Morning light cut through the blinds, painting slow stripes across the bed and the tangled bodies within it. Ji-hye woke sore, every muscle humming, the memory of the night's wildness etched into her skin in bite marks and bruises. For a moment, she just lay there, letting herself feel it—the ache, the afterglow, the strange and delicious certainty that she was alive and wanted, not shamed or exiled. Joon-ho shifted beside her, one arm draped heavy around her waist, his breathing deep and slow.
She wriggled free, stretching with a soft wince, then padded to the bathroom to splash her face and tame her wild hair. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and laughed—her neck was a map of purple and red, teeth marks at her collarbone, love bites curving over her shoulder. She blushed, but didn't bother to hide them. They felt like armor.
