#erospandemos

Finally home. After a long, exhausting company trip, you’re finally standing in front of your apartment’s door. Your bag feels heavier than it should, meetings, bad coffee, sleepless hotel nights all pressing down on you.

You were happy the week was over, but you couldn’t help but feel something heavy on your chest. You pause outside, the key feels cold in your hand. Even after years here, your chest still tightens before the lock turns. 

Home sweet home, that’s what it should be. But Asa was waiting inside, and she had been alone for days. You know what that meant. Her perfume already seeps beneath the door, faint and sweet. 

Her messages had swung wildly: hearts and kisses one moment, and wild outbursts the next. Where are you? Are you alone? Why didn’t you call me? Are you ignoring me? 

You didn’t sleep much, but she probably slept even less. There was no reason for her to be texting you at 2 a.m. to check if you weren’t in a club, especially after she set up that GPS thing with your phone. 

You adjust your bag on your shoulder. One deep breath. You know she’s been waiting, watching the clock, pacing the room, maybe rehearsing what she’ll say. Inhale. Exhale. You slowly align the key with the lock, bracing yourself. Asa never just welcomes you back. She claims you back.

The lock clicks, and you push the door open.

For half a breath, silence. Then Asa crashes into you.

“Darling!” she exclaims, her lips brushing your ear as she throws herself against you. “You’re finally here!”

You stumble at her sudden contact, catching the doorframe to keep from falling. Her body immediately molds to yours as she tightly holds your neck. You feel the air being pushed away from you by her clutch.

“Hi, Asa,” you manage, forcing a smile. She looks happy, so far. “I’m home. I missed you.”

“I missed you more!” she insists, pressing her lips along your jaw. “I waited so so so so long! It felt like an eternity,” she says. Her fingers curl against the fabric of your suit. “The house never felt emptier without you.”

“I can imagine,” you laugh nervously. “You texted me every ten minutes. I could barely work.”

“Good,” she coos. “I like to remind you where you belong.”

Her expression is quick to change; her eyes dim, and her smile turns into a sensual smirk. Asa drags her nails down your chest, slowly, scratching your silky jacket. Her eyes never leave yours. 

“Tell me… did anyone else try to talk to you?”

Your throat tightens. “Asa, no. I was working. Just meetings and hotel room. That’s all.”

You try to keep eye contact, but you have to admit—she’s intimidating. You know looking away only makes you look more suspect, but you can’t help it.

“Hotel room, huh?” she repeats softly. “So private. So quiet. Unless…” She tilts her head. “…unless you weren’t alone.”

“I was,” you whisper, almost pleading. “Just me.”

Her fingers trail lower, stopping at your belt. “Just you? Not even a pretty receptionist? A client leaning a little too close? A waitress slipping you her number?”

You quickly shake your head. “No. I swear, Asa, nothing like that happened.”

Her hand pays a visit to your arm, circling around your tricep. Asa inches closer to your neck, softly sniffing your collar. Your mind starts to play tricks on you. Maybe it did happen. Maybe someone did talk to you, and you looked too happy to talk to them. 

What if she didn’t believe you? Then what?

“Nothing? Not a single woman dared to fix your suit?” she murmurs, her fingers now coming back to your tie. Two fingers near your collar, the other hand down at the tip, and slowly, you can feel it tighten around your neck. “Did anyone touch this beautiful tie? That I picked for you? Mh?”

“No. No one,” you can simply say, hoping for the best.

Asa hums and pouts, still unconvinced. “Mmh. You’re too handsome to go unnoticed. Don’t lie to me, darling.”

Her eyes narrow, her lips ghosting over your throat. “I’ll know if you do.” Her breath itches your skin, and you feel chills going down your spine.

“I’m not lying,” you say with a trembling voice. “I only thought about you.”

“Did you?” she whispers. Her fingers grip the back of your neck, turning your head so you’re forced to meet her gaze. “Tell me. Did you think about me before you went to sleep? When you woke up? When you were eating?”

“Yes,” you breathe, because the only answer is yes. “Every day.”

Asa smiles. “Good. Because I could barely sleep. I imagined you… imagined what you were doing. Who you were with.” Her nails follow her sharp words, leaving deep marks in your skin. “Do you know what that does to me?”

That’s when you start thinking to yourself: why were you still with her?

“I—no. Tell me.”

Her laugh is low, dangerous. “It makes me mad. Mad enough to tear apart any woman who so much as looks at you. Mad enough to mark you so everyone finally knows they can’t touch you.”

“Asa, there’s no need for that…” You swallow hard. “There’s no one else. I belong to you.”

She hums with satisfaction, pressing a kiss to your lips. When she pulls back, she bites down gently on your lower lip before letting go. “Say it again.”

You obey instantly. “I belong to you.”

“Again.”

“I belong to you, Asa.”

Her smile widens. “That’s better. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

Her hand finally leaves your neck. Deep grooves remain on your skin and you can feel them sting. Asa tenderly strokes your cheek. Her eyes show remorse. She didn’t want to do this. She doesn’t like hurting you but sometimes it’s necessary: she has to remind you what happens if you don’t listen to her.

It was a sacrifice she was willing to make if it meant you’d learn. 

It doesn’t last long as her tone sharpens again. “But if I ever find out you let another woman touch you,” her hand slides down to your throat, her fingers tightening enough just to make you tense. “...I’ll kill you. You understand that, right?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I do. I understand.”

“Say it.”

“I’ll never talk to any other woman than you,” you say quickly.

Her grip eases and she leans in to kiss your throat, right where your blood was flowing. “That’s my darling,” she hums into you. Her touch becomes gentle and she softens against you, curling into your chest. “Promise me again. Promise me I’m the only one.”

You hold her, though your hands are still trembling. “You’re the only one. Always.”

Asa sighs deeply with satisfaction. “Good, good.” Then she tilts her head, her lips brushing your ear. “But I’m still checking your suitcase,” she giggles.

You let out a thin, strangled laugh. “Of course you are.”

Asa sighs again, this time with sadness. Her eyes turn down to the ground and she pouts. She almost looks cute. Almost. “You know, being here all alone without my love… it’s just so so so painful.”

“The smell on your pillow,” she says, bringing her eyes back up. “It’s just not as strong. Your hoodie… It’s nothing like your arms around me. Oh, and I kept rewatching our videos together,” she continues, voice cracking with a strange sweetness, “but it was nothing like your sweet words that you pronounce for me.”

You swallow hard. “B-but I’m here now,” you speak softly. “I came back.”

Asa let out a quiet, wicked giggle before staring at you with her predatory eyes. “And those toys… they simply don’t cut it.”

You gulped.

Asa yanks hard down on your tie, and you’re forced to follow, forced to crouch down at her feet. She looks down at you with quiet satisfaction. You haven’t forgotten your place after all. That mix of worship and fear in your eyes is still exactly where she left it. Good. She might have fun after all.

“I can’t wait no more, my love,” she breaths, a feverish whisper. Another hard tug and her lips crash against yours. She’s forceful, hungry, furious. She hasn’t felt the softness of your kisses for days. Oh, the ecstasy to finally have your taste on her tongue again. How could she hold back?

You can’t help but kiss her back. It’s instinctual. Your knees buckle and your mouth welcomes her. 

Asa laughs softly between each passionate kiss. “You missed me, too? I can feel it.”

Your hands come on her hips. You need her closer. Her mouth claims you. She’s messy, breathless. Every sound she makes, those low hums, that quick gasp, soothes your pain and eases your mind.

But it’s not enough. No, this won’t satisfy her.

She pulls you to your bedroom. You know exactly what’s going to happen.

“Wait, Asa, I just came home,” you try to tell her.

Asa laughs. “And? I waited 7 long days for you and you still want to make me wait longer? That’s so evil of you.”

“But I’m all sweaty and…” You open your mouth to protest, to explain the clammy sweat cooling on your skin, the sticky dampness of your hair plastered to your forehead. But Asa silences you with a kiss.

“We’ll get sweaty regardless,” she says and you can’t say anything else to convince her.

Asa leans back on the bed, her beautiful dark hair sprawled across the sheets. The moonlight through the window casts shadows that dance across her skin, highlighting her curves, the shape of her hips. You can only admire her beauty as you’re reminded of who you are. 

You aren’t a man. She isn’t a woman. 

Asa is your goddess, and you are here to worship her completely.

Asa hooks a finger in the waistband of her pants and tugs, shimmying out of them. You’re left with the sight of her long, luscious legs. Smooth, pale, a sin to look at.

Your legs act on their own, and you sink to your knees before her. You can remember now. Why were you enduring this treatment? It was the way she made you feel. To surrender your whole body and soul to her gave you the most pleasure in the world. 

Asa, oh Asa. She wasn’t yours. You were hers.

Your palms lift her foot and you press your lips to on it, breathing the scent of her skin, the tang of her soap mixed with the salt of her sweat. You worship her foot, trailing kisses along her ankle, up to her calf, until you reach the soft skin behind her knee. Asa shivers and giggles as your lips brush her inner thigh.

“You were waiting for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” you mumble.

You breathe her deeply, her aroma filling your nostrils, flooding your senses until it's the only thing you can smell, the only thing you can taste. Your brain feels hazy, your thoughts scattering wildly.

Your fingers trace the contour of Asa’s thighs, followed by your lips, until you find the heat between her legs. A new musk meets your nose: it’s intoxicating, it clouds your senses and rewires you mind. 

"Please," you hear yourself whisper, the words escaping your lips before you can control them. "Please, let me pleasure you."

“Oh my, what a naughty thing to say,” she purrs. “You want to taste me, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” you plead. “Please.”

Asa’s fingers comb through your hair before tightening, holding you in her grip. She tilts your head upwards. She takes a good look at you: completely submitted to her. She smiles to herself and guides you between her thighs. 

“Go ahead, my love. Show me how much you adore me.”

She leans back, the action parting her thighs further, revealing the glistening pink folds that await your devotions. The sight alone makes your head dizzy. You can’t hold yourself back anymore and dive into her. 

Asa's body shudders when your lips finally meet her sensitive flesh. She lets out a low approving moan and tugs harder on your hair.

“Mmm, yes. Just like that,” she says.

Her pleasure was your pleasure, her moans your reward, and all you wanted to hear was her praises. You moan against her, the vibration only making her wetter, coating your lips and chin with her essence, sticky and warm. Her body reacts, her walls flutter and clench, grasping at the air as if seeking more of you.

“Faster, baby,” she commands. “I know you can do it.”

You obey instantly, tongue moving desperately. Her hips rock back and forth against your face as you settle into a rhythm, your tongue exploring every fold and crevice, mapping the contours of Asa's most intimate landscape. 

Another hand joins the first, pressing harder at the back of your head, burying you in her heat. You hold her soft thighs to keep yourself steady to aid your work.

Asa's breathing grows uneven, ragged, each exhale a stuttered moan, broken between the mention of your name and helpless praises. You feel her thighs begin to tremble, quivering beneath your hands as she gets closer. You double your efforts, set on bringing her to her climax. 

You give her everything, slurping on her juices, lapping like a hungry animal. 

“F—fuck!” And suddenly, Asa's body goes rigid, back arching off the bed as a loud cry tears from her throat. Her walls clamp down around your tongue, as a flood of squirt gushes forth, flooding your mouth and dripping down your chin. You swallow greedily, drinking down each wave of her release, unwilling to waste a single drop. 

You worship her until she pulls you back, until there’s nothing left but her breathless whimpers. Slowly, her body begins to relax, and she exhales with a sense of satisfaction. She reaches out, grabbing your chin roughly and tilting your head up to observe her work.

“You look so pretty with my cum all over your face,” she says, her thumb wiping away some of the evidence of her pleasure from the corner of your mouth. “Like a well-used toy.”

“Strip, now,” she orders. Her voice is firm, unquestionable. You obey without hesitation.

As soon as you’re done, Asa pushes you down onto the mattress, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "My turn," she announces, straddling your hips.

You can only manage a nod, pulse pounding in your ears as you watch her position herself above you. She holds herself above you for a moment and then lets your rock-hard penis slide inside her, engulfing you in her slick heat. A moan rips from your chest at the sudden sensation, your fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, as you try to find an anchor at the crashing pleasure.

"Oh, yes," Asa gasps, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. "You feel even bigger inside me." 

She begins to move, sensually rolling her lips. She has to adjust herself to you. It takes a moment of her pussy to properly stretch to your size. She doesn’t wait any longer and starts to ride you.

Asa laughs, “Fuck, I missed this.”

You grip her hips tighter, guiding her movements as she rises and falls on your shaft. The room fills with the sounds of her hips slamming into yours, punctuated by Asa's cries and your own grunts of pleasure. She throws her head back, hair cascading down her back.

It has just been a minute, and you were already feeling pressure building at the base of your spine. You try to fight it back, but Asa started to increase her pace. You grip your teeth. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall as Asa’s passion grows.

It’s been way too long since you’ve been inside Asa, and the feeling completely overwhelms you. Before you know it, you’re already cumming. 

“Asa!” you try to cry out, but it’s too late.

Asa feels your pulse and throb inside her. She immediately stops and grinds down, taking you as deep as physically possible. "Oh no, baby, you’re cumming already?" she laughs.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you say, mortified.

Asa giggles softly. She cups your face and leans down, peppering your face with soft kisses as the aftershocks roll through you. "Shh, it's okay, sweetheart. It's more than okay," Asa says, brushing your hair back.

Asa rocks gently against you, your spent member still nestled inside her warmth. "I didn’t know you were so turned on. You don’t have to apologize for loving me too much.”

Asa slowly lifts herself off your softening penis, a trickle of your combined cum and her juices dripping down her thigh. She leans down, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your chest and abdomen, her tongue laving over your sweat-slicked skin. 

“We’ll just have to get you back in shape,” she says as she makes her way down your member.

Asa smiles as she takes your soft penis between her fingers. She’s careful when she strokes it, playing around with your soft skin. You feel embarrassed, but remember how many times she has done this before. It’s like the first time every time, as you leave yourself in her care.

Asa sticks out her tongue now and carefully licks your head. 

“Can you even imagine how much I’ve missed the taste of your cum?” she says. Her tongue swirls around the tip, lapping up all the remnants of your release. She hums in approval, the vibrations traveling through you. 

"Mmm, you taste divine," Asa hums with delight as she feels your soft, spent length against her tongue.

“I actually love sucking your soft penis,” she giggles. “I love feeling it harden.” Asa lets her tongue glide along the underside, tracing the delicate vein that runs its length, feeling it twitch and pulse with the faintest of life. 

"Mmm, and it's still so warm," she says, catching the head gently between her lips and suckling softly. She rolls her tongue over the tip, lapping at the sensitive crown. Asa takes more of you into her mouth until she feels your length begin to stir, to swell against her tongue. 

"Oh, I can feel it, darling," she coos, pulling back slightly to admire the growing hardness.

She wraps her hand around your penis, stroking gently, looking at the way it thickens and lengthens under her fingers. "Look at it, so eager to go back inside me," Asa praises, pumping you slowly.

She sticks out her tongue and lets it slide between your head and foreskin, moving it around as if trying to clean every single drop of cum she might have missed. It’s a strange feeling, you can feel Asa almost inside you, and technically, she is. With this final action, you’re back to your old self, hard and ready.

Leaning down, she takes you deep into her throat once more, swallowing around your thickness, enjoying the way it stretches her lips and fills her mouth completely. She bobs her head up and down and sucks so greedily as saliva pools out of the corner of her lips, making loud and sloppy noises.

You have to grit your teeth and close your eyes. Asa knows it’s too much for you. She knows how weak you were when you were inside her throat; she could make you cum in no time. 

But it wasn’t the time for that and she stops. She crawls back up your body, revealing the pool of cum and juices that had pooled at the end of your bed, throwing a leg over your hips. She straddles you once more, positioning herself above your erection.

She sinks down slowly with her eyes closed, engulfing you in her welcoming pussy. "Mmmmmh… I could get addicted to the way you fill me up," she moans.

Asa begins to move, rolling her hips in a slow grind, savoring the feeling of you throbbing inside her. She always started like that, but it doesn’t last long. She braces her hands on your chest now, fingers splayed across your skin, and starts to bounce on you with increasing fervor. 

“Hnng,” you moan. Asa doesn’t leave you any time to take it in.

"Is this too much for you, baby?" Asa laughs, tossing her head back as she rides you in a frantic pace.

She leans down, hair falling around you both like a curtain, and captures your lips in a deep kiss. "I love seeing you like this, completely at my mercy."

Asa continues her relentless pace, jumping up and down on your length with strength and vigor. You had just come, but you can feel it building up again. Your body won’t allow it this time. Asa won’t allow it. However, even if she has an unnatural amount of stamina, it can’t last forever, and now her wild, frenzied pace begins to take its toll. 

You take the chance and flip your positions, pinning her beneath you on the mattress. She gasps in surprise, and a delighted laugh bubbles from her lips.

Asa doesn’t mind. As long as she can feel you pumping inside her, she will be satisfied. Her legs wrap around your hips, heels digging into your backside as she urges you closer, deeper.

"Now that's more like it," Asa laughs. "Show me what you can do, darling. Fuck me like you mean it."

Your hips set a punishing rhythm, each powerful thrust driving you impossibly deep, striking that secret spot deep within her that makes her go crazy. Asa cries out, back arching off the bed. Her head is pushed into the mattress as you go on your knees to use your weight to push it even deeper.

The way her hips rise to meet your thrusts, the way she clings to you with a desperate, almost agonized need, it's enough to drive you mad. Asa laughs and moans, seeing you so worked up. 

But you want to drive her crazy. Your hand slides down between your bodies, looking for her swollen clit. You rub it in tight, circling circles, feeling it swell and throb beneath your touch. Asa’s cries become louder, and she shuts her eyes completely, overwhelmed by the newfound pleasure.

"Yes, yes, yes, that’s it," Asa chants, voice rising in pitch, growing increasingly desperate. "Don't stop, don't you dare stop. I'm so close, so fucking close." She clings to you, nails digging into your shoulders.

You feel your own release coming again, and with a final thrust, you bury yourself to the hilt in Asa's pussy, your hot seed erupting forth, flooding her completely. The sensation proves too much, and with a scream of your name, Asa comes as well, clinching you even tighter than before and milking you for every last drop. Her pussy convulses with so much strength that it almost hurts, gripping you with desperation. You collapse against her, both of you panting and shaking.

Asa stays beneath you with a satisfied smile, feeling the warm cum slowly drip out of her. Her body is relaxed, glowing with sweat, utterly spent. Maybe you had some more semen to give her but she was sure she had the rest of the week to get it out of you. So, for now, it was enough. 

The room quiets again, left with the soft sounds of your uneven breathing. She curls into your embrace, tucking her head beneath your chin. Her hand rests on your chest, tracing lazy patterns along your skin. 

"Mmm, that was incredible," Asa whispers. Her lips brush your collarbone, and she leaves you a tender kiss right on your neck. 

“You’re… really intense, Asa,” you manage between breaths, half-laughing, half-exhausted.

She lifts her head, a mischievous smile plastered on her lips. “Oh, my love… that was only the beginning.” Asa rolls over you, straddling your waist once more, but too tired to stand up. She lies down on your body, her face hovering just above yours. And with a wide grin: “We have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

THE END

What would be the perfect date? I don't really know but I'd picture maybe something like this (Yes this is a whole day kek)

Your girlfriend Chaeyoung was stunning. Dating her was a daily lesson in humility. Whenever you went out in public, you could feel the collective “How?” radiating from every person you met. Everyone would look at her like she was royalty and you would look like you were the one who kidnapped her. 

You didn’t blame them. She looked like a runway model even while she slept. The messier she was, the more angelic she felt, and she only needed a little effort to look stunning. 

But for Chaeyoung, her face was also an insecurity. She was convinced that her incapability of looking cute (which wasn’t true) meant that your parents would never take her seriously. 

“They’ll think I’m a rascal,” she’d say, pacing around the apartment. “They will never accept me as your girlfriend. They’ll think I’m just some heartbreaker.”

The anxiety reached an all-time peak in the week leading up to the day she’d meet her parents. By saturday she was an unstable bomb waiting to explode. It was exhausting just watching her. Every time your phone buzzed, she’d rush out convinced it was your mother calling to cancel the day or worse, to interview her over the phone. You tried to soothe her but eventually the sound of her frantic rambling became white noise that lulled you into an accidental nap on her couch.

You had finally awakened from your nap a couple of hours later, thinking she had finally stopped. Stretching your stiff limbs to get rid of the pains of the couch, you got up and looked for some water. You dragged your feet to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass. As you drank, you could hear some rustling from the other side of the hallway. 

It sounded like clothes being thrown and beaten. You took a sip and started walking towards it. There was nobody else in the house but your girlfriend so surely it must have been her.

You stopped dead in front of the room and were left with your eyes wide open. There was a giant mountain of clothes on the ground—shirts, pants, dresses flung everywhere, dangling from the shelves and sliding off the edge of the bed. In fact, it was so full that there wasn’t any more space left on the floor, and some stray garments had found their way onto her head.

“Chaeyoung, what are you doing?” you asked, scanning the room to find stuff everywhere.

Your girlfriend blew a stray lock of hair out of her face and sighed. She slouched against the rolling chair, forgetting it was indeed a rolling chair that… rolls, so it just slid off, and she fell down on her back.

“Argh!” she exclaimed and kicked her legs at the pile of clothes out of pure frustration. “I don’t know what to wear!”

“You’re stressed about tomorrow?”

“Of course! Why would I not be?” she shot back.

“Don’t worry, Chae, just wear whatever,” you said, taking another casual sip of your water.

“Oh, it’s so easy to say for you!” she yelled and got back up. “I’ll see how you’ll act when it’s your time to meet my parents.”

“I will just wear a nice shirt,” you commented dryly, which seemed to upset her even more.

She crossed her arms up, her beautiful eyes narrowing at you. “Okay, I’ll try some stuff, and you tell me how it is. Be honest, alright?”

“Alright,” you agreed.

“Go out, let me change,” she said after getting up and pushing you out.

“It’s not like I can see you under that pile of clothes anyway—” you tried to reason before she closed the door.

You went back to the kitchen to put the glass away and came back to stand in front of the door, pacing around and staring at the wall, listening to the muffled sounds of zippers, frustrated groans and the occasional hanger flying into the wall.

As soon as you caught a glimpse of your girlfriend, air completely fled from your lungs. A floor-length, long-sleeved floral dress draped over her frame. The thin fabric had a pure white glow while the red roses painted it with vivid spots of love.

With her sharp, striking features, the simple dress didn’t look plain at all.

“Uhm,” you started, desperately trying to collect your thoughts. “What are you going for here?”

“Sweet girl next door? I look like I make my own butter, it’s perfect,” Chaeyoung said, brushing some strands of her hair behind her ears, an action that revealed itself to be more lethal than she thought.

“The next door must be heaven, because you look like an angel.” 

She shot you a mean, angry glare, smoothing her dress on her stomach. “It’s no time for jokes!”

She looked down at the white fabric. “Look at it. It’s basically a tent. It has no shape whatsoever.”

“Well, no, you don’t really look like a ‘sweet girl’, to be honest…”

“Wh-why not?” Chaeyoung said worriedly. To prove her point, she did a stiff, awkward twirl, turning her back to you. “It’s just a cylinder.”

As she turned, the supposedly shapeless fabric caught on the curve of her hips. The thin, silky material draped right over the butt, clinging just enough to perfectly accentuate the exact shape of it. She looked like the breathtaking, painfully pretty heroine of a historical drama—specifically designed to ruin men’s lives.

All the teasing died in your throat. You just stood there in the hallway, opening and closing your mouth like a dumb fish out of water.

“It looks conservative,” she continued, looking over her shoulder at you. “Your mom will definitely think I’m—”

Chaeyoung stopped and saw your still expression aimed at her lower half. Her eyes narrowed. She turned around and saw her reflection in the full-length mirror behind her.

“Oh, you must be kidding me,” she groaned. She reached back and desperately tried to puff out the fabric, but as soon as she let go, they settled right back onto her curves. “Why is it doing that?”

“I… uh…” you mumbled.

“Don’t even say it,” she said, raising her index at you.

“It’s not going to work. You’re still way too pretty.”

“Ugh! Okay, let’s do another one.”

She stomped back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her, leaving you alone in the hallway to recover.

A few minutes later, she stepped out, and your brain entirely short-circuited. You could pretty much hear the cables in your brain frying, sizzling, popping, while smoke poured out of your ears.

She was in a suit. It was a whole look. She was wearing her black stockings that drew attention to the length of her legs, partially covered by a sharp pencil skirt, and ended with a crisp white button-down shirt and a loosely tied necktie.

At this point, you were drooling.

“So?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her head.

“I would so fuck the shit out of you.”

“Oh my god!” She threw her hands in the air, causing the tight shirt to pull against her chest. “You can’t stay serious.” 

You were truly, in all honesty and with maximum effort, trying to stay serious. This was your way of remaining grounded and sane. Actually, you were lucky she didn’t put on any makeup because that would have been the end of you. Her face was totally bare, her hair messy from the outfit changes, if she had paired the suit with red lips? Yeah would be on the floor.

“Chae, there’s no way you actually tried with this one. Are you doing it on purpose? Is this a test?”

“What’s so bad?” she whined, stomping her foot, in a strangely cute manner, which only confused your brain more. “I’m trying to look like a banker. So your mom can take me seriously. Do I look serious?”

“You look… you do look serious.” You swallowed hard, your eyes darting down to her stockings and then right back up to her face. “Uhm. Like one of those serious, confident, sexy secretaries who blackmail the CEO.”

“Fuck you. I’m throwing this out.” She grabbed the collar of her shirt, ready to rip it off.

“No, no, no, no, please!” you pleaded, lunging forward with zero dignity and grabbing her hands. “It looks too good! I didn’t even know you had any of this! Please, you have to wear it again for me later! I am literally begging you.”

“Fine! Fine! Get off me, you weirdo!” she huffed. Despite her tone and eye roll, a blush crept up her cheek. She liked the compliment, even if it completely ruined her plan. She placed her hands flat against your chest and shoved you back out into the hallway.

“Sorry,” you stated, going back to your stupid, stiff stance like a dog waiting at the door.

“I can go for something more casual.”

“Sure.”

When the door opened for the third time, she emerged wearing a mustard-yellow cardigan and a matching shell top, buttoned up to her very collarbone. It was paired with a longer skirt, and to tie the whole thing together, she had put on a pair of thick-rimmed reading glasses.

You were already a sucker for girls in glasses, but seeing them on your girlfriend's perfect nose was a lethal combination.

She pushed the frames up her nose. “This way she can think I’m smart, right? I look like a librarian.”

“We’re not getting any reading done with you dressed like that.”

“Gosh, not even this?!” She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “It’s cute! It’s completely covered up!”

“No, Chae. It’s incredibly hot.”

“I even buttoned it all the way up.”

“You can hide your chest, but you can’t hide those curves,” you say, gesturing to her waist.

“Fuck, I really need to dumb this down.”

She retreated for the fourth time. When she returned, she was wearing a pastel pink polo shirt tucked stiffly into a pair of pleated khaki pants.

“Come on now,” she pleaded, gesturing to herself. “This is the standard suburban mom outfit. Your mom will take one look at me and think I’m the perfect, boring wife.”

“Mom, yeah. Milf, definitely.”

“What!”

“You did not dumb it down. Y-you look like a model from Vogue, where did you even get this?”

“I got it from the thrift shop!” she cried, looking genuinely distressed.

“It must be you then,” you sighed. “You make everything look good.”

“I give up!”

She disappeared into the bedroom one last time. For her final trick, she didn’t even bother with her own clothes. Instead, she chose one of your sweaters that she stole a long time ago. It was an old chunky knit sweater and a perfectly standard pair of blue jeans.

She didn’t try to style it but the sweater naturally draped in a way that was effortlessly chic, showing a hint of her collarbone. The jeans hugged her hips perfectly. She was comfortably, naturally gorgeous. 

Defeated, Chaeyoung gave you a slow, lifeless spin and then slumped sideways against the doorframe, letting her head thunk against the wood.

“This is it. I surrender,” she sighed, her voice small. “This is the most boring clothing in the apartment, and it’s still not enough. Your mom is going to take one look at me and think I’m a rascal who’s going to ruin her son’s life.”

You softened and smiled. You stepped closer, gently reaching out to brush the stressed hair out of her face.

“You look beautiful, Chaeyoung.”

She looked up at you through her eyelashes, her sultry eyes genuinely vulnerable. “But do I look respectable?”

“You look adorable,” you murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Don’t worry so much. Actually, my mom is really into fashion; she’s probably going to love your normal clothes. And besides... You know my dad actively chooses to wear socks with his sandals, right?”

Chaeyoung giggled.

-

You didn’t really get much sleep last night. She kept nervously pacing around your room and asking you endless questions about what your parents liked, what they hated, and what shoes she should wear. 

Eventually, she did run out of energy and went to sleep, cuddled deeply by your side. She looked relaxed and didn’t seem to have any worries left.

You were dead wrong.

It was 5 AM when a sharp noise jolted you awake. You blinked and looked around in the darkness, disoriented. It wasn’t just the noise; you were sure you could smell something burnt in the air. It smelled somewhat like sugar? But there was something off about it. 

You moved your arm to check on her, only to find the sheets cold and her side of the bed completely empty. Mind you, it was a sunday so there was no logical reason for your girlfriend to be up. You cursed under your breath and got up to check what was going on.

You followed the faint glow coming out of the kitchen, with the strong scent. When you turned the corner, you stopped dead in your tracks. You couldn’t believe your eyes. There was flour all smeared across the counters and tables, and even the floor. Tons of used bowls were towering precariously in the sink. They weren’t even scraped clean, some of them had big globs of heavy drooping batter dripping from their sides. 

And standing in the center of the kitchen, was Chaeyoung. 

She was still in her cute pyjama with the bears but was wearing a pink apron. Her hair was lazily tied up in a messy bun, with strands falling into her face, and a streak of flour smeared across her cheekbone. Of course, there was stuff all over her apron as well with mysterious stains and wet spots.

She didn’t notice you. She was standing there, hands on her hips, staring directly into the oven door. 

“Chae?” you asked, groaning, “What are you doing?”

She lightly jumped and squeaked when she heard your voice. She didn’t really expect you to be awake. Her eyes saw you, then darted at her mess and back to you. She straightened her back, trying to look a little more dignified.

“I’m making cookies,” she announced, letting her voice pitch up from the nervous laughter. “Your mom said she loves sweets. And it’s well known that great women can cook. So your mom will think I’m the perfect wife material for her son when she sees what I baked from scratch.”

“You really don’t have to—”

The oven timer interrupted you. Chaeyoung gasped and in a panic, scrambled to get a pair of oven mitts. She yanked the oven door open, releasing a dense cloud of gray smoke. Coughing, she reached into the fog and pulled out the baking sheet.

She slammed the hot metal tray on the stovetop, waving the smoke away with her hand and stepped aside to look at her masterpiece.

It was a total disaster.

Instead of individual cookies, they were half-melted into each other, forming one big mega-cookie. The edges were completely charred while the center was inexplicably pale and shiny. You weren’t sure how that would be possible. There was no physical explanation for what you were saying.

Chaeyoung stared at the pan. Slowly, her shoulders slumped. She buried her face in her hands.

“Look at them,” she whispered. “They’re terrible, just like me.”

“Hey, come on,” you said softly, carefully stepping over a puddle of milk. “They aren’t that bad,” you said and patted her back, kissing the top of her head.

“Your parents will hate me,” she mumbled into her hands. “I can’t even make cookies. I’m a disaster.”

“They are not going to hate you,” you said casually. To prove your point, you reached out and broke off a piece of the cookie slop.

“Don’t eat that,” she warned you, grabbing your wrist. “You’ll die.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” you said with a brave smile, tossing it into your mouth. 

Your teeth crunched through bitter charcoal, followed immediately by the squishy, gooey texture of raw flour and wet egg. You forced a smile, chewing rapidly to make it end, and swallowed hard. You could feel it dragging its way down your throat.

“Mmmh,” you managed to hum, nodding aggressively. “Wow. Incredible. Delicious.”

Chaeyoung looked at you with a deeply unimpressed, cute grumpy face. “You’re lying. You look like you’re in pain.”

“I am,” you admitted, reaching for a glass of water to wash it away. You took a big gulp and finally exhaled when the foreign object was gone. 

You looked back to her and wiped some flour off her face. “But I love that you tried. I know you care a lot.”

“You know what?” you said, squeezing her hand. “Let’s clean this… mess, and we’ll buy something at the bakery. We can just put it in our dish and say you made it.”

Chaeyoung looked up at you, letting a small smile break through her disappointment.

“You’d lie to your mother for me?”

“Of course,” you laughed. “Come here,” you tell her and open your arms.

“You’ll get all dirty, I’m covered in flour.”

“Who cares,” you mumbled as you wrapped Chaeyoung in your cocoon. Your girlfriend closed your eyes and exhaled with a defeated smile. She brought her hands around your back and melted into you. 

It was alright. Chaeyoung could feel it in the way you held her. She didn’t realize how much she missed it until she felt your arms around her and realized how silly it was. 

When you let her go, she couldn’t look you in the eyes.

That was the adorable Chaeng you knew. Even though she looked so cold and confident, she was just a soft girl after all.

“Look at you, you’re all white.”

“Well, we’re a couple, we need matching outfits, don’t we?”

Chaeyoung giggled and shoved you. “You’re so dumb.”

You stepped back, surveying the disaster zone while the mega cookie sat on the stove. “Okay,” you said, rolling up your sleeves, “we should start cleaning.”

Chaeyoung moved toward the sink. “It won’t come off,” she hissed, leaning her weight into the spatula as she tried to pry the charred mass from the tray. A sharp clack echoed through the kitchen as the spatula broke clean. “Fuck it,” she scoffed and threw the remaining piece of the spatula into the sink.

“Come on, get the trash bag. We have to throw it at the waste disposal site. They have to burn it. You never know if it could become sentient.”

She let out a dry, exhausted chuckle and got the flour and trash into the bag. While you scraped and scrubbed, she began wiping down the counters. At one point, she stopped, staring at a particularly stubborn stain.

“I really thought I could do it,” she whispered. “I thought if I could make something nice, your mom would see it and forget that I look like… well, this.”

“A goddess?” I offered, sliding the last of the burnt evidence into the bin.

She shot me a look that was half-pout, half-glare. “A heartbreaker. A rascal. Someone who doesn't know how to take care of her son.”

“Trust me, after they see how I live, they’ll realize you’re the one doing the heavy lifting.”

You got down on your hands and knees, grabbing the floor rag to try to remove the sticky slurry near the baseboards. Looking at it, you probably needed some kind of industrial solvent to really get those out. 

You were still scrubbing the floor with that dirty rug when Chaeyoung found the courage to speak up. She took a deep breath and momentarily put the bowls down. She stared at the reflections in the water, where a thousand distorted versions of her face shimmered in the bubbles.

“Everyone thinks I’m just ‘the pretty girl,” she started. “It was all fun when I was in high school, although boys were too afraid to ask me out. But when I grew up, girls would say all kinds of things.”

“They were jealous?” you said.

“I think so, or they had the wrong idea. It’s not like I was doing anything for attention.”

You put the rag down and sat back, looking back at Chaeyoung. The cheap lighting of the kitchen showed all the rough parts of her. She was tired and dishevelled, but there was a tenderness that you had never felt. An angel was shedding her wings in front of you, molting her white feathers to reveal the skin and bone beneath.

“It must be so nice to have a job where you just have to look nice for cameras all day. That’s what they would say,” Chae sighed. “I had to work really hard to prove I was capable.”

“But you are,” you said. “You’re smart. You’re capable. You’re… incredible, and you know it. People are just judgmental.”

“Even then. It’s like I’m just a trophy. You know my ex?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That guy? What did he do?”

“Well, I kinda told you about it, but I don’t think he really liked me. He would never listen to me. I think he just wanted to boast to his friends about me.”

“Yeah, he was an asshole.”

“I was careful about boys afterwards,” Chaeyoung said and sat down under the sink. She hugged her knees and stared at the floor. “About people, in general.”

You scooted closer to her, sitting with her against the kitchen counters.

“The people that mattered didn’t take me seriously, while random people would always harass me,” she confessed. “It’s like I’m just a face.”

Your right hand slipped on top of hers, and you held it there, so she wouldn’t fly away into her thoughts. Chaeyoung instinctively leaned into your shoulder.

“I always knew you were a great person, Chaeyoung. Since the first time I met you,” you said. “Maybe it was because people projected their own personalities onto you, you did all you could to let people know who you were. You were so caring, so bright, so genuine.”

Chae turned her head to look at you as you talked with shiny eyes.

“More than anyone else, you were just you. You laughed like it was the first time you ever did. You were honest, but always so kind and gentle with everyone.”

You took Chae’s face in your hands and looked straight into her eyes. “You are beautiful. You know it; you were blessed with beauty. But it’s not just on your skin, but rather in your soul. Every day, I can’t think about anyone but you. There’s nothing like the first time I hear your voice, and the day just becomes better. Looking at your beauty is an experience, but living with you gives me purpose.”

Chae started tearing up and sniffling.

“Aww, no, crybaby,” you said and snorted.

She let out a jagged breath, a sob catching in her throat. “Why do you have to say shit like that now?” she hiccuped, her laugh breaking through the tears. “You’re always so dumb.”

“Want me to go back?”

“Shut up or you’ll ruin it,” Chaeyoung hiccuped. “I fucking love you.”

Chae leaned in to kiss you, and you accepted her salty lips. It was the most delicate kiss you ever gave her. She was so fragile right now that you were scared you would hurt her. 

Your girlfriend finally laughed.

“Alright, I feel better now, it will be okay,” Chaeyoung said.

“That’s the spirit, princess,” you said and brought your hand up to pat her head. She closed her eyes and giggled, enjoying your touch.

-

“Let’s get that cake,” Chaeyoung said, pointing at the glass. She was pointing at the lemon chiffon masterpiece topped with gold leaf and spun sugar. There were all sorts of nice drawings made with buttercream, yeah, no way.

“Respectfully, that cake looks a bit too nice, no offense.”

“Offense taken, that’s wildly disrespectful, what are you implying?” she said sternly.

“We don’t want to give her expectations that high, do we?” 

She looked back at the golden cake, then at the rustic strawberry tart in the corner. She let out a long, defeated sigh. “You’re right…”

-

You were finally in front of your parents’ house.

You turned the engine off and were going to leave the car, but Chaeyoung didn’t seem to move. She was in her passenger side with the sun visor flipped down, staring intensely into the small mirror. She flashed a wide, overly enthusiastic, toothy grin. She held it for two seconds before her face fell flat.

“Looks weird,” she muttered to herself. “How does Hayoung do this?”

She took a deep breath, adjusting her sweater, and tried again. This time, she kept her mouth closed, giving the mirror a softer expression. 

“Too formal,” she whispered, sighing heavily.

You leaned across your seat. “Chae, what exactly are you doing?”

“I’m practicing my smile,” she said without breaking eye contact with the mirror. “First impressions are everything, you know? I have to greet them properly.”

“You’re overthinking it,” you chuckled, reaching over to flip the visor back up. She pouted at you. “You don’t need it. You have a great smile. Just be the girl I fell in love with, they’ll love you too.”

“Heh,” she complained, finally clicking her seatbelt open. She glanced down at the bakery box sitting on her lap. “Do you think she’ll know these are from the bakery?”

“Nah, she won’t know. They’re in a plate.” You reached over and gave her a reassuring pat on her shoulder. “It will be fine, I promise.”

“Okay, fine,” she nodded.

You both got out of the car and walked up to the house door. You knocked, and the door quickly swung open. Your mother stood in the doorway, a floral apron tied around her waist and a wooden spoon still clutched in one hand.

She froze.

Her eyes immediately locked onto Chaeyoung. She took in your girlfriend’s perfectly styled hair, her elegant but understated outfit, and the warm, genuinely sweet smile that Chaeyoung managed to produce.

Then, very slowly, your mother's gaze drifted over to you. She looked you up and down, her expression shifting from absolute awe to profound, undisguised confusion.

"Mom?" you prompted, shifting a little awkwardly under her scrutiny. "This is Chaeyoung."

Your mother finally blinked, snapping out of her trance. 

"You’re gorgeous, dear," your mother said to Chaeyoung. “Why on earth would you choose this monkey of my son?”

“Come on, Mom, why would you say that?” you said. “Don’t you love your son?”

“I do love you, son, but compared to her…” she said, turning her head to Chaeyoung and offering her hand.

“I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“Oh, please call me Mom, you’re part of the family now,” your mom smiled brightly. “Is he treating you right? Do I need to talk to him?”

“No, Mom, he’s treating me really well, don’t worry.”

“See?” you said proudly, “I’m a good boyfriend.”

“I know she’s just being,” she said and stepped to the side, inviting both of you to come inside. 

‘So far so good’, Chaeyoung thought as she stepped into the living room. You quickly went to the kitchen to put the food down while your girlfriend explored the space. To you, it all seemed familiar, but it was all new to her.

Unfortunately for you, the living room was riddled with photos of when you were younger, and your mom was really eager to talk about them.

“How old was he in this photo?” 

“I think he was… 5?” your mom guessed, taking the picture frame from the wall. She handed it to your girlfriend, and the two scanned the embarrassing photo. You were riding around a toy car, and you probably were missing some teeth.

“He used to be really cute when he was little,” your mom said. “Oh, how fast they grow up. Now he’s just a brute.”

“Right!” Chaeyoung exclaimed. “How was he when he was little? Was he extroverted?”

“He kinda was. He used to do everything I told him and made friends pretty easily.”

“What about this one?” Chaeyoung said, pointing at the photo on the chimney frame. 

“Oh, this one.” Your mom took that frame as well and handed it to your girlfriend. You weren’t alone in this picture. There seemed to be a girl right next to you. Judging by how you looked, it must have been around the time you started elementary school. Both of you had missing teeth and had very colorful clothes.

“They’re holding hands,” Chaeyoung mentioned, brushing her index finger on the glass.

“Oh, yeah, that was his first girlfriend. One day, he came home with that girl and said she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen.”

“That must have been fun.”

“No, I was so worried! I had to call her parents and explain why she didn’t come home,” your mom said. “And all of that for him to forget her a couple of days later.”

Chaeyoung and your mom continued to laugh and chat while watching your photos. It wasn’t much later that she decided to pull out the big folder with the child photos of when you were playing with Legos or learning to walk. To hell with not trusting Chae, your mom was telling her all your secrets and dark stories. She didn’t care a single bit.

“Oh, look at this one, Chaeyoung,” your mom cooed, pointing to a Polaroid of you aged four, wearing nothing but a diaper and a colander on your head like a helmet, pointing a wooden spoon at a dog. “He thought he was a knight and refused to take his helmet off for a week.”

Chaeyoung let out a sound that was half-giggle, half-gasp, her eyes darting from the photo to you and back. “That’s so cute.”

“Mom! When will we eat?” you shouted from the kitchen.

“Oh, right!” your mom exclaimed and hurried to put the albums away into the closet. Your girlfriend helped her and then went into the kitchen as well.

Your dad was still under the sink with tools in his hands. He partially slid out to take a look at your girlfriend.

“Oh, Chaeyoung, right?” he asked.

“Ah, yes, sir—dad.”

“Attaboy that’s my son!” he exclaimed, lightly kicking your foot. “Chaeyoung, pass me the flashlight.”

“R-right away!” she stumbled and looked around for the tool.

“It’s on the table.”

“Okay, here.”

“Can you turn it on and hold it there?”

“Of course,” she said and crouched down to help your dad. She turned it on and illuminated the area where he was working. Of course, she had no idea what he trying to see so she did her best.

“Steady on the light, Chae,” your dad grunted as he was trying to turn the joining with his greasy hands.

“Like this?” she asked softly, pointing the beat to his wrench. He kept her there for a couple of minutes as he wrestled under the sink until everything was tight and fixed. Your girlfriend felt a bit disgusted by the dirtiness that was around the area, especially the grey water. But it also meant that your dad didn’t really care about how she looked and it made her feel better.

When he was done, he slipped out on the floor and got up with a heavy grunt. “Leak’s plugged,” he announced, dusting off his knees. 

“Thank you,” he muttered. “My son would have dropped the light in the water, can’t trust him with nothing.”

“I’m right here,” you shouted from the stove.

“So?” he replied and laughed.

With that done, you started to prepare the table outside for lunch. You carried the stack of plates into the dining room. The heavy oak table had already been cleared, its surface reflecting the soft light from the overhead lamp. You laid out the mismatched silverware and a stack of paper napkins while Chaeyoung followed behind, carefully placing the bakery tart in the center.

One by one, the rest of the family filed in, pulling the heavy chairs across the hardwood until everyone was settled in their usual spots.

“My son showed me some of your photos, you really know how to dress, dear,” your Mom commented while getting some food onto her plate.

“He did?!” Chaeyoung exclaimed and elbowed your side. It wasn’t a soft one; she put a hole in your body.

You coughed up some of your food.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered. “I spent hours getting dress and you already showed her everything?”

“Well, you looked good in everything, I told you.”

Chaeyoung hit you again. “If you told me, I wouldn’t have been so worried. You’re such an idiot.”

“I’m really into fashion, I think we’ll get along,” your Mom said.

“Oh, I see, you read magazines?” Chaeyoung said, putting on a bright, friendly smile like she didn’t just beat you.

“I also watch programs on TV. Oh, Dad here really doesn’t know how to dress, you have to help me.”

“I understand you.”

“Right, like father like son. They both dress terribly.”

“What?” your dad said while munching. “I put on the nicest shirt I had.”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with me?” you said.

“You see what I’ve had to deal with, Chaeyoung?” your mom sighed, gesturing with her wine glass toward the two men at the table.

“He did try,” Chaeyoung admitted. “But apparently, he likes wrinkled clothes. I had to physically take the iron out of the closet myself.”

“You ironed for him?” your mom gasped, placing a hand over her heart. “Oh, darling, don't start that. You'll spoil him.”

The two women kept going back and forth, talking about their interests and commenting on how incompetent their men were at cleaning or dressing well. You two ate quietly, every once in a while talking about sports or just staring at each other.

The day ended with a trunk full of leftovers. As you pulled the car out of the driveway, Chaeyoung leaned her head back against the headrest and let out a long sigh she had been holding the entire time.

"They liked me," she whispered, as if she still couldn't believe it.

"They loved you, Chae. I told you."

"Your mom called you a monkey," she giggled, turning her head to look at you. The streetlights flickered across her face, catching the exhaustion and the lingering glow of success. She reached across to hold your hand.

“And to think you kept me awake just to bake that cookie monster.”

"Shut up," she murmured, closing her eyes. "Just drive, monkey."

THE END

“Let’s get some skewers!” said Ahyeon. There was a festival in town, and she could smell the different food stalls all the way from the other side of town. She remembered reading about the evening on the posters outside the college building: a simple street food fair with some other shops.

“You girls hungry?” asked one of her friends, turning to the other girls.

“Yeah,” “sure,” they said, and so to the town center they went.

The festival was already alive by the time they arrived. With the streets full of people, they could already hear the chatter of the crowd from far away. The golden light coming from the stands softened the chilly night air, and everything felt warm and cozy: autumn had arrived. 

There were all kinds of stalls: teokkbokki, skewers, noodles, and even a corner dedicated to desserts. However, that part was a bit further away from the others because they needed to keep a lower temperature for their food.

You worked at one of those stalls. Your skewer stand wasn’t the biggest nor the brightest, but it stood proud amongst the others. The smoke and the scent of the charcoal did all the work. You were one of the only few guys with an actual grill, and everyone could smell it.

Each time the fat from the chicken and the pork dripped into the charcoal, the fire crackled, and that sweet-salty perfume of soy and garlic would rise in the crowd. It was cheap and quick, a perfect treat for the people who were just coming by and didn’t want to get anything too heavy. You could just get a couple and eat them as you were walking around.

You had handed out tray after tray all day—students, couples, elders, kids tugging at their parents for “just one more.” You were having a great time: those satisfied smiles, the little pauses before a second bite, you loved seeing people enjoy your food. 

You lifted your gaze from the grill and saw another small group of girls near your stand. They were examining the menu glued to the edge of the iron pillars. One of the girls stood out as the others were laughing and teasing her for eyeing the menu too long. 

“Don’t eat the whole stall this time!” one of them joked.

“Better watch out, she’ll order for three!” another added, nudging her shoulder.

She laughed nervously, slouching her shoulders. You noticed the way her gaze flicked towards the grill, lingering at the glossy skewers before darting away. She was hungry, you could tell. But she was trying to resist it.

Just moments later, the girls came to sit on the stools you’d arranged around your big wooden counter. 

“Welcome, girls, what can I get you?” you asked brightly, brushing a glaze over the skewers as the grill crackled.

“What would you recommend?” one of them asked, leaning forward.

“Probably the pork skewers,” you said, turning one over and clicking your tongs. The scent of the marinade rose into the air. “We’ve also got squid and chicken, if you’re into that.”

“That sounds good,” the quiet girl replied. 

You moved to the grease-covered cash register, and the girls followed you. They all placed their orders, asking for one of everything so they could try the different flavors. But the last one hesitated and mumbled something under her breath: “Just… one skewer, please. Pork is fine.”

You nodded, but you were feeling a bit doubtful about her. It didn’t match the hunger in her eyes.

“Okay, something to drink, girls? Beer? It goes well together with the grease.”

“Yeah, why not?”

You closed the order and went to the grill, flipping a couple around just for show and getting the boxes out. Some pork, some squid, and some chicken. You just picked up a bunch and shoved it in the boxes; you weren’t the type to hold back. Some of them were thinner and some were thicker, so you couldn’t really decide on a specific number. They needed to get their money's worth.

You brought out the boxes and put them on the table. They immediately started eating, but the other girl stared at you with surprise.

“Excuse me, I ordered just one…” she started, but you quickly interrupted her.

“Don’t worry, it’s on the house,” you said and gave her a wink.

She blinked, glancing at the skewers. “Oh… thank you, then.” Her fingers fumbled around the tray, a little embarrassed, but she eventually picked one up and started eating as well.

Her friends leaned in, nudging her. “Hey, don’t eat too much now.”

She laughed nervously, trying to hide her blush. “I—I won’t…”

You shrugged casually. “There’s nothing wrong with eating a lot. Enjoying food is the whole point, isn’t it?”

Her friends rolled their eyes. “Sure, that’s what you say—because she’s buying everything you make!”

You shook your head. “She is eating as much as you girls, so shut it.”

The girls laughed in amusement and went back to their food. She peeked up at you, her cheeks still pink, and mumbled a soft “Thanks…”

You went back to the grill, glancing sideways at her as she chewed. Some other customers were waiting in line, and you served them all. Luckily for you, the fair was pretty packed, and you were in a good position.

After a while, you went back to their side. 

“So, you girls in college?” you asked.

“Yeah,” one of them said, brushing hair from her face. “The one near the station.”

“Oh, same as me,” you said, leaning an elbow against the counter. “I go there too.”

That got a few surprised looks. “Wait, seriously? You’re a student and you work here?”

“Yeah,” you said with a small shrug. “After classes, I help out at the family shop. We’ve got a place across the city, near the mall.” You pointed in its direction. “You can drop by if you’re ever hungry.”

“Is it the same as the stand?”

“No, we make a lot of different stuff. Skewers, noodles, rice—whatever keeps people coming back,” you said, and it got a few small laughs.

Her friends paid and thanked you, all smiles and chatter as they left. But she turned back for a moment before following, a soft “Thanks, it was really good” slipping out almost too quietly to hear.

Ahyeon, that was her name. You caught it from her friends. You saw a lot of pretty girls that day, but somehow you remembered her quite well.

-

It had been a few days since the festival ended. It was a success, and you earned a lot. The work did not end, though. You were back in your family restaurant. The lanterns were gone now, replaced by the cool hum of streetlights. The crowd had thinned to the usual evening flow. Sometimes it was scarce, sometimes it was really busy.

You were preparing for the evening service. The grill was already on and running, skewers on the side, and sauces in containers. On the other side, you had all the ingredients for the wok. You knew your typical customers. The workers always came at the same time, and they needed their food quickly. You agreed to a special discount. They were loyal after all.

The restaurant filled up with the men, and after a couple of beers, it became lively and fun.

You spotted a girl at the front door. You had young people coming in, too, but they usually weren’t alone. She paused at the entrance, checking her phone to pretend like she had something to do. After the hesitation, she stepped inside.

“Hey,” you said, keeping your tone light. “From the festival, right?”

She tilted her head, a little startled, then she smiled. “Yeah… you remember me?”

You looked at her, wrapped in a light cardigan, hair slightly messy from the breeze. She was still as pretty as you remembered. 

“Yeah, I never had anyone order just one skewer.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s not a problem. You just looked hungrier than what you ordered,” you said, turning the meat on the grill. “Dinner for one?”

She exhaled through a laugh. “Yeah. I didn’t feel like cooking tonight.”

“Every once in a while, a princess has to treat herself.”

She laughed again. Ahyeon sat on one of the stools at the tables in front of you. Her backpack slipped off her shoulders as she made herself comfortable. 

“So, what will it be?” you asked.

She looked at the menu again, though you could tell she already knew what she wanted. “Hmm… two pork boxes, one chicken, and—” she glanced up, “is the squid still available?”

“Still got a few left,” you said. “You sure about three orders though?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, then seemed to realize how that sounded. “I mean—uh—yeah, it’s been a long day.”

You chuckled and went back to prepare her food. The grill hissed as you set the skewers down. She sat quietly, scrolling through her phone, probably pretending not to notice you watching her. Eventually, the food was ready. You put everything on the table, bowed, and went to serve other customers.

When you came back, she seemed to have almost finished everything. The thing was that only 10 minutes had passed.

“You’re eating well tonight,” you said.

Ahyeon froze mid-reach for her drink, caught off guard. “Is that your polite way of saying I eat too much?”

“Not at all,” you said. “You seem happy.”

Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Yeah… you could say that.” She laughed awkwardly. “My friends always make fun of me for it. They say it’s not… very girly.”

“So starving is really girly, right?”

She looked down, poking at her food. “I mean… when you say it like that.”

You clicked your tongs. “It’d be worse if you were sick and couldn’t eat.”

“Well, you’re right.” 

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You could only hear the quiet hiss of the grill and the distant chatter of the street. You cleared your throat, calling her attention. She looked up.

“Uhm… you still hungry?” you asked.

“A little.”

“Good,” you said, sliding another skewer onto the grill. “Because I was about to give you something extra.”

She blinked. “Extra?”

“Yeah,” you said, reaching for a new tray. “Trying out a new seasoning. Want to see if it’s any good.”

She tilted her head. “You want me to taste-test it?”

You nodded. “Someone’s gotta make sure I’m not poisoning customers.”

She tilted her head, clearly suspicious. “You mean I’m your guinea pig?”

“Pretty much,” you said. “But don’t worry—it’s free.”

“I accept.”

When the skewer was done, you set it in front of her, the glaze still glistening under the light. She didn’t hesitate. She took a bite, then another. She seemed to think carefully.

“It’s good,” she said finally. “The sauce is sweet but not too heavy.”

You nodded. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You could maybe use a little more ginger, but…” she took another bite, “I like it.”

“Too salty?” you asked, feigning concern.

“No, it’s perfect. What’s in it?”

You shrugged lightly, pretending to think. “Guess.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Soy sauce, obviously. Maybe sugar? Some sesame oil… garlic, definitely garlic.”

You stayed quiet, hiding a grin as you wiped the counter.

She squinted at the menu taped to the stall window, reading under her breath. “Wait a second—this one already has sesame oil and garlic listed…”

You turned the skewer once more, trying not to laugh.

Her eyes widened slightly, then she pointed at you with her chopsticks. “So you weren’t really testing the seasoning, were you?”

You looked up at her finally, caught. “Maybe not.”

She leaned back, a small smile creeping across her face. “You just wanted me to eat more.”

You gave a half-shrug. “Is that bad? Your expressions are really cute.”

That shut her up for a bit. Her cheeks turned faintly pink, and she ducked her head to take another bite — maybe to hide her face, maybe just because she was genuinely hungry.

“No,” she said. “Not really.”

When she finished eating, she wiped her hands and leaned on the counter. “You work here every day?”

“Yeah,” you said

“Must be nice,” she said. “Doing what you like every day.”

“It’s mostly just standing around smelling like smoke, but yeah, it’s not bad.”

She smiled, fiddling with the empty skewer sticks. “Well, your food’s good. Way better than anything I’ve had around campus.”

“Glad to hear that,” you said. You knew the evening was about to come to an end. And truth was, you wanted to see her again, so you took a deep breath and tried your luck: “I try new stuff sometimes, mess around with the recipes. If you ever feel like testing them, you’re welcome to drop by. I’ll pay you in food.”

She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Free food, huh?”

“Only if you give honest feedback.”

“Deal,” she said, grinning. She extended her arm and shook your hand. “I’m good at eating.”

“I noticed,” you said.

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t seem annoyed by your comment.

“By the way, what’s your name?”

“Ahyeon,” she said as you gave yours in return. 

“I’ll remember it,” you replied.

“It’s gotten late, I should go,” Ahyeon said as she stood up.

You nodded. She collected her stuff and paid for the skewers she had ordered at the start. Before she could step out of the door, you stopped her for a moment.

“My offer is still up, if you want,” you said with hesitation. You rolled your lips, thinking that maybe you had been too pushy.

“I’ll be back,” she smiled, and relief washed over you.

When she finally left, so did everyone else, and the restaurant went silent. You cleaned the counter, turned down the grill, and caught yourself looking down the street where she’d gone — just for a second, before shaking your head and going back to work.

You didn’t know if she’d actually come back, but you kind of hoped she would.

After that first night, she started showing up every now and then. At first, it was once a week, usually when her classes ended late, or when she was up studying and the dorm cafeteria had already closed. She always came up with the same excuse.

“Just passing by.”

“Had to walk off a long lecture.”

“Too hungry to wait until dinner.”

She always sat at the same spot, where she would be close enough to the grill to feel its heat. That way, she could talk to you while you were working. You suggested another table, but then you’d have to walk back and forth, so she refused. She didn’t mind smelling like grease, apparently.

Sometimes she’d text first, but most of the time she’d show up unannounced, claiming she happened to be nearby.

By the third or fourth week, she knew your menu by heart. You stopped handing her the paper list. She’d just order from memory, adding, “and whatever you’re testing today.”

Ahyeon didn’t come just for the food. She came for you. You’d work the grill while she chatted about life: her professors, her roommates, the stress of the midterms, and so on. In between, you’d slide her something new to try: spicy sauce one night, honey glaze the next, and when you didn’t think of anything, just some food you had lying around, like a bowl of fried rice.

She took it pretty seriously. 

“Needs more crunch.”

“Too salty.”

“Perfect. Don’t change a thing.”

Maybe she was meant to be a food critic. You pretended to jot down what she said, but you never had any intention of serving that food.

Sometimes she had her own requests too. It was after a very big meal that she leaned back in her chair and raised a finger at you. “You got dessert?”

“Dessert?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You know, sweet stuff? Something that isn’t meat?”

“No,” you said lightly. “Don’t have it.”

Her eyes widened. She was shocked, and quite frankly, offended. “What do you mean no? You’re a restaurant.”

“We only serve salty foods.”

“Unbelievable. You feed me this amazing dinner and then just… stop?”

You smiled. “Yeah, that’s how meals work. Our customers usually wash the meal down with more booze. You want some?”

“No, no,” she said, crossing her arms. “I want something sweet.”

You leaned on the counter. “What do you want me to do, go buy you a chocolate bar?”

She thought about it. “Actually, yeah. That’d work.”

“I am not doing that.”

“I am waiting,” she said, holding out her hand.

You sighed, shaking your head as you turned to the fridge behind you. “Let me see if I have something sweet for our child here.” Of course, there wasn’t anything. So you walked to the back of the kitchen, seeing if there was anything that could resemble a dessert. A moment later, you returned with a small plastic cup of pudding that had been sitting there since lunch service.

She squinted at it. “Is that… cafeteria pudding?”

“Yeah, didn’t want it,” you said. “It’s dessert, right?”

Ahyeon shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Eat it or I’m putting it back in the fridge.”

“Fine,” she said, taking the spoon from your hand. You went to the other side of the room to tidy up after some customers left. When you were done and came back, Ahyeon was staring at you.

“You got another one?”

“I thought you didn’t like it,” you chuckled.

“So?”

“Yeah, I do, actually,” you said and walked to the back again.

-

Dinner rush.

The restaurant was loud: the clatter of chopsticks, the hiss of the grill, the music, the drunks, and the families. You were behind the counter, working through a steady line of orders. 

You were backed by your team, but it was still extremely hectic.

Then, through the noise, you caught a voice you recognized.

Ahyeon’s.

She was laughing somewhere near the door, but her voice was quickly joined by a couple more familiar ones. You glanced up briefly and saw them stop by the door. You didn’t call out. She didn’t see you yet.

“See?” one of the girls said. “I told you she can’t go a day without food.”

Both of them laughed. You smiled faintly at first, expecting Ahyeon to laugh it off like always, but then another voice joined in: “Of course she can’t. She’s got her own personal chef now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ahyeon asked. There was a strain on her voice; she seemed uncomfortable.

“Oh, come on,” her friend said playfully. “You’re always here. Don’t act like you’re not getting special treatment. They probably gives you extra food for free, right?”

Her words seemed to hit the bullseye on Ahyeon. She quickly lowered her head and started playing with the hem of her shirt. You were in the middle of handing a tray to a customer, so you couldn’t step out. Couldn’t correct them.

“You’re such a glutton, Ahyeon.”

“Stop it,” she said, her voice small. “It’s not like that.”

“Relax, we’re joking!” another friend said quickly, trying to reduce the damage. But it had gone too far. It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wasn’t the last. You wonder how many times they repeated this to her. Ahyeon seemed used to it, but it still hurt her a little bit.

Orders kept coming in, customers calling your name. You caught her looking up once, eyes flicking briefly toward you — but you didn’t know whether to smile or pretend you hadn’t heard.

Your eyes met, and she quietly left.

It was just teasing.

Harmless.

The kind of thing friends say all the time.

That’s what you told yourself, but she stopped showing up.

You told yourself she was busy — exams, assignments, anything — but you knew it wasn’t that. You missed her, you really did. The gap she left was too obvious. You’d glance toward the door every time it opened, expecting her to walk in, pretending you weren’t.

By the fourth night, you stopped looking.

But you still found yourself setting aside a small dish near the counter before closing — out of habit more than hope.

It took a few days before you stopped expecting her to walk through the restaurant door. Then, another couple of days before you gave up pretending not to notice.

By the end of the week, it was starting to worry you.

So one afternoon, between deliveries, you packed a small take-out box yourself. Pork skewers, her favorite glaze, and a side of rice. You even added a little box of soup, which you usually handed her during the cold nights. Then you looked up her university’s website to guess where she might be.

No lessons today. Great. So she couldn’t be in a class.

What about the exams? She said they were coming up in like a month, but that was two weeks ago, so maybe she was studying?

There were some libraries near the main buildings. You thought you might as well try your luck. You didn’t have anything else to do anyway. The restaurant wasn’t far. Ten minutes on foot.

The campus was quieter than you expected. There weren’t many people around. You started walking around, looking inside the halls, around the garden. You even asked the girls walking by, but none of them knew who you were talking about.

Made sense. It was a large course after all.

After a couple of minutes, you did eventually find her. She was sitting on the low stone wall outside the library, earbuds in, a half-open notebook on her lap. Her hair was pulled back loosely, she looked very concentrated, her eyes wrinkled like she had forgotten her glasses.

You hesitated for a moment. Maybe this was stupid. Maybe she did not want to see you at all.

But you were already here.

“Hey.”

She looked up and her body jumped. She looked around her to see if it was some kind of joke, but it was just you. Ahyeon quickly brushed her hair behind her ears and straightened her back. “Oh. Hey. What are you doing here?” she said without looking into your eyes.

You held out the take-out box. “Food delivery.”

Ahyeon narrowed her eyes. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” You set it down beside her. “House special.”

Her eyes softened, and she sighed. She didn’t reach for it right away; instead, she looked at you, mortified. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did.” You crouched beside the wall so you were eye level. “You disappeared. I figured either you were avoiding me or you got sick of my cooking. And since the second one’s obviously impossible…”

Ahyeon chuckled and shoved your shoulder. It was the first time you heard her laugh in a week. She had no idea how much you missed it.

You nudged the box toward her. “Eat before it gets cold.”

She finally took it, opening the lid. Steam rose in a faint curl, carrying a smell that she knew very well. She looked at the food for a second, then at you, with a small pout. “You know people will start talking about you if you do deliver food to random girls.”

“Not random. Just you,” you said, smiling. “Besides, I wanted to tell you something.”

She paused, chopsticks hovering over the food. “What?”

You looked at the box, then at her. For a second, you almost chickened out. It wasn’t the right time, or the right place. But you were tired of waiting. 

You took a breath and said, “I don’t care what anyone says. About how much you eat, or how often you come by, or whether you ‘use me for food’ or whatever that was. None of that matters to me.”

Ahyeon froze and simply stared at you with her mouth slightly agape. 

“I love seeing you enjoy food,” you said simply. “It makes me happy that you like what I make. And I like talking with you. You’re… easy to be around.”

Her voice softened. “You mean that?”

“Yeah,” you said. “And it’s cute, honestly. The way you eat a lot. It’s like Kirby.”

Her eyes widened. “Kirby? You’re comparing me to a pink ball that swallows everything?”

You rubbed your neck, groaning. “Okay, that came out wrong.”

You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly aware of how awkward you sounded. “If you don’t want to come by just to eat, that’s fine. I just wanted you to know I care. About you.”

She still didn’t say anything. She looked down at the food, then picked up a piece and took a slow bite.

Your heart was beating steadily while you waited for a response. She chewed carefully with her eyes closed. She inhaled carefully and looked at you.

“You really walked all the way here just to say that?” she asked.

“Yeah. Well, and to feed you,” you said.

Ahyeon laughed. “Well, if you keep feeding me like this, I might get addicted… to you.”

“That’s uhh—uhm,” you said, stammering. You didn’t expect her response at all. You swallowed and reminded yourself that you did know how to talk to girls. “I’ve heard addiction’s hard to cure.”

Ahyeon grinned. “You really need to work on your lines.”

“As long as you don’t mind them,” you said. “That’s all I need.”

You sat down beside her and talked about all the things you missed. When the food was gone, neither of you got up right away.

“So,” she said finally. “If I show up tomorrow… same spot as usual?”

You nodded. “I’ll make something new.”

She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Can’t wait.”

THE END

Written, 14 October - 23 October 2025

An hour before closing. Asa kept staring at her clock and at the gallery entrance. She sighed in defeat. The minute hand had never looked so slow. She stood, rubbing her palms together out of habit, glancing at the walls that held her paintings.

She figured all the visitors who wanted to come had already done so, and it was a good time to start packing up.

It made sense. She was just a new artist and didn’t have any real strong points that would make people interested. You can’t expect crowds when your art doesn’t belong anywhere. Not to mention, her subjects were completely different from what was considered trending at this time.

Asa checked her phone. No new notifications. She turned it face down, sighing again. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her foot bouncing lightly against the floor.

“You’re awfully restless today,” one of the workers said. “Expecting someone special?”

“Wh— no,” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “Just, you know… visitors.”

The worker shrugged with a grin and moved on, but Asa’s cheeks burned. She smiled, small and tired, and began to reach for the stack of unused flyers.

Then the door chimed.

She turned, and there you were.

You were a little out of breath, hair messy from the wind, a faint trail of sweat on your forehead. You lifted a hand to greet her.

“Asa,” you said, smiling. “Sorry, I’m late.”

Asa smiled brightly.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You made it.”

You explored the room with her, carefully watching each of her artworks. As you walked beside her, Asa kept sneaking glances at you, hoping you wouldn’t notice how tense she was. She watched you stop in front of one of her larger pieces and read the captions at its sides.

She felt a little embarrassed. It was always hard to articulate the meaning behind your artwork, and putting it in text felt a bit pretentious. Your head tilted just slightly, examining the paintstrokes.

“Is this what you see when you dream?” you asked quietly.

Asa felt a tiny chuckle laugh escape her. “Something like that.”

“How much time did you spend on that sky?” you asked and briefly looked at her.

“Way too long,” she said. 

“I can tell… yeah,” you hummed. Your eyes slowly scanned the painting, admiring her creation. “Your clouds look unreal.”

“Thank you.”

You continued to comment on her paintings, unintentionally focusing way too much on her technique. You couldn’t help it; it was impressive. You had tried oil colors before, but it wasn’t nearly as smooth as hers. You pointed out the layering on one of her smaller pieces, the glazing on the corner of a sky, and the way she handled temperature shifts in shadows. 

“You actually managed to do the trees, huh? I remember you complaining about it last week.”

“…You remember that?”

“Of course I do,” you said, keeping your eyes glued on the paint.

Asa tried to act like she was used to receiving that kind of praise, but her ears moved like a cat each time you brought it up, and it totally gave it away.

Then, more voices.

You both turned as you heard some chatter coming from the front door. A small group of people stepped inside. You recognized them: friends, classmates, someone who knew someone who liked art. 

Asa’s breath hitched as you waved them in. She started to regret wishing for more visitors; this was a lot of people, all at once. But this was what she wanted.

Soon, the quiet room was alive with movement and sound. Some went straight to the neighboring collections; others drifted toward her section. They stopped in front of her paintings, tilting their heads, leaning closer, pointing out details.

Asa blinked rapidly. She wasn’t sure if this was actually happening.

Someone whispered, “These colors are kind of… unusual.”

Another voice murmured, “It looks unfinished? Or like… intentionally unfinished? I don’t know.” You weren’t sure if she heard them. Her fingers rubbed anxiously together; maybe she did.

A pair of art students debated in front of her biggest piece:

“I think she’s trying to mimic impressionism.”

“No, no, it’s more illustrative. Like… atmospheric concept art but not quite.”

Asa’s posture stiffened at that, but she said nothing. You nudged her shoulder lightly. “Don’t worry, art is meant to cause discussion, right?”

“Yeah… yeah,” she said without looking at you, but her breathing seemed to calm down. She looked down, examining the pattern of the floor tiles. 

However, some people sounded actually interested. A woman with a tote bag said, “This one is pretty cool.”

Her friend nodded. “Yeah, the lighting is really nice. I like how warm it is.”

The inconsistency of opinions seemed to confuse Asa more than any negativity alone. She looked from one group to another, unsure which reactions to believe.

Then someone approached and asked her, “Excuse me, you painted these, right?”

Asa was a bit startled. She cleared her throat, straightened her back, and turned to the lady. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” she said, sounding like she was apologizing, and offered a smile.

“Could you tell us about this one?” the woman asked, gesturing toward the large piece on the far wall.

Asa looked at the small crowd in front of her. They looked at her with interest, waiting for the explanation. She was happy but also felt a bit scared. Her mind went blank. She looked back at the painting, quickly recalling what she wrote on the description plate. She seemed ready to recite it word for word, but scrapped it—it was too long.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you whispered, stepping aside. But Asa’s hand caught yours before you could move any further.

“No,” she said, “please, stay.” With that, she grabbed your hand and held it at her side. You smiled and nodded, standing a bit behind her so she could feel safer.

“Uh… this one started from a sketch I did… two months ago?” Asa started explaining her process, the story behind her brushstrokes, the movies and books she read. People listened, and the noises attracted more people from the other artists. The circle around Asa grew. She spoke more freely, joking around with other artists and hobbyists. 

“Did you use a palette knife for those highlights?”

Asa shook her head. “Just a flat brush. I don’t really use knives. I tried, and it just left a big blob of paint on the canvas.”

More questions came. More reactions, some good, some mixed, one or two bluntly unkind. But Asa handled them better with you beside her.

You watched her hands move as she talked. She looked beautiful. You could see the passion in her eyes and the bright smile on her lips.

Some people asked for her contacts, her portfolio, and Asa handed out a few business cards and flyers. You helped, passing them around. One person asked for her Instagram handle; another asked if she’d join a small art meet-up next month. Someone complimented her signature.

Eventually, the crowd thinned. People checked the time, made their last rounds, and left with polite goodbyes. The gallery was quiet again.

Asa let out a long breath and leaned back against the wall. “There were so many people, weren’t there?”

“Yep,” you said. “You were amazing.”

“I was terrified.”

“You hid it well,” you replied, stepping closer. 

Asa laughed softly, rubbing the back of her neck. “I really thought no one would come,” she said, half to herself.

You leaned against the wall beside her, glancing at the few stray flyers still scattered on the counter. “I’m glad I did,” you replied.

“Me too.”

The workers began locking up the side rooms, turning off spotlights one by one. Asa waved at the workers locking the gallery, thanking them for the day. Other artists approached her briefly, offering quick compliments or teasing her about the crowd she attracted. 

You waited for her by the curb, hands in your pockets. The city had turned dark. The air outside was way colder, but somehow felt clean after the stuffiness inside.

Your head turned to the stretch of sidewalk illuminated by the streetlamps. “Want to walk for a bit?” you asked.

She nodded immediately, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. I don’t really want to go home yet.”

The two of you headed down the street. She was still flustered about what had just happened, and you could see her hands fidgeting. You teased her lightly, and she nudged you in return. The conversation drifted easily about you, your day, your plans for the week. She wanted to change the topic, clear her mind.

“You didn’t have to walk with me,” she said.. “Especially after… you know. Yesterday.”

You kept your eyes forward, but the corner of your mouth lifted. “Well… I wanted to.”

The two of you walked past closed stores and shops. Some bars were still open, with people outside on plastic chairs, but the insides seemed to be too loud for you. A stray cat darted under a parked car when you passed, startling Asa enough to make her jump. You snorted. She glared at you.

“Shut up,” she said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought something.”

You shrugged.

Eventually, you found the park. You both sat without speaking, the wooden seat cool beneath you.  Asa let out a long breath, her shoulders rising and falling as she looked straight ahead. Her shoes played in the gravel, tracing small arcs in the dirt.

There was a great view of the moon today. 

You both got quiet and thought about each other. 

She thought about the gallery, the crowd, the questions, and the way you stood with her the entire time. You had tried to court her the whole week, and this was your last attempt. She couldn’t lie to herself: no one had ever cared about her as much as you did. 

She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, wishing she could show her gratitude with more than just a thank you, but she never managed to go beyond that.

Then she moved.

Her hand found yours in a shy, uncertain touch. Pinky against pinky. The palm slowly slid against the bench’s surface, and you felt the soft glow of her skin. 

Your eyes remained still, looking at the dark landscape in front of you. Asa lowered to the ground, where she held her feet together, playing with the gravel around her.

It was a question, an invitation. A plea.

You replied first, inching your hand closer, touching the edge of her finger.

A breath. Her hand curled. Her thumb scraped the wood. Was it okay? Were you sure?

You felt it in the air, hesitation. 

It was a decision you had already made in the art gallery, and that was pressing you for the past week. Your feelings were true. You felt it in your chest when you looked at her, you felt it between your lips when you spoke to her, and now, in the heat of your hands.

The air was cold. You needed her. And she needed you.

You inhaled and lifted your hand. 

Asa’s chest jolted when she felt you leave her side. She feared for a second that she might have done too much, that she would have lost you right then and there. 

But then she felt your palm, soft against the back of her hand. The warmth seeped through her pores and into her flesh.

The air unstuck in her lungs, and she finally breathed.

You could feel her nails under your fingertips: smooth and round. It was gel from what you remembered. Asa always took great care of her hands.

Your hands, however, were slightly calloused and lightly scratched her skin. Asa didn’t mind.

She moved her hand closer to your side, and yours fell to the right, cupping her thumb.

You started feeling her knuckle and the creases under her index finger. Her hands were soft, truly. They were moistened by sweat, maybe because of how she kept them tucked in her pockets, but really, it was from her nervousness.

Your hand fumbled around to find a comfortable position, but her hand was damp, and eventually you slipped between her fingers.

You held her there, still, with your thumb on top of hers, fingers nestled together in a soft embrace.

Asa’s head lowered even more, and now she was staring at her lap. Her cheeks flushed with a soft pink.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You weren’t exactly embarrassed, but you weren’t sure what to say. What if you said the wrong thing? And ruined the moment?

Asa worried that you misunderstood what she meant. Her gesture said more than anything you could’ve said. You were there, holding her hand. She was scared. It was only natural.

Asa’s fingers twitched once, almost pulling away, then stilled. You could sense the question lingering in her. So you pressed your thumb, just lightly, against her knuckle. A reassurance.

She exhaled through her nose. Her hair moved with the air, a few strands falling forward, catching the faint light of a streetlamp. You wanted to tuck them behind her ear, to see her face more clearly, but the thought alone was too much. Too intimate. You kept your hand where it was.

Her hand squeezed yours once. You tightened your grip in response. I’m here.

The world around you continued quietly. A car passed somewhere far off, its headlights sweeping briefly across the bench, and in that instant, you saw the corner of her mouth lift.

You found yourself smiling too, though you didn’t mean to.

Asa looked up. Her eyes met yours for a heartbeat, and you both froze. 

The way she looked at you tugged at your heart. Asa’s eyes were sultry but weak. Her eyelids trembled at the sight of you, but you could see beyond her pupils. Her desire for you was palpable.

She knew you were nervous. It brought her a strange feeling of comfort, knowing you were feeling the same way as she did.

You wanted to say something, anything, but just like before, nothing came to mind. So instead, you let your thumb trace a small, nervous circle on the back of her hand.

Asa shifted beside you. Her knee brushed yours, then withdrew. She wasn’t sure if she should, but she wanted to be closer to you. You could tell.

Her fingers twitched again in your hand, asking for permission. Your thumb rubbed against hers, slow and careful, saying it’s okay.

The bench creaked when she moved again. This time, she didn’t stop halfway. You felt the warmth of her thigh against yours, the weight of her shoulder hovering closer to touch your right side. Your heart immediately started beating faster, and you were sure it was loud enough for her to hear it too.

Your eyes darted between her and the ground. You tried to hide that childish smile of hers, but Asa didn’t and instead was smiling brightly to herself, although you found it hard to see under the poor lighting.

You didn’t look at her. You didn’t dare. 

Then she let her weight shift and fall on you. Her shoulder brushed yours, her head tilted until you could feel the light press of her hair against your neck.

Your breath jumped. You could smell her shampoo, faintly floral, distinctly feminine. God, she smelled so good. Wait, was that weird? Creepy. 

Asa was tense. She was waiting for you to move away, but you didn’t. Instead, you turned your palm upward, cradling her hand more securely. Then she eased herself into you, relaxing herself to take a more comfortable shape.

You let your head tilt slightly, enough for your cheek to brush the top of her hair. You could feel her body move with each breath, rising and falling. You wanted to hold your breath, maybe you were moving too much. It was silly.

Her fingers shifted beneath yours again. Then, with a trembling exhale, she moved.

You felt her hand slip free before both of hers came to meet your hand again. Her palms were warm and slightly damp and cradled your hand carefully, delicately, as though it were something fragile.

Her thumbs brushed against your knuckles, tracing the lines and calluses there, pausing over every small imperfection, which made them uniquely yours. You could feel how she tried to quiet her breathing, but each inhale came shallow and uneven.

“Thank you… for coming to the gallery,” she whispered.

You turned slightly, just enough to see her face in the dim light. “You know I could never miss it.”

Her grip tightened around your hand. You could feel her breath there, warm through the fabric of your sleeve. You felt her leaning into you.”

“I think it went well,” you started. “It got enough attention. Maybe they will do another one with you in the future.”

“Oh, I hope so,” she said. “It’s all thanks to you.”

You laughed softly. “I just dragged a few people in. If they wanted to stay, it was for you.”

“I know.” Her smile was small, a little shy. “I just didn’t think it would matter this much.”

“I’m glad you know it now.”

“Gosh, you’re so sweet…” Asa said and buried her face in your neck.

You let your cheek rest on the top of her head and laughed.

“I like this,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Being with you.”

Asa blinked, a small smile tugging at her lips. Her cheeks flushed deeper. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Me too.”

“...So, uh,” you started, trying and failing to sound casual. 

She hummed.

“Does this mean I can be your boyfriend now?”

Asa’s head lifted, then she snorted. “Did… did you come all the way out here just to ask me that?”

“What? No. No, I didn’t,” you shot up, almost offended at her accusation. “But you’re holding my hands, so…”

Asa stared at you, incredulous. “We already talked about this.”

“I know,” you said, leaning a little closer. “And I came today to show you support, like a good boyfriend.”

“Well, you—I—”

“I’m very committed to the role.”

She puffed out her cheeks in frustration, then let them deflate. “Fine! Fiiine. You can be my boyfriend. There. Are you happy now?”

“Yessss,” you hissed triumphantly, holding your fists up in the air.

“Sit down,” she hissed, dragging your arm back. “We’re in public, idiot.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I can still un-boyfriend you.”

“Sorry.”

THE END