Work Text:
Ja-gyeong wakes up to an empty bed to his right. The alarm clock on the bedside table—her bedside table—tells him it's barely past five-thirty in the morning, a little too early for Mi-jeong to be up already. The alarm clock is hers too, a welcome addition to his previously silent and pitch black bedroom. She said she needed it, said that her phone alarm wasn't loud enough to wake her now that the bed she slept in was much warmer and more inviting than what she was used to.
(He always forgot to turn it off when she didn't sleep over at his place. At first, it was annoying, but he eventually grew to like the reminder that they were together at the same point in time, that as long as the sun rose, their days would begin with each other, even if they weren't together.)
He reaches out his arm to the right. It's not that cold yet. Hasn't been gone for long. Sits up, checks the crack under the bathroom door. There's light. Okay.
Ja-gyeong lies back down and sighs, body slowly warming up to wakefulness, mind eventually catching up. Mi-jeong's been waking up at odd times for the past week, at least when she stays with him for the night. But… it's never occurred to him that she could have just left him. Not for a moment. The security washes over Ja-gyeong like a weighted blanket, anchoring him to this bed.
She'll be back soon. He'll have to keep the bed warm until then.
———
The alarm goes off at six-thirty AM, as it always does. Ja-gyeong groans and reaches out to tell Mi-jeong to turn it off, but his hands meet cold sheets. This time, his spine stiffens and lifts him up, groggy and disoriented. He crawls across the bed to shut the damn alarm off.
Ja-gyeong glances at the bathroom door. The light's still on. Lightly stretching as he goes, he knocks on the door and waits for Mi-jeong to make some sort of sound. "You okay in there?" he asks.
Mi-jeong takes a few seconds to respond. "Yeah," she responds, voice weary even through the bathroom door. "Might take a little longer though. Sorry."
"It's fine." Ja-gyeong traces the edge of the doorknob with a finger, waiting for another response. Nothing. He sighs and walks out to the kitchen, where their dirty dishes from last night are waiting for him in the sink.
Another sigh. He's gotten good at keeping chores in check, but last night was a mess. A relatively early (but still late) night at the club, then Mi-jeong came over suddenly, saying they hadn't had dinner together for a while and she was willing to wait for him to get home. By the time he did and they were able to eat, it had been way too late to talk or do anything but sleep.
(Arm under her head, her hand on his waist, his nose buried in her hair— a near-nightly fixture that has kept Ja-gyeong's soul aflame, bursting at the seams with the warmth he receives from Mi-jeong's little kisses on his neck as she falls asleep.)
Ja-gyeong turns the faucet off and looks back at the bedroom door, waiting for some sign that Mi-jeong's out. Nothing, still.
He sighs loudly and walks to the fridge, stocked full with side dishes that Mi-jeong made herself. It's the most obvious change in his home— along with the notable lack of bottles lining the walls. He picks out a few and serves them in smaller dishes. Sees a container of leftover rice, reheats it, and serves each of them a bowl. Takes two eggs and fries them, a little too crispy on the edges for anyone's tastes— but Mi-jeong has never complained about his cooking.
Ja-gyeong waits. The food's getting cold, but he'll wait.
She emerges from the bedroom, freshly showered, dressed in the work clothes she brought last night. He keeps telling her that she can leave a few outfits in his closet if she wants to, but she's as stubborn as ever.
Mi-jeong avoids his eyes when she sits down across from him. He tries not to notice, but he sees how her hands shake, hears how her chopsticks strike against the side of the metal bowls repeatedly.
He waits, and waits, and waits, but he's met with nothing. He has to ask.
He clears his throat. "You took a while in there." Eyes searching for hers, he waits for her to look up. "Been like that for a while now. Everything okay?"
Mi-jeong takes a small bite, but he can see her chewing on the ends of her chopsticks— a nervous habit, he's learned to tell. She's hesitating again.
"I've… been throwing up."
Ja-gyeong chews quietly, thinking of what they've been eating recently. "Is it one of the side dishes or—"
A pause. Hand holding his utensils slowly dropping to the table. Mi-jeong in the morning, drowsy and nauseous. The nervous energy around her last night, when he was too distracted by his exhaustion to ask. (The careful redirection of his hands when they wandered a little too low on her body.)
Wait. But they— they've always used— no, there were a few times in the past few weeks, careless and rough, too swept up in the moment and in each other to stop themselves.
I'm not afraid, he thought to himself in those moments.
Neither am I, her dark eyes replied, her arms around his neck affirmed.
Then what's this? What's with the shaking of their hands, the cautious meeting of their eyes across the table? Ja-gyeong's breath is caught in his throat when he sees her tearing up, not out of joy— out of fear.
No. No, no, no, no. Not for a moment, no.
The smile escapes Ja-gyeong's lips before he can even think of stopping it. A nervous chuckle. Hands going up to his face, giving him space to catch his breath.
When he looks up again, he's beaming. The joy in his face chips away at the fear holding Mi-jeong's heart hostage, and it falls apart immediately, leaving her smiling just as brightly as him.
More nervous chuckles. Eyes that suddenly can't find the courage to meet. Hands that don't know what to do.
Ja-gyeong clears his throat, tries to pick up his chopsticks with shaky hands that betray his excitement. "Are you… are you sure?" he asks, in more ways than one.
"Later," she manages to whisper. "I'll take the test later."
Why not now? Ja-gyeong thinks of asking. His soul is jumping up and down, bursting with energy, invigorated by the image of a future that seems clearer than it has ever been before. Suddenly, staying in this limbo—balancing his night job with his day job of worshipping Mi-jeong— it's unsustainable, unacceptable. Suddenly, he's found the courage to make his way out of the dark, definitively, this time.
Breakfast continues to be a quiet affair, as it usually is. They manage to get a few more bites in (Mi-jeong more than Ja-gyeong, now that he's forcefully placing food in her bowl to keep her eating), but everything is tasteless when their minds are so far away— about nine or so months in the future.
Mi-jeong goes to work. Ja-gyeong kisses her a little longer, a lot deeper than usual, bodies swaying together as she wraps her arms around his waist, seeking stability in his firm hold. Hesitantly, he lets them go.
Later, she said. Later, they'll know.
———
The box is rattling loudly in her bag when she gets home.
He waits on the edge of the bed, hands shaking on his lap.
She emerges from the bathroom, beaming at him. It's enough of an answer.
He stands and embraces her, kisses her like he's never kissed her before. His hands on her face; one slides down to settle on her stomach, pressed in between their bodies. He can't get any words out, can't even begin to explain what he thinks, can't put into words everything he's feeling. He needs to leave, needs to settle things with his past life. He hasn't ended things yet, but he's never been more certain that he finally needs to leave it all behind— for her, for them.
She holds his face in her hands, strokes the light scar on his cheek, the stubble on his jaw, the lines of worry settling on his forehead. She smiles like the sun, like the light that's guided him here and will guide him from now on. And with a few of her words, he feels all his worries falling to the wayside, all his fears and apprehensions replaced by trust, by firm resolve:
"Spring is here."