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the grass is still damp from the morning rain, but the blanket keeps them dry, a faded patchwork quilt that leehan brought from her mother’s house. it smells faintly of detergent and years of sun burnt into the fabric. overhead, the branches rattle softly, leaves catching the light and breaking it into shards that dance across sungho’s knees. she lies with her head in leehan’s lap, eyes half-closed, listening to the uneven rhythm of her own breath and the careful, not-so-careful tug of the fingers that thread through her hair.
leehan hums absently, something without melody. her fingers twist a little too tightly in a tangle, and sungho winces before she can hide it.
“ow—yah, careful. you’re going to pull it all out.” her tone is more petulant than she means, but leehan only laughs.
“sorry. your hair’s just a little…um, crispy?” she says it gently, but sungho groans and buries her face in her arm.
“it’s not crispy, it’s just—” she pauses, searching for a word less embarrassing than dead. “—it’s adjusting. i think.”
leehan’s touch immediately softens, thumb stroking the back of sungho’s neck, just below the hairline.
“it looks beautiful, unnie.” she combs through another section with her fingers, more careful now. “plus, it matches mine. it’s like we’re in a secret club.”
sungho rolls her eyes, but the words lodge somewhere in her chest and bloom. it had felt reckless, bleaching her hair; even now, she sometimes startles at her own reflection. but leehan had grinned so wide when she saw it, palms pressed to her cheeks, already planning for matching barrettes and photos with their heads pressed together.
a breeze stirs, sharp and sudden, making sungho squint against the shifting sun. before she can move, leehan’s hand comes up, shading her eyes with her palm.
“hold still,” she murmurs, grinning. “the sun’s jealous today.”
for a moment, everything pauses—the hush of leaves, the warmth of leehan’s palm, the way sunlight slants across the edge of her vision. sungho lets herself settle into the feeling, into the smallness and softness of being cared for. she reaches up without thinking, her own hand closing around leehan’s wrist, anchoring her there.
“thank you,” she says quietly, the words heavier than they should be.
leehan just smiles, thumb tracing circles into sungho’s temple, as if she could smooth away every sharp edge. “of course, unnie. always.”
it isn’t long before sungho feels another tug a little too hard and opens her eyes just enough to see leehan’s lips pursed in concentration, lower lip between her teeth like she’s threading a needle as she works a flower into the strands. it’s so familiar she almost laughs, but she just lets the moment linger, letting herself be doted on.
leehan has always been like this: eager, tactile, a little clumsy when she wants something.
some days she still startles at how easy leehan makes everything feel—how boldly she insists on being loved, how shamelessly she asks for what she needs.
something about it makes her think again of the first time they’d kissed: a sleepover, a lazy tangle of limbs and all familiar people.
everyone else had already fallen asleep, breaths slow and even in the hush of leehan’s childhood bedroom. they lay side by side, sharing a pillow. they’d been friends for so long.
sungho could feel the warmth of leehan’s breath, the brush of her fingers tracing idle shapes on the back of sungho’s hand—casual, almost careless, but never truly so.
it’s something sungho admires and envies all at once—how leehan can claim space, can reach for what she wants without apology. how she’s never hesitant with her affection, never holds back. even before they were together, it was leehan who leaned in first, her whisper barely there: “can i kiss you?”
sungho had nodded, too shy to say anything, and leehan just did.
leehan’s hand was cold from where being outside of the blanket in the deep of winter, but her mouth had been soft, almost trembling, when she pressed it to sungho’s. sungho remembers being too stiff at first, unsure where to put her hands, heart racing for all the wrong reasons. leehan had only laughed, not unkind.
“you don’t have to be so careful,” she’d whispered, breath tinged with the sweetness of too much sugar before bed. “i really like you, unnie.”
the memory softens inside her chest, turns warm and fizzy, like cider left out in the sun. she thinks maybe she would have said yes to anything leehan asked, even then.
after, leehan had kept her arms wrapped tight, refusing to let go, her cheek pressed against sungho’s shoulder. even now, she always hugs her first, always holds her the longest. if sungho’s distracted, leehan pouts until she gets her fill, winding around sungho like a vine in need of sunlight. and sungho has always let herself lean into it, always finds herself laughing a little easier, breathing a little steadier, when leehan is close.
the blanket beneath them is rough but sungho lets herself melt into it, lets herself lean back into leehan’s lap. she likes the way leehan fusses over her—brushing her hair, tucking stray strands behind her ear, wrapping her arms around sungho’s waist and refusing to let go. she likes being someone leehan is so unafraid to love.
sungho feels a smile tug at her lips as leehan shifts behind her, adjusting so she can lean slightly over sungho’s head, casting a shadow as blonde curls dangle around her face.
“unnie, are you listening to me?” leehan whines, nudging her. “you keep zoning out. are you bored?”
sungho laughs, low and fond. “i’m not bored. i was just thinking.”
“about what?”
“about you, leehannie,” sungho admits, and she can feel the satisfaction radiate through leehan’s whole body, the way her hands tighten around sungho’s shoulders, possessive and delighted.
“what about me?” leehan asks, voice soft and curious.
“that i love you today.”
leehan pouts. it’s performative, but it’s cute. “only today?”
“and every day,” sungho teases, reaching up to squeeze leehan’s hand where it rests on her collarbone. leehan melts into the touch, humming contentedly.
sometimes it’s strange, sungho thinks, to be claimed so eagerly, so publicly. but with leehan, love never feels like a test. it’s as easy as sunlight through leaves, as simple as wanting to be seen and letting herself be seen in return.
leehan’s fingers slow, sifting through the ends of her hair with a care that’s almost absentminded.
sungho lets herself drift, the weight of the day dissolving in the hush of summer. sunlight pools hot and buttery across the blanket, but when she turns, pressing her face into leehan’s thigh, she realizes it’s leehan’s warmth she likes best—softer than the sun, sweeter, too, the kind that seeps into her skin and lingers there even when she pulls away.
leehan startles at the movement, hand pausing mid-stroke. “unnie,” she laughs, voice adoring, “you’re so clingy today.”
sungho mumbles something that’s not quite an answer, her cheek smushed against the cotton of leehan’s skirt, eyes shut. she thinks she could stay like this forever, the world pared down to just the sound of leaves and the rise and fall of leehan’s breath.
leehan’s hand hovers, then settles carefully on the curve of sungho’s shoulder, thumb tracing the faint line of her collarbone. “will you sit up?” she asks softly, and sungho can hear the smile there, warm as the summer breeze. “come closer.”
sungho shifts, reluctant but willing, propping herself up and letting leehan pull her in until their faces are close, knees brushing. leehan’s eyes are full of sunlight, wide and a little shy, but her fingers stay confident, drawing slow circles against the back of sungho’s hand.
“kiss me?” leehan says, and it isn’t really a question—more a quiet plea, the kind sungho has never been able to resist.
so she does. she leans in, slow and steady, lets their noses brush for a breath. leehan smells like tea and grass—like the summer itself, if summer had a heart. sungho brushes her lips to leehan’s, gentle and unhurried, feeling the smile that blooms there, the way leehan’s fingers tighten in delight.
for a moment, there’s nothing but the warmth between them—the sun, the blanket, the hush of the world, and the steady pulse of leehan’s affection. sungho pulls back only when she’s forced to, and leehan chases after her, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, greedy and bright.
her lips still brush sungho’s cheek, but her hands are bolder—she catches sungho’s wrist and guides it up, just a little, so sungho’s palm rests high on the bare warmth of her thigh beneath the loose edge of her skirt. the heat there is different from the sun, concentrated and deliberate. sungho feels the pulse beneath her fingers, a flutter that seems to echo inside her own chest.
there’s a hunger to leehan, always—an appetite for closeness that presses right up against the edges of her skin.
it’s not just physical, though that’s part of it; it’s the way she always wants more, more of sungho’s attention, more touch, more words, as if love is something she could gorge herself on and never get full. sometimes sungho thinks of it as a summer fruit, split open and spilling everywhere—sweet, uncontainable, staining her hands and leaving her sticky with want.
today, that hunger hangs between them, thick as honey.
leehan’s knees part, inviting, her eyes wide and a little desperate, as if she’d crawl right inside sungho’s ribcage if she could.
she’s always been this way, but lately, sungho finds herself matching it—mirroring leehan’s longing, letting it shape her, like sunlight bleaching everything gold. her need for leehan is a new, wild ache, rooted deep and spreading. she wonders if the bleach in her hair is just the visible part of a bigger transformation, something that started inside and worked its way out, hunger turning her bones soft, turning her hands bold.
“unnie, please,” leehan whispers, her voice rough at the edges, the word almost breaking in the middle. “kiss me for real.”
sungho wants to give in. the want in her is bright and hot, echoing leehan’s. but she just laughs, low and breathless, slipping her hand away—slow enough that leehan feels every second of it.
“don’t be greedy,” she teases, thumb tracing lazy circles against leehan’s thigh. “we’re still in public, leehan-ah.”
leehan huffs, frustrated and longing all at once, her eyes shining with the same ache sungho feels inside herself. “you get so shy,” she accuses, petulant, but there’s joy simmering beneath it. “i think it’s okay.”
sungho feels the heat rise in her cheeks, but she’s already retreating, gently drawing her hand away from where leehan has guided it. she tucks a stray strand of hair behind leehan’s ear, the gesture tender.
she leans in, presses a gentle kiss to the edge of leehan’s jaw, letting the warmth of it linger.
“i love you, honey,” she says instead, and for a moment, it’s hard to tell where leehan’s hunger ends and her own begins. the words hold all of the want in the universe. “you don’t have to feel like we’re running out of time.”
part of it is for leehan, but part of it is for herself, a lesson she keeps relearning: that to be loved isn’t a race against the clock, that what they have isn’t something she has to spend frantically before it disappears. she’s beginning to believe it, that love is not a debt to time, but something she can hold, nurture, and be nurtured by—for as long as she’s willing. and she will be, always.
leehan sighs dramatically, letting her head flop back onto the blanket, hair fanning out like sunlight, but her hand finds sungho’s again, fingers twining stubbornly. “i love you, too,” she whispers, and it’s as sweet and insistent as anything she’s ever said.
sungho smiles, warmth swelling in her chest, and gently folds over to lay beside leehan, their shoulders pressed close, both facing the wide sky. for a moment, she just breathes—the air, the hush, the quiet joy of nearness. when she glances down, she can see their hair spread together over the blanket, twin rivers of pale strands, indistinguishable in the sunlight. the color blurs where hers meets leehan’s, and she marvels at how, after all this time, it’s become so easy to forget where she ends and leehan begins. the summer light pools around them, gilding every stray strand and every stretch of sun-warmed skin.
they stay tangled together, their longing spilling over the blanket and pooling in the grass, golden and endless as summer itself. sungho thinks she could live here forever—undone and wholly loved.