The kitchen smelled of garlic and sesame oil, the lingering ghosts of the dinner Gi-hun had insisted on cooking from scratch. In-ho had watched him move around the small apartment kitchen for nearly an hour, wielding a wooden spoon like a conductor’s baton, humming some old trot song under his breath. It was the most domestic thing In-ho had witnessed in years, and it terrified him.
Four days. That was all he had left before his flight back to Seoul, back to the life he’d built there, the one that suddenly felt hollow and colorless compared to these eleven days in Gi-hun’s orbit. Eleven days of coffee on the balcony, of Gi-hun’s terrible puns that made In-ho laugh despite himself, of discovering that the man could argue passionately about which convenience store ramen was superior while simultaneously being the gentlest person In-ho had ever met.
Now Gi-hun stood at the sink, his back to In-ho, rinsing plates with methodical care. The muscles in his shoulders moved beneath his worn t-shirt, and In-ho felt something crack open inside his chest. A fissure of pure want, edged with the sharp blade of impending loss.
In-ho crossed the kitchen floor without conscious thought. His feet carried him forward as if drawn by gravity, and when he reached Gi-hun, he wrapped his arms around that solid waist and pressed his face to the warm curve of his neck. Gi-hun startled for just a moment, then relaxed into the embrace with a soft exhale.
“You’re going to make me drop a plate,” Gi-hun murmured, but he tilted his head to the side anyway, giving In-ho more access.
In-ho didn’t answer with words. He pressed his lips to the side of Gi-hun’s neck, just below his ear, feeling the pulse jump under his mouth. Gi-hun smelled like soap and something warmer underneath, something that made In-ho’s head swim. He kissed a trail up to Gi-hun’s jaw, then turned him around roughly, needing to see his face. Gi-hun’s eyes were dark, questioning, but his lips parted willingly when In-ho kissed him properly. The first kiss was soft, almost tentative, but the second was harder, hungrier. In-ho’s tongue swept into Gi-hun’s mouth, and the taste of him—faintly sweet from the wine they’d had with dinner—made In-ho groan.
“I can’t—” In-ho broke the kiss, his forehead pressed to Gi-hun’s. “I can’t stand the thought of leaving.”
Gi-hun’s hands came up to frame In-ho’s face, his thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Then don’t think about it right now.”
That was all the permission In-ho needed. He kissed Gi-hun again, deeper this time, his hands sliding down to grip Gi-hun’s hips and pull him closer. Gi-hun moaned into his mouth, and the sound vibrated through In-ho’s entire body, settling low in his belly. He was already responding to Gi-hun’s nearness, pressing against his thigh, and when Gi-hun rolled his hips in answer, In-ho nearly lost his mind.
“Bedroom,” In-ho growled against Gi-hun’s lips.
Gi-hun nodded, breathless, and then In-ho was bending down, hooking his hands under Gi-hun’s thighs and lifting him. Gi-hun’s legs wrapped around In-ho’s waist instinctively, his arms circling In-ho’s neck. In-ho carried him out of the kitchen and down the short hallway, their mouths never fully separating, trading wet, messy kisses as In-ho navigated by memory. Gi-hun’s weight was solid and perfect in his arms, and the way Gi-hun’s fingers tangled in his hair sent shivers cascading down his spine.
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the streetlamp filtering through the curtains, casting silver stripes across the rumpled duvet. In-ho laid Gi-hun on the bed, following him down, not willing to break contact for even a second. The mattress dipped under their combined weight, and Gi-hun pulled In-ho closer, his legs still locked around him. In-ho rocked his hips down, grinding against Gi-hun, and they both gasped at the friction.
“I need you,” In-ho said, his voice rough. “I need every part of you tonight.”
Gi-hun’s response was to pull In-ho’s shirt over his head with trembling fingers. The fabric caught for a moment on In-ho’s ear, and Gi-hun laughed, that bright startled sound that In-ho had come to treasure. In-ho silenced it with another kiss, deeper now, while Gi-hun’s hands explored the newly exposed skin of his back. Every touch left trails of fire.
They undressed each other with a mixture of urgency and reverence. Gi-hun tugged at In-ho’s waistband while In-ho worked on the buttons of Gi-hun’s shirt, their fingers tangling and bumping in their haste. When Gi-hun’s shirt finally fell open, In-ho sat back just enough to drink in the sight of him. Gi-hun’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, his skin flushed pink from his neck down to his navel. The silver light from the window painted him in shades of moonlight and shadow, and In-ho thought he had never seen anything more beautiful in his fifty years.
“You’re staring,” Gi-hun said, his voice uncharacteristically shy.
“I’m memorizing,” In-ho corrected. He traced a finger down the center of Gi-hun’s chest, watching goosebumps rise in its wake. “Every detail. Every sound you make. I want to carry all of it with me.”
Something flickered in Gi-hun’s eyes—pain, or maybe hope—but before he could speak, In-ho lowered his mouth to Gi-hun’s collarbone and began to worship him in earnest.
He started at the hollow of Gi-hun’s throat, pressing feather-light kisses there, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against his lips. Gi-hun’s fingers dug into In-ho’s shoulders, and a small desperate sound escaped him. In-ho smiled against his skin and moved lower, kissing a deliberate path down his sternum. He paused at each rib, pressing his lips to the bone as if he could count them through the skin, as if he could map the architecture of Gi-hun’s body and commit it to permanent memory.
When he reached one nipple, he circled it slowly with his tongue, and Gi-hun’s back arched off the bed. His hands flew to In-ho’s hair, gripping tight, and In-ho took his time there, alternating between gentle suction and soft flicks of his tongue until Gi-hun was writhing beneath him.
“Please,” Gi-hun whispered, the word breaking in the middle.
In-ho lifted his head just long enough to meet Gi-hun’s eyes. “Please what?”
“Don’t tease. I can’t—it’s too much.”
But In-ho shook his head, pressing a kiss to the center of Gi-hun’s chest. “Not teasing. Appreciating. There’s a difference.” He trailed his mouth lower, down the soft plane of Gi-hun’s stomach. “You deserve to be appreciated, Gi-hun. Every inch of you.”
He kissed the slight curve of Gi-hun’s belly, then the sharp jut of his hip bone. Gi-hun’s breath was coming in ragged gasps now, his hands restless in In-ho’s hair. In-ho shifted lower still, pressing his lips to the inside of Gi-hun’s thigh, feeling the muscle tense and quiver under his mouth. The scent of him here was stronger—musky and warm and intoxicating—and In-ho breathed it in like a man drowning.
“You’re beautiful,” In-ho murmured against his skin. “Do you know that? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me in eleven days?”
Gi-hun’s only response was a choked sound, half laugh and half sob. “In-ho…”
“I mean it.” In-ho kissed the crease of his thigh, then the tender skin just beside it. “I came here expecting a quiet holiday. A break from my routine. I didn’t expect you.”
Gi-hun tugged at his hair, pulling him back up. “Come here. I need to see your face.”
In-ho obeyed, crawling up Gi-hun’s body until they were face to face again. Gi-hun’s eyes were glassy, his lips swollen from their kisses. He looked wrecked already, and they had barely begun.
“I didn’t expect you either,” Gi-hun said quietly. “And now you’re leaving in four days, and I don’t know how to feel about any of this.”
“Then don’t think,” In-ho said, echoing Gi-hun’s earlier words. “Just feel. Just be here with me right now.”
He kissed Gi-hun again, slow and deep, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the press of his lips. Then he reached for the nightstand drawer, finding what he needed by touch alone. Gi-hun watched him, his chest still heaving, his eyes never leaving In-ho’s face.
In-ho took his time with the preparation, coating his fingers generously before returning his attention to Gi-hun’s body. He kissed Gi-hun’s stomach as he worked, murmuring praise against his skin. Gi-hun’s hands twisted in the sheets, his breathing growing more erratic with each careful movement.
“Relax for me,” In-ho whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere tonight.”
He watched Gi-hun’s face intently, reading every micro-expression—the flutter of his eyelids, the way his lips parted on a silent gasp, the furrow between his brows that slowly smoothed into something like wonder. When Gi-hun finally nodded, a jerky movement of his chin, In-ho positioned himself above him.
The moment of joining was slow, deliberate. In-ho pressed forward by inches, giving Gi-hun time to adjust, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. What he saw instead was Gi-hun’s eyes falling closed, his head pressing back into the pillow, a long breath escaping him.
“Look at me,” In-ho said, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “Please. I need to see you.”
Gi-hun’s eyes opened, and the emotion in them made In-ho’s chest ache. There was trust there, and desire, and something deeper that In-ho was afraid to name. He began to move, a gentle rhythm at first, rocking into Gi-hun with long, slow strokes. He kept his eyes locked on Gi-hun’s, watching every flicker of pleasure cross his features.
“You feel—” Gi-hun’s voice broke, and he swallowed hard. “You feel like you belong here.”
The words hit In-ho like a physical blow. He dropped his forehead to Gi-hun’s shoulder, his rhythm faltering for just a moment. “Don’t,” he managed. “If you say things like that, I won’t be able to leave.”
Gi-hun’s hands came up to cradle the back of In-ho’s head, his fingers threading through the short hair at his nape. “Then maybe you shouldn’t.”
In-ho lifted his head, searching Gi-hun’s face. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’ve known you for eleven days, and it feels like longer. It feels like something I don’t want to lose.” Gi-hun’s voice was steadier now, though his body still trembled beneath In-ho’s. “I’m saying you should think about it. About staying.”
In-ho kissed him then, fiercely, desperately, as his rhythm increased. He poured eleven days of laughter and conversation and quiet moments into that kiss. He poured four days of impending grief into the movement of his body against Gi-hun’s. And somewhere in the tangle of it all, the thought that had been lurking at the edges of his mind finally crystallized into certainty.
He loved this man. This ridiculous, wonderful man who sang trot songs while cooking and argued about ramen and looked at In-ho like he was something precious.
The pace built between them, no longer slow and reverent but urgent now, driven by the weight of everything unspoken. Gi-hun’s legs tightened around In-ho’s waist, his heels pressing into the small of his back. Their breath mingled, hot and ragged, and the sounds Gi-hun made grew louder, less restrained.
“Stay,” Gi-hun gasped, the word barely coherent. “In-ho, please—stay.”
The plea undid him. In-ho buried his face in the curve of Gi-hun’s neck and let himself fall, let the sensation overtake him completely. He was aware of Gi-hun following moments later, his body tensing and then releasing with a cry that sounded like In-ho’s name.
They lay tangled together afterward, the sheets twisted around their legs, the room filled with the sound of their slowing breath. In-ho didn’t pull away, didn’t move except to shift his weight so he wasn’t crushing Gi-hun. He kept his face pressed to Gi-hun’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of his skin.
Gi-hun’s hand traced lazy patterns on In-ho’s back. “Are you okay?”
In-ho laughed, a broken sound muffled against Gi-hun’s skin. “I should be asking you that.”
“I’m better than okay.” Gi-hun’s voice was sleepy, satisfied. “I’m hoping you’ll consider what I said. About staying.”
In-ho finally lifted his head, propping himself on his elbows to look down at Gi-hun. His hair was a mess, his lips were kiss-swollen, and there was a mark blooming on his collarbone that would definitely be visible tomorrow. He looked thoroughly debauched and absolutely radiant.
“My flight is in four days,” In-ho said slowly. “I have an apartment in Seoul. A job. A whole life there.”
Gi-hun’s expression flickered, but he nodded. “I know.”
“But none of it has made me as happy as the past eleven days have.” In-ho traced Gi-hun’s lower lip with his thumb. “I think I might be in love with you, and I think that terrifies me more than the idea of upending my entire life.”
Gi-hun’s smile started small and grew until it lit up his whole face. “You think?”
“I know.” In-ho kissed the corner of that smile. “I know I love you. I’ve probably known since day four, when you burned the rice and blamed it on the stove.”
“The stove was acting up!”
“The stove was fine. You were too busy telling me about your childhood dog to pay attention.”
Gi-hun laughed, and the sound was so full of joy that In-ho felt it resonate in his own chest. “Stay,” Gi-hun said again, no longer a plea but a request. “At least think about it. We can figure out the details later.”
In-ho rolled onto his side, pulling Gi-hun with him so they were face to face, legs still intertwined. “I’ll do more than think about it. I’ll call my office tomorrow. See what my options are for remote work.”
Gi-hun’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really.” In-ho pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Eleven days with you isn’t enough. I want more. I want to see what happens on day twelve, and day thirty, and day three hundred.”
Gi-hun pulled him closer, tucking his head under In-ho’s chin. “Day three hundred is going to involve a lot more of my cooking.”
“I’m counting on it. Just maybe keep an eye on the rice.”
Gi-hun pinched his side, and In-ho laughed, catching his hand and lacing their fingers together. Outside the window, the streetlamp flickered once and held steady, casting its silver light over two men who had started the evening afraid of goodbyes and ended it daring to plan for tomorrow.