The sea at night seemed endless — the smooth surface reflected the stars, as if someone had sprinkled a handful of silver over the water. The wind came from the ocean, soft, moist, and carried the scent of salt, warmed sand, and something warm, alive.
Do-yun stood barefoot on the shore, looking into the distance. Waves rolled to his feet, and each retreat left a cool shiver on his skin. Seungho walked behind him — unhurriedly, as if afraid to startle the silence.
— Cold? — he asked.
— No, — Do-yun didn't turn around. — Quite the opposite. As if I can breathe for the first time.
Seungho came closer, stood next to him. For a few seconds, they just looked at the horizon, where the moon lay on the water, almost touching the tide line.
— I once thought the sea was peace, — Seungho said. — But it knows no peace. It lives, even when it's silent.
Do-yun smiled faintly.
— Then we are alike.
Silence hung between them, but not awkward — warm, filled. A wave reached their feet, left a trace, and Do-yun stepped slightly forward.
— It's pulling.
— Where?
— I don't know. Just… towards life, I guess.
Seungho reached out his hand, touched his fingers.
— Don't go far.
Do-yun turned his head, looked at him.
— Are you still afraid I'll leave?
— I am, — Seungho confessed. He said it calmly, but something almost childlike sounded in his voice — honest, undefended. — I'm not afraid of losing you, — he added. — I'm afraid of losing what's left of me if you're not here. Everything I've done… even the good things… it was all built on you.
Do-yun stepped closer, his palms touching his chest.
— And I'm afraid that one day you'll wake up and realize — I'm not the one worth saving.
— Enough, — Seungho shook his head. — Don't say that.
— Then don't look at me like a miracle.
— Then like what?
— Like an equal.
He looked up. In the moonlight, Do-yun's pupils seemed almost transparent. Seungho ran his fingers along his cheek, over his lips.
— I am looking. Exactly like that.
He kissed him — cautiously at first, as if checking if it was allowed. But Do-yun didn't pull away. He responded, and there was something new in that movement: not hunger, not desperation, but softness, the certainty that neither of them had to prove anything anymore.
⋆⋆⋆
The hot springs were higher up, in a gorge. They walked there — unhurriedly, talking in low voices. The air was thick with steam; the moonlight fell on the water's surface like silver.
— It's quiet here, — Do-yun said, placing his palm in the water.
— Because this place protects those who decided to live, — Seungho replied.
He helped Do-yun descend into the water, supporting his waist. The warmth enveloped his body instantly, like a touch. Do-yun sighed, closed his eyes, and Seungho involuntarily held his gaze: under the soft light, his skin seemed almost translucent, his breathing — deep, like a person who has finally let go of pain.
Seungho moved closer; the water reached his chest; steam streamed across the surface, hiding them from the world. He ran his fingers along Do-yun's shoulder, and he opened his eyes.
— What is it? — he asked.
— Just looking.
— And what do you see?
— Myself, — Seungho said quietly. — But… without fear.
Do-yun reached for him, wrapping his arms around his neck. The kiss was slow. Water rippled around them, enveloping their bodies; the sound of their breathing mixed with the rustle of the steam. Seungho's hands rested on his back, then slid lower — confidently, but without rush. Do-yun responded with his whole body, his back, his breath, a sound that escaped his lips — a low, almost prayerful sound.
The steam settled in droplets on their skin. Seungho stroked his thigh, then paused, meeting his gaze.
— May I? — he asked.
Do-yun nodded.
The movement was soft, cautious. Not power — a promise. Not passion — a connection. The body yielded, accepted, dissolved in warmth and water. Do-yun was breathless from the closeness, but not from pain. Every breath they took became a shared note — drawn out, alive. Seungho held him close, not breaking eye contact, as if afraid to miss a single movement of his eyelashes.
Their bodies moved slowly, almost ritually. The water murmured like the breathing of the sea. Their shoulders glistened in the moonlight; steam rose in clouds; the scent of skin and water mingled into one.
— Seungho… — Do-yun exhaled.
— Mm?
— Don't let go.
— Never.
He said it calmly, not as an oath, but as a truth that required no proof. When it was over, they remained in the water. Seungho held him in his arms, as if afraid the steam would take him away again. Do-yun pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
— Strange, — he said. — I used to think love was fire.
— And now?
— Now — it's water. It doesn't burn. It heals.
Seungho ran his palm over his hair, kissed his temple.
— Then let it flow. Without stopping.
The steam around them began to dissipate, revealing the stars. The night became clearer, their breathing — steadier. They sat until the moon rose higher, until the air cooled. And then Seungho stood up, picking him up in his arms. Do-yun didn't resist, simply buried his forehead in his neck.
The walk back to the house was short. The air smelled of wet stone and salt. The world seemed calm, as after a long storm. And for the first time, their bond required neither strength nor power. Only trust.