The Season of Us

Winter (him)

Stumbling into his bed in Pyongyang in apartment, he had just bid goodbye to his former company five members. They were celebrating his newly awarded professorship in Switzerland. Ecstatic didn't begin to cover it for his other half would meet him there, his twin flame that burned just as bright for him, the one who resided on the unforgiving 38th parallel.

There were times, though, that his mind would wander, thinking he asked too much of her, staring down at the metal band that eternally linked them he wondered if he was being fair to her, that she would change her mind, that her love for him would dwindle into the quiet embers of a dying fire. But he remembers the vows she spoke to him, the ones that rang in his ears on the days he doubted himself, and her voice alone brought him out of darkness time and time again.

He had told her he wouldn't drink outside, and he kept that promise, just as he kept every promise to her, for every vow was stitched into his heart, his love for her the thread of fate that linked him to her. His apartment was mostly packed, save for a few spare items, and of course, the portrait of her that he took all those years ago.

The dim light of the lamp was the only illumination in the room and through his drunken haze, he could hear her call his name, the way she emphasized every syllable, the way his name rolled off her luscious tongue. His vision starts to blur between reality and illusion and suddenly he sees her form, walking towards him, her hips swaying in a tantalizing manner, creating a soft undulating pattern like waves in the sea.

He calls out to her, her name becoming like a prayer to him when they are apart, the time stretching endlessly almost cruelly. He remembers the year they met when he hardly spoke her name, holding it in reverence, her name escaping his lips a mere slip of the tongue, one he admonished himself for departing his mouth. But when he left her at that border, when she shakily brought her hands to his face and whispered her love for him with utmost certainty, her name became like a second breath, a ceaseless thought that would cloud his judgment for all of eternity. He remembers when he took her to the bridge where they first met the year they reunited. The day was windy, the wobbly bridge whipping against the wind, but in an unwavering tone, he looked at her in the most earnest way, and called her by her name.

Now in the soft glow of his room, her illusion occupies his bed, huddling in front of him as he holds her close. He can almost, almost, smell the floral scent of her hair, feel the smoothness of her skin under his fingers, hear the steadying heartbeat against his. They would spend some of their days like this, never leaving the bed in their Swiss home, their limbs tied in a dizzying pattern, the sheets on the bed forgotten. She would turn to face him, their faces merely centimeters apart, as her small hand splayed across the hollows of his cheek, before placing the lightest kiss against his lips. Even then, it was drugging, intoxicating him completely until all his senses were occupied with nothing but her.

Even now, all he feels is her, though he may be alone. He can feel when she's lying underneath him, the small mewl that escapes her throat with the hot press of him inside her, the way she holds onto him like he his the anchor in her tumultuous storm, the way she holds him against the crook of her neck, her fingers tangled in the short strands of his silken hair when she comes undone. And then after, she renews her love for him, breathing into the hollow of his throat, her breath kindling a warm fire deep within him, before settling within his comforting embrace.

When he flutters his eyes shut, darkness enveloping him, a single tear traveling down his cheek as the intense yearning permeates through his entire being, his body heavy with desire and longing, and he hopes, oh he hopes, that in his dreams, she would smile that crinkle cut smile, the one that makes his heart flutter endlessly, and suddenly he would be right by her side.

A/N: I can't stop writing about these two. It's probably a disease. I know they're short one shots but I hope y'all enjoy. Much love to you all