft. 

“You feel good,” she whispered, lips dragging along your jaw.

You squirmed, your hips rocking slightly against her thigh where it pressed between yours. Your breath came faster, but you didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

“You want more?” she murmured.

Your eyes fluttered shut. “I–don’t know,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I want something, I just–”

“Hey.” She kissed the edge of your lips again. “It’s okay.”

You nodded, pressing your forehead to hers. Her fingers traced idle circles over your ribs, the pads of them light enough to tickle. Her other hand held your face steady as she kissed you again–deeper, but still slow. Still asking.

You tugged her closer. Closer until your bodies were flush, until you could feel the way her breath hitched when your thighs parted a little wider around hers.

But even then, she didn’t move faster. She just touched you like she was learning you. Kissing you like you were the only thing she wanted to taste tonight.

And when she finally broke away, both of you a little wrecked and breathless, she smiled at the way your lips chased hers. “We can stop whenever you want,” she whispered.

“I don’t wanna stop,” you murumured. “I just don’t wanna go too fast.”

Her thumb brushed your cheek. “I can work with that.”

And with that, she wrapped her arms around you and pulled you tight against her chest, letting you settle into the curve of her body, her heartbeat thudding gently beneath your ear.

No pressure. No teasing. Just warmth. And want. And the kind of intimacy that buzzed so loud in your skin you knew you wouldn’t sleep a minute that night.

You woke slowly. Warm. Content.

The air in your room was still, quiet except for the faint hum of traffic outside and the birds that never shut up on the power line near your window. You stretched under your sheets, muscles pleasantly sore, your brain foggy from sleep and something sweeter.

Then you blinked. The space next to you was cold. Hyun-ju was gone.

You sat up, heart stuttering, hair a mess and mouth dry. The blanket fell from your chest, skin warm from where her hands had been all over you hours ago.

Your eyes flicked around the room like she might still be here, just out of sight. But no. Nothing. No sound from the kitchen. No quiet humming. No Hyun-ju.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, heart still thudding. Lit screen. One unread message.

sorry i had to leave, had an early shift at the cafe. xo

You sagged back into your pillows, exhaling hard. Relief. A tiny ache of disappointment. Most just the fluttering, barely contained joy that she had texted at all. That she’d left a little xo.

After a few minutes of scrolling on your phone, mostly admiring pictures of you and Hyun-ju from the past few weeks, you crawled out of bed. It didn’t take you long to get ready; you kept it simple, hair up, no makeup. Comfy outfit.

The city was brisk but bright when you left your apartment, layers zipped up over your outfit–something casual but still cute. Just in case. You tucked your laptop under your arm and caught the next bus to campus.

It was your last day before the break. The halls were quieter than usual, a few students still scrambling to print their essays, the energy in the air a weird mix of burnout and relief. You turned in your final project, thanked your professor with a polite bow, and stepped outside into the late afternoon chill. The air felt thin. Everything was winding down–classmates heading off to pack for vacations, weekend trips, homecomings.

You checked your phone. Your mom had texted earlier.

I wish I could fly you home, honey. I checked all the flights but they’re so expensive right now. Next break, I promise. I miss you. Berry misses you too

You’d responded with:

it’s okay mom🩷 i’ll call a lot!! give berry a big kiss for me

But the ache hadn’t left your chest since. It followed you through the bus ride home, the quiet apartment, the way the sunset bled soft gold across the hardwood floor.

You lay on your bed, phone balanced on your chest, scrolling through old pictures–your mom holding Berry like a baby, blurry photos of your kitchen back home, the little heart sticker you’d left on the fridge last spring.

You texted Hyun-ju without thinking.

how do you say “i’m sad” in korean??

Her reply came quickly:

나 슬퍼 (na seul-peo) are you okay?

You didn’t answer right away. You stared at her message, then locked your phone and just laid there, breathing.

There were no sounds in your apartment except for the heater and the quiet hum of your refrigerator. Something about it was comforting to you. And to be honest, the silence made you feel better than crowding your mind with a lot of noise.

About half an hour later, your phone buzzed again. A call this time. You answered with a tiny voice. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Hyun-ju said, soft and careful. “Wanna practice your Korean?”

You smiled, but it hurt. “나 슬퍼…”

She didn’t tease. Didn’t joke. Just let that hang in the air. You rolled to your side, curling up a little. 

“I really wanted to go home. But my mom couldn’t afford the ticket. And I totally understand, I really do. It’s just–I miss her. And I miss Berry. And everything’s so quiet without school and I feel dumb for being sad over it but–”

“Hey,” Hyun-ju cut in gently. “Don’t say that. You’re allowed to be sad.”

You swallowed, blinking hard. There was a little pause, then the sound of her shifting on her end of the line.

“Okay,” she said. “If you’re staying here for break, then I’m making it my job to make sure it’s not awful. Like–it might even be fun. That’s a threat.”

You laughed, choked and watery. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ve been warned. Starting tomorrow, we’re doing something fun. And tonight, you’re coming over. I’ll even feed you.”

“Are you trying to bribe me with food?”

“Would it work?”

“...Yes.”

“Perfect.”

And just like that the ache in your chest loosened a little.

Hyun-ju had texted you before you even left your apartment.

bring a bag. you’re staying with me for a few days. i won’t take no for an answer! pack your comifest stuff. knitting, fuzzy socks, emotional support plushie. i’ll handle the snacks.

You’d hesitated at first–her tone was playful, but she meant it. You could tell. And honestly, the thought of spending the first days of break at your empty apartment had been weighing heavier than you’d admitted.

So you packed the essentials. Your favorite hoodie, the soft sweats you only wore when you wanted to feel safe, your half finished knitting project. Toothbrush. Moisturizer. One of Hyun-ju’s hoodies you’d somehow ended up with and never returned. And of course, your stuffed bear your mom bought you before you left.

Your heart picked up a little as you reached her building, bag slung over your shoulder. You barely had time to knock before the door swung open.

Hyun-ju stood there in soft gray joggers and a black tee, her hair damp and curled slightly at the ends. Her skin was still flushed from the shower, and she looked so comfortable, so warm, like something you’d dream about and miss even before waking.

“There she is,” she said, beaming.

Before you could speak, she reached forward and pulled you into a hug, arms firm and grounding around your shoulders, the scent of her clean soap and laundry softener all around you.

“You made it,” she murmured.

You nodded into her chest. “I couldn’t bring Berry, but I brought everything else.”

Hyun-ju chuckled and loosened the hug just enough to look at you. “I’ll accept that trade. C’mon in, baby.”

Her apartment was glowing softly, fairy lights strung along the shelves, a candle flickering the windowsill. There were already extra blankets folded on the couch and a warm mug on the table.

You dropped your bag near the door and toed off your shoes.

Hyun-ju reached for your hand and tugged you toward the kitchen. “I made curry. And I got those little jellies you like for dessert. Oh–and look.”

She opened the fridge proudly. “I bought strawberry milk.”

You laughed, pressing a hand to your mouth. “You did not.”

“I did. You’re spoiled now. Get used to it.”

Something swelled up in your chest–gratitude, comfort, that fluttery nervous thing that always settled in your belly when you looked at her for too long.

You helped her plate up two bowls, and the two of you sat cross legged on the couch, legs brushing. You talked about everything and nothing. Laughed. Ate seconds. She leaned her head on your shoulder for a little while. Her fingers traced absentminded circles on your thigh as you showed her your latest knitting project.

And when the night got quieter, the dishes rinsed and your eyes starting to grow heavy, Hyun-ju pulled out a bundle of blankets and patted the space beside her on the couch.

“You staying out here with me or do you wanna go curl up in my bed?”

You blinked. “Your bed?”

“I mean. It’s warmer. Bigger. And I don’t snore…much.”

You gave her a mock suspicious look, but your heart was thudding. She grinned. “C’mon. You look like you could fall asleep standing.”

You let her tug you to your feet. She led you down the short hallway, flipping the light on low in her room. The bedding was fresh. Her space was clean, minimal, a little cluttered with notebooks and a stack of unread novels on the nightstand.

You sat on the edge of her bed, kicking off your socks and hoodie, when you noticed Hyun-ju tugging her sweatpants down, revealing soft boxer briefs that clung to the curve of her thighs. She caught you looking and shrugged one shoulder, her voice casual, “Sorry–I never sleep in pants. I run warm.”

Then she paused, glancing at you as she folded the joggers and set them aside. “But if that’s weird, I can manage while you’re here.”

Your face felt a little hot, but you shook your head quickly. “No, it’s fine. Whatever you’re comfortable in.”

A little smile tugged at her lips. “You sure?”

You nodded. “I promise.”

She crossed the room and opened a drawer, tugging off her shirt to put on one of her big sleep tees. Though you couldn’t help but stare when she stripped out of her shirt–her back was to you, but the way her muscles flexed made your knees feel weak. She ruffled her hair then padded around her bedroom barefoot.

When she turned off the light, she slipped under the blanket beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her arm brushed yours. Her thigh pressed softly to your leg.

And then, under the hush of low city sounds and the quiet hum of her heater, she reached for your hand beneath the covers and laced your fingers together.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

You nodded in the dark. “I’m really glad I’m here.”

Her thumb traced gently over the back of your hand. “Me too,” she said. “We’re gonna make this a good break, yeah?”

You gave her fingers a light squeeze. “Yeah. A really good one.”

Hyun-ju had fallen asleep before you.

Not long after the lights were out, her breathing had evened out, her fingers still loosely tangled with yours beneath the blanket. Her body was warm, radiating heat beside you, the shape of her just barely brushing yours in the dark.

But no matter how many times you adjusted your pillow or rolled from side to side, sleep wouldn’t come. Your thoughts wouldn’t still. Maybe it was being in a new bed. Maybe it was the way you could still feel the ghost of her touch where your hands had been linked. Maybe it was just…her. All of her. So close, but not quite touching.

You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling. Tried counting. Tried deep breathing. Nothing worked.

Eventually, carefully, you shifted to your side and poked gently at her shoulder with one finger. Nothing.

You whispered, “Hyun-ju?”

Still nothing.

A little braver this time,  you shook her shoulder lightly. “Hyun-ju…”

She stirred with a soft grunt, eyes fluttering open. Her voice was raspy with sleep. “Mm…what? What is it, baby?”

You felt embarrassed. “Sorry. I just…I can’t sleep.”

She rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times before rolling onto her side to face you. Her voice was gentler now, softer. “What can I do to help?”

You shrugged, suddenly shy under her gaze. “I don’t know. I just…can’t get comfy, I guess.”

There was a pause, and then she murmured, “Wanna try back scratches?”

You blinked. “Like…like when I was little?”

A sleepy smile curled at her lips. “It works. I’ve got good nails. Five stars on Yelp.”

You laughed under your breath and nodded. “Okay. Yeah.”

You rolled onto your stomach, tucking your arms under your pillow. The blanket shifted as Hyun-ju sat up just enough to reach for the hem of your t-shirt, pausing. “Can I?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, breath catching slowly.

She pushed the fabric up slowly, baring your back to the cool air of the room. Then her fingers landed on your skin–light, careful. She started with slow, lazy scratches, trailing from your shoulders to the small of your back and up again. The rhythm was soothing, but her touch made you shiver.

After a while, her scratches softened into gentle brushstrokes, her fingertips gliding up and down, tracing invisible patterns into your skin.

“Better?” she asked gently.

“Mhm,” you mumbled. “You’re really good at that.” You sighed into the pillow, eyelids heavy now.

There was a pause, and then you heard her murmur, “If you were an animal, what would you be?”

You snorted. “That’s so random.”

“I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about it.”

You thought for a second. “Maybe…a bunny?”

“Oh my god,” she said, like it was obvious. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I was gonna say.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re cute. And fidgety. And you make those little nose scrunches when you concentrate.”

You rolled your face further into the pillow to hide the grin spreading across your cheeks. “Okay, then what would you be?”

“Hm.” Her fingers paused briefly on your spine, then resumed their path. “I think I’m a cat. Like… I’ll stare at you from across the room for an hour, but then crawl into your lap the second you stop looking at me.”

You giggled.

She leaned in closer. “Okay, your turn. What color am I?”

You hummed. “Like… a deep reddish brown. Like cinnamon. Or chai.”

Hyun-ju let out a soft breath. “That’s such a good answer. I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

“What did you think I’d say?”

“Charcoal,” she said dramatically. “Or off-black.”

You snorted again, body relaxing into the mattress beneath you.

She traced one more long, gentle line down your back. “And what color are you?”

“I don’t know…something soft. Maybe cream? Or lavender.”

“Lavender,” she repeated softly, like she was testing the word against her tongue. “That’s nice. That’s really nice.”

You turned your face to the side, eyes finally beginning to close, your body warm and buzzing under her touch.

“You’re making me sleepy now,” you mumbled.

“That was the goal, baby.”

She leaned down, her breath brushing your ear. “Sleep. I’m right here.”

And with her hand still resting lightly between your shoulder blades, you finally did.

The light spilling through the curtains was pale gold, filtering lazy across the bed, and Hyun-ju stirred first.

She blinked slowly, her mind hazy and warm, breath shallow as she became aware of the weight of you beside her–still asleep, your body soft and curled toward her.

Her heart kicked a little harder when she realized your hand had slipped beneath the blanket in the night. Resting on her lower stomach. Right above the waistband of her boxers.

Your fingertips were barely brushing the skin there, just the faintest warmth lingering where they’d settled, and yet it felt like a brand. She stayed still, utterly still, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. She didn’t dare breathe too deep, didn’t dare shift her hips even slightly for fear of drawing your attention. You didn’t mean it–she knew you didn’t–but her body had already begun reacting. Her thighs pressed together, lips parting just a little.

She closed her eyes, swallowed.

Calm down.

But your fingers twitched. And her breath caught

Nope. Absolutely not.

With painful slowness, Hyun-ju slid herself back from your touch, legs moving one at a time as she peeled herself from the mattress. She sat up quietly, bare feet touching the cool floor, and gleaned over her shoulder to make sure you were still out.

You were. Chest rising and falling with the deepest kind of sleep, hair mussed, your lips slack.

She took one long look at you before slipping out of the room. The bathroom door closed part way behind her.

You didn’t wake up at the sound. You woke up at the absence. You stirred, hand searching the empty space beside you. When you opened your eyes, all you could see was rumpled blankets and the imprint of Hyun-ju’s head in the pillow.

Then you heard it. The low, steady sound of running water from the bathroom down the hall. She was in the shower.

Padding softly into the hallway, you paused just outside the bathroom door. It was barely ajar.

Steam curled out from the crack, warm and damp. You reached for the handle, intending to knock, to say good morning–but you froze.

You heard it.

Barely audible over the rush of the water…a sound that made your breath catch. A soft, strangled whimper. A sigh that turned into something closer to a moan. And then, her voice–just a breathy curse, bitten back, low and desperate.

You stood there, heart in your throat, absolutely still. Your palm rested flat against the door, and you leaned in the tiniest bit, pressing your ear close.

She was trying to be quiet. You could tell. But the way her breathing hitched, the wet sound of her palm against skin, the tiny gasps she couldn’t swallow down–it all painted a vivid picture in your mind. One that made your thighs squeeze together helplessly.

She groaned again, and it was the softest thing you’d ever heard her say–“shibal…”–  as though she didn’t even mean to say it aloud.

You closed your eyes, your skin tingling with heat. And then there was silence. Just the sound of water.

You backed away quickly, breath shallow. Slipped down the hall and into the bedroom like nothing happened. You pulled the blanket back over yourself and tried to school your face into something innocent.

By the time she stepped into the room a few minutes later, towel wrapped around her body and wet hair sticking to her neck, you were pretending to scroll through your phone, pretending you hadn't just heard her fall apart on the other side of the door.

She smiled, eyes warm, and said, “Morning, sleepyhead.”

You smiled right back–too sweet, too calm. “Morning.”

You’d been leaning into her without thinking, cheek brushing against her shoulder as you walked. You could feel her thumb tracing soft, slow circles across the back of your hand.

You looked down at her hand holding yours, heart fluttering at the gentle motion of her thumb. The noise of the market had faded a little, like the two of you had stepped into a pocket of quiet just for yourselves.

Then–like a sudden idea struck–you pulled your phone from your pocket. “Wait,” you said, tugging her to a nearby bench. “Let’s take a picture before we leave.”

Hyun-ju titled her head, already smiling. “Yeah?”

“I wanna remember today,” you said, unlocking your phone and flipping to the camera app. “Actually, let’s do a video. That way we can get a bunch of screenshots.”

She laughed softly as you propped your phone up on the bench using a makeshift tripod out of your water bottle and bag.

You hit record and ran back to her, bumping her with your shoulder before slipping an arm around her waist. She pulled you in easily, both of you smiling wide for the first shot.

Then you said, “Okay–silly one,” and before you could even pose, Hyun-ju crouched down and scooped you up onto her back, laughing as you squealed.

“Hyun-ju!!”

“You said silly!” she said through her giggles, and you wrapped your arms tight around her shoulders to keep from falling.

Hyun-ju spun once, your laughter mingling in the air, then gently let you down again, hands steady on your waist as your feet hit the ground.

Neither of you stepped back.

You were still in each other’s space, hands lingering, breaths close. The video kept recording, forgotten.

Hyun-ju looked down at you, eyes soft and serious. The buzz of the crowd seemed far away again. You blinked up at her, heart stammering. She looked at your lips once, then back to your eyes. 

“너무 예뻐…” she murmured, barely audible. So pretty.

Your breath hitched. “W-what?” you said, your voice clumsy and small.

“I said,” she repeated, lips quirking into a shy little smile, “you’re so pretty.”

You didn’t know what to say, only that your body swayed closer to her on instinct. And she leaned in, too, just a little, the space between you humming like a held breath.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” she whispered.

Your lips parted. “I–I really want you to kiss me,” you said, barely getting the words out before she bridged the last bit of space between you.

She kissed you so gently, her lips brushing over yours like a question and an answer all at once. The camera kept rolling in the background, recording the quiet tremble of your first kiss, the way your fingers curled into the sleeves of her sweater, the soft gasp you let out when she tilted her head and kissed you deeper.

It was the kind of kiss you’d dreamt about–slow, tender, inevitable.

When you finally pulled back, dazed and breathless, you blinked up at her and whispered, “I think I’m gonna need to watch this every day.”

She chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I think I’m gonna need that video.”

Then, unsure what to do with yourself, you leaned in for a clumsy little hug–arms looping loosely around her shoulders as your face tucked into her scarf.

Hyun-ju laughed, hugging you tighter. “That was so awkward,” she teased, voice all low and amused.

“I know,” you mumbled into her shoulder. “Shut up.”

She pulled back just a little to look at you, her nose red from the cold, smile still soft. You let go of her completely, retreating to grab your things off the bench where it still recorded. You stopped the video with trembling fingers and shoved everything into your tote.

“It’s getting dark,” Hyun-ju said, reaching for your hand again like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Let me walk you home.”

You glanced up at her, heart leaping. “Okay.”

The walk was quiet and sweet–shoulders brushing every other step, your arms occasionally swaying into each other. You talked a little about the food you tried, the funny dog in a hoodie you saw at one of the vendor booths. But mostly, it was just soft silence and the warmth of your joined hands.

When you reached your apartment, you turned toward her, suddenly reluctant to go inside.

Hyun-ju cupped your cheek with one hand, brushing her thumb along your jaw. “Goodnight,” she said, and leaned in to kiss you again–just once, gently.

It still made your knees wobble.

“Goodnight,” you whispered when you pulled back, cheeks flaming. “Text me when you’re home.”

She lingered a moment longer, then finally stepped away, walking backward for a few steps just to grin at you. “I will.”

You were still in a gaze as you got inside, dropped your bag, and peeled off your shoes. You stripped out of your clothes and jumped into the shower, trying to calm your nerves. And once you were out and dried off, your phone buzzed with a text from Hyun-ju.

made it home safe good <3

You smiled as you watched the typing bubble pop up. And when her next message popped up your heart skipped a beat. You had to read it twice just to be sure.

dinner date tomorrow night? date?? or just dinner. whatever you want to call it. of course.

Still giddy, you covered your face with your hands, grinning into your palms. You crawled into bed and the memories of tonight all came rushing back again. You pulled up the video, and scrubbed through it frame by frame.

There you were, laughing on her back.

There you were, arms around her waist.

There she was, brushing your hair from your face.

There you were, kissing.

You saved five screenshots and sent them all to Hyun-ju.

here’s some of my favorites. the one where you picked me up is going to be my phone background forever.

Then, hesitating for only a moment, you pulled up your mom’s chat.

hyun-ju asked me to dinner tomorrow night. (attached: three pictures–none of the kiss)

Her reply came in under a minute.

you two are beautiful. 😀 …for a date!? she called it that but i don’t really know. doesn’t matter what you call it. it’s clearly special. enjoy your time.

You set your phone down on your chest, heart doing full flips. And maybe–just maybe–you let yourself replay the kiss in your head a few more times before falling asleep with a smile on your face.

The next morning you woke to the soft buzz of your phone on the nightstand and a sleepy smile already tugging at your lips. You reached for it, still half tangled in your comforter.

good morning pretty girl☀️ can’t stop thinking about last night.

You buried your face into the pillow for a second, heart threatening to melt right through the mattress. Then, with one eye open:

good morning🌝 i’ve been smiling since i woke up do you still wanna do dinner tonight? yes.  i made a reservation already. 7:30. wear something nice how nice is nice? like…a dress nice? like expensive tablecloths and wine nice. hyun-ju! that’s too much!! come on, it’ll be fun. i want an excuse to dress up and eat good food with you. please? 

You bite your lip, staring at her text. Your stomach was already doing anxious little flips.

fine. but only because you asked like that

That afternoon you found yourself in a dressing room stall under the worst possible lighting, staring at yourself in the mirror.

The dress was simple but elegant–soft and black and fitted just right around your waist. You couldn’t afford anything flashy, but it felt pretty. And paired with your favorite platforms, it was still you.

You stood on your toes to get a better look, then dropped down with a huff. “I’m not buying heels,” you muttered to no one. “My bank account would burst into flames.”

When you got home, you smoothed the dress out again and sent a mirror selfie to your mom.

do i look okay??

She replied almost instantly.

you look BEAUTIFUL!!! is this for the date!?

yes. hyun-ju made a reservation at a fancy place. i didn’t even have anything nice to wear. but i’m still wearing my converse lol

that’s my girl. if she can’t appreciate the full look, she’s not worth it!

You laughed, heart thudding widely as you checked the time. 7:17. Time to go.

When you stepped into the restaurant, your eyes had to adjust to the warm gold lighting. The clink of cutlery, soft music playing. Waiters in black vests and clean white shirts.

Then you spotted her.

Hyun-ju sat at a table near the back, scrolling idly on her phone. She was in tailored black trousers and a silky gray blouse that clung to her arms just right. A single gold chain around her neck, small gold hoops, and light makeup dusted across her face. Her scarf was folded neatly beside her.

She looked up–and when her eyes found yours, she stood with a slow smile.

You crossed the floor quickly, heart pounding in your ears. As soon as you reached her, she wrapped you in a hug that smelled like vanilla and warm skin and fabric softener.

“You look really nice,” she said softly into your ear.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, pulling back. “So do you.”

She glanced down with a small smirk. “Nice shoes.”

You groaned immediately, covering your face. “Stop! They’re my favorite! I didn’t have enough money to buy heels too, okay?”

Hyun-ju laughed, the sound warm and light. “No, they’re cute. I’m not judging.”

You gave her a mock glare. “Plus…they make me taller.”

She grinned as she led you to your seat. “You’re still short though.”

You shoved her shoulder as you both sat down, cheeks burning. “Rude.”

She just winked and picked up the wine menu. “Red or white?”

“Uhh…surprise me?”

She ended up ordering a bottle of red wine to share, and when the waiter poured two glasses and stepped away, Hyun-ju raised hers toward you. “To our first…whatever this is.”

You giggled and clinked your glass with hers. “To our whatever this is.”

Hyun-ju smiled behind her wine glass as she took a sip. Then, she tilted her head slightly, eyes warm and curious. “Can I ask you something?”

You blinked, your fork halfway to your mouth. “Yeah, of course.”

“What’s your major again?” she asked, resting her chin in her hand. “I feel like you told me before, but I wanna hear more about it.”

“Oh,” you said, a little shy. “It’s, um…creative writing. Well, technically English literature with a writing concentration.”

Hyun-ju’s eyes lit up like that genuinely delighted her. “That’s so cool. So you write stories?"

You nodded, smiling bashfully. “I mean, I try to.”

“I bet they’re good.”

“They’re okay,” you said, laughing under your breath. “Mostly fiction. Some essays. I’m kind of all over the place right now.”

Hyun-ju nodded like she understood completely. “Do you want to write books one day?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. Or work in publishing. Or teach. I don’t know yet.”

She didn’t pressure you for a definite answer. Just smiled gently. “Well, I hope you do. Whatever you chose. I think you’d be amazing at it.”

Your face burned again, but this time from something deeper than just embarrassment. You took a sip of wine to hide the way your mouth couldn't quite find the right words.

“Do you have any siblings?” she asked a moment later, lightly swirling the wine in her glass.

“Nope. Only child.” You grinned. “Can’t you tell?”

She laughed at that. “A little. In a good way.”

You grinned again, leaning forward slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you’re very…independent. But also like…easy to want to take care of.” She smirked, and you had to cover your face for a second.

“That’s not fair,” you mumbled through your hands.

Hyun-ju laughed again, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “Bet it’s hard on your mom, you being out here alone.”

You lowered your hands. “Yeah. It was, at first. But we talk a lot. I send her updates about everything. I literally sent her a picture of my outfit before this.”

She beamed. “That’s adorable.”

“I sent her a picture of us from last night. She said we’re both beautiful,” you said, cheeks warming again. “And then immediately followed it with: wait, for a date!?”

Hyun-ju tilted her head with a small, knowing smile. “And is this a date?”

You bit your lip. “It feels like one.”

“Good,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “It is.”

Something fluttered in your chest–soft and deep and warm like velvet. You looked won at your plate for a moment, suddenly shy again.

She didn’t rush you. Just picked up her fork and reached across the table again, gently pushing her half of the dessert toward you.

“Here,” she said, voice still soft. “Try this one too. You’ll like it.”

You took another slow bite of the dessert she’d slid across the table toward you–some creamy, fancy thing with berries you couldn’t pronounce. She watched you like she was waiting for a verdict.

You licked a bit of whipped topping from your spoon and smiled. “Okay, that’s dangerously good.”

“I told you,”  Hyun-ju said, all smug satisfaction. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You really do,” you muttered, letting the spoon clink into the plate. You leaned forward just slightly, chin resting in your palm. “Hey…how are you so fluent in English? Like, even with your accent you’re really easy to understand. And you never pause to think or anything.”

Hyun-ju’s lips curled into a soft, pleased smile, and she leaned back a little in her chair. “I lived abroad for a while. Four years after college. London first. Then a few in Toronto.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Wait, really? That’s so cool. What made you come back?”

“Family,” she said with a little shrug, the candlelight catching in the curve of her jaw. “And I missed the food. The weather. The…quiet.”

“That’s fair,” you said. “The quiet’s nice.”

She smiled again, then tilted her head just slightly. “Will this be your only year abroad?”

The question caught you off guard–not in a bad way. Just…it made something in your chest flutter weirdly. You hesitated, lowering your gaze to the base of your wine glass as you rolled the stem between your fingers.

“I…I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “I guess I’m kind of waiting to see what happens.”

Hyun-ju didn’t push. Just hummed, like she was letting the answer settle in her chest. Then, after a moment, she gave you a playful little smile. “Well. I hope something good happens.”

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Mm…” Her eyes danced a little. “Like maybe you fall in love with the city. Or the food. Or–” she paused, sipping her wine, then winked, “–something else.”

You laughed, a short, helpless sound. “Oh my god.”

“What?” she asked innocently, setting her glass down.

“You are so full of it,” you said, still grinning.

Hyun-ju leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. “You didn’t deny it, though.”

“Deny what?”

“That there might be something,” she said simply. “Worth staying for.”

You picked up your glass to hide your face and immediately regretted it when you felt your cheeks warming from the wine–and the way she was looking at you.

You mumbled into your glass, “You’re not very subtle, you know that?”

“And you’re not very sneaky. I saw your face turn red.”

You practically whined. “Stop it.”

Hyun-ju laughed, low and smooth. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

You tried to glare at her, but you could barely keep the smile off your lips. “You’re such a menace.”

She titled her head. “Only for you.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to shake off the butterflies. “Okay, wait–serious question.”

“Mm?”

“How are you so good at flirting? Is that a barista skill?”

Hyun-ju grinned wide. “Oh no, I save this level of effort for special occasions.”

“Like tonight?”

Her eyes didn’t leave yours. “Exactly like tonight.” You swore your heart skipped a beat.

She reached for her wine again, swirling it slowly before taking a sip. “Okay, now my turn,” she said. “Have you always been this easy to fluster?”

You froze. “Excuse me!?”

Hyun-ju was already laughing. “I’m just asking.”

“Rude.”

“You walked into it.”

You dramatically dropped your face into your hands. “I should’ve known better.”

“You really should have.” She paused, and her tone softened a little. “But honestly…it’s really charming.”

You peeked at her through your fingers, your cheeks fully on fire now. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re adorable.”

You groaned. “I swear I’m usually cooler than this.”

“No, you’re not,” she teased. “And that’s the best part.”

You were giggling now, hiding your smile behind your hands, completely undone by the wine and the candlelight and her eyes, the way she looked at you like you were made of gold.

She leaned forward again, voice lower now. “Want to know what else I like?”

You hesitated, then nodded, eyes wide.

Hyun-ju grinned slowly. “Those shoes.”

You blinked. “Wha–my Converse?”

“Yup. With the dress? It’s very you. Like… ‘don’t mess with me but also I might cry during a movie.’”

You burst out laughing. “That is exactly my brand.”

“I know.” She gave you a warm look. “And you wear it perfectly.”

You covered your face again with a whimper. “I cannot handle you tonight.”

“You better start trying,” she said with a wink, “because the night’s not over.” And suddenly that candlelight felt warmer. And your heart beats a little faster.

You excused yourself to the bathroom the moment you felt like your chest might explode from how much you liked her.

The second the door closed behind you, you leaned your hands against the counter and stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, your eyes a little glassy from the wine—and the way Hyun-Ju had been looking at you all night. The flirting, the way her voice dipped, the way she called you cute and wore that smile like she knew what she was doing.

You pulled your phone out and opened your messages to your mom.

omg  MOM this girl is trying to kill me. like in the best way she’s so hot and sweet and charming and she keeps flirting and i can’t breathe send help

Your mom replied almost instantly.

lol sounds like ur already dead 😇 but in love maybe??

You stared at the screen, biting your lip.

idk. but i really really like her

You didn’t wait for a reply this time. Just tucked your phone back in your bag, gave yourself one last look in the mirror—then headed back to the table.

Hyun-Ju looked up as you returned, and she smiled like she'd been waiting just for you. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, tucking some hair behind your ear. “Just needed a minute.”

“I figured,” she said. “So I ordered reinforcements.”

You blinked, then noticed both wine glasses had been topped off. You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

Hyun-Ju raised a brow. “Please. You’ve had, like, a glass and a half. You’re just a lightweight.”

You let out a little giggle, flopping dramatically into your seat. “I am not!”

She smirked. “You are. But it’s okay. It’s cute.”

You took a slow sip of the wine, trying to hide your flustered smile behind the rim of your glass. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to compliment me or tease me.”

“Why not both?”

You groaned into your drink. “Stop.”

Hyun-Ju chuckled, then toyed with her fork for a second before looking up at you again. “Hey, my friends are planning on throwing a house party this weekend. If you’re free... you should come.”

You blinked. “Me? Partying? Remember last time?”

She nodded casually. “If you want to.”

You hesitated. “I’m not really a party girl…”

Hyun-Ju shrugged. “That’s okay.” Then, “I’m not either.”

“…But I want to spend time with you,” you added quickly. “So I’ll come.”

Her smile spread, soft and warm. “Yeah?”

You nodded, chewing your bottom lip. “Just… promise you won’t let me stand awkwardly in the corner all night.”

“I’d never,” she said, voice dipping. “If I’m being honest, I was kinda hoping I’d get to dance with you.” Your breath caught in your throat. “Just a slow one,” she added. “So you don’t run away.”

You giggled, flustered all over again. “I can’t dance.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, tilting her glass toward you. “I’ll lead.”

You clinked your glass with hers before taking another slow sip, hoping she couldn’t hear your heart beating out of your chest.

The two of you stepped out of the restaurant into the warm evening air, laughter still lingering between you like perfume. The sidewalk sparkled faintly beneath the streetlamps, your shoes tapping beside Hyun-Ju’s quiet strides. The wine left you a little floaty, but it wasn’t just that—it was her.

She walked close enough for your arms to brush with every step, your fingers occasionally grazing, and every time it happened, your heart fluttered so hard it felt unfair. “You’re gonna wear something cute tomorrow, right?” Hyun-Ju asked casually, looking ahead.

You blinked. “Huh?”

She smiled without turning. “To the party.”

Your face went warm. “I—I mean, yeah. I guess.”

“Something that’ll make me want to kiss you again.”

Your steps faltered slightly, and she glanced over at you with a tiny smirk, like she knew. “You can’t just say things like that,” you muttered, pressing a hand to your cheek.

“Why not?” she asked, her voice a little lower now. “It’s true.”

You didn’t have a response to that, not one that wouldn’t come out in a squeak. You looked down at the sidewalk instead, your smile stubborn and helpless.

Soon, you were at your apartment building, the soft golden glow from the lobby light spilling onto the sidewalk. “Well,” you said, half-turning to face her. “Thanks for walking me.”

“Of course,” she said, not moving. Her gaze lingered on your face for a beat longer than felt safe. “You gonna let me kiss you goodnight?”

Your breath caught, eyes flicking up to hers. She looked impossibly pretty in the glow of the lamplight, eyes warm and patient and waiting.

But you just… stood there. Frozen. Not because you didn’t want to—god, you did—but because everything in you had gone soft and quiet and too full at once. The wine. The night. Her.

“Sweet girl?” she asked softly, a gentle tease in her voice.

It snapped you out of your trance, eyes going wide as you blinked up at her. “Oh my god—sorry. I—yeah. I mean—goodnight kiss… yeah. That’s okay.”

Hyun-Ju let out the smallest laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. Then she stepped close, one hand curling behind your neck, not pulling—just holding—and leaned in.

The kiss she gave you was soft, slow, and barely there, like she was afraid to overwhelm you. Just a warm press of lips, and then she was pulling back, smiling at the way your eyes fluttered open again.

“Goodnight,” she murmured.

“Goodnight,” you whispered back, barely able to hear your own voice. You stayed there on the steps even after she left, watching the glow of the streetlights catch in her hair as she walked away.

Your phone buzzed a few minutes later.

made it home :) thanks for tonight

And then, a second later:

can’t wait to see what you wear tomorrow

The next morning you dragged yourself out of bed with a slow stretch and made it to class–barely on time, but present. The lectures blurred by, your notes messier than you’d like, but your head was still spinning a little from everything that had happened the night before. Hyun-ju’s lips. Her hand on your neck. That smirk when she told you to wear something cute.

You stopped by the convenience store near campus after class and picked up a triangle kimbap and a bottled ice tea. You didn’t feel like a full meal–not with your nerves buzzing again.

You sat outside on the bench to eat your snack, watching the cars and people pass by. Instead of heading straight back to your apartment, you wandered to the coffee shop. Hyun-ju was working.

You ordered your usual, and when she spotted you, she smiled in that warm, knowing way. “Studying?” she asked, already turning to make your drink.

You nodded. “Trying to be productive.”

“Your favorite booth is free.”

You grinned, heading over to your favorite spot. The spot where you first met her. The spot you sat when you met up with her friends. A moment later, she set your coffee down beside you–extra foam on top, just how you liked it.

You slipped on your headphones, opened your laptop, and started typing out the early draft of your paper. It was coming slowly, but it was coming.

Halfway through your second paragraph, your phone buzzed.

Mom♡ FaceTime

You blinked in surprise, then smiled and picked up.

“Hi, sweetheart!” your mom beamed into the camera. She was in the backyard, phone a little wobbly as she turned it toward your cavalier. “Look at Berry! She’s been out here all morning, digging up the same exact corner of the garden.”

“Berry!” you laughed. “She looks filthy.”

“She is. I gave up trying to stop her. She’s on a mission.”

Berry gave a joyful bark in the background, pawing at something unseen in the dirt. Your mom turned the camera back to her face. “How’s my girl? Are you eating enough?”

You held up your coffee with a sheepish smile. “Lunch of champions. Plus I had a kimbap earlier.”

She gave you that look, the familiar mom one, but before she could say anything else, her eyes flicked to something behind you on the screen.

“That’s her, isn’t it?”

You glanced back. Hyun-ju was walking behind the counter, hair tied up in a messy low pony, wiping her hands on a towel and laughing at something one of her coworkers said.

You flushed a little. “Uh. Yeah. That’s her.”

Your mom’s eyes lit up. “She’s even prettier than in the pictures you sent.”

“Mom,” you mumbled, flustered. “I’m just studying here, okay?”

“I didn’t say anything!” she teased. “I just said she’s pretty.” You buried your face in your hands. She laughed.

“So,” she said, a little more gently, “how’s school going? You look less tired than the last time we talked.”

You dropped your hands and sighed. “It’s okay, I think I’m finally getting a good schedule down. Classes aren’t too bad. Just takes a while to adjust.”

She smiled, a bit softer now. “I miss you a lot, honey.”

Your throat tightened. “I miss you too, Mom.”

There was a pause. Just the sounds of Berry panting and the soft background hum of the cafe.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” your mom said eventually. “But send me more pictures soon, okay? Of your outfits. Or the city. Anything. Or Berry will be mad.”

You laughed. “Okay. Love you.”

“Love you more.”

You hung up and sat there for a moment, the ache of homesickness dull but familiar. Then you glanced up–Hyuun-ju was wiping down the espresso machine, and she looked over just in time to catch your eye.

She smiled. And you did too.

You set your phone face-down beside your laptop and stared at your screen for a moment. The cursor blinked at you, annoyingly patient. You took a slow sip of your coffee. It had gone lukewarm while you talked to your mom, but you didn’t mind.

Homesickness settled over you like a slow, quiet fog. Seeing your mom’s face—Berry’s wagging tail, your yard back home, the way your mom’s voice always softened when she looked at you—left a dull ache in your chest. It wasn’t new, but today it clung harder than usual.

You sniffled softly and rubbed your thumb under your eye, blinking a few times like it would shake the feeling loose. You weren’t going to cry in the middle of the coffee shop. You had a paper to write. You had a date with Hyun-Ju’s friends tonight. You had things to look forward to.

You tapped your fingers against the edge of your laptop, inhaled deep, and let it go slowly. Then you forced your attention back to your paper, rereading your last paragraph and adjusting a sentence or two just to feel like you were moving.

Still, the ache lingered. Gnawed at the back of your mind. Your chest was tight and your throat was scratchy and you wanted to crawl under your blanket and sleep for twelve hours.

But you didn’t. You just kept writing. Slowly. Sloppily. But writing. You reminded yourself of the good things. You had a date with Hyun-Ju. A real date. And she’d invited you out tonight. To spend time with her. To be with her friends.

You were nervous—god, you were nervous. Your stomach had been twisting with it all day. What if you wore the wrong thing? What if they didn’t like you? What if you couldn’t hear anyone over the music, or you got too anxious to dance, or you embarrassed yourself somehow?

But you still wanted to go. Because Hyun-Ju wanted you there. And deep down… you wanted to see her again. Even if it meant faking a little confidence until it felt real.

You glanced up as she walked past your booth again, carrying two drinks to a table. Her apron was smudged with flour. There was a tiny crease on her brow like she was thinking about too many things at once—but when she looked your way, her face softened. She smiled again. Like it was automatic. Like she was just happy to see you.

And for a moment, the ache dulled. You smiled back. Then you turned back to your screen and started typing again.

You practiced the greeting one more time in the mirror, mouthing the syllables carefully.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” you whispered. Then again, slower. “An-nyeong-ha-se-yo.”

Your accent was a little rough around the edges, but you were trying. You wanted to show Hyun-Ju’s friends you cared enough to at least learn something—even if it was just hello.

You smoothed down your shirt, checking the outfit again. Short black skirt, a crisp white tee that showed just a little sliver of skin above the waistband, your oversized jean jacket thrown on top to balance it out. Comfortable, familiar—cute, but not like you were trying too hard.

Your favorite perfume sat untouched on your desk, the pretty bottle glinting faintly in the light. You hesitated for a second, then spritzed once over your wrists, then your neck. The scent hit instantly—warm and soft and expensive, like good memories and something a little sexier than you usually let yourself feel.

You grabbed your phone, snapping a picture in the mirror. Skirt, shirt, jacket. Platforms peeking from the bottom of the frame.

headed to a house party soon! do i look okay??

You sent it to your mom, heart fluttering for reasons you didn’t entirely understand. Your phone buzzed back a moment later.

you look beautiful. have fun tonight. be safe. i love you!

You stared at her message a little longer than you meant to. Then your Uber pinged from downstairs. You grabbed your bag, gave your reflection one last breathless look, and headed out.

The ride there passed in a haze of neon lights and the thrum of Friday night foot traffic. The city was buzzing, as always–packed sidewalks, late night food carts, chatter echoing down alleys. But as your Uber turned down a quieter residential street, the sounds shifted: laughter spilling from a front yard, music thumping through cracked windows, a glowing porch light swinging slightly in the breeze.

Your Uber pulled to the curb in front of a modest two story house lit up from the inside–music spilling out through the open front door, the scent of beer and grilled snacks wafting out into the night.

Your stomach flipped, nerves prickling your skin. You checked your phone.

we’re out front🩶

You looked up–and there she was. Hyun-ju was leaning against the porch railing, cup in hand, lit from behind by the soft yellow glow of the house’s string lights. The moment she saw you, her grin spread slow and warm across her face.

She looked unfairly good in black jeans and a wine colored tank top under a leather jacket, the kind of effortlessly hot that made your mouth go dry. Her hair was down, bangs brushing her forehead, makeup soft and glowy, lips tinted like fresh berries.

Her friends stood around her on the porch, chatting and laughing, but Hyun-ju stepped forward right away when she saw you. You gave her a nervous smile and a little wave as you climbed the steps.

“Hey,” you said, suddenly blanking on every syllable of Korean you’d practiced. Her grin softened into something almost fond as she pulled you into a brief hug that still managed to melt your knees. She smelled like warm vanilla and peach soju and something you hadn’t placed yet—but now craved.

“Come say hi to everyone,” she murmured, keeping a hand at your lower back as she led you inside.

The house was packed with people–you could barely see the floor between bodies. The air was warm and loud, music booming from someone’s bluetooth speaker in the kitchen, the scent of soju, beer, and sweet snacks lingering in the air.

Just inside the living room, you spotted the girl you remembered from last time–short bob, sparkly earrings, the one who had made you take a shot of something radioactive blue. She looked up from where she sat perched on the arm of the couch.

You panicked a little–words jumbling–but managed to squeak out, “Annyeonghaseyo.”

There was a split second of stunned silence…and then a cheer erupted. The bob-haired girl gasped like you’d given her a gift. “You learn!” she cried, hopping up to fling her arms around you. “Look at you!”

You giggled, flushed, barely catching the soft, proud smile Hyun-ju tried to hide. “Love your outfit,” the girl said, pulling back and giving your skirt and jacket combo an approving once over. “Beautiful.”

Your cheeks flared hot. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Drinks!” someone called from the kitchen.

A chorus of “Yes!” followed, and the group surged toward the back of the house, dragging you and Hyun-ju along.

She stayed close, always within reach. In the kitchen, she grabbed a peach soju and glanced at you, raising a brow. You picked something fruity and fizzy and out of the cooler–a canned cocktail with a pastel label–and caught the little laugh she tried to stifle.

“What?” you asked, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Nothing,” she said, smirking as she popped open her drink. “It just suits you.”

You rolled your eyes and sipped quickly, letting the sweetness distract you from how warm your face felt.

Before you could say anything else, her fingers slid into yours–steady, sure–and you were tugged back into the hallway through a doorway into the living room, where music pulsed through an old speaker and people were dancing, sprawled out on couches, or lounging on the floor with half full drinks.

The crowd shifted around you, and someone’s elbow bumped into your back–Hyun-ju’s hand caught your waist just in time, pulling you in.

The music pulsed around you like a heartbeat, bodies swaying, voices raising above the beat. With the crush of people, you ended up with your back flush to Hyun-ju’s front, her arms resting lightly around your hips.

You weren’t sure if you were dancing or just trying to breathe, your mind struggling to keep up with the mix of music, Korean, laughter, and the way she was standing behind you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She dipped her head slightly, resting her chin on top of yours. “You okay?” she asked, voice warm against your ear.

You nodded, voice soft. “Just…a little overwhelmed.”

Her thumbs brushed gentle circles over your hips. “You’re doing great,” she said, barely loud enough to hear. “Just stay close.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Everything felt like her–her perfume, the press of her jacket against your back, her breath against your hair.

The conversation around you faded into static. You tried to keep up with the jokes being tossed around in rapid-fire Korean, tried to smile at the right moments–but the only thing you could really focus on was how close Hyun-ju was, the slight shift of her hips swaying.

The crowd shifted again–just enough to give you space to breathe, to move without bumping into strangers, but not enough to break the quiet closeness between you and Hyun-ju.

Her hand stayed on your waist. She could’ve stepped back. Could’ve let you go. But she didn’t.

Her palm stayed warm and steady over your side, fingertips brushing the fabric of your shirt, just above where your skirt began. You were sure she could feel the way your breathing had changed—unsteady, shallow. You were sure she knew.

You tried to focus on the song, on her friends’ laughter somewhere off to the right, but all you could feel was her. Her scent—faint and sweet and dizzying. The soft way her chest moved behind your back. The whisper of her thumb moving against your shirt.

Then, gently, her chin came to rest on top of your head. Your breath caught. Her body curved around yours, close and warm. Protective, but not possessive. You tipped your head back instinctively, just to see her.

And she was already looking. Her lips found your forehead, soft and warm. You blinked up at her—heart thudding, hands loose at your sides, drink long forgotten.

When you turned your gaze forward again, breath caught in your throat, Hyun-Ju dipped her head until her lips hovered just beside your ear.

“You dressed cute for me,” she murmured, her voice warm and smooth beneath the music.

You tried to scoff, tried to shake off the way it made your stomach twist—but your voice came out breathier than you wanted. “You told me to.”

“I didn’t think I’d see this much of your legs tonight.”

Your eyes darted down to your skirt—a mid-thigh black thing that hugged your hips and flared just a little. Flowing, but not shy. Not tonight. You swallowed. “Too much?”

“No,” she said, low in your ear, “just enough.” Her fingers, resting so gently on your waist, began to move—slowly, casually, slipping from the hem of your shirt to the bare skin above your skirt.

You jumped a little at the contact, even though it was light. Even though it was careful. Even though it was her.

Hyun-Ju didn’t pull away. “And your tummy?” she said softly, fingers still resting there now—just barely grazing your skin. “What did I do to earn this?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Your whole body felt warm. The music pounded around you. Her fingers didn’t move—just stayed there, gently grounding you and setting your nerves alight.

You could barely hear her friends anymore. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. You just leaned a little heavier into her touch, cheeks flushed and stomach fluttering.

“Hyun-Ju,” you whispered, your voice getting lost in the music.

She leaned in again, her mouth near your jaw this time. “You wanna get some air?” Her words barely registered in your ears. You nodded before you could think.

She laced your fingers together and tugged you through the hallway—dodging swaying bodies and half-closed bedroom doors—until she found a bathroom tucked near the back of the house. She tried the handle, found it unlocked, and nudged it open.

It was small—just a toilet, a sink, a mirror, and a clean white tiled floor—but it was quiet. Dim. Private. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the air changed.

Hyun-Ju leaned back against it, her eyes skating over you in the soft yellow light. You stood in the center of the room, heartbeat ticking high in your throat, your fingers fidgeting at the hem of your shirt.

She crossed the space slowly. “You really wore this for me?” she asked, voice lower now—no teasing, just a soft rasp that made your skin spark.

You couldn’t look at her. “Maybe.”

Hyun-Ju’s fingers found yours, tugged them gently away from your shirt. “I like it.”

You swallowed. “Yeah?”

Her eyes darkened just a little. “Yeah.”

You didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly you were kissing. Slow at first—like you had time. Like she wanted to taste every part of your mouth before she got carried away. Her hands framed your face, thumbs brushing your jaw, her lips warm and plush against yours. She kissed like she’d thought about it. Like she’d really thought about it.

Your hands drifted to her waist, fingers sliding under the hem of her tank top, and you gasped when she suddenly gripped your thighs.

“Up,” she said, breath ghosting your lips. Then—effortlessly—she lifted you and set you on the bathroom counter.

Your knees fell open instinctively, making room for her between them. Her hands gripped your thighs, firm and steady, her thumbs tracing lazy circles just above your knees.

“You okay?” she asked, voice husky now, her forehead resting lightly against yours.

“Yes,” you breathed. “I’m okay.” That was all she needed.

She kissed you again—deeper this time, more sure of herself. Her hands slid up your thighs, gripping gently, possessively, and your fingers curled into her jacket like a lifeline. Her tongue licked into your mouth slow and deliberate, and you whimpered into the kiss, your back arching just a little.

The counter was cool against your bare thighs, but her body was warm, pressing between them, anchoring you in place.

She kissed you like it wasn’t just about tonight. Like she wanted to remember how you tasted when she couldn’t have you later. Like kissing you was the only thing keeping her upright.

When her lips dragged to your jaw, then to the side of your throat, you gasped—hands flying to her shoulders, holding on like the world was tilting. She bit down gently, then soothed the spot with her tongue.

Your hips rolled forward without thinking, and her hands tightened on your thighs. “Careful,” she murmured, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “You keep that up and I’m not gonna let you out of this room.”

Your breath caught. “S-sorry–I’m sorry,” you apologized quietly.

Her soft laugh was like a thrill down your spine. “It’s okay, sweet girl.”

But she kissed you again anyway. Slower this time. Savoring it.

The kiss had just deepened again—your legs locked around Hyun-Ju’s waist, her tongue in your mouth, her hands gripping your thighs like she never wanted to let go—when there was a sudden rattle at the doorknob.

You both froze. A loud, impatient knock followed. “야! 안에 사람 있어? 나 미치겠다고!”

Hey! Is someone in there? I’m gonna lose it!

You panicked, your hands flying to your face. “Oh my god–”

Hyun-ju didn’t even flinch. Calmly, she turned her head toward the door and called back in an easy, slightly amused tone: “야! 안에 사람 있어? 나 미치겠다고!” Just a minute!

Then, under her breath, to you: “He’s so dramatic.”

You gave her a horrified look, whispering, “We have to go, Hyun-Ju.”

She grinned, entirely too pleased with herself, but helped you down off the counter with surprising gentleness. Her hands lingered at your waist, straightening your slightly twisted skirt with a little tug. “You’re okay,” she murmured, giving your hip a squeeze.

“I’m not okay,” you hissed, your heart racing. “My lip gloss is probably—my hair—everything—”

“You look hot,” she said with a wink.

Then, without ceremony, she cracked the door open. The hallway light poured in, and the guy standing outside blinked at the two of you. His eyes scanned you—flushed face, rumpled clothes, Hyun-Ju’s satisfied expression—and he immediately groaned.

“씨발.” Fuck.

Hyun-ju didn’t even blink. She stepped past him, hand gently guiding you forward, and tossed over her shoulder: “질투는 보기 안 좋아요.” Jealousy’s not a good look.

You covered your face as you walked, mortified, your heart pounding like a drumline. Just before you reached the living room again, she paused and turned to you. With both hands, she gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and smoothed down a piece near your crown where it had gotten rumpled.

Her eyes softened, her voice quiet. “There.”

You blinked up at her, shy and a little dizzy. “Thanks…”

She smiled, brushing her thumb along your cheekbone for one lingering second. “You were so cute in there.” Your stomach flipped.

Then she turned casually and led you back toward the group like it was just any other moment, like your lip gloss wasn’t all over her mouth, like she hadn’t just kissed you breathless in a stranger’s bathroom.

Meanwhile, you were glowing pink, your heart still thudding out of rhythm, and praying no one noticed the way you couldn't quite meet anyone's eyes.

Of course, the bob-haired girl from earlier immediately spotted you both and narrowed her eyes. “Took you long enough,” she said with a smirk, handing you a fresh drink. “You okay, sweetheart? You look flushed.” she asked, some words in English and some in Korean.

You opened your mouth to lie—to say you were just hot, or needed air, or anything remotely believable—but Hyun-Ju just plucked the drink out of your hand, took a sip, and handed it back to you.

“She’s good,” she said with a wink. And somehow, you were. Sort of. Maybe. Except for the fact that all you could think about now was her mouth on yours and how many more locked doors this house had.

It started with small questions. Texts that blinked across Hyun-ju’s screen at random hours–polite, shy, always with a little apology at the start.

hey, sorry to bother you but how do i say “no bag, please” at the register?

Or:

can you explain how the trash sorting works again?? i messed it up in my dorm and feel like a criminal

Sometimes Hyun-ju would reply in seconds, sometimes hours later between shifts–but her tone was always patient, never rushed. She never made you feel silly for asking things that, to everyone else around you, seemed obvious.

no bag = 봉투 필요 없어요 (bong-too pi-ryo eop-seo-yo) you got this💪 and don’t worry about the trash stuff everyone messes it up at first, even locals

You’d giggle to yourself reading those messages. You’d screenshot her romanizations and practice under your breath before going to the corner store. Sometimes you’d type out longer questions and delete them again, afraid of being too much. But the more she answered, the more it felt okay to try.

And slowly, it shifted. One day you called her after accidentally getting off at the wrong subway stop.

You were on the verge of tears, standing in a crowd of commuters that all moved too fast, too confidently. You had no idea which direction to go. When Hyun-ju picked up, her voice was calm and warm in your ear.

“Okay, okay. Breathe, sweet girl. What do you see around you?”

She talked you through the map like it was nothing. Stayed on the line until you were safely headed the right way, even joked about how she once rode the train all the way to the end of the line on accident because she fell asleep.

You started calling her more after that. Not often. Not every day. But enough that her name became a kind of comfort in your contacts list. Her voice a little lighthouse whenever you felt lost.

You still didn’t hang out much. Not yet. You saw her once or twice–once when she passed you a free coffee over the counter on a rainy day, once when she waved at you across the bookstore and came over just to say hi. But even without being together often, she lingered in your days like warmth in your coat after you’d come inside.

You found yourself telling your mom about her. “I met someone here,” you said on a call one night, wrapped in your duvet, legs tucked up under you. “She’s really sweet. Her name’s Hyun-ju.”

Your mom had leaned into the camera, smiling. “Is she in your program?”

“No, she’s a local. Works at a cafe. She just…” You hesitated, heart warm. “She just talks to me like I belong here.”

You told her how Hyun-ju never made you feel dumb. How she’d texted you an audio note once to help with pronunciation. How she used too many emojis when she was trying to make you laugh, and how her laugh was kind of contagious even through the phone.

Your mom said she was glad you had someone. That made two of you.

The days were still hard sometimes. You still got lonely. But little by little, the silence didn’t feel so crushing. Little by little, her texts made the city feel smaller. Little by little, it started to feel like maybe you had a place here, too.

You hadn’t expected the invitation. It came casually, like most of Hyun-ju’s texts–sincere and low pressure.

we’re all hanging at the cafe after hours wanna come by? it’s nothing crazy, just tea and snacks :) 

You stared at the message for a long time before answering. Even the thought of sitting with strangers made your stomach tighten. But she’d asked. Hyun-ju asked. And you were so tired of being alone all the time, of watching the world happen around you like it was behind glass.

So you said yes. You even put on lipgloss.

The cafe was quieter than usual when you arrived–soft jazz playing from the speakers, the smell of roasted beans clinging to the air. The main lights were off, only the warm, golden scones by the walls still glowing.

Hyun-ju spotted you right away and waved from the back corner, already seated with three others–two girls and a guy, all chatting comfortably in Korean.

You hesitated at the door, fingers curled around your bag strap, before making your way over.

“Hey!” she said, grinning. “You made it!”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Hi. She scooted her chair so you could squeeze in beside her, then quickly introduced you to her friends.

The others look up with friendly curiosity–offering shy smiles, little waves. One of the girls said, “Hi, nice to meet you,” in accented English, and you gave a tiny wave back, already clutching the warm mug someone had slid toward you.

“Nice to meet you all too,” you murmured.

And then the conversation flowed back into Korean. You sat quietly, trying to follow the rhythm, the rises and falls of their voices. You caught a word or two here and there– “school,” “weekend,” “funny”–but most of it blurred past you like wind through branches.

Hyun-ju leaned in now and then to explain something softly. “They’re teasing Min-Jae because he spilled a whole tray of drinks last week.”

Or–

“She’s talking about this date she went on, but the guy was late and didn’t even apologize.”

You laughed quietly when prompted. Smiled politely. Nodded, and sipped your tea. But still, you felt it–that invisible wall between you and the table.

They weren’t unkind. Not at all. But the longer you sat there, the more you felt like an extra. A guest in a space that wasn’t built for you. You were inside the circle, technically, but not really in it. Not in the laughter that came too fast for you to keep up with, or the inside jokes that spun over your head like clouds.

You studied your mug, then the delicate crumbs of a rice cookie on a napkin in front of you. Your jaw ached from holding a smile too long.

When Hyun-ju touched your arm gently–just a brush of her fingers–you looked up, startled. “You okay?” she asked in English, soft enough that no one else heard. 

You nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Her eyes lingered. As if she knew you were lying. But she didn’t push. Just smiled, soft and warm, and poured you more tea.

You stayed an hour before excusing yourself. They all said goodbye kindly–one of the girls even gave you a hug–but your chest felt hollow on the walk home.

You texted your mom that night, curled up on your floor with your face in your hands, the city lights glowing through your curtainless windows.

i hung out with hyun-ju and her friends today i felt kind of invisible though i don’t think they meant to but it still sucked

Your mom replied with love, but it was Hyun-ju’s message that made you tear up.

hey hope you got home okay i’m really glad you came. i know it’s hard thank you for trying 💙

And somehow, even though you still felt out of place…that helped.

The days after the cafe hangout were quiet. Not completely silent–Hyun-ju still texted you every now and then. Still sent the occasional meme, or a photo of a latte she thought looked “too aesthetic to drink,” followed by:

ur kind of vibe, right?

But you took longer to reply. Kept your responses short. You told yourself you were just busy. But really, you were retreating.

Not because of her–never because of her, but because you hated the way you’d felt that night: like a decorative piece set at the edge of the table. Smiling and sipping tea while laughter spun around you like wind you couldn’t catch.

It wasn’t her fault. But it still made you feel small. So when she texted you again, you hesitated before opening the message.

hey i was just wondering if maybe you’d wanna come over this weekend? just you. we can do tea and snacks again. but no strangers, promise. i’ll even let you judge my candle collection

You stared at the message, heart thudding. It was like she’d felt it too. The subtle shift. The way you’d withdraw into yourself. Your fingers hovered. Then typed:

okay. i’d like that. can i bring cookies??

Her apartment was small–barely three rooms–but it was hers. And it was warm. 

You stepped inside and were immediately hit by the soft scent of something sweet–coconut and honey, maybe–and the sound of a playlist humming gently through a tiny speaker by the bookshelf. Her walls were dotted with postcards and thrifted prints, and a sleepy looking cat blinked at you from the couch.

“You have a cat?” you asked, surprised.

Hyun-ju grinned as she slipped off her slippers. “She came with the apartment. She’s the real landlord.”

You laughed–a real one this time–and set your bag down beside the door. She took your coat, handed you a pair of fuzzy socks (“Mandatory,” she’d said seriously), and led you to a floor cushion near the low table, where two mugs were already steaming.

“I got that chamomile you said you missed,” she said gently, like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t gone out of her way to remember.

Your throat tightened. “I brought cookies,” you said quietly, holding them out in a crinkled bakery bag. “From that place you told me about.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, these are dangerous. We’re finishing all of them.”

For the first hour, you mostly talked about nothing. Easy things. Favorite movies. Bad dates. How she almost failed a public speaking class in college because she kept giggling during presentations.

She let you pick the playlist after that. Let you rant about a frustrating professor. Let you sit in silence when you needed to, both of you sipping tea as the sky outside turned soft with everything.

At one point, she reached across the table–not to take your hand, not to crowd you–but just to tuck a stray thread back into the sleeve of your sweater.

You watched her fingers. The gentleness of the gesture.

And finally, you said it. “I felt really out of place the other night.”

She paused, then nodded. “I know.”

You swallowed. “I don’t think they meant it. But… I didn’t know how to be there.”

“I should’ve sat closer,” she said softly. “Translated more. Or maybe just…not invited you into something that wasn’t really built for you.”

You shook your head. “I wanted to come. I wanted to feel normal.”

Hyun-ju looked at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable and full of something tender. “I don’t want you to feel normal,” she said. “I want you to feel wanted.”

Your heart clenched. The room was quiet again. Her cat blinked lazily at the wall. And then she smiled. “But, uh…If you do want to feel superior, I can show you the candle I bought last week that smells like banana bread but somehow also like feet.”

You snorted. “Show me. Immediately.”

That night, when you finally made your way home, your cheeks were sore from smiling. And you realized something as you curled up in bed: you didn’t just have someone you could text. You had someone who noticed when you were fading. And gently pulled you back into the light.

It started with another text.

hey…would you mind proofreading something for me? it’s for women’s lit. i’m nervous about the phrasing🥲

Hyun-ju replied ten minutes later, already halfway through your attachment.

your ideas are solid you’re overthinking the sentence length, though. i’ll mark a few spots

You didn’t expect her to be so thorough. She sent back a marked up Google Doc, full of little suggestions–some grammar, some stylistic–but always gentle. Never pushy. She even added a few comments like “this sentence is beautiful,” and “this hits hard in the best way.”

You stared at her feedback for a long time, heart full. No one had ever read your work like that before.

So when Friday rolled around and you found yourself sitting on your bed with a fres batch of snacks, a vacuumed rug, and a blanket fresh from the dryer…you bit the bullet.

would you maybe want to come over for movie night? like… just us again you can wear pajamas. i’m literally in socks and a hoodie lol

Her answer came quick.

absolutely. omw🩵

Your studio apartment wasn’t much. A twin bed pressed against the window. A small couch you’d found secondhand. A hot plate and a kettle, a cluttered bookshelf full of half read theory and novels. But it was yours.

And now it held her.

Hyun-ju stepped inside in grey sweats and a loose white tee, a tote bag over her shoulder and her hair pulled into a low ponytail. She looked…unfairly cute. Relaxed in a way that made your chest flutter.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said, glancing around with a soft grin. “You really are wearing socks and a hoodie.”

You tugged your sleeve over your palm. “I promised comfort, didn’t I?”

She kicked off her shoes and flopped down on the couch without hesitation, curling her legs up. “This place is cozy as hell. Like a little bookworm nest.”

Your face warmed. “That’s the goal.”

You pulled out your knitting basket from beside the couch, almost shy. “I was working on something earlier, if you wanna see?”

Her eyes lit up instantly. “Oh my god, yes, please. I’ve been dying to see what else you’ve made.”

You settled beside her, pulling out a half finished scarf–soft and moss green with tiny ribs of texture.

Hyun-ju reached out, fingers gentle against the yarn. “This is so beautiful. You made all of this?”

“Yeah,” you ducked your head. “It’s kind of meditative. Makes me feel less…floaty, I guess.”

She looked up at you then. Really looked. “Your hands must be so patient,” she said quietly. “No wonder your writing’s so careful.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from melting.

You picked a rom-com–something light and easy to half watch–and settled under the blanket together. The couch was small, so your thighs touched, even when you both tried not to make a big deal of it.

Half an hour in, you shifted, stretching your legs out gently. Without thinking, your feet rested across her lap, your socked toes brushing the hem of her sweatshirt.

You stilled. “Sorry–”

“No,” she said, smiling softly. “That’s okay.”

Her hands moved naturally–one resting beside your ankle, the other casually smoothing the edge of the blanket over your shins. Like it was second nature to hold you like this. Like warmth belonged between you.

You turned to glance at her, and looked back at the same time. Both of you grinning, caught. “Wait,” she whispered, grabbing her phone. “We need a photo. For documentation. And for your mom.”

You laughed and leaned close. You could smell her shampoo–lavender and something warm. The flash went off once, then twice.

You blinked at the second one and said, “We look so cozy.”

“She’s gonna be obsessed with me,” Hyun-ju joked. You sent it immediately.

move night💕 she brought tea. i made cookies look how comfy we are😭

Your mom replied almost instantly.

I LOVE HER ALREADY!!! tell her thank you for taking care of my baby🥹

You tucked your phone away, smiled soft and sleepy. The movie played on, mostly forgotten. And there you were. Curled up under a blanket. Your feet in her lap. The only sound is her quiet breathing, and the occasional rustle of her fingers against the yarn still sitting at your side.

For the first time in a long, long while, you didn’t feel like a guest in your own life. You felt home.

i got my paper back

Hyun-ju’s reply came fast:

AND???👀 100🥲 she said my analysis was “elegant” which… i have never been called before in my life i told you it was good!!! okay that’s it we’re celebrating, no arguments.

You laughed, staring at your screen, heart full and light.

how should i celebrate? knitting in a bubble bath? i mean yes but also me and my friends are going to this bar in hongdae tonight nothing wild, just drinks and music no pressure, but…i’ll buy ur drinks if you come🥂🎀💅

You stared at the message. Your chest fluttered with nerves. The last time you tried to hang out with her friends, you felt like a misplaced puzzle piece–but still…she’d asked again. Still wanted you there.

You thought of how good it felt to see her in your space. To be seen and held and warmed. You didn’t want to just live inside your safe corner forever. You didn’t want to drag her away from her life to fit into yours.

okay… what time should i meet you?

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the tuck of your sweater where it curved into your waistband. The long, slate gray skirt hugged your hips, the subtle slit brushing high on one thigh whenever you walked. Paired with high-top platform Converse, a black knit sweater, and your favorite earrings, it felt like you. A version of you that showed up.

Your hands trembled a little as you smoothed your skirt. You’re not trying to impress her, you told yourself. You just want to celebrate. But your heart whispered back: yes I am.

The bar was warm and low-lit, with little hanging lanterns over the booths and thudding bass vibrating the wood floors. You hovered in the doorway until you saw her–Hyun-ju, seated in a booth toward the back, half laughing over something one of her friends had said, a bottle of soju half titled in her hand.

Her eyes caught yours instantly. She lit up. She waved both hands, her hair bouncing on top of her shoulders, and then she was up and moving through the crowd toward you.

“You came!” she said, half shouting over the music.

“Of course I did,” you said, trying to sound calm. “You offered free drinks.”

She laughed, pulling you into a half-hug that squeezed all the nerves out of your ribs. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Her friends were already smiling when you arrived at the table. You recognized a few from the last cafe hangout, but this time…something was different. They weren’t just polite–they were trying.

“Hi, nice to see you again!” one said with a thick but determined accent.

“I like your shoes!” said another, miming a thumbs up and pointing to your platforms.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. “Thank you. I’m really happy to be here.”

They all cheered at that, clinking glasses in your direction. You stayed close to Hyun-ju’s side as she guided you to the booth, seating you beside her with a clear, open smile. “Okay, first–something sweet. You don’t strike me as a whisky girl.”

You scrunched your nose. “I strike me as someone who wants to drink pink things and not taste the alcohol.”

She grinned. “Say less.” She returned a moment later with two pale pink cocktails, bubbly and garnished with sugared grapefruit slices. “To your 100,” she said, tapping her glass against yours.

“To your editing skills,” you whispered and sipped. It was dangerously good.

As the night went on, your nerves melted, drink by drink. Hyun-ju never strayed far–she kept her arm resting near yours on the back of the booth, her knee bumping gently into your thigh beneath the table. Every few minutes she’d lean in and say something just for you, little side comments or translations. Her voice curled soft in your ear like a secret.

“She just said she likes your style. She thinks you look like a ‘Korean indie film girl.’”

“Min-Jae’s telling his embarrassing military service stories again. We’re all pretending like we haven’t heard them before.”

You giggled through every one. And the more they spoke, the more her friends softened around you. One even pulled out a tiny Korean-English pocketbook to look up the word “confidence.” When she found it, she pointed to you and said it aloud, proud as hell.

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “Me?”

She nodded. “Yes. Confident.”

You turned to Hyun-ju. “I think they like you,” she whispered, eyes warm and full of pride. You didn’t say anything. Just smiled and looked down into your drink, the sweetness going straight to your head. 

Eventually, you shifted sideways on the booth cushion, laughing too hard at something Hyun-ju whispered. You stretched your legs out beneath the table, your heels slipping out of your platforms, and without thinking, you rested your feet lightly across her lap.

Her hand didn’t even hesitate–just settled on your shin, thumb brushing the side of your ankle. You didn’t move. Neither did she.

The group buzzed around you with chatter and laughter, but the only thing you could feel was her. Her hand. Her smile. Her presence holding you together.

She leaned in after a beat. “You’re doing amazing, by the way,” she murmured. “I know this isn’t easy.”

Your breath caught. “I really like being here,” you said quietly.

“With me?”

You looked at her. Her lashes were long and fluttery in the warm light. Her smile was careful, soft as velvet. “With you,” you said.

The bar emptied out in bursts of laughter and cigarette smoke. You and Hyun-ju followed behind her friends as they spilled onto the street, cheeks flushed, drinks still buzzing your veins. The air outside was sharp and cool, brushing hot skin and making everyone huddle into their jackets.

“We’re heading to that club near the main intersection!” one of them called out, voice raised over the music still bleeding from every open door. “The one with the neon tiger sign!”

Hyun-ju glanced at you. “Too much?”

You were warm from the drinks. Loose in your limbs, a little floaty. The crowd, the noise, the sheer aliveness of the street–it was overwhelming, yes. But her hand was so close to yours, brushing between swings of your steps.

“I can handle it,” you said, smiling faintly.

Hyun-ju’s eyes lingered, searching your face like she could reach what you weren’t saying. And then–gently, like it meant nothing–she slipped her fingers between yours. “Just so I don’t lose you,” she said with a wink.

You nearly tripped over the sidewalk. The warmth of her palm in yours short circuited your brain. You tried to act cool–tried not to stare at where your hands met like you were some girl in a coming-of-age movie–but internally, you were screaming. Screaming and spinning and melting.

They turned down a narrower alley, the crowd thickening with bodies and bass. The club was impossible to miss: tiger shaped neon snarling above the door, lights pulsing in time with the muffled beat of whatever was playing inside.

Inside was chaos.

Hot air. Packed bodies. Purple light flickering across faces. Music loud enough to make your ribs thrum. You stepped in behind Hyun-ju, still clinging to her hand, and immediately found yourself shoulder to shoulder with strangers.

You shrank in close. Her friends scattered into the crowd, pulled toward the bar or the dance floor, but you stayed pressed to Hyun-ju’s side–your body practically against hers, your face half buried into the back of her shoulder as she led you deeper in.

She turned halfway, looking back. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. “Just… a lot of people.”

“I know. Want me to take you home?”

Your heart twisted. No, you thought. No, I don’t want you to think I can’t hang. I don’t want you to feel like I’m dragging you away. I just want to be wherever you are.

You shook your head. “I want to stay. With you.”

Hyun-ju gave you a look–gentle, soft edged, and full of something warm. “Okay. Just stay close, yeah?”

You were already doing that.

At the bar, she ordered two more drinks–something light and fizzy with crushed peach and soju–and you took slow sips while bodies swayed around you in time with the music. You weren’t dancing, not really. But your hips moved with hers in tiny, quiet motions. Her hand grazed your waist once. Then again.

Your face was flushed from the alcohol. From the proximity. From the way her eyes kept flicking toward your mouth when she leaned in to talk. You felt dizzy in the best way.

“This really isn’t your scene, huh?” she said with a laugh, lips close to your ear.

You tilted your head up to look at her, drunk on the lights in her eyes. “No. But you are.”

Her breath caught. You blinked, slow and heavy lidded, immediately panicking internally–did I just say that out loud?? Oh my god, oh my god–but she didn’t pull away. Didn’t laugh.

Instead, she just smiled. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

The two of you slip out the side door, blinking into the dark.

The alley behind the club was slick with spilled drinks and neon runoff. Music still thumped through the wall behind you–muted, like a heartbeat pressed to your ear. The city didn’t sleep, not out here. Groups of guys passed by, laughing too loud, some already stumbling. A motorbike roared by on the street, too close.

You pressed in closer to Hyun-ju without thinking, seeking the familiar warmth of her body.

The soft thud of your shoes echoed as you walked, and you could feel the eyes–their eyes–raking over you as you passed. A couple of them said something in Korean you couldn’t catch. Another one let out a low whistle and muttered something with a smirk, and even though you didn’t understand the words, the tone was unmistakable.

Your skin crawled. You pulled your sweater tighter around you and whispered, “Do they always act like that?”

Hyun-ju didn’t even look at them. “Yeah,” she muttered, jaw set tight. “Hongdae’s full of douchebags. Especially around this time. And you’re a foreigner, so they think they can say whatever they want.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s gross.”

“I know.” She looked over at you, eyes catching the dim glow of an overhead light. “I’m sorry.” Your breath stuttered at the intensity in her voice. “I don’t want you to feel unsafe here,” she added, softer now. “Or like you don’t belong.”

You weren’t sure if she meant Korea or right now–this night, this moment. Either way, you didn’t feel out of place with her.

Hyun-ju slowed to a stop beside a patch of wall still dry and clean, tucked just out of sight of the main road. She leaned her back against the warm brick, legs stretched out a little, chin tilted up like the night couldn’t touch her.

You stood beside her, close enough to feel the heat off her shoulder. The silence between you wasn’t empty.

It pulsed. Stretched. Filled with the echo of every brush of skin, every sideways glance, every lingering laugh you’d shared since that very first sweater compliment in the coffee shop.

She tilted her head toward you slightly. “You good?”

You nodded, breath shallow. “Yeah. Just…kind of a lot.”

She gave a quiet hum of agreement, eyes sliding across your face. “It gets easier. You’re doing better than you think.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Well,” she said, nudging your elbow with hers, “you made it through a club without crying. I’d say that’s progress.”

You let out a laugh–breathy and honest–and her smile bloomed like it was her reward for coaxing it out of you.

The silence returned, heavier now. Hyun-ju looked at your lips. You looked away. Then back again. And you realized–she was already watching you.

The city moved around you. The music throbbed behind the wall. But none of it was louder than your heartbeat in your ears.

“Hyun-ju…” You weren’t even sure what you were going to say.

But she stepped in–just slightly, just enough–and the space between your bodies disappeared. Her arm brushed yours. Her knee bumped yours. You could smell the citrus and soft soap clinging to her collar, the warmth of peach soju still on her breath.

“You’re really pretty,” she murmured, like it was just for you. Like she’d been holding it back all night.

Your stomach did somersaults. “So are you,” you whispered. “I mean–thank you. I mean–”

Hyun-ju laughed, low and close. She leaned in until her forehead was nearly against yours. “You don't have to be nervous around me.”

But you were. Not in a bad way–just in the way that happens when someone who makes you feel safe is suddenly so close you can feel their breath on your cheek.

You glanced at her lips. And she noticed. Still–she didn’t move. Not unless you did. And suddenly, the line between friend and something else felt like a thread pulled tight between your mouths.

One breath. One second. One lean away from snapping.

Your breath hitched. And for a second, you thought you might lean in the rest of the way. But then your heart kicked against your ribs–too fast, too loud–and the panic hit: what if I read this wrong? What if she doesn’t want–what if I mess this up?

You pulled back just slightly, just enough for air to slip between you again. “Sorry,” you said quickly, voice higher than you mean, eyes darting anywhere but her mouth. “I–I didn’t mean–”

But Hyun-ju was already smiling. Soft and warm and just barely there. Like a secret. She didn’t tease. Didn’t look disappointed. She just tilted her head and let the moment dissolve, catching it like a snowflake on her tongue before it could melt into awkwardness.

“It’s okay,” she replied quietly.

You swallowed hard. Your face was on fire. You weren’t sure if it was the soju or the sudden rush of shame, but either way you couldn’t look at her yet. Thankfully, she didn’t make you.

“Do you miss home?” she asked, like she hadn’t noticed how your voice had gone all breathless, like she hadn’t seen you looking at her lips just seconds ago.

You nodded. “Yeah.” A beat passed. “I miss my mom the most.”

Hyun-ju hummed softly, leaning back against the brick wall beside you. “She must miss you a lot too.”

“She does. She always gets emotional when I call her. Even if I just text her a selfie, she’s like, “my baby’s so far away…” You mimic the dramatic sniffle with a smile, your voice catching somewhere between amusement and ache. “It’s sweet. But it makes me feel even more homesick sometimes.”

“I get that," she said. “When I lived abroad, I missed my mom’s kimchi jjigae so bad I literally cried over instant noodles.”

That made you laugh. You finally looked at her again. The way her eyes sparkled made you feel lighter. Like the pressure of what almost happened had shifted into something gentler, easier to carry.

Neither of you said anything for a few seconds. The quiet was peaceful now.

Your hands had ended up close together–yours still nervously fidgeting with your sleeves, hers tucked into the pockets of her trousers. Then slowly–so slowly you almost didn’t register it–Hyun-ju’s hand slipped out of her pocket and her fingers brushed yours.

You froze for half a second. Then let your hand relax, let her touch settle. She didn’t grab your hand. Didn’t lace her fingers with yours. She just touched. Barley there. Her pinky traced along the side of yours. Her thumb bumped the back of your hand like she was testing how close you’d let her be.

And you didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to. You looked down at your hands, barely connected, the space between them buzzing with warmth.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re not scared,” she said, her voice so quiet it almost got lost in the thrum of the city beyond the alley.

You glanced up at her. “I’m not scared of you.”

“I know,” her smile returned, just the faintest tug at the corners of her mouth. “That’s why I like you.”

Your heart skipped so hard you almost swayed. Hyun-ju just gave your fingers a soft, single tape with ehrs–like a period on the end of a sentence–and then stepped away from the wall.

“Ya~!” a voice called, clearly drunk and delighted. One of Hyun-ju’s friends poked their head out, raising both brows at the sight of you standing so close together. They said something quick in Korean, teasing and singsongy, followed by a loud, theatrical whistle.

Hyun-ju groaned under her breath. She turned her head just enough to call back, “Dagchyeo!” –Shut up!

The friend only laughed and ducked back inside, the door swinging shut behind them. Hyun-ju sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand. “It’s late,” she said, glancing at you again–softer now. “Let’s get you home.”

You nodded, but your body didn’t quite move yet. Part of you didn’t want to. Didn’t want to step out of the alley’s hush. Didn’t want to let go of this–whatever this is. The way her words had settled over you like a blanket. The way her fingers had traced yours like they knew exactly how you needed to be held.

But she was already turning toward the street, and so you followed, your footsteps echoing behind hers as you left the quiet behind.

Still, you felt the shape of that almost-moment clinging to you. You carried it in your chest like a secret, glowing and warm and terrifying. And maybe, just maybe, she was carrying it too.

Back at your apartment you kicked your shoes off by the door, shrugging out of your sweater and skirt as you padded around. The air inside was cool and still, the glow of the streetlights outside barely filtering through the window blinds. Everything felt too quiet after the crush of the club, the sticky bass, the heat of Hyun-ju’s side against yours.

You sat on the edge of your bed for a minute, heart still ticking too fast. Then picked up your phone. It was late. Almost 3am in Seoul. But it was morning where your mom was. You didn’t even hesitate.

The line clicked. It barely rang twice before your mom’s voice came through, a little raspy but warm. “Hello?”

“Hi,” you whispered, curling your knees to your chest. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No, baby. I was up. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, chewing at your bottom lip. “I don’t…I don’t know what to do about Hyun-ju.”

There was a beat of silence. “Is something wrong?”

You flopped back onto your pillow and stared at the ceiling. “No, I mean–nothing’s wrong. She’s… she’s been amazing, actually. Like she’s the only reason I haven’t just come home. She helps me with everything. She makes me feel less lonely. And tonight we went out with her friends and…I don’t know, she just…she held my hand. And stood so close to me. And said these things and–”

Your voice cracked off. You swallowed. “I think I like her.”

Another beat. You could hear the gentle inhale on the other end of the call, the rustle of your mom shifting in her seat. “Well, honey,” she said softly, “that doesn't sound like a bad thing.”

You pulled the blanket over your legs. “I don’t want to make things weird. What if she doesn’t feel the same way? What if I say something and ruin it?”

Your mom made that thoughtful sound she always made when you were spiraling–half a hum, half a sigh.

“You’re not going to ruin anything by being honest,” she said. “Not if what you have with her is real. It sounds like she cares about you. And if she doesn’t feel the same way, then…you’ll still have a friend. But you’ll drive yourself crazy holding it in.”

You blinked up at the ceiling, your throat tight. “She’s just…so beautiful. And confident. And I feel like I’m still fumbling through everything. I don’t know why she even likes being around me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” your mom sighed. “If she’s anything like the way you describe her, then she knows how lucky she is to have you. And you know I’ll love you no matter what.”

Your chest ached. “I miss you, mom.”

“I miss you too, baby. But I’m proud of you. And I think you should tell her. When you're ready.”

You nodded even though she couldn’t see it. “Okay.”

“Get some sleep. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You ended the call and lay there for a long time, staring at the cracks of light on your ceiling. Your fingers still tingled from where hers had touched yours. And even though you were scared, a little part of you already knew: you were going to tell her.

The scent of shampoo still lingered in the air. You’d showered hours ago, hoping it would help clear the fog from your head. Instead, it left you pacing around your tiny apartment with damp hair and a belly full of nerves.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about Hyun-ju since last night. Her fingers brushing yours. The way she smiled after you pulled away. That look in her eyes before her friend interrupted.

So today, you did what you always did to distract yourself: you studied. Curled up on your bed in a clean pair of lounge shorts and a loose tee, you read the same paragraph five times in a row. You scribbled notes. You highlighted whole pages. You forgot to eat.

Your phone buzzed next to your laptop.

i’m bringing dinner over. hope you’re hungry! you like tteokbokki right??

Your stomach growled so loudly you could hear it over the silence. You scrambled to text her back.

omg yes thank you i didn’t even realize i skipped lunch lol good thing you’ve got me then 20 mins🛵💨

Those twenty minutes felt like hours. By the time she knocked on your door, you’d lit a candle to  try to calm yourself down, cleaned up your desk three times, and changed into an oversized cardigan just for something to do with your hands.

You opened the door to see her standing there in sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt, a brown paper bag in her arms and her hair loose around her face. Effortless and beautiful. The casual kind of pretty that made your breath stick.

“Hi,” she said, already grinning. “Hope you’re ready to ruin your digestive system.”

You laughed a little, stepping aside. “You’re saving my life, honestly.”

She came in like she belonged there–placing the bag on your low table, toeing off her shoes. She plopped onto the floor, cross legged on a cushion, and started unpacking the food. The smell hit you instantly: spicy rice cakes, fried dumplings, something crispy and cheesy too.

“God, that smells so good,” you murmured, settling beside her.

“Eat,” she urged, pushing a container toward you. “You look like you’ve been studying since sunrise.”

“I kinda have.”

She smiled softly. “Nerd.”

You shrugged sheepishly, digging in. You didn’t say much after that–not because you didn’t want to, but because your chest was still tight. Everything you wanted to tell her was pressing against your ribs, making it hard to breathe.

Hyun-ju, meanwhile, talked easily. She told you about an old man who came into the cafe and tried to pay for a cappuccino with American quarters. About how she saw a little dog wearing a raincoat that looked like a watermelon. About a new show she was watching.

And you…barely answered. You nodded. You smiled. You let out a small laugh here and there. But your answers were short, clipped. Like you were holding your breath.

She picked up on it almost immediately. Mid-bite, she paused and tilted her head at you. “You okay?”

Your chopsticks froze halfway to your mouth. “Yeah. Sorry. Just tired, I guess.”

Her eyes lingered on your face. “You’ve been quiet.”

You swallowed then looked down at your lap. She didn’t push. Just waited. “I’ve just…been thinking,” you said finally. “About some stuff.”

“Stuff, huh?” she teased gently. But her gaze was soft and careful.

You nodded. “Stuff.”

She didn’t ask what. Didn’t prod or demand or tease any further. She just nudged the fried dumplings closer to you and said, “Eat more.”

And you did. Quietly. Slowly. While she kept talking like nothing was wrong. Like she knew you’d tell her when you were ready. And maybe…maybe you would.

The containers were mostly empty, your fingers sticky with sauce, your stomach warm and full in that just satisfied kind of way. You both lingered on the floor longer than necessary, chatting a little more now that the worst of your nerves had been soothed.

Eventually, you reached for the napkins. “I should, um…clean this up.”

Hyun-ju stood too. “I’ll help.”

You carried a couple containers to the sink, trying not to panic at how easily she followed. The kitchen wasn’t really a kitchen–more like a countertop, a sink, and two cabinets squeezed along one wall. So when Hyun-ju stepped beside you, her shoulder brushed yours. Warm. Intentional, maybe. You couldn’t be sure.

You rinsed out a container and handed it to her to toss, but your fingers brushed as you passed it, and you both flinched just a little. You froze for a second too long, still close enough to smell the faint trace of her fabric softener, and when you glanced up, she was already looking at you.

You dropped your gaze and fumbled for another container. “So–uh–I had fun with your friends last night.”

She leaned in slightly to toss the trash, voice smooth. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded quickly, trying to stay casual. “Yeah. I mean…I was nervous, but they were nice. And it was fun. Loud, but fun.” 

Hyun-ju smiled at that. “They love clubbing. They’d go every weekend if they could.”

You laughed softly, setting a cup in the sink. “I don’t usually go out like that. Not my scene.”

She leaned against the counter now, arms folded, watching you from way too close. “But you had fun.”

You looked over at her and gave a tiny shrug, your fingers still toying with the edge of the sink. “Yeah. It was…fun.”

That word again. Loaded and dangerous. Her gaze stayed steady. “Yeah. Fun.”

There was a pause–short, but deep enough to feel like you'd stepped off a curb. Neither of you moved. Neither of you said anything. You could hear your own heartbeat. Feel it in your throat.

You reached blindly for a napkin just to give your hands something to do. “Sorry,” you mumbled. “I’m being so awkward right now.”

Hyun-ju chuckled, soft and amused. “You always say that.”

“I am though!”

You tried to laugh it off, dabbing at an invisible spill, but she gently reached out and took the napkin from your hand, tossing behind you into the trash. You froze. Her fingers brushed yours again. On purpose this time.

“Maybe I like it,” she said.

You stared at her, lips parting–but before you could say anything, before your brain could decide whether to run or reach for her, she stepped back. Just a bit.

Not far. Not enough to forget the closeness. Just enough to give you room to breathe. But even still…you didn’t want her to leave.

The apartment had gone quiet again, save for the hum of your tiny space heater and the soft music from your phone’s playlist in the background.

You both ended up back on the couch. The takeout was put away, the kitchen mostly cleaned, and the weight of the day–not to mention the last few–was finally settling into your limbs. You curled under the same blanket as last time, legs tucked beside you, your knee almost brushing hers where she sat reclined on the other end.

Hyun-ju was flipping through Netflix with the remote. “Okay,” she said. “Something relaxing. Nothing scary. Nothing sad. And definitely no English subtitles–I’m off duty tonight.”

You gave a quiet laugh. “But then I won’t understand.”

She clicked on some lighthearted Korean variety show, grinning. “That’s fine. You’ll get the vibe.”

You raised your brow but didn’t argue. And she was right–after a while, you did get the vibe. You had no clue what was being said, but the cast’s dramatic reactions and ridiculous games made it easy enough to follow. You found yourself giggling along even if the jokes went over your head.

Then, quietly, Hyun-ju said something in Korean–her voice soft and lilting.

You blinked. “What?”

She just looked at you with that coy little smile. “Nothing.”

You stared suspiciously. “That wasn’t nothing.”

She shrugged, sinking lower into the couch, one hand tucked behind her head. “If you didn’t understand, then it can’t be important, right?”

You narrowed your eyes. “It sounded filthy.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did it?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, heat rising in your cheeks. “I’m gonna make you teach me everything you say one day.”

Hyun-ju gave a mock sigh. “That would ruin all my secrets.”

You were just about to fire back a smart reply when your phone buzzed in your lap. A picture from your mom.

You unlocked your phone and smiled instantly. It was a photo of your dog, curled up in her usual spot on the couch back home. Her tongue poked out a little in her sleep.

“Awh,” you said softly. “My mom sent a photo of Berry.”

Hyun-ju leaned over, and you could feel her body shift against yours under the blanket. Her cheek nearly brushed your shoulder as she peered at your phone. “She’s cute. Is that your dog?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “She’s really old. Fourteen now, I think.”

Hyun-ju gave a soft, warm laugh. “Oh. So like me?”

You turned your head to look at her, startled–and found her already watching you, a teasing glint in her eye.

You let out a surprised giggle, a little flustered. “You’re not that old!”

“Mm,” she hummed. “Twenty eight feels old when you’re hanging out with someone still in undergrad.”

You nudged her with your elbow. “Well. Twenty one feels like a baby when you say it like that.”

Hyun-ju grinned and looked back toward the TV, but she didn’t move away. Her arm stayed there, warm and close beside yours. Your fingers weren’t quite touching, but it wouldn’t take much. A shift. A reach. A choice.

You glanced at her again, but she was just quietly watching the show. At ease. Her presence was grounding and intoxicating all at once.

And suddenly, your dog wasn’t the only thing making your chest ache with homesick longing. You just…didnt’ know what for.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed.

The show had long since ended, the screen now idling with soft background music as recommendations scrolled past. The blanket was pulled a little higher over both of you, though neither of you moved to get more comfortable. You were already too comfortable–warm from dinner, from being next to her, from the drinks still humming faintly in your blood from the night before.

The apartment was dim and quiet now. Just your tiny lamp lit the room in a yellow glow, and it cast soft shadows across Hyun-ju’s face where she sat beside you.

She shifted just slightly, her shoulder brushing yours again. Her knees were pulled up, one hand draped across them, the other still resting close to yours under the blanket.

She smelled like lavender and the fabric softener  you now recognized. Her lashes were long in the low light, eyes trained on the screen even though she clearly wasn’t watching it anymore.

Your phone buzzed again. Another message from your mom, this time just:

So… have you told her yet?

With a winking emoji. You stared at it. Then, very quietly, locked your phone again and set it face down on the couch cushion.

Hyun-ju noticed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, voice soft. “Just my mom being nosy.”

Her lips quirked. “What’s she asking?”

You hesitated. “She…thinks I should be honest with you.”

Hyun-ju’s brows raised gently, and her head tilted, attention fixed entirely on you now. “About?”

You swallowed. The air suddenly felt thick, like the room had shrunk around you. You weren’t sure you could say it–weren’t even sure what it was yet. But you wanted to. God, you wanted to.

“I dunno,” you said, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I just–I’m really glad I met you.”

She watched you closely. And when she spoke, her voice was lower. Quieter. Like she didn’t want to startle whatever fragile moment this was becoming. “I’m glad I met you too.”

You looked up at her. The couch was too small. Or maybe it's just that way because you were suddenly so close. Her eyes dropped to your mouth for the briefest second, then flicked back up.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. Her fingers brushed against yours under the blanket–barely there. Like she was testing it. Testing you.

And you didn’t pull away.

Your heart was thudding so hard you could feel it in your throat. In your fingertips. In the heat crawling up the back of your neck. She was right there. If you leaned in just a little more–

You blinked, breaking the stare. Looked at the floor. The blanket. Anything. “I–uh…I need some water,” you mumble suddenly.

Hyun-ju smiled softly. Not disappointed–just…understanding. Like she could feel how badly you wanted her. How scared you still were.

She reached for the remote instead and said, “Okay. I’ll pick the next show.”

You laughed, shakily. “Deal.”

And you stood up on wobbly legs, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. You tried to catch your breath–trying to remind yourself that nothing happened. That it wasn’t a big deal.

But you knew it was. Because the way Hyun-ju looked at you just now…that wasn’t a “friend” look. That was a “kiss me already” look.

Your fingers trembled as you lifted the glass to your lips. You reread your mother’s text message before replying saying you didn’t think you could do it.

Her response came quickly.

Baby, you literally spent all of elementary school crying if your teacher looked at you weird. You’re doing GREAT! Just tell her she’s pretty and that you want to kiss her face. That always worked for me.

You laughed softly, biting your lip. And for a moment, the fear in your chest eased.

You padded back toward the living room, still sipping your water. Hyun-Ju had already queued up another show—something lighthearted, judging from the upbeat music in the intro—and was curled against the arm of the couch, blanket bunched in her lap.

She looked up when you entered and smiled. “Come here,” she said, her voice low and easy.

You moved to sit down beside her again, and before you could settle in properly, Hyun-Ju leaned forward and gently tugged at your legs. You squeaked softly as she pulled them into her lap.

She wordlessly adjusted the blanket, tugging it up and around both of you again. And then her hand returned to your leg, resting lightly over the fabric.

And her thumb began to move. Back and forth. A lazy, unconscious stroke across your shin. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t short circuiting every thought in your head.

Everything in you told you to focus on the show. You really did. But you couldn’t hear the dialogue over the static building in your chest.

Hyun-ju wasn’t even looking at you–her face was calm, relaxed, completely unfazed. But her thumb kept moving, slow and rhythmic, like she knew.

You swallowed and shifted slightly under the blanket, your foot brushing her side. She didn’t react. Didn’t stop touching you.

Your heart thudded wildly. You couldn’t tell if she was being playful, or flirty, or if this was just how she showed affection. You couldn’t tell if you were imagining the way her fingers paused slightly whenever your breath caught–or if you were just so far gone now that every little thing felt electric.

You curled your fingers into the edge of the blanket. Tried to breathe. Tried to watch the show. But all you could think about was her hand. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she looked at you like she wanted something–but would never push. And god…you were starting to want her to.

The warmth of Hyun-Ju's hand moved—just slightly—her fingers brushing up the curve of your calf under the blanket. You flinched. Not because it hurt. Just because it was her. Touching you like that.

She blinked, her head tilting slightly to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head quickly, adjusting the blanket like it had betrayed you. “No—it’s nothing.”

Her brow lifted, but she didn’t press. She just smiled a little, watching your face a moment longer before turning back to the screen. You couldn’t focus. Not even a little. You spent the rest of the episode in some hellish purgatory between wanting to melt into her and wanting to run away screaming.

After a few quiet minutes, Hyun-Ju leaned forward and clicked the remote to turn off the TV. “I should let you get some rest,” she said, stretching just slightly. “You’ve got class in the morning.”

You tried not to deflate. “Yeah, okay,” you murmured, forcing a smile even though you didn’t want her to leave.

She stood, smoothing her shirt, and you walked her to the door. There was a pause before she turned the knob—both of you lingering like something more should be said.

You wrapped your arms around her instead, pulling her into a quick, tight hug. Hyun-Ju held you just as tight. But you didn’t say anything. Didn’t kiss her. Didn’t ask her to stay. She left with a soft goodnight and a hand brushing your arm. The door clicked shut behind her. You stared at it for a long time.

The next morning you were groggy, distracted, and buried in a lecture you barely remembered signing up for. You were typing half-baked notes into your computer when your phone buzzed on the desk.

coffee after class??

You smiled instantly.

yes please. plz plz. rescue me.

You met her at the café, a small corner table already waiting. She brought over your drink before you could even ask, and you plopped into the seat with a grateful sigh.

“That class dragged,” you said, already wrapping both hands around the warm cup. “Like painfully. I think I blacked out during the middle twenty minutes.”

Hyun-Ju laughed, chin resting on her hand. “Then I’m glad I saved you.”

She listened as you recounted the most boring parts of your morning, nodding along and making little quips that made you smile without trying. At some point, without thinking, you shifted your chair just slightly closer to hers.

Her arm was resting along the back of your seat now, and your head—before you could chicken out—tilted sideways, resting gently against her shoulder.

Neither of you said anything at first. You were staring at your shoes. Then hers. Then both, side by side under the table, not quite touching. 

Your heart was going crazy in your chest. You took a breath. And then, before you could talk yourself out of it—“Were you going to kiss me the other night?”

You felt her shoulder shift with a quiet laugh. She glanced down at you, voice warm and teasing. “Did you want me to kiss you?”

You bit your lip. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Hyun-Ju hummed, a thoughtful sound as she tapped her fingers lightly against her cup. “Well…” she said softly, “you get back to me on that—whenever you’ve decided.”

You looked up at her, a little smile tugging at your lips. “I will,” you said, and meant it.

You busy yourself with your wine glass. The room keeps talking–Min laughing across the table, two of your other friends arguing about astrology–but it all fades. Hyun-ju’s body is angled toward yours now. Her knees humps yours under the table and stays there.

“You still in the city?” she asks, like it’s just casual conversation. Like her voice isn’t wrecking you from the inside out.

You nod. “Yeah. Moved last year. Teaching now. Nothing glamorous.”

“Doesn’t have to be glamorous. Just has to feel like yours.”

You glance over. Her gaze is steady. It always used to be sharp, skittish, distant. Now it’s soft, patient.

She looks at you like she’s remembering every version of you she ever saw. Every version she might want to know again. “Wanna catch up properly after this?” she asks.

You don’t even think before you say, “Yes.”

The restaurant spills out into the warm hum of evening–street lights buzzing, sidewalk still holding the day’s heat. You’re walking beside Hyun-ju, not quite brushing shoulders, but close enough to feel her there. Solid, present, real.

“Mine’s just around the corner,” she glances down at you. “If you wanna keep talking.”

You nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.” She smiles. Doesn’t say anything else.

Her apartment is quiet, warm-toned, soft in a way you didn’t expect. One wall is lined with plants. The furniture is minimal, clean, cozy. There’s music humming low from a speaker somewhere–just instrumental, ambient, barely there.

You toe off your shoes by the door, trying not to look like you’re too flustered. “Make yourself comfy,” she says as she sets her keys on the counter. “I’ll open us a bottle.”

You nod and sit on the couch, your knees a little too close together, hands folded like you’re in church. The cushions are deep, the kind you can sink into if you let yourself.

She moves confidently around the kitchen. You steal a glance at her–how good she looks in those high waisted jeans, the little tuck of her shirt, the slope of her back. How grounded she seems. Settled.

When she returns with two glasses of wine, she hands you one before sitting beside you–not too close, not too far.

You take a sip. It gives you something to do with your hands. Your nerves are alive and buzzing. “You’ve really changed,” you say quietly, then wince. “Wait, I–I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I just–”

Hyun-ju smiles softly, like she knew what you meant all along. “It’s okay,” she says, setting her glass down. “I finished my transition about nine months ago.”

Your heart lifts into your throat. “Are you happy?” you ask, before you can second guess the question.

She looks at you, and her eyes go warm. “More than ever.”

You smile. It pulls up slowly, genuine and bright. “Good,” you murmur. “You deserve it.”

Something flickers across her face then–something quiet and hard to name. Gratitude, maybe. Or relief. Or maybe just the strange sweetness of being seen.

She leans back into the couch, her glass resting against her thigh. The music plays on. You glance down at her hand–how close it is to yours on the cushion.

She says, “You’re still the same.” You look at her surprised. “I mean that in a good way,” she adds, teasing, her mouth titled in a grin.

You laugh. “God. You always used to say that to get out of trouble.”

She hums. “Worked then. Still works now.” Your knees brush. 

Neither of you move away. You swirl the last of your wine before finishing it in one smooth sip–nerves or habit you’re not sure. Then you lean forward, setting the empty glass on the coffee table a little too gently, like you’re afraid to break the moment by moving too loud.

Hyun-ju’s watching you, glass still in her hand, eyes half lidded and lazy. “Did you finally dump your stupid boyfriend?”

You laugh, a real laugh. “Yeah,” you lean back into the couch. “Like…three months ago, maybe.”

“Finally. He was a loser.” Hyun-ju smirks into her wine.

You laugh. “He wasn’t that bad.”

“He wore toe shoes,” she deadpans.

Your face scrunches. “Okay, yeah, he was that bad.”

She grins, pleased. “And he never deserved you anyway.” That last bit lands differently. Not a joke. Just quiet and soft.

Your breath catches before you can stop it. “You remember that night he picked a fight with me at Min’s party?”

“Of course I do,” her voice dips lower. “I wanted to kill him.” You glance at her. She’s already looking at you. “He made you cry. Then pretended like it was your fault.”

You nod, a little stunned. You hadn’t known she noticed. Let alone remembered.

“I almost followed you out when you left,” she admits, eyes not leaving yours. “But I thought…I didn’t have the right?”

You’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re sitting. The warmth of her body next to yours. The way her knee is angled toward you now, not just brushing by accident. “You could’ve,” your voice is barely above a whisper. “I would’ve wanted you to.”

She looks at you for a long beat. “Yeah?” she asks, like she doesn’t quite believe it–but wants to.

You nod. Her fingers drum lightly on her glass. She sits it down beside yours, the clink of it echoing in the quiet room. Then she shifts–just slightly–turning more toward you. Her thigh touches yours now. Firm and intentional.

“You always looked at me like you wanted to say something. Back then.” She murmurs.

You swallow. “So did you.”

Her gaze drops to your mouth for half a second, then back up. “Maybe. But I wasn’t ready to be seen. Not like that.”

You nod slowly. “And now?”

Her lips twitch, but it’s not a smile. It’s something heavier. “Now I want to be seen by you.”

The silence stretches again. You don’t move. You don’t even breathe. She reaches up, fingers brushing a stray piece of hair from your cheek. Her touch is feather light. Your heart slams against your ribs.

Then her voice, impossibly gentle: “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart skips. Then stutters. Then finally crashes against your ribs as you whisper, “Please.”

Hyun-ju doesn’t hesitate after that. She leans in slowly, giving you every second to pull away–but you don’t. You tilt into her, breath caught in your throat.

And then she kisses you. It’s soft at first–just the press of her mouth against yours, careful and reverent, like she’s memorizing the shape of you. You sigh into it, lips parting as she tilts her head and kisses you deeper, her hand sliding to the side of your face, thumb brushing the hinge of your jaw.

Your whole body warms. Nerves lighting up in places you forgot how to feel. She kisses like someone who’s waited years to be allowed. Someone who’s had this dream over and over and never expected it to be real.

You shift forward on the couch without thinking–closer, closer–until your knees brush hers and your chest is pressed to hers and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Then her hands settle on your waist. Her grip is steady. Grounding. And you let her guide you–up, over, into her lap.

You straddle her, thighs on either side of hers, your skirt bunching up as you settle. She exhales sharply, hands tightening, eyes flicking over your face like she can’t believe you’re really here like this–like this.

“Is this okay?” you murmur, breath warm against her mouth.

She nods, voice low and frayed. “More than okay.”

You kiss her again. Harder now. Sloppier. All the years of restraint unraveling between your mouths. Your hips shift, instinctive and desperate–rolling down against her, slow and uncertain, your breath catching the second your body feels her under you.

Hyun-ju groans. It’s the softest sound–but it punches the air from your lunds.

Her hands slide up your back, one settling between your shoulder blades, the other drifting lower. She’s holding you like she doesn’t want to let go, like she doesn’t quite believe she’s allowed to touch you this way.

And you–God, you can’t stop kissing her. Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging gently. Her lips part with a shiver. You grind down again–needy, dizzy. Her thighs flex beneath you.

She gasps. “Baby–”

You freeze, eyes wide, suddenly remembering everything. “Did I–” you whisper, panic bubbling in your throat. “Did I do something wrong?”

Hyun-ju’s eyes widen, hand tightening on your hips. “No,” she says quickly. “No, sweetheart. Just–” Her voice softened. “Breathe. We can go slow.”

You nod. “I want to…I want to learn what you like. I don’t want to mess this up.”

Her hands slide up to cradle your face again, thumbs stroking gently under your eyes. “You’re not going to mess anything up,” she whispers. “You asking me that? That’s already everything.”

You feel your breath leave your body in a shaky rush. “I want all of you,” you mumble, “I want to touch you right.”

Hyun-ju swallows thickly, eyes bright. Then she leans up and kisses you again. Slower this time. Her hands stay on your cheeks, keeping you close, steady. And underneath you, her body is trembling too.

You don’t remember when the kisses turned desperate again–when you started rocking forward in her lap like you couldn’t help it, your fingers fisting in the fabric of her shirt, her hands steadying your hips like she was trying to slow things down.

You only know the second she pulls away, her lips flushed and parted, her voice low. “Come here,” she murmurs, and then she’s stradlig–effortlessly, your body curled into hers, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist as she lifts you up like you weigh nothing.

You gasp. Laugh a little. “Jesus–”

Hyun-ju’s grinning now, carrying you through the hall like it’s second nature. “That’s what years in the military gets me.”

You cling together, breath hot against her throat. “You were always so strong.”

She huffs a laugh. “Only ever wanted to be strong for the people I cared about.”

That makes your chest squeeze. You don’t know what to say to that. So you kiss her again instead–messy, open mouthed, grateful.

Then you feel the bed beneath you. She drops you onto the mattress with a soft bounce, and your breath hitches as she leans over you, her hands braced beside your shoulders. Her eyes rake over your face, your chest, your parted lips. You feel seen. Not just naked–wanted.

She brushes her thumb across your bottom lip. “You sure?” she whispers. “We don’t have to rush.”

“I’m sure. I want you.”

And then you both start to move. Not rushing, not toward undressing. Just into each other–your bodies tangled in the middle of her bed, mouths locked in slow, hungry kisses.

She’s leaning against the headboard, legs parted just enough for you to settle over her. Your thighs straddle hers, arms braced on either side of her shoulders, and she looks up at you like she’s starving.

You kiss her harder. She groans, low in her throat, pulling you in by the hips, and then her mouth is at your neck–sucking, licking, dragging her teeth just enough to make you gasp. You let her. You let her mark you.

Normally, you’d squirm at the thought of hickies–feeling too visible, too exposed–but not when they’re from her. Not when they come with the press of her body under yours, the sound of her breath catching as you grind down a little harder.

Her hands squeeze your ass, fingers digging in just right, and you moan before you can stop yourself. That earns you a grin–crooked, wicked, half lidded.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, voice rough. “I’ve always wanted your ass in my hands.”

You let out a laugh and then you’re pulling your shirt over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it to the side without a second thought.

She goes quiet. You reach for the hem of her shirt, sliding it up over her stomach slowly. She tenses just a little–but you pause immediately, eyes searching hers. “I–” you start, ready to stop.

But she nods, steady this time. “You can take it off.”

So you do. You ease it up, baring the soft slope of her belly, the delicate line of her ribs, the deep curve of her waist. She helps a little–lifting her arms–and then it’s gone, flung somewhere behind you.

She’s still in her bra. So are you. You stay like that, just looking at each other–half naked, flushed, breathing each other in.

Then her hands come back to your hips. Sliding under the waistband of your pants just slightly. Her thumbs stroke your skin, and you swear your pulse jumps.

God,” she whispers. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You duck your head and kiss her–deep and slow, your chest pressing to hers, the friction making you both sign into each other. “I’ve always wanted this,” you whisper in between kisses. “I’ve wanted you.”

Her mouth finds your jaw, then the shell of your ear. “I used to dream about this,” she breathes. “You, straddling me like this. Moaning in my mouth. Telling me I can have you.”

“You can,” you say. “You have me.”

You kiss her like you’re trying to memorize her mouth. Every curve of her lips, the sound she makes when you nip gently at her bottom lip, the way her breath catches when you roll your hips just right.

Her hands slide up your bare back, warm and sure, until her thumbs brush just beneath the strap of your bra. She doesn’t try to take it off. Not yet. She’s too focused on feeling you.

You lean back slightly, just enough to see her face, and your breath stutters at the sigh of her. Hair mussed. Lips kiss-bitten. Chest rising and falling beneath black lace. She’s radiant.

You lean down again, kissing over the swell of her breasts, your lips trailing reverent, open-mouthed kisses across the edge of her bra. “Fuck,” she whipsers, hands tightening on your hips. “You’re driving me crazy.”

You smile into her skin. “Good.” You shift lower, still straddling her thighs and then her mouth is on you–kissing over your chest, sucking a bruise into the delicate skin just above the cup of your bra.

“You’re unreal. You know that?” she mumbles.

You shake your head, flushed breathless. “I just want to make you feel good.”

“You already are. You’re fucking perfect.”

Her hands slide down again–palming your ass, squeezing, guiding you to roll your hips forward. The friction is enough to make you moan, your hands clutching her shoulders for balance. She watches you like you’re art. Like you’re something she’s only ever dreamed of having.

“Can I take these off you?” she murmurs, fingers bruising the waistband of your pants.

You nod, dazed. “Yeah–please.” You left your hips, and she helps you peel them down, her hands slow, steady, careful not to rush.

The air hits your thighs and you shiver, left in your underwear, your body hot and aching. “God,” she breathes. “Look at you.”

You bite your lip. “Your turn?”

Her mouth twitches into a soft, teasing smile. “You gonna be gentle with me?” You slide your hands down to her waistband, kissing her once more–soft and slow.

“Always.”

You take her pants off the same way she did yours. Careful. Slow. Kissing your way down her body, your hands reverent as you ease the fabric over her hips and thighs, baring more and more of her to your touch.

She’s gorgeous. All of her. When you sit back on your heels you take a second to look at her–both of you in nothing but your bras and underwear now, your bodies flushed and aching, your eyes glassy with want.

“You’re so beautiful, Hyun-ju. You have no idea.”

She reaches up, fingers curling behind your neck to pull you down again. “I think I do. When you look at me like that.”

She kisses you like she’s starving. Hands roaming your bare back, tongue in your mouth, moaning into you as you grind down on her lap. The fabric is soaked now–your underwear clingy and damo, hers stretches tight against the heat of her. Every time you roll your hips, she groans like it’s the first time she's ever been touched. 

You’re both gasping by the time you pull away. “Take this off,” she whispers, slipping her fingers beneath the band of your bra. “Wanna see you. Wanna taste.”

You nod, dizzy. Her hands help you unclasp it, and the second you’re bare, she’s touching–palming your breasts, squeezing gently, brushing her thumbs over your nipples until you whimper.

“So fucking pretty,” she breathes. “I used to jerk off thinking about your tits, you know that?”

You let out a wrecked laugh, squirming. “Fuck.”

She leans forward, dragging her tongue over one nipple, then the other, sucking one into her mouth until you’re gasping, thighs tightening around her hips. Her voice is low and wrecked. “Sound so good, baby. Let me hear you.”

You reach for her bra, hands shaking a little. She sits up to help, her breathing shallow, eyes locked on yours. “You sure?” you whisper.

She nods. “Yeah. I want you to see me.”

You unclasp it slowly, peeling the fabric away. And she’s perfect. You don’t rush. You kiss her collarbones, her chest, her sternum–every inch. Your hands slide up to cup her breasts, brushing your thumb over her nipple and she whimpers.

“Fuck–” her head tips back, neck bared, breath caught. “Touch me. Please”

You shift lower, settling between her thighs, kissing your way down her stomach. You hook your fingers under her underwear and pause, looking up.

She nods, mouth parted. “Take them off.” You do. Slowly. And then she’s fully bare beneath you. Legs parted. Glowing in the low light.

You kiss the inside of her thighs, your voice shaking. “You’re so beautiful, Hyun-ju.”

She groans. “Don’t stop saying that.”

You kiss higher. She gasps when your tongue finally touches her–soft and wet and eager. Her thighs tremble. “Fuck–baby–” her hands tangle in your hair. “Just like that, don’t stop.”

You lick her slowly, firmly, over and over, then slide two fingers inside her–tight and hot and pulsing around you. She moans–deep and loud–and it goes straight to your core.

You fuck her with your fingers, your mouth still on ehr, her hips jerking, her voice breaking. “That’s it,” you whisper. “God, you taste so good. Been thinking about this for years.”

She’s panting now, eyes squeezed shut.

“Gonna come for me?” you ask, curling your fingers just right.

“Yes–fuck–don’t stop, I’m–” And then she shatters.

Her thighs clamp around your head, her voice spilling out in choked, messy sounds, her body shaking as she comes on your tongue, over your fingers, into your mouth.

You don’t stop until she pulls you up–dragging you into her arm, into her kiss. She’s still trembling. Her mouth is hot and open under yours, her hands pulling close. “I wanna make you feel that good,” she whispers. “Wanna ruin you.”

You smile, flushed and wrecked. “Then do it.”

Hyun-ju kisses you hard–possessive now, tasting herself on your lips, her hands roaming hungrily over your body. She rolls you onto your back without effort, settling between your legs, her body warm against yours.

She kisses her way down, slow and greedy. Over your collarbones. Your breasts. Your ribs. “You smell so good,” she groans. “So fucking sweet down here.”

Your underwear is the only thing left between you, soaked through and clinging. She presses her mouth against it, tongue flat and slow, and your whole body arches off the bed. “Oh my God–”

“That’s it,” she says, breath hot against the damp fabric. “Let me hear you.”

You whimper as her fingers slide the fabric aside–just enough to expose your soaked cunt–and she groans when she sees how wet you are.

“All this for me?” she murmurs. “Shit, baby. You’re dripping.”

And then she dives in. Her tongue is steady and deep, licking through your folds, sucking gently on your clit until you’re gasping, your thighs twitching around her head. She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow.

When she slides one finger inside you, you moan so loudly it echoes. “F-fuck, Hyun-ju–”

“God, you’re tight,” she moans, her voice a mess. “Taking me so good. Look at you.”

She curls her finger just right, then adds another, and you’re gone. Eyes rolling back, hips grinding into her mouth, hands clutching the sheets.

“You’re perfect,” she praises. “So wet. So soft. This pussy was made for me.”

You can’t think. Can’t speak. Your thighs are shaking and your stomach’s tightening and she keeps whispering–

“You gonna come for me, sweet girl?”

You nod, crying out.

“Say it,” she demands. “Tell me who’s making you come.”

“You–fuck, you. Hyun-ju, please don’t stop–”

She doesn’t. She fucks you with her fingres, tongue on your clit until your whole body breaks. You come so hard your vision whites out–your legs locked around her shoulders, your voice hoarse from screaming her name.

When you finally collapse, panting, dizzy, she crawls back up to you–kissing your thighs, your stomach, your breasts. Her mouth presses to the corner of your eye, your temple, your cheek.

“Still with me?” she whispers.

You nod weakly. “Barely.”

She grins. “Good.”

You’re both a mess–sweaty, trembling, flushed. She pulls the blanket up around you, still your skin wherever she can reach.

You murmur, half laughing, “I think you actually ruined me.”

Hyun-ju cups your face gently. “Good. I meant every word.”

Later, when your bodies stop trembling and your breathing evens out, you both lie tangled in each other’s arms–bare skin pressed to bare skin beneath the blanket, the room warm with the scent of sweat and sex and something softer underneath.

Hyun-ju’s fingertips trace lazy shapes on your hip, her breath steady against your collarbone. Neither of you speaks for a long time.

Eventually, you whisper, “Do you want to shower?”

She hums. “Only if you come with me.”

You smile, exhausted and warm. “Always.”

The shower is quiet. Gentle. No more teasing–just soft touches, shared shampoo, the warmth of water running down your bodies as you help each other rinse clean.

Afterward, she wraps a towel around your shoulders and leads you back into her bedroom. You both tug on oversized t-shirts–no bras, just underwear–with bare legs and damp hair.

She sits you at the edge of her vanity, flicks on a soft light, and rummages for her micellar water and cotton pads.

“You don’t have to–” you start.

“I want to,” she says. “Let me.”

She stands between your knees, gently wiping away the smudges of makeup still clinging to your eyes, the faded lipstick on your mouth.

When she dabs at your cheek with the last bit of cleanser, her hand falters. Just slightly. You look up. Her eyes are shining.

“I used to dream about this,” she says quietly. “Not just the sex. But this. You. Seeing me like this, and still…staying.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

She flinches at that. Barely–but you feel it in the air. And when she turns to toss the cotton pad away, you catch her hand.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Don’t do that. Don’t hide from me.”

She swallows. “I’m not trying to. It's just–hard. Being bare like this. I never felt…pretty enough. Not really.”

You reach for her, cupping her face in both hands. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her breath catches. Her eyes close. You kiss her, soft and slow, and then pull her into your lap, letting her curl into your arms. And then you say it–bare and trembling: “Don’t leave me again.”

She pulls back, startled. “What?”

“That was too long,” you say, voice thick. “Too hard. I missed you everyday. I didn’t know how to–how to move on from you. I don’t want to do that again.”’

She stares at you, like she's trying to memorize your face. Then she kisses your forehead, voice shaking when she answers. “Never. I’m not going anywhere.”

You hold her tighter. “I’m here,” she whispers. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

It’s late when your class ends. You stayed behind to finish a painting, left campus with paint on your fingers and your brain still half lost in the shade of someone’s eyes. You don’t even think twice when you pull into the convenience store down the street from your campus. Just want a snack. Something sweet before you drive home.

The bell jingles when you walk in. You head straight for the drinks cooler, tug it open with chilled fingertips. You’re crouched by the candy shelf when you hear it. That voice. Rough and low and unmistakably familiar.

“Thought that was you.”

You freeze. Slowly, you turn–and there he is. Nam Gyu. Standing by the counter like a ghost you summoned. Same hooded eyes, same sharp jaw, same dead-serious stare. Only now he’s older. Taller. Built like a man. There’s a scar above his eyebrow. Tattoos you don’t remember. A cigarette tucked behind one ear.

He looks you up and down, slow. Unapologetic. You feel heat crawl down your neck. “You got taller,” he says. Then a smirk, “Finally.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. He steps closer. Not enough to touch–but enough to make your chest tighten. You don’t know what to say. He looks like a warning sign. A mistake your parents would lose their minds over. But your heart is pounding like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

“Still got that same look on your face,” he murmurs.

“What look?” you manage, too quiet.

He tilts his head, eyes dark. “Like you’re about to beg me for something.” Your stomach flips. And just like that, your perfect little world starts to crack.

After that night at the convenience store, you told yourself it was nothing. A coincidence. A strange little flicker in your perfect routine. You didn’t give him your number. You didn’t ask to see him again. But then he showed up.

Outside the art building. Leaning on a low wall while you packed up your paints. He didn’t say much, just took a long drag from his vape before blowing the strawberry scented smoke in your face. “Just thought I’d say hi,” he said with a shrug, like he didn’t already know your schedule.

Then he was waiting again a few days later. A different building. Same smirk. “You always walk to your car alone?” You told yourself it was harmless. You told yourself you were being careful.

It kept happening. You’d go to the cafe and find him there, nursing a coffee like he belonged. You’d leave a gallery show and see his motorcycle parked across the street. You never invited him. But you stopped telling him to go.

Sometimes he’d offer you rides. Just to be nice, he said. Other times he just…lingered. Leaning against your passenger door, watching you with those tired, heavy lidded eyes. Always in that same hoodie. Always looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

You told yourself you weren’t flirting. You were just being polite. But your body always got warm when he was near. Your voice always went soft. You didn’t tell your parents. You didn’t tell your brother. You just let it happen.

It wasn’t one big moment–it was a hundred little ones. A ride home that ended with him brushing your hair behind your ear. A compliment muttered under his breath that made your stomach twist. A lingering look when you leaned over the console, digging through your bag for gum.

One night, it was late. You’d been driving around for no reason. He was smoking, windows cracked. Your legs were curled up under you in the passenger seat. And he said, quiet, “You always this good, huh?”

You blinked. “Good?”

He nodded once. “Don’t party. Don’t lie. Don’t fuck around.”

You felt that sentence in your spine.

A Few Weeks Later…

You’re fucking him now.

On weekends. After class. In his car, in his bed, once in the bathroom at a shitty bar while music thumped outside. You’re kissing him like you need it to breathe. Letting him spit in your mouth when he says, “Good girls don’t take it like that.”

He’s your secret. Your filthy little addiction.

He picks you up in his car after lectures. Has you ride with your skirt pushed up, panties in his glove box. He buys you drinks with his hand on your thigh under the table. Fucks you dumb and raw and makes you smile at your parents like nothing happened.

You keep him off your social media. Tell your friends he’s just someone from school. Tell your brother nothing.

You lie to everyone. But not to yourself. You like the way he bites your shoulder. You like the way he growls, “Mine,” when you try to leave. You like the way he looks at you like he’d kill for you.

And that terrifies you. Because if your brother knew–if your parents knew–you’d lose everything. And if Nam Gyu ever stops showing up again, you’re not sure you’ll survive it this time.

Your parents left that morning for a weekend trip–anniversary, something fancy. They hugged you, kissed your forehead, reminded you not to let anyone over.  You smiled. Promised. Said you’d be panting all weekend.

And now? You’re on your knees in front of Nam Gyu while your favorite candle flickers on your desk. His pants are halfway down his thighs. Your lips are glossy with spit. He’s got his thumb hooked into the corner of your mouth, dragging it down so you can watch your tongue roll over the head of his cock like he owns it.

“God, baby,” he breathes, hand in your hair, rough and praising. “Your mouth’s the fuckin’ prettiest thing in this house.”

You whimper. He grins. The bedroom still looks like it did when you were sixteen. Pink bed sheets. Fairy lights. Your easel in the corner. Drawings on the wall.

Nam Gyu leans back against your pills like he belongs here. “Fuck,” he mutters, “You’d cry if your mom saw you like this, huh?”

You moan around him, cheeks flushed. He grips your jaw, pulls you off slow so strings of spit stretch between your ips and his tip. “Open,” he says. You do.

He smirks, just about to say something else–when the doorbell rings. You freeze. Both of you go still. Nam Gyu blinks, then frowns. “The fuck is that?”

You grab your phone. A text is already lighting up the screen.

Brother👾: you home? came to drop something by

Your heart drops into your stomach. “Fuck–fuck, fuck fuck,” you scramble up off the floor, panic blooming your chest. “It’s my brother. He’s here.”

Nam Gyu’s face goes flat. “I thought he didn’t live here anymore.”

“He doesn’t! He just–he visits, I don’t know, please–” you’re already pulling him up by the wrist, shoving at his chest. “Hide.”

“Hide where?” he hisses. You point to the bed. He gives you the dirtiest look. “You want me to crawl under your fucking bed–”

But you’re already halfway to the door. “I’m stalling him–just do it!”

He curses under his breath–but drops to the floor and disappears under the frame, just as you yank the door open.

“Hey!” you say, breathless. Too cheerful.

Your brother raises an eyebrow. “Why are you out of breath?”

“Uh–yoga. You know. Stretching.”

“You don’t do yoga.”

You laugh. “I do now!” He narrows his eyes. “I, um,” you step aside, heart pounding, “come in. You said you brought something?”

He holds up a brown bag. “Mom forgot her vitamin thing. Figured I’d drop it off.”

You lead him into your room. Your knees are shaking. He takes one step inside. Looks around. Frowns. “Why’s it smell like cologne in here?”

You blink. Your skin goes cold. “I–lit a candle,” you lie quickly. “It’s like…cedarwood or something. Manly. Grounding.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Takes another step inside. You can feel Nam Gyu under the bed. You don’t dare peek. You can barely breathe. 

Your brother sighs and drops the bag on your desk. “Still weird being in here. Place hasn’t changed since we were kids.”

You give a weak laugh. “Yeah…nostalgic.”

Then he crouched to pick something off the floor–right by the bed–and your stomach caves in. But it’s just a pencil. He straightens up. Smiles at you. “You good though? You been okay lately?”

Your throat tightens, but you nod. “Yeah. Just…busy.”

“Tell Mom and Dad I dropped by.”

“I will.” He leans over and ruffles your hair like you’re still twelve. Then he leaves. You don’t move until the front door clicks shut.

A long moment of silence. You hear his car start. And then– “Are you fucking kidding me–” Nam Gyu’s voice, low and furious, as he drags himself out from under the bed. His hoodie is dusty, hair messed up. “You made me hide like a goddamn teenager–”

You throw yourself at him before he can even finish. “I’m sorry–I panicked–” His mouth crashes down on yours, fast and rough, and his hands are already shoving you toward the bed.

“You owe me for that shit,” he growls into your mouth. “You fuckin’ owe me.”

You nod, breathless, pulling at your clothes. He flips you onto your stomach. “No lights. No moaning. Be a good little liar and keep quiet for me.” You bury your face in the pillow and prepare to let him ruin you.

Your face hits the pillow as Nam Gyu shoves you forward, hand planted firmly between your shoulder blades. 

“Gimme that fucking ass,” he growls behind you, voice dark and low with adrenaline. You can feel the floor dust on his jeans–feel how hard he is through the fabric. “Got me hiding under your bed like some fucking side piece.”

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, cheek pressed into the sheets.

“You’re sorry?” he laughs–sharp, mean. “You let me suck your tits with a stuffed bear watching and you’re sorry?”

His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down hard. He pauses. “You weren’t even wearing panties when you let me in.”

Your breath stutters. “I–”

He slaps your ass. Hard. “Fucking knew it.” You cry out into the pillow, but he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back. “Shhh,” he coos mockingly. “What would your brother think if he heard you like this? Bent over your bed. Wet as fuck. For the guy he used to call family.”

He lets your hair go and spits down between your thighs. One hand spreads you open–no teasing, no warning–and then his fingers are inside you, two thick and fast, curling up deep. “Goddamn,” he breathes. “Still so tight. You been keeping this little pussy just for me.”

You nod frantically, dropping into your pillow.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes–yes, I have–just you–”

“Good fucking girl.” He pulls his fingers out and slaps your cunt with them, soaked and loud. Then you feel it–his cock, hot and heavy, dragging through your slick. He nudges the head against your entrance, just enough to make you clench. “You wanna get filled like a dirty little secret?”

“Yes–”

“You gonna keep lying to Mommy and Daddy about where you go at night?”

“Yes–” He pushes in deep. Your back arches, mouth open in a silence cry. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you breathe. Just ruts into you hard and fast, his hips slapping against your ass, skin on skin loud in the silence.

His hand clamps over your mouth. “Don’t you dare making a fucking sound,” he hisses. “You want them finding out you’re a whore now? Wanna explain to your brother how I stretch you out and fuck you dumb?”

You whimper under his palm. Your legs shake. He shifts his grip to your throat, pulling your upper body back against his chest. One hand choking you, the other slipping between your legs.

“You feel that?” he grits, rubbing your clit fast. “That’s me. That’s all me. Every inch of this sweet little cunt’s mine.”

You’re spiraling. Coming so hard your body jerks in his hold. He fucks you thorugh it–growling, mean, filthy.

“Fucking squeeze me like that again and I’ll make you suck me clean after.” You sob. He bites your shoulder. Sucks a mark into your skin so deep you’ll see it for days. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You–fuck–you–”

“That’s right.”

When Nam Gyu finally cums, it’s with a loud grunt, buried deep, your name spilling from his mouth like a threat and a prayer. He stays inside you for a second–hands still on your hips, breath heavy against your ear. 

Then he pulls out slow, the slick sound obscene. You collapse on the bed, boneless, face flushed and eyes glassy. He watches you. Watches his cum drip out of you onto your cute pink sheets. Watches your thighs tremble. Then he leans down, kisses your lower back, and mutters: “Bet your brother wouldn’t believe a sweet girl like you could take dick like that.”

You’re still facedown on your bed. Cheek pressed to the sheets. Legs sprawled. Your breathing is uneven and your thighs are trembling. For a second, neither of you move.

Nam gyu just stands there, his jeans still half down, eyes fixed on the mess he made. Your pussy, swollen and leaking. His cum on your thighs. Your back rising and falling like you just ran a mile. “You okay?” he asks finally, quietly.

You nod, a little dazed. “Mmhm.”

He exhales–then zips himself up and pads toward your door, bare feet creaking on the old floorboards. “Don’t move,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll clean you up.”

A minute later, he’s back–with a warm washcloth from the hall bathroom. His voice is different now, lower. Soothed. He kneels between your legs. The cloth is warm when it touches you. Gentle and careful. 

You twitch. “Easy,” he murmurs, one hand on your thigh. “I got you.”

He wipes you clean–slow circles, gentle dabs. No teasing. No filth. Just care. You feel him swipe the cloth through the mess between your legs, wiping up his cum, then toss it to the side. “I was too rough,” he says after a moment. Guilt peeking through.

You peek over your shoulder, cheek squished to the pillow. “I liked it.”

He huffs a breath–smiles, barely–and leans over to kiss your lower back. Soft. A little reverent. Then again. Higher this time. Between your shoulder blades.

You feel his hands under your arms, pulling you up slow, and before you can even fully sit, she’s scooping you into his lap like you’re his. His girl. His baby “C’mon,” he mumbles into your hair. “Shower.”

He carries you to the bathroom room, flicks the light on low. The old shower rattles a little as it starts up. You sit on the counter while he grabs your towel and favorite body wash. He kisses your knees while he waits for the water to heat.

And when you’re both finally inside, under the spray, he washes you like you’re something breakable. Soapy hands across your shoulders. Your back. Down your arms. His fingers slow on your belly, gentle between your legs. No filth now. Just love.

He lets you wear his hoodie after, even though it’s warm outside. And later, curled up in your bed with his arm under your head and his hoodie draped over your bare legs, he holds you so close you can feel his heartbeat in your spine.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I never left,” he murmurs. “You just stopped looking.”

The window’s cracked. The summer air slips in slow, thick and sweet, brushing over your skin. Crickets hum somewhere outside. Your childhood neighborhood, still the same–still safe. Still small.

Nam Gyu’s hoodie hangs loose on your body, sleeves bunched at your wrists. Your legs are bare beneath the covers, curled into his. His chest is warm against your back, arm heavy around your waist, holding you like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

He takes another drag from his vape. The quiet click of it echoes in the stillness, then a curl of strawberry vapor drifts out the open window. “Babe,” he mumbles sleepily against your shoulder. “I’m gonna get you addicted to this shit.”

You smile faintly. “No, you’re not.”

“You already like it.”

“I like you.”

He huffs a breath. Doesn’t say anything for a second. Just lets it hang there. You’re quiet for a while. Long enough for your heart to settle, long enough that you think maybe he’s fallen asleep.

But then, you ask, “Why’d you stop coming around?” It’s soft, gentle. But it slices through the silence like a blade.

He’s quiet for a long time. You don’t push. You just wait. Eventually, he shifts behind you–pulls the covers tighter around the both of you. His vape clicks again. Then he exhales slowly, and says, “Your brother told me to.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

Nam Gyu lets the words come slow. “It was right after that one summer,” he explains. “The one where I started skipping school. Showing up with bruises and black eyes and shit.” He pauses. “Your parents got worried. Thought I was a bad influence. He didn’t disagree.”

Your heart twists. “He told me if I gave a fuck about you,” Nam Gyu says, no emotion in his voice. “I’d stay away. Said you didn’t need some punk with a death wish hanging around the house anymore.”

You roll over to face him. He doesn’t look at you. Just stares up at the ceiling, eyes half lidded, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your blanket. “I didn’t want to scare you,” he mutters. “Didn’t want you to see what I turned into.”

“You didn’t scare me,” you whisper.

“I do now.” You shake your head. He finally looks at you. His eyes are darker than usual. Not angry. Just hurt. Heavy.

“You were so fucking little,” he mutters, almos to himself. “Used to sit in the grass and draw with sidewalk chalk. Couldn’t even look me in the eyes without blushing.” Your throat tightens.

“And then I got kicked out of school. Started running shit with guys who wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet in someone’s back. Stopped being your brother’s friend and started being a problem.” He holds his vape up to his lips but doesn’t hit. “You shouldn't even want me in this bed.”

“But I do.” He looks at you. Really looks. And then he tucks your hair behind your ear. Leans forward, slow, like it hurts him, and presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead. “I know.”

He’s still watching you. Eyes darker now. Not with lust–but with something heavier. Something that makes your chest ache. His hand slides under the hem of your hoodie–barely there, just resting on the small of your back. Then– “Get up here,” he murmurs. You stare up at him in confusion. He taps your thigh gently. “C’mere.”

You hesitate for half a second before shifting forward, crawling up his chest until your body lies flush against his–chest to chest, cheek nestled into the dip between his collarbones. You feel his hand curve around your thigh to help you settle, the other resting flat between your shoulder blades.

His warmth sinks into you instantly. “See?” he mumbles into your hair. “Better.” 

You hum in agreement, eyes slipping closed. You feel his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. One slow, endless loop at a time. It makes your whole body feel like it’s floating.

“I used to think about this,” he says softly, after a long pause. “Back when I stopped coming around. Used to imagine what it’d be like…if I had got to see you one more time. If I got to lay with you in my arms.”

You don’t say anything, just tuck your face deeper into his neck, like maybe if you hold him tighter, he won’t disappear again. His breath slows. He keeps talking–quieter now, barely audible. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to touch you again. Let alone have you fall asleep on top of me like this.”

Your heart thuds hard against your ribcage. And then his arms tighten–just slightly. Not possessive, or horny, not even jealous. Just holding. Just having. “Sleep, baby,” he whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You try to fight it. But your limbs go heavy. Your breathing softens. And eventually you drift off like that–clinging to him. The only boy who ever made you feel both ruined and safe.

And when you woke up the next morning, he was gone. Not in a left you forever way. Just gone-gone. A scribbled note on your desk: had to run. be back later. lock the door–gyu

You had class anyway. You showered, threw on your usual outfit–something cozy, something simple–and tried not to spend the whole lecture replaying the feel of his hand gripping your hip while you moaned into his throat. When you get out of class, there’s a text waiting for you.

When you get out of class, there’s a text waiting for you.

bby boi🧸: party tonight

bby boi🧸: come

You pause. You’re not a party girl. You’re a homework and chamomile tea and skincare before bed kind of girl. But still, your heart skips.

You send back: you’ll be there??

His response is instant.

bby boi🧸: obviously

bby boi🧸: i’ll pick u up

You try on four different outfits before settling on a soft cream sweater and black leggings. Cute socks. Clean sneakers. A spritz of perfume behind your ears and a hint of gloss on your lips.

You hear his car outside. You grab your bag, check yourself in the mirror one more time, then head out. When you slide into the passenger seat, Nam Gyu looks you up and down–blinks once, then frowns. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Your stomach twists and you freeze up. “What?”

He doesn’t mean it mean. He just gestures vaguely. “All girly.”

You bite your lip. Look down at your outfit. “I thought it was cute.”

He huffs a laugh through his nose. And then–you swear it–his eyes soften. “It is.” And then he drives.

The house party is loud. Music shaking the walls. People crowding the front lawn. The air smells like weed and stale beer and cheap perfume.

The second you step inside, it hits you all at once–flashing lights, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, girls dancing on tables, guys with bottles in their fists. Someone yells something unintelligible across the kitchen.

You flinch. Nam Gyu doesn’t. He fits in here. Like he was made for it. The tattoos, the lazy confidence, the way his hand wraps around your wrist without thinking as he guides you through the crush of people.

He starts talking to a friend. Someone taller, louder. They laugh, talk about something you can’t follow. A blunt gets passed. A girl slaps Nam Gyu’s arm playfully. You stay quiet. Pressed against his side. A pretty little shadow in a soft sweater, wide eyed and quiet. He doesn’t let go of your hand, but he doesn’t look at you, either.

You can feel the stares. From girls. From guys. You don’t belong here and you know it. But you want to. Because he’s here. And you want to be where he is. Even if it means swallowing the knot in your throat and trying not to look like you’re trembling.

You’re still glued to his side, barely saying a word, when he finally turns to look at you. You don’t know what gives it away. Maybe the way your hand keeps fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. Maybe the way you flinch every time someone brushes past too close. Maybe it’s how you haven’t laughed once tonight–not even a fake little chuckle to make him feel good.

He leans down toward your ear, voice low. “Come with me.”

You nod immediately, clinging to his sleeve as he guides you out of the kitchen. Up a hallway, past a line for the bathroom, through a cracked open door into some random bedroom.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, the noise softens. You can breathe again. Nam Gyu turns to face you. Eyes sharp but not unkind. “You wanna leave?” he asks, arms folding as he leans against the dresser.

Your eyes widen. “No.” You’re too quick to answer. Too eager.

His brow arches. “No?”

“I–” you swallow. “I wanna stay. I just…”

His head tilts. “You just?”

“I wanna stay with you.”

That get a smile. Slow, crooked, dangerous. “You’re not exactly blending in, baby.”

You blush. You look down at your shoes. “I know. I’m not really…” You trail off, unsure how to say it. Not cool. Not edgy. Not the kind of girl who smokes and dances on tables  and makes guys stare.

He pushes off the dresser and walks up slowly. The floor creaks beneath his boots. When he’s in front of you, he reaches for the end of your sweater sleeve and tugs it between his fingers. “You wanna drink with me?”

Your lashes flutter. “Right now?”

“Yeah. right now. Or not. Up to you.” You’re quiet, nibbling on your bottom lip. He leans in and murmurs, “You don’t have to, baby. If you’re not comfortable, I’m not gonna make you.”

And maybe it’s how gentle his voice goes. Maybe it’s how patient he is, for once. But it makes something inside you crack open.  “I just…” You finally say it. Small and honest. “I just want you to like me.”

The moment hangs in the air like fog. His eyes flicker up to yours. He doesn't laugh. Doesn't tease. He just takes a breath and closes the distance–his hand slipping beneath your jaw to tilt your face toward his. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, voice rough. “You think I don’t like you?”

Your breath catches. “I show up to some stupid party full of assholes I hate just so I can see you in that sweater,” he mutters, thumb grazing your cheek. “You’re the only reason I’m not high off my ass right now.”

You blink up at him. Slowly. And he leans in–kisses the corner of your mouth. Not quite your lips. Not yet. Then he murmurs, “Now sit on the bed and tell me what kinda drink you want.” 

She looks up at him from where she’s perched on the edge of the bed, her voice quiet under the bass still thudding from downstairs. “Can I go with you?”

He doesn’t say yes. Doesn’t say anything. Just grabs your wrist and pulls you in close, tucking her under his arm like she’s already his and leading her back down to the chaos.

It’s worse this time. There’s someone passed out hallway up the stairs. A couple making out in the hallway. The music’s louder. Someone’s lighting a blunt in the living room. But Nam Gyu doesn’t let go of you, not even once.

In the kitchen, he shrugs his arm off you just long enough to grab a red cup, filling it up from a big bottle of something clear. He leans his weight into the counter lazily, one arm slung low around your waist again–pulling you back against him.

You go without a fight. Back flush against his broad chest. He takes a sip, smirking into the cup, and then lifts it toward your lips. “Wanna taste?”

You hesitate, then nod. The second it hits your tongue, you choke. “Oh my god,” you sputter, coughing into your sleeve. “That’s awful!”

Nam Gyu lets out a low laugh against your shoulder, that kind of boyish snort he almost never shows. You feel it more than you hear it–the way his chest shakes behind you, the curve of his smile pressing into the side of your neck. “I told you.”

“You didn’t tell me it tasted like nail polish remover.”

He just hums, taking another sip like it’s nothing. You wrinkle your nose, settling back against him, your head resting lightly against his shoulder. The music’s changed–something heavier, the bass vibrating through the floor–and you can’t help it. You start to sway a little. Barely. Just the tiniest movement.

But he feels it. His hand twitches against your hip. And then he coughs once. Clears his throat. You feel his body tense behind you. His voice sounds a little too casual when he talks to the two guys across from you–one of them saying something about a fight that broke out at the last party, something about who got banned from whose place. But Nam Gyu barely responds. His fingers are digging into your sides now. Harder.

“Stop rubbing on my cock,” he mutters in your ear, his voice hoarse and quiet enough that no one else hears, “or I’ll fuck you right here in front of my friends.”

You freeze, it makes you hold your breath. And he just sips his drink like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just say that with his lips brushing the shell of your ear, while your heart’s racing and your thighs are clenching and his arm is tightening around your waist. “You’re so mean,” you whisper breathlessly.

He smiles into your hair. “Yeah, but you like it.”

One of his friends glances over from where he’s grabbing another drink. “Yo, Gyu,” he calls with a grin, “you bringin’ her to to share or are you takin’ her straight to the backseat?”

Nam Gyu doesn’t miss a seat. “Backseat,” he says, cool and sure. “Gonna get my dick sucked before we leave.”

Your hands shoot up to cover your face, lips parted in shock. You’re mortified. He said it like it’s nothing. Like you’re not right there in his arms, practically melting from embarrassment. “Stop,” you whine, shoving lightly at his chest without looking at him. “You can’t just say that–”

“Why not?” he asks, way too smug. “They should know how good you are for me.”

You make a tiny, wounded noise and try to twist away but he just laughs and hugs you tighter from behind. One hand slides up to tilt your chin, making you look at him with that pouty, red faced glare. He hums, “Cute. Didn’t say it wasn’t true.”

His friends chuckle, amused but distracted. The music’s loud. No one really cares. But he’s got you blushing so hard it hurts, hiding your face again in his hoodie as he kisses the side of your neck like you’re his and he wants everyone to know it.

The second the car door opens, it’s like a dam breaks. Nam Gyu pulls you in with both hands, climbing into the backseat, already crowding you against the seats. It smells like him in here–his cologne, his vape, the faintest trace of weed–and it’s warm, private, and dangerous.

“You were so fuckin’ cute tonight,” he mutters, shoving your sweater up to your ribs, fingers skating over your bra, your waist, gripping like he wants to leave fingerprints. “Walkin’ around all shy in your little socks like you didn’t know what the fuck you were doin’ to me.”

You gasp as you watch him unbutton his jeans, tugging them down just far enough for his cock to spring free–already hard, flushed dark, tip leaking. “Gyu–”

“You wanted this.” He cups your chin, thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “Been squirming in my lap all night. You want me in your throat, baby?” You nod, eyes wide. “Then open up. Be a good fuckin’ girl for me.”

You drop to your knees on the floor of the car, wedged between his legs, the driver’s seat digging into your lower back. Your hands wrap around the base of his cock as you lean in, tongue licking a stripe from base to tip. He hisses through his teeth. “Shit–look at you,” he pants. “Good fucking girl.”

You swirl your tongue around the head and then take him in slowly, inch by inch, until your lips are brushing your fingers. He’s thick. Heavy. The weight of him presses on your tongue, makes your eyes flutter. You moan.

“Fuck. Don’t tease. Take it.” You do. You pull off, spit thick and glossy between you, then open your  mouth wider–letting him slide in deeper. He grabs your hair with one hand, the other bracing on the seat as he starts to thrust.

It’s filthy. Wet. Your eyes start to water almost immediately as he pushes in too far, holding your head down until your nose is buried in the soft of his belly. You choke, gag–but don’t pull away. Your nails dig into his thighs.

“God, baby–fuck yes–take it, just like that,” he grits out. “Look at you. My pretty little slut, takin’ cock in the back of my car like you were made for it.”

You can’t respond. You can only moan around him, eyes blurred, throat tight and aching. Spit’s running down your chin, soaking your sweater. He’s panting now, hips jerking up faster. “You gonna let me cum in that pretty mouth?” he groans. “Huh? You gonna swallow for me, sweetheart?”

You nod as best as you can with him deep in your throat, and that’s all it takes. His breath stutters, his grip tightens. “Fuck, shit, baby–swallow it. Take all of it–”

He spills down your throat with a rough groan, holding your head down while he pulses in your mouth. You whimper, obedient, swallowing everything, lips wrapped around him until he finally lets you go. You pull off with a gasp, coughing a little, tear streaked and flushed and ruined. And he just leans forward, pulls you into his lap, and kisses you slow. “My perfect fuckin’ girl.”

You’re still catching your breath when he reaches up with his sleeve and gently cradles your jaw with his fingers. “Messy girl,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. He wipes at your mouth first–slow, careful–then tips your chin to swipe at the smudged mascara trailing beneath your eyes.

You blink at him, dazed and pink-cheeked, and he smiles like he wants to kiss you again, like he’s proud of the ruin he made. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you in the front seat before someone calls the cops.”

It makes you giggle. He tucks himself back into his jeans, zips up, helps you climb over the center console. His hand never really leaves you–either steadying your thigh, brushing your hair back, or resting on your knee as he starts the car.

The drive is quiet at first. Warm. The only sound is the hum of the engine and the soft music playing from the radio.

“My parents come back tomorrow,” you whisper, watching the streetlights blur past.

He glances at you. “Yeah?”

You nod, picking at the hem of your sweater. “Means I probably won’t be able to see you as much.”

Nam Gyu exhales, his hand squeezing your knee silently. “I won’t abandon you, baby.” You glance over at him, brows slightly furrowed. He grins. “You’re gonna sneak out like a good girl for me, right?”

You roll your eyes, but you nod. “Yeah.”

“Atta girl.” HIs voice dips low–something teasing and dark curling around the edges. “Keep bein’ good and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Your cheeks burn. There’s a pause for a second, then softer he speaks, “If your brother knew, he’d literally kill me.”

You laugh under your breath. “Yeah. I know.”

He chuckles, tapping the wheel with his thumb. “He always was a hothead.”

Another stretch of silence, then you speak again–quieter this time. “I’m almost done with this semester.”

“Yeah?” he hums. “Proud of you.”

“I don’t know if I’m gonna go back.”

His head turns, eyes flicking toward you for a second. “Why not? You’re great at art.”

“I enjoy it. I do,” you say, staring out the window. “But it’s starting to feel like a chore. Like it’s what they want. Not what I want.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t speak right away. His fingers squeeze your knee again. “You know you don’t have to live for them, right?”

You glance over, surprised at the softness in his voice. He’s still focused on the road, but his jaw’s tight. “You can figure out what you want. Doesn’t have to be what they mapped out for you.”

You nod slowly. “I don’t know what I want yet.”

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure it out.”

The words hang in the air–we’ll. Like he means to stay. You look at him. The boy who wiped your mouth and kissed your ruined face. Who made you feel both destroyed and protected in the same breath. “Okay,” you whisper.

And when he parks outside your house, he doesn’t kiss you again–not right away. He just brushes hair out of your face and says, “Text me when you’re inside.”

“I will.”

“Good girl.”

It’s been a few weeks since that night in his car, since he murmured “good girl” against your cheek like it meant something more than obedience. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn’t. You haven’t dared ask.

Since then, you’ve been lying with more ease than you ever thought possible. “Studying at Mia’s.” “Group project ran late.” “Just staying at school a little longer.”

Your parents don’t question much, not now–not with finals around the corner and your sketchpad always in hand. You’ve been too busy with your last assignments to sneak away like you want to. You’ve been too busy with your last assignments to sneak away like you want to, but Nam Gyu hasn’t complained. Not once. He still texts you throughout the day: stupid memes, blurry gym selfies, a voice memo once where he told you “I miss your weird little laugh.” You keep replaying it when the ache of not seeing him gets too much.

For your final project, you’re supposed to do a single charcoal portrait: someone real, someone who stirs something in you. You chose him. You don’t tell him, of course. You’ve been working on it in secret, staying up late when the house is quiet and everyone’s asleep. His face is starting to emerge from the paper–sharp, shadowed. The slope of his brow, the mess of his hair. Your fingers stay smudged with graphite. You’ve ruined two pillowcases and a sweatshirt. You don’t care.

It’s almost done when your phone buzzes beside you.

bby boi🧸: come open ur window

Your heart stutters. You’re in bed already, oversized shirt on and bare legs, a little flushed from how often you’ve been thinking of him lately. You tiptoe across your room, crack the window open, and there he is–dark jacket, tousled hair, looking up at you like he’s done it a hundred times.

You help him climb in, trying not to laugh when he bumps his knee on your desk. “Shh,” you whisper, biting your lip. “You’re gonna wake up the whole house.”

He grins, breathless from the climb, and whispers back, “You gotta get a ladder or something. I’m getting too old for this.”

You snort softly and motion for him to sit, but his eyes are already scanning your room–and they land on the sketchbook still open on your desk. He tilts his head. “What’s that?”

You freeze. “Nothing–” But he’s already walking toward it. You’re too slow to stop him. His hand hovers over the page–not touching, not smudging. Just looking.

It’s his face. Almost exactly. You even captured the little scar above his eyebrow. The way his mouth curves when he’s about to tease you. The soft shadows under his cheekbones. It’s him, raw and unfiltered. It’s him how you see him.

When he speaks, it’s quiet. “Is this for school?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “Final. It’s…it’s a portrait unit.”

He’s silent for a long beat. Just staring. Then– “You made me look better than I do in real life.”

You huff. “No I didn’t.”

He finally turns toward you. His voice is rough when he says, “That’s how you see me?”

You nod again, smaller this time. He steps closer. His hand finds your cheek and his thumb brushes a charcoal smudge you didn’t know was there. “You make me look like someone worth something,” he murmurs. “No one’s ever done that before.”

And suddenly your room feels very small. The night very quiet. Your breath caught in your chest.

You whisper, “You are.” His fingers tilt your chin up. And when he kisses you, it’s the softest it’s ever been–like he’s scared he’ll break something if he presses too hard. Like he’s trying to memorize how this moment feels.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, legs warm under the covers, blanket draped across your lap. Nam Gyu’s stretched out beside you, propped against your headboard, jacket sleeves pushed up around his forearms and one leg hanging off the mattress. His hair’s still messy from the wind outside, and he smells faintly like smoke and detergent.

The window’s cracked open behind you for air. A breeze curls in, bruising over your bare arms. He looks at you sideways. His voice holds a bit of a teasing tone. “You gonna hide me forever?”

You smile, pulling your legs up to your chest. “Why? You jealous?”

He scoffs, then shrugs, not denying it. “Maybe. Kinda pathetic, right?”

You giggle, and he leans his head back against your wall like he’s trying not to smile. The sound of your laugh is his favorite thing in the world and you have no idea.

“No,” you admit softly. “I’m not trying to hide you. I’m just…” You trail off, picking at the edge of your blanket.

He doesn’t push, just waits. You finally exhale, voice quieter. “I’m sure I’ll tell them eventually. Just…not right now.”

He nods, like he understands. Like he does understand. There’s a long, gentle pause. And then, just above a whisper, you say, “I know why they don’t like you anymore.”

His jaw twitches, but doesn’t look away. Doesn’t speak. You go on, nervous but honest. “I think it’ll be hard to show them you’ve changed. Especially with, you know…you being twenty-five. And my brother’s ex-best friend.”

Nam Gyu’s gaze drops. His thumb starts tracing a crease in your sheets. “Yeah.”

“They’ll really have a hard time with it,” you add.

“I know.” His voice is so soft it barely reaches you. “But I don’t care about them.” You glance up at him. “I care about you,” he says, finally looking at you again. “That’s it.”

Your heart aches. You try to hold his gaze, but your face heats up too fast, so you look back down at your lap, hiding a shy smile. He shifts closer, knocking your knee with his. “Hey,” he whispers. You look up. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “I’ll sneak through your window for as long as it takes.”

That makes you laugh again, soft and surprised. “You better be careful, my dad’s got a gun.”

“I’m not scared of your dad.”

“You should be,” you tease.

He grins at that, and for a few quiet minutes, you just sit there. Letting it be easy. Letting yourself enjoy him. Then he reaches out, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. “So…you drew me, huh?”

You groan, grabbing a pillow and half heartedly whacking him with it. “Don’t make it weird!”

“I’m not!” He’s laughing, dodging your attack. “It’s just–kinda sweet. That’s all.”

Your cheeks burn again. But you let yourself lean into his side, head resting on his shoulder, legs tangled under the blanket.

Outside the wind rustles the leaves. Inside, you whisper, “I really like you.” And he doesn’t say it back–not yet. But he turns his head and kisses your forehead like he means something more than words ever could.

3 Years Later…

You’re twenty-two now. Not the same girl who used to sneak out at night and crawl into the passenger seat of his beat-up car, trembling and giggling. Not the girl who kept him hidden like a sin. You’ve graduated, moved to Seoul–far away from the suffocating small town and all its long memories. You rent a cozy little apartment above a flower shop, teach art at a nearby school, and on weekends, you lead pottery classes for older women who treat you like their daughter.

You’re happy, or maybe just quiet. It’s not the same thing, but it’s close enough. He stopped reaching out years ago. First, the replies came slower. Then his messages turned from blue to green. You checked his socials–gone. He blocked you. No warning. Just…gone. It left a hole you haven’t really filled.

Your new friend drags you out to this sleek little place tucked into a quiet alley near Itaewon. Good food, expensive drinks, soft jazz humming in the background. It’s a far cry from the smoke filled house parties you used to cling to Nam Gyu in.

You eat. Laugh. Nurse your drink while your friend heads out early, waving goodbye with a wink and a joke about getting some sleep for once. And you’re left in the half dim lighting, swirling your cocktail with the straw, letting the music buzz low in your chest.

That’s when you feel it. A presence. Eyes. You look up. Nam Gyu. Standing near the door, dressed in black, sharp around the edges–just like always. But older. His hair’s a little longer, his build filled out. There’s a woman on his arm, clinging to him like a promise.

And yet–his eyes are locked on you. For a moment, neither of you move. Then he says something to the girl–quiet and low. She nods and walks off without looking back. And he stays. Still staring.

You drop your eyes, suddenly cold all over, pretending you didn’t see him. You focus on your drink, heart pounding in your ears. You should walk away. Leave. But it’s too late.

He’s already walking toward you. He stops at your table, hands in his coat pockets, that same worn-in confidence in his stance. “You grew up.”

You don’t look at him. Not at first. Just blink, stare at the ice melting in your drink. But something in you snaps. You glance up slowly, eyes sharp, voice quiet. “Yeah. That’s what happens when you ghost someone for three years. People change.”

And that hits him. You see it. The flicker in his jaw, the faint squint in his eyes. He pulls the empty chair out and sits without asking. Like he used to. Like no time passed at all.

“You’re still mad.”

“I’m not mad.” You laugh bitterly. “I’m over it. I just…didn’t expect to see you here. In Seoul. With another girl on your arm.”

He leans back in the chair, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. “Didn’t think I’d see you either. You’re different.”

“So are you.” You pause, then add, quieter, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” And neither of you say it–but it’s there. The silence. The grief. The thousand things that were left unsaid.

“You should go.” Your voice is steady, but the hand gripping your glass is trembling slightly. You don’t look at him. You can’t. His presence is a weight across your skin, heavy and electric. “I’ll forget I saw you,” you murmur. “Just go.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t move. “That’s not what you want.”

You swallow hard. Still not looking at him. Your thighs press together under the table on pure instinct–tight and tense. You’re trying to stay composed, but he sees the way your knuckles pale where you hold your glass. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He leans forward slightly. Drops his voice. “Come back to my place.”

You scoff, shaking your head once. “What about your girlfriend?”

He lets out a short, amused breath through his nose. “She’s not my girlfriend.” Something shifts. Something cracks. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re standing. You don’t look at him as you walk toward the door. He follows without a word.

The city blurs by outside the windows of the black car. You sit in the back seat beside him, silent. Tension coils in the narrow space between your bodies. His leg brushes yours and you don’t move away.

By the time the elevator door opens to his floor, your heart is pounding in your ears. His apartment is nothing like what you imagined it to be. A luxury penthouse, floor to ceiling windows, expensive furniture. Dark, sleek, masculine.

You step inside slowly, heels clicking against the hardwood. You don’t say anything at first–just walk to the edge of the living room where Seoul glitters beneath you like a galaxy.

“How the hell do you afford this?” you ask, half to yourself.

Behind you, Nam Gyu shrugs off his coat. “I work. I don’t blow it on drugs anymore. Turns out you save a lot of money when you’re not trying to kill yourself.”

You turn around, lips parting–but the words catch in your throat. He’s staring at you. Not just looking. Staring. Like he hasn’t blinked since the second you stepped through the door. You glance down at your dress. Tight. Black, with thin sleeves resting on your shoulder. A slit up the thigh. It clings to all the right places. Your body has changed since he last saw you. Fuller. Softer. More woman than girl now.

You look back up at him. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. He moves. Crosses the space between you in three strides. His hands are on your waist, gripping, pulling. His mouth finds yours–hot, desperate, bruising. He kisses you like it’s been years. Like he hated every day he couldn’t.

Your back hits the window. His hands push down your dress straps roughly, pulling them to your elbows. His mouth is on your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “Fuck,” he breathes against your skin, voice hoarse. “You–fuck, you feel so good now.”

Your fingers are in his hair. His knees hit the hardwood. He doesn’t even hesitate. Not when he sinks down in front of you, palms sliding up the backs of your calves, slow and reverent like he’s praying. Not when his eyes travel up your legs, over the soft swell of your thighs peeking through the slit in your dress. He palms them–big, rough hands gripping tight.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sounding absolutely wrecked. “You got so–” He swallows. “You grew up, baby.” His eyes flash up to yours, pupils blown wide. “Can’t believe you’ve been walking around like this. Looking like this. And I’ve been–” he breaks off, licking his lips. “Dreaming about this body for years.”

Your heart pounds. He pulls your dress up, bunches it around your hips. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, gripping your ass, squeezing hard–groaning like he’s in pain. His mouth finds the inside of your knee, trailing kisses up, slow and sloppy, as he mumbles against your skin.

“Want you so bad, fuck–lemme taste you please. Just–please, baby, I’ll be so good.”

You stare down at him–this tall, cocky, once detached man–now on his knees, lips at your inner thigh, begging. Begging to worship. “You’re begging now?” you murmur, breathless.

He nods against your skin. “I’ll beg all night. You want me to get on my hands and knees and crawl after you, I fucking will. Just let me have you. Let me taste you.”

You step out of your heels. Then out of your panties. He groans when they slide down your legs, eyes locked to the wet center like it’s the only thing on earth. Like it’s his.

And then he’s buried between your thighs. His tongue is hot and filthy, all open mouthed kisses and greedy flicks. He moans into you–loud, like he doesn’t care who hears. Like he wants the whole goddamn city to know how good you taste. His hands hold your thighs apart, fingers pressing bruises into soft flesh. He eats like he’s drowning in you.

“Fuck, you’re sweet,” he mumbles, lips slippery against your folds. “Missed this pussy. Dreamed about it–”

 His tongue drags up and flattens over your clit. You gasp–head falling back against the glass window, body trembling as he sucks, gentle and then hard. He groans like he feels it too, like your pleasure is his pleasure.

“You’re perfect now,” he mutters, breathless. “Full and warm and fuckin’ mine.”

You whimper. “Gyu…”

He pulls back just long enough to look up at you. His chin is wet, lips shiny, eyes wild. “Say you missed me,” he growls. 

“I missed you,” you whisper, shaking.

“Say this pussy missed me.”

Your voice breaks this time. “It missed you–fuck–” And then he dives back in like he’s starving. Tongue flicking and curling and fucking into you until your knees buckle. You cry out, grinding down on his mouth, and he lets you–hands under your ass, guiding your hips, moaning as you ride his face.

Your thighs clench around his head. He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re full on sobbing through your orgasm, shaking, slumped against the window. Your dress is a mess. Your hair’s a mess. Your legs won’t stop trembling.

Nam Gyu finally rises–slow, towering over you. He licks his lips, grinning. “Now,” he says, undoing his belt, voice like thunder. “I’m gonna fuck you in front of this window until every bastard in this city knows who you belong to.”

He towers over you–belt undone, pants halfway down his thighs, cock flushed and aching. It’s thick, heavy, twitching against his abs, and he’s panting just from looking at you. “Please, please let me fuck you.” His voice is trembling.

Your breath catches. He’s flushed, hair messy, pupils blown wide with want. He’s not cocky anymore. Not right now. He’s wretched before he’s even really touched you. “Say I can, baby. Say it’s mine.” He pleads with you.

You glance down at his cock, then back up, lips curled into the faintest smirk. “You want it that bad?”

He nods quickly, hands coming up to cup your face. “So bad. You don’t even know–I’ve been dreaming about you, baby. Jerking off to the thought of your tits, your thighs, your voice. I’d do anything. Anything. Let me show you.”

You lean in, brush your lips across his ear. “Then show me.”

He groans, loud, and spins you gently, pressing your front to the window. The glass is cold against your skin, but he’s already tugging your dress up, sliding it over your hips until it’s bunched around your waist. 

You hear him behind you. Fumbling, panting, cursing under his breath like he’s in pain. “So pretty,” he breathes, gripping your ass, spreading you open. “Your body…fuck, your body’s perfect. You were beautiful before, but now–” He groans. “Now you’re a fuckin’ dream.”

You whimper when he grinds his cock between your thighs, dragging the length of it over your soaked center. He leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, voice hot and needy in your ear. “Let me in baby. Please. Let me fuck you. Let me make you mine again.”

“Say it,” you whisper, trembling.

He nuzzles your neck. “Please, baby. I need it. Need to feel you again. Need to fuck you until you scream my name.”

You shift your hips back, guiding him to your entrance. “Then take it.” He sinks in with a gasp. His hands fly to your waist–gripping so tight, he might bruise. His hips roll forward, slow at first, savoring the heat, the stretch, the way you take every inch like you were made for him.

“Fuck, fuck, you feel even better than I remembered–tight, hot, wet. You’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”

You moan, pressing your palms to the window as his pace builds. Every thrust is deep, smooth, worshipful. He’s fucking you like it’s the last time he ever will–like he’s memorizing your body all over again.

The glass fogs beneath your hands. “Look at you,” he pants, thrusting harder. “Bent over my window, letting me fuck you like a good girl. All these people down there, and you’re just taking it.”

You cry out when he hits that perfect spot–when his hands slide under your dress to grab at your tits, squeezing, groaning at the way they fill his palms. “You got so soft,” he moans. “So full. Your thighs–your ass–your tits–fuck, I could die between them.”

His hips slam into you harder, needier, his voice dissolving into whimpers against your skin. “I’m gonna come,” he gasps. “I’m gonna fucking come. Say it’s mine–say this pussy’s mine–please.”

You tilt your head back, grinding against him, loving every filthy, desperate word. “It’s yours, Gyu. It’s all yours.” That’s all it takes. He breaks. He comes with a guttural moan, hips snapping forward as he spills deep inside you–grinding through it, panting, groaning, hands trembling where they told you.

He doesn’t pull out. Just leans forward, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, whispering between shaky breaths. “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much. Don’t make me go another day without this. Without you.”

You reach back, threading your fingers through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’m never letting you go again.”

The lights are dim, casting a soft golden glow across the tiles and the water. The deep porcelain tub stretches wide in his massive bathroom–sleek black counters, warm wood floors, and wall to wall windows that overlook the glittering city.

But right now, all you care about is him. 

You sit across from each other, the water nearly up to your shoulders, the scent of sandalwood bubbles curling into the air between you. Your knees poke up from the water, glistening in the low light, and his hands rest lazily on his thighs, head tilted back against the edge of the tube.

He looks soft like this. Damp hair curling slightly at the ends, his strong chest rising and falling slowly. When you stretch your legs out and place your feet in his lap, he looks down–smiles.

You wiggle your toes. Nam Gyu huffs a quiet laugh, one hand sliding along your shin. “You’re such a brat.”

“Say it again,” you murmur, teasing.

He grins. “Brat.”

You stick your tongue out at him. He catches your ankle, presses a kiss just above the bone. It’s stupidly gentle. So is the look in his eyes. “What?” you ask, your voice dipping quiet, almost embarrassed.

His shoulders shrug. “Nothing. You’re just…here. In my bath. With your toes in my lap. I think I used to dream about this.”

That’s what does it. The question slips out before you can stop it–fast, unfiltered. “So who was that girl, if she’s not your girlfriend?” The words echo a bit too sharply in the steam filled room. Your eyes go wide. “Shit–I didn’t mean–”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in gently. “You don’t have to act like it didn’t bother you.”

You look down at the water, heart racing, skin heating in more ways than one. “It didn’t bother me,” you say softly.

Nam Gyu gives a slow, amused sigh. “We work together.”

You glance up. “Work together?” You make air quotes with your fingers, voice skeptical. It makes him smirk.

“You wanna go through my phone?” he offers casually. “Deadass. You can scroll through the whole thing. You won’t find anything. No flirty texts. No hidden apps. Just boring ass group chats and my open tabs of porn with girls that look like you.”

You stare at him wide eyed. “What?”

“I’m not kidding,” he says, holding your gaze. “Same body type. Same thighs. Same tits. Same soft little belly. They all look like you. I haven’t fucked anyone since you. Haven’t wanted to.”

The words dangle in the air, leaving you speechless. He runs his hand up your calf, fingers trailing lazily along your skin. “It’s like I ruined myself,” he says with a small laugh. “Now nothing else works.”

You hold your breath. “Gyu…”

“I don’t say that to pressure you,” he murmurs. “You don’t owe me anything. But I don’t want you wondering where I’ve been or who I’ve been with. It’s only ever been you.”

You slip your foot from his lap, crawling forward through the water, slow and shy. He watches you, still and waiting, until you’re between his legs, your chest pressed lightly to his, water lapping around your waists.

Your fingers slide up to his jaw. You tilt his face to you. “Thank you for telling me,” you whisper.

His eyes flicker to your lips, then back to your eyes. “You gonna kiss me now?”

You lean in, barely brushing your mouth over his. “Maybe.”

He grins, water dripping from his lashes. “I missed you so bad,” he breathes out. You kiss him. Long and deep. The kind that makes your toes curl beneath the bubbles.

His hands find your back, your waist, your thighs under the water. You pull back just an inch, catching your breath, whispering, “You don’t have to ruin yourself anymore.” He looks at you like he’s already been saved.

You’re still curled into him, damp skin pressed against his chest, your nose tucked under his jaw. The bubbles have started to fade, leaving the water silky and warm around you both. His arms rest around you, hands drifting mindlessly over your hips, like he doesn’t want to stop touching you for even a second.

You pull back just enough to look at him. There’s a smile curling at your lip. “So you’re really gonna sit here and tell me,” you murmur, “that you didn’t fuck anyone else in the last three years.”

His brows lift. “That’s what I said.”

You tilt your head. “Not even once?”

“Just me and my hand,” he says without shame.

Your mouth falls open a little. “What the fuck.”

He shrugs, totally unfazed. “I tried. Once. Didn’t work.”

Your eyes narrow in disbelief. “Didn’t work?”

“Couldn’t get it up,” he says bluntly. “She wasn’t you.”

You blink at him, jaw slack. “Wow. Really making me feel special over here.”

“You should,” his eyes drag slowly down your face, your lips, your body beneath the water. “You broke my dick. Congratulations.”

You snort, about to make some sarcastic comment–but then his hand trails down your side andrests on your thigh, spreading gently. Not demanding, just waiting. You breathe in slowly. Then you slide out of his arms. His brow furrows. “What are you–”

“Shhh,”  you whisper, slipping lower in the water. His hands twitch like he’s about to reach for you, but then you’re disappearing beneath the surface.

The water distorts everything. His legs, the dimmed lights, the ripples against your arms as you ease forward and settle between his thighs. You press your palms to them gently, guiding him back as he leans against the tub wall.

You glance up, his figure blurred and glowing in golds and blues through the water, and then you wrap your fingers around his half hard cock, stroking slow. Above the water, he groans. His head falls back.

You close your lips around the tip. Heat pulses through the water and through your chest at once. You bob your head slowly, the pressure different down here, warmer, heavier. Your mouth moves with gentle suction, tongue tracing every inch of him you can fit.

You feel the way his hips twitch, his thighs flexing under your hands. You come up only for air–eyes meeting his as you gasp softly, mouth wet and pink and hungry. “You’re really gonna kill me,” he pants.

“I’m making up for three years of you being tragically abstinent,” you tease, voice low and playful.

He grabs the sides of the tub, knuckles white. “You think I won’t drown in this bathtub for you?” he growls.

You grin. Then you go back down. This time, you take him deeper. Let your throat relax, water bubbling softly around you as you move. His hand slips into your wet hair, not pulling, just holding. Like he’s grounding himself.

When you come up again, your lips are slick and swollen, and his whole body's shaking. “Get up here,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Please.”

You blink slowly. Innocent, dangerous. “Why?”

“I need to fuck you.”

You hum, dragging your nails along his thigh. “Thought you liked my mouth?”

His hand wraps tight around your wrist. You think he’s going to pull you into his lap again–but instead, he’s yanking you up, water sluicing down your body, your chest bare and glistening in the low bathroom light. “Get up here,” he growls. “Now.”

You step out of the tub slowly, dripping, trembling–but you don’t get far. He doesn’t wait. The second your foot hits the tile, he grabs your hips, towel falling away, and guides you down to the floor with him. We skin against wet skin. His back hits the side of the tub, and he grabs you right over his lap, one hand fisting your thigh, the other slicking down your waist, squeezing.

“You gonna make me beg again?” he pants, eyes hungry and ruined. 

You stare down at him, breath catching, chest heaving. “No,” you whisper. “I want you to feel how much I missed you.” You reach down, guide him to your center, and sink down slow.

His mouth drops open. His eyes flutter shut. His head thuds back against the porcelain. “Fuck–baby–”

You roll your hips gently, slowly, letting him stretch you open, letting him feel every second of it. He’s still wet from the tub, water pooling on the tile beneath you, your thighs soaked and gleaming as you ride him in slow, grounding waves.

He looks up at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect. His hands settle on your waist, fingers shaking, thumbs stroking your stomach. “You’re unreal,” he murmurs. “You feel unreal.”

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders and he leans in just enough to kiss you–sloppy, desperate, soaking wet–moaning into your mouth as you move faster. “I missed you so much,” you gasp.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he breathes. “Not once.”

And then you’re gasping, trembling, choking his name as your thighs shake and his grip turns bruising–and he fucks up into you like he’s losing his mind, like he’s starving, like he’s going to die here if he doesn’t make you come on his cock one more time.

You’re both still dripping, steam rising from the bath behind you, your bodies tangled on the bathroom floor–no time, no space, just now. Just need.

You’re both a mess–sweaty, soaked, sprawled on the bathroom floor. Water drips from your hair, your thighs still trembling as you lean forward and rest your cheek against his chest. His heart is still pounding beneath your ear, fast and wild like it hasn’t quite caught up yet.

Nam Gyu exhales, arms loosely draped around your back, and murmurs, “Stay.”

You lift your head and look up at him, lips still parted from the kiss you just barely pulled away from. “I can’t.”

“Nooo,” he gorans, throwing  his head back dramatically against the floor. “Why not.”

You sit up slowly, reaching for a towel and dabbing at your skin. “Because I have to go back to my place.”

“Why,” he whines, dragging the world out like a child being denied dessert.

You raise your brows at him, smug. “You can text me. I won’t block you.” A pause. “Like you did to me.”

He groans again, but this time it’s more shame than play. He covers his face with his hand. “Low blow.”

You stifle a giggle, drying off as you stand up. “You deserved it.”

He peeks at you through his fingers. “So we fuck and now you’re just…heading out?” He sits up, watching you with narrowed eyes, trying to look offended but the corner of his mouth is twitching. “What are you now, a fuckboy?”

You laugh, tossing the towel at his head. “Please. My cat will literally kill me if I don’t go home and feed him. He’s feral.”

He catches the towel mid-air, chuckling under his breath as he watches you step around him, grabbing your dress. “Your cat’s got an attitude,” he mutters.

“So do I,” you say with a wink, slipping your dress back on. “Maybe that’s why he likes me.”

Nam Gyu is still sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, towel in his lap, just watching you move. Like he still doesn’t quite believe you’re here. Like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your back and the shape of your smile.

“Do you work tomorrow?” you ask, glancing at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your hair. 

He shrugs, like the question is beneath him. “I’ll call in.”

You roll your eyes, but your gin is soft. “Okay, well–once you do that, call me. And we’ll meet up. Okay?”

His eyes warm. He nods. “Okay.”

You lean down, press one last kiss to his lips, and whisper, “I’ll see you soon.”

And as you head for the door, he calls after you, voice lazy and teasing: “Tell your cat I said fuck you.” You laugh all the way to the elevator.

The night air is cool on your cheeks as you walk home alone, heels clicking against the pavement, your head still spinning from everything. From him. His mouth. His hands. The things he said. The way he looked at you like you’d swallowed the stars and spit out light. You smile. You don’t mean to–but it happens.

Your phone is warm in your hand, your fingers brushing over his most recent texts. Let me know you got home safe. i should’ve made you stay. i already miss you…

You tuck it away and swipe to call instead–someone else. Your brother answers on the second ring.

“Yo. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, adjusting the strap of your purse. “I just…guess who I ran into tonight.”

He groans. “If this is one of those ‘you’ll never believe who I saw at the grocery store’ calls, I swear to God–”

“It’s Nam Gyu.”

Silence. Then a sigh, long and familiar. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Where? And why?” he asks.

You pause. “Out. At this lounge. He was there with someone but then he…he saw me. Came over.”

Your brother mutters something under his breath, probably cursing like he knows your mom doesn’t like. “Stay away from him,” he says. Not a suggestion. A command. “There’s a reason Mom and Dad made him stop coming around back then. You remember that, right?”

You stop at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Your heart beats a little slower than it did earlier. “I know. I just…” You swallow. “He seemed…different. I don’t know. Maybe he’s changed.”

Your brother’s voice is flat. “Yeah. I highly doubt that. People like that don’t change.”

You shift your phone to the other ear, trying not to sound defensive. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Just be careful, okay? Seriously. That guy’s not–he’s not built for soft things.”

You don’t say anything else. You just promise you’ll call later, then hang up as your apartment comes into view. Once inside, your cat is already meowing at the door like you left him for dead. You scoop him up, kissing the top of his head as he purrs against your collarbone. “I know, I know. I was bad. I’ll feed you.”

You change out of your dress, wash the makeup off your face, pull on the ugliest, softest sleep shirt you own. You scroll through your texts again.

Gyu💀: you make the stupidest faces when ur about to cum

Gyu💀: in a good way btw

Gyu💀: text me when ur home

Gyu💀: text me when ur in bed

Gyu💀: text me even if ur not thinking about me. idc i’ll take crumbs

You smile again. Just a little. And type:

you: i’m home. in bed. and thinking about you

you: but i’ll text you in the morning, gyu. goodnight 

You don’t expect him to reply–but he does. Almost instantly.

Gyu💀: fuuuck. okay. goodnight baby

You sleep like shit. Even curled under your coziest blanket with your cat tucked behind your knees, all you can think about is the way Nam Gyu looked at you last night–like he wanted to memorize the shape of your body with his hands, like the ache in his voice was real when he said “please.”

You wake up slow, eyes gritty, throat dry. A faint soreness between your legs and something heavier sitting right in your chest. It’s a quiet morning. The city hasn’t quite stirred yet. You make tea. Feed Tofu so he won’t scream at you. Sit cross legged on your couch with your sketchpad and try to lose yourself in a drawing–but your lines are uneven. Unsteady. You flip to a blank page and try again, but halfway through you realize you’re drawing him.

Again.

Same strong brow. Same dark eyes. A mouth you could recognize by feel alone. You drop the pencil, lean back, and just…stare at the paper. You shouldn’t miss him. You shouldn’t. But you do. You pull your phone from the coffee table and scroll back to his last text from last night. You stare at it, thumb hovering. Then you start typing.

you: i think i missed you.

The read receipt pops up almost instantly. A bubble appears. Then it disappears. Then reappears.

Gyu💀: meet me at my club tonight. 7pm.

You: okay

You spend way too long picking out what to wear. It’s stupid. You’ve already had your tongue down his throat and his hands between your thighs and you've literally ridden him on his bathroom floor–but still. You want to look good.

You pull on a long black skirt with a small slit up the side. A soft, oversized cream sweater–that sweater, the one from years ago. The one he used to tease you about for being a blanket. You tuck it in just enough to show off your waist. High-top sneakers, a little scuffed. Hair down. Lips tinted rose.

You keep the makeup minimal. Soft, comfortable, like you. Your phone buzzes with the Uber notification. You give your cat one last kiss on the head. “Don’t wait up,” you mumble.

The club is huge. Loud and packed. The music thrums like a heartbeat in the pavement beneath your feet. The line outside stretches down the block and curls around the corner. You suck in a breath, heart already skipping.

This…is definitely not your speed. But you keep your head down, stay in line, and when you finally reach the front, you dig through your bag for your ID–only for the bouncer to nod at you and open the velvet rope. “Go ahead.”

You look at him confused. “Wait, what–?”

But the guy’s already moved on to the next person. You step inside. The air hits you like  a wall: warm, electric, pulsing with music, and sweat, and weed. Neon lights flicker from above, reflecting off mirrored walls and liquor bottles behind the long bar.

People are dancing, drinking, pressed together in corners and booths. It’s chaos. Flashy and expensive. Like something out of someone else’s life. You hover next to the bar, trying not to look too awkward. You pull out your phone and text: i’m here.

You chew your lip. Grip your purse. You feel like you don’t belong, like you’re playing dress up. You wonder where he is–if he’s even here yet. If this was a mistake. Until you feel a hand curl gently around your waist. And hear that familiar voice, low and close to your ear. “Of course you wore that sweater.”

You turn, already smiling. Nam Gyu’s standing there in all black–jeans that fit way too well, a dark t-shirt, and a subtle chain around his neck. He looks good. Too good. And he’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the room.

He leans in a little, fingers still at your waist. “You want a drink?”

You hesitate. “Um…something light?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Light?”

“I have to function, Nam Gyu,” you tease, bumping his arm gently.

That gets a crooked grin out of him. “Got it. Girly. Weak. Possibly pink.”

You roll your eyes but don’t let go of the smile tugging at your lips. “I trust you.”

He waves down the bartender–doesn’t even have to wait. Just murmurs something low and quick, and the guy nods and starts mixing. You blink, impressed. “You really own this place?”

He shrugs. “I helped start it. Now I run most of it.”

The drink slides into your hand moments later. It’s pink. Fizzy. Garnished with a sugared rim and a twist of something citrusy. You raise an eyebrow. “This better not make me black out.”

He laughs. “You’ll be fine.”

You take a sip. It’s sweet, barely any alcohol, and honestly–delicious. “Okay, you win.”

“Say it again,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle against your hip. “I win.”

You bump him again with your elbow. “Don’t push it.”

Nam Gyu leads you through the maze of people like he’s done it a thousand times. And you guess he has. He knows this place like muscle memory–nodding at staff, sliding past corners and shadows and pulsing light until you’re climbing a narrow set of stairs tucked behind the DJ booth.

The noise dips once you’re up top. Not gone, but softened. The VIP lounge is sleek and expensive. Still crowded, still buzzing–but the music doesn’t rattle in your teeth up here. The lighting’s softer, the drinks fancier, the couches low and plush and wrapped in velvet.

You hover just inside the railing. You can see the whole club from here. The crowd below like moving constellations, all glitter and movement and rhythm. It’s a little surreal. This whole night is.

Nam Gyu presses a warm hand to the small of your back. “You okay?”

You nod, eyes still on the floor below. “It’s just a lot.”

“You’re doing good.” His voice is warm, fond. “You look good, too.” You glance at him, just to see if he means it. He’s already looking. Already caught. You feel heat bloom at the base of your throat. “Still soft,” he murmurs, fingers brushing the edge of your sweater where it tucks into your waistband. “Still my girl in sneakers.”

Your breath catches. You don’t say anything. You just take another sip of your drink and try not to melt under the way he’s watching you.

You take the last sip of your drink, lips brushing the sugared rim one final time. Nam Gyu’s watching you–he hasn’t stopped. Leaning back on the velvet couch, one arm stretched along the back behind you, the other draped over his thigh. Relaxed and cocky. Completely zeroed in on you.

He looks like he owns the room. He catches your glance and tips his head slightly. “What?”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

You look away, eyes drifting down to the crowd below. Bodies moving together like waves. Hands in the air, heads thrown back, lights slicing through the dark. Music thrumming through the floor, vibrating faintly beneath your shoes.

“Still not your scene?” he asks softly.

You rest your arms on the railing, trying not to fidget. “Not really.”

“But you’re here.”

You bite your lip. “I said I missed you, didn’t I?”

His breath catches. It’s subtle, but you hear it. Feel it. That little hitch of surprise. Or maybe restraint. When you glance back, he’s already closer. Not touching. But closer. His voice dips. “You know, if I were still twenty-five, I probably would’ve pulled you into the bathroom by now.”

Your eyes widen.  “You’d pretend you didn’t want it,” he continues, “but you’d be dripping. Just like always.”

Your thighs clench under your skirt. You keep your face turned away, but he sees it–he feels it. You shake your head, forcing a light laugh. “You’re not twenty-five anymore. And I’m not nineteen.”

“No,” he says. “You’re better now.” His hand brushes your leg–barely there. Just the edge of his pinky along your thigh, just above your knee. A touch so light it might’ve been imagined. You press your lips together, pulse ticking fast in your throat. He leans in again, mouth near your ear. “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you right now.”

You don’t answer. Not out loud. You just watch the floor below, the way the people dance like nothing else matters. Like they’re made for it. And you try to pretend your heart’s not thudding out of rhythm every time Nam Gyu looks at you like that.

The second he unlocks the door to his office and lets you inside, you don’t wait. You barely hear the click of it shutting before you’re pushing him back, slamming your mouth into his. His low grunt stutters in surprise, but he melts into it fast–too fast–his hands already sliding down to your waist like he’s been touch starved.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles between kisses, pulling at the hem of your sweater. “Didn’t know you were gonna be the one attacking me tonight.”

You tug him toward the couch, straddling him without another word. His back hits the cushions with a soft thud, and you’re already grinding your hips down into his lap, your long skirt riding up with every roll.

He gasps. Then grins. “Shit. Okay. What do you want me to do?”

Your fingers curl into his shoulder, eyes dark as sin. “Nothing.” You smirk. “Just sit there and be good.”

His breath catches, then he nods fast, wide-eyed and helpless. “Yes ma’am.”

You swear you feel him throb beneath you when he says it. You reach down between you and unbuckle his belt slowly, fingers brushing over the hardness beneath. He’s not just hard–he’s aching. You can tell by the way his head tips back, the way he groans when you palm him through his boxers. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He mutters again.

You slip your hand under the waistband and wrap around him, warm and solid in your grip. His hips jerk. His fingers clench the edge of the couch. He doesn’t even try to touch you back–just watches you, desperate and ruined, as you work him slowly, teasing.

But then your phone vibrates on the table behind him. You don’t look at it. But it keeps going. Buzz. Buzz.

Nam Gyu blinks up at you. “You can get it, baby–”

You grab it and answer without checking the caller ID. “Hello?”

Your brother’s voice hits your ear, loud and clear. “Hey–did you talk to the lawyer yet? They need the signature for Mom and Dad’s estate paperwork–”

Nam Gyu stiffens beneath you. Your free hand presses to his chest. Stay quiet, don’t move.

You clear your throat and try to keep your voice steady. “Yeah, I got the email, I just haven’t–”

You shift your hips, slowly. Nam Gyu gasps. “F-fuck.”

“Who was that?” your brother snaps. “Is someone with you?”

Your stomach drops. You answer too fast. “Just a friend.”

He goes quiet, then says, “You’re with him, aren’t you?”

You glance down at Nam Gyu. His jaw is clenched, brow furrowed. He doesn’t say a word.

“I knew it. I knew you were lying the second you said you ‘ran into him.’ What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You swallow hard. “I don’t need this right now.”

Your brother’s voice cuts like a blade. “What do you think Mom and Dad would say? Is this your way of grieving? Sleeping with him? Letting him back in? It’s fucked. You need to stop.”

You flinch, like his words reached through the phone and hit you. “Don’t do that,” you whisper. “Don’t throw them at me like that.”

He’s relentless. “Then grow the fuck up. Sign the fucking papers. Get your life together. And don’t come crying to me when he fucks it all up for you again.”

You stare down at Nam Gyu, your hand still curled tight into his shirt. His eyes are locked on yours, unreadable. He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t try to fix it. He just waits.

You hang up without saying another word. The silence in the office is heavy–tense, electric, raw. You press your hands to your thighs to steady yourself. Then you look him in the eyes, and sink down on his cock in one long, slow, devastating motion.

You fuck the anger out of yourself.

Hands braced on his chest, thighs tight around your hips, you ride Nam Gyu like you own him. Because in this moment–you do.

He looks wrecked beneath you. Face flushed, lips swollen from all the begging he’s done. Hair sticking to his temples, chest heaving. The matching bra and pany set you wore just for him is long forgotten–his greedy hands shoved the cups down, hands full of your tits, moaning about how perfect you are.

Though now, he’s bare beneath you. Arms pinned above his head, wristed held down by your strength, though he could easily break free. His cock buried deep inside you as you ride him hard and mean. “Fuck–please, baby,” he gasps. “I missed you–I missed this–please, let me touch–”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, hips grinding down, your cunt clenching just to hear the way he chokes on a moan. “You don’t get to touch unless I say.”

“Y-yes ma’am,” he whimpers.

You lean forward, lips brushing his ear. “You like being used, don’t you?”

His whole body twitches. “God–yes–I fucking love it.”

Your pace grows harsher, your breath ragged as you ride him harder. You feel how close he is–his cock throbbing, his body straining beneath you. You let go of his wrists and grab his face instead, making him look at you. “You gonna beg for it?”

He nods fast, completely gone. “Please let me come, please–please–I’ll do anything–I’ll worship you–”

You’re right on the edge too, hips slapping against his, your body shaking. And then–the door to the office swings open. 

“Nam Gyu, I’ve been looking for you–” The voice cuts off. She freezes in the doorway. Her. The girl from dinner. She’s wide-eyed, staring.

Nam Gyu doesn’t even flinch. “Get the fuck out!”

“Jesus–sorry–!” she blurts, scrambling backward and slamming the door behind her. 

Silence. Your chest heaves, your palms still splayed across his chest. You’re still seated on his cock–him still pulsing, twitching, begging.

You slowly start grinding again. Nam Gyu gasps like he’s dying. His hands grab your waist, desperate and clumsy. “Please. Please don’t stop. Please. I’ll do anything–just let me come inside you–I’ll die if you stop–”

You smirk, breathless. “Embarrassed, baby?”

He groans. “I don’t care. Let them all hear. I don’t care. Just don’t stop.”

And you fuck him again–merciless and slow–watching him unravel. You ride him until he’s coming undone beneath you, moaning your name like he’s worshiping it, spilling inside you with trembling thighs and bruised lips.

You both slowly start to get dressed, the sticky heat of your bodies cooling in the aftermath. He watches you as you fix your bra and skirt, soft and reverent, like he still can’t believe he got to touch you yet again.

When you’re slipping your sweater back over your head, Nam Gyu clears his throat and goes, “Can I come over tonight?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know, Gyu. If you know where I live and we…don’t work out…”

His jaw flexes, but he nods. “I get it. I do. But I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. I swear. I’ll leave if you tell me to. Hell. I’ll sleep on the floor if you want me to.”

Your lips twitch with a reluctant smile. “Okay.”

The drive back to your place is quiet, but not awkward. His fingers rest gently on your knee the entire ride, like he’s grounding himself just by touching you.

When you pull up to your apartment, you glance over shyly. “It’s nothing like your fancy penthouse.”

Nam Gyu lets out a quiet laugh, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I used to live on the street, baby girl. Your place is heaven to me.”

You feel your stomach twist at the nickname, the sincerity in his voice, the softness that feels too real. He follows you inside.

A Few Weeks Later

The road stretches ahead in one long, gray ribbon, the sky overcast, heavy like your chest. You sit with your legs pulled up on the passenger seat, sweatshirt sleeves bunched around your fists, the silence between you and Nam Gyu comfortable–but weighted.

He reaches out every once in a while to rest his hand on your thigh, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your jeans in slow, absent circles. It’s been like that for most of the ride–quiet, steady touches. No music. Just the sound of the engine, the tires on the highway, and the occasional soft murmur between you.

After a while, he glances over. “So why are they selling the house now?”

You swallow. “My dad got really sick. About a year ago.”

His expression shifts immediately–brows pulling together, eyes flickering over you.

“He passed away six months ago,” you say, voice quiet. “Mom lasted another three months. I think she just gave up.”

He’s quiet for a long beat. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, his voice low and serious. “I didn’t know.”

You shrug, staring out the window. “It’s fine. It’s just been…a lot. Trying to get everything settled. Especially with my brother.”

Nam Gyu glances at you again. “He’s still giving you a hard time?”

You don’t answer right away. Just lean your head back against the seat and sigh. “He’s angry. About everything. And he’s always been overprotective. So when it comes to you…”

“I don’t care,” Nam Gyu cuts in gently. “Let him be pissed. I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Your glance at him, heart clenching. “You really didn’t have to come.”

He just shrugs, eyes on the road. “Yeah, I did.”

By the time you arrive, your stomach’s tied in knots. The house looks the same. Like it’s been frozen in time. The overgrown bushes. The chipped mailbox. The front door with the faded welcome mat your mom refused to replace. But it doesn’t feel like home anymore.

You spot your brother’s car in the driveway, along with the lawyer’s. The realtor’s already waiting on the front porch, arms folded, clipboard in hand.

Nam Gyu parks behind them and kills the engine. He glances at you. “You okay?”

You nod, jaw set. “Let’s just get it over with.”

You step out of the car together, and the second you and Nam Gyu walk through the front door, you hear it: “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You turn slowly, meeting his glare. He’s standing in the living room with the lawyer and realtor, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight his neck veins are visible.

You sigh. “Just let me sign the papers and we’ll go.”

His eyes cut to Nam Gyu. “You brought him here? Are you serious?”

“I said drop it,” you snap, already walking past him toward the kitchen where the documents are laid out. “We’re not doing this right now.”

Nam Gyu stays close but quiet, his posture tense. He doesn’t bite back–doesn’t give your brother the satisfaction of a fight. Not yet.

You take the pen the lawyer hands you and sign your name quickly, the sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

Your brother scoffs. “This is such a joke. You always do this. You let trash back into your life and pretend like it’s love.”

You slam the pen down. “I said we’re not doing this.”

He steps forward. “What do you think Mom and Dad would say if they could see you now?”

You open your mouth to respond–but Nam Gyu steps in, voice sharp and low, “Hey. That’s enough.”

Your brother’s gaze cuts to him with a fresh wave of hatred. And you–your hands are trembling slightly, but your face is steel. You just pick up your copy of the signed papers, turn to the realtor, and say flatly, “We’re done here.”

You walk out without another word. Nam Gyu follows, slamming the front door behind him. You’re halfway to the car when the fury claws up your throat like bile. You stop short, heart pounding. Then you spin on your heel.

Nam Gyu calls your name, but you’re already storming back into the house. Your brother’s standing in the living room with his arms crossed, smug like he won whatever argument this was supposed to be.

“Stop making their death about you,” you snap, voice trembling out of anger. “You have done nothing but make this whole process awful for me. I’ve handled everything while you sat in a different country and judged from afar.”

“Oh, please,” your brother scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t even show up to the funeral. Who are you to talk about grief?”

Your breath catches. Behind you, you hear the soft click of the front door as Nam Gyu steps back inside. He doesn’t say a word–just rests a steadying hand on your shoulder, grounding you. 

But you’re shaking. “I hate you,” you whisper at first. Then louder, “I fucking hate you.”

Your brother’s jaw clenches. “Take the money from the house,” you say, venom in every word, “and don’t ever fucking call me again.”

There’s a moment of silence–so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat. And then he laughs. Cold and cruel. “Oh, I see. Gonna run off to Nam Gyu now?” he sneers. “Let him make you feel special again, right? Until you have one minor disagreement and he beats you like he did his ex?”

The world lurches sideways. Your ears ring. You blink at him, stunned. Frozen. You didn’t mishear him. You couldn’t have.

You feel Nam Gyu stiffen behind you–but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say a single word. Your brother smirks. “Yeah. Bet he didn’t tell you that part, huh?”

Your mouth opens. But no sound comes out. The only thing you can feel is the blood roaring in your ears, and the warm, heavy pressure of Nam Gyu’s hand still steady on your shoulder.

You turn to him, jaw tight. “Let’s go.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t argue. Doesn’t glance back at your brother. He just follows you out of the house like a shadow.

The car ride is silent. He doesn’t start the engine right away when you both climb in–just sits there, hands limp on the wheel, staring through the windshield.

You cross your arms, sinking into the passenger seat, then say sharper than you mean to, “Can we go to the hotel, please?”

He flinches. But he turns the key. The drive is only ten minutes, but it feels like forever. No music. No words. Just the muted hum of tires on pavement and the ache of something cracking between you.

He parks. You both get out. Check-in is stiff, wordless–he pays, and you trial behind him to the elevator, eyes on the floor.

When you reach the room, he unlocks the door and lets you walk in first. The moment it shuts behind you, you just stand there. Motionless. The room is dim and clean and painfully quiet. It feels sterile. Temporary. A holding place for whatever happens next.

You turn to face him slowly. Nam Gyu’s already watching you. “Go ahead and ask,” he murmurs. His voice is steady, but there’s something hollow behind it–something bracing for impact.

You swallow. Your throat’s dry. “I…don’t know if I want to hear it.”

His jaw flexes. He looks away, then back at you, eyes dark and tired. “That’s fair.”

You stare at him for another beat, your chest rising and falling too fast. The air between you feels thick. Heavy.

“I didn’t hurt her,” he finally says, voice quieter now. “Not like he thinks I did.”

Your heart knocks hard against your ribs. But you don’t speak. Not yet. Because some part of you still isn’t sure which version of him to believe.

You cross your arms tighter across your chest, your nails biting into your sides. “Then tell me,” you say flatly. “I guess.”

Nam Gyu’s eyes search yours for a long, tense moment, like he’s checking for how much you really want to hear it. But then he takes a slow breath and begins. “It was bad between us. Me and her,” he explains quietly. “I was using all the time. Coke. Pills. Anything to get through the day. She wasn’t much better.”

You don’t interrupt. Just wait.

“We fought constantly. Screaming, throwing shit, doors slamming…the cops got called once. She said I grabbed her arm too hard. I probably did.” He shrugs, but it’s bitter, like he hates himself for even trying to sound casual. “I black out half that week. The only reason I remember any of it is because of the court transcript.”

You swallow hard.

“She dropped the charges a month later,” he says, gaze fixed on the floor now. “Said she exaggerated. Said she didn’t want to ruin my life. But the damage was done. I did six months for possession and resisting arrest.”

You stare at him. The hotel room is quiet. The carpet beneath your feet feels like it might give out. You take one step forward. Then another. And then you shove him. Not hard. Just enough that he stumbles back one step back. He blinks at you, stunned.

“Why,” you begin, voice cracking with fury, “do I still fucking love you after that?”

His eyes fly to yours, wide. “Wait…you what–?”

You shove him again. “You’re not a good guy.”

“I know that,” he says quickly, hands open like he’s surrendering, but there’s something desperate in his voice–like he wants you to hit him again, just to feel it.

So you do. Push him harder this time, until he stumbles back onto the edge of the bed, catching himself with his hands. You’re standing over him now, your whole body trembling with rage and confusion and want.

“So why do I love you,” you whisper, “and why do I wanna fuck you right now?”

He’s breathing hard, looking up at you like you’re the only god he’s ever believed in. “I don't know,” he whispers. “But please…do it anyway.”

Nam Gyu looks up at you like he’s already undone. You climb onto his lap without a word, straddling him, grabbing the front of his sweatshirt and dragging it up and off with a force that makes him gasp. Your nails scrape down his chest as you lean in, mouth at his jaw, biting hard.

He groans–loud–grabbing your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “I missed you,” he pants, “I missed you so fucking much–”

“Shut up.”

You crash your mouth onto his, messy and hot, all teeth and tongue. He’s already hard beneath you, bucking up into your core like he can’t help it. Your hand fumbles at his belt, yanking it open, and he moans like it physically hurts to be touched again by you.

“Fuck, fuck,” he stammers, head tilting back as you reach into his briefs, wrap you fingers around him. “Please, baby–please, I need you–”

You tear off your shirt, your bra, and then stand up just long enough to shimmy out of your pants and panites in one frustrated motion.

“Look at you,” he whispers, nearly breathless. “All for me?”

“Who else?” you snap.

He surges forward, mouthing hungrily at your chest, hands roaming your thighs as you push him flat on the bed and straddle him again, dragging his cock through your slick folds.

“Beg for it,” you whisper into his ear.

“Please,” he groans instantly. “Please ride me, baby, I’ll do anything–need you so bad–been so fucking empty without you.”

You sink down in one swift, brutal motion and he chokes, hands flying to your waist like he’s trying to anchor himself. “Holy fuck! You feel–fuck you feel unreal.” He gasps.

You ride himself without rhythm at first, just fast, messy, like you’re tyring to fuck the heartbreak out of yourself. His fingers bruise into your skin, jaw slack as he watches you, completely gone.

“You’re mine,” you growl, voice raw.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yours, all yours, always–fuck, don’t stop, please–”

You lean down, press your chest to his, fucking him deeper, harder, his name falling form your lips like a curse. Your teeth catch his bottom lip, dragging it before you kiss him again, rough and desperate.

The bed creaks. The headboard hits the wall. His breath is ragged and stuttering beneath you.

“Gonna come,” he whines, completely unguarded. “Fuck–please, can I? Inside you? Please let me…”

“Do it.”

He shatters with a strangled cry, clinging to you like you’re salvation. You don’t stop moving, riding him through it until you come too, a tidal wave breaking as your head falls into the crook of his neck, mouth open in a silent moan.

You collapse together–sticky, panting, clinging.

His voice is hoarse, barely audible. “I love you. Even if you hate me–I love you.”

You’re still catching your breath, chests pressed together and damp with sweat, when Nam Gyu murmurs, voice low against your temple, “Do you love me…or do you just love fucking me?”

You huff a laugh against his neck. “Do I have to only pick one?”

That makes him laugh–deep and breathless, warm in your ear. His arms wrap tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him again. The air between you settles, heavy with heat and history.

“I do love you,” you whisper eventually. “But if you ever do anything to me…I will kill you. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”

He leans back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s no trace of amusement left in his face–just the solemn curve of his mouth as he nods. “Oh, trust me,” he says quietly. “I know.”

You giggle a little, even as your chest aches. You curl tighter into him, cheek resting over his heart.

There’s a beat of silence. Then he whispers, “I’m sorry about how today turned out.”

You nod slowly, fingers tracing the faded ink on his ribs. “I’m just…glad to be done with it all, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I get it.”

You swallow thickly. “I really miss them.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t say anything–he just strokes your spine gently with the pads of his fingers, grounding you.

“I hope they can’t see how things turned out,” you admit, barely audible. “They’d be disappointed in my brother and me.”

He exhales. “You’re doing your best. You loved them. That’s what matters.”

You blink up at the ceiling. Your throat is tight, but the tears don’t come. “I don’t think I’ve ever really said goodbye,” you murmur.

Nam Gyu kisses your hair, cradling  you like you might slip through his arms. “Then maybe we do that tomorrow.”

You let your eyes fall shut, cheek still resting on his chest. His heartbeat thuds gently beneath your ear, slow now. Safe.

You yawn, voice muffled in his skin. “I didn’t go to their funerals.” Nam Gyu doesn’t say anything, just keeps rubbing your back, waiting. You swallow, then keep going. “Because I didn’t want it to be real. If I didn’t see it…then it wasn’t real.”

He exhales through his nose, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “I understand,” he murmurs. “They do too.” You close your eyes tighter. “It’s okay to grieve however you need to,” he adds gently.

“I guess my way of grieving,” you whisper, “is fucking a guy who’s no good for me.”

That makes him laugh–quiet and tired, like he knows exactly much weight lives in that sentence. “I’m trying to be good for you,” he says softly.

You shift, pressing your nose to his neck. “I know, Gyu.”

The morning comes with a dim gray sky and a chill in the air. You’re sitting on the edge of the motel bed, tugging on your hoodie, still half asleep. Nam Gyu runs a hand through his messy hair, watching you quietly.

He speaks up, voice rough with sleep. “I could take you to see them. If you want.”

You look up, startled. You hesitate, heart thudding a little faster. “I…I don’t know,” you admit. “I’ve never been. Not even once.”

Nam Gyu stands, walks over to crouch in front of you. “Then maybe it’s time.”

You stare at him for a beat, then nod slowly. “Okay. Yeah…okay.”

The cemetery is still. Wind rustles through the trees, leaves whispering to each other like they’re trying not to disturb the silence. You walk slowly between the rows, your fingers curled tightly into the sleeves of your hoodie, until you see their names etched in stone.

Your knees give a little when you reach them, and you let yourself sink into the grass. It’s cool beneath you, soft and damp. Nam Gyu stays quiet, standing behind you, one of his hands resting gently on your shoulder.

You stare at the headstones. Your lips part, but nothing comes out at first. It takes a moment for your voice to steady. “Hi,” you finally whisper. “I’m here.” You press your hands into your lap, knuckles white. “Sorry it took me so long.”

The air is thick with things unsaid. You look at the flowers someone left–probably your brother. You didn’t bring any. Didn’t think to. You feel stupid about it.

“I didn’t…I didn’t want it to be real,” you say. “I thought if I just kept going, you’d still be out there somewhere. I didn’t want to see this. I didn’t want this to be true.”

You draw in a shaky breath. Nam Gyu’s hand squeezes lightly. “I miss you both so much,” you whisper, your voice breaks a little. “I think I’ve just been pretending that I’m fine. Like maybe if I didn’t cry, I could just keep going. But I’m not okay.”

You look up at the sky. “I’m trying. I don’t know if I’m doing anything right, but I’m trying.”

And then, slowly, you glance over your shoulder. Nam Gyu is still there, hands in his pockets now, watching you with that same unreadable expression that somehow manages to be both calm and full of quiet affection. When your eyes meet, he just offers you a small smile. Gentle. Patient.

That’s all it takes.

The tears come without warning–hot, soundless, unstoppable. They roll down your cheeks like something broken, finally cracking open, something too tightly held for too long.

You turn away quickly, but Nam Gyu kneels beside you. Doesn't say anything. He just wraps an arm around you, pulling you into him, tucking your face into his chest as your shoulders shake.

Still quiet. Still safe.

You cry there, finally, in the open, in front of the only people you ever wanted to be proud of you. And Nam Gyu just holds you, steady and still, like he knows this is what you needed more than anything else.

The takeout containers are scattered across the bed, half empty and grease stained. You’re both sitting cross legged, the TV playing something mindless in the background, the glow of it soft against the hotel room walls. Nam Gyu’s balancing a carton of noodles on his thigh, shoveling them in like he hasn’t eaten in days.

You stab at a dumpling with your chopsticks and laugh when it slips out of your grasp for the third time. “Okay,” you grumble, “I’m gonna sue.”

Nam Gyu snorts. “Sue who? The dumpling?”

“I don’t know,” you say, popping a piece of broccoli into your mouth instead. “Whoever invented chopsticks. My hands are too sweaty for this.”

“You want a fork, baby?” he teases, nudging your side with his elbow.

You roll your eyes, pretending to be offended. “I’m fine. I’m strong. I’m independent.”

“You’re losing a war to steamed vegetables.”

You laugh, that warm, honest kind that makes your stomach flutter a little when you realize how easily he draws it out of you. You let the moment breathe, quiet and soft.

Then, Nam Gyu asks, gentle and unassuming, “How are you feeling?”

You pause, the air in the room suddenly a little heavier. You push a noodle around your carton. “I was fine,” you say, voice light and falsely bright, “until you asked.” You look up at him with a shaky smile, then down again. “I’m okay. Or… I will be. I think.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t press. He just hums quietly, finishes chewing, and reaches for one of the fortune cookies on the nightstand. He tosses one toward you, and it bounces off your chest before landing in your lap. “Open it,” he says. “Let’s see what your fate is.”

You crack it open and read the slip aloud: “Your strength is not loud, but unshakable.”

Nam Gyu grins. “It’s true though. You’re handling all this…better than I ever could.”

You crumple the fortune and toss it toward the trash, missing entirely. “Thanks, I think.”

He leans back on his elbows, watching you with something quieter in his gaze. “You don’t have to be okay right now. You don’t have to be anything for me.”

You make a face and throw a balled up napkin at him. “Okay, stop being sappy. I’m emotionally fragile and your tender little voice is gonna make me cry.”

Nam Gyu snickers, catching the napkin before it hits his chest. “Fine, fine.”

You nudge his leg with your knee. “What does your fortune say?”

He breaks the cookie with a dramatic flourish, unfolds the tiny strip of paper, and squints at it. “Huh.”

“What?” you ask, peering at him.

He looks at you, deadpan. “Says I’ll receive the most mind blowing head tonight.”

You stare at him, horrid for half a second–before you burst into laughter, clutching your stomach and nearly knocking over the soy sauce. “Shut up! No, it doesn’t!”

He’s already cracking up too, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m kidding. It actually says…” He clears his voice and reads it in a mock serious voice. “A long awaited answer will arrive when you least expect it.”

You go quiet for a beat, your laughter trailing off. “That one’s kinda eerie,” you say.

“Yeah,” Nam Gyu murmurs, folding the fortune and slipping into the takeout bag. “Guess we’ll see.”

You smile faintly, then settle in beside him again, letting your fingers brush against his without holding on–just a soft, simple connection. And for a moment, nothing hurts.

The silence stretches, warm and steady. He doesn’t say anything else. Just leans his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded. 

Outside the city hums below you. Inside, everything is still. You think: maybe this is where the worst ends. maybe this is where something new begins.

You don’t know what comes next. But for now, you stay.