A chill that filled the mouth
The moment the front door clicked shut, Seoyeon kicked off her heels. Not because her toes ached, but because the aftertaste of last night’s kiss with Hyunjun had risen like frost to the back of her throat.
Strawberries… no, mint? Or both?
Even breath, a tongue angled to the millimeter, fingertips that never trembled. He had been perfect. A twelve-second kiss. Seoyeon had kept her eyes closed, yet not a single image appeared behind her lids. Her heart was quiet. It felt as if it had simply paused.
It should be racing… why isn’t it?
She pressed a finger to her lower lip. Only a faint tingle remained. She moved her tongue, trying to summon the flavor, but it was neither strawberry nor mint—only cold air.
A coincidence shaped like a plan
The night before, Hyunjun had ducked into a back-alley pojangmacha for a quick break. He always did this. His “anywhere is fine if I like it” had really meant “I already know every place.” Seoyeon realized this too late.
The stall’s owner greeted Hyunjun like an old friend. “Two again tonight?”
Two? Seoyeon lifted her glass and looked away.
Now that she thought of it, Hyunjun had—once again—unbuttoned his shirt precisely two buttons. The strip of chest revealed between them was as familiar as a gift box you’d seen too many times.
“How was today, Seoyeon?” he asked. A dimple carved itself into his left cheek.
Like a movie poster.
Seoyeon delayed her answer. “…Fine.”
“Just fine?”
He raised his glass; cold soju slid down his throat. The air beyond it felt even colder than it should.
Toes wet by rain
Days later, Seoyeon walked through Olympic Park with Jihoon. It was four in the afternoon when the sky tore itself open.
Jihoon hadn’t brought an umbrella. The weather hadn’t been in the plan.
“You didn’t check the forecast?”
“I get anxious if I plan everything.”
He scratched his head; rain soaked into his hair.
Seoyeon’s heels were already soggy.
“Should we run for it?”
“Let’s just walk.”
He slowed his pace. Seoyeon lingered one step behind, watching his back. The rain turned his shirt translucent, revealing the curve of his shoulders.
Who is this man?
His earlier words lingered: “I don’t know myself either.”
Her toes were drenched, but her heart—strangely—was not. It thudded as if bruised by its own beating.
Seoyeon inhaled sharply. The mingled taste of rain, sweat, and Jihoon’s retreating silhouette.
Doubled imperfection
That evening she drank with Jaehyun, a designer from a more famous agency. Over the first glass he said, “I’m divorced.”
Seoyeon set her glass down. “Why tell me only now?”
Jaehyun smiled—left corner of his mouth lifting, a calculated curl.
A flaw that was engineered.
“You’re too beautiful. I was afraid you’d leave.”
Their glasses clinked. The sound rang too loud.
Outside, the rain had stopped but left streaks on the window. His story was seamless, polished.
“So really… nothing was wrong?”
Instead of answering, he poured another drink. As she took the glass, their fingertips brushed. His hand was colder than Hyunjun’s.
No one’s anxiety lives here.
What remains inside my lips
At two a.m. Seoyeon stood before her mirror. She pursed her lips—searching for the taste that was neither strawberry nor mint. She hated that nameless trace.
What is it I actually want?
She swallowed; her throat hurt. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Her heart was still quiet, yet something warm fluttered just below her navel.
Rain-soaked heel, transparent shirt, a chill hand.
Suddenly: Do I not want love itself, but the moment of falling?
The woman in the mirror spoke. Her lips shaped a flavor she had never tasted.
Dawn air seeped through the window. Seoyeon opened the door. The street was empty, but something was approaching.
Anyone.
An imperfect step, soaked heels, or perhaps a cold fingertip.
And the door was still ajar.