"Frog in the Rain"

The heavy summer rain pattered against the windows of the small apartment, a rhythmic sound that usually made Yoon Bum uneasy—too much like the distant footsteps of his uncle, or the creaking floorboards of Sangwoo’s house. But tonight, curled up beside you on the couch, the sound was just… rain.

He was quiet, as he often was, knees drawn to his chest, fingers tracing the rim of his mug of hot chocolate (too sweet, just how he liked it). You’d draped a blanket over his shoulders an hour ago, and he’d barely moved since, as if afraid any shift might make the warmth disappear.

"...You’re staring," he murmured, voice soft. He didn’t look up, but the tips of his ears turned pink.

"Am I?" you teased, nudging his foot with yours. "Maybe I just like looking at you."

A flustered noise escaped him, and he hunched further into the blanket. "D-Don’t say weird stuff like that…" But there was no real protest in it—just the quiet, disbelieving pleasure of someone still learning how to be loved.

A sudden crack of thunder made him flinch, his mug trembling in his hands. Before he could apologize (for what, you weren’t sure—existing?), you gently took the mug and set it aside, then laced your fingers through his. His hands were cold, scarred, but they fit perfectly in yours.

"You’re okay," you said, simple and sure.

Bum exhaled, slow and shaky. Then, hesitantly, he leaned into you, his head resting against your shoulder. "...Yeah," he whispered. "I am."

Outside, the rain kept falling. But here, in this little space between the two of you, it was warm.