I waited the whole morning. Again.
I tried to keep busy, made coffee, watered the same plant twice, stared blankly at the time on the microwave.
7:46 AM. Then 8:12. Then 8:27.
But really, all i did was wait for the one sound i've been both craving and dreading.
Ken's door unlocking. His quiet footsteps out in the hallway. The soft click his door.
I waited like someone who didn't know how not to.
Like a fool.
And i hated it.
I hated that i noticed the shift.
He's been choosing the office lately. Not home. Not the couch where i once saw him curled up in his hoodie, headphones in. Not the balcony. Not even the silence between us.
He's been choosing distance.
And i don't know what ruined it.
The kiss?
The second one?
Or just… me?
At 9:03, I finally heard the lock click from his unit.
I stood up immediately. Like an idiot. Like someone with no pride left.
I cracked my door open, just enough to see him leaving.
He didn't glance back. No pause. No hesitation. Just walked.
"Ken…" I called out.
He didn't stop.
I jogged after him, reached for his wrist, without even thinking. Like it belonged to me.
"Wait—"
He pulled away.
Not violently.
Not angry.
Just… firm. Final.
And that hurt more than anything i've ever read about myself in a tabloid.
So i didn't run after him again.
Not this time.
I didn't do anything useful for the rest of the day.
Didn't shower. Didn't scroll. Didn't even light a cigarette and that's how you know something was really wrong.
I just sat in the corner of the couch, wrapped in yesterday's hoodie, staring blankly at the wall, replaying the same memory over and over:
How someone could kiss you like that, look at you like that and still walk away like it never happened.
It was stupid.
I was stupid.
I kept telling myself maybe he needed time.
But time for what?
To forget?
To unfeel?
The clock kept ticking. 4:10 PM. 5:03. 5:57. 6:12.
By 7:00, I was already sitting by my door. Waiting again.
And then—
8:14.
I heard foot stepped.
Ken.
I stood, heart already in my throat. This time, I didn't hesitate. I stepped out and caught him just as he reached his door.
No Celine tonight.
No work bag.
No noise. Just Ken.
And the ache that's been sitting in my chest since yesterday.
"Ken," I said quietly.
He turned. Slowly. Reluctantly.
His eyes met mine.
They weren't soft this time.
They weren't warm.
They were… careful. Guarded.
Still, I stepped closer.
"I like you," I said.
Barely a whisper.
He stilled.
Like he couldn't tell if he heard it right. Like he wasn't sure it was real.
Then finally, "Tell me you like me."
"I do."
"No." He shook his head, slow. "Tell me you like me… not because you're bored. Not because I'm convenient. Not because you need a distraction."
I swallowed.
"Tell me you like me," he continued, eyes locked on mine, "not because we kissed. Tell me you like me because you see me."
He stepped forward. Voice quieter now and he's crying.
"Me. The real me. The one who screws up sometimes. Who gets tired. Who gets anxious ordering at cafés. The guy who works ten hours a day and has no idea what he's doing with his life."
I blinked. My throat tightened.
"Can you do that?" he asked. "Can you like that version of me? Or am i just another fantasy?"
I didn't even hesitate this time.
"I like you," I said. My voice steady now. Clear. "I like you, Ken. Not because i'm lonely. Not because i need saving and definitely not because i'm bored."
I took a breath, stepping even closer until we were barely a foot apart.
"I like you because you're you," I whispered. "Because i see you. And i still want to stay."
For a second, he just stared.
Then—
He kissed me.
No warning. No questions. Just lips crashing into mine like something desperate had finally been set free.
I kissed him back. Fully. No hesitation this time. No fear.
When he pulled back, his breath was shallow.
"I love you," he said. "I don't know when it started. Or how. But it's there. Real. Loud. And fuck! I tried to stop it."
My mouth parted slightly, heart hammering against my ribs.
Ken looked like he was trying not to panic at his own words.
But he didn't take them back.
He just added, more softly this time, "Come inside."
I nodded.
And just like that, I followed him into his apartment.
The air inside was warm. Familiar. The soft scent of laundry detergent and sandalwood.
He walked straight to the kitchen and started pulling things out of the fridge, some eggs, leftover kimchi, rice from the night before. He was quiet, but his hands moved with intent.
"You're cooking?" I asked, watching him from the stool by the counter.
"Don't act so surprised."
He glanced at me, smirking just a little.
"I just… didn't think you'd still want to feed me."
He looked at me again, this time more serious. "I want to do everything for you."
Something in my chest flipped.
I stood and walked over to him, slowly wrapping my arms around his waist from behind.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, he kept stirring the pan, leaning back slightly into my touch.
It was quiet for a moment. Just
the soft sizzle of garlic in oil. My cheek pressed against the back of his shoulder.
"I've never felt this," I admitted. "Not like this."
He turned his head slightly. "Felt what?"
"This… safe," I whispered. "Like someone actually sees me. Not the name. Not the drama. Just… me."
He didn't say anything, but i felt his hand brush over mine, lacing our fingers for a second before going back to stirring the rice.
We ate dinner together in the quiet.
No phones. No distractions. Just shared glances between spoonfuls and the occasional laugh when i made a face at how spicy the kimchi was.
After we ate, I didn't say i was going home.
He didn't ask.
Instead, I curled up on his couch while he washed the dishes.
Later that night, I slid under the covers of his bed, fully clothed, not expecting anything — and felt him climb in beside me.
He didn't touch me.
He didn't try to kiss me again.
He just reached for my hand under the blanket and held it.
Tightly.
Like a promise.
And for the first time in years, I didn't feel like a performance.
I felt like a person.
His person.
And that was enough.