"I’m just sleeping with you for a moment, nothing real," Yoon-ah murmured, pretending to be asleep. The clock read 3:27 a.m. The man beside her breathed against her ear; when she shifted, his arm coiled tighter around her waist. This is the last time. It was the fifth “last time.”
Fingertips That Refuse to Take Weight
Why, of all things, do I remember the smell of his hair?
People who despise casual affairs like to say, "I want something serious." What they truly crave is weight—the weight the other person will carry, the weight neither can discard. Yet they fear that same weight. So they embrace the body they swear they want to leave behind.
They reject casual sex, yet every night the same scorching choreography resumes. This contradiction is not mere habit.
If only I could erase you.
But the truth is, I don’t want to.
Two Women, Two Nights, Two Lies
Story One: Ji-su’s Holiday
Ji-su, 29, an account executive at an ad agency. She told friends she had no boyfriend. She did—just not one she called a “relationship.” Every Wednesday, room 1207 at the same hotel.
"Today really is the end," Ji-su whispered. The man, Min-jae, 34, married, said his wife was away on business. The bedside clock pointed to 11:00 sharp. Ji-su checked the ring on his left hand.
Let this be the last time.
Yet she already knew: next Wednesday at 11:00, Min-jae’s Kakao notification would chime again.
Story Two: Serin’s Monday
Serin, 31, doctoral student. For someone who claims “dating is a waste of time,” she had a “friend” who visited every Monday. Hyun-woo. They drank at an izakaya, then went to her studio.
"Let’s stop seeing each other," Serin said. Hyun-woo answered by tightening his grip on her wrist.
"Then let’s make tonight the final time." She nodded.
This is only physical, she told herself; yet after Hyun-woo left, the same thought always returned:
Why can’t I let him go?
The Ecstasy of the Forbidden
We burn hottest when we step past the line. Psychologists say taboo sparks the internal chemistry of desire: dopamine and cortisol surge together, gifting us a pleasure laced with pain.
Those who claim to hate casual sex are, at a deeper level, addicted to this thrill.
This is wrong, they scold themselves—yet that very scolding becomes an aphrodisiac.
Perhaps we want love and despair at once: total possession and total freedom. That paradox is the most fatal design flaw of the species called human.
The End That Is Always Beginning
So the night continues—loathed as casual, impossible to end.
This time it’s truly the last.
But we know: the real ending never arrives. Desire for the forbidden endlessly reproduces itself, and at its center lies the same question:
Do you actually want it to end, or are you praying it never will?