The dining room was filled with warm light, the sound of family chatter mingling with the clinking of spoons and glasses, while laughter occasionally broke out at the end of the table. I sat beside my wife, trying to appear calm. My hands rested neatly on the table, my eyes lowered to my plate, even though my chest had been tight with nervousness from the very start.

I thought tonight would pass as usual. Until that fleeting kiss landed on my neck. Just a second, but enough to make my whole body stiffen. My shoulders rose instinctively, my breath caught halfway, and my face immediately burned. The heat spread too quickly—from my neck to my cheeks, then creeping up to my ears, which surely had already turned red.

I quickly lowered my head, stabbing a piece of meat with my fork. But my hand trembled, and the piece slipped before I could lift it. I drew a small, nervous breath, then hastily fixed the fork again so I wouldn’t look awkward.

But her lips touched again, longer this time, right beneath my ear. I nearly lost control—the glass in my hand trembled, the water inside rippling lightly. I gripped the stem tighter, my fingers pale from the pressure. My jaw clenched, while my eyes stayed locked on the plate, though my vision had gone blurry, no longer able to focus.

I shifted slightly in my chair, writhing as if searching for comfort. In truth, I was only trying to channel the suffocating nervousness. My left hand squeezed the edge of my pants beneath the table, my nails pressing into the fabric until it wrinkled. My back stayed straight but rigid, then slowly I bent forward, as if I could hide from the gaze of my family.

“W-what are you… doing…?” I whispered faintly, my lips barely moving. My voice was hoarse, broken, like someone who had just been running.

I heard my uncle’s laughter from across the table, thankfully not directed at me. I swallowed hard, trying to hide how red my face had become. I quickly bowed deeper, pretending nothing had happened. But inside my chest, my heart pounded so hard, it was almost painful.

The next kiss made me close my eyes for a fraction of a second. My breathing was chaotic, uneven—rushing in too fast, spilling out too heavily. I bit my lower lip, trying to suppress the embarrassed smile that almost broke through, but my body had already betrayed me. My shoulders trembled slightly, my breath hitched, and my face grew even hotter.

I stole a glance at the table, making sure no one was watching. My vision was blurry, only vague shadows of plates and glasses in front of me. My eyes quickly dropped back down, as if staring at my food could save me from this shame.

My free hand kept fidgeting—my fingers squirmed on my thigh, then tapped lightly against the side of the chair, then returned to squeezing the hem of my pants. I didn’t know how else to release it all.

My back stiffened when her lips brushed me again. This time, I nearly dropped my fork. I could only grip it tighter, my arm and shoulders trembling under the weight of unease. I swallowed, dry, and finally that voice slipped from my throat.

“Please… not here…” I muttered, low and hoarse. But even my own ears knew: it wasn’t a protest, it was just a shy plea.

I never truly intended to stop her. My words were nothing more than a thin curtain to cover the reality that I liked it so much. This embarrassment was shattering my defenses, but behind it, warmth flowed—sweet, intoxicating, making me feel more alive.

I bowed my head deeper, my cheeks hot, my breath uneven. My fingers finally covered my mouth, as if that could hide the redness blazing on my face. Then, in a voice almost too faint to hear, I whispered, “You’re going to kill me with embarrassment, love”