Unmatched

Part 4

Warmth.

Intrinsically healing, inexplicably comforting, you're wrapped in the soft glow of warm morning sunlight, captured in the dusted rays that seep through the sheer nets across your bedroom window.

Profoundly soothing amidst the haze of sleep, you subconsciously deem that you wish never to awake, to simply lie here like this, untroubled and safe.

Yet the realities of life seek a vastly different path for you, as the shrill of your alarm clock pierces the peace.

A single arm from the fort of your duvet is all the effort you can muster to paw for the device, somehow succeeded in shutting it off only to return to the security of the space beneath the blanket.

And you're not the only one that appears to be of such a mind.

Through instinct or simple habit, your husband beside you rolls over, an arm snakes around your middle. Still thoroughly drugged with sleep, you're sure he's not lucid enough to recall the conflicts of yesterday as he nuzzles flush to your body, large frame wrapped around your back. Rhythmic, gentle breaths warm the nape of your neck; it's mere moments before the content of it all outweighs any strife, and you find yourself slipping back into a doze with a synchrony of breaths that only two people so in love might manage so naturally.

You suppose that with the arrival of a new day, you've been granted clarity to see things differently.

You'd made it home last night with no issues, yet your husband had been fast asleep when you returned. Loath to end the day on an argument, yet with little choice, you'd slipped into bed and tried your best to reason through everything. Indeed, Hyunjin had given you much to consider.

He hadn't been wrong in much of what he'd said, after all, irrespective of the delivery.

Minho, for all his flaws and baggage, was trying. He'd made a mistake—not to belittle the magnitude of it all—and you suppose that if things had gone any further than a kiss, you would be feeling incomprehensibly different right now. No amount of detachment from monogamy can ever justify such a blatant betrayal to the institution of marriage, or arguably, love itself.

Yet things hadn't gone any further, and while there's no doubt that you'd prefer his undivided loyalty all the time, following your conversation with Hyunjin you're somewhat more aware of the battle he assuredly fought. The fact that he even recognised a need to stop, an inherent wrongness in what he was doing, is some small victory, you surmise.

Even if it is agonising.

And in this moment, in such a place with him, you simply don't feel as though your marriage is ending. You don't feel as though Minho is the worst person in the world, as though there is no hope to be found in him, or you.

"When did you get back?"

Minho's rasped murmur warms against your skin, you can't help the solace it brings.

"Late," you whisper. "You were already sleeping."

"Should have woken me up."

You hum in response, finding it moot to point out that he's never once taken kindly to being stirred from sleep, even on the times it actually mattered.

A moment of silence follows, Minho shuffles closer, nose buried in your hair.

"I'm still sorry," he mutters. "Never won't be sorry."

You find it bizarre that his sleepy apology should somehow mean more to you than the frantic appeal he dropped on you last night, and subsequently wonder what that says about you. Carefully, you reposition to face him properly, arm tucked under your head.