They stood there for a moment. Just breathing.
Then—
Haneul laughed. Once. Sharp. Surprised at himself.
Seungho blinked. “What?”
“I was just thinking how absurd it is. All of it. Gods. Reincarnation. Drag clubs. Fire. You. Me.”
“Us.”
“Yeah.” A small smile. “And yet here we are.”
Seungho stepped forward. Pulled him into his chest.
And kissed him.
??????
That night, they didn’t make love like fire.
They didn’t need to.
They undressed each other slow, with fingers that no longer searched for proof.
No wild sobbing. No shattering.
Just the kind of intimacy that arrived without permission and stayed without asking.
Seungho made tea. Added too much honey.
Haneul curled on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, a book unopened in his lap and sang a tuneless song.
The fire glowed amber.
He dozed there. Seungho sat behind him, arms wrapped loose around his waist. Only warmth.
The moon rose. The snow fell again—soft, quiet, thin as dust.
Haneul opened his eyes just once.
Said:
“I think this is the first time I’ve wanted to stay”
Seungho tightened his arms around him. Said nothing.
He didn’t need to.
The tea cooled. The fire dimmed. The house sighed with peace.
And somewhere far below the mountain, the city kept spinning.
Cars moved. Lovers quarreled. Lights turned green.
The world went on.
But here—
