"Hey," I say into the phone as I walk out of the office building, the crisp evening air nipping at my cheeks. "I was wondering if you're free tonight?"
There's a brief pause on the other end, and I can practically envision Yul's quizzical expression. "Uh, yeah, I don't have any plans. What did you have in mind?"
I take a deep breath, steeling my nerves. "How about we order some Chinese takeout and watch a movie at your place? Just the two of us." The words tumble out in a rush, my heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.
Another pause, this one even longer. "You're asking me on a date?" Yul's tone is laced with amusement, a hint of that dry humor I've been catching glimpses of peeking through. "In my own apartment?"
A startled laugh bursts out of me, even as a flash of something that resembles longing tugs at my heart. It's that familiar ache again, the one that accompanies every hazy memory breaking it's way through the cracks. A reminder that, despite the ease of our banter, there's still a rift between us.
Pushing the melancholy aside, I force a lighthearted tone. "Well, I figured it would be easier for you to kick me out if the date goes poorly." I pause, biting my lip. "But seriously, I'd like to spend some time with you, just the two of us. Get to know each other again, you know?"
There's a weighted silence on the other end, and for a moment, I worry that I've overstepped some unspoken boundary. But then Yul's voice filters through the line, quieter now, the teasing lilt gone.
"Okay, yeah. That sounds...nice, actually." He clears his throat. "Did you have a particular movie in mind?"
Relief washes over me, a smile tugs at my lips. "Um, yes? But I think I'll keep it a surprise. You know, see if our tastes have changed over the years."
Yul chuckles, the sound warm and familiar, like a cozy blanket wrapping around me. "Alright, it's a date then. I'll order the food, you bring yourself and your terrible movie preferences."
I roll my eyes, even though he can't see me. "Hey, my taste in movies isn't that bad!"
"We'll see about that," Yul retorts, but there's no malice in his words, only playful banter. "See you tonight."
As I end the call and hail a cab, excitement flutters in my chest, and a twinge of apprehension. Tonight's plan is a gamble, a calculated risk – but if it pays off, if I can rekindle even a fraction of the easy intimacy hinted at in my flashbacks, it will be worth it.
I just hope I'm not messing with something that's better off forgotten.
***
I arrive at Yul's apartment, my heart going a mile a minute as I go over everything I want to do in my head. Taking a deep breath, I ring the doorbell, shifting the DVD case in my hands.
A few moments later, the door swings open, and there he is – Yul, his hair tousled and eyes slightly widened, as if he hadn't expected me to actually show up. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips as he takes me in.
"Hey," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. "Come on in."
I step inside, and Yul closes the door behind me, his gaze drifting to the DVD clutched in my hands. "So, what did you bring?"
Wordlessly, I hold up the case, revealing the faded cover art of the Korean cult classic, Oldboy. Yul's eyes widen momentarily, and then he lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking his head.
"Seriously?" His tone is a mix of amusement and something else – a bittersweet melancholy that tugs at my heart. "Of all the movies..."
I shrug, offering him a tentative smile. "What can I say? It's a classic."
Yul regards me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before finally nodding. "Alright, you win." He gestures toward the living area. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll order the food."
As Yul steps away to place our order, I move deeper into the apartment, taking in the familiar yet foreign surroundings. The cozy living room, the well-worn couch, the shelves lined with books and knickknacks – it's a space that should feel like home, but instead, it's tinged with an air of melancholy. Every time I come here I think the same thing. It feels lonely.
Pushing the wistful thoughts aside, I busy myself with setting up the movie, slipping the DVD into the player and grabbing the remote. By the time Yul returns, I've settled onto the couch, the opening credits of Oldboy flickering across the screen.
Yul pauses in the doorway, his gaze flickering between me and the TV, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of something raw and vulnerable in his eyes – a flicker of emotion that's gone before I can fully process it.
Then, just like that, the moment passes, and Yul sinks onto the couch beside me, leaving a careful distance between us. "Chinese food should be here in about thirty minutes," he says, his voice carefully neutral.
I nod, suddenly feeling self-conscious and uncertain about this whole endeavor. But as the movie progresses, and the familiar scenes unfold before us, I steal glances at Yul, searching for any hint of recognition, any flicker of shared memory.
And maybe it's just my imagination, but I could swear I catch him watching me, too – his gaze lingering a little too long, his expression unguarded and pensive.
The tantalizing aroma of Chinese food fills the air as Yul sets the shrink-wrapped bowls of Jajangmyeon and Tangsuyuk with an army of side dishes and an entire liter bottle of soda down on the coffee table. I shift on the couch, tucking my legs underneath me, and shoot him a playful grin. "Finally, I'm starving."
Yul rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but there's a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're the one who picked the movie. I was just following your lead."
As he settles onto the floor, leaning back against the couch beside my legs, I notice the easy, familiar way he makes himself comfortable. It's like we've done this a thousand times before – and maybe we have, in another life.
The thought sends a pang of longing through me, and I forcibly turn my attention back to the movie, trying to lose myself in the familiar scenes playing out. But even as the plot twists and turns, I find my gaze drifting to Yul, watching the way his lips move almost imperceptibly, mouthing the lines he clearly knows by heart.
"Might as well get up and start reciting the lines since you already seem to know every one of them," I tease, nudging him gently with my foot.
Yul turns to look at me, his expression a mix of surprise and sheepishness. "Well, naturally. I've only seen it a few thousand times."
I raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at my lips. "Oh, only a few thousand?"
He shrugs, but there's a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Maybe I just have terrible taste."
"Or maybe," I counter, emboldened by the easy banter, "you have impeccable taste, and you're just too stubborn to admit it."
Yul's gaze holds mine for a moment, and something shifts in his expression—a flicker of something morose. "How did you know this was my favorite?" he asks, his voice low and tinged with curiosity.
I pause, considering my words carefully. "I don't know," I admit finally, offering him a small shrug. "I just... had a feeling, I guess. Like it was the kind of thing you'd be into."
There's a weighted silence between us, the movie's soundtrack filling the void. And then, slowly, Yul nods, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Well, your instincts were right."
As we lapse back into a comfortable silence, chopsticks digging into the black bean noodles and letting the movie wash over us, contentment settles over me. It's a small victory, a tiny crack in the wall that's been separating us – but it's progress, nonetheless.
I watch Yul intently as the movie progresses, his features illuminated by the flickering light from the screen. There's a relaxed ease to him now, a familiarity that wasn't there before – as if the shared experience of revisiting this old favorite has allowed him to slip back into our old rhythms, our old dynamics.
Emboldened by this subtle shift, I lean forward, my gaze drawn to the way his arm rests casually on the couch beside me. Before I can overthink it, I reach out, gently spreading his hand flat, palm up, and tracing the calluses that line his fingers.
Yul goes still, his eyes flickering to mine with a questioning look. But he doesn't pull away, doesn't stop me from exploring the roughened skin.
"It's strange," I murmur, my voice barely audible over the movie's soundtrack. "For someone who claims they can't play guitar to have calluses that look an awful lot like the kind you get from years of playing the guitar."
A flush creeps up Yul's neck, staining his cheeks with a rosy hue. He averts his gaze, suddenly seeming almost... embarrassed? Uncertain?
"I..." He clears his throat, his thumb absently tracing the lines of my palm. "I only said that because I haven't played in a while. I didn't want to make things awkward."
I'm not sure what he means by that, I sense another story I don't know behind it – but it's enough to pique my curiosity, to make me wonder what else he's been holding back.
I sit transfixed as the credits roll, the familiar melody of the ending theme washing over me. It's a bittersweet ache, this feeling of doing something that feels like it's routine, but not.
Slowly, I turn to look at Yul, his features awash in the pale glow of the television. There's a pensive furrow to his brow, his lips pressed into a tight line, as if he's wrestling with some internal conflict.
Before I can second-guess myself, the words tumble out. "Yul?"
He blinks, his gaze finding mine. "Hmm?"
I take a deep breath, steeling my nerves. "Would you... play something for me? On your guitar?"
Yul's eyes widen fractionally, and for a moment, I think he might refuse. But then, something shifts in his expression –resignation, or perhaps acceptance.
"Alright," he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
He rises fluidly to his feet, padding across the room to retrieve the guitar propped against the wall. As he settles back onto the floor, cradling the instrument in his lap, I can't help but lean forward, entranced.
Yul's fingers dance across the strings, coaxing forth a few tentative chords – a gentle, melancholic melody that seems to resonate deep within my soul. It's achingly familiar, like a half-remembered dream, and yet...
"I know this song," I murmur, my voice hushed with awe. "Don't I?"
Yul's movements still for the briefest of moments, his gaze flickering up to meet mine. A frank vulnerability in his eyes.
"You did," he affirms softly, his fingers resuming their dance across the strings.
I sway gently to the music, letting the haunting melody wash over me. Flashes of memory flicker at the edges of my consciousness – the warmth of Yul's arms around me, the scent of his skin, the rumble of his laughter against my cheek.
It's dizzying, this fleeting glimpse into a life that's been written over. But even as confusion swirls within me, it feels right too.
As the final notes fade into silence, I'm holding my breath, caught in the spell of the moment. Yul's gaze is heavy on mine, something I can't name reflects back at me. Deeper than I know what to do with.
As soon as the song is finished, an overwhelming wave of emotion crashes over me. It's a potent cocktail of longing, familiarity, and desire that I can't quite contain. Before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm leaning in, my lips pressing against Yul's in a desperate, impulsive kiss.
For a split second, Yul freezes, his body tensing beneath my touch. I can almost feel the war raging within him – the battle between his caution and the raw, unfiltered wanting.
And then, with a soft sigh, he surrenders.
His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss. There's a wild, frenzied urgency to his movements, as if he's trying to make up for all the time we've lost, all the moments we've missed.
It's intoxicating, his taste on my tongue, his hands in my hair, the heat and roughness of his mouth. I breathe him in like I've been underwater for decades and he's pure oxygen.
I break away, but Yul's gaze locks onto mine, his eyes bright but his brow creased. "Yena..." he murmurs, his voice barely audible.
"Don't," I warn him, I can tell he's going to try and stop it, but I have no intention of stopping here.
I climb off the couch, bracing my hands on his shoulders as I straddle Yul's lap, my fingers threading through his hair as I pull him back into a searing kiss. There's a hunger in me that's almost stronger than what punched through me that first time with Inha. I feel like I've been starved, starved for Yul's touch in particular. I guide his hands to my waist, the warmth of his skin against my skin making me shiver. I urge him wordlessly to touch me, to reclaim what's ours.
Yul is hesitant at first, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist as if he's afraid I might break. But as our kiss deepens, his hands grow bolder, exploring my body with more assurance, with more reverence.
His palms slide up my back, pulling me closer, and I can feel the shape of him against me, the solidity of his body against mine. It's a heady sensation, it sizzles and sparks and makes my skin feel like I'm on fire as he kisses down the side of my neck. I arch into his touch, craving more.
My fingers skim the hem of his shirt, teasing the skin beneath, and Yul lets out a soft groan against my lips. It's a sound that ignites something deep within me, a primal, instinctual response.
In the back of my head, I hear the voice that reminds me to be careful. If I push too much too fast I might spook him. Like he's some kind of wild animal. I push the thoughts aside, I can't slow down or stop even if I wanted to.
I kiss him harder, retake his mouth, feel the lines of his chest, rock my hips against his, hear the shuttering of his breath in answer. I pull back slightly, searching his darkened eyes for a sign, a silent question passing between us. He says nothing, but he must understand because he tips his chin in a slight nod, giving me permission to continue, to explore.
He bends forward, his lips trail down my neck, sending a cascade of goosebumps across my skin. I tilt my head back, giving him better access. His teeth graze my collarbone, and I let out a soft gasp, my fingers tightening in his hair.
I don't remember how it was with Yul before, but now I pace myself, let him take his time. Not at all how I am with Inha, all aggression and need and rough hunger. I can still feel Yul's hesitation, his reluctance, and I know he's still holding himself back.
I arch away, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and Yul's gaze meets mine, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and concern. "Yena..." he murmurs, his voice hoarse with emotion.
I can see the question in his eyes, the unspoken plea for guidance, and I know that he's as unsure as I am. I was afraid of taking things too fast, but it seems clear Yul's not sure what to do with himself either. I can see how badly he wants to, feel how badly he wants to.
I don't know what it was that caused the rift. Don't know what caused his hesitation in the first place, so I'm going in blind trying to navigate my way around it.
I choose to plunge head-on, taking his mouth with mine as I slip my hand down between us, palming him through his pants, making sure he can't misinterpret where this is going. Yul inhales sharply against my mouth, pushes lightly into my hand. That's enough confirmation to me, and apparently that's enough for him too.
Yul's hands find the hem of my shirt, and he slowly pulls it up, his lips tracing a searing path along my neck and shoulders. I can feel the heat of his body against mine, and it's dizzying, the way we fit together so perfectly. I marvel at the way it feels so right, even though it's been so long.
I tug at Yul's shirt, eager to feel his skin against mine. He lifts his arms, allowing me to pull it off, and I can't help but take a moment to appreciate the way his muscles ripple in the dim light of the room. I trail my fingers down his chest, tracing the lines of his tattoos, and I'm struck by the realization that I know every curve and dip of his body, even if I can't quite remember how.
My mouth follows the path of my fingers, and I can feel Yul's breath hitch as I press a kiss to his collarbone, his chest, his stomach. There's a sense of urgency in our movements now, a mounting anticipation that's been building since the moment we first touched. It's like the time we missed has added up to this, to this aching need to be together and whole again.
Yul's hands find the clasp of my bra, and he deftly undoes it, his fingers brushing against my skin in a way that sends shivers down my spine. I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, and I look up to find him watching me with a mixture of desire and something else, something deeper. It's a look that makes my heart ache. I wonder what he's thinking, what he's feeling.
Before I can ask, Yul's lips are on mine again, and all thoughts are driven from my mind. His hands move to my jeans, and he quickly undoes the button, pulling them down my legs. I step out of them, and suddenly, I'm standing before him in nothing but my underwear, feeling both exposed and completely unburdened.
Yul's gaze rakes over my body, and I can see the appreciation in his eyes. He reaches out, his fingers tracing the curve of my waist, the swell of my hips. I lean into his touch, reveling in it. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my underwear, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to pull them down.
But instead, he pauses, his hand stilling. He looks up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. "Yena," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "Are you sure?"
I want him to stop asking, to stop looking so uncertain and to prove to me instead that he was, in fact, my husband once.
"I'm sure."
And with that, Yul pulls my underwear down, his lips trailing kisses along my skin as he does. I want more of his body touching mine, and it's like a spark igniting a fire, a flame that's been dormant for far too long.
I push past Yul's uncertainty. I lean in, capturing his lips with mine, try to kiss away the tension in his body.
His hands find my waist, pulling me closer. His tongue dances with mine, and I can feel a shudder run through him.
I guide him towards the bed at the back of the room, and we tumble onto it, our limbs tangling together. His hands smooth slowly over my body, rediscovering every curve and dip, savoring it.
I fumble with the button on his jeans, and he helps me, pulling them off along with his boxers. He's naked before me, and I take a moment to drink in the sight of him, to appreciate the whole length of him. There's a brief flash of images in my mind, a memory of a time when we were like this every night. We've done this before, maybe hundreds of times before. There's no reason I should be tiptoeing around someone who was once so wholly mine.
He places a hand on the small of my back, holding me in place as he closes his mouth over the tip of one peaked nipple. I whimper, my back bowing as fire shoots through my nerves. I clutch at him, with every drag of his hot mouth I feel the wetness gathering between my thighs increase.
He grips me and I can feel him start to roll me onto my back, I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
"Wait," I say, and Yul arches one brow, his eyes blinking in surprise.
I have another idea.
I smile gently as I push down on his shoulders. Yul looks intensely curious but lets me push him flat onto his back, watches me with glittering eyes as I swing one leg over his hips and straddle his lap. I hold myself up on my knees and glance up at his face, holding his stare as I reach down between us and grip his cock around the base.
Yul's lips part slightly, his whole expression flat with concentration as he watches me guide the flushed tip of his cock between my thighs, slipping it between my slick folds. I watch the shudder run the length of his body as I fit the tip to my entrance and slowly, deliciously slowly, I lower my hips down onto the entire length of his cock.
"Fucking hell," I hear the whispered oath as Yul drops his head back onto the pillows, his hips pistoning upward and dragging his cock against my walls.
It's the first time I think I've ever heard him slip up on his tightly wound control. Ironic, considering he looks like the type of man you'd expect to be spouting foul language and a bad attitude, and yet most of the time Yul is near saintly next to Inha's naughty mouth and hot-tempered exclamations.
I moan low in my throat as I rock back on him, luxuriating in every upward tilt of his pelvis. His cock feels so full and hard inside of me, filling me and fitting so perfectly it's like my body is welcoming him home.
Yul grits his teeth, rolling his hips in time with mine, each thrust upward has the top of his pelvis hitting the apex of my thighs. I let out a breathy sound and a small cry, the arc of pleasure going straight to my core.
"Yena," Yul's voice is hoarse rasp, "You feel so good, baby."
My heart flutters in my chest and I feel myself clench around him. I've never heard him call me an endearment either.
His hand drops down between us and I gasp as his thumb easily finds my clit and starts to rub in slow, expert circles, like he has the move practiced. I wasn't expecting that. I rock my hips faster, bouncing, moving with his hand as he thrums and works my clit, bringing me closer and closer. My breath comes in pants and begging whimpers, slamming my eyes shut as my rhythm becomes erratic, just moving to push myself higher and higher.
Yul's hips slam into mine, rolling in long waves, coming harder, faster, faster. I think I beg him, think I tell him to go harder.
I grip his waist to hold myself seated as he rocks into me at an intense speed, his thumb working me right to the edge.
And then it all goes white. I throw my head back and cry out as the orgasm barrels into me, nearly knocking me over as I ride it out on his lap. Yul makes a deep almost growl-like sound and with one final, desperate slam, he comes with a similarly uninhibited, wrecked cry.
Almost immediately I fall forward, collapsing onto Yul's chest. His hands come up automatically to catch me, holding me steady. His heartbeat thunders against my ear, mine thumps against the inside of my head.
It was worth it, I think, as an unbidden smile comes to my face and I sag against Yul's heaving body. It was worth having this back.