The Weight of Nine Months
For the rest of the week, the word clung to Kwang like a shadow.
Free.
Ashling had said it so casually, staring at her planner over morning coffee, but it had lodged in his chest like a thorn. Free meant gone. Free meant their days of quiet breakfasts, evening car rides, late-night banter would end — and she would walk away like this year had been nothing but a signed paper.
He watched her differently now. The way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she read reports in the garden. The way her laugh — rare, but worth everything — lit her whole face. Even the way she wrinkled her nose at his sloppy reheating of leftovers.
Every moment whispered: I don't want her to go.
The Invitation
Friday evening came with spring rain, light but steady, tapping against the wide windows of the house. Ashling had retreated to her room with files, intent on finishing a report due Monday.
Kwang knocked lightly. "Come out with me."
Her voice floated back, tired. "I can't. Too much work."
"You've been locked up all week," he countered. "One night won't kill Hyundai."
There was silence, then the creak of the door. She stood there in a simple blouse and jeans, hair loose, eyes wary but curious.
"Where?"
He smiled. "Just the garden."
Under the Lanterns
He had strung lanterns across the trees earlier, their golden glow soft against the rain-slick leaves. A small table waited beneath, set with wine, fruit, and warm blankets.
Ashling paused, blinking at the sight. "You did this?"
Kwang shrugged, suddenly shy. "I figured the office gets enough boardroom lighting. You deserve something gentler."
Her lips curved faintly as she sat, accepting the glass he poured. The rain pattered around them, steady but light, a rhythm against the quiet.
For a while, they talked of nothing — silly dramas, odd habits of their neighbors, the ridiculous taste of cold pizza.
Then her gaze softened. "Why do you keep doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Making it harder," she whispered. "Reminding me what I'll miss when the contract ends."
The Confession
Kwang's chest tightened. He set his glass down carefully.
"Because I don't want it to end, Ash."
Her eyes widened, but he pressed on, his voice low, steady.
"You said nine months left. But I don't want nine months. I want every morning you hum while slicing fruit. Every evening you scold me for distracting your team. Every laugh you don't mean to let slip. I want… all of it. Not borrowed time."
The lantern light caught her face, softening the sharp lines she wore in the boardroom. Her lips parted, trembling.
"Kwang…"
He leaned closer, his breath warm. "You don't have to say anything now. Just know… I've already decided. I don't care about the contract. I don't care about studios, headlines, even the company. I care about this." His hand brushed hers on the table. "About you."
The First Kiss
Silence stretched, thick with rain and unspoken words.
Then Ashling moved — just barely, but enough.
Her hand turned beneath his, fingers twining with his. And in that tiny surrender, Kwang felt the world tilt.
He leaned in, slowly, giving her time to pull back. She didn't.
Their lips met softly at first, testing, tasting. Then again, deeper, hungrier, years of restraint breaking like a dam.
Ashling's hand slid to his shoulder, gripping lightly as if anchoring herself. His other hand rose to her jaw, tilting her face just enough to claim the kiss fully.
When they pulled apart, breathless, her eyes shone with something between fear and fire.
"This is insane," she whispered.
"Maybe," he murmured, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "But it's real."
The Garden to the Bedroom
The rain grew heavier, urging them inside. He grabbed the blankets, she the wine, both laughing breathlessly as they stumbled through the doorway, dripping.
Inside, the laughter faded into silence, charged and heavy.
Ashling stood in the living room, hoodie damp, hair curling from the rain. Kwang dropped the blankets, stepped closer.
"Tell me to stop," he said quietly.
She didn't.
Instead, she reached up, boldness cutting through hesitation, and pulled his mouth back to hers.
It was different this time — urgent, unguarded. Years of walls, grief, and loneliness melted in the heat of it.
His hands framed her face, then slid to her shoulders, her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, tugging him with surprising fierceness.
They broke apart only long enough to breathe, then kissed again, harder.
By the time they reached the bedroom, the rain outside had become a roar, but inside there was only the sound of lips, whispers, and the soft thud of hearts colliding.
Kwang kissed her shoulders, trailing warmth down her skin. She shuddered, breath catching as his lips lingered at the hollow of her collarbone.
"Ash…" he whispered, voice rough, reverent.
She silenced him with another kiss, pulling him down with surprising boldness.
For all her steel in the boardroom, here she was tender and daring, laughter bubbling between gasps as if the weight of the world had finally lifted.
He worshiped her with patience and urgency all at once, mapping every curve with lips and hands, as though memorizing her. She answered with fire of her own, unafraid to claim him back.
Clothes scattered. Sheets tangled. Lantern-light from the garden bled faintly through the window, gilding them in gold.
When they finally stilled, skin to skin, breath ragged, silence stretched like an embrace.
Kwang brushed damp strands from her face, pressing his forehead to hers.
"You're mine, Ash," he whispered, voice trembling with truth.
For once, she didn't argue. She only closed her eyes, resting against him as if she'd finally found a place to stay.
Hours later, rain still steady outside, Ashling stirred against him, the faintest smile on her lips.
Nine months. That's what she'd said.
But in that moment, in his arms, she realized time no longer mattered.
Because something bigger had begun.