Work Text:
The soft, warm aesthetic of Sua and Mizi’s Seoul apartment was a masterpiece of domestic bliss. Vine plants draped elegantly over bookshelves, the scent of freshly ground dark roast coffee permanently clung to the curtains, and the walls were adorned with neatly arranged polaroids.
To any outsider, Sua was the definition of an elegant, collected wife. As a high-profile corporate lawyer, she was celebrated globally for her icy poise, sharp intellect, and unshakable composure in the courtroom.
Currently, Sua sat at the dining table in a crisp, tailored blouse, gracefully sipping her morning tea while reviewing a legal brief. Across the kitchen island, her wife was packing a canvas tote bag for work. Mizi, a beloved local café barista, was a whirlwind of bright energy. Her vibrant pink hair was tied back in a messy bun, her apron was already dusted with a faint trace of pastry flour, and she was humming a cheerful indie tune under her breath.
Sua’s heart swelled, her lips curving into a soft, private smile.
Mizi never had to know about the printer paper.
Years ago, in the strict, upscale environment of an international boarding school, fourteen-year-old Sua had possessed absolutely zero chill. Her secret adoration for the bright, bubbly Korean girl in her art class had consumed her entirely. Sua, usually a strict rule-follower, had broken into the school’s administration lab after hours, hacking the student portal just to download and print every single photo of Mizi available.
Sua’s middle school dorm room had been a highly classified sanctuary. Crisp A4 sheets of Mizi smiling, Mizi laughing with friends, and Mizi sleeping during study hall were taped securely to the inside of her wardrobe doors, tucked under her mattress, and lined up meticulously on her bedroom wall.
But the deepest secret—the one Sua intended to take to her grave—was the practice.
Fourteen-year-old Sua used to lock her dorm door, pull out a specific printed picture of a beaming Mizi, and tape it at eye level on her closet door. She knew Mizi was a romantic at heart, someone who deserved a love story straight out of a classic novel. Sua couldn't just give her a clumsy, awkward teenage kiss. It had to be breathtaking.
So, Sua practiced. She stood before the paper, tilting her head precisely twenty-five degrees to the right to ensure their noses wouldn't bump. She practiced the exact speed of her approach, ensuring it was slow enough to be romantic but confident enough to steal Mizi's breath away. She would gently place her fingertips against the cold wood of the door, framing the paper face, and whisper soft, poetic Russian endearments to the drywall before closing her eyes and making contact.
“Ty moya vselennaya,” a teenage Sua had whispered to the empty room, rehearsing the perfect cadence. She had trained for a future kiss with the rigorous discipline of a seasoned litigator preparing a closing argument.
"Sua? Earth to my pretty lawyer."
A brightly colored hair tie bounced off Sua’s legal brief, breaking her trance. Mizi was leaning over the table, her big brown eyes wide with fond amusement. "You're staring again. What's going on in that brilliant head of yours, lyubimaya (my beloved)?"
Sua caught the hair tie, her cool exterior melting into a warm, effortless smile. "Nothing, lapochka (my sweet pie). Just admiring how beautiful you look today."
Mizi’s cheeks immediately flushed a pretty, rose-pink. Even after years of marriage, Sua’s smooth compliments still easily unraveled her. She walked around the table, leaning her hips against the edge right next to Sua's chair. "You're extra affectionate today. Not that I'm complaining."
Sua stood up, smoothly stepping into Mizi’s personal space. The familiar height difference worked perfectly in her favor.
Instinct took over—an instinct perfected by years of secret, calculated geometry against a middle school closet door.
Sua tilted her head precisely twenty-five degrees. She slid her long, elegant fingers up to gently cup Mizi’s jawline, her thumb resting just under Mizi’s ear to anchor her comfortably. With flawless, practiced grace, she leaned down and closed the distance.
She kissed Mizi deeply, thoroughly, and with a tender, poetic intensity that made the room spin. It was an iconic, picture-perfect kiss, executed with absolute, terrifying precision.
It left the bubbly barista completely breathless, her hands clutching Sua’s waist for support as her heart hammered wildly against her ribs.
When Sua finally pulled back, Mizi’s eyes were dazed and glassy, her lips parted and pink.
"Wow," Mizi breathed out, her voice a flustered whisper as she tried to regain her balance. "You... you are always way too good at that. It’s like you practiced in a lab or something. It's unfair."
Sua let out a soft, low chuckle, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to Mizi’s forehead. "Just natural talent, zvezdochka (my little star). Just natural talent."
Mizi huffed, hiding her burning face in Sua’s shoulder, giggling softly.
Sua smiled, completely self-satisfied, basking in the glory of her lifelong secret. She felt entirely safe knowing that Mizi would never, ever find out about her embarrassing middle school obsession.
Alas, only if she knew.
Buried deep in the very bottom of Mizi’s canvas tote bag, tucked safely inside a locked zip-compartment of her old school journal, sat a heavily creased, printer-ink-scented A4 piece of paper. It was a pixelated photo of a fourteen-year-old, straight-faced Sua reading a book in the library.
The edges of the paper were worn thin, but the most glaring detail was the center of Sua's printed face. It was entirely covered in overlapping, slightly faded stains of bright pink lipstick.
A teenage Mizi had spent her own middle school nights locking her bedroom door, applying her brightest lip balm, and holding the paper up to her face. She would tilt her head twenty-five degrees to the left, squeezing her eyes shut, and press enthusiastic, messy lipstick kisses all over her cold, elegant crush's face, practicing how to be the perfect, romantic partner for the girl of her dreams.
Neither of them would ever say a word, both entirely convinced they were the masterminds of their own flawless romance.