We didn't move.
His lips had barely parted, yet I was already struggling to breathe the same way.
My heart was pounding so hard I felt like he could hear it too.
I stayed there, squinting my eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath still hanging between us. The smell of wet earth, the sunlight filtering through the leaves, a bird singing somewhere else in the world… everything felt more real. Closer.
"Are you okay?" he whispered, never taking his eyes off me.
I nodded. Lied a little.
I didn't know if I was okay. But I also didn't want him to pull away.
He didn't move. He just stayed there, with that patience of his that confuses me.
As if he knew I needed a second. Or two. Or the whole day.
"It wasn't perfect," he said suddenly. "But it was ours."
I smiled. In my head, I thought: How silly. It was perfect because it was with you.
I didn't say it.
I still couldn't handle it all.
I slowly got up. I felt the tips of my fingers buzzing, as if they still remembered touching him. I took off my gloves. There was dirt under my nails, on my clothes, in my soul.
"My mom would laugh if she saw me like this," I murmured.
"I don't know…" he said, brushing a leaf off his forehead. "I think she'd say you're blossoming."
I looked at him. That hurt beautifully.
Silence returned, but it was different now. Not uncomfortable, not full of unspoken words. It was… soft. Complicit.
And he didn't try to kiss me again.
It wasn't necessary.
After the first kiss, you understand things that can't be said.
That not everything has to burn to be intense.
Sometimes, it's enough that it trembles.
And I trembled.
---
We went up through the back entrance of the house.
I was still barefoot. My steps made a soft sound on the wood.
Jong-Suk walked behind me, silent. But I felt him in every corner of the air.
We entered the kitchen. The flowers in the vase were wilted, but the light came in golden through the window. For a moment, everything felt warm. Full.
He offered me water. I accepted.
Our fingers brushed.
We said nothing.
No need to.
My heart was still vibrating as if I had just run, but my whole body begged for a pause.
I needed to be alone.
Or I would fall apart.
"I'm going upstairs," I whispered.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Yes… I just need to think."
He nodded. He didn't ask for anything. Didn't try to stop me.
And that made me want to stay longer.
But I couldn't.
---
In the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror.
Dirt on my forehead.
A petal stuck to my neck.
And my lips… still warm.
I touched them with two fingers.
Soft.
Firm.
Slow.
As if he had kissed me with his soul, not his mouth.
I turned on the shower.
The steam rose like a shy fog.
The hot water wrapped me, but all I felt was his kiss.
Not as a memory. As a tattoo.
I leaned against the cold tiles.
The contrast made me shiver.
And I thought of him.
How he looked at me.
How he waited without rushing me.
How he made me tremble.
I felt a warm flutter in my stomach, like a trapped butterfly.
And I let go.
I didn't cry.
But I unraveled.
Just a little.
---
I got into bed with damp skin, wrapped in an old childhood t-shirt.
I stared at the ceiling.
I breathed.
And my body still hummed as if he were still there.
I brought a hand to my lips.
It wasn't just the kiss.
It was everything else.
I closed my eyes.
I imagined him coming in without touching.
Sitting at the edge of the bed.
Looking at me with that mixture of tenderness and desire that dismantles me.
I imagined him saying, without words, that what we have doesn't need explanation.
Just space.
Time.
And will.
I sighed.
Turned onto my side.
Outside, the garden was quiet.
But I knew the roses had felt it too.
That tremor.
That little revolution.
He kissed me as if the world were ending.
And I… let him.
---
Eliz couldn't stop that internal revolution… and neither could Jong-Suk.
Because later, when he left, the only thing waiting for him was silence.
The door shut behind me with a sharp click.
Silence returned. Impersonal. Sterile.
I took off my shoes, still covered in dirt from his garden.
Something was burning inside me.
It wasn't just the curve of his wet lips.
It was something deeper.
I let myself collapse onto the bed.
A kiss is not enough.
I wanted more.
Not more flesh.
More of her.
Her laughter.
Her beautiful fear.
Her gaze when she feels lost.
I wanted to keep her.
Not as an object. As a certainty.
My heart was pounding against my neck.
And then I admitted it, barely a whisper:
"I just want it to be you."
My skin prickled.
"I don't want anyone else to touch you like I did."
So silly. But true.
Like that only truth in a world full of noise.
I stood up. Walked back and forth. The floor creaked, but I barely noticed. My heart raced with fury.
I felt anger.
Anger?
Yes.
Because she was free.
And I… I was starting not to be.
She was tied to my voice.
To my neck.
To how I said, "I've never kissed anyone" and looked at her with that scared beauty only felt the first time you truly give yourself.
I couldn't imagine her with anyone else.
I couldn't.
The mere thought churned my stomach.
And I said it softly, a whisper:
"I don't want to share you… but you're so bright, and I wouldn't hide you from the world. And that makes me feel bad."
"I don't want anyone else to hear you laugh the way you did with me."
"I don't want anyone else to see you like that."
"I want you all to myself."
It was irrational.
It was selfish.
But even at a distance, I would stay if that made her happy.
I would give myself… but not what I feel.
And still, she's worth it.
It scared me.
Because I'd never felt this before.
Because I'd never been so afraid of losing something that was just beginning to be mine.
No… she's not an object.
I don't expect to possess her.
I expect to be accepted.
I pressed my eyes shut. Ran my hands over my face.
Is it wrong to feel this?
I don't know.
All I know is, if anyone else dares to touch you… if anyone else even tries to approach…
I will burn.
And it won't be jealousy.
It'll be because I love you the way one loves what is not yet understood, but already recognized as theirs.
"What are you doing to me, Eliz?" I whispered in the solitude of my room.
I lay back down. The sheets were cold, but my body was boiling.
I couldn't take it anymore…
I imagined her in her room, alone, lips still red.
Did she look in the mirror?
Did she touch her mouth, thinking of me the way I'm thinking of her now?
I clenched my eyes. My fingers gripped the edge of the mattress.
I wasn't thirteen. But in that moment, I felt like a confused adolescent.
Like a man on the edge of an abyss.
I wanted to mark her.
That no one else touch her.
That no one else speak to her with that low voice.
That no one else look at her the way I looked today.
But I felt the weight.
If she doesn't love me… it's not worth it.
If she didn't feel the same as I feel when I dedicate my gaze and my softest voice…
I wanted to repeat the kiss.
Lose myself in her neck, her shoulders, every part I've yet to know.
But I won't.
Not now.
Not because I don't want to.
Because she trusted me. She gave a little. I won't break that.
This desire, this urgency… they are mine.
I will carry them alone. For now.
I breathed deeply. Clenched my fists.
And then I knew:
The next time I kiss her…
there will be no turning back.