The bungalow’s air-conditioner was already cranked to its limit, yet the moment Min-jae’s breath grazed my skin the air ignited. Creak— the mattress sighed like a wounded spring, his knee pressing the sheet into oceanic folds.
“Just one more.”
His whisper rode the nicotine-laced scent of beer. I closed my eyes and counted the fluorescent tremors on the ceiling. One, two, three. Each flicker flashed across his pupils like sheet lightning.
Pop. The fourth button surrendered. My sternum met the chill; even that chill was warmer than his fingertips. I spilled the scent of beach-salted sweat across the ridge of his hand.
Silently, Min-jae reached for the fifth. Scrrritch— the rasp of fingernail against cotton stretched time. In that sliver of a second, the afternoon rushed back: Min-jae lounging in a hammock, sunglasses pushed up like a careless crown; the black fizz of Coca-Cola clinging to his lip; my silent promise—Tonight, maybe…
But tonight I had to break that promise. As his hand brushed the final button, a single burning tear slid from me onto his knuckles.
“That’s far enough.”
My voice shook like wind in reeds. His hand froze mid-air. The reflected ceiling light quivered in his eyes—my tear had become a tiny storm there.
He said nothing. Only his thumb, trembling faintly, tapped the stubborn button—tap, tap—as if knocking on a locked door.
Outside, the first pearl-gray of early summer dawn seeped through the blinds. Min-jae rose slowly and sat on the foot of the bed. The air-conditioner’s breeze riffled his back like an invisible hand.
I closed my eyes and fingered the five still-fastened buttons. They felt like boundary stones: here, and no further.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
I shook my head. The apology belonged to me—for denying desire, for stopping him, for ending everything in tears.
We shared nothing but humid silence until morning. He drifted back to the hammock; I stayed and re-buttoned the single remaining closure.
Click. The sound of the fastening was the period at the end of this summer night.
And we agreed to meet again—still untouched, still unopened—one more time.