en-ternity

[en-ternity]

It’s not that Jaeyun disliked the nights of sex — he just tended to prefer the mornings after a little bit more.

╰ a smutty established relationship au｜4.2K

PAIRING: Jaeyun x fem!reader

WARNINGS: usage of petnames (baby, in special), unprotected sex, fingering, oral and nipple play (f. receiving), handjob (m. receiving), overstimulation

it can be read as an extra part of TPSATEOTW, as i don’t think i will ever get over fine arts major!Jaeyun being completely in love and worshiping you. but! the characters went way dirtier here than in the main story, therefore if you are new to my stories, don’t worry, you don’t need to read the forty-six thousand nine hundred words to get this part, as it’s sheer smut, with minor plot additions

It’s not that Jake disliked the nights of sex — he just tended to prefer the mornings after a little bit more.

There was something about waking up to your body still tangled in his. Summer air into your hair and nothing but morning sunlight and his sheets to cover your skin.

It felt too vulnerable — too raw, a level of intimacy that got Jake’s chest swelling and his skin tingling in a way that he knew the heat slowly setting outside had nothing to do with. It made him desperate to feel every piece of you against the tip of his fingers. But oh — oh, he could.

Jake started slowly, following the dips of your ribcage still underneath his touch before he traced up — taking the slope curve of your shoulders and moving towards your arm, cataloging the freckles sprinkled against your skin as if he hadn’t yet learned them all and needed to do so in order to paint it on a later date — although, he was well aware that he would never. 

He had already tried to paint you once — twice, actually. 

The first time had happened a few weeks after you had become a couple. He thought that the novelty of everything — and of course, the fact that you were nearly naked — was what made the both of you so worked up that you ended up having sex on the hardwood floor of his bedroom, but on the second attempt — some time after you were together for over a year. It only lasted a few moments more. Jake had managed to at least finish the sketch lines, but then, you were laughing at something he had said, throwing your head back in the way that never failed to make the world halt, the seconds rearranging themselves only so Jake could watch the interplay of lights taking over the hollows of your neck, a little bewildered — alright. He was bewildered enough for you to kick him and have no serve, and so, you merely rested the sole of your foot at his thigh, dangerously closer to his already hardening length, and the true reason why you were posing in front of him had been forgotten once again.

At the very least — you had done it in bed instead of the floor this time.

You once had told him that you loved his hands, artsy hands made for masterpieces, and maybe they were, but in moments like this, Jake felt like they were simply made to touch you. And so — he did, taking your hand from where you had left it resting last night, your fingers spread at the side of his neck as your thumb chased for the pulse of his heart because it helped you fall asleep.

He had chuckled when you told him this, a way to mask the fact that he also fell asleep better when you were within the handle of his arms — he woke up better too — as down bad as he was for you.

His thumb moved through your knuckles as he brought it to his lips. Jake knew he had gone too far when he felt you begin to stir in your sleep, your body instinctively seeking him, snuggling closer as the bridge of your nose found its way to the crook of his neck, nuzzling against his skin, and making each of your exhalations send a cascade of shivers down his spine.

“Jake,” you mumbled, his name coming so drowsy and sleepy. He couldn’t help but smile at you in response, his heart aching because he simply loved you too much. “It’s Sunday, we-” but the rest of your sentence was cut off, words swallowed by the man you were aiming at. His hand caught at the nape of your neck to angle you to him, taking your lips as he always did — mouth sweeping over yours, lazily, languidly, and a bit too innocent considering you were both still naked from the previous night, the remnants of it still present everywhere, but then, you were sighing into him, and he shifted you over the mattress, hovering above you.

A groan escaped him as your legs parted, nestling him within the space of your thighs and allowing the kiss to turn a little bit deeper — a little bit messier. His tongue licked over your bottom lip as his thumb grazed at the corner of it, coaxing your mouth to open wider, and you complied, arms curling to his shoulder in an attempt to end a distance that didn’t really exist anymore.

He didn’t have to do much to make you let out other noises, softer, raspier ones that morphed into small moans and gasps as he slipped down to kiss your neck, your shoulder — finding that one secret hollow beneath your jaw that got you shuddering for him.

Although he would give anything to stay like this with you forever, he pulled back, pushing himself up onto his arms. 

“Good morning to you too,” you said, smiling at him — and God. Jake had heard and understood it. But he didn’t reply, his mouth already too busy brushing an artful path through your body, taking the sheets with him as his hands trailed down to your waist, your stomach — taking in every centimeter of your skin in between his lips and surely leaving a mark as he mouthed at the curve of your hips, setting one of your legs over his shoulder, and immediately receiving a soft whine as one of his hands pried at your other thigh, spreading you open for him.

“Baby,” he breathed. “May I?” 

The question hung in the morning air, throaty and husky. His voice dipped a tone lower because of the hours of sleep. Honestly, Jake already knew the answer — both of you have passed through this exact moment way too many times throughout the course of your relationship for him to know you would never refuse him, but still — he didn’t move — not until you had nodded at him, your fingers reaching and weaving through his hair in a manner that never failed to make him groan. 

The breeze pushed through the still-open window of his bedroom, moving the curtains and brushing over your entwined forms, but despite the gush of warmth coming into the bedroom, a shiver rippled over your skin as he nuzzled his nose at your leg, the tip of it trailing from your knees to the apex of your thigh and setting itself there, and it was enough to get him gone — heart pounding against his ears in anticipation.

Jake wasn’t inexperienced — ever since you began to date, he wasn’t inexperienced. The years he had ahead of you redeemed him enough to know what he was doing on your first time together, but there was something about you — something that always made him a bit too desperate, a bit too foolish, and juvenile — as if it was his very first time he was ever pressing a kiss into your folds, lightly and barely giving him the opportunity to taste you, but you were already gasping underneath him, slightly arching your back off the bed, and the junction of everything made him groan, a jolt of pleasure moving straight into his length. And he didn’t think he could handle another second without worshiping you. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Have I ever told you this?”

You laughed at his question, that one bright burst that got your nose scrunching in a habit he wasn’t sure if you were aware that you had because there was no way you would keep doing it when he nearly died every time.

“Just always.”

“Good, I like to keep things in check — but in any case, you’re so beautiful, Baby,” he said. When the words reached back at him, he could hear all the reverence and adoration he had for you, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel ashamed — not even a bit, not when you were flushing at him, illuminated by the golden morning light filtering through his curtains, because he truly had never seen anything more perfect. “A Vermee’s painting — no, Vermeer’s can’t compare.”

“You’re a living walking art,” he said. “My own living, walking art.”

Another burst of happiness wobbled out of you, and Jake truly couldn’t handle this anymore. His hands slid a bit further into you, his thumbs finding and pulling the tender flesh of your hood and lifting it, leaving your clit in full exposure for him to lean in again, the tip of his tongue kneading the sensitive flesh around, lightly rubbing it, and pressing it. It took your smile away, your lips parting in a gasp as your fingers wove further through his hair, pulling him in a demand that he quickly obeyed — giving you another lick. A harder one. His tongue twirled all around the edge. Then pressed a kiss over it. A long tender wet kiss onto it before he lowered his head and licked at the entrance of your body because you were clenching around nothing and it felt too evil. He pushed his tongue against the hole and pushed again until the tip went inside it and he had to control his will to roll his eyes back.

You tasted wondrous — utterly and irrevocably wondrous. He couldn’t reckon wanting anything more than this — pressing his mouth into you. And so, Jake pushed his tongue into your hole again, making your legs tremble, slightly closing around him.

“Jake,” you called, his name fleeing from your lips as it always tended to do on moments like this — like you tended to call him whenever you wanted to ask him something — like you tended to say please. And honestly, Jake wouldn’t have you begging, he wouldn’t dare. He once had told you he could give you anything even if you never asked in a heartbeat — in the moment his body took to live from one moment to another and he meant it. When you tipped your hips into his mouth, he was ready to give you anything.

“Hold yourself open for me, alright Baby?” he asked, lifting his gaze at you, and catching the perfect moment when you nodded at him. You spread your legs further apart as the soles of your feet pushed against his sheets for some leverage, and Jake let go of your hold, sitting on his heels and filling the space within your thighs and fuck.

Jake groaned at the sight. You were all soft and small there, glistening with the remains of your fluids and his saliva.

“My pretty girl,” he whispered. “Look at you, all spread out and perfect for me.”

Jake reached for you again, running his fingers up and down through your seam, teasing it slightly before he pushed a single finger in. You were so wet already, he slipped inside with no resistance, and it was so dizzying — so dizzying, he hardly heard you panting as he slid another finger inside, your whole body trembling, but you kept your legs apart as he had asked you to in that one false deed — as if Jake could command anything when both of you knew — he was the one to always follow, his body moving along with yours as if his center of gravity was you instead of the other way around. 

But he really didn’t care.

He pressed inside of you, slow, deep, and huddling his fingers into that one spot that soon enough he knew that would get you into a mess — squeezing him with your release as your hands grabbed at his sheets. Your lips parted and your hair turned wilder as your head pressed against his pillows and your back arched in that one beautiful bow before you melted against his sheets once again.

“Baby,” he called, and you clenched at the endearing name, a velvet heat that made his heart stutter and he groaned at you.

You hadn’t done anything to him, but Jake was utterly undone by you. His breath came in short, ragged gasps just by watching you.

Fuck — he could come just by watching you.

You were so tight and so wet that his hand was coated in you, and you were so stunning like this, so lovely and his. He curled his fingers deeper inside of you, making you mumble something unintelligible, a sob ripping through your chest that was threatening to turn into a release already, and Jake couldn’t help but grin wider at the sound, reveling in the way your body trembled and arched under his touch. 

You thrashed and thrashed as he still tended you the way you needed, stroking the spots inside that made you moan and rubbing at your clit until he heard you panting, his own name falling from your lips in a breathless moan before it turned into whimpers and you came around him. He leaned in to kiss the tip of your breast. You moaned as his tongue touched your nipple, squirming in overstimulation, but he didn’t stop. He licked the nipple once before drawing it into his mouth and sucking it. His concentration on the tender tip that he drew on again and again — almost matching the way his fingers moved into your cunt with all their little muscles still fluttering around him and giving their final little gasps.

You cried out for him, and it should make him stop, but it wasn’t your first time together, nor the first time he got his fingers into you. Jake knew your body from inside to out. He knew every sliver of your skin, and had every little move memorized by the amount of times he had induced it. 

Jake knew you enough to notice you were coming again, as fast as it could be. And he couldn’t stop — his mind hazed with the idea of making you feel that good.

You squirmed in his arms again, seeking and seeking as your head fell back, pushing your chest further into his mouth as you came a second time.

And he could keep going — pushing you further into the edges, but you were murmuring for him to stop, and he did — in the same living heartbeat because that was just how he was.

“Sorry, my love — you ok?” he asked, his hands moving through your sides, rubbing your skin in an attempt to cease any pain. But if anything, you hummed at him, a little soft and dozing with a smile, and causing his heart ease, pouring with tenderness as he watched you drift back into a peaceful state, your features easing in the afterglow. 

Jake stayed still, feeling your chest rise and fall as you caught your breath, your skin flushed and glistening with a thin layer of sweat. He loved these moments — the aftermath, where your body was relaxed and vulnerable, completely undone by his touch.

You reached for him, pushing his hair back from his forehead before you traced down to his cheeks, his lips, caressing his whole life with one fingertips. And when you cupped his face as you whispered his name with so much love, he knew it was happening — his whole body filling in love for you. Jake could feel his chest tightening with emotion, the kind that threatened to spill over in words he hadn’t planned to say. It was gutting and disorienting and dizzying and joyful.

Like brushing a raw canvas with tumultuous strokes — the rain’s translucent washes seeping into the texture, lightning creating jagged highlights across the composition, the wind’s movement suggesting a melody in the negative space, reminiscent of a motif he once had captured but has since faded from his palette.

And it didn’t help that another breeze picked up, moving the curtains once again and allowing another sparse of light to pour in. Golden stripes painted across your skin, creating the most dazzling image Jake had ever beheld. The faint sheen of sweat on your skin glistened so prettily — the sun’s gentle brushstrokes making each curve and contour of you a breathtaking display of natural beauty.

He would be lying if he ever said he knew the precise moment when he fell in love with you — the precise moment his heart decided the next beat would be for you, but he knew every moment when he had the realization he loved you harder than he ever thought he was capable of, that tiny epiphany that every fiber of his being resonated with the certainty that he belonged to you, wholly and completely — his heart, his soul, his very essence belonged to you, irrevocably and eternally. And that he would do until the end of the times — until the sun no longer shines, and the mountains crumble to the sea.

As that old song said.

“Jake.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Kiss me.”

And who was he to deny you something?

The kiss was as languid and hot as it was when he kissed you elsewhere, his tongue rushing over yours, tasting like you still, and when you angled yourself to him, he couldn’t help but rub against your folds, seeking some kind of relief.

You brought a single leg to his hips, tightening it and bringing him as closer as you could, running your hands through his hair, finding the nape of his nape and it was impossible — he was shivering — his whole body threatening to break open merely to fit everything he felt for you.

His forehead dropped to yours, halting the kiss once and for all.

“Wanting something more?” he asked — as if he didn’t want it.

“I do.”

"What is it?" he murmured, his words a gentle caress against your lips. “Tell me, Baby. I’ll give you anything — do anything you ask.” 

“You, I want you.”

“Baby, I am yours,” he said. “You should be more specific on this one.”

You smiled at his tease, biting on your lower lips, and that was the moment Jake knew it was over. You were the one in charge — no more forgery — you were the one who was going to lead him now on. Your leg fell off his hips as your palms flattered against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath his ribs for a single second before you slid down and down and down — purposefully avoiding his throbbing length as your nails scraped over the skin of his waist. 

“I want-” you began. The tip of your fingers found his shaft, following its whole extension before you stopped at his tip, circling it. He panted at your doing, growing even harder, but if anything — it made you smile, wrapping your hand around him and stealing a groan — stupidly proud at how your fingers couldn’t touch around it even when you squeezed him.

You stroke him down to his base and then upwards, finding the sensitive underneath his tip and making him buck, yet he couldn’t come to feel ashamed of it, not when you seemed so happy about it. Whatever you want, he always told you — he would always give you whatever you wanted, so it didn’t matter that he was shaking with the effort to hold still whilst you played with him — he allowed you to do whatever.

You had been there before. He had been the one to teach you how to touch him, curled his hand above yours, and guided you through everything, but you had been the one to discover how to push him into the edges, to tease and make it too much — too much, a jolt of pleasure speared deep into his groin, threatening to release.

“I want you inside of me,” you sais. “I want to feel every centimeter of you, to be completely filled by you.”

“Baby,” he called, a low groan escaping through his lips. If you didn’t stop right now, he would come, and so, he reached up to your wrist, his fingers molding against your wrist as he brought it above your head, pinning it against his mattress.

You didn’t fight back — if anything, you smiled at him, eyes pouring all your satisfaction, because you had gotten him exactly how you wanted.

“Is that pretty pussy feeling empty already?” he asked. “Think you can give me another one?”

His fingers trailing down your body, leaving a trail of shivers in their wake. When they reached your folds, he gently parted them, pushing a finger inside as he watched your face intently, searching for any sign of discomfort or oversensitivity.

You whimpered the moment his fingers found your opening but nodded nevertheless.

“You sure?” he asked, and you nodded once again, gasping out a little please as you rose to push against his fingers.

Jake didn’t need to work you up anymore, using his fingers to circle over your clit, teasing and coaxing soft moans from your lips as he guided the tip through your slick folds, his eyes never leaving yours as he coated himself in your arousal. The sensation drew a soft groan from his lips, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Ready?” he whispered as if you hadn’t been there way too many times already. But you nodded once again, folding your leg around his waist, thighs clenching around him, squeezing him almost unconsciously.

It never got old. 

His tip pressed inside of you, and you arched underneath him, letting out a stung noise that matched his because you were too tight. He could never wrap his mind around it — it doesn’t matter how many times he had been with you, you were always squeezing him until he went a bit hazed, his whole body tensing in a way that he had to clutch at his sheets, fists closing as his fingers wavered through. 

You reached out for the back of his neck, pulling him tighter against you as a murmur of pleasure escaped through. 

He pushed inside, both of you gasping at the sensation. And it took him everything he had not to break your gaze and throw his head back, blissed out by the whole feel of you. But if anything, he huffed out a breath, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips and then to your shoulders as he gave you both a minute, his hand dropping to your waist, the curve of your thigh, trailing and hooking his fingers underneath your knee, pulling it a little bit higher onto his waist to arrange you better for him. His tip pressed against your cervix with slow, even strokes as he rambled compliments that made you flush, running your fingers along his arms.

And when he slid out, your body tried to hold him in, squeezing him so hard that it was somehow difficult.

You called for him as his pace became more frantic — his hips stuttering with impatience and greed as the room became filled with the sounds of skin against skin and your breathless moans as Jake made sure to drag his length out at just the right angle to rub against your clit before he sank all the way in because it got you shuddering underneath him, your hands traveling back to his hair and threading through.

His lips found your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses as he drove into you with increasing urgency. His hands gripped your hips because suddenly it wasn’t enough to just be joined to you — he needed to touch, pulling you as close as he could with each thrust.

“God, you feel amazing,” he groaned, and you cried out of pleasure, a sharp intake of air followed by a tiniest gasp. “So perfect, so tight around me.”

It was barely even dirty talk anymore, Jake’s voice sounded desperate even to himself, his brows furrowed as he watched you climb higher underneath him. Face flushed, pupils wide and dilated enough that he could find the edges of it.

You came with a sudden pull of your body, beautifully. Magnificently. A writhing, wet, gasping, and spasming around him, and going so tight — so tight — twisting under his body, even as he kept you pinned in place with his hands and your hips.

You squirmed and whimpered your way through it, finishing with an almighty shudder as you come a fourth time and it’s too much — you were too much, even if Jake wanted to push it further he couldn’t anymore — with a final, deep thrust, his body tensed as he spilled inside you. He groaned your name, the sound muffled against your skin as he buried himself to the hilt, his fingers digging into your skin with an intensity that left behind perfect little indentations as the waves of pleasure washed over him, Jake’s body shuddered, seeking refuge in the crook of your neck, his face nestled against the warmth of your skin as you both lay there, basking in the afterglow.

“Good morning, Baby,” he finally replied and it got you laughing, that one bright burst that made his whole body fault.

Until the sun no longer shines, he thought. 

God — he was madly in love with you.

hello, my loves! ₊˚ ⊹ thank you so much for reading until here! hm, i usually do not post smut-based stories, but this one scene has been stuck with me ever since i firstly posted the pottery shop at the edge of the world on my past accont and so i thought why not share it with the world?

i hope the smut isn’t as awkward as i feel lmao but anyway! thank you for reading ♡

[en-ternity]

Hi!! Do you take requests?

hello, anonie! i hope you are having a blessed week! ✨ as much as i would love to write requests as i feel it would be so fun to interact with people in that way — i don’t 💔 i am a really, really, really slow writer. it not only takes me days to write a short story, but also, a whole week to simply review it, so i prefer not to take requests to not leave people hanging for too long 😔

[en-ternity]

Heyyy I just wanted to say I absolutely LOVED your Jake fic and it’s an honour to be mutuals w you 😭🫶 you have a way with writing and totally makes sense that you’re a literature major I think that’s so cool

hello, dear! ♥️ oh my 😭 thank you so much for reading my Jake’s story and loving it so much 🤲🏻 honestly, i am the honored one for having such a gentle person as my moot ✨ i have scrolled through your profile and i am so curious about the Jake’s story you are currently working on! i mean, a whole mafia au? i can’t wait to read! but unfortunately, i haven’t found the time for reading yet as my classes are already back at university 🥹 and oh? no one ever told me this about my writing, and it got me all fluffy inside? i genuinely love being a literature major and to know it shows in my writing is just 🤧

[en-ternity]

everybody, shut up. jake has something to say 📢 !!

[en-ternity]

passing by just to thank you for all the beautiful comments you guys have been leaving at the pottery shop story :( since this is a new account, i wasn’t expecting many interactions. but naur! it is receiving so much love, so thank you so much, honestly ♡

(i shed a bunch of tears scrolling through the comments)

[en-ternity]

Falling in love with your older brother’s best friend certainly wasn’t one of your summer resolutions.

Actually, meeting him wasn’t even part of your plans. But someday, you happened to have no other option than to appear unannounced at his little pottery shop in Seogwipo. A stray kitten in a pet carrier, and asking for a place to stay. And well, you couldn’t help but do.

╰ a summer romance divided into two parts

PAIRING: older brother’s best friend!Jaeyun x fem!reader

WARNINGS (for this part): mentions of alcohol, even more art references, smut, virginity loss, unprotected sex multiple times, fingering and oral (f. receiving), handjob (m. receiving), reader overreacts once and Jaeyun yearns, but yes, they are in their lovers era, and i am not saying that there’s a scene where he paints the reader naked, but i am

PART TWO｜28.2K｜STORY MASTERLIST

By the time you woke up, the house was wrapped in a silence so thorough, it almost felt like a dream. The usual soft hustle of dishes echoing, drawers opening and shutting before finally the smell of bread browning and eggs hitting a hot skillet was taken by such a stillness that you had expected Jake to have already gone to the shop, starting his day ahead of you. But as you padded barefoot to the kitchen, you found him there. Sat slumped at the dining table. His coffee mug had long gone cold beside his limp hand as his head rested against the wooden surface, his hair tousled, and lashes resting peacefully against his cheeks.

You sat in the chair by his side, carefully mirroring his slumped posture by resting your head against the dining table. The year had just reached that one point where the days had an impossible glow. When the curtains moved with the breeze, beams of light rolled across Jake’s sleeping form, catching on his skin and picking strands of his hair, turning everything into gold, and you couldn’t help — perhaps because of the dreamy glow of the day, perhaps because your body simply couldn’t help but seek Jake. But you reached for him, stroking a few strands of his hair with the tip of your fingers, moving it away from his forehead, and drawing it to the back of his ear. Yet as gentle as you had been, it made Jake wake still, his eyes opening, a bit confused and fuzzy with sleep as the sunlight caught them too, melting the dark brown into gold, and you felt your breath catching in your throat.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I was going to make breakfast but I fell asleep.”

“I am the one sorry for making you stay up last night.”

“Yes, you are the one to blame,” he laughed, but he didn’t raise his head — instead, he reached for you too, tracing your features with the delicacy you imagined artists devoted solely to their masterpieces. And for a moment, there was no time, just one breath after another, and Jake’s fingers on you.

Years from now, someone was going to ask you when you fell in love with Jake and you wouldn’t know how to reply. You never knew the exact moment when your heart decided that the next beat would be for Jake, you only knew that it had been built for you pretty much as the summer came to Seogwipo, the flower withering almost imperceptibly day by day, leaving only the greenish tone of the warm season until it was inevitable and you wondered how haven’t you noticed the small changes before. And then, you would remember this moment. Golden eyes on you, and artsy fingers trailing through your hair. Because it was the moment you admitted that it already happened — you were in love with Jake.

You turned the thought in your mind, over and over again, expecting that every time you uttered that small secret, it would feel smaller, something you could hold in the palm of your hand and hide within your pockets without anyone noticing. But instead, the more you turned it over the more it seemed to take over you.

You were in love with Sim Jaeyun.

“How are you feeling?” he asked then. “Nauseous or something? I was searching for a hangover soup recipe, although I am not sure if hangover is the exact term after being drugged.”

You halted for a moment, forcing yourself into that odd state of full awareness, methodically examining and testing every part of your body. But aside from the flush of warmth rushing through your body with the realization of your feelings towards Jake, and the small headache that could very much be dehydration, everything seemed alright.

“I am a bit tired, but overall, I am fine,” you said.

“That makes two of us.”

Somewhere over the surface of the table, Jake’s phone started to ring, a soft tune you are almost sure the developers named it after a tree, the rustling sound of when the breeze hit it, and maybe that’s why none of you moved, not even when it went to the voicemail and started all over again.

“Maybe you should pick up,” you said, and Jake hummed at you. He definitely should — no one would casually call him on a Sunday afternoon if not in an emergency, but despite the distress about it, he took a little longer to let you go, lingering on the warmth of your skin for a moment more before he reached for his phone.

You saw his eyes widening a bit, a slight curse forming on his lips as he straightened himself in his chair, but before you could ask who it was, the front door was thrown open.

You knew it wasn’t a real thing, but you could swear your heart quailed, a tiny gap forming where a heartbeat should be at the view of your brother.

“If it isn’t the two people I have been looking for,” Jongseong said. He was smiling, but you quickly realized it was those types of smiles people gave in the middle of annoyance and not because they actually thought the situation was funny.

Jongseong pressed something on his screen, immediately making Jake’s phone start ringing once again. “And oh — look, their phones do work.”

┈

It was a dream — it had to be. Perhaps you were still drugged in the bathroom of that dirty bar close to Jeju City because there was no way your brother was standing here. Jongseong belonged to your life in Seoul, your parents’ minimalist house, and the Michelin restaurants. He belonged to the fancy attorney’s gathering and champagne in crystal flutes. The mornings filled with pollution clouds, and the nights buzzed with the traffic on the avenues, but not to Jeju — not to your Seogwipo. It was silly and you knew it. Your brother had known this place before you — he had come here before you, some week after their graduation to help Jake move in, but you suddenly felt overprotective over the place, as if he was going to take it away from you — or take you away from it, actually.

There were no greetings, hugs, or smiles, as you would have expected upon seeing your brother after so many weeks. There was just him walking to the kitchen and standing as tall as he could in front of you and Jake.

The house was starting to get hot and drowsy by the approaching afternoon, the July sun streaming directly at the table and onto your back as you watched your brother sigh and then sigh some more.

You didn’t need to tell him about the landlord, the summer storm, Jeonchae, and the half deposit. Jongseong had discovered everything through the landlord himself when he went there early this morning.

“He was really unpleasant,” Jongseong said. “But have you ever thought about calling me? Fuck, Baby. I wouldn’t tell mom and dad if you didn’t want me to, but I could have helped you.”

“How did you even come here?” Your brother asked out of the silence. You weren’t really sure about what he intended to get with his question, but still, you replied, your voice coming smaller than you remembered it ever being as you told him that you had taken the bus.

“Do you even know how to take a bus?” he asked then. It had been just words — unconcrete things that shouldn’t weigh anything, but they did, and the heaviness of it made something within your chest hurt and burn in embarrassment. Honestly, you didn’t know how to take a bus. Your parents had made sure you never needed to use public transportation, always being free in the morning to take you to school and, after that, to doctor appointments, extra classes, and wherever you needed to go. You had asked at the terminal, a gentle lady who ended up questioning your age when she noticed how confused you were. But to admit would only worsen the situation, and so you didn’t

“That’s it, I am taking you back to Seoul.”

“Jay,” Jake called, his voice cutting through the small gasp you released. Jongseong stopped, all together with you, and you took the opportunity to turn to Jake, watching as he pushed himself from where he stood against the window, countering the table, and coming in the direction of your brother. A single hand rested on your brother’s shoulder and you weren’t sure if Jake was assuring him, or holding him. “Let’s talk for a second.”

“Baby, go to the shop for a bit for me, will you?” Jake asked. It wasn’t the request that got you moving, but how Jake delivered it — the words directed at you when nothing on his body was. His eyes remained fixed on your brother, not even blinking. And so, you merely rose from your chair, already taking the familiar path to the front door, and stopping only to take the key at the entrance table before you stepped out.

“She calls my parents every day,” Jongseong said, his voice coming so perfectly through the wooden door that instead of going to the shop, you stood still, hearing them through. “Day and night.”

“I have heard a few times,” Jake said.

“And she hadn’t said anything about the landlord — she didn’t say anything about coming here.”

“Maybe she just didn’t feel the necessity.”

There was a pause, none of them saying anything and you knew your brother all too well to know he was using this to shoot Jake a pointed look.

“Oh please,” your brother murmured then. “She thought it was better to come here and bother you rather than calling me?”

Bother. The word felt like a slap on your face. Your heart pounded in surprise, a flush of warmth spreading through your cheeks and suddenly you didn’t want to hear the rest — but because you couldn’t move, you did. You heard your brother rambling about how you turned Jake’s life upside down, taking the settled routine he so laboriously built and making it into a mess. You had even brought a kitten! Jake didn’t like kittens, he was a dog person for God’s sake.

“Stop,” Jake said. There was no anger in his voice, no unfairness. He said it just like he had called for your brother earlier on, that voice that could never not be listened to, and once again your brother turned silent. “You are being unreasonably rude. Baby is not bothering me — actually, she has been helping ever since she arrived.”

“Oh, is she?”

“She helps me with the market, and the food,” Jake said, and you really hoped he meant you went to the market with him, and prepared the food, because never once had Jake allowed you to pay for anything — not even a few nights ago when you told him you were getting ice cream from the convenience store and he ran after you, catching you on the sidewalk. He took your wallet from your hands and replaced it with his credit card, a minion printed on it that immediately made you laugh because, of course, Jake would have those printed credit cards. “She helps me in the shop,” he continued, and that one felt more like a lie than the rest. You did stay in the shop with him, occasionally cleaning the shelves and placing new pieces in the vacant places of just-purchased ones. You also packed for him, but help felt too deep for those stupid acts

“You are just mad because she didn’t call you as she is used to,” Jake concluded.

“Because she didn't call me?” Jongseong echoed, his voice rising with disbelief. He sounded like he was talking partly to himself, that particular tone of shocked realization people give when confronted with an uncomfortable truth — Jake being good at seeing not only the nuances of your being but your brother’s as well.

The silence that followed was longer, and when it ended it came with the sound of cabinets being opened and closed, their soft rustle making it too hard to get the words and by the moment you noticed someone was approaching the door it was too late to leave causing Jake to walk straight into you, stopping for a single second before he closed the door behind him. You would have thought he was going to pretend you weren’t there if he hadn’t smiled at you, and what a smile Jake had. Just at the sight of it, your heart tethered itself. Not completely, but enough to stop quivering so much.

“Jake, I-”

But he only shook his head then, silencing you by cradling your face. His warm palms pressed gently against your cheeks as his thumbs moved in delicate arcs, cleaning the tears you hadn’t even realized you had shed.

“He wants to talk to you. Wait a bit before coming in,” he whispered. “I am going to the market for a bit, alright?”

You nodded, leaning on his touch. You didn’t remember the decision of doing it, only that you did, inclining your face in his palms as if it was the most natural thing to do. Although you didn’t shed any more tears, Jake rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks once again, immediately making something stir inside of you, rapid and warm. But nothing compared to how you felt when he hugged you the second after, pulling you into his chest as his mouth pressed at the top of your head. Everything about it so overwhelming that it took you a long second to notice you had never hugged each other. You had placed your arms around him while riding the motorcycle a dozen times and as he carried you out of the bar last night, but never had you held each other just for the sake of holding each other. It was too intimate. You could feel the way his skin was warm beneath his t-shirt as you twisted your fingers on it and God — it didn’t matter if you felt like your body was close to coming undone, you could stay there forever if it were ever allowed. But Jake was stepping away then, leaving you to watch as he crossed the garden, pulling his hands on the front pockets of his jeans as he tilted his head up to the sky, letting the sun bathe his skin, his hair, beams of light simply not being able to not reach for him. And once again you were reminded of how Jake belonged in this place.

The afternoon was utterly quiet — that one Jeju silence that seemed to make everything a little bit heftier. You could hear your brother inside the house, opening another cabinet and then closing it, and you sighed, taking the knob in your hand.

By the time you stepped inside the house once again, abandoning the shop key back on the entrance table, Jongseong was rubbing a hand over his face, his anger completely burned out by itself. He opened his arms to you in a silent yet clear invitation for a hug, and it was enough for you to rush through the house, curling your arms around your brother’s shoulders.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “Jake said I was mad just because you hadn’t called me for help, and yes, he is right — throughout the whole way here, I kept wondering why you didn’t call me before doing anything.”

“I guess it was my fault. I was too harsh on you when you said you wanted to spend your summer alone, but what I genuinely meant was that you shouldn’t do anything alone, you got me, Baby — you always got me.”

Your heart ached at his words because you knew it — you knew you never had been truly alone. Not even when you stood in front of the apartment complex in Jeju City, the kitten in a pet carrier, and Jake’s address on your phone. You knew that if your immediate plan didn’t work, you could just call them — your mother, your father, Jongseong. They would find a way for you. You had never needed to be truly afraid. There would have been the aftermath, of course, the small complaints, but there would always have been another hand to catch you, or at least to hold you as the things scrambled eminently.

“I don’t think I want to study law,” you whispered, it was so sudden that you could hear the uneasiness in it, the truth being finally put into words. Your brother’s grip tightened on you, bringing you so close to him that you felt his tiny exhale.

“I know, Baby,” he said. “Mom and dad know too.”

For a moment, you didn’t understand what he meant — the realization taking too long and weighing your body through the seconds that followed.

“Why do you think they allowed you to come to Jeju alone so fast?” he asked in the midst of your silence, moving away from you only enough for you to see his face. “I know — we know you have it in you that you have to live greatly to not be a deception for mom and dad, and it’s partially my fault, but Baby — we are so rich, and I am not talking about money, but love. Whatever you decide to do mom and dad will support you with the only thought of you being genuinely happy about it.”

And that was another truth. Because despite their disapproval of Jongseong’s passion for music, your parents had been the ones who eventually supported him completely, gifting him enough guitars to build up a collection — not to mention all the expensive pedals, amplifiers, and those small customized guitar picks with his initials engraved that your brother still kept in his wallet. They had even converted the guest room into a soundproof studio when the neighbors started complaining about the noise.

“Listen,” Jongseong said. “Maybe it won’t be so easy to live with this, but you already got the good grades, and the school awards I failed, you finished the extra classes I dropped, and you carried all the expectations they could have had for us during school time, so let me carry the expectations they could have for after it.”

“The world’s always going to need lawyers, but it’s always going to need whatever you choose to do too. Find your way,” he said. “It’s not that bad, look at Jake — you know about his family, right?”

You hummed at him.

“I have to say, I was quite worried when I left him here after our graduation, I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live without the support of our parents, but he seems alright.”

“He is,” you said. Not sure how much true it was, he ate only lamen by the time you arrived, and although you had never seen him drinking aside from that one night when your prepared beef and he said beer was the best companion to it, there were way too many beer bottles inside of the fridge, but somehow you believed that if he wasn’t, he was getting there.

“Do you want to stay here?” Jongseong asked then.

You moved closer to Jongseong once again, resting your cheek on his shoulders as you looked at the living room’s window. Outside, Seogwipo was as halted as it had always been, the sound of the bushes hanging tiny and fragile in the summer air, and you felt your chest aching.

┈

Jongseong didn’t ask for you to call your parents, but you knew — it was something that had to be done and so you resolved to do it after showering.

It wasn’t easy. Your heart thumped against your ribcage as you stared at your phone screen, thumb hovering over the video call button. Although you had pressed it countless times throughout the summer — from casual updates about your day to sharing glimpses of Jeju’s scenery — this particular call felt too huge. And so, you breathed in deeply, closing your eyes for a few steadying seconds before you finally called.

Your father picked up on the second ring, holding the phone at possibly the worst camera angle imaginable as he shouted, Baby Park!

Your mother appeared right after, pulling her glasses because four degrees of presbyopia made it hard for her to see from up close and it was enough to make you start crying again.

“Baby?” your mother asked. “What happened?”

You told them everything. Not only about Jeonchae, the landlord, and Jake. But everything. Starting from memories you weren’t sure how you had. You told them about phrases that landed wrong and weighed more than they should. You told them about how you always feared doing things and disappointing them, and again, it wasn’t easy. But it wasn’t as hard as you had thought it would be all those years because Jongseong was right — you both were so rich.

┈

When you stepped into the living room again, Jake was just arriving from the market, a plastic bag so small in his hands that you knew without knowing that he had been wandering around just so to give you and Jongseong time. But you couldn’t relish on his kindness for much longer because your brother started complaining as soon as he spotted Jake, hadn’t I told you to sharpen your knives when I left, Jake? And these pans were still your grandma’s? I-

Jake seemed to be only half listening as he handed Jongseong the plastic bag. His gaze completely focused on you, and you were glad that you had changed, making yourself more presentable after the shower by trading your dress from the previous night for a pinkish set, the tone matching almost too perfectly with the color of the tip of his ears.

“Naturally annoyed,” you mouthed. And Jake laughed — only once as he tried to cough out the rest, but then, you were laughing too, and your brother demanded both of you to go somewhere else because you were annoying him.

You both were still laughing when you stepped into the garden, taking the side path and stopping in front of the shop. In the hurry of leaving none of you took the key to the shop where you had left it, and Jake showed you the flower pot where he hid the extra keys underneath it.

“The biggest one is for the house, and the smallest for the shop.” He didn’t look at you as he said it, his head still tilted to the small flower pot, allowing a few strands of his hair to fall over his forehead. A smile tucked at the corners of his lips, and he seemed so young like this — so pure. The words Jongseong had said twirled through your mind, and you didn’t know what had been on your face, perhaps the sadness of not knowing how to tell him he was doing alright and that you were proud of him, but when Jake looked at you a frown took up the space between his brows.

“What?” he asked.

“I called my parents while you were in the market,” you said. You didn’t notice how still Jake had become until he averted his gaze from yours, preferring to stare back at the flower pot.

“You are going to stay, right?”

“May I?”

“Of course, Baby,” Jake said, his words being uttered so softly that the breeze nearly destroyed them. “I like having you here.”

“But about Jeonchae-” you continued.

“Don’t take to heart what your brother said,” he asked. “I never had a cat, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like them — actually, I have been thinking about adopting Jeonchae — if you allow me.”

“There would be no better home for him.”

It was alright, honestly — until it wasn’t.

Jongseong cooked and cleaned as if it were a task. He asked if your room was alright and if you needed him to buy anything because he could get it delivered to you. And when you said that you didn’t think that things worked like that in Seogwipo, your brother seemed about to retort, but in the silence that followed he understood what you meant. There were no traffic sounds to fill up the gaps between your conversation, no machines or reform noises, it was just the breeze of the sea stirring and shuddering the bushes on the other side of the street and nothing else.

“But tell me if you need anything,” he said. “I can find a way.”

“I know,” you whispered.

After dinner, the three of you spread on the greenish grass of Jake’s garden, something you didn’t really know how you hadn’t thought of before. The moon was beautiful this time of the year and the grass was warm against your skin, the peak of summer giving you its all, and turning into a great memory for the next day, when another summer storm finally broke in, making the downtown buildings steadily dripping as you made your way to the restaurant Jongseong had chosen for his last night on the island.

Nangpoon Babsang or the oldest restaurant on the island as the sign advertised, and perhaps the reason why there was a line over the curb, forcing the three of you to wait outside until the night had completely settled, the sea breeze picking up and almost giving you the awkward decision of choosing between your brother’s jacket or Jake’s — but as your brother only extended his jacket at you, Jake was already draping his over your shoulders, pushing the collar up to your cheeks despite its already growing warmth because it smelled like him.

Jongseong looked at both of you, but if he meant to say something, he didn’t as his attention was taken by the arrival of a message saying you were the next to enter.

Although the outside of the restaurant seemed to have undergone a significant modernization to fit the evolution of Jeju City, the inside gave meaning to their advertising and remained faithful to the traditional Korean aesthetics. There were no walls to subdivide the room, but it had been split into diverse small sections by a bunch of folding screens, their surfaces displaying a host of artworks, and giving each table some privacy underneath the low light of the hand-crafted paper lamps. 

You weren’t surprised that your brother had been the one to choose it, although antique, it felt fancy somehow.

“You know what?” Jongseong asked as he took the chair in front of you. “I am glad you both met — my beautiful family is finally reunited.”

“What?” Jake asked. “Is Baby our love child now?”

“No. I meant that my sister is your sister.”

There was a lost moment, a second where you should have released the air from your lungs but you didn’t, and it passed with it stuck in. Jake, however, laughed — out loud — as he reached for the cup of water he had just filled, swallowing the whole thing before he placed it back onto the table, but he didn’t deny — didn’t say he didn’t see you like this. Instead, there was a small sound of agreement and the topic died between both of them, leaving you as the only one still stuck on it, chest aching because you seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. 

And it didn’t help that when the waitress approached your table, Jake went completely rigid, his shoulders tensing as his fingers tightened around the cup he was still holding until his knuckles had turned white with the effort — it didn’t help that when her eyes met his, she halted as well, lips parting slightly as she whispered his name like she couldn’t quite believe it and was trying to convince herself.

She was somewhere between your and Jongseong’s age. And a piece of art. Her wavy hair was being held by a dozen pins — not the goldenish ones you kept in your jewelry box and which perfectly matched all your other accessories, but colorish ones — pink and blue pins holding her hair, and keeping them away from her freckled cheeks. Her necklace was made of beads just like a string she kept on her belt. She was the embodiment of the children who were born in Jeju and were proud of it, and if you stopped to think about it carefully, she was completely Jake’s style. Artsy and free.

“Jake,” she called again, stronger than before and it was your brother’s turn to halt, curiosity sparkling over him as his eyes rushed through her name tag. Sun-hwa. It brought you no memory, but it seemed to do to Jongseong because as he looked back at Jake, the corners of his mouth were tucking up in an accomplice smile. 

“I didn’t know you were in Jeju,” she said. “I guess it’s just for the summer as ever?”

“No. I have been living here,” Jake replied. Sunhwa’s eyebrows rose in surprise then, and you could swear she was blushing — although it was hard to see underneath the low light.

“Oh, I had no idea,” she said. 

The silence that followed hung in the air, thick and still. But even there, you weren’t able to wrap your mind around all the thoughts rushing through, and you felt suddenly thankful when Jongseong cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to him. 

“So, what do you recommend?” your brother asked. “Aside from Jake, who’s almost a local, we are all city people here.”

Sunhwa blinked as if he had asked the strangest thing she had ever heard, taking a moment too long to remember herself and reply, “Jeju Black Pork is the most traditional Jeju dish. Tourists tend to choose it to try the local cuisine.”

“Three Jeju Black Pork then,” your brother resolved.

“Anything to drink?” she asked.

“Beer,” Jake said.

“Make that two,” Jongseong added with a smile. “And a tangerine juice for our little sister.”

Sunhwa nodded as she wrote the order on her notepad, her eyes flickering back to Jake one last time before she resolved to walk away.

“So, Sunhwa?” Jongseong asked. “As your first love, Sunhwa?”

And that was it. Something within you hurt with your brother’s question, a sharp twinge that you wondered if it was what people called heartbreak. 

Jake was a good guy, and you knew it — you had spent enough time watching as he smiled at strangers, presenting them with so much kindness that it made it impossible for anybody to be uncomfortable with him. You had listened to him talk enough to know he truly cared about people and wouldn’t have a second thought before helping anyone in need — But that was the problem. Jake was a good guy, careful and kind, but you had misread your relationship. There was nothing special about you and if there was — it was because you were his best friend’s little sister, not someone he could be attracted to — Sunhwa was the type of girl he was attracted to — someone with that artsy spirit that belonged to this place as much as he. 

The realization made you burn in embarrassment, a warm flush creeping up your neck as you felt too childish, too small. A girl laughed somewhere over the restaurant, the sound of it ringing against your ears — all together with the other voices, and perhaps the air was still too sticky and humid due to the rain — perhaps it had been due to Sunhwa, but you felt like everything was too much — too overwhelming and you were suddenly dizzy and in need to go anywhere else.

“I need to use the restroom,” you announced, hurling from your chair so hastily that Jake’s jacket fell off your shoulders, but you didn’t stop to take it back — even when you felt your skin tingling, already missing its warmth — you couldn’t come to stop. 

As you made your way to the entrance, you spotted the restroom tucked halfway, mercifully without a line, and allowing you to slip in. The air inside was too thick and stale, a stark contrast to the bustling exterior, but that was exactly what you needed.

┈

You weren’t sure how long you stayed in the small room, pacing against the tiled floor as you tried not to cry, but by the time you stepped out of it, Jake was leaning against its wall, his jacket draped around his shoulders once again as his hands fidgeted with the pickup keys.

“I was considering whether I should rescue you from the restroom once again,” he said. A smile tucked at the corner of his lips as he referenced what happened two nights ago. But although you had acknowledged his attempt to lighten the mood, the ache in your chest made it impossible for you to reciprocate the gesture. “We decided to make it a to-go. Jay is paying for us.”

His lips parted upon your lack of reply, the space within them widening with what he meant to say next, but whatever it had been was forgotten as Sunhwa appeared at the end of the hallway, their eyes catching.

“Jake,” she called. “We should talk.”

None of you moved — not even her, and you took the opportunity to reach for the pickup’s key in his hands, murmuring something about waiting there. 

It seemed to take both of them out of the haze. Jake finally strayed his eyes from Sunhwa, and you were pretty sure that there had been a reply, but you were already walking to the front door.

The weather had cooled down even more, another sparse of rain threatening to fall as you walked to where Jake had parked Beomseok’s pickup. The vehicle supposedly had a back seat, but the place was so small and cluttered — there had been no particular discussion before you had been the one assigned for it on the drive here, making Jake push the driver seat forward, and rest his hand at the sharp edge of the roof, so you didn’t hurt yourself as you jumped to the back. But you might not have paid attention enough at how he had done it because it didn’t matter how you tried to push it forward now — it didn’t seem to come in.

A curse was already escaping from your lips when you heard Jake, his shoes whacking on the sidewalk as he raced towards you.

“Baby, wait,” he asked. “You are going to hurt yourself like this.”

You halted at his concerned tone, everything within you ceasing long enough to make you feel empty inside of yourself.

You always thought that the most embarrassing thing that could happen upon falling in love was to be fiercely rejected, the I don’t like yous you had heard so many times through the school’s hallways, and still — made you flinch every time, too sorry for the person rejected, but no — no. The most embarrassing thing was to be let down easily, that soft caress when the person did love you, but not as much as you loved them.

“Baby,” he tried again, rushing his fingers through his now disheveled hair. He seemed frustrated then. But you had already given the final push and the driver’s seat finally surrendered, giving Jake just enough time to place his hand at the sharp edge of the roof, so you didn’t hit your head but this time you didn’t thank him. 

Jake didn’t follow you inside. He remained there, leaning on the driver’s door as if he understood that you needed space and was willing to give it to you. But when your mother called asking if you wanted to take the flight tomorrow with Jongseong and you replied with a way too sincere I don’t know, he seemed simply unable to not turn to you. Your eyes caught through the glass window, and you hated it — hated the way the air hurled out of his lungs as if you had just physically punched him. You hated the way the sound of it hung in the air within the two of you, heavier than the humidity clinging to your skin and making your heart swell because you could do anything to make him feel better.

┈

It had already been two nights since Jake had slept in your room, but you could swear — everything was smelling like him.

You lay there, telling yourself to sleep, but instead, you found yourself standing up, tearing the sheets off the mattress, and tugging them into a small ball. It was impossible to put the washing machine to work this late at night without disturbing the whole house with its screeching sounds yet the simple idea of doing something made you feel better, and so, you continued, but as you stepped out of the bedroom, there he was.

Even before your eyes had adjusted to the new light, you had felt him. A piece of warmth in the middle of the cold night.

Jake looked up at you, straying his gaze from the cup of water in his hands. His eyes were painfully soft beneath the yellow lamps, and you felt your heart aching at the view. You wished you could truly hate him, turn all this mess inside of you into simple repulsion so you could leave without a second thought — but you couldn’t — that was just how silly you were for him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, but you only hummed at him, already starting toward the bathroom.

You took your time putting the sheets inside the machine, loading everything as if you would start it because you expected that when you stepped out Jake would have already gone back to his bedroom. Yet, he didn’t, preferring to walk after you, leaning on the door jamb as he shoved his hands inside the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Baby,” he called. “Don’t leave — at least not until the end of the summer — not like this.”

You scoffed, a sound that tried to mask the sting you felt — that sticky upset and dread that gnawed at your throat as you looked back at the idle machine. 

It’s not like you wanted to pack your luggage and leave Seogwipo tomorrow, but you were suddenly feeling awkward with Jake. You suddenly didn’t know where to put yourself in his presence — much less how to fill the silence within the space of your conversations — and it was the worst part of everything. It had always been so easy to be with Jake.

“She cheated,” he said.

You could swear that the air halted then, the world around you suddenly tensing, or perhaps — it had been only you. Jake had said it as a matter of fact — but it weighed on your shoulders. Not only because of the nature of his confession, but because he  knew his ex was the cause of your distress.

Jake removed his hands from his pockets, choosing to fidge with the hem of his worn-out t-shirt instead, and you had spent enough time with him to know he was about to tell you some long story. And in any other moment you would have loved to earn another piece of Sim Jaeyun, take it within your palms and save it like a talisman. But not now — not about this.

It was already terrible enough without the full story. 

“We met in the summer of my senior year-”

“Jake,” you cut.

“Listen to me, Baby,” he said. “Please.”

And it might have been the way he asked it — the tone that said without really saying that he needed you to know it, but you stopped then, closing your eyes as you clutched onto the washing powder box because once Jongseong had said you were too see-through. You could never hide your feelings as they were always there — one look away for those who cared to search. When you disliked something it settled heavy in the corner of your lips. When something saddened you, it took over your eyes, and honestly, everything was already humiliating enough. You didn’t need to cry in front of Jake.

“I was really young and stupid. I had to enter a university in the mainland because that was what my parents wanted and I made her promise that she would too,” he said. “And she did, but not in Seoul — it was a few provinces down, and for some time we made it work. I would drive there every weekend and holiday,”

“But I felt it — as the months passed, she was getting farther and farther away. She said she was tired of it all — she didn’t like the mainland, and I was too different there, and quoting her — always relying on my parent’s money and opinion.”

Your eyes snapped open at his saying, the indignation taking the best of you and you couldn’t help but turn to Jake, your eyes catching in the low light.

“I tried to explain it to her — all the things I told you on the roof, but I don’t know — she is not like you. She couldn’t understand.” His voice cracked slightly, and you had to resist the urge to reach out to him. “She came back to Jeju just a few weeks before my grandfather died — a month, actually. I told her about it and she just said she was sorry. Never mentioned going to the funeral and I should have noticed, but I never knew we had somehow already broken up — you know? She never said that.”

“So when I came to his funeral, I went to visit her, but she was with someone else. A new boyfriend — some type of fling, I don’t know.”

A wave of protective anger washed over you, and your breath caught as you pictured Jake, grieving and alone, having not only to deal with the loss of the only family member who ever supported his dreams, but as well being abandoned and cheated on like this.

You blinked then, not really surprised when tears blurred your vision.

“Jake, that’s horrible,” you said. Your voice had come higher than you intended, showing all your disbelief, but you couldn’t come to stop. “She simply left you when you needed her the most. How — how could anyone do that to you?”

“She is a-” you halted, swallowing hard to control your rushed thoughts because Jake was shrugging his shoulders.

“I don’t know what she wanted to tell me tonight,” he said. “And I don’t care anymore — I was a bit shocked to see her. I have been here a whole year and it never happened, but that was it — so please, don’t be mad with me because of this, Baby.”

“I am not mad because of this?” you snapped. It had sounded like a question, but it very much felt like the answer he had been seeking the whole night because he smiled then — faintly before he composed himself, but not enough for you to not notice how his eyes were gleaming, and in the rush of the moment you started toward your — his grandparent’s old room, trying to step past him, but he caught your wrist. The sudden contact startled you so much that you would have fallen if Jake didn’t catch you, moving you until the low of your back met the kitchen counter. 

If the soggy tiles and the scent of his floral soap flinging from the bathroom weren’t a great indication that he had barely left the shower, the water droplets still clinging to the edges of his hair were. Rivulets dashed down his jaw, moving into his throat and making it even harder to look at him.

God — this whole day was a huge mistake.

“I have spent the whole night trying to see things from your point of view, Baby, but I am having a very difficult time here,” Jake admitted. “The other option would be because of what Jay said then — because I didn’t reply — but what could I have said to him?” he continued, the words now coming so hurriedly and blurted, almost as if all he wanted was to simply get it out of him. “I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t simply say no, Baby is never going to be a sister to me because I think I have fallen in love with her — Jay would have taken you out of that restaurant in the same second and caught the first flight back to Seoul, and every time I think of you leaving, I feel so uptight — hell, I feel so-”

His hands slipped from your wrist, folding his fingers through yours and bringing your hand to the back of his neck as he pulled forward — or moved himself in. You weren’t sure what was happening anymore. Everything inside of you was humming and making it difficult for you to think, but his forehead was resting against yours and when he spoke again, it came as nothing but a hush of breath, the softest gust of air against your lips.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked. But you couldn’t say anything — not when your heart was cracking open under the weight of everything. You could feel his plea in every centimeter of his body, the despair in the soft breath unfurling against your mouth and it was too much — too much.

 “Please, tell me that I didn’t get this all wrong and I am being creepy right now.”

The sound of a door being opened filled the space where your reply should have been and Jake moved back, his hand falling away and making your skin tingle, already missing his warmth.

“Do you always stay up until this late?” Jongseong asked.

“Yes,” Jake replied — so hastily. You would have believed it if you hadn’t seen him knock out at the couch right after dinner for a couple of nights, you having to gently tap his shoulders so he could recollect himself and walk to his bedroom. 

“It’s terrible for your health, you know?” your brother asked then, but none of you replied — you weren’t sure if you had even breathed as Jongseong walked to the fridge, taking a bottle of water before he walked back to Jake’s room without any other word.

But as the door clicked shut again, you turned back to Jake pushing yourself on the tip of your toes, hands finding an curling on the front of his t-shirt for support. He was trembling — or perhaps you were. You didn’t give yourself another second to consider anything before you placed your lips on the shell of his ear whispering, “I am in love with you too.”

Before Jake could hold you again, you had already gone — slipped out of his reach and the kitchen, rushing to your room and closing the door as you leaned on it. Your heart beating against your ears — but not loudly enough to miss the way he laughed on the other side.

On the morning of the next day, Jake went to Beomseok to ask for the pickup once again and the three of you climbed it, taking the road to the airport.

The drive was surprisingly quiet. None of you spoke through the whole way up the island, the sound of the wind coming through the open windows and the radio being the only things filling the space. But then, an old song came in, something about a country road and going to the place the singer belonged, and Jake was the first one to murmur the lyrics, Jongseong following suit, their voices turned a pitch lower to match the singer’s tune and you couldn’t help but laugh.

In the rearview mirror, you caught Jake looking at you, your eyes locking for a quiet second before you felt the tip of his fingers against your knees. He had dropped his hand between the driver’s seat and the door — purposefully out of Jongseong’s sight — palm up and fingers stretched. You reached out for him, pinching the tip of his fingers, and he might have been satisfied with this small gesture because he withdrew, putting it back on the wheel.

“Jake, the exit!” Jongseong snapped.

“Oh shi-” Jake steered in a hurry, passing through the raised pavement markers and causing Jongseong to reach for the handle above the door, the same curse Jake failed to complete fleeing through your brother’s lips and stealing another laugh from you. But this time Jake didn’t look through the rearview, his heart was already seconds away from bursting.

┈

“We are here,” Jongseong said, eyeing the airport for a split second before he turned to Jake.

“Don’t you want us to go inside?” he asked.

“It’s alright,” your brother replied. “It’s not like I am taking a long flight — thank you for the ride, and everything. I am leaving a great responsibility but feel free to just call me, I can come pick her up if you grow tired.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jake said, extending his hand to your brother, that friendly handshake followed by a bump of shoulders guys loved to do, and then Jongseong turned to you. It was hard to hug, but you pushed yourself through the middle of the seats anyway, arms curling on your brother’s shoulders as he hugged you back.

“Take care of yourself, alright, Baby?” Jongseong whispered. “And call me if you need anything.”

You nodded, feeling that one lump in your throat that seemed too close to tears. “Thank you, Jay.”

He gave you one last squeeze before freeing himself, opening his door, and jumping out of the pickup. He hauled his carry-on from the trunk with no effort, a small smile on his lips before he turned around, and walked to the airport.

“Hey,” Jake whispered, his hand rubbing against yours. “Since we are in Jeju City, why don’t we do something over here?”

┈

You had already heard about the art museum of Jeju — walked to it during the week you stayed in the city. The immersive digital exhibition had been listed as one of the must-go spots on the island by diverse tourist sites, but the sight of a group of friends arriving made you step away — too awkward to go inside and wander through the rooms all by yourself.

But today — today you had Jake.

The first room was a forest, red flowers hanging on the trees as their petals twirled through an imagined wind.

“Do you have an artsy explanation for this?” you asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Once I went to an exhibition in Seoul with a classmate — lights and something was the name. I spent the whole exhibition just appreciating its beauty, and then in the last room there were points of light imitating the pattern of birds’ flocking, that was when a woman appeared. She was with her son, and then she started giving a whole explanation about how birds never stray away from each other, always sharing their difficulties to reach a common goal, and how that was what the artist wanted to show,”

“Ever since that day, I kept wondering if artists always intend to give deeper meanings to their creations than just beauty.”

Jake tilted his head back, red petals projecting on his face as he watched the exhibition going on. You knew they weren’t concrete, just a projector streaming images on him, but when they slid through his cheeks, you had that odd desire to reach for them. But he looked at you then, leaning in, his eyes flickering beneath the lights, mischief glinting as if he wanted to tell you the most beautiful thing he had ever known.

“I personally think it’s just pretty,” he said instead, and you laughed at this, head thrown back, the sound so carefree and soft. Your laughter seemed to be coming easier now and it was impossible for him not to smile back at you. “But if you want a more scholarly answer I would say: because art is an expression of personal perspective it is subjective. Their meaning and even what it makes others feel. Someone might come here and just think it’s pretty like me, but someone else might come here and feel like this field is speaking to them, a whisper from their childhood, a secret memory of their first love, or even a sign for a future decision. Art will never strike everyone in the same way.”

“Once a Spanish painter said you can look at a picture for a week and never think of it again. You can also look at a picture for a second and think of it all your life,” he continued. “Or something like that, the point is-”

“Some things leave no impression, meanwhile others become a life mark — there will always be the before and the after,” you said.

“Yes.”

The next room was a maze of paper lanterns. A couple of siblings ran in between on a game of tag, and when the boy rushed past you, you had to step closer to Jake, tucking on his jacket for support and being completely unaware of how he melted there. But if anything, he just slid his hand on yours, interlacing your fingers and guiding you through the rest of the exhibition.

There were more fields, and mountains projected on idealist sunset skies. There was an empty room in which flowers grew wherever you touched, and when you brought it to Jake’s attention, drawing a tiny line of flowers against the wall, he pulled you through the room, your finger leaving a trail of flowers behind.

But it was the last room that genuinely made you stop — waterfalls of golden, electricity blazing and pulsing and cascading down around you like fallen stars.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. “Life-changing beautiful.”

“It really is.”

You turned to him, but he had his gaze already fixed on you, his eyes gleaming, lips curling. He had no embarrassment in letting you know he had been looking at you for the whole while.

Jake used your connected hands to pull you to him, and suddenly he was so close and the air was stuffy. When he reached for a strand of your hair, he smelled like clay, that earthy scent that had already turned into your summer redolence and oranges.

“Am I too late to be your first kiss, Baby?” Jake asked.

The moment seemed to take forever. It seemed to take no time at all. Your simple you are unfolded slowly, blending with the echoes of the world very — very softly, and perhaps it was what prevented his heart from breaking there.

“But I don’t mind forgetting it,” you whispered. “Pretend it never happened.” It was just the echo of his words on your lips, but he was smiling then, his hand leaving yours only to cradle your cheeks, holding you as he leaned over — his mouth hovering over yours, parted lips brushing on a kiss that wasn’t a kiss. And you knew you had told him you could forget your first time, but when his hands slid further into you, fingers tangling into your hair and angling you up so he could pinch on your bottom lip, it was hard not to forget it. You knew without knowing that no one would ever kiss you the way Jake did. He seemed to want to relish it, feeling you through each passing second of your connected lips. He seemed not to want to let it go, memorizing you through each heartbeat as he just grazed his mouth against yours, catching his breath before he kissed you again and again and again.

Someone cleaned their throat, immediately making both of you part, lips swollen, and causing you to bury your face in his chest, but Jake only laughed — the sound echoing through your body as he reached for you again, an arm curling around your waist as the other sized for the top of your head, tangling his fingers on your hair as he held you to him and murmured an apology to whoever it had been.

“What do you say about us getting some milkshakes before going home?” Jake asked then, lips falling on the shell of your ear as if it was just another ordinary day — like you were still Jake and Baby from a few hours previous, and that the taste of his smile wasn’t still lingering on your lips. But that was the greatest thing about being with Jake: he made everything easy. And when he stepped away, holding his hand out for you, you took it without a second thought, allowing him to guide you out of the museum and back to the pickup.

┈

“Who was it?” Jake asked.

“What?” you asked, straying your gaze away from the milkshake in front of you.

Jake had stopped at a dine-in halfway back to Seogwipo, a small parlor just off the interstate that advertised the best milkshakes on the whole island! and made you both order not only two — one for each of you, but four, lining them in the middle of the table and sharing.

“Your first kiss,” Jake clarified. “Who was it?”

You weren’t sure if it was the sugar getting into your system, the euphoria of having kissed Jake, and having him sitting across from you, pinkish ear, and ankles resting against yours but you still took a moment too long to comprehend the question.

Was he really asking it or was he testing what you told him at the exhibition?

You pushed the strawberry milkshake back into the line, buying yourself some time.

“You?” you tried.

“No. I meant for real,” he said. “Who was it?”

“It wasn’t even that important,” you said. “It was a game of truth or dare. I didn’t even like him, but I guess he did as his friend seemed pretty invested in getting us to kiss. He was kinda cute — had this wavy hair and had swimming classes in the afternoons, so I didn’t mind.”

“Did he ask you out after?”

“Yes, asked me to go to one of his swimming competitions.”

“Was he your first boyfriend then?” Jake asked. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, playing with the milkshake he had first chosen with his straw and you could swear, there was a hint of something in his tone, a covetousness about this particular topic.

You reached for his milkshake, pulling it back into the line and giving him another one. It took his attention, but you didn’t look back at him.

“No. I refused him,” you said, immediately stealing a laugh from Jake.

“You kissed him and then refused when he asked you out?” he asked. “What a heartbreaker girl.”

“I was such a terrible person, right?” you said. “But in my defense, I was always too invested in my studies to really think about my romantic life. I barely could fit my lunch between school and extra classes, imagine a boyfriend? And there is also the fact that my mother always said that dating should come only when you are responsible enough, before it is stupidity — I didn’t want to be stupid to her.”

“Can you fit it now? Wouldn’t it be stupid, right?” Jake asked then. You looked up at him, immediately receiving a raise of eyebrow, shy yet flirtatious — that amusing combination he was, and when he took your hand in his, bringing your wrist to his lips, shivers scattered through your skin before he had even continued. “I promise I will be a good first boyfriend.”

“Yes,” you whispered. The word squeezed out of you, coming as nothing but a tight exhale, but Jake smiled at you then, that one twist of lips that took over his whole face. “If it’s you.”

┈

You wondered if it would be awkward then. If the silence would start to stretch on too long, and the spaces between words would be filled with awkwardness — none of you knowing how to deal with this new thing between both of you. But later that night, when you encountered Jake on the space within your bedrooms doors as you walked out of the shower, it was easy to curl your fingers on the front of his t-shirt as he cradled your face.

It was easy to part your mouth, heavy breaths and gasps blending as he captured your top lip with his, his tongue licking over your own, slipping past and tasting like the cream milkshake you shared lastly and the sugar from the cookies you had ordered to combine with. Everything about it so sweet, you couldn’t help but pull him closer, a little bit meaner as you demanded more, but if anything Jake smiled at you, squeezing his fingers into your skin, his thumb pushing over the corner of your mouth, and coaxing you to open wider, but then, he stopped, abruptly and all at once stepping back.

“I am going to take a shower,” he informed, his voice coming tighter and pressed as he pulled his hands on the front pockets of his jeans — adjusting himself.

You didn’t know what to do with yourself then. You hadn’t lied when you said you never had a boyfriend, and your lack of experience made it difficult for you to know what to do with the fact that you had just made Jake hard. And so, you simply stood there, body too warm, and the hallway seeming to shrink around you as your heart pounded loudly against your ears.

“I am going to take the trash outside,” you blurted out. Jake nodded at you, already turning around and walking to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

You stared at it, taking another moment to steady your breathing before you managed to move toward the kitchen, reaching for the trash can and stepping outside, immediately being shrouded by Seogwipo’s summer.

The stars seemed impossibly bright tonight — as it hadn’t been in days. And couldn’t help but linger there as you dropped the bag into the bin, tilting your head back to take it in before the sound of footsteps made you turn, spotting Euntaek walking in your direction, his shoulders lower than he used to, and his fingers tapping the tray you swore to have sent back to Mrs. Choi this morning.

“Hi, Baby,” he said.

“Hi,” you said back — softer than you would’ve if you hadn’t noticed his unusual posture.

“I was going to come earlier, but Grandma saw a city boy arriving, and I guessed it was your true brother so I imagined it would be better not to,” he said. “But this morning Beomseok commented that Jake needed the pickup to go to the airport-”

“News runs here.”

“It’s a small place,” he said. “Once I dyed my hair red, and my grandmother knew even before I had left the hair salon.”

You nodded at him.

“I am sorry about Arin,” he said then. “We all know she is getting out of hand after meeting a boy, and her parents are being a bit too much about the university’s stuff but none of us expected she would give it to you — at least not without a warning,”

“Haeyoung argued with her,” Euntaek continued. “Arin first said you seemed to stiff so she wanted to loosen you a bit, but then she said she just switched the cups — anyway, I am sorry.”

“If we could another day-”

“I am with Jake,” you cut.

Either the night had suddenly turned warmer, or your body, every part of you reacting to pulling those words out to the world — you were with Jake.

Euntaek halted for a moment, his eyes widening slightly before he smirked at you. He didn’t seem disappointed or annoyed. If anything, he seemed to be bemused — more with himself than the whole situation.

“I see,” he said. “Well, that makes sense.”

“Grandma baked an extra tray,” he continued, extending the tray still in his hands. “So-”

“That’s really kind of you,” you replied. “Please thank your grandmother for me.”

“Sure. Goodnight,” he said, already turning and walking away. There was nothing vulnerable about Euntaek right then, and you doubted there would ever be. But you couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry as you watched him walking alone. All his dreams of Seoul, of music, of something bigger than this island and this small-town life that might never be enough for what he imagined for himself.

When he drove you to the bar near Jeju City, he had told you that his whole family was against his dreams. If he were to move to the mainland it should be to study administration, finance, something usual and concrete — something that would help them in the island once he got kicked out of the mainland because everything was too fierce for him there.

And once again, you couldn’t imagine how it felt to have everyone against you.

How was it for you, Jake? you wanted to ask. Would a single phrase made it better for you?

“Euntaek?” you called.

“Yeah?”

“Good luck — with the band thing. I hope you manage to go to Seoul someday. Get cast in a big company.”

“Would you go to one of my concerts, in Seoul?” he asked. You thought about telling him that Seoul was no longer your home. That you would never truly go back there — not before the beginning of the semester at your university or later. But perhaps it had been your awkwardness with strangers and the amount of explanation it required, perhaps it simply had been the string of sympathy you were still feeling for him, but you nodded then, earning the most genuine smile you had seen Euntaek ever give.

“If Arin isn’t there,” you said.

“Oh, Arin is never leaving Jeju, believe in me.”

He waved at you, only once before turning to leave, and this time for real.

You stood for a moment, your gaze moving up at the stars one more time before heading back inside, placing Mrs. Choi’s tray on the dining table.

When you turned around, Jake was already walking out of the bathroom, his hair still damp from the shower, and allowing the soft glow of the kitchen’s light to catch at the droplets still clinging to its ends. A loose t-shirt clung slightly to his not-quite-dry skin, and you had to remind yourself to not stare.

“Mrs. Choi passed by?” he asked.

“No, Euntaek did.”

“Ah.” The single syllable held more weight than it should, and you crossed the kitchen toward him, closing the distance between you in slow, deliberate steps. His gaze followed your movement, softening slightly as you reached up to a damp strand of hair that fell across his forehead before you allowed your fingers to trail down to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

You heard his breath hitching as your forearm came to rest against his shoulders, his pulse quickening because suddenly you were too close again, and the whole house felt too small, too warm, the air between you too stuffy.

“Baby,” he warned. “I don’t want to scare you again.”

Your brows furrowed at his saying, your confusion settling heavy on your face, but then, it dawned on you — hurriedly and making you gasp, Jake thought he had scared you earlier on.

“You didn’t scare me,” you said. “I just — I meant it when I said I never had a boyfriend, so I never-”

“Don’t worry, alright?” he whispered. “We go on your time — always.”

The shop was busier today.

A group of foreigners had come in the morning, wishing to learn how to do pottery, and ever since you had been standing there — watching Jake.

He made a little gesture at his chest, curtsying and gentleman-like as he bowed at a compliment one of them had conveyed to him. The sun had changed through the last hours, flooding through the tempered glass strongly with the setting afternoon, and when Jake straightened himself back, it caught on his face, painting his eyes in that golden tone that never failed to make your breath catch — perhaps too loudly this time because Jake’s gaze fell upon you, the gravity of his world suddenly centered on you as the echoes of his smile were still tucking at the corners of his lips, and the force of it made you spun around, skin warmer in a way that you knew it wasn’t the afternoon heat setting in. 

You had stuck a stray brush in your hair to keep it up, allowing the breeze to sooth the back of your neck, but as Jake approached you from behind, he took the brush away — just so he could pull it up again, threading his fingers through your locks before he set the thing again and leaned in, curling his arms around you as he breathed into your skin.

“What do you think about closing the shop early?” he asked.

”I think you are not taking your shop very seriously,” you said. You didn’t even need to look at him to know he was pouting then, his bottom lip being poured out as he tightened his hold around you.

“C’mon, Baby,” he whispered. “It has been a few days since we last took something from your list,” he remarked, but what he truly meant was that it had been a few days since you had only been making out on his couch, and when his hands slipped beneath your pajama’s shirts, splaying his hands on the bare skin of your waist, he suddenly stopped, laughing it off and kissing you sweetly before saying you should go to sleep. “Maybe we could go to a bar as I had promised?”

┈

Jake rode you up to the island at the sunset, the traffic turning thicker and thicker as you approached Jeju City with its busy avenues, flashing lights, and more people than you had seen ever since you had gone out with Euntaek.

And so, when Jake held the bar’s door, gesturing for you to go in first, you had braced yourself for a darkened room, the intoxicated air, and a forced retreat to that night a week ago and its hazed fear, but instead, you were greeted by neon lights and an electronic chime humming beneath that old summer hit that everyone knew. Machines lined the walls, from the old Pac-Man to VR games cramming side by side to make room for the tables, and the wooden bar. 

Somewhere a group of friends laughed and you couldn’t help but to do the same. Surprise and relief burbling out of you. Jake smiled down at you, the machines’ lights making him glow peach and tangerine as he held his hand out for you.

 Jake guided you to the bar where he traded two fifty-thousand won bills for some coins that he insisted were just enough for you both to have some fun, taking turns at the machines, being lit up by the flashing lights and the shimmer of it all. Your hands brushing and your bodies close together.

Outside Autumn was already approaching, pressing itself against the late July nights and making it chilly things, but here — it was summer, warm, and heavy, making Jake remove his jacket, rolling the sleeves of his gray button-down shirt absent and carelessly just below his elbows as you bet over the games. A drink over Pac-Man, and baskets of fries over Pinball. And when you said you had no idea how to play a shooting game, he stood behind you, his hands above yours as he guided you through — just as Jake always did whenever he taught you something, but this time, you allowed yourself to lean on his touch, pressing your back against his chest and feeling the solid warmth of his being.

“Will you give me a kiss if I get you to break the record?” he asked as if you haven’t been stealing pecks the whole night — as if you didn’t know the taste of his lips better than anything by now. But the proposal made your skin tingle, the night being too blazing, too sweet, and you caught yourself nodding at him. 

When the game ended, requesting you to spell your name as Jake got the highest score, you turned to him, the same peach and tangerine light gliding his skin, and it suddenly felt too strange to be in the middle of all those people. You weren’t sure who pushed first, but both of you were rushing past the tables and back into Jeju City’s night. Streetlights glinted off the hoods of parked cars, and the stars hung prettily above — the layered beauty taking you anew. But you only got a glimpse of it before Jake used your connected hands to pull you closer to him, leaning on and bottling you into the darkness of his height. You tilted your head up. Just enough for your top lip to catch his bottom. And he made it soft and sweet, languid and still tasting like the whiskey of the bourbons he kept on asking whenever you lost and the strawberries you always rewarded him from the bottom of your cocktails.

“Should we go home?” He asked then.

And that was what both of you intended to do, but half an hour until you got to Seogwipo, Jake had to stop at a tiny town that consisted only of an artificially bright gas station and a convenience store to fill his motorcycle. 

You wandered inside the store as he took care of the motorcycle, almost feeling his gaze on you when you stopped at the cashier and paid for a package of cookies and two ice creams without his minion card. But when you stepped outside he didn’t say anything — Jake only shouldered off his jacket, spreading it on the sidewalk, and gesturing for you to sit down on it as he took the space by its side.

It was quite mesmerizing how your bodies already knew each other. When you sat by his side,Jake soundlessly shifted his arm, pressing his palm on the pavement so you could lean on him, your head resting on his shoulder, and when a breeze came a bit harsher, Jake’s proximity was the only heat in the night. It warmed you, starting from your arms brushing against his until it filled your whole body and you pressed yourself to him, eyes fluttering to the sky. Even as you sat close to the streetlight nothing seemed enough to obliterate the stars. They kept shining above you, creating streams of silver and purple against the darkness.

You couldn’t tell if it was very late or very early. The hours blended on a moment itself and you didn’t want to leave, not in a few weeks, not never. Not because of the fear of what was going to happen but because you loved this place. And the sincerity of your own thoughts struck you. Your mother once had told you about a night from her youth years: she was right there — surrounded by her friends in the place she loved, and she knew, even as the years passed, she would always remember and miss it and how lucky and doomed she had been for noticing it while she was still there. Now, you finally comprehend her sentiment. You were still here, but your chest ached at the idea of losing the thread of this night — of losing Jake. You felt yourself saddened by the simple idea of someday that summer becoming just a memory of your youth years.

“I wish I was an artist — a painter,” you blurted out. “So I could paint this sky — this place, hold it forever.”

In your periphery, Jake tilted his head, following your gaze to the sky. He barely gave himself a moment before he said: “I can teach you — how to paint. I can teach you.”

┈

And that was how you found yourself in Jake’s garden in the middle of the night, a stack supporting a tiny canvas as he spared tint cans over the greenish grass, studying each color with such a deliberate passion that you couldn’t help but wonder how he was as his grandfather’s pupil — at the university, all those layers you wish you had seen.

“Jake?”

“Yes, Baby?”

“Hm, what was your favorite subject?” you asked. “In art school.”

“Painting,” he said, not even giving himself a moment to think about it. “I like painting landscapes and anything about nature. There are some weekends that I would drive out of Seoul only for it, but also there was this one semester that we had to do people’s portraits as our grade project — I have to admit I didn’t like it very much.”

“Portraits?”

“Yes, I painted your brother.”

“My brother,” you echoed, the corner of your lips pinching to come upwards. “Was it that bad?”

“Maybe he wasn’t just the right muse,” he said, and it was impossible to hold any longer — you laughed. The idea of your brother not only having to pose at Jake, but being considered a muse — even if as a possibility — was simply too comical. You threw your head back, closing your eyes as you allowed the sound to whistle through the night. When you straightened yourself back to look at him, he was watching you, eyes all soft. “But I would like to try again — with you.”

“I would let you,” you said, feeling your cheeks warmer than before and in the rush of the moment, you kept talking. “But you know — I thought pottery would have been your favorite subject.”

“I thought so too, but it reminded me too much of my grandpa, it was hard to sit in the university’s studio and not sorrow not being here.”

“I am sorry,” you said, but Jake only shrugged at it, moving his attention back to the paint cans as if it was nothing. Yet, you could see the slight bow of his shoulders, the weight of the mourning always lurking in. He once had said that grief never truly ends, it just gives people breaks, and you couldn’t imagine how it was to live always one step away from breaking.

You knew it was not a matter of deserving it or not — losing someone was one of the only certain things in life, but it made something within you ache, your nose pinching in that telltale of upcoming tears because you didn’t want Jake to live like this.

You really wanted to make things better for him.

Jake passed you a brush and a water cup, and when he stood to meet you, you were already stroking a great amount of water on his cheeks. His skin shimmered too prettily beneath the night sky but he only gasped at you, a momentary thing before his lips twirled on a smile, and it was worth it, even when he reached for another cup, falsely throwing it at you.

He ran when you did, feet a little clumsy on the greenish grass of his garden but neither of you really cared about what you were doing. The peals of laughter made it worth it, the rush of summer night on your face, but then, you were tripping upon an uneven part of his garden, being saved only because Jake finally had reached you, his hands sprawling onto your hips as he brought you to him. Both of you tumbled into the grass, Jake beneath you, and your legs tangled in a way that you were already used to by the amount of times you had made out on his couch.

Your hair fell on him, and he tucked it behind your ears — an useless act, honestly, because it kept sliding and falling, tickling his cheeks all over again. But Jake didn’t mind doing it again, again, and again. The tip of his fingers brushed against your forehead, taking their path towards your ear until finally — he decided to simply hold it there, his palm resting against your cheeks as his fingers twined in your hair, bringing you closer to a kiss.

A soft kiss. Your lips pressed against each other and stayed, stretching the act as if neither of you wanted to be anywhere that wasn’t here — but then, you pinched at his bottom lip, and Jake shifted both of you, rolling your bodies so you were the one pressed against the grass then. The full weight of him upon you, but you didn’t really complain — if anything, you parted your legs a bit further so he could fit better within the cradle of your thighs. 

You shuddered as Jake moved further, the solid length of him pressed against your core, and making a moan escape within the moment your body failed due to the contact with him. 

Jake halted at the sound of you, pushing himself up on his arms, but the distance he created had been so minimal. You could tell that he didn’t really want to let you go — and neither did you, if you were to be honest. So you reached for him, palm splaying through his neck as you held him still, your fingers sliding to where his shirt hung loosely around his neck as your thumb trailed down to his cheek.

You heard his breath catching in his throat as you traced the delicate contours of his lips, mapping every curve and dip with the pad of your thumb, yet he didn’t complain — he didn’t even say anything. Jake just gave you as much time and space as you wanted — whatever you wanted. Jake always seemed willing to give you whatever you wanted. 

“Jake.”

“Tell me what it is, Baby.”

You were thankful for the lack of light outside because you could feel yourself blushing — not that flush of shyness spreading through your cheeks you had already grown accustomed to feel whenever you were too close to Jake, but something heftier, a fervor crawling down to your neck, your shoulders — spreading to your chest and then,  lower, taking everything and making something within you hum — not really sure how to say you wanted him in the most bare and vulnerable way one could want. 

“Remember when — remember when you said we would go on my time?” you asked. But despite the ease with which you shaped the question, you were suddenly too anxious to stay still. Your whole body felt too restless with the topic now hovering in the summer air, and you needed to do something, playing with his mouth once again, allowing your thumb to follow the curves of his lips with a concentration so deliberate that it couldn’t go unnoticed by him — not when Jake was always too good at diving all the nuances of your whole being. And perhaps that was why he pinched at your pad, his teeth biting your skin in a sweetly impulsive gesture that broke through the tension coiling in your chest almost instantly and made you look at him, finding that soft gaze that always made you feel alright.

“I do.”

“What if I say that I am ready? — that I want it to be with you?”

“Ok,” he whispered. “Ok.”

You almost expected him to laugh it off for tonight, let it go as all the other nights because when he stood up, bringing you with him, he only turned around, placing his hand behind his back to encourage you to catch up and grab it. You held hands across the garden and into the house, letting go only as you sunk yourself into the entrance seat to remove your heels, but Jake was already bending on a knee in front of you, his own fingers fumbling through the straps of your high heels and removing them, one at a time. And when he was finished, he didn’t let you go, curling his hand on your ankles and bringing you to him.

Your knees parted for him, creating a slot that he took with no ado, allowing your thighs to straddle his ribs as his hands traced upper and upper through your legs, taking the hem of your dress and hiking it up until he found the curve of your hips and spread his fingers through.

“Hold on me,” he whispered. “Will you, Baby?”

Thoughts felt irrelevant as you finished molding yourself into his chest, arms curling around his neck as his fingers sunk onto your skin, holding you so fiercely that you wondered if he was afraid you could simply fade away within the small moments he took to carry you to his bedroom and sit you at the edge of his bed. 

It was far more gentle than you ever imagined it would be — worshipful even.

Jake kissed your forehead, then your cheeks — his  lips pestering over your face with soft pecks before he moved lower, discovering that one sensitive spot underneath your jaw, and when you shivered, he smiled, taking it as an incentive to move to the column of your neck, his mouth parting as his tongue slipped out in a tiny tease that got you gasping softly — almost silently, hands closing at the shoulders of his shirt.

“Anxious?” he asked. 

“A bit,” you admitted.

Jake moved back then, and for a second you were afraid he was going to end it all, assume that you should give it more thought, but before you could try to assure him, he cradled your face within his palms, holding your gaze. In the dimly lit room, his eyes seemed brighter somehow, sparkling with the shafts of light filtering through his curtains, all sincere, earnest, and with that softness that never failed to make something within you break loose. “We don’t need to do anything you are uncomfortable with, alright? You tell me to stop, and I do, no question asked.”

You nodded at him, and the smile on Jake’s face was like the whole summer. Everything about him was warm, soft, absolutely intoxicating and yet — you couldn’t get enough. You shuddered as Jake reached down at you, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your dress once again, but this time going further than your hips, brushing through the contours of your ribcage as he drew your dress up and up — until he could go no further, and you had to lift your arms so he could slip the piece off you and into somewhere over the hardwood floor of his bedroom.

You would have felt embarrassed sitting there, chest bare and panties of a simple cotton that matched your skin tone because your dress had been just too thin —if Jake wasn’t signing then, reaching for you as if you were something an idealist painter had created in a dream. His fingers traced patterns along the smooth expanse of your clavicle, following the subtle angle of it before they glided down to the inner curve of your breasts, staying there for the while of two heartbeats before he lowered himself, trading his fingers for his mouth and giving you a kiss.

“You are beautiful, Baby,” he said, his lips still against you. “So — so beautiful.”

You couldn’t reckon a moment when you had felt so aware of your body as you were at that moment. Even his lightest moves felt overwhelming. You could feel each centimeter of your skin tingling as he inhaled again, giving himself a gush of air before his mouth parted to place another kiss, and then, another — subtly moving lower and lower until he found the front of your panties. His fingers followed suit, fumbling through the edges of it as he looked up at you, his eyes bringing the question before his voice did, and making you nod at him once again, your hands closing at his blankets as you moved a bit further into the edge of his bed in reply, allowing him to slide your last clothing piece off you.

As much as you knew it was the moment when you should come truly conscious, you couldn’t — not when Jake was being so gentle with you, so unbelievably gentle. Everything was so willful and unhurried, almost as if he meant to store every little piece of you into his memory and sculpt it out of clay at a later date — but perhaps he was genuinely going to because there could be no other explanation for the way his hands felt adoring as he hitched your panties down to your legs, deifying when his fingers dug at your ankles, lifting them to his lips and giving them a kiss.

“Jake,” you called, not because you needed to say something, but because you couldn’t hold it anymore — your chest was swelling then, big enough to break open with love for him. And perhaps, he had felt it too — heard it in your voice, this sickening desperation, because he moved into the space between your legs, his stomach pressed to the mattress as he brought the back of your knees to his shoulders.

“I’m here, Baby,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

Jake leaned against your leg as if he meant to prove the point, his mouth brushing against the skin of the inner of your thighs before his lips parted, moving further into you so slowly, unhurried, and taking you completely by surprise when he suddenly mouthed over your folds. You moaned at his actions, your back falling into his mattress as your hands faltered at his blankets and causing him to lift his head to you. An appraisal that you were glad that he came to an answer all by himself and demanded nothing from you because you doubted your brain was currently a functioning thing — even before he continued, his tongue seeking and finding your clit as he stretched out onto you, slightly folding you over the mattress — you doubted you were thinking straight.

Your clitoris started to awaken as Jake lapped at you, his tongue moving from the base of your cunt to that tiny little bud, circling and sucking it lightly, and then — circling it again, a twirl all around its edge before he gave it a kiss. A long, tender kiss. 

You looked down to him, and your gazes caught. His eyes were sparkling with something you would come to learn as a telltale, a small sign through the fleeting moment he took to avail everything before he decided that it was alright to push you further into your edges, this time suckling at your clit and making your back arch.

The pleasure felt so sharp, your hands flew at his hair for some leverage, weaving your fingers in it in a manner that should have been painful. But if anything, Jake groaned beneath your hold, giving you another suckle almost as if he wanted you to have the same reaction. But it was your legs’ turn to move on their own accord, ankles locking on his back and bringing him impossibly closer, yet — he seemed as satisfied as he continued, mouthing over you like he wanted nothing more than to taste you, licking the entrance of your body again, over and over a hundred times. 

Something within you pulsed against his mouth, coiling until it couldn’t twist and tighten any more. Every nerve felt exposed then, and he found every exposed nerve and touched it with the tip of his tongue, touched and touched as you trembled and shuddered. 

“You taste so good,” Jake said. “I could stay here — I could stay here forever.” The warmth of his breath against your entrance felt so overwhelming already that you almost missed the faint presence of his fingers hovering over your labia, applying a tentative pressure before he stuck a finger into you. You clenched around him, and he let out a soft noise, a moan, perhaps, almost as if he didn’t mean to, lifting his head to look back at you, his eyes sparkling once again before he pushed one more finger in.

The feeling made you gasp, your mouth hanging open as your back arched off the bed, head thrown back into the blankets that smelled like him, that perfect combination of flowery soap and oranges, clay and glaze. And just like that, Sim Jaeyun was everywhere around — everywhere inside you. When your body eased itself on the mattress once again, his fingers curled against your walls, taking guesses until he found that one spot that made your body flop, and he focused himself there.

It’s not like you had never fingered yourself — you had, coming far enough times all alone, but Jake’s fingers were much thicker and longer than yours, and the combination of them with his mouth was simply overwhelming. His tongue found your clit once again and never left it, sucking and licking in rhythm with the thrusting of his fingers until your cunt was clamping around him, and when you tried to press your thighs close, his free hand gripped on you, holding you open for him.

You could hear Jake slurping you up, taking all that he could over the sound of your heart pounding against your ears. And it was so messy — so dirty. You knew your fluids were dripping down on his palm by the sound it made whenever he pushed into you, and you wanted to hide somehow, pull yourself deeper into his mattress in a way that you would disappear — but you also wanted it to never end. 

You wanted to stay with him forever.

“Jake,” you called, his name slipping from your lips just for the sake of saying it, your small call for safety, and he moved deeper into you, giving you the one final pressure you needed for your eyes to flutter closed, your orgasm crashing through your body as your legs shook slightly beneath his grip. But Jake didn’t let go — working you through it and not easing off until you had become too sensitive, squirming under his mouth, pumping your hips, and grasping at him.

His fingers slipped out of you as he suckled at your clit once again — just so he could have your body trembling one last time before he placed a kiss on the inner part of your thigh. 

You were thankful that he decided to hover back at you, allowing you to curl your arms over his shoulder, tightening your bodies so close together that when reality slowly snuck back in, there was nothing but the two of you.

Seogwipo had always been silent — no matter what time it was, but tonight not even the breezes seemed to be current. There was nothing except for your breaths mingling in the space within you and the sound of your heart slowly coming into peace.

“That’s my Baby,” he whispered. “Did so good for me-”

“Jake,” you broke in.

“You ok?” he asked. He sounded a bit concerned all of a sudden, pushing himself up and away from you — his hands brushing over your body, caressing your sides as if to rub any pain.

You hummed at him, but the sound must not have been that convincing because he didn’t stop, his hands still working through your skin, watching you attentively.

“Tell me what it is,” he tried. 

You could feel that he didn’t care about coming, not really — not when you had given him the opportunity to make you fall apart on his fingers. Jake could deal with himself quite well later on in the shower just with the memory of it, and so, you were slipping your hands through his shirt, curling your fingers on the buttons of his shirt and bringing him closer to you.

“I want you,” you whispered, moving your knee just so you could graze at the front of his jeans. The contact was fleeting, barely more than a whisper of skin against fabric, but it was enough to draw a sharp breath from Jake, his hips bucking beneath your touch, almost as if he couldn’t help it. “Please.”

You knew you were begging at this point, your voice trembling with a foreign desperation even to yourself. Yet you didn’t care. You wanted him — needed him — that was an utter truth, and perhaps that was exactly what broke him.

How could he say no to you? Jake could give you anything even if you never asked in a heartbeat — in the moment his body took to live from one moment to another.

Your hands met in the middle, opening all of his shirt’s buttons, and allowing Jake to hurl it out and onto his bedroom floor. The piece fell with a silent thud that matched the breathless gasp Jake released when you reached for him again, your fingers splaying through him, following the skin of his just-exposed abdomen until you had reached for his neck, curling it around the slope curve of it and bringing him down on you. 

You imagined that Jake had far enough experience — a reasonable body count for a graduated university man — but it somehow felt like he was rediscovering himself with you. When you placed a kiss on his throat, lips parting against his skin and surely leaving a mark. He groaned as if it had never happened before, or if it did, it never had the effect you are having on him, and the thought scattered shivers through your spine, bold enough to make you push at the waist of his jeans, fingers slipping past the band of his boxers and plowing it far enough for him to only kick it out. It had barely hit his bedroom floor before his lips were on you again, his tongue pressing against yours and tasting like you.

“Baby,” he whispered, and you clenched at his sides with the endearing name, thighs closing, and holding him for a heartbeat more before he was sitting on his ankles, taking himself in his hand. His fingers curled around his length almost beautifully, closing and molding before he gave it a few hard plumps, and making it glisten beneath the low light.

You rose yourself up on your elbows, moving your legs further apart almost unconsciously as you watched him grinding his tip at your entrance, moving himself there but not quite pushing in yet — Jake wouldn’t dare, not without casting one last questioning glance in your direction and receiving your consent. 

Your head fell back as he pushed the tip inside of you, a stung noise fleeing from your lips before you could hold. It had been quick, but Jake halted then, his brows furrowing with something between pleasure and concern.

“I need you to talk to me,” he said. “It’s supposed to pinch, but not hurt — am I hurting you?”

“No,” you whispered. “You aren’t. It’s alright — you can keep going, it’s alright.”

“Baby, are you sure?”

“Jake,” you whined. Jake snorted — snorted, his free hand resting upon the curve of your thigh, wetting the tip of his thumb with your fluids, before he found your clitoris, rubbing it in slow and deliberate circles that got you feeling just too good, hips moving up and down, welcoming whatever he was giving, and making him groan.

He wasn’t smiling anymore, and you never thought you could come to find an expression that you loved to see on him more than happiness, but the one he was wearing right now — it could come so close to it. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips had come apart, a breathless gasp continuously threading to escape through as he gazed down on your bodies, his eyes focused on where he was slowly pushing further into you. 

The stretch wasn’t as bad as you had expected it to be, not as painful as you had heard about — not when you were so wet with his preparations, and still growing impossibly wetter, but — he was barely halfway in and you felt so full already, it was somewhat inane. You had to reach for him, your fingers curling and tightening against his arms until he came all the way in and you were suddenly comfortable.

“There,” he whispered, the word leaving his lips almost as a pant, but he was smiling again, his fingers squeezing at where he had left them on you as a reassurance or perhaps a reward — although you had done nothing aside from being there. “You ok?”

“Perfectly.”

“Perfectly, hm?” You could hear the flirt in his voice, a tiny tease that you really couldn’t feel shy about because Jake was bracing himself above you, his weight on his elbows as he kissed your lips, your neck, and then your throat — spreading pecks as far as he could reach and making you shiver.

Jake surely was loving to make you shiver. 

“I kind of agree,” he said. “Perfect.”

It was slow at first, the same patience you had watched him having with his creations, slowly and tenderly shaping them up to his confident acknowledgment — and when he finally came completely out, he already knew exactly how to move back in, how to make you whine, and his name to escape from your lips a little bit more frantic.

You had expected sex to be something like this, bodies tightening and coming apart in a cadence that made something within your chest ache but it was more than that — more than anything you could imagine, actually. It was something like feeling your heart splitting at the stitching, and it was terrifying, raw — and yet incredible. It felt so good to gush around him, your bodies molding as a single thing and you couldn’t help but wrap your legs around his waist, holding him so close to you. Jake faltered, his head falling into the crook of your neck as his lips found that one sensitive spot that got you crying out for him. 

“God, you’re so perfect,” he murmured against your skin. “You’re so fucking perfect. Do you even know what you are doing to me?”

You shook your head, not quite sure if it was the proper answer because your thoughts were slipping and escaping, your whole body focused on him.

“Squeezing me so tight — you like it when I talk to you like this, don’t you?”

And you wanted to tell him that you liked him, whatever he did to you would be alright, but you were approaching the edge once again. Your mind blurring as your whole body turned taut underneath him, your fingers weavering through his hair, and you forced yourself to at least hold it back — to not end it yet merely because you didn’t want to let Jake go. But he seemed to sense your impending release. His movements became more focused and deliberate. Each thrust of his hips was pronounced with a wet clash, obscenely loud, while slick dribble came out of your cunt, and you could feel it pooling into the blankets underneath you.

“Come for me, Baby,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

You grasped around him, and Jake shifted within your hold, coming up to his hands. He had his brows furrowed once again and was patting himself, his breath being almost torn apart from him at the feeling of how tight you were around him, molding and clenching down on his length until he went tense. The hands you adored so much to watch, tightened on the blankets in a death grip, making his veins bulge underneath his skin, scattering all the way up to his forearms because he could feel his own orgasm building up in the pit of his stomach and threatening to release.

But you were his priority and so, one of his hands moved between your bodies, reaching your clitoris once again — and you couldn’t hold it anymore, the orgasm hit you with a force so blinding and obliterating, you arched to him, your back rising off the mattress, but Jake only took the opportunity to kiss your chest, a way too sweet gesture for the way he was still thrusting inside of you.

Later on, when you analyzed the whole thing, you would be thankful for the fact that his mattress was placed in the middle of the room, no headboard slamming against anything to further mortify you because you were surely it would be slamming right now.

“That’s my Baby,” he said. It wasn’t dirty talk anymore, but mere babbling, Jake losing himself on the way you were twitching around him, cumming and teetering on overstimulation and giving him everything to chase his own high. “Just a bit more — just a bit more, I promise-”

His hips pushed one final time against you, burying his length deeply inside you as he came, filling you beyond entireness — pouring out of you even as his hips kept moving, slowly towing your climaxes for as long as he could before he finally halted.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, the two of you lost in the afterglow. And when he finally slipped out, moving to look at you, there were golden stripes painted across his cheeks, the sun rising somewhere over the horizon and casting the same soft light of when you realized you were in love with him, and suddenly it was too hard to let him go.

You didn’t notice a tear had escaped through your eyes until Jake was smoothing a thumb over your cheeks, all his features falling in worry, but you didn’t allow him to pronounce what was on his mind, catching his lips on yours, kissing him sweeter than it should’ve been considering you were still naked in his bed, your bodies so mixed up that you couldn’t quite tell where you ended and he began.

“I am fine,” you told him. “I am.”

You just weren’t sure what you were supposed to do with everything you were feeling for him.

A murmur about staying like this must have slipped from your lips because Jake smiled down at you then, saying that it was ok, you could stay like this for as long as you liked.

He rolled you both through the bed, his back falling into the mattress as he brought you to his chest so you could lay on it, his heart slowly coming to peace underneath you. And you stayed — stayed until the room had turned orange and pink with the sunrise, and the particles of dust sparkled with the full sun. You stayed like this until Jake was hard again, and you swung a leg over his hips, kissing him to stave away any possible awkwardness as your fingers brushed and tangled over his length, guiding him into you.

You shuddered from the overwhelming sensation of having him so soon, but you didn’t let him stop. And so, his hands spread over your skin, holding you in place while he worked on you with slow, long thrusts, making you come in the morning haze.

When everything was over, you could feel him trembling with laughter, his shoulders fluttering underneath your touch.

Your palms flattered against his chest as you pushed yourself up to gaze at him, but you didn’t need to inquire what happened — he was already cursing and saying, “Your brother is going to fucking kill me.”

And it got you laughing too.

You woke up to the feeling of Jake’s lips on your shoulders. 

It wasn’t new, honestly. Ever since the night at the bar, you both had been sharing his grandparents’ old bedroom, and to wake up to his kisses had already become an usual occurrence — what genuinely surprised you was the fact that the room was still indigo blue which for the standards of Jeju’s sunrises it was too early.

“Baby,” he called.

“What’s this?” you asked, reaching to him. “Are you ok?”

Jake nodded at you. In the low light you could see him closing his eyes, leaning onto your touch as he breathed a little deeper.

“I just need to go out for a bit,” he told you. “It’s my grandfather’s birthday, and I would like to visit his grave.”

You blinked at him. Your sleepy state made it difficult for you to process what he had just said, but as his body moved to slip away, you held him.

“May I go with you?”

┈

Jake’s grandfather had been buried beneath an enormous Japanese cedar tree at Hallasan mountain — high enough just for you to see the sea stretching and merging with the horizon in what Jake called a seamless blend of blues — painfully difficult to convey on a canvas. 

He had already tried.

Wildflowers in most diverse tones dotted the grass surrounding the grave, moving gently in the morning mist still clinging to the lower slopes as you watched Jake pouring sake at the ground — sake, because the old man didn’t like anything aside from it, and although you and Jake had agreed it tasted like soju if chosen rightly, none of you mentioned it as he emptied the small bottle over the grave before sitting down. Although his hands were steady, there was some hesitancy in Jake’s movements, something almost uncertain in the way his fingers hovered over each stem before he tore it out, rolling it through before he moved to the next and then, the next.

Jake looked younger than he usually did there, the years he had ahead of you being taken away — it wasn’t the first time it had happened, honestly, nor the second. You had seen him regressing uncountable times through his boyish happiness, but it was the first time you had seen it be taken away by his grief and it made something within your chest ache, your nose trickling at a telltale of tears.

“May I say something to him?” you asked.

“Of course, Baby,” Jake said, already holding his hand out so he could help you settle yourself.

Your hand responded before your brain did, reaching to his palm as you kneeled by the space at his side. Because that was simply how your body worked — always seeking for Jake.

“Hello, grandpa,” you said. “It might come suddenly as we have never met, but I am living in your old house at the back of the pottery shop. It’s a lovely place, and I can’t help but keep imagining how much love it has been built from — Jake must have been so loved there, so thank you so much for taking care of him.”  You could feel Jake’s gaze on you now, the weight of his full attention making you suddenly conscious about what you were doing, but because you had already begun, you had no other option than to keep going, “I imagine you must be worried about him, but please, don’t. Jake is doing well — really well, honestly. You would have been so proud to see what a person he has become — I am proud of him myself and I only came to know him not long ago.”

“He is taking good care of the pottery shop, and continuing your idea of allowing people to make their own pieces and receive them later. I have packed and dispatched a dozen already — to all corners of this world,” you paused “Alright, being extremely honest, he was not taking care of his health much. He was only eating ramen and whatever Mrs. Choi brought him — I guess you knew Mrs. Choi, right?”

Jake laughed at you then, the sound scattering and spreading through the morning air, and making it all worth it, “he did, Baby,”

“Good,” you said. “But well, back to my point, now I am forcing him to have all the important meals and an ice cream daily. So please, don’t worry about him and be at peace.”

A breeze whispered through the cedar branches above, their needles shimmering underneath the sunlight as you turned your gaze towards Jake, catching how his eyes had softened then, reflecting in that one golden glow you loved so much to see. 

“It’s not fair,” Jake whispered. “You can’t make me love you like this every day.”

Your body faltered then, suddenly weightless and threatening to break open. It was not the first time Jake had used the word love towards you. He had done it on the night he confessed his feelings, but there was a new weight to it now, a sense of permanency — Jake was no longer falling, he was right here — he was staying right here.

He squeezed your hand before his eyes strayed to his grandfather’s grave once again.

“I have brought someone today, grandpa — I really wish you had met her while you were still here. She is something — I am telling you, she appeared at your old pottery shop in a Calvin Klein dress, and a Rimowa luggage in her hands. But I am not saying this because she is vain. I doubt she even notices how she carries herself around the world. If you ask her, she will be surprised that she is using another expensive piece today too.” You looked at yourself then, gaze falling into the silk camisole your mother had brought you from one of her trips to Milan and your shorts — this one from a local store — or at least, that was what your grandma had said. “She is really humble, actually. She appeared at the shop because she had rescued a kitten and was kicked out of her apartment in Jeju City. Can you believe that?”

“You really would have loved to meet her.”

“She lit up my world — you always told me to find someone like this, and I finally did — or rather, she found me. I thought I was the one helping by allowing her to stay at your old house, telling her to fulfill her wishes and getting her back, but actually, she was the one helping me — I didn’t notice how lonely I was before she came. I wasn’t sad, that’s not it. I never doubted choosing the pottery shop, I never doubted dropping med school, but I thought that it was it,”

“I thought that I needed to give up something to have another. I never imagined I could have someone to support me while being on it, and that it could be this good.”

“She is right, grandpa, you shouldn’t worry — I can’t remember the last time I have been this happy — if I had ever been this happy. So please, rest well.”

Jake bowed at him, the act as solemn as one could do. And when he was finished, his gaze met yours for one last time before he used your connected hands to pull you closer and up onto him. His back against the grass, your limbs tangled, and your hair tickling his cheeks. He reached out — just so, he could brush your hair, warm fingertips moving through your forehead, following a path to your ears — but experience had him already holding it there, his palm cupping your cheeks as he kept it still.

“Thank you for being here with me today,” he whispered.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“I need to,” he said. “I need to thank you every day — for finding me and saving me when I didn’t even know I needed it.”

Your lips parted with the intention of another retort, but Jake was already pulling forward, placing a tiny peck over your mouth and silencing you. 

“Let’s go home, Baby,” he said. “I want to cuddle you through the rest of the day.”

┈

Yet you should have known — it was rare for your plans with Jake to go exactly as you both wanted them to.

It had been easy to forget about Sunhwa’s existence when she had become just a moment in the past, but as she stood in front of Jake’s door, it all came rushing to you.

She had traded the pink and blue pins for a single cherry red one, its deep color matching her tee almost as perfectly as it matched her sneakers, and if you thought that she seemed artsy and free with the restaurant’s uniform, you couldn’t come to find the right words as you looked at her there — without a single restriction between her and herself.

Sunhwa’s gaze plunged into you, and you felt it like a real thing — skimming through each piece of your being before it found your hand still laced with Jake’s, and her full attention weighed on your lungs, making it impossible for you to breathe. 

“Who’s this?” she asked.

“My girlfriend,” Jake replied, giving himself not even a second to linger on it. And in any other circumstances it would have gotten your heart leaping, that one unreasonable lover’s foolishness, but Sunhwa was raising her eyebrows then, her eyes traveling over you as if she hadn’t done it just a second previously. 

She didn’t need to speak her thoughts. Her feelings toward you were already visible by the way her nose wrinkled then, but still — she seemed to relish her mind so much that she had to, “I guess it makes sense,” she said. “She is all built on daddy’s money too, makes your type.”

“Hey,” you shouted, thrown by the anger in your own voice. You had never been the one to initiate a fight — actually, on a better reckoning, you had never been in a fight. The closest perhaps had been some disagreement with Jongseong, mean words thrown and halted with no real damage — but it wouldn’t be the case of this one. You could already feel the cracks forming within your bones.

The offense hadn’t been directed towards you — you knew it. Jake had told you that the fact his family had money was one of the reasons for their constant fights on the mainland, but the understatement that she was trying to hurt Jake settled worse than if she had directly cursed you.

“Hey?” she echoed. “How old are you to speak like this with me?”

“You are out of your mind if you are genuinely expecting me to treat you with respect right now,” you said, cheeks suddenly warmer because you had never been good at hiding your emotions, and of course — of course, your anger would be no different — you just hoped that it wouldn’t be the type of feeling that made tears come up to your eyes because this would be truly embarrassing. “I don’t care how old you are or who you are. You disrespect Jake, and I won’t stand still.”

“Do you even know me?” she asked, her Jeju dialect coming as thick as Mrs. Choi’s due to her anger. “I came here to talk with Jake, not you.”

“I told you — I don’t care,” you said. “You thought you were going through a hard time, but you never cared to check if Jake wasn’t. It was all about you — just like right now. You insult him and expect him to still listen and agree with you.”

Sunhwa’s expression twisted as she launched herself towards you. The movement had been so hasty that you didn’t notice it until Jake had already moved, taking the space between the two of you and protectively arranging you behind him.

For a moment, the world seemed to halt — for the first time ever since you had spotted Sunhwa, you could hear the branches at the other side of the street stirring and shuddering through the sea breezes.

“That won’t do,” Jake said. “You should leave now, Sunhwa,”

“I told you in the restaurant, and I am reaffirming it now — we have nothing to talk about. What happened, happened. Let’s leave it as a regret in our past.”

Regret.

Jake might as well have slapped her. The word stung like a handprint on her cheeks and made her linger, too stunned to move as he stepped past her — pulling you along with him. And for the first time you were thankful that he never bothered to lock the house’s door during the day, allowing you both to slip inside with no further ado, you tumbling into the entrance stool as Jake kneeled in front of you. 

“You are shaking, Baby,” he said, gently reaching for your free hand, and holding it as well — his warm palms enfolding both of your hands into his warmth as if your tremor was just coldness and not your nerves threatening to break open.

“I am sorry,” you whispered. “I-”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “I am the one who should be sorry for putting you in the middle of this.”

“Jake-”

“When you arrived here — I couldn’t stop thinking about how cute and small you were. I had heard enough of you from your brother to have an idea of you — but to see the reality of it,” he shook his head. “It hurt me to see you carrying so much on those tiny shoulders. I wanted to hug you — take you within my arms and tell you that it was alright to let it go,”

“So I am sorry,” he said. “Please, don’t take it for you.”

Something suddenly lodged within you, burning your throat as an indicative of tears. Jake’s words had landed with such genuine care — you couldn’t come to form a response, much less a retort, and so, you only nodded at him, earning the tiniest peck as a reward.

“Now let me cuddle you as I intended to.”

You hummed at his request, and Jake wasted no time in taking you in his arms, his hands slipping from yours just so he could spread them through your thighs as he carried you to his old grandparents’ room and settled you on the mattress.

Jake hovered above you, a small smile tucking at the corner of his mouth before he leaned over, pinching at your bottom lip and coaxing you to open up to him, allowing his tongue to dip into your mouth before he retreated and then pushed again — teasing you until you were whimpering at him, hands wavering through his hair and holding him still. 

But the act made you both laugh, the sound meddling and blending within the space of your bodies as he pushed himself up to his elbows. And it was happening. You didn’t know what caused it, but as you looked up at him, you could feel your heart swelling in a threat to break open.

You loved Jake.

You loved Jake so much that you didn’t even know what to do with it aside from telling him, allowing these three words to roll from your tongue, coming into the summer air, and making him halt.

It’s not like he didn’t know. Over the past weeks, he had seen it in your eyes, tasted it at your lips, and felt it through every one of your touches. Yet, the impact of how you worldly confirmed you loved him, seemed to lance through his body. He looked at you like you were a dream to him — and perhaps you were. You could hear the slight tremor in his breath when he exhaled. And the words that came later ached within you.

“I love you too — I love you so much, my Baby — sometimes I feel like I am going to die because of it.”

Your hands found the back of his neck, bringing his forehead against yours at the same time he grabbed one of your thighs, pulling it around his hips.

“Don’t die on me,” you whispered.

“I am trying very hard, believe me,” he said. “But I can’t help, you have this effect on me.”

The storm hadn’t been forecasted or expected, a monsoon rolling through the last day of July and catching both of you unprepared from your trip to the convenience store for ice pops.

A gasp escaped through your lips, but you couldn’t confide if it was because of the sudden raindrops kissing your skin or the way Jake pulled you through the rest of the street, using your connected hands to rush you through the side path from the shop to the garden, and into the house.

You laughed as you tripped over the shoes at the entrance hall, but Jake was fast on catching you, leaning you against the wall in order to prevent you both from falling. One of his hands pressed over the curve of your lower back to push you further into him, the line of your bodies pressed together, as the other tangled through your hair, the tip of his fingers finding your nape.

“I want to paint you,” he murmured — blurted out, an admission you weren’t sure he intended to confess, but you caught yourself smiling at him. His voice was all fondness and appreciation. “Can I paint you, Baby?”

You already knew the answer, but you decided to draw the moment a little longer, tilting your head as if you were considering it. And Jake leaned on you, his lips brushing through the column of your neck, interleaving kisses and pleads, tiny please that went down to the neckline of your top, his knees already ready to bend as he planned to go further, but you reached for him, touching his neck, right where his hair grew above the collar of his shirt.

“Alright,” you said. “You can paint me.”

┈

“How do you want me?” you asked, immediately stealing a laugh from Jake.

His room was no brighter than the whole house, the rainy clouds making everything a bit grayish and dim. But he didn’t care about turning the lights on before he reached for a blank canvas prompt on his desk.

He turned back to you, taking that small sliver of skin between your skirt and top, grazing his fingers there for a quiet moment before he passed through the hem of it, rushing up to your ribcage. Your whole body trembled as he brought you closer to him.

“It’s a dangerous question, Baby,” he whispered, lips brushing through yours. “But anything you give me, I will take it.”

You weren’t sure what it was about Jake that caused you to find yourself doing everything you normally thought impossible, but you reached for the back zipper of your skirt, tugging it down until the piece got loose from your waist and fell, pooling onto your feet as you pulled your arms up.

Jake’s breath hitched and stammered, his surprise taking him for a full moment before finally he allowed himself to push his hands a bit further, drawing your top up and out of you too before unclasping your bra.

You sat on the hardwood floor of his room, his sheet barely wrapped around your waist, and still leaving a lot of your skin to be bathed by the dim light of the afternoon as you watched Jake giving the first strokes — the same satisfying, and controlled strokes that somehow made the act of painting an art itself and you loved to watch so much.

Jake looked back at you, and you knew he had noticed how closely you were watching him, gaze following the familiar way his fingers curled around the brush, the way he knew the exact amount of pressure he was supposed to use only to make his stocks fluid on the canvas.

“I am starting to regret it,” he sighed.

“Why?”

“You are too pretty. It’s highly distracting.”

Your lips parted to retort, but whatever words you had chosen slipped and slid as he abandoned his brush, reaching for you instead. One hand molded to the lower of your back as the other chased for your neck, the tip of his fingers weaving through your hair, and bringing your mouth to his.

His lips parted too, heavy breaths blending as he caught your bottom lips with his once, twice — just enough for you to feel comfortable enough to lick over him, slipping past his lips, and tasting the cherry ice pop he had chosen earlier in the convenience store and the rain still pounding against the windows and resonating with the rhythm of your heart.

Your hands snuck down to his sides, fingers scraping down to the waist of his jeans as you tried to end a distance that didn’t exist anymore. You were too close already, bodies so tangled you weren’t sure which one of you was shivering, but Jake seemed to understand your urgency as his fingers dug into your skin a little harder, pressing you to him, and when you grind against him, he groaned, the sound doing something to you that you couldn’t explain.

“Jake,” you murmured. “Wait.”

“I am sorry,” he said, hurling away from you. His back met the legs of his desk fast and in a heap. “Not today?”

“That’s not it,” you said. “I mean-”

“Yes?”

“I want you to teach me how to touch you.” Although you didn’t give yourself enough time to doubt the wisdom of saying it, you had to take a breath before you spoke, inhaling summer, rainstorms, and Jake — just Jake, making the words come a bit weakly, almost too silent for your own ears, and for a moment you doubted he had heard you. But then, Jake stopped, a sharp swallow going into his lungs. It seemed to take him a long time to make sense of your sentence, and when he finally did, it took every ounce of him to not simply rumble you through the floor, kneel before you and touch you — eat you, make up for all the gentleness he had with you on the first time.

But he only laughed. A bright burst that would have gotten you burning, if his hands weren’t already finding their way back to you, the tip of his fingers brushing a stray lock of your hair to the back of your ears as he moved closer again.

“How can I say no to you?” he asked. “Ask me anything and I will give it to you.”

“Anything?” you asked, making Jake hum, leaning in so his nose brushed against the column of your neck.

“Anything, Baby”

“I just want you.”

“I am yours.”

You pushed your fingers underneath his t-shirt, rippling it with goosebumps at your bare touch, but if anything Jake only reached for the collar of it, helping you hurl it out and to the great mess his room was.

You could feel that Jake was overwhelmed, desire and lust lying right next to each other in his heart, each sharpening the other, but he allowed you to take your pace nevertheless, leaning himself against the legs of his desk once again as he watched you — burning you with affection and fondness as he accompanied every move you made. From the way the tip of your fingers followed the lines of his abdomen to how you finally reached for his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, pushing them down to his thighs together with his boxers, and revealing that he was already erect and glistening at the tip.

It wasn’t the first time you were seeing Jake this bare, but it was the first time you felt like you could stare, and so, you did — taking him in completely.

Jake’s lips parted in a soft gasp as you reached for him, tentatively brushing through his extension. Starting from the already flushed tip and moving to the prominent veins all over him and then, all the way back, receiving an almost imperceptible buck of his hips in response.

You glanced up at him again and saw him watching you — waiting for you.

“Jake?”

“Alright,” he rasped, taking your hand on his, placing your palm right against his shaft before he folded you over, pressing slightly. The gesture felt familiar somehow, the echo of how he guided you against the clay many weeks ago faintly there, all together with the way he taught you that shooting game in your date at the bar, but then, he pulsed against your touch, and something tightened on your stomach. The room was suddenly thick with tension, the air heavier against your shoulders, but you knew that whatever way this ended, whatever happened next, it was going to be worth it. 

“Start slowly,” he whispered, moving your hands down to his bottom and up again, applying just enough pressure to make his breath catch.

“Like this?” you asked.

“Yes, just like that, Baby,” he said, his eyes fluttering shut momentarily before he reopened them again, following your hands. “You can grip a little tighter, if you want to.”

You did as he said, tightening your grip slightly as you stroked him. The change in pressure made Jake’s breath hitch, a soft groan escaping his lips as his hand faltered above yours, but then, he pressed again, taking the lead as he showed you how to twist slightly near the tip before moving down.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbled.

So you didn’t — even when his grip on you loosened completely, and his hand fell against the hardwood floor as if he could weave his fingers on it. You didn’t stop even when he threw his head back, pulse jumping in his neck as his hips started to move in rhythm with your strokes, because you knew you were getting him there, and you were surprised to notice that you loved it.

You never thought that giving someone pleasure would feel so self-satisfactory, but you caught yourself loving to be the reason behind each one of his reactions, and you suddenly understood why Jake did everything in his power to unfurl your first night together — never letting go until the last possible moment.

You knew that you didn’t need to ask if you were doing it right, his whole body was telling you that you were. You could see that he was flushed, even in the low light, and his hair was sticking to him with the accumulating sweat, but you asked still, leaning on him so that when you asked your lips brushed softly, sweetly, and nothing like you were still touching him.

“I feel like you are trying to kill me, but yes, Baby,” he breathed. “Just like that.”

The desk creaked as he shifted, his body following you with an unmistakable need as his hands cradled your cheek, a single thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip before he leaned forward and kissed you.

“Just like that,” he repeated, wild, and unraveled in a way you had never heard him, but it only made you smile at him, pressing the softest peck to his mouth before you slowed down, raising yourself on your knees.

“Jake,” you called. “May I-”

Perhaps it had been the way you were already hovering above him, but Jake was fast to catch you, a hand molded to your waist as the other slipped between your thighs, fingers hooking into the lace of your panties, and pulling it to the side so you could line him to your entrance, his tip pressed against where you need him the most.

His breath hitched when you came down on him, whispering your name, pronouncing it with the same deliberate slowness he always had and you couldn’t help but moan at the whole feel of him, palms spreading at the lower of his abdomen, head a bit thrown back and barely giving time before you started a slow, hard grind on his lap, lifting yourself up and down, dragging your cunt against his pelvis, his length buried deep enough inside you that the base of him caught your clit.

A spasm scattered through your spine with the contact, pushing down into your thighs. And you braced yourself, your hands slipping up to his shoulders for some leverage before you did it again.

“There is no way,” he murmured. “It’s your first time doing it.”

“Who else could I have done it with?”

“Some stupid swimmer back in Seoul.” You weren’t sure if it had been because of his saying or your surprise when he rolled both of you through the floor, but you were laughing — laughing so hard that Jake stopped, his hands still hooked on the back of your knees but not quite bringing you to him as he intended.

“You are my only one,” you said.

Only one — not only your first but also the last one to come. And he might have just thought too deeply into it, but he didn’t care. As you looked up at him, dressed in nothing but the remains of light, and the echoes of your laugh, he didn’t care that it might be just a temporary truth. He was your only one at that moment, and it was enough to make his breath hitch, heart leaping inside his chest.

Jake hitched your legs around his hips, holding himself carefully above you as he took your lips, kissing you so when he pushed into you once again, you could feel how much he wanted you in every sharp breath.

His moves were careless this time, gone on all your previous teasing, yet still — he managed to make you tighten around him, fingers curling on the hair of his nape as your mouth parted against his, his name coming so softly from your lips that he couldn’t help but bury his face into the crook of your neck, eyes squeezed shut, hoping and praying that he could always remember the way you felt coming around him.

Jake whispered your name, a small call that you tried to reply to, but failed, hiccupping and gasping out a laugh when you realized and you didn’t know you were crying until Jake moved back, his thumb pressing against your cheeks, the tip of it barely brushing through your skin as he dried your tears.

“If you cry every time we have sex I will start being concerned,” he said. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, that’s not it,” you said.

“So what’s it then?”

You felt your lips parting to reply, your body reacting faster than your own mind, but when the words once again didn’t come, you stopped, another hiccup coming through instead.

“Baby,” he called, his voice softer than before. “Remember your first night here? When we went to the roof and you trusted me with all your concerns? I said you could rely on me and I mean it still. Just because I am your boyfriend now, it doesn’t mean you can’t share your stuff anymore. I want you to trust me like you did back then. Can you?”

“I don’t want to leave,” you confessed. “Every time we are like this I catch myself a bit sad because — I just don’t want to leave for the United States or Seoul. I just don’t want to leave you.”

Jake breathed in, a sharp intake that made your cheeks burn, suddenly too embarrassed to even look at him, but as you turned to focus on the canvas leaning against his walls, he reached for you, fingers spraying through your chin and angling you back at him.

“I won’t ever tell you to stay,” he said. “Not because I don’t want you to, or because you can’t. I still feel uptight just with the idea of you leaving. But I don’t want to take this decision away from you. I don’t want you to look at me in a few months — in a few years, who knows, and say you should have gone,”

“To study abroad is a great opportunity. You have worked your whole life for it although it wasn’t your dream, I don’t even know which university you got in-”

“Harvard — it’s the best for law.”

“No way, my baby is a genius,” he said dramatically and immediately stealing a smile from you. “But that only proves my point, it’s a great opportunity to have it on your curriculum.”

“Besides, whenever you want to come back Seogwipo is going to be here,” he continued, his voice so soft beneath the rain. “I am telling you from experience.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you going to stay here?” you asked. “It’s just — Seogwipo doesn’t seem the same without you.”

“I will,” he replied. “I will stay here.”

You reached for him, a single finger tracing the soft lines of his lips before you allowed it to slip to his neck.

Jake closed his eyes, leaning in, just a bit further so that when he spoke you not only heard his words but felt them. “I will stay here — I will stay here waiting for you.”

And just like that July melted into August, summer coming closer and closer to an end, but neither of you ever spoke of it. Not in the mornings when Jake started to linger a bit longer before going to prepare breakfast for both of you, his fingers following the lines of your body as if he was well aware that he had you memorized but still — was afraid of someday forgetting. Not when you both stayed at the shop, Korean tourists becoming a less common occurrence and leaving only a few foreigners to remain. And on the nights when he hugged you from behind as you stood in front of the stove, he kissed your shoulders as if he wasn’t sorrowing that another day came to an end — as if the last week hadn’t come yet and the date printed on the reservation ticket you kept hidden on your luggage wasn’t coming closer and closer.

You could feel that there was a get it out of the system energy hovering around you. A desperate desire to somehow make it more bearable once the day of your departure came, but the fact was that none of you could get it out of your systems. It never mattered how long he hugged you while you both were in the shop, or how many times he made you come during the night, as the morning came it started all over again.

Jake stopped behind you at the kitchen counter, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, gathering the piece on his forearms as he sprayed his fingers on your waist to push you further into him. You could feel his breath, the soft hush of air as his lips parted to say something to you, but whatever it had been was stolen and forgotten as the front door was pushed open, your brother releasing a full curse. Jake stepped back, his hands slipping away from you, and allowing your shirt to fall back into its place, but not fast enough for it not to have been noticed.

“What the fuck is this?”

“Jay,” you called, but it was already too late. Jongseong was rushing through the house, grabbing Jake’s t-shirt, twisting the thin material between his fists. He didn’t seem to think about the consequences of his actions — he simply did it, using his grip to push Jake away from you.

They tripped over the house, falling on the small space in front of the maroon couch, your brother above. The sound of their bodies collapsing against the floor was almost imperceptible beneath the sound Jake released when the punch came.

You stopped in the midst of a complaint, but Jake couldn’t blame you. He always imagined what was a fight, the throw of punches all drove in the heat of feelings, but instead, there was just a moment of deadness, his blood rushing to the point where Jongseong had punched him and nothing — absolutely nothing. Even the breezes seemed to have stopped outside.

“Jay, that’s enough!” you screamed, finally reminding you body to lung forward, but in the midst of the chaos Jake raised a hand at you, silently telling you to stay still.

Your brother was quivering. Not from his shock, like you or Jake, but from some chained emotion, so Jake stayed still, even when the second punch came, his lip splitting open, a trickle of blood running down his chin. He stayed still as Jongseong curled his fights on his t-shirt once again, hurling him from the floor and back into it once, twice — enough times for his anger to start to burn out.

“Shit Jake, couldn’t you choose someone else to hook up with?” he asked. “There aren’t enough girls on this island so you had to go after my sister?”

“Jay, stop it.”

“Stay away from this, Baby,” your brother grunted at you. “Actually, even leave the house for a bit.”

“Definitely not.”

“Jay,” Jake called then, making Jongseong look back at him, and it suddenly felt like every other argument they ever had, and Jake knew they could counter it. “I am sorry.”

“She is my little sister,” Jongseong said, his tone coming not mad, but tired. “She is so young.”

“I didn’t mean to make it a secret,” he said. “I am serious about her, and that’s why I wanted to tell you in person,”

“It’s true that she is young and you may think that she will need me more than I need her, but you know? That’s not true. I thought of it in many ways, but I always came up with the same conclusion. I need her more than she needs me. I didn’t realize how lonely I was until she was here, bringing a stray kitten that keeps messing things around, and filling every single hour of my days — hell, I love her, Jay, so please,” Jake said, his genuine feelings slipping like a breath through his lips. He had pronounced love so — so unconcerned, he didn’t even need to think about it before. And maybe that was it that ceased the last flame of fury on your brother, making him hurl away from Jake, throwing himself on the couch instead.

Jake sat up too, a bit slower due to his growing bruises, but you remained still.

“How long has it been going on?” Jongseong asked.

“Almost a month,” Jake replied.

“Shit, it was on the night of the restaurant, wasn’t it? You both were acting so weirdly.”

“Yeah, and it was thanks to you that I finally told Baby what I was feeling,” Jake said. “So thank you, bro.”

“Don’t make me punch you again,” he hissed. “Who the fuck is your bro?”

Yet despite the harsh choice of words, your brother’s tone had a bit of a joke on it, something only best friends acknowledged. Somehow they had gone from such a terrible place to a joyful one. And you felt an extraordinary rush of relief.

“But you better know where you are going, that girl has been spoiled ever since she was born,” Jongseong said. “She wasn’t even a year and dad was already putting a gold bracelet on her wrist.”

“Hey!”

“I know,” Jake said. “And I can handle a spoiled baby.”

“So it’s already come to this — do as you feel like then — I guess,” Jongseong said, standing up. “I am going to take a shower. Get me a towel and some clothes, I am too lazy to deal with my luggage.”

Neither of you moved until your brother had already closed himself on the bathroom, the water cascading stealing the sound of the breath you shuddered out of you as you rushed to Jake.

You took his chin with the tip of your fingers, tenderly angling him to the living room’s light. The wound was worse than it seemed from afar, bleeding as a darker bruise started to form, and immediately making you frown, eyebrows knitted, lips pressing into a thin line. You reached for it, the tip of your fingers wandering through his skin as if you could erase them with your bare touch.

“I am sorry,” you whispered.

“Why are you asking me sorry? It’s your brother’s doing,” he asked, tilting his head into your palms.

“Exactly, if it wasn’t because of me, Jay wouldn’t have punched you.”

“Jay was mad just because he simply wanted to be, you aren’t the one to blame, Baby,” Jake said, but you didn’t seem convinced, so he reached for you too, arms curling around your waist as he brought you closer to him. “Do you think your father will react better or worse than him?”

“Remember when I said I never had a boyfriend before?” you asked. “I guess we will have to find out together.”

He chuckled at your statement, it was a minuscule sound spreading through the night but it seemed to loosen something within both of you and he allowed himself to lean on you, his cheek resting against your hairline.

“Jake?”

“Hm?”

“I love you too.”

┈

Later on that night, Jongseong grasped at your door, his knuckles against the wooden piece before he opened a small sliver, just enough for him to catch sight of you.

“Is the small flurry ball here?” he asked.

“Jeonchae?” you asked, gesturing to the kitten guarding the crochet blanket at the foot of your bed. “Yes, since you are allergic to cats, we had to close him here.”

“So can you step out to the garden for a bit?” he asked. “I want to talk to you.”

The air had turned misty with the humidity, the grass still damp from the amount of days rain had been washing summer away, so you both only leaned against the wall, heads thrown back as you watched as the clouds raced by.

“Do you want to go?” he asked then. “To the United States? Do you still want to go?”

“I never truly did.”

“Well, yes,” he sighed. “But there was a time that you accepted it. How are you now?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Jake indirectly told me to go. He said it is a great opportunity and I know it is, but my heart breaks whenever I think of leaving him and this place. I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to study law, but I haven’t called mom and dad saying this because I also know I — I can’t simply stay and build my whole future around Jake, not because I don’t think it will work in the long future, but because-”

“You need to be a person of your own?” Jongseong tried. You weren’t sure if it was the best way to put it, but because you couldn’t find other words you nodded at him.

“I should get a degree, right?”

“You put it in a weird way,” he laughed. “I don’t think it’s something as necessary as breathing if that’s what you are implying. Ever since I started working at dad’s office and taking a few cases, I met a lot of people — good people who don’t have a degree and are happy with their lives, and it is what matters in the end, isn’t it?”

“I think so.”

“As Jake said, it’s a great opportunity to study abroad.” Jongseong sighed then, reaching for your hand and giving a slight squeeze. “And I personally think that giving up before even trying won’t do it. Nothing is permanent, Baby. Life is so full of possibilities. You can go to the United States and study law, you can go and change your major — or you can go and simply come back in the middle of the semester. Restart in Seoul or even here — there are universities here too. Jeju is a small island, but it’s not the end of the world — the edge perhaps, but not the end.”

“Did you search for Jeju’s universities?” you asked.

“Did you not?” your brother teased. “Well, it doesn’t matter. My point is what I told you back when I found out you were here — whatever you decide to do, you have our support, mine, mom’s, dad’s, and now Jake’s-”

“What still feels a bit weird to me,” Jongseong concluded. “I feel disturbed whenever I stop to think carefully about it, but at the same time, it kinda makes sense — you and him.You both are made of the same impossible stuff.”

You weren’t sleeping.

Previously Jongseong had called Jake to his room, forbidding him from spending the night in your room as you both were already used to. But it was your last night at Seogwipo and your body knew it was a loss to simply let the remaining hours slip into a slumber, so when you heard the faint sound of your brother’s snore, you stood up, padding barefoot to Jake’s room.

His door was ajar, as it often was, a bare sliver that only gave you the idea of Jake sitting at the end of his bed. You didn’t need to say anything, gesture anything. With a single glance at your brother, Jake stood up, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him and you were already on him, pushing yourself on the tip of your toes, arms curling around his shoulders as you brought him to you.

“I know Jay told you to stay there, but I don’t want to spend my last night away from you,” you whispered.

“I guess it makes things a bit more exciting, doesn’t it?” he asked, but you didn’t reply, giving him a slight push as you let him go, cheeks burning and body suddenly too warm.

It was more frantic than you remember it ever being. You moved at the same time, a push and pull of two bodies meeting in the middle. Fingers in hair, hands cupping necks, open-mouth kisses that got you dragging on each other cheeks for breath as you both made your way to your room. The moment the door was closed, Jake was already reaching for the collar of his t-shirt, hurling it over his head, and taking the single step you had given to reach the bed.

A final tug and both of you fell onto the mattress, Jake above you. He barely gave it a moment before his hands were moving over your body, finding the hem of your pajama top and curling on it to slip it off you.

“I need you to be quiet for me, Baby,” he whispered. “Can you?”

You nodded and his hands splayed over your sides, fingertips moving up through gaps in your ribs before he smoothed across your bare skin, grazing a thumb over your nipples, and leaving it all hard for his mouth to take, his tongue swirling and sucking — intended on his task. Jake closed his eyes as he drew the nipple and aureole all the way into his mouth, making it impossible for you to hold a moan.

You placed the back of your hand against your lips, but not before you had received a warning from him, his teeth pinching you as his fingers hanked deeper into your skin, and making your back arch.

“Baby,” Jake called, but his voice was so chaotic, almost as if he was actually hiding his own moan, and you doubted he really cared about you being loud because he was already slipping further into you, kissing the path down to your lower abdomen as he had already done so many times before. He curled his fingers on the waist of your pajama shorts, pulling the material down your leg and throwing it away. But as he took your panties off, he put them in the pocket of his sweatpants instead.

“Are you keeping this?” you asked. Jake hummed, already leaning back on you. “I want something too.”

“Anything you want.”

His fingers molded into the back of your knees, lifting your legs over his shoulders, and when he kissed the inner of your thigh, you had to halt yourself, recollecting your thoughts. “A t-shirt?”

“I will let you take all you want in the morning.”

“What about your leather jacket?”

Jake smiled, giving you another kiss. “Fine.”

“You?”

“Do you want to put me in your luggage?” he stopped, looking up at you. And although it had been him that brought this possibility you couldn’t find yourself agreeing — not even as a joke. Jake belonged to Seogwipo, to the greenish hills and the breeze that always smelled like the sea. He belonged to his grandfather’s pottery shop with its everlasting earthy scent. He lived it, and you could never ask him to let go of something so vital to him.

“No. I want you now — in me.”

“This one is easier,” he agreed.

You didn’t get a chance to reply before Jake was bringing his mouth down on you, a wet press over your folds, his tongue prodding gently until he found your clit between them, licking and sucking your sensitive bud until you were shivering of pleasure, and you couldn’t help but reach for his hair, your fingers weaving on it, pulling it on its roots. But if anything he stayed there, his fingers stroking your inner labia before slipping two fingers inside — poking and prodding around, testing it.

“Jake,” you called, but you didn’t need to finish your thoughts. He already knew — moving away only to hover over you, one forearm on the pillow by your head as the other worked to push his sweatpants away.

“I needed to prepare you,” he justified.

“I am.”

Jake laughed at that, but he didn’t reply — his full attention on taking himself in his hand, and giving a few hard plumps before he pushed into you.

It took every ounce of you to not moan too loud, fingers dug into his back, parted lips against the skin of his neck, and tongue wringing the sound into a sup, but it only proved useless as he was the one groaning then, the whole feeling of you being too much for him.

Jake gave you both a moment, his hand dropping to your waist, the curve of your hips, trailing down to the back of your knee, catching his fingers underneath as he hitched your leg to his hips, slightly changing the angle.

And when he finally moved it was slow — not with the learning of the first time, your bodies trying to understand the new shape of each other, but it was slow with nothing but the simple unhurriedness, none of you wanting to be nowhere else but here — the night where you were still together and the parting was just a possibility.

Jake pulled all the way to his tip before he pressed all in again, and when you arched to him, he took the opportunity to slide a hand over the small of your back, holding you so close to him that you couldn’t tell where your heartbeat ended and his began. And you couldn’t help it anymore, couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to cry, not again — not this time. But when Jake leaned on you, pressing a love you into your lips, you did.

“Ah, Baby,” he whispered, reaching for the stream of tears as he always did in the aftermath.

“I am sorry,” you hushed. “You didn’t-”

“I know,” Jake said. “I don’t want you to leave either.”

“I can come back, right?”

“Whenever you feel like it.”

“Next summer — no matter what happens, I will be here next summer.”

“Next summer,” he concluded.

On the morning of your departure, you stood on the curb in front of the pottery shop as your brother and Jake briefly bickered about the presence of the taxi.

“I could have driven you both,” Jake said as he closed the trunk.

“I know,” Jongseong replied because it had been your idea, actually — the taxi. You couldn’t bear the thought of making Jake drive all the way back to Seogwipo alone, dragging this longer than you knew both of you could handle.

You watched as they gave that friendly handshake followed by a bump of shoulders before Jake turned to you. The same washed jeans he had been using the whole summer, a white t-shirt, and the morning sun softly bathing over him. Only that now he got a vivid hickey on his neck, pretty much for your brother’s dismay, but although Jongseong seemed close to giving Jake another punch this morning, the bruise on the corner of his lips remained the only one.

You held your hand out at him, and he took it as if he was already waiting — wanting it, giving it a brief kiss before he brought it to the back of his neck and pulled you forward to him, the line of your bodies pressed together, your noses bumping.

“I guess that’s it then,” he whispered. And you sobbed at it because it sounded too much like the end, like a closure.

“Jake?”

“Yes, my Baby?”

“Thank you for everything, I-” you started, but the words stammered and stumbled, too small for all the feelings inside of you. You had been trying the whole morning not to cry, but the moment he curled his arms around you, he once again broke the thin thread keeping you from falling apart, and tears flowed through your eyes, straining your cheeks.

“Ah, Baby,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours, and all of sudden you could smell him, although he wasn’t smelling like clay, it made your heart ache, that sickening sadness that felt bigger than you.

How are you supposed to step away when it feels more like home than anything in this world?

Your tears seemed endless, and it took you a while to notice it hadn’t been only your tears rushing through your face, but his.

“I am already missing you,” you confessed.

“I am already missing you too.”

“Don’t you dare accept another hopeless girl with a stray kitten,” you said.

“This is something only you could do, my Baby,” he laughed. And God — you wished you could grab the sound, place it inside that one deformed vase Jake had given you this morning, and take it away with you. “Believe in me, but even if it happens, you are my only one — you and Jeonchae are my only ones.”

Although there was a hint of entertainment in his voice, your answer was solemn, “You too,” you said. “You are my only one.”

“Your first and only,” he said, and you smiled at him. You didn’t need to confirm, both of you knew. “Next summer, right?”

“Yes. Next summer.”

From Autumn to the end of the Spring of the next year, you lived in an apartment close to your university’s campus. It was an odd thing that surely wasn’t worth the price. Although the windows caught the streams of the sun from morning to afternoon, the place never seemed to get light enough and never felt exactly warm. The air inside was always soaked with the smell of the never-changing humid weather and the chocolate cookies your door neighbor baked for extra cash.

Your father said you could find a better place and move, he could afford it — he surely could afford it. But the thing was: you knew that it wouldn’t matter. One call to Jake and you knew — this odd apartment or luxurious one, no place would ever make you feel at home like his house did.

“Soon,” Jake whispered every time. “Soon you will be back home.”

And you did. Three hundred forty-nine days later — according to Jake’s count, but you did, and Seogwipo was the same as you remembered.

Exactly one hour and seven minutes away from Jeju City, the bus stopped just a few streets away from Jake’s address — the same pretty road running along the South Sea and that made it easy to stroll along the sidewalk, nothing but the sound of your luggage against the pavement, and the waves, softly crashing against the basalt rocks.

Mrs. Choi gasped as she caught sight of you, immediately standing up from the stool placed at her bakery’s door. She rushed at you, her arms curling as she pulled you in a hug. It was weird that you had gotten closer to her after your departure, almost every other day receiving her audio messages through Jake’s phone as she stopped at his house, leaving just baked bread together with some side dishes and telling you she was taking care of your boy. She also occasionally told you about Euntaek, finally getting his life straight and entering a university on the mainland — Busan, which was not his dream goal, but he was at least closer than when you came to know him.

“Jake said you were only coming by next week!” she exclaimed then.

“I decided to surprise him.”

“You are going to give him a heart attack, he was counting the days, and telling everyone you were coming back for the summer,” she said, affectionately hitting your shoulders. “But hurry up then, I don’t want to keep you both away. Do you need help with the luggage?”

“No, it’s alright,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

Just as the rest of the island, Jake’s shop remained unchanged. As you looked through the beveled glass you caught sight of the pottery pieces, the same earthy tones you had engraved on your mind, the same table and pottery wheels. There was only one difference: the canvas you had painted after switching your major were displayed, leaning on the shelves with a tiny sign informing it wasn’t for sale although you had told him you wouldn’t mind.

“I do though,” he had said. “You painted them for me.”

A fluttering of crystal and bells clanked against the door as you pushed it, allowing the summer breeze to rush over the place, the earthy, and pond-mud smell, taking over your senses as Jake turned to you, a polite smile playing on his lips.

Falling in love with your brother’s best friend certainly wasn't one of your summer resolutions.

Actually, meeting him wasn’t even part of your plans. But someday, you happened to have no other option than to appear unannounced at his little shop in Seogwipo with a stray kitten in a pet carrier, asking for a place to stay. And you couldn’t help but do, standing in this pocket of the universe — looking at this exact man without knowing he would become your life mark, forever branching out the before and the after.

“Baby,” he gasped, barely giving himself a moment before he rushed to you, his arms involving your waist in a familiarity that made you ache. Jake swirled you, just once — pulling you out of the ground as his nose buried at the side of your neck, breathing you as if he was trying to inhale every little detail he could before he put you back on your feet and drew himself away, just enough to encounter your gaze.

“Surprise,” you whispered.

Jake shook his head, his smile now taking his whole face. And you couldn’t help but reach for him, a single finger tracing the soft lines of his lips before you allowed it to slip to his neck. His skin was hot beneath your touch, summer and sunshine always stuck on him.

“Welcome home, my Baby,” Jake whispered, and the word rattled through your chest, filling you together with the scent of soap and oranges, clay and glaze. Everything about Jake — just Jake.

Yes, you surely were home.

hello, my loves! ₊˚ ⊹ thank you so much for reading until here and accompanying me through this cute little journey ♡ i hope you have enjoyed it as much as i did! don’t forget to tell me what were your thoughts upon the conclusion (if you feel like, of course!) i will love to read it!

(♡) special thanks to @jungmeowz & @miszes once again. these girls gave me the courage i didn’t have anymore :(

[en-ternity]

Hey Bae♡

I really miss 'The Pottery shop', I miss sneakly reading it under my blanket at 3 or something in night, hiding from my mother and tbh that was really great feeling and since it was so late at night i was really high on emotions. I wish I could just go back in time and not read, so that I can read it now or atleast I wish to erase from my memory to read it again newly. I can't get that out of my head like really, I've tried to find something like this but you know what I found nothing similar to this, nothing at your level of creativity, your ability to make me feel so comfortable and easy with story you wrote. I don't know how you do this.

You know what, at this point I just wish to read part two.

Not forcing. Take your time, take rest.

Love,

Eve.

i think i have read your ask about ten times now and i still don’t know how to properly reply. i honestly never knew the pottery shop had been this loved, and i feel like the realization is genuinely breaking something open inside of me. it’s always a bit nerve-wracking to post a story. i am an insecure person, i won’t lie, and a lot of times i catch myself wondering “ok, but why should i share?” but your ask answers it all 🥹 it’s so it can reach people like you ♥️ thank you so much for reading the pottery shop back then, and now. thank you for reaching out to me (i genuinely cried here, but don’t worry! it was all happy tears!)

the second part is going to be posted by July 19th, 12pm (kst) 🤲🏻 i genuinely hope it brings you all the same emotions it did you on a first read 😭

[en-ternity]

Hi! Just wanted to let you know that your Jake fic rewired my whole brain, my brain chemistry, my existence, and has kept me up giggling for almost two days! You are amazing <3

rewired your whole brain chemistry, existence, and kept you giggling FOR ALMOST TWO DAYS?! AIN’T NO WAY! I AM CRYING 😭 i am so happy to know you liked the first part that much! genuinely 🥹 this story was the final reason why i decided to deactivate my past account so it’s really nice to see it receiving so much love now ♥️

thank you so much for reading and even taking some time to send me an ask, it means a lot 🤧 i hope the second part becomes as enjoyable!

[en-ternity]

hii sweety! well, am just sending you this ask to thank you for sharing with the world your Pottery Shop Story! This one is just so sweet, adctive and calm that just make me flutter everytime i read it! i'm new into your acc, but your work just came for me in the right moment, and it became my favorite story out of all the ones i read in my whole life! i'm really glad that i found my comfort in your work and thankfull to you because of it, you and your art just make the world be brightest!

my dear anonie, hello! ♥️ first of all, i would like to welcome you to my account. i genuinely hope you have the greatest time here 🤧 and secondly, OH MY GOD 😭 thank you so much for reading the pottery shop story! when i was about to repost, i commented with two friends that i wasn’t sure if people would come to read it as it is such a descriptive, slow and calm story, and to know it became the reason why it makes you flutter makes me so happy! ✨ i don’t know what you are going through, but i am glad this story came at the right time as a comfort. both me and the story will stay here in case you need anything ♥️ you can always reach me through the ask box or even through messages! thank you so much once again, for reading and even taking some time to leave an ask! i wish you all the best 🥰

[en-ternity]

JAKE for ESQUIRE Korea

[en-ternity]

your writing is so great 💕💕

thank you anonie 😭 url en-ternity is genuinely in tears right now

[en-ternity]

hi! i hope you are doing well 🩷 i loved the pottery shop part one so so much that i am eager to know when you will release part two 😆🙏 like the estimated time frame from now until then? i will be waiting patiently in the meantime, no stress ☺️

hello, anonie! ♥️ i hope you are doing well as well and having a great weekend! 🤧 thank you so much for reading the pottery shop story. i am so happy to know you liked it and especially that you are looking forward to the second part hehehe since the first part was really — really slow burnish i was afraid people would simply not care about the second lmao so it’s really great to receive this ask

but to your question! i am planning to post it by July 19th, 12pm (kst). i am not one hundred percent sure it will happen as the second part is going through a lot of alterations, but that’s the initial plan ✨

[en-ternity]

Hi! I'm not trying to be rude or anything, but did you leave and come back? I remember reading the Pottery Shop story before and hadn't seen it for a while. I saw that I don't follow you? and I just wondered if this is the same person? Maybe I'm going crazy idk.

hello! yes, i did 🤧 so don’t worry, you are not going crazy lmao it’s me. i deactivated my past account by the end of last year, created this one to save the url and not lose contact with a few moots, but just recently i decided to start posting again ✨ two very much special people messaged me about the pottery shop story, and i felt like reposting for them 🥹

[en-ternity]

Falling in love with your older brother’s best friend certainly wasn’t one of your summer resolutions.

Actually, meeting him wasn’t even part of your plans. But someday, you happened to have no other option than to appear unannounced at his little pottery shop in Seogwipo. A stray kitten in a pet carrier, and asking for a place to stay. And well, you couldn’t help but do.

╰ a summer romance divided into two parts

PAIRING: older brother’s best friend!Jaeyun x fem!reader

WARNINGS (for this part): slow-burnish, mentions of alcohol and drugs, reader gets wasted once and Jaeyun has to take care of her, a lot of art references as he majored in fine arts, and usage of the pet name baby quite a lot

PART ONE｜18.7K｜STORY MASTERLIST

Phone calls from Park Jongseong had never been a good sign for Jake.

Jongseong hated phones, and in special — to make calls. Over the years that they had been friends, the option had only been initiated by him as the last recourse in the midst of the last recourses: the keypad of their old dormitory breaking and locking him in. The battery of his car stalling when the whole country had already gotten into recess for the Chuseok, and the chances of him finding an operating tow within his required hours were extremely thin. A forgotten file that supposedly could save Jongseong from failing his last law semester and made Jake run through half of the university campus despite his doubts about the paper’s extent. And of course, the most unforgettable one: “Call me back in five and pretend the dorm is on fire,” when a blind date went particularly wrong.

But that was the problem of receiving so few phone calls from his best friend. It didn’t matter if Jake felt his shoulders stiffening as soon as he saw Jongseong’s name shining on his phone screen — he knew he needed to pick up.

It was almost noon when Jongseong called that day, the pottery shop busy in a way that only happened with the beginning of summer — the vacation season never failing to bring an influx of tourists to Jeju and suddenly making the island a little cluttered.

“Here’s the thing,” Jongseong said. It was such a classic Jongseong way to start a conversation. Dramatic and with a hint of urgency that Jake knew all too well. “I need a favor.”

“Good morning to you too,” Jake started, immediately receiving a huff at the other end of the line. “I am awesome, Jay — thank you so much for asking. How about you?”

“I am serious,” Jongseong said. “Baby is giving me a headache, and I need your help.”

“Your sister?” Jake demanded, his voice coming higher than he intended and accidentally catching a few customers’ attention.

Jake had never met you — not really.  Everything he knew about you had been through these tiny pieces Jongseong had given him through conversations. And although Jake was well aware that you had given your brother a few hard moments, as you always preferred to reach for him first whenever you needed help, Jake couldn’t imagine how he could be directly involved this time.

He spun around, eyes focusing on the other side of the pottery shop’s tempered glass. The sun was falling brightly on the town, and a myriad of bees hummed at the bushes on the other side of the street — the small insects enjoying the pinky-white blossoms that seemed to be disappearing as the summer kept settling heavier and heavier on the island.

Down the street, Mrs. Choi seemed to be enjoying the beginning of the summer as well — she was sitting at a stool by the door of her bakery, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from people to wafts, as she often was — well, whenever she wasn’t screaming at Euntaek, her troublemaker grandson, and whom people here only cared to call Mrs. Choi’s grandson with a heavy sigh whenever he appeared around.

“She has been trying for this scholarship in the United States ever since she graduated high school, and now that she got it, out of nowhere, she decided to spend the summer in Jeju — alone. I want you to be her emergency contact,” Jongseong explained, catching Jake’s attention once again. “You are still living there, right? In your grandfather’s old house, and taking care of his pottery shop?”

It was a too practical way to describe the fact that Jake had almost run away to it — taking it as an inheritance when no one else wanted it — but he only hummed in agreement.

“But Seogwipo is in the extreme south of the island, depending on the area she-”

“I know. It’s just in any emergency case — it would take several hours for any of us to arrive at the island,” Jongseong said. “Please, I am just worried about her.”

“Fine,” Jake conceded. “But why — why did she choose Jeju?”

Honestly, there was no reason for you to choose Jeju aside from your desire to leave Korea’s mainland.

You had thought of Japan at first — being not even one hour and a half away by plane, the neighboring country seemed to be the best option for a run away. But you didn’t know anything about its language aside from the small vocabulary you had acquired by too many hours watching Ghibli animations, and the mere idea of living there for three months felt as stressful as the reality of having to deal with all the expectations your family had been putting on your upcoming university life in the United States. 

But then, someday you scrolled through a vacation website, and Jeju shone for you. 

It took fifteen minutes to convince your parents — an additional five to annoy your brother — but on the first day of summer, you took a flight to the Korean island and established yourself in a nice apartment downtown. 

Yet, you had to admit, your run away hadn’t been that fun — especially with a landlord who seemed to prefer spending all his hours checking the security cameras rather than fixing your broken sink and had screamed at you for appearing with a stray kitten in the middle of a summer storm —  a black furry think that didn’t even have fifteen centimeters but seemed to brother him as a lynx would. 

The nights were never quiet there, and the city hardly slept, so instead of the soothing comfort you expected to find in it, you lay awake in your bed wondering if you had done something wrong. And so, when the landlord argued that the cat left or you left, you had no second thought before packing your belongings and putting the kitten in the pet carrier you had bought just a few hours prior, almost as an omen. 

You were too embarrassed to call your parents for help not even two weeks into your supposedly independent vacation — too proud to give Jongseong the proof you weren’t ready to be on your own, so you put Sim Jaeyun’s address on the maps app of your phone and took the next bus to the small town where he resided in, watching as the buildings disappeared and the fields of green tea turned boundlessly beneath the summer sun.

It took you exactly one hour and seven minutes to arrive at Seogwipo. With no transfers or changes, the bus stopped just a few streets away from Jaeyun’s address — a pretty road running along the South Sea, and which made it easy to stroll along the sidewalk. Nothing but the sound of your luggage against the pavement and the waves softly crashing against the dark rocks.

The busiest part of Jeju had been left with the downtown — the tidy streets giving way to open roads and making the bustling cities feel like part of another world — another reality. 

Even the skies seemed to acquire a new shade of blue here. 

There wasn’t much through the path, a convenience store, a library, a tiny bakery where an old lady sat at a stool by its door-

“Do you need help?” she asked. You blinked at her, taking a moment too long to make sense of what she had said because her accent was strong — the purest of Jeju’s dialect.

You didn’t need help, honestly — your phone’s map app seemed to be working just fine, but you felt bad about sounding impolite. Especially in a place like Seogwipo seemed to be, so you smiled at her, immediately receiving the gesture back.

“I am searching for my brother’s friend’s house,” you said. “He supposedly lives on this street.”

“Tell me his name. I know everyone here.”

“Jaeyun — Sim Jaeyun.”

“Oh! Jake!” she exclaimed, suddenly clapping her chubby hands and startling you. “Yes, he lives straight ahead. I can ask my grandson to take you there.”

“No, it’s alright,” you broke in. “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not a long walk, but you are with luggage, and—” she paused, her eyes falling on the pet carrier hanging on your shoulder. “A cat?”

Your gaze fell on the carrier as well, catching just the idea of an ear but, before you could answer, she was already leaning inside the bakery, filling her lungs and shouting, “Euntaek!”

Euntaek appeared at the door almost immediately. If the old lady hadn’t told you he was her grandson, it would have been impossible for you to notice their connection by yourself. They were the opposite in every way — where she was short and plump, he was tall, lanky, and with a mess of dark hair that could have been considered attractive to some other girl out there. But not you — especially because of how he paused then, his mouth curling in a smirk as soon as he caught sight of you.

“This is Euntaek,” she said as he stepped closer. “My grandson. He is always here over the summer, so if you need anything don’t hesitate to come to us and ask.”

“Just Taek is alright,” he said, leaning in, and all of a sudden you could smell him, musk and blackberries — a perfume so strong that if Jongseong were here, he would have advised him to keep it to the cold seasons — all together with a faint scent of tobacco, and you didn’t need to be a genius to guess what was in the box on the front pocket of his t-shirt.

“Stop playing around and take her to Jake’s shop,” the old lady demanded. 

Euntaek straightened himself at her words, looking ahead at the street as if he was suddenly confused, but he didn’t retort — didn’t reply, when he looked back at you, he was smirking once again — almost as if he was satisfied with the situation. 

“Give me your luggage,” he demanded, and you did — partly because you thought it would be good for him to have something to put his attention aside from your presence, and partly because you were starting to feel tired, the events of the day wearing you to the core. 

Euntaek guided you through the streets as the sun kept going down, your shadow stretching out so long that its edges were already blurring with the approaching night.

“Are you staying the whole summer?” he asked. 

“No, I-” you paused, suddenly unsure. Being completely honest, you hadn’t thought about what would happen after speaking with your brother’s best friend — you hadn’t even thought about what would happen while meeting him. Your plan stopped at your arrival at Seogwipo, and only now were you noticing how faulty it could be.

“Well, it’s a good idea,” Euntaek said, catching your attention once again. “You should stay in the city areas. Nothing really happens on this side of the island.”

“It seems pretty nice to me,” you admitted.

Euntaek lifted a brow at you, his eyes twinkling with what you swore to be amusement. “Where are you from?”

“Seoul.”

“Ah, a girl from the city-city. I could hear it from your accent,” he said, but there was something within the way he looked at you there that made you doubt it had been only your accent. His eyes trailed through your body — from your goldenish hairpins to the seams of your dress and then, lower, stopping at your ballerina shoes — although you couldn’t tell what could be special in any of those pieces. Everything had merely been a present from a family member. “But I guess it makes sense for you to like this end of the world then.”

You didn’t reply this time, and in the silence that followed, you could tell that he was waiting for you to say something, ask something — do anything to keep the conversation going, but you didn’t know how to do so.

It’s not that you were a quiet person — you weren’t. You had already heard enough remarks from your father to know that you could be considered anything but quiet. It had just become rare for you to be alone with anyone who wasn’t in your circle of comfort already. Between school and extra classes, it had become difficult to find yourself with people you didn’t know — let alone talking to them, and you hadn’t noticed how out of practice you were until you had come to Jeju.

 “Well, we are here,” he announced.

Just like the rest of the street, Jaeyun’s shop was a single-story construction with white walls and a tempered glass framed by bare woods, like most Korean houses had been built during the Joseon dynasty.

“Give me your phone,” Euntaek said.

“My phone?” you asked, your gaze straying from the shop to the device still unlocked in your hands. His phrase came with no question marks or rapports, sounding more like a demand than a question once again, and you wondered if he was always like this — throwing orders that should have been questions.

“Yes,” he said. “In case you need something — Jake doesn’t have a car, he is always taking the old Beomseok’s pickup but I-” the ramble kept going on, but as you extended your phone at him, you had already turned back to the shop. 

You had once heard Jongseong telling your parents that Jaeyun had moved to Jeju to take care of his departed grandfather’s shop. being the only one who took an interest in the old man’s business — your brother had even come to help at the beginning of everything, but you never had considered asking him what the shop was about, and now you wished you had so you wouldn’t be so surprised as you caught sight of the tens pottery pieces — from small mugs to bowls and enormous flower pots, all glazed in the modest tones of Jeju, and filling the wooden shelves at the fairest end of the room.

Down the middle of the shop, there was a long table, and some pottery wheels, their sheer number indicating he not only did it but also taught.

The shop was fairly empty, save for a couple studying the row of mugs, and Jaeyun — standing with his back to the tempered glass.

Euntaek handed your phone back, and you locked it without even looking back at him.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you said. 

“Anything you need just give me a sign.”

“Sure,” you said, already taking the handle of your luggage and stepping away.

A fluttering of crystal and bells clanked against the door as you pushed it, allowing the summer breeze to rush over the place, the earthy and pond-mud smell of clay taking over your senses as Jaeyun turned to you, a polite smile already playing on his lips. 

Until now, you had never seen your brother’s best friend — not that you haven’t tried, but his only social media seemed to be Instagram and the absence of posts left you nothing but the group pictures your brother showed you once in a while, blurry things that had been taken on drunk states or so far away that you couldn’t really tell what he looked like aside from the idea of his sun-kissed skin and his dark hair, always curled and always growing past his ears — boyish as he seemed pretty, you remembered once thinking, but up close with the golden light of the sunset bathing over him, you noticed that he was utterly staggering, and you became uncomfortably aware of the sun touching your face, turning your cheeks warmer and warmer beneath his gaze.

“Jaeyun?” you tried.

“Jake,” he corrected. “Whenever I hear Jaeyun, I feel like I need to look back to check if my father isn’t here.”

You nodded at him — well aware of the existence of his English name. You had already spoken it in conversations with your brother — rolled through the letters of it absently far enough times to be familiar with it, but there was something different about it now that you could put a face on it. The name fitted him — young and beautiful, cheerful and bright. And you couldn’t help but hold the shape of his name in your mouth, trying it on your tongue with its new taste, and he tilted his head to the side, carefully studying you.

“Would you be Jongseong’s little sister?”

“Yes, I-” you exhaled. “I — Would you have a spare room?”

┈

It took Jake fifteen minutes to finish his talk with the couple and turn his full attention back to you, leaning on the cashier top as you told him about the apartment downtown, the summer storm, the kitten — even pulling the animal out of the pet carrier as an appeal, and then, finally, you told him about the landlord demanding you to put it back into the streets and how you simply couldn’t, so you left only with half of the amount your parents spent.

You hadn’t really thought about it, but the words kept coming rushed and messed up, a single stream of phrases being pulled out of you, and you swore to him you were going to find a place somewhere else, you just needed time — and a room for a few nights.

“So let me see if I understood,” Jake said. “You came to Jeju to spend the summer, got a nice place downtown but because of this kitten,” he stopped then, theatrically pointing at the animal in your hands. “You got kicked out without getting your full deposit back and you don’t want to call your parents asking them to help you find a new place nor simply want to go back home?”

“Yes, that’s — that’s exactly what happened,” you said.

You felt childish when the words reached back at you — your whole world becoming so small and silly. So you braced yourself for Jake’s judgment, but he did not. If anything, he tilted his head once again, thumping his fingers unrhythmically against the cashier’s top and you weren’t certain if this was because he was considering your situation or because it was simply quite a lot to take in just a few minutes. But he sighed then, the softest gust of air passing through his lips as a redemption.

“You can’t come here with a stray kitten,” he said. “It’s obvious that I would say yes.”

You must not have truly expected him to agree, because the surprise you felt when you heard his reply stunned you to silence, and in the stillness that followed, you finally noticed how fast your heart was beating against your ears. You had been terrified now that you could think about it.

“For real?” you asked then.

“Of course,” he said. “I will just close the shop and I will show you the house.”

You followed Jake back into the street, not knowing what else to do aside from standing there — watching as he closed the door, playing with the key, and locking it.

Outside, the night was slowly setting in, moonless and warm.

“Is it a girl or a boy?” he asked.

“What?”

“The cat.”

“Oh,” you gasped. “It’s a boy.”

“And have you named him?”

“Not yet. I am not even sure if I can keep him, I am leaving Jeju by the end of summer so I thought of finding a nice home for him here,” you blurted out, focusing on the small furry thing in your hands and when you looked at Jake again, he had already approached you. He was as tall as Jongseong, but differently from your brother he didn’t bottle you in the shadows and made you feel somehow smaller in the immensity of the world. Instead, Jake felt comfortably tall. He smelled like summer afternoons, like orange blossoms and that earthy scent that emanated from the pottery pieces displayed on his shelves. “But I guess it should be correct to at least give him a temporary name, right?”

“Jeonchae,” he said. “I always wanted to have a pet with this name.”

“Jeonchae is it then,” you replied, and Jake smiled again, this time something beyond his polite lightness and you felt your heart swelling. He had those types of smiles that took over an entire face. You couldn’t even react as he took the handle of your luggage from your hand, guiding you to a side path, and countering the shop into the back garden — or the front garden. It depended on where you were coming from. His house stood on the other side of it, the design a perfect extension of the shop.

As Jake opened the front door and slipped in, you looked past him and into the hall. At first sight, the inside of Jake’s house was as plain as the outside. The same wooden frames and white walls you suspected he didn’t mind painting after he had inherited it, but as you walked inside, toeing out of your ballerina shoes, you noticed that the greatest of the place didn’t lie on the structure itself, but on the things. Nothing in the living room matched — not the green racks or the maroon couch. The shelves on the far wall were cluttered with books stacked between pieces of pottery and crafted figurines. The last afternoon light spilled through an open window, illuminating the room altogether with the yellow lamps and everything was chaotic, bright, and unabashedly joyous.

And you were surprised to notice, you loved it.

“Nothing is exactly new, but-”

“It is lovely,” you said. “Homey.”

Jake looked at you like maybe he didn’t quite believe it — like he quite didn’t expect it, and you coudn’t help but frown a bit.

Your family’s house was minimalist, bare even, everything almost planned to not indicate any of your personalities and you wondered how it would feel to have a place that showed exactly who you were inside.

“Kitchen’s over there,” he continued, pointing at the end of the room as if the open floor plan didn’t make it clear where everything was.

“This is my room,” he said, moving his attention to the first door in a row of three. You barely could get a glimpse of the inside before he continued on, scrolling your luggage through the hardwood floor. “The door on the far end is the bathroom and the laundry, it seems a bit cluttered, but well, it is an old house — and here,”

“Can be your room,” he finished, gesturing for you to go in first. And you did so, finally letting go of Jeonchae and allowing the kitten to hover over the room.

A bed lay in the center only with the mattress. And although the windows had been flung wide open, showing the perfect view of the garden, a faint smell of glaze and paint remained in the room, something you couldn’t tell if it came from the pots of paint organized on the shelves, or the pottery pieces themselves — drying at the window frame.

“It was my grandparents’ room,” Jake clarified. “Now I just use it as-”

“A paint room,” you completed. “Is it ok if I look?”

“Yeah, I mean- yeah,” he whispered, rushing his fingers through his hair.

You crouched in front of the pieces, staying eye level with them. Jake had painted a few with the same earthy tones you had seen at his shop, but others he had drawn on, gorgeous mixes of colors and styles. There were hills in the traditional Korean art style, and flowers in a modern — almost silly way. You could stay there, studying these pieces for hours and catching a different detail every time. But as you turned to say something to Jake, you caught sight of a canvas leaning against the wall, a three-dimensional painting, with mountains coming out of the plain canvas that took your words away. Different from everything else it barely had colors. A mix of black and white and you could feel it, the struggle and the loneliness on the canvas. Your fingers tickled as if you wanted to reach for it — brush your fingers as if to tend the pain, but you forced yourself to remain still.

“My final project from my first university semester,” he said.

“It’s beautiful,” you said. “How have you done it?”

“Lots of baking soda — Jay got quite annoyed by the mess I made in our shared room.”

“My brother is a naturally annoyed person,” you said, immediately coaxing a snort of laughter out of him, the sound so silly, yet vivid that you didn’t notice a smile was rising to your lips in response until it was already there.

“Now you said the truth,” he said.

“Well, I will leave you to settle yourself,” he continued. “The wardrobe is empty, aside from a few bed sheets, I think. You can use anything here, and if the paint and pottery bother you, just put it out, I can sort it anywhere else.”

“It’s alright,” you said. “Honestly, thank you so much.”

“I would ask you what you want for dinner, but my acknowledgment as a cooker is very limited, and there are no take-outs nearby so-”

“Could I help?”

“Don’t worry. Jeonchae is going to help me, aren’t you, buddy?” he asked, slightly leaning himself so he could reach for the kitten, scratching the back of his ears, and immediately receiving a low rumble of approbation.

You were surprised to see that the kitten, in fact, followed Jake out of the room and through the house, rushing through the kitchen not only as if he knew the place, but as if he was already part of it.

┈

You weren’t sure how long you were going to stay at Jake’s house, so you decided to not unpack everything, making settling yourself into his spare room a quick task and by the time you stepped out to the common area, he was just taking the pan out of the six-burner stove and putting it on the table.

You almost laughed when you noticed his very little acknowledgment in the kitchen meant lamen and a bunch of leftover side dishes for the night, the take-out bowls affirming that nothing had been made by him.

There was something endearing about Jake’s clumsy maneuvering around the kitchen, a certain charm in his earnest attempt, but you couldn’t help but worry if his dinners always had been like this — you were a Park at the end of the day, meals not only being important healthy, but as a manner of caring for yourself and others, so you stopped yourself, trying your best to not show your worry when he caught sight of you.

“I hope you didn’t have high expectations,” he said then, his eyes meeting yours. “It’s nothing like your mother’s or your brother’s — but it’ll fill you up.”

“I wouldn’t expect anyone to be like them,” you said. “Only high chefs love the kitchen as much as they do.”

His eyes softened as he gestured for you to join him at the table.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he admitted, passing you one of the bowls. You weren’t surprised to notice it was handmade, irregular, and pottery-crafted. You curled your fingers around the piece, relishing the coldness against your skin.

“Are your dinners always like this?” you asked. Jake looked at you on the other side of the table then, taking in how you hadn’t moved yet, and retrieved the bowl from you, ladling a heaping portion of lamen and placing it in front of you.

“You mean extremely unprepared and unhealthy?” he asked, and you gasped. You didn’t mean to offend him, but because you couldn’t find better words to describe it, you remained silent. “Most of the time, but once in a while Mrs. Choi brings me something, once in a while I simply do not eat, so we can say it’s not an every-night thing.”

There was a pause, a skimpy moment full of awkwardness. But then, Jeonchae leaped at the dining table, immediately stealing a laugh from Jake. He spared a piece of meat to the kitten, quickly making the apology die on your tongue together with the gasp you couldn’t release, and just like that, the spell was broken.

“Jake,” you called. “What if I take care of dinner while I am here?”

“Oh no, she is surely a Park,” he teased, but he nodded at you, barely giving himself the time to think between one second and another, and you suck your breath back.

“Really?” you asked. “I mean, I’m not like my mother or Jay as well-”

“I wouldn’t expect you to be like them,” he said, and that was it — just your words in his mouth, but you couldn’t help but feel as if the air had suddenly gotten lighter, that heavy pressure on your shoulders disappearing as if it had never been there. It was the very first time you genuinely thought someone who knew your family, didn’t expect you to be like them. “But I would need to take you to the market tomorrow, I doubt there’s something usable in this kitchen.”

┈

You woke up to the street lights spreading through the darkness of your room and a soft series of curses.

At first, you couldn’t remember where you were. The scent of glaze and paint took you with a strange closeness, until you remembered the discussion with the landlord, putting the kitten in a carrier, and taking the bus to Seogwipo to meet Jake — Jake.

You slide out of the bed, padding barefoot to the window and opening it in time to catch your brother’s best friend adjusting a ladder closer to the house’s wall and taking the first step up to it.

“What are you doing?” you asked because Jake wasn’t possibly going up to the roof late at night although everything indicated it was exactly what he was doing.

Jake turned to you as fast as a complicated smile took over his features.

“Sorry, I woke you up,” he said, the certainty that he had been the one to wake you up stealing the question mark of his phrase and so you didn’t reply.

“Are you afraid of heights?” he asked then.

“A bit, yes.”

“Do you trust me?”

┈

There were stars, and there were stars at Seogwipo.

Some nights, back at home, you had lingered on your bedroom’s window, trying to catch at least a spare star above the city lights without much success, but as you sat by Jake’s side at the uneven tiles of his roof, and craned your neck to the vastness of the sky, you couldn’t help but sigh at the view, an appreciation sound that came from your bare heart.

At Jeju there were never enough streetlights to obliterate the stars completely — you could always get a glimpse of them without much search, but at Seogwipo — so far from anything else, the stars created streams of silver against the dark sky.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“Was it what you expected?” Jake asked. “When you decided to come to Jeju.”

“I don’t think I had any expectations. Honestly, I barely considered it before I decided to come to Jeju. It was there and suddenly it seemed like a great option so I took it,” you said. “It’s just — are you the youngest in your family?”

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed at your sudden question, his confusion setting heavy on his features despite the lightness with which he tilted his head, and in the heat of the moment, you continued: “I am not blaming Jay or my family, it’s not like this. But there is something about being the youngest child that no one speaks about,”

“When you are the youngest, you live in the shadows of either their failures or their successes. It wasn’t my dream to go to the United States to study — it was my father’s. He couldn’t do it back at his time, so he tried to make Jay do it for him, but when Jay failed due to his grades, I became the next in line, and I have been living my whole life like this — trying to fulfill everything they want to not be the letdown of my family.”

“When I passed the university interview,” you continued. “got the visa and everything, they started talking about their expectations and it suddenly made me realize that I have never lived a single day for myself, so I think I panicked — I wanted to try something for myself, at least this summer before I go to the United States to live a life I never dreamed about.”

When you finished, Jake had been silent for so long that you thought he had zoned out — leaving you to talk to the vastness of the place. But you looked at him then, and he was there — with the same careful stare he had turned on you this afternoon, and making your cheeks grow warmer.

You weren’t a quiet person — as you had reminded yourself with Euntaek earlier on that day. You were just out of the practice of speaking with strangers. You could eventually be your true self. It wasn’t uncommon. What truly surprised you was how fast Jake had made you open up.

It wasn’t like you considered Jake a stranger, he wasn’t, not really. You had co-existed in each other’s worlds for so long that it was almost peculiar to think you had met just a few hours previously. Yet still, it felt way too nice.

“I do have an older brother too,” Jake admitted then. “He has studied medicine in Australia and people love to praise him or say something like it must be hard for Jaeyun to have an older brother like you.”

A breath shuddered out of you with the harshness of his words, and his mouth screwed on something between a smile and a frown, his own history setting heavy on him, and making him pause, his gaze drifting downward.

Jake watched as his fingers moved on his lap as if he was trying to sort his thoughts out, and that was the moment you noticed that whatever he was about to tell you was something he had been keeping for himself for years — just like you — too much like you, actually.

“It’s just like you said, I do not blame my family,” he started. “But because my parents are doctors and my brother always knew he was going to follow their path, I grew up thinking I was the letdown of my family.”

“With my grandfather, otherwise,” Jake continued. “He was an artist — not a very successful one as you can see from the house or by the fact that you probably never heard of him, but he loved it,”

“I used to come here every summer, and whenever I saw him doing pottery — whenever I saw the happiness in him, I knew it was what I wanted to do too, but still, I was afraid I would disappoint my parents so I tried to follow their path and study medicine instead.” Jake had a dull tone, but it was almost like his canvas in your room — you could feel the pain in each syllable. “But then, my grandfather died in my first year.”

You knew Jake’s grandfather had died — had picked the information in the echo of your brother’s conversation with your mother, but you never knew what the man had meant to Jake, and perhaps that was what made your chest ache as if you had just discovered his passing.

“I am so sorry,” you said.

You reached out to Jake, placing your hand gently on top of his. It hadn’t dawned on you how intimate the gesture was until you felt Jake moving beneath your touch, but before you could pull away he had already turned his palm into yours, squeezing you lightly, and reassuringly.

“It’s alright. It has been five years already,” he said. “Somehow I think I’ve gotten to peace with this as much as a person can be — I mean, grief never ends. It just gives breaks. Some moments I laugh while remembering him, and others I catch myself near to tears because I saw an old man using a blue cap the way he did, but it’s more like a heartache,”

“I wish he were still here sometimes,” Jake concluded. “He always knew how to read me through,” 

“On his last phone call, he asked if I was happy — if I was doing what I wanted to,” he said. “And it stuck with me, you know? I wasn’t — so I came to Jeju for his funeral and decided I could go back to Seoul, but not to med school. I got transferred, and well, I think you know the rest of the story. I graduated in Fine Arts like I always wanted, and came here to take care of his things.”

“I won’t lie and tell you it was easy — it wasn’t. When I told my parents what my plans were, my father asked me if I wanted to be poor like my grandpa. But what I am trying to say is that I understand you,” Jake said. “If you want to stay here during the whole summer to give yourself time, I got you — just be sure to live for yourself because there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Make a list of things you have never done and want to do. I don’t know. Just enjoy your time here.”

A breeze picked up in the following silence, the halted air suddenly stirring and shuddering the bushes on the other side of the street. Seogwipo was so silent at this hour of the night that you could hear the soft rustling sound as they moved, all the world halted enough to give enough space for that tiny word to settle in.

Enjoy. You weren’t really sure if you understood what it meant anymore.

Your whole life felt like some task. From your academic life to even the parts that used to be the most fun, like reading over the summer or baking a new recipe on a Friday afternoon. They felt like things you had to be really good at in order to prove you were worth belonging. And looking back at it, it just felt so messed up.

“You sound wiser than my brother,” you whispered. “Maybe I should start talking to you instead.”

“Well, you know where to find me,” he whispered back, leaning toward your side. He was just a bit too close, his scent taking over you all together with the summer breezes. He might have noticed it too because he drew a bit back, rushing his fingers through his hair as his gaze focused on the skyline once again. 

“But it can be a dangerous thing — to get me,” you replied. “I can become really dependent.”

Jake’s eyes lingered as he turned back at you, his lips parting for a heartbeat more, the space between them widening with what he meant to say next, but whatever it had been — was forgotten over the second, and he only swallowed then, licking at his lips.

“Should we go down?” Jake asked. “I have no idea what time it is.”

But he was already slipping through the roof tiles, taking the first step down the ladder before you had even replied.

You carefully followed him, edging your way onto the roof, but the moment you looked down, you felt your heart contracting, shivers scattering through the line of your spine and making you dizzy.

“Jake?” you called, your voice sounding quieter than you intended to.

“Yeah?”

“Remember when I said I was a bit afraid of heights?” you asked, but he didn’t reply, his eyebrows furrowing as he peered at you. “I don’t mind being in a high place, but I can’t know how high it is.”

“You can’t look down?”

“It makes me vertiginous,” you admitted.

“Alright,” Jake said. “Let’s do it like this — can you sit on the edge of the roof and put your feet on the ladder?”

You nodded, heart throbbing inside of your chest as you carefully shifted your weight and did as he said, finding the first step of the ladder with the soles of your shoes. Either the night had turned colder or your senses had turned very accurate due to your nervousness. You felt Jake retreating the few steps he had taken down, and lingering closer to you, his whole body as warm as he sounded when he finally spoke again.

“Give me your hands,” he asked. “You can keep your eyes straight at the horizon or close them, I got you — Just don’t look down.”

You extended your hands to him, and he took them, his fingers curling around yours as he guided you down.

“Isn’t it dangerous for you?” you asked suddenly, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes and check how he was doing it.

“Just a few more steps, Baby,” he said, immediately making both of you halt, your eyes opening as the endearing word whistled through the space between both of you.

It’s not like you thought he meant it to be endearing. Your whole family called you Baby. From your grandparents to your parents and brother — and even their close friends. Probably whenever Jake had heard someone speaking about you the nickname simply came by, but hearing it in his voice felt different, and a flush of warmth crept up to your cheeks.

“I am sorry,” he hushed.

“It’s alright,” you said. “I guess Jay called me Baby too much around you.”

“Yes,” he said, the confirmation coming as a tight exhale. “It happened so commonly that when he first said your name I had to ask who he was talking about and he managed to feel offended.”

You laughed at it, softly, and his mouth quivered in response.

“Just a few more steps,” he repeated then. And with the help of Jake’s guidance, you managed to make it down from the roof.

Jeonchae was already waiting at the house’s door. And you tried not to feel offended when the kitten once again chose Jake, following him through the living room and only stopping when Jake did too.

“Good night, Baby,” Jake said, reaching for his door’s knob.

You did so too, but didn’t turn it. You didn’t want to be the first one the break the moment. Like that one night during a Seollal break when your mother found you awake when no one else was. She asked if you wanted to drink a cup of warm milk with her, and it had been so nice to have your mother all to yourself — so nice to whisper things neither of you really did when it was day. You wanted to relish it until the end, leaving a single sip in your cup even when it was all cold and unsweetened.

But Jake was slightly shaking his head then, a smile on his lips before he slipped into his room.

You woke up to the soft hustle of dishes echoing, drawers opening and shutting before finally the smell of bread browning and eggs hitting a hot skillet reached you.

Morning light flooded through the opened windows of the bedroom, the brightness of it catching you unguarded and making you blink a few times before you managed to roll through the bed, trying to catch what Jake was doing, but the gap between the door and its frame was small, a bare sliver that all you could see was his head tilted to the stove in concentration and his shoulders moving, the thin material almost giving you the outline of everything — you abruptly stood up, padding barefoot to the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he said, promptly extending you a mug. You wrapped your hands around the steaming cup, inhaling the bittersweet scent of coffee and vanilla.

“So you aren’t very fond of cooking dinner, but like breakfast?” you asked.

“I guess we all have one favorite meal.”

“Well, that makes sense,” you agreed. “But if I prefer baking, what does it make me?”

“A tea-time person, definitely,” he said. “Maybe you should meet Mrs. Choi, she has a bakery down the street-”

“An old lady? Not even one and a half meters? Gray hair and a really fierce accent?”

“I see that you have already met her.”

“She was sitting by her bakery door when I arrived,” you said. “Asked if I needed help, and made her grandson walk me here.”

“She made Euntaek walk you through one hundred and something meters?”

“Very fiercely, actually, but perhaps it was just her accent,” you admitted, stealing a smile from him. It had been so quick — if your heart hadn’t leaped at the sight of it, you would think it had been an imagined moment.

“I thought about going to the market after breakfast,” he said. “Get the things you need, I genuinely only have eggs, three packs of lamen, and bread.”

“Well, you at least have something aside from lamen.”

“Don’t get too proud. Beomseok — a grandpa who lives at the end of the street sells eggs, and the bread is from Mrs. Choi’s bakery-”

“I am surely not proud,” you said, but despite the harsh choice of words, they carried no venom and Jake allowed himself to playfully pout at you. There was something adorable about his expression — almost puppyish, and you had to control your sudden urge and not reach for him, ruffling your fingers through his locks and discovering if they were as soft as they looked.

“Don’t be so mean to me.”

┈

Euntaek had told you — more like warned you about the absence of a car in the midst of Jake’s possessions, always having to ask for the old Beomseok’s pickup. So when Jake told you he was going to wait outside, you had expected to step out to the view of a pickup — although you didn’t know what Beomseok looked like, and much less his pickup. Or Jake simply standing there ready to walk you to the market, but not for a single second, you had expected to see him leaning on a motorcycle with two helmets in his hands. Partly because you haven’t noticed the thing on the night previously, and partly because it shone beneath the summer sun, all black, metallic, and nothing like Jake.

You had this odd conviction that often people matched their vehicles. Jongseong’s black Mercedes was made for him, just like your mother’s champagne Audi was made for her, but where Jake was soft his motorcycle was hazardous. And you weren’t sure if it was conflicting or if you had just encountered a new side of him. But either way — it took the wind out of you.

“No,” you said.

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you, his hand halting in the middle of the motion of extending you one of the helmets.

“Can’t we go walking or something?” you asked.

“Why?”

“Jay also has a motorcycle license, and Mom made me promise I wouldn’t ride with him.”

“You promised you wouldn’t ride with Jay — I am not Jay,” he said. “C’mon, it’s safe.”

Jake was trying to look unamused, but it was clear by the way the corners of his mouth twisted that he was fighting a smile as he looked down the street, taking in the path you had already walked. He watched the whole path from Mrs. Choi’s tiny bakery to his own shop before he moved ahead, the shops and houses you still didn’t know as if he was looking for something.

Bees hummed over the bushes on the other side of the street.

It was so impossibly summer.

“Let’s do it like this: you are scratching the first thing on the list of things you have never done before,” Jake said, already hurling a leg over the motorcycle. “Beomseok’s pickup isn’t here, so he is probably using it. Next time we go to the market I promise you — I will ask for his pickup if you want me to, but for today it’s our only option.”

“C’mon, Baby. I got you,” he said, tentatively extending you the helmet once again.

And there it was. Baby. The word being familiar and unknown. Soft and overwhelming. It shaped through Jake’s mouth as easily as it had the night previously. And perhaps because of the lack of surprise, perhaps because of the new insight the daylight brought, but you finally got it. Jake didn’t call you with the fondness your parents did, nor with the fierce overprotection Jongseong did. He took your nickname and made it all his. Teasingly as it was overprotective, careful as it was wild. And you felt something moving inside of you. 

Wasn’t that the reason why you had come to Jeju?

You stepped forward, taking the helmet and hurling your leg at the motorcycle by the time a breath should be taken.

Jake put on his helmet too, looking over his shoulder. He seemed ready to say something to you, but whatever it had been, slipped and slid as he felt you resting your head at his back, the side of your helmet pressed against his jacket as your arms slipped around his waist, hands finding the shirt beneath his denim and twisting the thin material of it until your knuckles turned white. Jake spread his palms above yours, warm and reassuring — summer always stuck in his skin.

“I got you,” he repeated, a little more breathless. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And then, there was just the air past your ears, the roar of the motorcycle, and Jake.

┈

Jake’s neighborhood had only one market.

It was a small and unassuming building tucked away on a noncommercial street. The owner even seemed to live on the second floor as a few clothes hung on a line by the terrace, the white pieces fluttering against the blue sky and spreading a scent of flowery softening through the morning breeze.

There was no parking lot, the door opened right on the sidewalk — not that it seemed to be necessary. The establishment was completely empty aside from the cashier, a girl not much younger than you and with such a bored expression that gave you the assurance that she certainly wasn’t spending her summer morning there by choice.

She didn’t even stray her attention from her phone as you both stepped in, the faint din of the latest summer hit coming from her earphones being the only sound mixing with the whir of the freezers.

Jake promptly took the shopping cart from the side of the doors. And there was something so domestic about the whole thing — so intimate on the way he pushed the shopping cart around the aisles, you by his side, elbows brushing, and hands tucking on each other whenever you wanted to stop because it was easier like this. It made your chest ache and suddenly it felt unkind to think of Jake just as your brother’s best friend — all the acknowledgment of him being given by a third part, so you started an ask game. It was simple, this or that questions that weren’t even that deep, but Jake tilted his head to appraise you, taking his time to think about it every time. And when he started to ask them back, you smiled at him, cheeks a bit warmer because it was less than he was just being polite, and more like he wanted to know you too.

You turned to the final aisle, being greeted by a dozen candies and snacks, boxes and packages in an aggressive assembly of colors and almost mockingly being in their majority from America.

“What are you going to study? In the United States?” Jake asked, perhaps noticing it too.

“Law,” you said as if it’s just a fact. Because well, that’s what it was, but the word hung in the air like a weighty secret. And so, Jake blinked at you, momentarily taken aback, before he decided to move his attention to the shelves, his fingers fumbling through the cereal boxes with a concentration too unpretentious to be unpretentious.

“Is there something else you would want to study? Aside from law?” he asked then. It could have been just a simple question, no different from all the others you had been making and answering. But perhaps because of how he asked it, it very much felt as if Jake had already divined all the nuances of your whole being.

If you were to tell the history of your family, law school was so entangled in it that it was impossible not to mention it. Your father’s mother had been a judge, a rare gem as your own grandfather used to say — although you weren’t sure if it was because she managed to get such a high position in a field where women were so rarely seen back in their time, or something else. Your father’s father had a mind of his own, so ingeniously crafted that his university refused to let him go, and made him a professor where eventually, your father came to study and met your mother, the successor of a long line of counselors.

Family gatherings had always brought Legal Language — even when it wasn’t necessary to. The word abrogate was used more than deny and you knew — to follow their path was the only way to truly blend in. Jake had understood it, perhaps all too easily due to his own past, and it made your lips part, surprise stunning you for a moment.

“I never stopped to think about it,” you said, already stepping forward.

You tried to pretend you were not so excited when your eyes caught a familiar cookie on the topmost shelf, extending your hand at it without much success as your fingers have not even skimmed through the package.

“Jake, could you-” you started, but he was already there, easily ending the few steps you had created. One of his hands rested on the shelf at the level of your waist as the other reached for the packages for you, your fingers brushing and tangling.

“How many?” he asked. His voice threaded through your hair, and all of sudden your body became extremely aware of his proximity. Jake was all around you — all inside of you, when you breathed in, everything that came into your lungs was the scent of summer, that odd mix of orange and earth that Jake was.

“Five?”

“What are you going to do with so many cookies?”

“It’s my solace cookies,” you said, your lips barely closing at the end of the sentence because you meant to explain — you meant to tell him that once when you had failed an exam, Jongseong had been the one to come and pick you up after school. Your brother didn’t really know what to do with all your sadness, so he just took you to a convenience store nearby, bought all the types of cookies and ice creams his allowance could afford, and somehow this one became your favorite — the one thing you always found yourself stocking to eat on rough days so perhaps it would sound less childish to Jake. But before you could do so, he was echoing your saying. And you didn’t even need to look at him to know he was smiling. You had heard it, the soft deed turning his voice warmer because he thought it was endearing rather than childish, and you allowed the explanation to die in your tongue unsaid.

“What about the list? Have you thought about it?” he asked after a moment. “What you haven’t done yet, but want to.”

“Not yet,” you admitted. But it struck you later on — when you arrived back at his address, catching the sight of the pottery pieces on his shop’s shelves through the tempered glass.

“Pottery,” you said. Jake stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, shopping bags still hanging in his hands, but when you glanced over at him, he was beaming. “I never did pottery.”

“This one is easy to scratch,” he said.

┈

“Is it really fine to just not open the shop like this?” you asked. But Jake didn’t reply. Instead, he walked to a drawer you hadn’t noticed the existence of until now, taking out an apron and looping it over his neck.

It was nearing noon and Seogwipo was already alive, locals and tourists strolling through the sun-bathed street on the other side of the tempered glass.

You saw a woman peering inside the shop as her little daughter tugged at her dress skirts, but the door was locked, and a small handmade sign informed that the shop was closed.

“I am the owner,” he said. You looked back at Jake, tongue rolling on a retort. But he had already walked back to you, looping an apron over your neck and making whatever you had thought of saying slip and slide with the weight of thick material on your shoulders. His breath brushed through your cheeks as he leaned on you — warm and sweet smelling, cream and strawberries from the ice cream you had shared while stocking the food as he took the strings of the apron at your back and brought them to your front, clutching them safely.

“It’s not too tight, is it?” he asked.

“No — no, it’s not.”

“Good.”

You sat in front of a pottery wheel, watching as Jake filled a bowl with water and arranged it on a cart, strolling it to your side. Everything there was so carefully designed and considered that you couldn’t help but think about how this shop had been built with love.

“Alright,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

“What would be the easiest?”

“There is no such a thing,” he replied.

“What?”

“As long as you don’t want something that requires a lot of pieces and craving it’s easy.”

“A vase then?” you said. “Very tiny, preferably.”

Jake brought a stool to the other side of the wheel and sat down on it. His knee brushed against yours, a scarcely there thing that you couldn’t even feel his denim jeans against your bare skin, but maybe because your body was still lingering on the ride back, and the way he had reached for the cookies for you, you felt a flush of warmth rushing to your cheeks, that heat that seemed to be becoming a frequent feeling around Jake.

The fact that he had pretty hands didn’t help with anything — you hadn’t noticed it until then, artsy hands made for masterpieces, and you weren’t really sure if it made it harder or easier to watch as he pounded the clay into a ball and plopped onto the wheel, but when he looked at you, your body felt perilously close to coming undone.

“Ready?”

“I am not sure,” you said.

“Do you know what’s fun about pottery?” he asked. “You can mess this up. If you dislike it or change your mind, you just pound it back into a ball and start all over again.”

“Don’t stress too much about it,” he continued. “Just enjoy the process.”

“Alright.”

“I mean it, Baby,” Jake said. “You don’t need to make it perfect, no one is judging you.”

And that was it again — just your words in his mouth, but you suddenly felt as if the weight of the world had been pulled off your shoulders.

No one was judging you. Your parents, your teachers, your brother, and your grandparents. You didn’t need to prove anything for them here.

“Alright,” you repeated.

“Wet your hands, and gently cup the clay.”

“Am I supposed to step on the pedal already?”

“Not yet. Cup it first,” he said. “Thumbs in the middle.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah, now you step on the pedal.” You did as he said, allowing the wheel to move beneath the clay, twirling between your cupped hands, almost ticklish.

“Alright. Now use your left hand to give it a slight pressure. Your right is more for balance, to keep it upright.”

“It’s starting to get confusing,” you said.

“Like this,” Jake said, gently placing his hands above yours before he folded you over, clay immediately seeping between your fingers with the pressure and smearing Jake’s hands, filling the air with that earthy scent you somehow had already grown used to.

“You are pressing my right hand,” you said. “Isn’t it the one for balance?”

“It’s confusing my brain,” he confessed.

“What? Don’t you teach pottery?”

“Yes, but I never put my hands on people’s stuff, I usually just explain.”

“Are you somehow saying I am the worst student you’ve ever had?” you inquired. You weren’t sure if you had intended to be funny, but suddenly, Jake was laughing, the sound rattling you to the core, and you couldn’t help but stop, watching him.

If you thought Jake’s smiles took over his face, when he laughed, it seemed to resonate throughout every line of his body. He tilted his head downward with the vehemence of it, his eyes closing, but not before you noticed how they were shining, glinting specks in his dark eyes.

And God — Jake wasn’t just pretty, but he was the embodiment of summer, warmth, and sunshine always stuck on him, and making him glow. When his shoulders fluttered, it made something within your chest hum, and you forced yourself to blink, redirecting your focus to the clay.

“Maybe we should stay on the same side?” you asked then.

Jake stood up, taking his stool and swiftly settling it behind you. His chest pressed against your back as he positioned his hand above yours once again, and your heartbeat rumbled so loudly that you almost didn’t realize he was speaking again, “left hand to give pressure. Right to keep it upright.”

“Is it the time when I tell you that I hate to feel dirty?” you blurted out.

“You hate it?” Jake asked, letting go of you only to brush his fingers on your cheek, quickly smearing it with clay. You gasped at it, lurching up so fast, you almost tripped over the pottery wheel as you turned to look at him, but he only laughed once again, and instead of protesting, you reached for him too, smearing his jaw.

And that was it, the room was taken by laughter and clay.

The vase was destroyed by the amount of times you both had brushed your hands on it, smearing your palms only to clean it on the other one — if it was the right term, handprints being left on its wake. Jake’s arms were already covered when he finally gave it a break, looking at you and offering the precise moment when the idea struck him. His smile turned a bit wilder, a bit teasing, and before you could truly understand it, he had closed his fist on the vase, sealing the top of it, but handing a good amount of clay.

You reached for his wrist, but as you tried to prevent him from dirtying you even more, you threw both of you out of balance. You hit the floor first and in a heap, the sound of your bodies collapsing on the concrete floor muffling the curse Jake released.

He braced himself above you, his palms spreading just a few centimeters away from your head as he pushed himself up, but he was still too close. When his lips parted, his breath brushed through your cheeks, the same sweet scent from early on, heating your whole body and riddling you in place.

The warm light of the summer sun had found its way through the tempered glass of the shop, pouring around Jake in a beautiful and dazzling alchemy. Your fingers were clammy with clay, sticky with a grayish mix, but he didn’t mind it when you reached for him, palm splaying through his neck, fingers sliding to where his t-shirt hung loosely around his neck, if anything his skin shivered where you touched it. And he released a breath stronger than before, taking you both out of the haze.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked then.

“No,” you whispered.

Jake nodded, very slowly before he stood up, holding his hand and helping you stand.

“I am sorry,” he said. You weren’t sure what he was asking sorry for, the destroyed vase, the clay fight, for falling on you, or for the way your body was flaming up, every piece of skin burning with the bare memory of him against you. “We can start over.”

You blinked at him, taking a second longer to look back at the vase. It had worn shapeless above the wheel, a good part of it lost in the middle of the fight and its top had been destroyed where Jake’s fist had closed on. It surely had no use aside from a very peculiar ornament, but you once had heard about people wanting to retain moments, turning the immaterial memory into something concrete so they could carry it anywhere and that ruined vase was it — it wouldn’t matter how many years passed, or where you were, whenever you looked at this ruined vase, it would remind you of Jeju, of golden suns and breezes that smelled like earth, and oranges blossoms at the end of afternoons — it would remind you of Jake.

“I like it that way,” you told him. Jake furrowed your eyebrows at you, but he didn’t say anything, taking a string from the table, and cutting the vase off the wheel.

“We have to let it dry before doing anything,” he said. “By tomorrow or after we can fire it-”

“Wait, so people do not take their pieces home?” you asked.

“They do,” he said. “I mean, they receive it at home. I fire it and send it to them later.”

“Out of Jeju?” you asked, and Jake hummed at you, half focused on putting the vase on a wooden tray and taking it to the far end of the shop, letting it rest closer to the sink.

“It was my grandpa’s idea,” he said. “What better trip souvenir than something you did yourself? that’s what he used to say.”

“He seemed like a nice grandfather.”

“He was,” Jake told you. “I just wish he knew I am continuing it — that I didn’t let my father sell this shop.”

“He knows,” you whispered. “I am sure he knows.”

Jake paused then, looking back at you as if you had just said what he needed. And you didn’t know how to react — you had never been the person to be relied on. But somehow you found yourself liking it.

“Come here.”

You stepped closer to him again, and he took your hand, using a wet towel to clean the clay from your fingers, your wrists, his hands hovering through your skin, but not quite touching it.

“Jake,” you called. You weren’t sure if you wanted to say something more, it had just slipped through. And in the midst of your silence, he looked at you with the same golden eyes and sun-kissed skin.

“Give me another towel,” you asked, and he quickly obeyed, getting another towel and handing it to you.

As you took the towel with one hand, you reached for his chin with the other, gently tilting his head to the side so you could clean his jaw, and then his neck, taking all the evidence of your touch from his skin.

“I am sorry. I think I pushed clay into your ears.” Jake snorted at you, something you always thought to be weird coming out as endearing from him.

“I like having you here, Baby.”

“I like being here.”

For the next six days in Seogwipo, you barely did anything yet it felt like everything.

Mornings always started with you and Jeonchae sitting on the kitchen counter as Jake hovered over the stove, the greatest variation of bread and eggs you had ever known being prepared. And nights always ended in the opposite way. You prepared dinner as Jake stood within reach, always ready to open cans and cut whatever you asked him.

You had to go to the market more times, but you stopped complaining about the motorcycle at some point — mostly because when you finally met Beomseok and his pickup, the man seemed pretty convinced that you were Jake’s girlfriend or fiancée or whoever could make him say, “you two should marry early. Living your life peacefully is better than anything else”, and you would rather never encounter him again.

Just the memory of it made your cheeks burn.

Jake taught you how to use the credit card machine, and allowed you to take the payments from the customers. You packed orders and watched as he taught people how to do pottery — never touching their projects, “it was just for his worst student,” he whispered when another just graduated high school girl seemed pretty and annoyingly insistent on trying to make him guide her.

By Thursday Jake asked you if you wanted to help him glaze a few pieces, and when you told him you were afraid of messing up, he laughed at you.

“It’s transparent glaze, Baby,” he said. “I don’t know how you could mess this up.” But you liked using the kiln, being the first one to see how Jake’s pieces had turned out after being fired, and organizing it on the shop’s shelves to be purchased.

Mostly, though, you sat on the long table of the shop, Jake, and an endless thread of stories being your company. He couldn’t stay much still, you quickly noticed, always having to be working on something or using gestures throughout his stories. And you couldn’t help but think how Jake glowed there — in the place that carved him into the person he was today and something within you broke to think of a time he almost lost it all.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

It was Friday morning, the usual hustle and bustle of customers coming momentarily on hold due to the end of the week, the events by the downtown being more interesting than wandering through the small towns and Jake had taken the opportunity to work on a piece of clay as he tended to do when the movement was low, but this one seemed different from his typical methods. He wasn’t using the wheel, but molding it with his bare fingers and a few tools.

“Sculpting,” he said, turning the piece for you, and only then did you notice it was a cat. Chubby and furry.

“Oh my God, is it Jeonchae?” you asked. “I want it, charge me. I want it once you finish.”

“It will be one thousand won, but for you, I will do half of it,” he said, his gaze dropping to the clay once again, but you let your linger on the dark fringe of his lashes, the curve of his full upper lip.

It was easier to look at him like this.

“Do you want to try?” Jake asked.

“What?”

“Sculpting.”

“No.”

“C’mon, I got you,” he said, already rolling a stool closer to him and patting it for you to sit.

“Jake, I am going to mess Jeonchae up,” you said.

“I will help you,” he said, convincing enough to make you walk to him, but before you could do anything the fluttering sound of crystal and bells clanking against the shop door resonated as it was pushed, Mrs. Choi and Euntaek loudly announcing their entrance.

“Oh, sorry for interrupting. I brought some freshly baked pastries for you two,” Mrs. Choi said.

Jake stood up, cleaning his hands on his apron as he walked to them and accepted the tray Mrs. Choi was handing. The old lady rambled about how she had accidentally baked an extra tray this morning, and Euntaek took the opportunity to come in your direction — quickly taking Jake’s unattended stool. He barely settled himself in as his fingers reached for you, towing for a stray strand of your hair, and brushing it behind your ear. His touch was like a static shock, a spark of energy where skin met skin, as comfortable as it would have been to be electrocuted.

“You didn’t call,” he said. “Or message.”

Euntaek didn’t sound angry or annoyed. If anything, he sounded bemused. As if he wasn’t used by the fact that he might have been forgotten.

“I am sorry,” you hushed, using your wrists to not only brush any other strands he could come to find but to subtly create a distance within you. He smelled like his cigarettes, burning formaldehyde, and tar — something so different from Jake’s scent that you felt the back of your throat burning.

“I have a busking tomorrow night. It’s at a bar close to Jeju City,” he said. “You should come. I can drive us there. We enjoy the rest of the buskings, and then go to one of my bandmates’ place for an after-party.”

“Do you have a band?” you asked.

“Yeah, rock, but we play anything once in a while depending on the place,” he said. “So what do you think?”

“I-” you started, looking back at where Jake and Mrs. Choi stood. Although the old lady was still talking, Jake’s eyes were on you as if he had been looking at you the whole time and you suddenly forgot what you were going to say, being mercifully saved by Mrs. Choi calling for her grandson.

She stepped out of the shop, gesturing for Euntaek to hurry up because they had left the bakery unattended. He stood up, his smirk unfaltering.

“Text me your reply, or just shout out the door, I will surely hear from down the street,” he said then, winking at you before he followed his grandmother outside.

Jake closed the door behind them, leaving the tray on an empty wheel before he came back to you, sitting on his stool and tilting his head at you.

“What was that?” he asked. “You seem troubled.”

“Euntaek invited me to go to his busking in a bar tomorrow,” you confessed. “He has a band.”

“Oh.”

You didn’t notice how still Jake had become until he rubbed his finger against his thumb, brushing his digits as if feeling the remnant of the clay there a moment later.

“But I don’t know-” you admitted. “What do you think?”

“You don’t wanna to go?” Jake asked, and he was suddenly back at the university dorms, catching the echoes of your conversation with Jongseong through the phone — listening to how you always came up to your brother for advice and help, and he couldn’t help but wonder if you were looking up at him right now as a brother.

He was abruptly tired, the whole day wearing him out to the core.

“That’s not it. Jay used to have a band in high school, did you know?” you asked. “He had those kind of buskings, but I never went — so I got curious, but Euntaek is a bit-”

“Peculiar?”

“If we are kindly speaking, yes,” you said, and you were not sure why, but it got both of you smiling at each other, foolish and unreasonably, almost as if you had just thrown an old inside joke. And the intimacy of it got you looking away, your face catching the afternoon light coming from the tempered glass and giving you something to blame on how warm your face felt.

But Jake reached for you then, his thumb soflty caressing your cheeks, and you couldn’t deny it — it was all because of him.

“Clay,” he explained, turning the pad so you could see the remains when you looked back at him. “About Euntaek — well, it’s Euntaek, but in any case, you can just call me and I will pick you up. So you should think about it. If it is something that you want to do, you should go.”

And you thought about it.

You thought about it through the rest of the afternoon as Jake attended to the few customers who came in. You thought about it when you prepared dinner for the two of you and spared a few pieces of meat to treat Jeonchae. You thought about it as you washed the dishes, appreciating the handmade pieces before you handed them to Jake to dry.

If you were to be honest, go on a busking, go on a date, have a night out in a bar — or whatever variation of Euntaek’s invitation could be named as would never make it into your to-do list for the Summer — not on a first draft.

Jongseong had a band back in his school days, so the idea of watching a busking wasn’t that foreign to you. But neither had it been the reprobation of your parents, the way your father lightly clicked his tongue as your mother screamed that he should be taking care of his grades instead. 

“Priorities, Jongseong, priorities,” she would always say, her tongue rolling around the word as if it could be a threat by itself. But in the end, it didn’t really matter that your brother had given them a few concerns over the years because you didn’t. You were the trophy child of the Park’s family, the one who declined any invitation and stayed at home to study and bring the good grades. The one your parents could brag about and proudly whisper, oh, Baby never gave us that kind of trouble, whenever an acquaintance complained about their children doing anything remotely upsetting.

Yet how much of this had been caused by the heavy weight of parents’ expectations rather than any genuine lack of desire to do anything? Have you never really wanted to watch one of Jongseong’s buskings?

You looked at Jake as you passed him the last bowl, and suddenly his words came back to you.

No one is judging you here. You had nothing to prove at Jeju, and maybe that’s what brought in your final decision.

“I will go,” you told him. “It’s just something I have never done. And in the worst cases, I just scratch it and put it on my never doing again list, right?”

“You have a never doing again list?” he asked.

“Yes, I created it intending to put riding a motorcycle, but unfortunately I had no choice on this.”

Jake laughed at you, that one burst of happiness that got him tilting his head downward with the vehemence of it, and something within you hummed. “It isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, it is,” you confirmed. “My hands are all sweaty every time we ride that thing and let me tell you — my hands never get sweaty,”

“But I really enjoy doing the shop’s things.”

Jake tilted his head to the side, his eyes twinkling beneath the yellow lamps. He seemed more like himself than he had during the whole afternoon and oh — oh, how much you liked him like this. “I am glad to know, Baby.”

Sunsets at Seogwipo were perhaps the prettiest thing you had ever seen. When the sun dipped into the sea, the skies aquired a tone so vivid, it felt as if the town itself wanted to hold the light a moment longer than anywhere else in the world. And although Jake had told you that mid-July was supposed to bring the rainy season to the island, Saturday’s sunset was no different. Bold strips of light bathed the living room as you made your way to his bedroom.

Jake’s door was ajar, but he didn’t seem to notice your approach as he continued to work on the canvas in front of him. And for a moment, you remained perfectly still, simply unable to disturb the scene unfolding before you. There was something about him when he was focused — something almost ethereal. Jake could never stay much still, too restless for the world around him — he always had to gesticulate through stories, pinch the hem of his shirts in the middle of the silence or tumble his fingers, but whenever he was working on something, he seemed channeled — the act of doing art, turning into art itself. Beneath the afternoon light, the soft fabric of his well-worn linen shirt clung to the curves of his shoulders, subtly and tenderly shifting with each movement of his brushes. And you could have stayed there watching him forever if it was allowed, but he halted then, his brows furrowing as he availed something, and you forced yourself to raise your hand and knock.

“Come in,” Jake said.

You pushed the door open, quickly revealing the great mess his room was. Nothing in the house was genuinely big, but Jake managed to make his room even smaller with the amount of canvas and stacks propped against the walls. Everywhere — everywhere, there was something that showed he was an artist. Notebook stuffed with paint on the papers, stray brushes, and tint cans. Jake was sitting on the floor, curved upon his newest project, but he straightened his back against what he supposedly called a bed when you stepped in, the two mattresses sitting in the middle of the room and guarded by Jeonchae. You breathed a little harder, inhaling the smell of the paint he was using, and Jake — just Jake.

“I am about to leave,” you said, but your words came so small, you doubted Jake had heard you in the middle of the ruffle sounds that came when he stood up, stepping near to his desk and taking a piece of cloth to clean his fingers.

“Is he coming to pick you up?” he asked then, still focused on his hands.

Jake had been in a strange mood all day, but you assumed it was just the heat, settling heavily on the day and spreading with the certainty that summer had arrived. Also, there hadn’t been many customers today, which made him decide to close the shop when you said you were going to go to the house and get ready, but there was something there, lurking just behind his actions, some private distress that you couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Yes, Euntaek will be here in a few,” you said, but Jake only hummed at you.

“Don’t you want to come?” Your question caught his attention, prompting and immediately making him pause. 

“I don’t think Euntaek’s invitation extends to me, Baby.”

“But you could.”

“Do you want me to go?” he asked, finally looking at you, and to your surprise, he was smiling. It wasn’t even half of the smiles Jake tended to give you, barely curling the corner of his lips, yet — it was enough to make you feel your heart leaping inside of you, because yes — yes, you wanted him to come. You would feel so much better if he were with you. But something switched within him in the next second, the sudden smile fading once again and you swallowed your reply, taking a step closer to him as you extended a package of your favorite cookies to him.

Jake immediately extended his hand back at you, halting only when he noticed what you were giving him. 

“Are you trying to console me?” he asked.

“You have been in a strange mood the whole day, so yes,” you said, and in the heat of the moment, you turned away, already walking out of his room and into the common area.

You were surprised when you heard him following you across the living room and calling. Not Baby, but your name — your given name bending on his voice and rolling through the space between both of you. It was the first time he had ever said your name, and it caught you off guard. Not only because of the novelty of it but because no one ever said your name as Jake did — so slow and deliberate as if he wanted to taste the sound of each letter rolling through his tongue, and relish on the way he made you gasp

“Wait,” he said. “Just — just call me if you feel uncomfortable with anything, alright?”

“Actually call me even if you don’t — even if you simply want to leave. I can go pick you up — I can ask for Beomseok’s pickup if you don’t want to come back with the motorcycle, just-”

“I will,” you said. “Thank you, Jake.”

He gave a slight nod in your direction, running his fingers through his hair as if to fix it. But his efforts only seemed to further dishevel his hair. Stray strands fell across his forehead, causing you to lift your hand, the tip of your fingers brushing them back into place before you had even thought this through.

His hair was soft beneath your touch, but still somehow different from what you had expected. It was real — much real.

Jake leaned on your touch, coming closer and making his hair fall all over again, but you didn’t mind brushing them again, this time tucking it behind his pinkish ears, and it too — was very much real.

“Do you want me to walk you to his car?” he whispered.

“No, it’s alright,” you whispered back.

Your phone rang then, signaling Euntaek’s arrival, and so, you took a breath, steeling yourself to turn away one last time before making your way through the front garden and the small path between the shop, the stone wall, and into the street, your head stumbling with the deconstruction of everything that had just happened.

Euntaek stood against the rugged frame of a Jeep, the design striking with sharps and almost too aggressive contours as its sleek black exterior glistened under the remains of the afternoon sun. And honestly, every detail — from the gleam of the chrome grille to the meticulously crafted wheel rims, was exactly what you expected from Euntaek’s car to be. 

People matched their vehicles, so what was the story behind Jake and his motorcycle?

“Ready to go?” he asked.

You nodded.

┈

The bar was already full by the time you arrived, but you suspected it always was. Saturday night or any other night. It seemed to be one of those establishments downtown that locals relished because their reputation was tarnished by the fact it wasn’t on the tourist pages, or if it was — it wasn’t as a recommendation.

People milled around on the curb, chatting with their strong Jeju accent as they waited for friends.

Euntaek extended his hand in your direction as you walked past them. It took you a few seconds to notice he was offering it to you, and a few more seconds for you to accept it, allowing him to lead you through the entrance and into the bar.

The rest of his band had already arrived, spread through a rounded table together with a few girls in the center of the dimmed-lit place. Euntaek exchanged fist bumps with them, telling you names and statuses you couldn’t truly hear beneath the furor of the place but you pretended that you did.

Jinho — or at least, that was what you understood, smirked when he caught sight of Euntaek holding your hand, and immediately you felt telling him it wasn’t it.

One hour in the car with Euntaek had offered you enough to understand him. He wasn’t interested in you — not even for a bit. And if there was something he found interesting in you it was the fact that you came from outside the island. 

He was flirtatious, yes, but it was as if he wanted to prove something — be something.

Euntaek had dreams too big for someone born on the island. He wanted to go to Seoul, not as on the fast trip he had with his parents a few years back or his graduation trip, but to stay there, get casted on a big company and live by his music because that was what he liked to do — just like Jake and his pottery shop. Dreams that didn’t fit the expectations and you couldn’t seriously come to hate on Choi Euntaek after this.

Actually, looking at him there, underneath the flickering lights you got yourself wondering how Jake had been in his early youth years. Had the motorcycle come at that time? A little rebellious act because he needed to prove something to the world? You really wanted to ask him.

You really wanted him here right now.

Euntaek pulled a chair for you, finally letting go of your hand as he reached for the breast pocket of his jacket and took a single cigarette out of its box, lighting it up with no ado despite the closed place.

“It’s bad for your health,” you blurted out, the words somehow slipping out of your mouth, smooth and sharp, if not accented, and quickly causing a laugh to stir from him. Euntaek took the cigarette away from his mouth, considering the small thing between his fingers before he pressed it against the table. The flame extinguished immediately, but the smell remained.

“Just because I am with you tonight, Baby,” he replied, immediately making you stop at the nickname. “I have been meaning to ask, I noticed it’s how your brother calls you-”

“My brother?” You cut him out. Although Jongseong did call you Baby you couldn’t imagine how Euntaek would come to know.

The crowd cheered as a band took the stage, and Euntaek whistled as if you hadn’t said anything, but as the vocalist introduced the band, he turned to you again. “Jake’s your brother, isn’t he?” he asked.

“No,” you said. Perhaps it had been the speed at which you denied it, perhaps it had been the vexation, but you could swear the smirk on his face faltered, dropping to an unsure smile.

“So what are you?” he asked. “I had my doubts considering how you had arrived, but grandma was pretty convinced that you were siblings.”

“We are-” you started, not sure what the rest of the phrase should be. Jake was still your brother’s best friend, and maybe he would always be, the years only turning their friendship unbreakable, but you had already scratched this sole connection after the market, knowing it was too unkind to keep your relationship through a third party. You had shared every breakfast ever since you arrived in Seogwipo, spent every afternoon together, and then dinner, but the word friend didn’t come as easily as you expected it would.

“We-” you started again, being mercifully saved by the arrival of another girl. Arin. That time you had heard for sure as she had shouted it against your ear, the reverberation of it making your ear sting. She knew everyone there, or at least, that was what you thought. When she hugged you, it held the same intimacy she had with everyone around the table — as if she were a long-lost friend from your childhood — like maybe once upon a time, she had held your hand as you played tag with the other children at your parents’ attorney gatherings.

And perhaps that’s why when one of Euntaek’s bandmates said something in his ear, immediately making him stand up and yell for her to take care of you, you didn’t really think anything.

You didn’t really think anything when she told you she was going to grab a drink for both of you. You just watched as she stood up, making her way to the bar at the farthest end of the room, an array of colorful bottles lining the shelves behind the bartender giving her a nod as she approached.

“So you are the Seoul girl?” The girl beside Arin’s vague chair shouted, immediately bringing your attention back to the table. You didn’t think she meant to be ambiguous, but her question made you halt, the lack of practice of talking with strangers taking the best of you once again, and it almost surprised you — Jake always made you feel so comfortable that you nearly forgot how awkward you were with strangers. Perhaps you were, perhaps you weren’t the Seoul girl. It was quite difficult to tell as you imagined Seoul had a lot of girls, and a lot of girls who were wandering through Jeju during the Summer meeting them, but you nodded at her nevertheless, receiving a mere cool as a reply. And before you could do anything to save the conversation, Arin had already returned with a shot. The small glass filled with an unfamiliar liquid and something white dissolving at the bottom.

“It’s a shot, drink it in one go,” she instructed as she handed it to you. You did as she said. At first it tasted sweet, and with a faint burn of tequila, but then the world began to distort a little at its edges, and by the time you placed the cup back onto the table, everything had already gone softer.

The bar erupted in cheers as another song picked up, but you couldn’t come to raise your head at it.

It’s not like you have never had alcohol in your whole life — you did. Sipping your mother’s martinis before it was even legal. Taking Jongseong’s champagne crystal flutes at parties and pretending it was ginger ale until your legal age came and you could order it yourself from the counter bars. You weren’t a stranger to the taste of alcohol on your tongue. So you couldn’t understand why your senses seemed so slow and the world so blunted around you. Your mind seemed too full, too empty, too askew.

In the middle of the bar, the colorful lights flickered and faded, immediately making you dizzy.

“I think- I think I need to go to the restroom,” you said. 

The girl beside Arin glanced up at you, her light expression shifting to immediate concern as she caught sight of you.

“It’s on the second floor! Third door!” she called out, gesturing towards a winding staircase in the corner of the room.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, not sure if she had heard you over the pounding music, but you were already moving, walking towards the staircase and gripping onto the railing until your knuckles had become white. The steps seemed to shift and sway as you approached, the lights casting odd shadows, and making it hard for you to judge their distances.

You tripped as a guy bumped into your shoulders on his way down, his laugh reaching your ears too muffled despite his closeness.

“Someone might have had too much,” he said, but you didn’t. You knew you didn’t.

God, what was this?

You forced yourself to climb the last steps and move forward into the second floor, the tip of your fingers skimming against the wall for balance, until you had reached the third door.

Mercifully, the restroom was empty, allowing you to close the door behind you and lock it.

For several long minutes, nothing happened as you stood alone in the dimly lit room. Your hands trembled against the slick surface of the sink as you leaned in. The coolness of it contrasted sharply with the heat suddenly radiating from your skin, and you tried to use it to calm yourself down, but the chaos outside continued unabated, echoing off the walls, and the desperation took you over as you sank onto the black tiled floor, pulling your knees tightly to your chest.

Then you reached for your phone.

┈

Jake woke up in the middle of the night to find the living room lights still on and his phone ringing.

He had fallen asleep on the couch, Jeonchae nestled in his arms as he waited — although he wouldn’t admit this last part willingly.

He fumbled through the cushions, quickly finding the device as an unsaved number shone for him. The ID came from Seoul, and he didn’t need to think much about it to know it was you.

“Baby?” he tried.

“Jake,” you whispered. Your voice came small from the other end of the line, not quite like yourself. And the muted echo of a song almost swallowed your following words. “I am scared.”

And it was enough to make him wobble, his heart tumbling inside of him, each wall collapsing individually, and crushing the one before it.

“Baby, send me your location, can you? I will be there in a few, alright?” he asked, and you hummed, hanging up so softly he took a few seconds to notice that you did, but he was already slipping through his front door, running through the street until he reached the small house Beomseok resided in. He jumped the stairs to the old man’s door, slamming it a dozen times, and then a dozen more before he could properly think about it.

“Jaeyun, son,” Beomseok exhaled as he opened the door. “Are you alright?”

“I am sorry,” Jake said. “But I need your pickup. Baby- I mean-”

“Your girlfriend?” the old man asked.

“Yes, my- my girl-” Jake mumbled, and he was thankful that the man didn’t inquire anything more before he reached for his entrance table, taking the vehicle’s key and extending it to Jake.

“Do you want me to come?”

“No, it’s alright. Thank you.”

┈

This part of the island seemed to live in a completely different reality. As the rest of Jeju fell on a sleeping slumber, here it was still blaring with life. The curb outside the bar had been taken by a consistent line of cars, streetlights reflecting on their hoods and leaving not a single space for Jake.

He stopped in the middle of the street — pretty much sure it was the third infraction of the night, hauling the parking brake, and already throwing the door open.

Jake hadn’t been inside somewhere so noisy ever since his university time, and as he passed the doors, it immediately struck him — the smell of alcohol and damp skin, the smoky air that only could mean cigarettes and things that were illegal in Korea.

He looked around, only once searching for Euntaek, but in the absence of the lanky, and unnervingly annoying guy, he turned to a stranger closer by.

“Where’s the restroom here?” Jake asked. But the stranger merely stared at him, the alcohol making him take a little bit too long to comprehend anything, and Jake had to control himself to not reach for him, shaking his head in order to bring him back to his senses.

“Oh, it’s the third door on the second floor-”

Jake stepped past him, already rushing through the staircase, and into the corridor — stopping only when he arrived at the restroom door and tried the knob. It was locked.

“Baby?” he shouted. “It’s me, Jake.”

A breath shuddered out of you, almost sounding like Jake’s name, a small call that you weren’t sure if you intended to release as you reached for the lock and turned it, allowing him inside the restroom.

Jake was mad, and you could see it. As he kneeled in front of you, the muscles of his jaw clenched, a small twitch that didn’t really fit his soft face being carved into his skin. Yet he didn’t allow that anger to take over his tone. When he called your name, it still held that same slowness and deliberate softness he had reserved only for you.

“I am scared,” you whispered then. “We can’t go to the hospital. I don’t know what it is, but I am sure it is illegal in Korea and—” you stopped, trying to regroup your intoxicated thoughts. But everything was a distant blur still, your mind just too slow for anything. 

“Baby,” Jake called, almost as gently as how he reached for you, his fingers curling around yours, holding your trembling hand and bringing it to his cheek. “It’s alright, I will take care of you.”

“I promise,” he whispered.

“I am sorry,” you said, but Jake just smiled at you, that one broad and reassuring smile.

“It’s fine — let’s go home.”

Jake had said this exact phrase a good amount of times already: as his fingers reached for the keys of his motorcycle at the exit of the market, at the exit of the pet shop where you went to buy Jeonchae’s food on Wednesday, and as he dropped the shop’s apron after a particularly busy day. But there was something in the way he had said it tonight, so softly and full of protection, that home didn’t sound like a synonym for a house — for the place where you both have been sharing through the past week — but somewhere else, somewhere greater, and it ached within you.

You were safe. You were safe with him.

You hadn’t really thought of crying — perhaps the anguish of the whole situation stole you from the most common reaction, but the moment Jake kissed the inside of your wrist, it was as if he had broken that thin thread you had kept to prevent yourself from breaking, and tears flowed through your eyes as if they would never stop.

Jake didn’t need to ask you to hold him, you did it as soon as he curled his arms around you. One on your back, the other supporting the back of your legs as he lifted you. And all at once, the full weight of your body in his arms disconcerted him — not because it was too much — but exactly because it wasn’t. You had been taking up so much space in his world, that it was hard for him to believe he could simply hold you like this.

When he reached the main floor and the flickering lights pummeled you once again, you pushed your face further into his neck. The scent of clay was gone, replaced by the faint smell of the flowery soap bar he kept in the bathroom and oranges, but it still lingered in with such familiarity in your lungs that you couldn’t help but close your eyes, breathing him in again.

Jake carried you out of the bar and into the warm summer night. The stars hung so low in the sky that you couldn’t really tell if it was too late or too early as he gently placed you in the passenger seat of Beomseok’s pickup and bent down, shouldering his jacket off to drape around your body.

“Baby,” Jake called, but you were already curling yourself on his jacket, closing your eyes to relish the warmth of it. “Babe, please, I need you to look at me — just for a second, alright?” he asked, cupping your face. His fingers spread warmly against your wet cheeks, angling you to him. And when you looked at him, you knew he was seeing exactly what you did in the restroom mirror: your pupils a bit wider, dazed, and it shuddered a breath out of him, concern spreading through all of his features before his jaw tightened once again. “Has anyone tried to touch you?”

“No — it was that girl, Arin,” you said. “I should have known, I saw something on the bottom of the glass, Jake, I—”

“Hey — it’s alright. You couldn’t know,” he said. “You couldn’t know, Baby. Let’s just go back home.”

He closed the door gently before walking around to the driver’s side, every movement meticulous and deliberate, as if afraid the world might shatter around him if he wasn’t careful enough.

The city slid beyond the pickup’s window as Jake drove away, but you didn’t turn your head — didn’t watch how the moon streamed through the fields of green tea, rather you watched as the street lights caught on Jake’s hair, turning the dark strands into copper — the same strands that you had pushed your fingers through this afternoon. Your heart fluttered inside of your chest with the memory, its rapid heartbeats thumping against your ribs and making you look away when Jake glanced at you, averting your gaze to the city outside, and scrambling for something — anything — to say that could distract both of you. 

“I should message Euntaek,” you whispered then, already reaching for your phone. “I haven’t told him I left-” but your fingers felt clumsy as you tried to unlock the screen, the device slipping within your trembling hands just as it did in the restroom, but this time, Jake reached for you, taking it as he used his free hand to pull the pickup. 

“I will do it,” he said.

You looked at him, lips already parting into the retort you intended to give, but the words slurred as a wave of nausea hit you, the world spinning faster than before, and making your stomach churn violently inside of you.

You fumbled with the door handle, nearly falling out of the car as it swung open, stumbling a few steps away from Beomseok’s pickup and barely making it to the curb before you doubled over, the contents of your stomach emptying onto the pavement.

It would have been the most embarrassing moment of your life if Jake had done anything but reach for your hair as he followed you to the curb, gathering the strands in his hand as he held them back. 

“At the very least — the effect of the drug will pass soon,” he said.

Maybe it had been the remains of the alcohol still in your system, perhaps it had been the drug still having an effect on you, or perhaps it simply had been Jake, and his presence — always making everything easier for you, but you laughed then, so cheerfully — the sound surprised even you.

“I am never again stepping into a bar,” you whispered, closing your eyes. The breeze brushed through your face so nicely, you couldn’t help but raise your head to the sky, parting your lips in contentment. 

“Traumatic first time, right?” Jake asked, and you didn’t need to open your eyes to know, he was smiling back at you.

“Yes.”

“I will take you another night,” he resolved. “Let’s forget this first time, pretend it didn’t happen. I will give you a better memory.”

The breeze seemed to halt altogether with you, the air suddenly too still and allowing you to notice how you ached at his words, a sharp twinge that started at your chest and spread to your throat, tightening there and almost bringing you to tears once again. Jake had done so much for you — more than you had ever asked for or expected — from allowing you to stay in his modest two-bedroom house with its mismatched furniture to sitting beside you underneath the stars and listening to your deepest fears with unwavering patience, and this. The weight of his kindness pressed against you like a physical force and you couldn’t help but feel ashamed.

Your whole life you had been avoiding being a hardship to the people around you, but here you were.

“I am so sorry,” you said. “I have been giving you a lot of trouble.”

“No, you are not — I mean, I don’t mind, not if it’s you,” he replied.

You opened your eyes, all at once encountering his gaze underneath the streetlights, and it was so soft and bright, that one dazzling burst that made everything inside of you loosen, and you couldn’t understand how he was able to do this every time — you couldn’t understand how Jake made everything so alright.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” you said.

“I told you I would, Baby,” Jake replied.

┈

You couldn’t reckon when you had fallen asleep. Between sitting back at the passenger seat of Beomseok’s pickup, curling yourself on Jake’s jacket, and the ride, you couldn’t reckon when you had fallen asleep. But by the time you had recovered a bit of your senses, Jake was gently laying you on the bed, a faint light filtering through the curtains of his grandparents’ old bedroom and giving you just enough to see him bending on a knee by your side. 

“Jake?”

“Yes, Baby?”

“When did you buy the motorcycle?” you asked.

“What a sudden question.”

“I have been wanting to ask you the whole night.”

“The whole night?” he echoed. You weren’t surprised by his reaction — you had seen it coming. What surprised you was how tightened his voice sounded, how serious. And maybe that had been what made you hum in reply, immediately and all at once not caring about the implications — the subtle sense that you had been thinking about him the whole night.

“Back when I passed the university exam,” he admitted then. 

“A little rebellious act?”

“Well, some people run away to islands, some people buy fancy motorcycles with their father’s money to irritate him.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his callout, the small sound escaping despite your exhaustion. And Jake smiled in response, perhaps too proudly as he reached for you, his hand hovering over your face for a brief second, before he took a strand of your hair and brushed it away from your cheeks.

“Jake?”

“Hm?”

“Stay here.” It took him a long time to make sense of your request, and when he did, the surprise kept him from moving for another moment before finally, he nodded at you. 

You watched Jake glance around the room, his eyes searching for what the crochet blanket at the foot of your bed seemed to provide as he reached for it, carefully unfolding the fabric and spreading it on the floor. He lay down on it, one arm tucked beneath his head, as the other kept extending in your direction.

Neither of you moved for what felt like an eternity — not even a twitch. But then you reached for his hand, and Jake inhaled sharply, his breath so close to getting lodged inside of his chest that once again, you caught yourself wondering if you had gone too far — your body reacting to Jake before your own mind did, but before you could retreat, his fingers curled around yours and he shifted onto the blanket, maneuvering closer to you. 

“Have some sleep,” he whispered. “I will be here.”

You were not sure how long you both stayed like this, but you had fallen asleep before he did — his light and watchful breaths lulling and stealing you from the moment he brought your hand closer to him, pressing it against his lips as his gaze never failed to linger on you.

The world had turned darker with the passing hours, and whatever remained of the light seemed to now race towards you — the rose and gold of the stars and street lights filtering through the curtains, and softly painting your form. It had been years, but Jake finally understood what a professor once had said, beauty was rarely soft or consolatory, it was quite alarming. He could feel his pulse jumping at his neck, the bare image of you stirring and awakening something inside of him.

“Baby?” Jake called. “Is it ok if I fall in love with you? — You do not see me as a brother, do you?”

hello, my loves! ₊˚ ⊹ thank you so much for reading until here! i hope i haven’t tired you guys down yet cause as you can see, jake and his baby have barely started their romance journey and there is a lot more to come (including their first time, and the second, the third — and well… i know many of you are looking forward to the smutty lmao) but anyway! thank you once again for staying with me until here! see you in the next part :)

(♡) special thanks to Remi & Rin for the amazing support on the behind-the-scenes once again. this story would never be reposted if it weren’t for the both of you!

[en-ternity]

when r u planning to release your pottery fic? 🥹 no pressure just wanted to have an idea I can’t wait! 🙈🙈🙈

anonie, come closer, i will whisper it for you: the first part will be out on july 5th, 12pm (kst) 🤫

it’s already ready to be posted and i am itching to do so, but because i used to rush everything in my past account and it always brought me a lot of regret, i am trying to stay calm and ✨meditate✨ around it lmao but please, wait for me! ♥️

and don’t worry! i am actually happy to know you are excited for it 🤧

[en-ternity]

new theme is so cute !!!!!!

thank you! 🥹 i love this Go Younjung photoshoot so much (actually, all her photoshoots for Elle are so beautiful!) that i couldn’t help but change once i found the pictures on my phone last night! it’s the first time i am with a non-related enha theme so i was a bit unsure lmao but it’s so nice knowing that you liked it ♥️

[en-ternity]

pretty hee