#saebyeok

You risk a glance.

Saebyeok stands in the entryway, shrugging out of her damp jacket. The black cat ears atop her head give a faint twitch, the tips slightly damp and flattened against her skull from the weather. Her long tail, sleek and the same inky black as her hair, swishes once behind her before she catches it and stills it with an irritated flick of her wrist. She runs a hand through her hair, and one ear flicks sharply, water scattering.

She doesn’t look at you or say hello. She never does first.

Instead, she hangs her jacket with deliberate slowness, then pads toward the kitchen. Her steps are light, graceful in that feline way that always makes your chest tighten. Halfway across the living room, though, her tail lifts a fraction, and the fluffy tip deliberately brushes along the edge of the couch, grazing your ankle in a slow, lingering drag.

She freezes for half a second. You see her shoulders tense.

“…Tch.” The soft click of her tongue breaks the silence. She doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t even glance your way, but her ears fold tighter against her skull, the pink insides hidden.

You bite the inside of your cheek to hide your smile and go back to pretending to read.

In the kitchen, she opens the fridge. The glow lights up her face for a moment - her sharp cheekbones, that perpetual little scowl, the faint flush on her cheeks that might be from the cold or might be from something else entirely. She grabs a bottle of water, twists the cap off with her fangs (a habit that always makes your stomach flip), and takes a long drink. All the while, her tail sways behind her like it has a mind of its own, curling lazily in your direction before she yanks it back with an annoyed grunt.

You watch her closely now, cataloging every little tell she thinks she hides so well.

The way her ears twitch toward the sound of your breathing even when she’s facing away. How her tail keeps drifting, the tip curling like it wants to wrap around your leg and pull you close. When she sets the bottle down, one ear perks up slightly at the soft rustle of your book pages, then immediately flattens again like she’s scolding herself for the reaction.

She’s pretending she doesn’t care that you’re here. Same as always.

But the cat parts of her never learned how to lie.

After another minute of her “ignoring” you - opening and closing a cupboard she doesn’t need anything from, wiping a nonexistent spot on the counter - her shoulders drop just a fraction. She exhales through her nose, a quiet, defeated little sound.

You finally close your book and pat the cushion beside you. “Come here, Sae.”

“I’m fine.” She mutters, voice low and rough around the edges. She still doesn’t turn around, but her tail betrays her again, lifting and curling in a slow, possessive arc toward you, the soft fur brushing the side of your calf this time.

You tilt your head, watching her ears. They’re folded so tightly now they almost disappear into her hair.

“Rough day?”

“People are loud.” She says flatly. “And annoying. Same shit.”

She finally pushes off the counter and walks over. Her movements are still stiff, like she’s forcing herself to move at a normal human pace instead of the silent prowl she prefers. When she drops onto the couch, she sits close enough that her thigh presses firmly against yours. It’s not accidental. Nothing is ever accidental with her.

You reach up slowly before gently scratching behind one of those velvety black ears. She leans into it for a heartbeat, eyes fluttering half closed, a tiny rumble almost escaping her throat, before she jerks her head away.

“Don’t.”

“You like it.” You say softly, repeating the motion on the other ear.

“I don’t…” She grumbles, but she doesn’t move away this time. Her tail snakes around your waist instead, the warm, silky length settling against the small of your back and giving a gentle, insistent thump. The tip flicks once, then curls tighter, like she’s marking you without saying a word.

You rest your head on her shoulder. She smells like rain and the faint metallic tang of the city and something uniquely her, warm and a little wild.

After a long stretch of quiet, she shifts. Her cheek brushes the top of your head in a quick, almost shy nuzzle. Then another, slower one, her nose pressing lightly into your hair as if she’s scenting you. Her ears finally relax, one of them flicking forward to brush your temple.

“Missed you too…” You whisper.

She scoffs. “I never said that.”

Her tail tightens again, lulling you closer until you’re half draped against her side. One of her hands comes up, hesitant, like she’s still deciding if she’s allowed, and rests on your thigh, fingers tracing idle little patterns that feel suspiciously like the way cats knead when they’re content.

You smile against her shoulder. “Your tail’s telling on you again.”

“Shut up.” The words are muffled because she’s buried her face in your neck now, breath warm against your skin. A very quiet, very reluctant purr starts rumbling in her chest, barely audible, but you feel it vibrating through her.

You let your fingers card through her hair, occasionally brushing the sensitive base of her ears. Every time you do, her tail gives a happy little twitch and her ears fold sweetly forward.

She’ll never say the soft things out loud. Never admit how much she craves this - your warmth, your attention, the way you let her pretend she’s still untouchable while her entire body screams otherwise.

But right now, with her tail wrapped around you and her ears relaxed and twitching with every stroke of your fingers, and that tiny purr growing steadier against your chest…

She doesn’t have to.

︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

“Ah, she’s here!” Jiyeong spins around with a grin. “Guys, this is Y/N.” She says the next part casually, like she’s not introducing someone who’s terrified they won’t fit in. “She doesn’t talk so don’t bother her, but she’s cool.”

You give a small wave, shoulders tucked in slightly. Your eyes scan the small circle of Jiyeong’s usual chaos crew, then land briefly on Saebyeok before darting away.

Saebyeok blinks once.

She doesn’t know why her stomach does a strange, quiet flip. Maybe it’s the way you stand so still while Jiyeong barrels on with introductions, or the soft way your mouth curves when someone says something funny even though no sound comes out. Whatever it is, it lodges somewhere under her ribs and stays.

She tells herself not to stare. She’s already decided she’s going to mess this up somehow. She’ll say the wrong thing, or ask something stupid. She’s bound to do something to make you uncomfortable. So she keeps her mouth shut and just nods when Jiyeong drags you over to sit on the curb outside with the rest of them.

But the group finds a rhythm with you faster than she expects.

They ask yes or no questions without making it obvious. You give a thumbs up here, a thumbs down there, a quick head tilt or a typed note on your phone screen held up like evidence. To your own surprise, you fit in perfectly; quiet, observant, laughing with your whole face even if your voice never joins. When someone passes you a drink, you sign thanks without a second thought. When Jiyeong drapes an arm around your shoulders and stage whispers something dramatic, you duck your head and your shoulders shake silently.

Saebyeok watches all of it from the edge.

She notices how you lean closer to Jiyeong when the group gets loud. How your hand cups around Jiyeong’s ear, lips moving in the tiniest whispers, so soft no one else can hear. Saebyeok pretends not to notice how badly she wants to know what your voice sounds like, even just a murmur. She pretends she’s not jealous of that tiny pocket of air between your palm and Jiyeong’s ear.

Weeks pass like that. Hangouts at the same convenience store, then someone’s cramped dorm, occasionally a park bench when the weather cooperates. You and Saebyeok end up side by side more often than not. Not on purpose. Or at least, she tells herself it isn’t. You just gravitate to the quieter corners, and she’s already there.

She starts talking to you in low mumbles, half to herself.

“He’s so full of shit.” She mutters when one of the louder boys starts bragging. You glance over, eyes bright, and smack her arm lightly, playfully scolding her without a word. She likes it more than she should.

One night, when the rest of the group leaves, it’s just her and Jiyeong sprawled on the floor of Jiyeong’s tiny studio apartment, empty ramyeon bowls stacked like trophies. Jiyeong is half asleep, phone slipping from her hand. Saebyeok sits against the couch, knees drawn up, staring at her phone - at the selfie you “forced” her to take earlier.

She doesn’t plan to say it. The words just kind of… slip out, quietly.

“I think I’m… kind of into her.”

Jiyeong cracks one eye open. A slow, knowing grin spreads across her face. “I knew it.”

Saebyeok rolls her eyes, cheeks warm. “Shut up.”

Jiyeong yawns, stretching like a cat. “If you heard her voice, you’d be so screwed.”

Saebyeok snorts, trying to play it off. “Yeah, right.”

But the thought sticks.

A few more weeks go by. Jiyeong casually mentions to Saebyeok one afternoon how you’ve been talking about the group in therapy, working on feeling safe enough to let even a little sound out with people who aren’t just her. Saebyeok feels something tender and terrified twist in her chest at the same time.

Then one evening you and Jiyeong show up to game night at one of the guys’ dorms together.

Jiyeong bursts through the door first, arms wide. “We have arrived!”

Saebyeok looks up from where she’s sitting cross legged, nursing a canned coffee. She expects your usual small, shy wave.

Instead there’s a pause.

You stand just behind Jiyeong, fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve. Your throat moves like you’re swallowing something heavy. Saebyeok goes still.

And then, barely louder than the faint gust of wind blowing outside, comes the smallest, bravest sound.

“Hi.”

It’s soft and shaky at the edges, barely more than air shaped into a word, but it’s there, sitting between you like a secret you’re finally trusting her with.

Her heart slams so hard she forgets how to blink.

You don’t say anything else. You don’t need to.

Later, when the others have wandered off to argue over the last ramyeon packet, you and Saebyeok end up on the couch again. Same as always, shoulders close, enjoying one another’s quiet company. She makes a dry comment about Jiyeong’s terrible taste in music, to which you reach over and smack her forearm lightly, eyes crinkling. When she mumbles something under her breath about the playlist being a crime scene, you nod, smiling so wide your cheeks round.

Then she asks casually, almost too casually, “You warm enough?”

Most nights simply you’d nod or shake your head, but tonight you hesitate. Your lips part, and there’s a second where everything feels suspended.

“Yes.”

Tiny. Trembling. But clear.

Saebyeok feels the word hit her like sunlight after too long in the dark.

She doesn’t trust herself to speak right away. Instead she just nods and shifts closer, slowly, until her side presses against yours. You don’t pull away.

She thinks about what Jiyeong said. About her being screwed.

Yeah.

She’s screwed.

It takes her three more weeks to work up the nerve to actually tell you.

She tried the night you bumped into each other in the middle of the night at Jiyeong’s sleepover, everyone else passed out on futons and the living room floor, the apartment dark except for the blue glow of a forgotten phone screen. You’d both gotten up for water at the same time, meeting in the narrow kitchen doorway. She’d opened her mouth, and the words were right there - Hey, can we talk? But you’d smiled sleepily, brushed past her shoulder to reach the fridge, and the moment slipped away like smoke. She’d stood there staring at the open freezer light until it hurt her eyes.

She tried again a few days later, when the group had scattered after a late night ramyeon run and you’d lingered on the dorm stairs with her, sharing earbuds while some kpop playlist she’d never listen to if you weren’t sitting beside her hummed between you. The air smelled like rain and instant noodles. She’d turned to you, heart thudding so loud she was sure you could hear it, and started, “Uh, listen…” But then Jiyeong’s voice echoed up from below, “Yo, Sae, you coming or what?” and the thread broke. You’d just shrugged, tugged the earbud back into place, and kept walking down the steps together like nothing had happened.

And she tried last week in the library, when you were the last two left at the long table on the third floor. Closing time lights had dimmed to a soft amber, stacks of books and empty coffee cups scattered between you. She’d watched you pack your bag slowly, the way your fingers tucked a stray receipt into the side pocket, and thought now. She’d cleared her throat. “Hey.” You’d looked up, expectant, but the words tangled in her throat; too many possibilities, too much risk of saying the wrong thing, so she’d just muttered something about the essay deadline instead. You’d nodded and smiled that small, quiet smile she’s grown obsessed with, and left her sitting there with her untouched notes and a chest full of unsaid things.

Now, as the group spills out of the cinema lobby, the buzz of the movie still clinging to everyone like static, Saebyeok feels the weight of those missed chances sitting on her shoulders heavier than before. The night air is cool and sharp after the stuffy theater, campus paths lit by scattered streetlamps. Laughter echoes as people argue over plot holes and peel off toward their dorms one by one until only four of you are left walking.

Jiyeong is up ahead with the exchange student she invited out of pure pity, some guy from Sweden or Norway who always seems to be by himself. She loops her arm through his as she rambles about the film’s ending, then cafeteria food, then the male lead’s haircut. He nods every few seconds, smiling like he’s catching one word in every ten.

You and Saebyeok trail a few paces behind, shoulders occasionally brushing in the narrow glow of the lights. The dorms are getting closer. Jiyeong’s building looms first on the left.

Saebyeok slows her steps. Just a little at first, then deliberately, until she stops completely under the next streetlamp. You stop too, half a step in front of her, turning to shoot her a confused look.

Jiyeong glances back midsentence. “You guys coming or what?”

Saebyeok lifts a lazy hand. “We’ll catch up. Go ahead.”

Jiyeong smirks, one eyebrow raised like she’s piecing it together, but she doesn’t push. “Alright then...” She mutters, then tugs the exchange student forward. “Come on, Erik. Or was it Lukas? Whatever, I’ll show you the shortcut.”

Their voices fade down the path, Jiyeong’s chatter growing distant.

The campus is quiet this late, the air filled with only the rustle of leaves and the faint hum of a vending machine somewhere far off. Saebyeok stares at the pavement for a moment, scuffing her sneaker toe against a crack, breathing hard. Her hands are stuffed deep in her jacket pockets, shoulders tense.

Then she looks up.

“So.”

You tilt your head, waiting.

She exhales through her nose, small and steady. “I’ve been thinking.” Her voice is low, careful. “About how we always end up… like this. Walking together. Staying late. You know.”

Your heart gives that familiar unsteady flip.

She glances away toward the empty path, then back, searching. “I like it. A lot.” A beat. “More than just… hanging out with the group.”

She shifts her weight, hands deeper in her pockets.

“So I was wondering…” She meets your eyes properly now. “If you’d want to do something. Just us. Like… a date.”

The word lands even, almost casual, but you hear the care threaded through it, the space she leaves after, open with no pressure.

“No rush.” She adds quietly. “If it’s too much, we can keep things how they are. I just… wanted to ask.”

Silence stretches, but it’s not empty. It’s full of the way your pulse is racing, the warmth creeping up your neck, the fact that Saebyeok - cool, guarded Saebyeok - is asking you out and looking almost nervous about it.

Your throat tightens instantly. Words jam like they always do when it matters most. But this is Saebyeok, standing here under the warm streetlamp glow, waiting without pushing, and you don’t want her to doubt for even a second.

So you step closer, hesitant but brave, and slowly reach out and rest your hand over hers, still in her pocket, the fabric soft between your fingers. Then you nod once, small but sure, eyes wide, cheeks burning as you hold her gaze.

Then, just to make it crystal clear - because you need her to know - you pull out your phone with your free hand, thumbs flying: Yes. I’d like that a lot.

You turn the screen toward her. When she reads it, the tension in her shoulders melts out like she’d been braced for rejection. A tiny smile tugs at her mouth, real and sweet, the kind she saves for moments like this, the kind that softens everything about her.

“Okay.” She murmurs, relieved. “Cool.”

She doesn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she slips it out of her pocket, turns it palm up, and lets your fingers slide between hers. She gives one gentle squeeze, barely there, then lets go so you can both keep walking.

“Text me when you’re free this week?” She says, voice back to its usual calm, like she didn’t just bare a piece of herself.

You nod quicker this time, a flicker of something bright breaking through the nerves.

You walk the rest of the way side by side, shoulders brushing again, the silence between you warmer now. Different. Like the start of something you’ve both been circling for weeks.

The first date is simple, careful, exactly what Saebyeok had in mind when she asked. A quiet walk through the campus botanical garden in the late afternoon, then iced coffees from the little cart near the fountain. The sun is low, golden through the leaves, and the air smells like cut grass and blooming jasmine. Saebyeok keeps the conversation light: comments on the weird shaped clouds, a dry observation about how the koi in the pond look like they’re judging everyone. You walk beside her, close enough that your sleeves brush sometimes, but every time she glances over, your lips are pressed together in that familiar nervous line. No words come out. Not even a whisper. You answer with nods, small smiles, the occasional quick thumbs up or a typed note on your phone when something really needs saying. But Saebyeok doesn’t push, she just matches your pace, lets the silence feel safe instead of heavy. When you part at your dorm steps, she murmurs, “I really enjoyed this,” and you nod so fast your hood slips back a little. She smiles, a small, private little smirk to herself, and watches you disappear inside before she turns away.

The second date is a bookstore crawl downtown, the kind with creaky wooden floors and too many cats lounging on shelves. You spend hours wandering separate aisles, then reconvening to show each other finds. You hold up a worn poetry collection with a soft cover, while she flips through a graphic novel and mutters that the art style is “objectively chaotic but kind of good.” You sit cross legged on the floor in the back corner for a while, sharing pages in silence. But again, no voice. Your answers are all gestures: a tilted head, a gentle tap on her wrist when something makes you laugh silently, your fingers brushing hers when you pass a book over. Saebyeok begins to feel the quiet settle a bit deeper, not awkward but… waiting. Like you’re both still figuring out how much space your words need. At the end, outside under the string lights of a nearby café, she asks if you want to go on another date soon. You nod with bright eyes, and type on your phone: Definitely. Thanks for today. She reads it, exhales a quiet laugh through her nose, and says, “Anytime.”

The third date is different.

Saebyeok picks an arcade a few subway stops away. It’s bright, noisy, and full of flashing lights and electronic beeps that fill every corner so there’s no room for awkward silence to grow. It’s Friday night, crowded with students and kids, the air thick with popcorn and the metallic tang of tokens. She buys a cup of coins, dumps half into your hand without asking, and simply says, “Winner of the first round picks the next game.” You raise an eyebrow, a tiny challenge in your eyes, and she smirks back.

You play everything. Racing games where you lean into the turns like it’s real, claw machines you both curse at under your breath, a dance pad that leaves you both breathless and laughing (mostly her laughing at how uncoordinated she is and you shaking with silent giggles). She notices how you’re loosening up, your shoulders dropping, that smile she adores coming easier, the way you bump her hip playfully when you beat her at air hockey. She notices every bit of it. Your hand lingers a second longer now when you high five. You lean closer to watch her line up a shot. Your eyes crinkle at the corners more than they did on the first two dates.

By the time the tokens run low, you’ve both racked up a ridiculous pile of tickets. Saebyeok gathers them up, counts them with a serious frown like it’s a math exam, then jerks her head toward the prize counter.

“Come on. We’re getting something stupid.”

The counter is a wall of cheap plastic and plush: keychains, squishy toys, knockoff figurines. She scans the options, then stops at a neat row of rainbow colored cat plush keychains, each one the same chubby design, just different shades: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple and pink.

She pauses, then looks at you.

“Uh…” She rubs the back of her neck, suddenly awkward in a way she hasn’t been all night. “What was your favorite color again?”

She expects you to point to one of the cats. Or pull out your phone. Or maybe just shrug and let her pick. That’s how it’s been.

But you don’t.

You hold her gaze steadily, longer than usual. Your chest rises with a slow, deliberate breath. The arcade noise fades to a dull roar around you. Then, soft as the brush of a feather, barely audible over the electronic jingles…

“Blue.”

It’s one word. One small, trembling syllable. But it’s yours, and it’s for her and only her.

Saebyeok freezes. Her heart does something sharp and bright in her chest, like it skipped a beat and then ran to catch up. She blinks once, then twice, like she’s making sure she heard right.

Then the corner of her mouth lifts. Slow. Real.

“Blue.” She repeats, quieter, like she’s tasting the word. “Got it.”

She reaches for the blue cat keychain and hands over the tickets without ever looking away from you. The bored teen behind the counter barely glances up as he clips it off the display and drops it into her palm.

Saebyeok turns back to you, holding the little plush out between two fingers like it’s something precious.

“Here.”

You take it, fingers brushing hers, but you don’t pull away right away. You look down at the tiny blue cat - soft ears, round eyes, ridiculous little paws - then back up at her. Your smile may be small and shy, but to her it’s brighter than any of the arcade lights.

She nods toward the exit. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before I spend all my money trying to win you another one.”

You fall into step beside her, the keychain already clipped to your bag strap. The night air hits cool against your flushed cheeks as you leave the noise behind.

Neither of you says much on the walk back to campus. But the silence feels different now, lighter, warmer, full of one perfect word that still echoes between you.

Blue.

The fourth date happens on a rainy Thursday evening, the kind where the sky stays heavy and gray all day and then finally lets go just as the sun dips. Saebyeok suggests her dorm because the weather’s too miserable for anything outside, and she’s tired of pretending she doesn’t want more time alone with you in a space that smells like her own laundry detergent and instant coffee.

She keeps it simple: takeout jjajangmyeon from the place near campus that everyone swears by, a stack of blankets on her narrow bed, and her ancient laptop queued up with a playlist of old indie films neither of you has seen. The room is small, but it’s warm. Safe.

You arrive a little early, hood up against the drizzle, plastic bag of ramyeon cups in case the delivery’s late. She opens the door before you can even knock, takes the bag from your hand without a word, and steps aside so you can kick off your wet shoes. You hang your jacket on the back of her chair like it’s routine now.

Dinner is quiet at first. You sit cross legged on the floor between her bed and the low table she dragged over, bowls balanced on your knees. The jjajangmyeon is perfect, thick, salty and comforting. Saebyeok watches the way you twirl your noodles around your chopsticks, the way your shoulders are looser tonight, the tension in your jaw gone.

She says something dry about how the protagonist in the movie you’re watching is “objectively the worst decision maker in cinematic history.” You glance up, eyes crinkling, and before she can second guess it-

“Yeah.”

Saebyeok’s chopsticks pause halfway to her mouth. She doesn’t react outwardly, no big eyes, no gasp, no “did you just-?” She just nods once, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and takes her bite. But inside, she catalogs it: the first voluntary word of the night. Yeah. Simple… Perfect.

Halfway through the movie, you’ve both migrated to her bed because the floor is hard and your back hurts. She props pillows against the wall and you settle beside her, knees touching under the blanket. During a particularly quiet scene, she mutters, “This plot makes no sense.”

You huff a silent laugh, then, almost lost under the dialogue, “Nope.”

Another one. Nope. Saebyeok’s heart does that familiar bright thing again, the thing it keeps doing around you lately, but she keeps her face neutral. Just shifts a little closer so her shoulder presses against yours. She’s keeping score in her head now, not to pressure you, but because every syllable feels like a gift she’s afraid to acknowledge too loudly in case it scares the rest away.

Later, when the credits roll and the room is lit only by the laptop glow and her bedside lamp, you’re both lying down, her on her back, you curled on your side facing her, head tucked against her shoulder. The rain taps steady against the window. She’s warm and drowsy, the kind of tired that makes everything feel soft at the edges.

She turns her head just enough to see your face in the dim light.

“Stay over?” She whispers, voice rough from half-sleep.

You don’t hesitate. You don’t even flinch. You just look at her, eyes steady, lips parting on the smallest breath, and whisper back. “Okay.”

Two syllables. Two whole, quiet syllables. It hits her like warm sunlight after weeks of overcast. Okay. Not a nod, not a typed message, not even a single syllable answer. Okay. Deliberate. Sure.

Saebyeok doesn’t say anything right away. She just exhales, slow and steady, and lets her arm slide around your waist, pulling you a fraction closer. Your head settles fully against her chest now, and she can feel the rise and fall of your breathing syncing with hers.

She presses her lips to the top of your head - barely a kiss, more a resting place - and murmurs into your hair, so quiet you might not even hear it. “Night.”

You don’t answer with words this time. Just a small, content hum, letting your fingers curl loosely into the front of her hoodie. She lies awake a little longer, rain drumming outside, replaying the night in her head like a favorite song on loop.

Yeah.

Nope.

Okay.

Three small words. Three perfect pieces of you.

The fifth date is a night market near campus. Nothing fancy, just strings of warm lanterns swaying overhead, food stalls steaming in the cool evening air, and crowds of students weaving between games and vendors. Saebyeok picked it because it’s lively enough to feel special without being overwhelming, and because she thought the noise might help if words feel hard again tonight.

You meet her at the entrance just after sunset. She’s wearing her usual oversized hoodie, hands tucked in her pockets, but her eyes soften the second she sees you. You give her that small, familiar wave, shoulders a little higher than usual, fingers twisting the strap of your bag.

The night starts easy. You share tteokbokki from a paper cup, spicy sauce staining your fingertips red. Saebyeok wipes a smudge from the corner of your mouth with her thumb before she even realizes she’s doing it; you freeze for half a second, then duck your head with shy, silent laughter. She pretends her ears aren’t burning.

The two of you wander for a while. You play a ring-toss game where she wins a tiny keychain shaped like a fish. She clips it to your bag without even asking, just a quiet “For you.” You try hotteok - sweet, crispy pancakes filled with cinnamon and brown sugar - and she watches the way your eyes close for a second when you take the first bite, like it’s the best thing you’ve tasted all week.

But something’s different tonight.

You’re quieter than the last two dates. Completely mute. No small “yeah” or “nope” slips out, no whispered “okay.” Your answers are all gestures again: nods, head tilts, the occasional thumbs up. And she notices the fidgeting, how your fingers keep twisting the hem of your sleeve, how you shift your weight from foot to foot when the crowd presses in, how your eyes dart to the ground more often than usual.

She tries not to overthink it. She knows this isn’t linear. She’s read enough, listened enough when Jiyeong talked about it in passing to understand that comfort ebbs and flows. Some days the words are there, some days they hide. She doesn’t ask. She just stays close, shoulder to shoulder, hand brushing yours when the path narrows, letting you set the pace.

By the time the lanterns start flickering dimmer and the stalls begin closing up, the air has turned crisp. You walk back toward the dorms together, footsteps soft on the damp pavement. The campus is quiet now, only the occasional bike whirring past or laughter drifting from an open window.

At your building, you both stop under the awning. Saebyeok turns to you, hands still in her pockets, voice low and careful.

“Tonight was nice. Even with the crowd.”

You give a small, quick nod, but you don’t step toward the door. Instead you pause, shuffle one foot back, then forward again. Your fingers knot together in front of you. She can see the tension in your shoulders, the way your throat moves like you’re swallowing something heavy.

She doesn’t say anything, just waits. Gives you the space, the silence, the time.

You stare at the ground for what feels like forever. Then you take one huge, shaky breath, chest rising sharp as you lift your eyes to hers.

“Kiss me?”

Saebyeok feels the words like a punch straight to the sternum, breath knocked out, heart slamming against her ribs. Not just because it’s two words strung together - more than you’ve ever given her at once - but because you asked. You looked right at her and asked for it, bold and brave.

For a second she can’t move. Then she exhales, soft and unsteady, and steps closer. She’s slow, giving you every chance to change your mind.

“Okay.” She whispers.

Her hand comes up, gently cradling the side of your neck. Her thumb grazes your pulse point once, feeling the quick flutter there. Then she leans in, and you rise to meet her halfway.

The kiss is soft, careful, a little hesitant at first. Your lips brush once, testing, but it deepens the moment you sigh against her mouth and your fingers curl into the front of her hoodie. She tastes faintly of cinnamon and sugar from the hotteok, warm and sweet and impossibly real. She feels your heartbeat under her palm where it rests against your neck, fast and alive.

When she pulls back, just enough to breathe, she’s smiling; a small, helpless, half lidded smile.

“Was that what you were nervous about all day?” She murmurs, voice teasing but so tender it barely qualifies as teasing.

You pull back enough to look at her, and narrow your eyes into an adorable little glare, cheeks flushed. But there’s a spark in them now, playful and sure.

You decide to answer with the only thing that feels right: two last, glorious, sharp edged words.

“Shut up.”

Saebyeok laughs, a quiet, breathless sound rumbling low in her chest. She leans in again, pressing another quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Make me.” She whispers against your skin.

You don’t answer with words. You just tug her hoodie collar gently, pulling her back down for another kiss.

This kiss is longer. Braver. Less careful, more certain. Your lips part slightly, hands sliding to hold instead of clutch. The world narrows to the soft heat between you, the faint taste of sugar, the steady drip of water from the eaves now that the rain has finally stopped.

When you finally separate, you don’t step away. You stay close, foreheads touching, noses brushing, breaths mingling in the cool night air. Saebyeok’s hand slips from your neck to cup your cheek instead, thumb tracing the faintest curve of your smile.

She pulls back to look at you properly, eyes soft and a little wonderstruck.

“You’re gonna kill me with these two word sentences.” She murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m already done for.”

You duck your head for a second, shy again, but the corners of your mouth are twitching like you’re fighting a bigger smile. Then you lift your gaze back to hers, and without breaking eye contact, you mouth one silent word: Good.

Saebyeok’s breath catches on a quiet laugh. She presses her lips to your forehead, lingering for a moment, then rests her chin on top of your head, arms sliding around you in a loose, warm hug.

And there, beneath the soft glow of the streetlamp with you tucked safe in her arms - after five quiet dates and ten trembling, hard-won syllables - Saebyeok lets a thought drift through the warm haze of her mind:

She’s never been this far gone for anyone.

And she doesn’t mind at all.

︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶

The ball comes her way again, a long pass from midfield. She traps it perfectly, muscles it past one defender, then another, but a sliding tackle sends her sprawling, the whistle blowing for a foul. She slams her fist into the turf as she gets up, jaw clenched. The crowd groans in sympathy.

That’s when she hears a familiar cheer cutting through the noise. She glances up at the stands, scanning the sea of crimson and rival colors, and there you are. Front row, just behind the bench, standing on your feet with your hands cupped around your mouth. You’re wearing her jersey. The oversized number 13 draped over your frame, her name “KANG” in bold letters across your shoulders. You wave wildly when you catch her eye, your bright smile like a beacon in the chaos.

Something shifts in her. The exhaustion fades, replaced by a surge of fire. You came. You promised you’d make it if you could finish your exams early, but she hadn’t been sure. Seeing you there, proudly wearing her number… it’s everything.

The free kick is hers. She places the ball, takes a breath, and strikes it clean, curving perfectly into the top corner.

Goal.

The stadium erupts. Her teammates swarm her, but her eyes find you again. You’re jumping, screaming, that jersey flapping as you cheer.

The momentum swings. Fueled by that sight, Saebyeok dominates the final minutes. She assists the game winner, a perfect cross that her teammate headers in, and when the final whistle blows, it’s victory. Champions.

The field floods with fans and confetti. Saebyeok barely has time to catch her breath before she spots you vaulting the barrier, running onto the pitch like you belong there. Security looks the other way, everyone’s too hyped to care.

“Sae!” You yell, launching yourself at her.

She catches you effortlessly, strong arms wrapping around your waist as she lifts you off the ground and spins you in a circle. Your legs wrap around her hips instinctively, the jersey - her jersey - bunching up as you cling to her sweat-damp shoulders. The crowd around you cheers louder, phones flashing, but she doesn’t care. She buries her face in your neck for a moment, breathing you in.

“You came.” She murmurs against your skin, voice low and rough from the game.

“Of course I did. Couldn’t miss my lucky number 13 in the final.” You pull back just enough to kiss her, quick and fierce, tasting salt and victory.

She sets you down but keeps an arm around your waist as her teammates slap her back, chanting her name. You beam up at her, fingers tracing the crest on her jersey. “You were incredible.”

“That goal? That was for you.” Her dark eyes soften in that way only you ever see.

Later, after the trophy lift and interviews, you two slip away to a greasy diner near campus, the kind with flickering neon signs and booths sticky from years of late night visits. Saebyeok’s still in her post game sweats, hair loose and messy, while you’re proudly keeping her jersey on over your clothes. The oversized fabric swallows you, sleeves rolled up, “KANG 13” prominent every time you move.

You slide into the booth across from her, ordering burgers and fries, extra spicy ramyeon for her because she always craves it after a big game. She can’t stop staring. Every time you reach for a fry or turn to laugh at something the waiter says, her eyes drop to your back, her name and number claimed on you.

“You like it that much?” You tease, catching her gaze in the window reflection.

She leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping. “You have no idea.”

Her foot nudges yours under the table, lingering. The diner hum is background noise when all she sees is you in her colors.

By the time you get back to her apartment the air between you is electric. The door barely clicks shut before she’s on you, backing you down the hallway toward the bedroom. Her hands are everywhere, gripping your hips and sliding under the jersey to feel your skin.

“You helped me win tonight.” She whispers against your lips, voice husky. “When I saw you in the stands… wearing this...” Her fingers tug at the hem of the jersey. “My name and number on your back… Fuck, baby.”

You moan softly as she presses you against the bedroom door, kissing down your neck. “I hoped you’d see me. I wanted to be your good luck.”

“You were.” She nips at your collarbone. “Now I want to repay you.”

She doesn’t strip the jersey off. Instead, she pushes it up just enough, hands roaming your bare skin underneath. You help her out of her sweats, fingers trembling with want. She’s already soaked through her boxer briefs from thinking about this all through dinner.

She guides you to the bed, laying you down gently at first, but her eyes are dark with possession. She strips your pants and panties slowly, kissing every inch of exposed skin, your thighs, hips, the sensitive spot just above your center.

“Look at you.” She murmurs, settling between your legs. “All mine.”

Her mouth descends, tongue flat and sure, lapping at you like she’s starving. You arch off the bed, fingers tangling in her hair, the jersey twisting around your torso. She eats you out relentlessly, slow circles turning to fast flicks, sucking gently until your thighs shake. When you cum the first time, her name spills from your lips over and over, body trembling as she works you through it, praising you in that low voice.

“Good girl… so pretty when you cum for me.”

But she’s not done. She reaches into the nightstand drawer for the strap - her favorite one, the one that fits inside you perfectly - and buckles it on with practiced ease. You watch, breathless, as she strokes it once, eyes locked on yours.

“Turn over.” She says, voice commanding but soft. “I wanna see my name while I fuck you.”

You obey eagerly, getting on your hands and knees. The jersey falls forward, exposing your back fully, KANG 13 staring up at her. She groans at the sight, hands gripping your hips.

“Fuck, that’s perfect.”

She teases you first, sliding the tip along your wetness, making you whine. Then she pushes in, slow and deep, filling you completely. You both moan at the sensation. She starts thrusting, steady and powerful, one hand sliding up under the jersey to cup your breast, the other steadying your hip.

“Helped me win.” She pants, pace building. “My lucky charm… wearing my number like you belong to me.”

“I do.” You gasp, pushing back against her.

She speeds up at that, angling just right, hitting the spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. Her hips snap forward, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. She leans over you, chest to your back, lips at your ear.

“Cum for me again, baby. I wanna feel it… while I see my name on you.”

It’s overwhelming - the stretch, the rhythm, her voice. You shatter a second time, clenching around the strap, crying out as the waves crash over you. Saebyeok follows right after, thrusting deep and grinding as she comes undone, groaning your name like a prayer.

She collapses beside you afterward, pulling you into her arms. The jersey is rumpled but still on, and she traces the numbers lazily with her fingertip.

The room is quiet now, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and your shared breathing slowly evening out. Saebyeok eases out of the harness and sets it aside, then gently rolls you onto your back. The jersey is still bunched up around your chest; she smooths it down with careful fingers, like she’s reluctant to take it off you just yet.

“Hey.” She whispers, brushing damp hair from your forehead. “You okay?”

You nod, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. That was… intense.”

She huffs a soft laugh, the kind that only ever slips out when she’s completely unguarded, and disappears into the bathroom for a moment. She returns with a warm, damp cloth and a bottle of water. Kneeling between your legs, she cleans you gently, slow and reverent strokes that make you shiver all over again, but this time from tenderness rather than need.

“You don’t have to-” You start.

“I want to.” She cuts in quietly, eyes focused on her task. “Let me take care of you.”

When she’s done, she tosses the cloth toward the hamper and crawls up the bed, pulling the covers over both of you. You’re tucked against her chest immediately, her arms wrapping around you like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she doesn’t hold you tight enough. One of her hands finds yours, fingers intertwining.

“Thank you.” She says into your hair, voice low and a little rough. “For today. For every day.”

You tilt your head to look at her. “For what?”

“For showing up. For wearing this stupid jersey like it’s the most natural thing in the world.” She traces the number 13 on your chest with her thumb. “I was running on empty out there until I saw you. One look, and I could breathe again. I could play like I used to. It was like nothing else mattered but getting that win for you.”

Your heart does a silly little flip. “Sae…”

“I mean it.” She continues, softer now. “You’re at every game you can make, every practice you can sneak into, every shitty recovery day when I’m grumpy and sore. You text me dumb memes before matches, bring me ramyeon when I forget to eat, celebrate the wins and hold me after the losses. You make me better. Not just on the field. Everywhere.”

She presses a lingering kiss to your temple. “I don’t say it enough, but I notice. I feel it every time I step onto that pitch. You really are my good luck charm. Always.”

You turn in her arms to face her fully, cupping her cheek. “And you’re mine. I’m so proud of you, Sae. Tonight and every night.”

Her eyes go a little glassy, and you know she’ll deny it tomorrow, but for now she pulls you closer, tucking your head under her chin.

“Stay right here.” She murmurs.

You do. Wrapped in her jersey, in her arms, listening to her heartbeat slow to match yours, you both drift off.

Champions, together.

︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶