Kiss Me Like You’re Not Married.

Tae-hyun didn't remember how he managed to walk to the front door, let alone lift his arm to unlock it. The dim light of the hallway felt too sharp, like a spotlight aimed straight at him. Everything under his skin was hot, crawling, sensitive. His body ached, and his clothes clung to him in the worst way soaked with sweat, with Joon-Won's fingerprints still stamped across his flesh like a claim.

He stepped inside.

"Baby!"

His wife's voice was so bright it hurt.

She rushed toward him in socks, nearly slipping across the floor tiles as she jumped into his arms. Her arms looped around his neck, lips pressing fast and sweet to his cheek, then his mouth. He barely caught her, wincing slightly when her thigh brushed against his hip. A low, instinctual flinch.

"You're late! I thought you said you'd be back by ten."

He couldn't even speak. Her lips still hovered over his. The smell of vanilla shampoo, laundry softener, and domestic safety filled his lungs.

"Ha-eun said you and Joon really hit it off," she added quickly. "She told me to plan a barbecue next weekend, she's so excited you two got along! Was he nice? You didn't fight, did you? You always have that guarded face when you meet new people—"

He cleared his throat. "It was fine."

Just that.

She pulled back a little, eyes scanning his face with slight worry, brow twitching. "You okay?"

"I'm tired."

"Oh.. wait, hold on," she sniffed the collar of his polo with a confused expression. "Do you… smell like cigarettes?" She wrinkled her nose at the smell and looked up into his eyes with a glint of suspicion since she knew he doesn't smoke. "Since when do you smoke?"

"I don't," he said too quickly. "It's Joon. He… smoked a lot, I think."

She laughed lightly. "Didn't think he'd be a smoker."

But then she kissed him again, softer this time. Her lips paused against his. Then slowly, she pulled back with narrowed eyes, this time her voice lowering slightly.

"But Tae-hyun…You taste like cigarettes."

His stomach dropped. 

Fuck.

"I do?" he tried, forcing out a tight chuckle. "He was, uh… talking a lot in close range. Guess it rubbed off."

She frowned at him. "Talking gives you cigarette mouth?"

"I didn't notice," he said as he slowly pushed her off of him gently, already walking toward the hallway trying to get away. "I need a shower. It's been a long night."

She was still watching him as he disappeared down the hall, confused, maybe suspicious. But he didn't have the energy to lie better than this. His limbs felt heavy. His thighs were sore, his wrists ached under the sleeves of his polo, and the dull sting on his left cheek flared every time his jaw clenched, which it did, constantly.

Once in the bathroom, he locked the door immediately and finally exhaled.

He lifted his head as he leaned against the closed door and he froze. His reflection stared back at him in the mirror.. wide eyes, flushed lips, hair a mess. His cheek bore the faintest pink imprint of Joon-won's hand. He traced it with his fingers slowly.

The way he had been held down…

The way he moaned through the pain…

The way he said daddy with his whole chest like it meant something…

He covered his mouth, heat crawling up his neck in embarrassment but also.. thrill.

He turned on the shower and peeled off his polo, the fabric brushing against sore skin. Underneath, the bruises on his wrists looked worse than he expected. Not horrifying, but deep enough to remember. He slipped out of his jeans next, wincing at the ache between his legs.

"Why did I like that?" He mumbled to himself under his breath in disbelief.

He stepped under the hot spray, tilting his head back, letting the water hit his face. But it didn't wash away the memory of Joon-won's mouth, his voice, the weight of his body pressing him into the seat.

He got out, wrapped a towel around his waist, and sat down on the closed toilet lid with his phone in hand.

He stared at the screen for a second too long before he finally pressed on Joon-won's name and started typing with shaky fingers.

After he typed everything… Tae-hyun didn't get a reply.

He stared at the screen until the backlight dimmed, then locked his phone and set it face-down on the counter. His pulse hadn't calmed. He still felt the phantom grip of Joon-Won's fingers around his wrists, the ghost of that slap on his cheek. The burn hadn't faded. Neither had the urge to hear that voice again.

He pulled on his boxers and paused. For a second, he considered going shirtless like usual but one glance at his arms in the mirror made him think twice. Faint red bruises, like cuffs, wrapped around each wrist.

So instead, he reached for the long-sleeved cotton shirt he usually wore when he was sick. Neutral gray. Comfortable. Covering.

When he walked into the bedroom, his wife looked up from her book.

"Long sleeves?" she said softly, surprised. "You never sleep in those."

Her tone was casual, but something behind her eyes sharpened.

"It's kind of chilly," he mumbled. "Or maybe I'm just tired."

She blinked. Slowly closed her book. "Are you okay?"

He hesitated. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed in a hoodie and pajama shorts, hair pulled back, face clean and soft and familiar. That expression she gave him.. concerned, slightly tilted to one side, like she was trying to look through him made his stomach tighten.

"Of course I'm okay."

But it came out too fast.

Too… guilty.

She didn't say anything, but she was too quiet. Her lips pressed together like she was holding something back, and her gaze followed him as he climbed into bed.

He hated the silence.

His head was already loud enough.

So he smiled.

Lay back on the mattress and rested his head in her lap. "Actually… it wasn't as bad as I thought."

She raised an eyebrow, cautiously. "What wasn't?"

"Spending time with Joon."

Her fingers hovered uncertainly above his hair, as if debating whether to touch him. But when he leaned into her, she gave in gently threading her nails through his damp strands. A soft scratch to the scalp. Familiar. Soothing. His eyes fluttered for a second.

"Tell me about it, then."

So he did.

He started talking — slowly, cautiously — about the afternoon. About meeting Joon-Won again in the bar, about the stiff beginnings, and the unexpected charm that started to surface. "He's not what I expected," Tae-hyun admitted, closing his eyes. "I thought he'd be cold, you know? Arrogant. But he's funny. Weirdly easy to talk to."

"Ohhh," she hummed, smiling now, "someone's warming up to Ha-eun's husband."

Tae-hyun laughed under his breath. "Don't get carried away."

She poked his forehead playfully and chuckled as she stared down at him. "No, come on. What else? What'd you talk about?"

He swallowed. "Joon. He—he smokes."

"Yeah I'm also surprised by that but.. Since when?"

"I don't know. I guess… I've never seen him do it before when we went to their house or when they came over."

 She hummed for a second before leaning down so her face is inches away from his with a slight grin. "You sound like you're in a daze," she teased.

He glanced up at her slowly.

She wasn't wrong.

She leaned in a little closer and whispered softly as she kept brushing his hair with her fingers. "Was he different tonight?"

Tae blinked, feeling like his shirt was suddenly too tight at the collar.

"…Yeah."

He closed his eyes for a second with a sigh. One of his hands rubbed at his wrist absentmindedly, he was sore. Marked. Still faintly red beneath the sleeve.

"How so?"

Tae was quiet for a moment. Then he chuckled. Low, almost embarrassed.

"He wasn't so stiff. Like—" he paused, searching for the right word. "I don't know. I think his wife made him wear something more casual too. He looked different. Acted different."

Seo-yeon raised her brows, smiling. "How different?"

Tae leaned his head back against her thighs more and looked up at the ceiling, thinking of that smirk, that cigarette, that commanding voice.

"…Like someone I haven't met before," he said, slower now. "He was relaxed. Confident. Like he'd been waiting for a moment like this to… I don't know. Show another version of himself."

She tilted her head. "So he's cooler than you thought?"

Tae gave a half-laugh. "Yeah. Something like that."

He didn't tell her that his voice dropped a full octave when he got serious. Or that his hands didn't hesitate, not even once, when tying him up. That he fucked like someone who didn't just play dominant — but was. That his gaze didn't leave him for a second. That Tae hadn't stopped shaking even now.

Seo-yeon reached over to touch his jaw, her thumb brushing it softly. "You liked tonight."

"…I did."

"Wanna do it again sometime?"

Tae-hyun hesitated for a second at that question, did he? Fuck he does.. he really does.

And then quietly, with that dazed look still in his eyes, he nodded.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I really do."

She grinned. Then, she her eyes glinted with slight concern again as she stared down at him, "But seriously — you're okay?"

"Yeah." He shifted, letting his hand rest on her knee. "I think I'm just a little overwhelmed. I didn't think I'd get along with him. Kind of caught me off guard."

She softened. "That's okay. Sometimes good surprises come from weird places."

He looked up at her again, really looked this time. Her fingers were still playing with his hair, her face completely relaxed now, no trace of suspicion. He'd done it. Distracted her, buried the guilt under charm. She was buying it.

And that scared him more than if she hadn't.

"Hey," he murmured, turning his face into her stomach playfully, "thanks for pushing me to go."

She laughed, squirming. "Stop it, that tickles."

"You were right."

"I usually am."

He chuckled, then looked up again. "I don't say it enough, but… I'm lucky."

She blinked, a bit taken aback. "Where's this coming from?"

"Just feeling sentimental, I guess."

And a little like a liar.

Her cheeks flushed. "You're being sappy."

"Is it working?"

She rolled her eyes. "A little."

He leaned up, brushed a kiss against her collarbone through the fabric of her hoodie. She laughed again, covering her face.

"Stop trying to seduce me with compliments, I already made you dinner earlier."

"I'll make it up to you tomorrow," he said, settling back down. "Tonight I just need this."

And he meant it, the warmth, the safety. But it felt like covering a knife wound with a kiss.

His phone buzzed none stop, forgotten on the bathroom table. Neither of them heard it.