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There came a point where Yeo-Reum and Dae-Beom felt they had mastered happiness. It didn’t have to be loud or showy. It didn’t need fireworks or confessions screamed at train stations or long-stemmed roses left in doorways. It didn’t have to come with a ring or a perfect picture or a milestone shared with the world. It just had to be real. It just had to be sufficient. And for them, sufficient was always quiet. It was always small. It was always soft.
When they held hands on the beach, his palm trembling ever so slightly as he stretched it out towards her, there was a nervousness in the air that neither of them knew how to name. Her heart was already pounding before she even noticed what he was doing, her thoughts spiraling in loops, wondering if she had read it wrong, if she should even take it, if maybe his hand was reaching for something else entirely. But it stayed there, hovering beside her, warm and awkward and waiting. Her hand moved almost shyly into his, fingers brushing his like she was touching something sacred. And when their palms finally pressed together, there was a moment of stillness, as if time stopped to acknowledge that yes, this is what they both wanted. The smiles that slowly curled onto their faces weren’t wide or ecstatic. They were quiet smiles. Smiles that said, I was hoping you’d say yes without a single word spoken. That was sufficient.
The first time he opened up about what he saw in the billiard club, his voice was shaky and small. His eyes had that glassy shimmer that only ever came just before crying, but the tears never quite fell. His breath came out in strange, staggered patterns, like it didn’t know how to settle inside him. He spoke about the way he had seen them, his sister and his mother, lay there as if they had just stepped out of a memory and into the world again, even though logic told him they could not possibly be there. He said he had hated his sister, that he had spent years carrying that weight like a punishment, like a secret he thought he’d never be allowed to say out loud. But then, sitting beside Yeo-Reum, he admitted maybe it wasn’t hate at all. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was grief turned inside out. Maybe he hated himself for not knowing how to love her the right way while she was still alive. And the miracle wasn’t that he said those words. The miracle was that he said them without stuttering. That he said them clearly and without fear of being too much. And the miracle after that was Yeo-Reum didn’t interrupt him once. She didn’t reach for his hand or give him a hug or whisper reassuring words. She just listened. She just let him speak. Because this was the first time his voice wasn’t a burden or a mask. It was power. It was presence. Silence, which had once been his armour, became comfortable, no longer defensive. And that was sufficient.
Every weekend they went to the cinema together. It had become their ritual, something warm and steady in their otherwise unpredictable lives. They took turns picking which movies to watch, though more often than not, they gravitated toward the same ones. It became a kind of unspoken game to guess which one the other would choose. And it was Dae-Beom who picked the rom-coms more often, sneaking them in between the occasional thriller or drama. He said he liked watching people fall in love, and that was simply it.
They shared popcorn, though "shared" was a generous way to put it. Yeo-Reum would always devour most of it before the opening credits even rolled. Dae-Beom never minded. He said he didn’t really like popcorn that much anyway. But it wasn’t about the popcorn. It was about watching her be happy, her cheeks puffed out from snacking too fast, the way she’d offer him a single piece after finishing half the tub, and how she’d act surprised when he didn’t want it. They always sat outside afterwards, even when the weather was chilly, their conversation bubbling over with observations and jokes and comparisons to other films they’d seen. They both agreed the one they saw on their first date was still the best. Not because it was a perfect movie. It really wasn’t. But because they saw it together. And that, too, was sufficient.
But just because it didn’t have to be big or physical or grand, didn’t mean it couldn’t be.
The first time she lay on his chest, it was because he had been talking about a new idea he’d been working on. Something about theoretical physics and particle behavior. She didn’t know the details. She didn’t even pretend to follow most of it. But his voice had this energy, this glow, like he was finally excited about something again. That was rare. That was precious. So she lay there, head rising and falling with his breath, timing hers with his without even thinking about it, letting the sound of his words wrap around her like a blanket.
At some point, his fingers found her hair. He started playing with it absentmindedly, combing through the waves and twirling strands around his fingers. They got tangled a few times, but he was always careful, always slow, like he was trying not to damage something that meant too much. She hid her face in his chest the first time it happened, embarrassed by how warm her cheeks had gotten. He didn’t say anything about it. He just kept talking. Just kept running his fingers through her hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It became a habit. On days when the world felt too loud, they would lie like that for hours. He would talk. She would listen. And his hand would always be in her hair, soft and gentle, never rushing. Sometimes she’d fall asleep like that, and he’d stay still for as long as he could, not wanting to wake her. Sometimes he’d fall asleep too, with her cheek pressed against his heart.
One day, while she looked up at him, she realised he had been talking without pausing for breath. He was rambling, getting excited, moving from one idea to the next, and he didn’t even seem to notice. And she thought, He’s happy. He’s actually happy. Not just fine. Not just coping. Not just surviving. But happy.
She thought about all the times she had taken from him, his time, his patience, his kindness. She always felt like she was the needy one. But now, in this moment, she realised she was giving too. Giving him her time, her softness, a quiet place to speak freely, a head of hair to mess with when his hands needed something gentle to do. She was giving him something real. She was giving him herself. And for Dae-Beom, that had always been more than enough.
Everything had been unfolding so naturally. There had never really been a plan. Just two people slowly finding each other and deciding to stay. Maybe it was fate.
But it wasn’t part of the plan when her brother called again. When he said things that curled up like thorns in her chest. When he told her she was being selfish, that she had abandoned the family, that their mother would be ashamed. It wasn’t part of the plan to feel like she did when she was in Seoul again, raw and helpless and afraid. It wasn’t part of the plan for Dae-Beom to find her curled up, trembling, barely able to breathe. But he didn’t hesitate. He didn’t freeze. He sat beside her, pulled her into his arms, and let her cry into the curve of his neck, whispering soft words that only made her cry harder because they were too kind.
He rubbed slow circles over her side, the exact spot where a single freckle lived, one he had once called his favourite star. He cupped her face and smiled gently, his thumbs pressing into her cheeks until they puffed slightly under his touch. She tried to smile back, but her lips trembled. The smile disappeared before it fully formed. Her eyes filled again. And still, he stayed. Still, he held her. Still, he whispered, “Time your breathing with mine. You’re okay.”
It wasn’t part of the plan to find her beautiful like this. Red eyes, streaky cheeks, puffy lips. But he did. And it scared him a little, how much he loved her in that exact moment. He told her, voice barely louder than a thought, “I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this, but you look so pretty right now.”
And then, they kissed. Not because they had planned to. Not because the moment demanded it. But because they simply leaned into each other, and their lips touched, and it felt like something they had both been holding in for a very long time without even knowing it.
They had never even talked about kissing. It had always felt unnecessary. They knew they were a pair. They knew what they had. They didn’t need proof. But the kiss still changed everything. It filled something they hadn’t realised was missing. Like discovering a new room in a house they thought they already knew inside and out. A place they could return to again and again.
She was the one who pulled away first, but only just. Her tears had turned to laughter now, light and wet and real. Dae-Beom still had his eyes closed, lips parted, dazed like someone waking from a beautiful dream. She watched him, her chest full, her heart full, her whole being filled with something she didn’t have words for yet.
She remembered, in that moment, that he had never kissed anyone before. Not even once. And she remembered too that she didn’t care. Because she was certain it would happen again. Many times. And every time would feel just like this.
“Dae-Beom-ah,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the nape of his neck like a grounding wire.
He hummed softly, eyes fluttering open, that familiar smile returning to his lips as if it had never left.
“Was that okay?” she asked, her voice so gentle it almost got swallowed by the silence.
He nodded, leaned in again, and found her hair with his hands.
And in that moment, everything was more than sufficient. It was joy. It was truth. It was home.
The trip had been Bom’s idea, of course. She said it like it was a prescription, waving her chopsticks with certainty as she declared they both needed air, salt on their skin, something warm and bright to shake the heaviness out of them. Yeo-Reum hadn’t argued, mostly because she didn’t have the energy, and Dae-Beom had just smiled, not really saying much but already picturing what her face might look like lit by the pink sun. Jae-Hun had backed Bom up enthusiastically, talking about seafood skewers and how he’d perfected them since last time, and even though Yeo-Reum clearly remembered him burning them and forgetting the salt, she smiled anyway and let herself imagine the sand between her toes and the smell of smoke in her hair.
So they went. The four of them in a little pension tucked into the coast near Gangneung, a place with two small bedrooms and a porch just big enough for a grill, where the wind carried ocean on its breath and the sunset looked painted on. The building was older than it seemed in the pictures, with dust in the corners and a front door that stuck a little when you pulled it open, but the sheets were clean and the air was soft and warm, and none of that really mattered when the sun dipped low and turned the whole world amber.
They ate too much, mostly grilled things on sticks, half-cooked and half-burnt, and laughed through it. Yeo-Reum made up a scoring system for the food and rated everything too generously, while Jae-Hun argued about flavour profiles with the seriousness of someone defending their dissertation. Music played low in the background, something breezy and jazzy that Dae-Beom didn’t recognise but liked anyway, and Yeo-Reum curled into his side as they sat on the porch, her laughter puffing into his shoulder like clouds. There were card games too, and Bom got too competitive, and Jae-Hun lost on purpose, and Dae-Beom watched Yeo-Reum smile like she used to when they first met, like she was still trying not to fall too fast, even though she already had.
Eventually Bom declared she was tired, and Jae-Hun followed, and their bedroom door slid closed with a finality that left behind a different kind of quiet, one that hummed and lingered in the walls, in the spaces between things, not empty exactly, but charged with something new. Yeo-Reum stood there for a moment, arms crossed loosely over her chest, wearing an oversized cotton shirt that hit at her thighs and shifted when she moved. Her hair was loose and a little wind-worn, curling softly at the ends, and Dae-Beom couldn’t stop noticing the way it caught the dim light, like it had gathered sun in it during the day and refused to let it go.
The air in the room felt warmer than before, thicker, like the hush had pressed itself into the walls. The bedding was already laid out, pillows sunken in gently, and the thin blankets had that faint scent of laundry that wasn’t quite yours. Yeo-Reum sat back on her heels and pushed her hair off her neck, her fingers catching briefly in a tangle. Dae-Beom had already changed, sitting in a clean white shirt that hung loose over his sweats, the hem wrinkled where he’d tucked his legs up. His eyes kept finding her and then flicking away again, not shy exactly but cautious, as if staring too long might change something in the air between them.
She got up to turn off the overhead light, leaving only the soft amber glow of the hallway seeping in through the open crack of the sliding door. She paused in the doorway for a second, listening to the muffled quiet from Bom and Jae-Hun’s room. No sounds, just breathing and the occasional shift of a blanket. It felt like they were alone in the world. Like the night belonged only to them.
When she turned back to him, he was watching her in that way he always did, eyes steady, like he was afraid to blink and miss something. She crossed the room slowly and sank down beside him, her leg brushing his. Neither of them moved away. He reached out and touched her wrist lightly, then let his fingers travel up her arm. She didn’t speak. Just watched the path his hand took, watched the way his eyes followed it too, as if he was seeing her all over again.
When he kissed her it was slower this time, more sure. Her hand found the back of his neck and stayed there, thumb brushing just below his ear. His mouth was warm, his breath a little uneven. She tilted her head and pressed in closer, her body leaning into his until he lay back slowly, letting her come with him. His hands settled on her waist. Not pulling. Just there.
The mattress shifted beneath them. She moved to lie over him, elbows braced lightly on either side of his shoulders, her hair falling in a curtain around their faces. They kissed again, and again, each one a little longer than the last. The silence around them felt like a blanket, thick and full and safe. His hands slid up under her shirt, only a little, resting on the bare skin of her lower back. Her breath caught and she didn’t pull away. She just closed her eyes and leaned into the warmth of it.
“Is this okay?” he asked quietly, voice rough from not speaking.
She nodded, lips brushing his jaw. “Yeah. Is it okay for you?”
He nodded too, slowly, his hand still there, not moving any higher. “It’s more than okay.”
Her lips pressed against his again, this time deeper, and he kissed her back like he was holding on. She let herself melt into him for a while, feeling the rhythm of his breath, the slight tremble in his fingers, the quiet sound he made when she shifted closer, like he was trying not to lose control. Her thigh slipped between his and she felt his body tense again, just for a moment, and she stilled too, both of them caught in the weight of the moment.
She pulled back a little, her forehead resting against his. “Are we… are we going too fast?”
His eyes opened, meeting hers. “I don’t know. I don’t want to mess it up.”
“You won’t,” she said. Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. “But I don’t think I’m ready. Not all the way.”
He exhaled slowly, and it felt like his whole body relaxed beneath her. “Okay. Me neither.”
The relief washed over her like a wave. Not because she hadn’t wanted to, but because she had, and stopping still felt safe. Still felt right. She kissed his cheek softly, then his temple, then pulled back enough to see him in the faint light.
“I just… I like this,” she said. “I like being here. With you.”
“I like it too,” he said, his hands settling at her waist again, gentler now. “This is enough.”
She laid back down beside him, curling into his side, her head resting against his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and she felt the steady beat of his heart again, slower now. Her hand drifted across his chest, not exploring, just holding. They stayed like that, skin warm against skin, quiet and calm and close.
Outside, the wind moved through the trees. Somewhere in the kitchen, a bottle shifted slightly in the fridge. The house made soft, creaking sounds, as if it too had settled in for the night.
Yeo-Reum closed her eyes and let herself breathe with him, not thinking ahead, not wondering about next time. There would be one. She didn’t know when, didn’t care. What mattered was this. This closeness, this trust. The fact that she’d said no and he hadn’t flinched. That he’d wanted her and still waited. That she wanted him and still felt okay not going further.
Later, when the blanket was pulled up over both of them and she felt the warmth of his hand around hers, she whispered into the dark, “When it eventually happens… When we really do it… It’ll still be us, right?”
He didn’t open his eyes. Just nodded.
“Always.”
And she believed him
The rain came down like a steady hum against the windows, soft and unrelenting, a kind of lullaby for the whole apartment. It had started sometime before dawn and hadn’t stopped since, soaking the trees outside, making the street look like it had been washed clean. Yeo-Reum had woken to the sound of it and stayed under the covers longer than usual, blinking at the ceiling while the world outside slipped into grey. When she finally padded into the living room, the air smelled faintly like the instant coffee Dae-Beom had made earlier, and his mug was still warm on the table when she touched it, half full, forgotten.
He was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the laundry basket, folding clothes with the kind of focus only he could bring to something so small. A stack of neatly folded shirts sat beside him, each one pressed into a perfect square. She didn’t say anything at first. Just watched him work while she stood in the doorway in one of his oversized hoodies, sleeves brushing her fingertips. Her hair was tied up haphazardly and her feet were bare, the floor cool beneath them.
“You didn’t have to wait for me,” she said eventually, voice quiet with sleep.
He glanced up, smiled like he’d been waiting for her all along. “I wasn’t.”
She crossed the room and crouched beside him, reaching for one of the towels and folding it the wrong way on purpose, just to see what he’d do. He said nothing. Just reached for the next one, carefully flattening the edges with his palms like he was smoothing something invisible. Their shoulders touched as they worked through the basket together. There was something calming about the sound of fabric being folded, the rhythm of it, the soft scratch of the rain just outside.
When they were done, she leaned back on her hands and stretched her legs out in front of her, toes curling slightly. “I was going to make soup,” she said. “If we had anything for it.”
Dae-Beom stood up and offered her a hand, which she took more for the feeling of it than out of any real need. His palm was warm and a little dry from detergent. “I think we have enough for something,” he said, and they moved to the kitchen together.
The fridge didn’t hold much, but she liked making do. She pulled out a half-used bag of mushrooms, some leftover rice, a few cloves of garlic starting to sprout. Dae-Beom sat at the tiny kitchen table with one knee pulled up to his chest and peeled the garlic slowly while she sliced vegetables and hummed a half-remembered melody. The knife tapped against the cutting board in a lazy rhythm. He asked what she was singing, and she didn’t know, just something from the radio, maybe.
She stirred the soup as it simmered and watched the steam curl up in front of her face. Dae-Beom came up behind her, his hand brushing her back gently as he leaned past her to peek into the pot. He rested his chin on her shoulder for a moment, just a second or two, but long enough that she felt it settle somewhere low in her chest.
“It smells good,” he murmured.
“I haven’t tasted it yet.”
“I still trust it.”
They ate with their bowls close to their mouths, like kids, knees brushing under the table. The soup was hot and a little too peppery, but comforting, and they shared a spoon between them when hers got too hot to hold. She spilled broth down her wrist at one point, and he reached out automatically with a napkin, pressing it to her skin like he could make the burn disappear just by being gentle. She laughed and said she was fine, and he nodded, but still wiped it one more time, just in case.
Afterwards they moved to the floor with a board game neither of them remembered the rules to. Yeo-Reum insisted she’d played it before, maybe in university, but as the pieces moved aimlessly and the score became impossible to track, they both gave up and lay down instead, side by side on the old rug with their feet propped up on the edge of the couch. The rain kept falling, steady and unwavering, and the window had started to fog a little at the corners.
They didn’t talk much, just let the quiet settle over them like another blanket. At one point, Yeo-Reum rolled onto her side to face him, her hair spilling across the floor like a second curtain, and traced the line of his arm with the back of her fingers. He watched her without saying anything, eyes soft, like he couldn’t believe she was real. Her touch was light and slow, not searching for anything, just feeling.
“Do you like rainy days?” she asked, eventually.
He nodded, his voice low and near. “I like them when you’re in them.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t go away. “You’re getting better at saying things like that.”
“I’m just telling the truth.”
They ended up on the couch later, after she’d made them both hot drinks and handed him a mug that was too full and almost burned his fingers. He didn’t say anything, just held it carefully, sipping while she curled up beside him with her knees tucked under his thigh. She had a book open but barely read a page. Mostly she just listened to the way he breathed, felt the weight of him beside her, the warmth of his arm where it brushed hers. He eventually leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and she tilted hers slightly until it found a resting place on his shoulder.
“Don’t fall asleep yet,” she whispered.
“I’m not.”
“You always say that right before you do.”
“I’m just resting my eyes.”
“Mhm.”
They stayed like that for a long time, the room dim and quiet except for the soft tap of rain and the occasional creak of the couch as they shifted. It was the kind of day that passed without any clear beginning or end. No sharp lines. Just a series of moments strung gently together, like beads on a thread. A touch here, a laugh there. A bowl of soup. A folded towel. A hand resting against another without needing to be held.
When the sky began to darken and the light turned a little more blue than grey, Yeo-Reum shifted to lie fully down on the couch, one arm thrown over her eyes. Dae-Beom reached for the blanket draped over the side and covered her with it without asking. She peeked out from beneath it just long enough to smile.
“Stay,” she said.
“I wasn’t going anywhere.”
And he didn’t. Not for the rest of the evening. Not even when the tea had gone cold or the light faded completely. He stayed beside her, legs tangled in the blanket, hand resting near hers, eyes half-lidded and peaceful. It didn’t feel like anything extraordinary was happening. But later, when she thought about it, she would remember it as one of the warmest days of her life. Quiet, uneventful, full of nothing but the kind of closeness that needed no explanation. Just the sound of rain, and the softness of being loved.
It had started with a voucher. Some kind of gift Jae-Hun had received from a part-time job he barely remembered doing, and when he offered it to Yeo-Reum with a shrug, saying he’d never use it and didn’t even like French food that much, she’d taken it with only a half-smile and the kind of casual politeness that hid how fast her mind was already working.
“Let’s go,” she’d said to Dae-Beom later that night, after reading the entire website twice and Googling what half the menu meant. “You and me. Just one night.”
He had hesitated, mostly because he didn’t know what kind of clothes were considered appropriate for that kind of place and because the idea of anyone topping up his water without being asked made him nervous, but she had already made the reservation and told him not to worry about it.
The restaurant was in the city, near the old theatre, tucked behind a row of expensive-looking storefronts. There were warm lights in the windows and a small brass plaque by the door that simply said Le Pin, like it was a secret club only people in the know could pronounce correctly. Dae-Beom wore the nicest shirt he owned, one he hadn’t touched since his graduation years ago, and a pair of shoes that made his feet feel stiff. But none of that mattered when Yeo-Reum stepped out of the bathroom in the small lobby and he saw her dress.
Dae-Beom caught his breath before he even realised it. The dress was a deep, velvety red. Not the bright, flashy kind but something darker, warmer, like crushed berries or the inside of a ripe pomegranate. It hugged her gently around the waist, flowing loosely from there into soft folds that brushed her calves with every step she took. The neckline curved in a wide scoop, just low enough to reveal the delicate curve of her collarbone but not much more, and the sleeves were long and sheer, like a whisper of fabric, ending in tiny, delicate gathers at her wrists.
She had tied her hair back loosely, a few strands escaping to frame her face softly, and the way the light caught the red dress made her skin look even paler, almost glowing in contrast. The dress wasn’t something you’d expect her to wear, and there was no hint of fussiness or showiness in it, but on her, it looked like it had been made to fit just right, like she’d always meant to wear it and just hadn’t gotten around to it until now.
He stared for a moment longer than he should have, caught between wanting to tell her how stunning she looked and the sudden nervousness of being the only person in the room. When she noticed and tilted her head with that quiet, uncertain smile he knew so well, he didn’t hesitate.
“No. No, no, nonono, It’s perfect. You look…”
The waiter led them to a table near the window. Everything was quiet and gold and white, like even the light had manners. Dae-Beom kept forgetting where to put his hands, and Yeo-Reum kept pretending she didn’t notice. She looked calm, but he could tell from the way she kept adjusting her napkin on her lap that she felt a little out of place too, and something about that made him love her even more.
They ordered slowly. The kind of meal where you didn’t point at a menu, you considered. Dae-Beom had no idea what most of it meant, but he trusted whatever she picked. She chose a bottle of wine they couldn’t pronounce properly, and the waiter smiled without correcting them, which made her relax a little.
“Why is everything so small?” she whispered as the first course arrived, a plate with what looked like three spoons of food and an arrangement of leaves.
“Maybe we’re supposed to appreciate it,” he whispered back.
She picked up a tiny fork and took a bite, then gave him a look of surprised approval. “Okay. I get it.”
Between courses, they talked about nothing. The good kind of nothing. He told him about a kid who fell asleep during one of his library shifts. She told her about a bird that kept landing outside their bedroom window. They laughed more than the couple two tables away who hadn’t said a word since they’d sat down. The wine was starting to warm them from the inside. Or maybe it was just the way their knees brushed under the table. Light at first, then not moving away.
At one point, he looked up from his plate and found her watching him. Not in a dreamy, love-struck way. Just… watching. Like she was collecting the moment, filing it away, sealing it in the part of her mind she always kept for memories she wanted to keep clean. He smiled and reached across the table to touch her hand. She let him. Her fingers stayed on his longer than they needed to.
After dessert, which she insisted they share, even though she clearly wanted more of it than he did, they lingered. There was no rush. The waiter was polite enough to disappear. The restaurant had gone quieter, the tables more spaced out with time. It felt like the kind of place where people stayed until they remembered they had lives to return to.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he said quietly, not trying to make it a big moment, just wanting it to be true out loud.
She looked down, her hand still playing with the edge of her plate. “I felt weird dressing up. Like I was pretending.”
“You’re not pretending anything.”
She glanced up. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
Her eyes held his for a long time. She didn’t smile exactly, but something in her face softened like melted wax. Her free hand came to rest on her neck, fingertips brushing the place where her pulse lived.
Outside, it had started to drizzle. The kind of rain that felt more like mist. She reached for her coat, but Dae-Beom held it out for her first, and she let him help her into it, turning slowly so her back was to him and her hair brushed his face. He smelled the faint perfume she’d worn, something light and floral and maybe a little too fancy for her, but he liked it anyway. They stepped out into the city holding hands like it was the only way to stay warm.
The streets were wet, shimmering under the streetlights. The umbrella she brought was just big enough for the two of them if they walked close. She curled into his side without being asked. His shoulder bumped her temple with every step.
“Would you want to come back here?” she asked eventually, her voice low and a little tired.
“Sure. But maybe only if someone else pays again.”
She laughed, quiet and genuine, and leaned even closer. “Fair enough.”
They walked without hurrying, without talking much more, the sounds of the night soft around them. His hand stayed in hers the entire way. When they reached the train station, the platform was mostly empty. They sat close together on a bench, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, her cheek against his shoulder.
She sighed. Not from exhaustion. From fullness.
“Thanks for coming with me,” she said, after a long silence.
He turned his head and kissed her hair. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”
They didn’t say anything else until the train came. And even then, the quiet between them was the good kind. Like the night had given them something neither of them could name, but both of them would remember. Not because it was expensive or extravagant or rare. Just because it was theirs. Just because she had looked beautiful, and he had looked at her like she was the only person in the room, and they had walked through the city in the rain with their shoulders touching and everything had felt more than enough.
It happened slowly, like most things with them. No sudden rush or breathless decision, no dramatic pause before someone made a move. Just a quiet afternoon that stretched into a quiet evening, the kind where neither of them had anywhere else to be.
Yeo-Reum had been folding laundry, her knees tucked under her on the living room floor, and Dae-Beom had been helping in his usual quiet way, handing her each piece with the edges already smoothed out. She wore one of his old T-shirts and a pair of cotton shorts, and he couldn't seem to stop glancing at her, not because she looked particularly different, but maybe because she didn’t. She looked like home. Like something he'd been waiting for without even knowing.
It was when she reached for his hand, fingers still a little warm from the fabric, that he knew something had shifted. She didn’t say anything at first. She just looked at him for a while, and when he squeezed her hand back, she got up, tugged him gently with her, and walked them to the bedroom.
There wasn’t any music. Just the sound of the fan turning in lazy circles above them and the faint hum of traffic outside. She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling him down with her, and he followed so easily, so obediently, that she smiled even before they kissed.
His lips were hesitant at first, like he was still waiting for some unspoken confirmation, and she gave it to him by touching his face, by brushing her thumb along his cheek, by whispering his name with a kind of certainty that made him shiver. She had never made him feel rushed. Even now, with her skin brushing against his and the air between them warm and close, he didn’t feel pushed. He felt guided. Like he could trust wherever she was leading him.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft as her fingertips trailing under his collar.
He nodded quickly, then paused. "I am. Just... tell me what you want. I'll do anything."
It wasn’t even dramatic. It was just true. His whole posture said it, even more than his words. The way he leaned into her touch. The way his hands hovered over her waist like he didn’t want to assume anything, like her comfort mattered more than his nerves.
She smiled and cupped his face. "I want this to feel like us. Not like some big scary thing."
He let out a breath, nodded again, slower this time. "Okay. Yeah. I want that too."
When she kissed him again, deeper now, he didn’t pull away. His hands found her waist more surely this time, thumbs brushing the fabric of her shirt. He was shaking a little, and she felt it, but she didn’t say anything. She just kissed him again, slower, softer, and he melted into her like it was the only thing he knew how to do.
They stayed like that for a while, half-laying, half-sitting, their bodies tangled but not hurried, not trying to get somewhere quickly. At one point she reached for his hand and slid it under her shirt, guiding it to her skin. He froze for half a second, not in fear but in awe, his palm resting against her side like it was the most delicate thing he’d ever touched. And then he looked at her, not to ask for permission, but to check. To make sure she was still there, still okay. She was. More than okay.
"You’re allowed," she whispered, and that was enough.
He moved gently, like everything he did. He touched her like she might dissolve if he pressed too hard. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world. He asked small things in between, Is this good? Is this too much? Do you want more?, and she always answered with little nods or hums or the way she kissed him back.
At some point she laughed, quietly, almost against his mouth. "You’re still trembling."
"I know," he whispered, his forehead pressed to hers. "I'm trying not to."
"Don’t try. It’s sweet."
He breathed out a laugh too. She was the only person who could make him feel like his uncertainty wasn’t something to be fixed. Like she liked him exactly how he was. Even now.
When they finally lay down properly, limbs stretched out and clothes slowly traded for skin, there was nothing rushed or frantic about it. Just touch. Just warmth. Just two people who had taken their time getting here and weren’t going to stop doing that now.
She ran her fingers through his hair while he kissed her shoulder. He whispered her name again, not because he wanted something, but because saying it grounded him. Because it helped him remember who he was with.
Slowly, Dae-Beom lifted himself up onto his forearms on top of Yeo-Reum, looking down at her with a mix of nervousness, excitement, and determination. He smiled down at her, controlling his breathing.
“What do you want?” He asked softly, searching her eyes for even a hint of hesitation which he never found.
“Just… Uh…” She took his hand in hers and guided it gently to the underside of her bra, just where the wire met the bottom of her breasts. He searched her face for any signs of what to do, he found them in the soft sighs and fluttering of her lashes as his hands inched higher and higher.
He reached around with such gentleness, hands trembling as he unhooked her bra underneath her shirt. He lifted her to sit up on his lap and softly pulled both garments off. He wasn’t even looking at her boobs when they were off, he was looking at her arms, making sure she didn’t have goosebumps from the cold. She didn’t.
Then his eyes raked over the rest of her torso. Her stomach, toned and small, her chest bones just barely visible. He did look at her boobs, but not in any lustful way that paid extra attention to them. He appreciated them just as he appreciated her eyes, her nose, her arms, her belly button. It was all the same to him. He thought it was all beautiful.
“Are you okay with that…? Not too cold?” He asked softly, his eyes meeting hers again.
“Could you… take yours off too? I don’t wanna be the only one.” She said, her hands already finding purchase at the hem of his shirt. He nodded, and they both lifted it off of him, and with it, a layer of insecurity they both seemed to be unaware they had.
They both took the moment in for a second, and Dae-Beom seemed to start saying something but decided against it, which made them both laugh, which made the whole moment feel a lot more like them. Slowly, he ran his hands up and down her bare waist, just grounding them both. She ran her hands down his torso, down his chest and his abs, and softly tugged on the hem of his pants. Not exactly trying to get them off, just trying to see what he thought about the idea. From the growing redness in his ears and the way he shifted her weight on top of him, he liked the idea.
He slowly lowered her so her back was touching the bed again and he was on top of her. He kissed her lips tenderly, pouring all of his emotions into it, then he trailed them down her jaw, down her neck, her boobs, her torso, her shoulders, her arms. He paid it all equal attention, and Yeo-Reum swore she could melt.
“Dae-Beom-Ah…” She whispered.
“Hmm? Are you okay?” He replied, stopping his kissing to look into her eyes.
“I’m so okay… can you… can we…?” She sighed, trying her hardest to form a coherent sentence but his constant attention to her was making her blush so hard it was difficult to string together actual words.
He picked up on it and trailed his hands down her waist, pulling softly at the hem of her sweats, as if asking for permission, which she granted him easily, lifting her hips to allow him to pull them off.
Once they were off too, it felt like the final guard they had up in their relationship was gone. He positioned himself on his knees between her parted legs, trying his hardest to keep his composure.
He looked at her face as he slowly hooked his arms around her thighs, bringing them up and parting them slightly. She nodded eagerly without him even asking her anything, and he lowered his face between her legs, licking a slow stripe up. She sighed loudly, grasping at the bedsheets. He looked up at her with an anxious expression.
“Are you okay?” He asked softly, holding out one hand to her, which she grabbed onto and squeezed, nodding softly. “Okay… You’re doing so well.” He whispered softly, leaning down to lick her a little more, breathing onto her most sensitive areas.
She used her other hand to tangle into his hair, and he took that as encouragement to keep going. He circled her clit a few times, feeling her hand squeeze around his as she tried to bite back the noises she was making.
“It’s okay, let me hear you, your voice is so pretty.” He whispered against her, looking up with a blush that said he was grateful to get to do this.
He doubled down his efforts until he heard her gasping and her whimpers growing louder. He tried to pull back to check if she was okay again, but she didn’t move her hand, grinding gently against his face until her hands relaxed and her hole pulsed slightly. He pulled back and wiped his mouth and nose on his forearm, looking down at her with a vibrant red blush.
“You did so good.” He said with a smile, tracing his hands up her hips again and kissing her forehead tenderly.
“I didn’t even do anything.” She giggled softly, still obviously spent and a little overwhelmed, but smiling. “Do you need… Do you want me to…?” She whispered, looking down at the tent still in his pants.
“No, its okay, let me get myself sorted, you don’t need to do anything else, you did so good, thank you, I love you so much.” He whispered, punctuated with kisses to her forehead. He slowly parted from her, smiling at her blushing and breathing heavily, spread out on the bed.
It didn’t take long for him to find his release in the bathroom after that. He would’ve loved for her to help him, but he didn’t want to overwhelm her more. And besides, just thinking about that got him going pretty quickly.
He walked back into their room and almost collapsed onto the bed, looking at her, breathing level now but still somewhat out of it.
“Thank you, Yeo-Reum.”
“No, thank you, Dae-Beom. You made me feel so good…”