Home; I Found With You // Ryeji FF

home.

There was a saying whispered about the lost souls who left this world by their own hands; that the fires of hell burned for them, not as a punishment, but as a mercy, to keep them warm when the world had failed to.

It was a cruel kindness, the kind people invented when reality was too heavy to carry bare. When abandonment hollowed out the chest, when grief lingered like frost beneath the skin, when everything became too heavy– seeping into the bones so deeply that even hope froze solid. They said hellfire was gentler than the silence left behind. That at least the flames acknowledged your existence.

There was another saying, too, that Heaven was not a place one arrived at, but a place one returned to.

It was the quiet belief that Heaven wasn't built of gates or light, but of memory. Of arms that once held you without asking for anything in return. Of laughter that lived in her chest before the world taught you how to be afraid. Heaven was the warmth you recognised the moment you felt it again. The certainty that you had been loved once, and that love had never truly let you go.

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The scar on her cheek caught the light of the early morning sun, faintly aglow. Ahead of her, the waves rolled in patient rhythms, knocking gently against the shore. Beside her lay the fox-like woman she had learned to rest her heart in, the one who felt safe.

"Chaeryeong..." she murmured, her fingers brushing softly along her girlfriend's cheekbone.

The woman let out a sleepy groan. "Yuna? What time is it?"

The young soldier smiled, quiet and fond.

"It's time for us to get out of bed."

They moved within the small house slowly, still half-wrapped in sleep. The floorboards creaked under their bare feet as Yuna led the way down the narrow hall, pushing open the bathroom door with her shoulder.

Steam bloomed almost immediately when she turned the tap. The pipes rattled, then steadied. Clean water spilled from the showerhead with an even stream.

Yuna watched it for a second longer than necessary. A week or two ago, it had been nothing but rust and sputtering air. She'd torn the panel open, rewired the pump, sealed a crack with scavenged parts and stubborn hope. Seeing it work still felt like a small miracle.

"Still proud of yourself?" Chaeryeong murmured, stepping in behind her.

Yuna huffed a quiet laugh. "A little."

They undressed, clothing folded and set aside, then stepped beneath the warm spray together. The heat chased away the chill that lingered in their bones, water tracing over scars, bruises, and old reminders of things they had encountered.

Yuna lifted a hand, careful as always, and began washing Chaeryeong's shoulders. The older leaned into her touch instinctively, forehead resting against Yuna's collarbone with eyes closed.

For a moment, the world narrowed to steams and warm breaths, and the steady sound of water— no alarms, no orders, no ghosts. Just warmth. Just here.

"This," Chaeryeong said softly, voice nearly lost to the spray, "feels nice."

Yuna didn't answer. She only held her a little closer, as if afraid that if she broke the tranquillity, the moment might slip through her fingers like water down the drain.

Clean clothes clung to their skin, still faintly damp from steam. When they stepped outside, the porch boards were cool beneath their feet.

The sun had only just risen, low and pale on the horizon, casting gold across the water. Morning mist hovered over the shoreline, and the air carried the sharp, clean bite of salt and wind.