A Place No Hand Can Reach, Even in Bed

Before Words, the Body Closes > "I love you. That hasn't changed." Jae-min whispers, his back against the headboard. 2:17 a.m.; the second hand stretches like an over-taut rubber band. Eugene feels the sheets turn cold beneath her. In her nostrils, the detergent Jae-min favors—and, strangely, the lingering odor of something burned. Each time his hand grazes her shoulder, a spark flashes then vanishes. What that heat is trying to smother, Eugene cannot guess. > "Then why not tonight?" she murmurs. Her throat is raw. > "…I just don’t want to." Jae-min blinks. In his pupils something is not trembling but going out. Eugene buttons her nightshirt to the collar. The fabric clings like shame, but it is not shame—it is fear, rising black as smoke. --- ## Inside the Hidden Folder, a Fire Still Burns Each night, once Jae-min is asleep, Eugene opens his phone. The search bar auto-completes: touch aversion, sexual indifference, intimacy avoidance disorder. Nothing quite fits. Jae-min clearly loves her; only the object of that love is not her body but whatever the name Eugene symbolizes. One evening, while he is in the bathroom, the laptop screen stays lit. Eugene nudges the mouse. A folder sits in the corner of the desktop: archive_2018. Click. > Thumbnails line up. Hair lifted by warm wind. Kisses. Embraces. A woman pressing her lips to the hollow of Jae-min’s throat. Her. The glow of the screen flushes Eugene’s cheeks white. She swallows; behind her, footsteps approach. She closes the lid and turns. Jae-min drinks a mouthful of water and slips under the duvet. No word. Eugene knows the smell of his hair is still laced with smoke. > "…Do you still love her?" she asks. Jae-min closes his eyes. Silence drives nails into her chest. --- ## What No One Ever Told Her Only this much leaks through a college friend: Jae-min’s first love slept with his best friend. “Since that day, whenever he drank he wouldn’t share a bed with anyone. He doesn’t trust the ember inside him—afraid it will leap and burn someone else.” Eugene lays her palm on his chest. The skin is hot, yet every muscle tightens beneath her fingertips. Their eyes meet. Love is there, but at its far edge hangs a capital But. > "You love me, but you don’t desire me—is that it?" she whispers. Jae-min’s head tilts, a faint no, then stills. --- ## When Desire is Hidden, Who Do I Become? Eugene cannot sleep. The bedside lamp stabs her eyes. Jae-min breathes evenly, no snores. She strokes his hair—silk. Beneath the silk lie bone and flesh, and beneath those, the hot ember. Does he wish to extinguish it, or to trade it for another? > "I disgust myself. I’m sorry for wanting first." she breathes. Jae-min feigns sleep. Eugene presses her lips to the pulse in his neck; it is as hot as there. Yet he does not move. She closes her eyes; behind the lids the smell of char still circles. --- ## Instead of an Endless Question, One Line of Action 3:01 a.m. The second hand ticks. Eugene takes Jae-min’s hand. It burns; he gives no response. She kisses the back of it—hot skin. He keeps his eyes closed. She guides the hand to her breast. Her heart knocks. He stops breathing, then slowly withdraws. > Eugene tugs a strand of his hair; no reaction. She slips it between her teeth and bites gently. The taste of ash spreads. Only then does the corner of his mouth lift—a smile so small it contains no answer. She knows: he still keeps the ember, neither quenched nor passed on, imprisoned within. Eugene releases the hair. The cruel taste of scorch remains. On the bed, thirty centimeters separate them—yet those thirty centimeters feel like the far side of the earth. Their eyes meet; Jae-min’s stay closed, the tiny smile still there. > What remains inside that smile? She kisses his brow. He says nothing. Only the smell of something burned fills the silence.