After two glasses of the good red, Jisu asked, almost as an afterthought: “When was the last time?”
Young-jun looked away. A bead of wine clung to the rim of his glass.
“Seven years ago.”
The glass trembled. Jisu’s eyes widened.
Young-jun added quietly, “Not once since that night.”
The Trophy on the Fridge
On the nightstand beside their bed sits a trophy coated in dust. A cheap plastic plaque reads: 7 Years Sex-Free.
Young-jun sometimes turns it over in his hands and smiles inwardly. He should feel proud, yet his throat tightens. It’s like finishing your homework by simply starving. Is enduring pain really a skill worth celebrating?
Embarrassing Excuses
The first two months had felt noble. The word restraint never came up; they simply told each other it was unnecessary. They woke to each other’s gaze and fell asleep to the rhythm of shared breath.
Then one day on the subway Young-jun saw a couple kissing. His lips twitched. We used to do that.
The next night the woman next door moaned through the wall—not because the walls were thin, but because his ears were desperate. He drafted excuses: overtime, exam period, low spirits. All lies. What terrified him was simpler: If we start again, everything might finish.
Sujin and Min-su’s Eighth Year
Sujin is thirty-one, Min-su thirty-three. They have kept house for eight years. The last time their bodies touched was in a cramped studio apartment during grad school.
Min-su flicked the TV remote. “Honestly, these days we feel more like roommates, don’t we?”
Sujin paused while stirring ramen. “So what would you like us to be instead?”
Silence. Min-su cracked open a beer; the hiss sounded louder than thunder.
That night he asked, “You do still want to, right?”
Sujin looked away. “But it’s been so long… If we start again, we’d have to relearn everything from scratch.”
Why Did We Stop?
Psychologists call this reversible asexuality. The desire hasn’t vanished; we’ve simply lost the language for expressing it inside the relationship. When first-kiss jitters become habit, the feeling can no longer be resurrected.
We turned abstinence into a score. Endurance sounds like diligence, like consideration. In truth it’s fear dressed as modesty.
Perseverance without pleasure is not proof of love.
A Hot Day in Winter
Last winter Young-jun stumbled on an online post titled Ten Years Sex-Free: A Married Couple’s Story. It ended with this line:
“We know each other so well that we no longer ask questions.”
Young-jun copied the sentence into his notes and underlined it:
→ That isn’t love; it’s a signal that love has ended.
The Question That Remains
Right now, are you keeping your hands to yourself because you truly don’t want? Or because you fear that once you reach out, something irreparable will shatter?
Seven years is long enough for iron to rust. Yet the body is still warm. How much longer will you keep that warmth locked in a cold room?