Mint Is Pure Love - Chapter 55

Ji Yeonseo woke up still in the pajamas she had worn to bed, snugly tucked under her fruit-print blanket. For a few hazy moments, she just blinked, slowly shaking off sleep.

Yesterday came back to her in pieces — cherry blossoms… the hanwoo beef… and then—

“Touch me, Yeonseo.”

The voice snapped her wide awake. She shot upright, scanning the room in a panic. Her cozy little place was exactly as it had been. No Seokyung anywhere.

Instead, there was… a rabbit. A white rabbit with half-lidded eyes, printed on a bath towel. Hung neatly on a hanger, swaying slightly, staring down at her from midair like it had been freshly washed and hung to dry.

“…Haah…”

God, Ji Yeonseo, what the hell did you do last night? She couldn’t exactly claim it wasn’t impulsive.

So… what now?

“…I don’t know.”

Pathetic, but that was the only answer she could manage.

Seokyung had made a suggestion, she’d accepted part of it, then countered with her own. He’d agreed. Technically speaking, last night had been a calm, almost logical negotiation. But what followed… had been far more primal, more explicit than she’d expected.

Swinging her legs off the bed, she poured herself a glass of water. If he’d left while she was sleeping, at least the door was locked.

“…Then I guess that’s that.”

Still, she’d expected him to be there when she woke up. Movies and dramas always made it look that way. But maybe her experience points just weren’t high enough yet. She brushed away the strange hollowness in her chest and headed straight to the bathroom — that clammy sensation between her legs still lingering.

When the warm water streamed down her curves and between her thighs, she felt… strange.
He hadn’t even touched her there last night, yet her body remembered, reacting to its own sensations.

It was unsettling — almost scary. And when the image of Seokyung’s face, twisted in release, flashed in her mind, the tingling returned, forcing her to cut the shower short.

The apartment was empty anyway, so she stepped out dripping and bare, toweling herself off.
Then she froze.

Wait… how had Seokyung locked the door when he left?

Maybe she’d imagined it was locked? She was staring at the front door when— click. The lock turned, and the door swung open.

In walked Seokyung, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His gaze landed briefly on her face, then lingered a little longer on her chest, completely unbothered, until the motion sensor light above them flickered off and back on.

No screaming, no flustered glances away like in the movies. Yeonseo froze in shock and Seokyung just… took his time appreciating the view.

When the light came back on, his calm voice cut through the silence.

“Your br3ast has gotten bigger.”

She threw the towel in his direction and bolted to her closet. Completely useless move.

While she scrambled into clothes, he set a plastic bag on the kitchen counter. By the time she stormed back out, he’d already opened her fridge and helped himself to some water.

“How the hell did you get in?!”

“With the key.”

“And why the hell do you have my—”

“You wouldn’t wake up. I needed to change clothes, and I wasn’t about to leave the door unlocked.”

He was in different clothes now — looking fresher, sharper than last night. Like he’d had a perfect night’s sleep. Which, for some reason, just made her more annoyed.

“Sit. Eat.”

From the bag, he pulled out a round plastic container.

“…What’s this?”

“You let me crash here, so I brought you hangover soup.”

Her stomach growled. Judging by the sun high in the sky, she’d slept in embarrassingly late. And really, there was no reason to keep picking a fight over this. She slid onto the stool.

The clear bean sprout soup was perfectly refreshing. Come to think of it, they’d gone through half a bottle of soju last night. She hadn’t thought she was hungover, but the warmth of the broth made her stomach settle.

“Do you even eat at home?”

He wasn’t touching his spoon, just watching her.

“…My mom sends side dishes sometimes. I eat those.”

Her eating habits had been messy since high school — sometimes skipping meals depending on her mood or situation. Especially when she was alone.

He didn’t comment. Just waited until she’d eaten half the soup before speaking again.

“So… what’s your plan?”

“…Plan for what?”

“You said you wanted to go at your own pace. How exactly do you want this to go?”

He asked it like they were starting some new joint project.

“…You want me to make a schedule? Like week one, we kiss, week four we do second base?”

“That works. But week four for second base is too slow.”

“…Ha.”

Something about it stung.

Back when they were younger, she’d made plans with him — promises about future summers at the beach, or watching the World Cup together as college students. Even though they’d never set a date, those ideas had been enough to make them excited, and the waiting itself had been sweet.

But now, twenty-four-year-old Seokyung was asking her for a concrete timetable, like he didn’t want to spend a second more than necessary. It made her… sad.

“…Seokyung, why are you rushing? It’s only been a day.”

“Only a day?”

He sounded faintly offended, but then, like he realized he’d gone too far, his tone softened.

“Yeah… I was impatient. I said I’d match your pace.”

He hesitated, then added, “I’m fine with saying we’re dating. Makes it easier when we’re out together. If you’re not comfortable, I’ll just make it look natural.”

“…What?”

His crooked gaze met hers.

“What? You weren’t thinking we’d just be some kind of fvck-buddies, were you? I don’t do that.”

The sharp seriousness in his expression made her blink.

“So you actually want to… go out? Date? Spend time together?”

His silence was answer enough. She suddenly felt thirsty, gulping water. Something about it didn’t add up.

Last night, he’d been light, casual — giving her two options and saying he didn’t care which she picked. Even if she’d said “let’s just be club friends,” he wouldn’t have seemed disappointed.

But now… he was talking about being a couple. For what reason, she couldn’t tell. And suddenly, she was scared.

Even when she thought she was fine, these moments had a way of grabbing her by the ankle — a deep-rooted fear of relationships and people, of the changes intimacy brought. And the attention it would attract once people knew.

“Seokyung, you…”

“I’ve never seen women as just s3x partners. I don’t know what rumors you’ve heard, but I’ve never wanted someone for that reason. For me, the relationship comes first.”

He tapped the table twice with his finger, his gaze far away.

“So what do you want, Ji Yeonseo?”

What I want…

I want this to stay light. I want the six years I carried you quietly in my heart to remain mine alone. You, fluttering like a butterfly from flower to flower — it stings sometimes, but at least you weren’t lonely. That’s enough.

I don’t want you tearing up your whole world for me, or getting angry, or losing your balance. I’ll be me, and you’ll be you. Let’s keep our memories the same color they’ve always been.

But I do need closure. Six years of dragging this along… I need time to finally let it go.
Just four seasons. Just one autumn and winter together — the ones we never had.

At twenty-four, I’m more afraid than my eighteen-year-old self ever imagined.

“…Let’s not tell anyone.”

Like before, when we were kids.

“Don’t tell the club, don’t tell your friends. Just our secret.”

You probably don’t see me as anything more than that anyway. Six years apart made that much clear.

“This is just… tying up loose ends. Doing what we couldn’t back then. No labels. No definitions.”

No naming it, because naming it would make the ending hurt more.

You don’t call it a breakup when you drift from someone you barely knew. I don’t want our ending to have a name. I don’t want to remember it longer than I have to — because it’ll hurt worse than the last six years.

His sharp gaze met hers.

 “…Alright then.”

He stood, like that was all there was to say.

“You haven’t changed at all, Ji Yeonseo.”

The door shut, leaving the words hanging, cool and cutting.

“…”

There had been so many things she wanted to say if they ever met again. She’d rearranged them in her mind a thousand times, adding and removing pieces. But when he was in front of her, her mind was a messy drawer, and she couldn’t find the words she needed.

It wasn’t until she was putting away the dishes, opening the fridge to store a water bottle, that she realized.

What she’d wanted to say.

I’m sorry. Back then… I’m sorry.

And there it was — rows of strawberry milk lined neatly in her fridge, making the belated words catch in her throat.