It was cold, that night. But even as winter iced down around Seoul and the Kim house, Sejeong's mother still didn't keep the thermostat at a remotely comfortable temperature. Sejeong and Chungha had found as much solace as possible under the shared afghan, and a battered old VHS tape of The Lion King – they'd hoped that watching a movie set in Africa would help them feel warmer.

It was strange; Sejeong had always thought she and Chungha were so different, but apparently both loved The Lion King as kids, and the choice was easily agreed upon. This only further contributed to Sejeong's nagging – and vaguely terrifying – and vaguely comforting - (which was what the reason it was vaguely terrifying) – suspicion that she and Kim Chungha were made of the same stuff.

Anyways, the whole movie passed quickly, and as soon as the credits rolled, Chungha shivered.

“Still cold?” Sejeong glanced over and tried to scoot more covers in Chungha's direction.

“No, I'm okay.” Chungha scrunched them back towards Sejeong. Soon, the afghan was bunched up in between them and then neither of them were covered up.

“Hot chocolate,” Chungha stated firmly, getting up and heading towards the kitchen. Chungha followed, and gasped in horror as Sejeong started pouring soy milk into two mugs. Sejeong stopped immediately, setting the milk down and put up both her hands in surrender. “What did I do wrong? It's soy.” she gestured at the carton.

Chungha flushed. “Yes, but it's not what… it's how.” she bit her lip. “Do you have a pot? Like, for the stovetop?”

Sejeong blinked at her. Then, without saying anything, she searched around under a cabinet and procured a three-quart pot, reaching behind her blindly and handing it up to Chungha. “Have at it,” she offered, brushing off her knees as she got up off the floor.

Chungha then set to work, meticulously pouring the soy milk into the pot and igniting the burner to medium heat. “Cocoa powder? And a whisk?” she turned back to Sejeong, who was leaning on the counter, watching her intently.

Chungha sifted some cocoa powder over the pot, and gently whisked it into the milk, watching it swirl around and around every time she lifted out the utensil. Sejeong just stared at her, finding herself unable to look away.

And then, as Chungha was sprinkling sugar over the mixture, Sejeong realized something.

She felt… warm.

It was winter in Seoul, they were in a house that had ty heating, and Sejeong realized that she had never felt more comfortable than she did in this very moment. This was the first time in a while her house had felt more like home—

When Kim Chungha was making hot chocolate on the stovetop.

It was a ridiculously overwhelming feeling, which may have something to do with the fact that Sejeong decided it was a great idea to step closer and closer to Chungha's side, in time with the whisking. Chungha noticed the proximity, and looked up at Sejeong, smiling.

“I'm glad you don't mind. I just like making hot chocolate on the stove,” she grinned. “It's more traditional this way. Reminds me of home.”

Sejeong just smiled back at her, because her brain didn't know how to do anything else at this point, and all she really heard was the word “home.” And then her heart took over completely as she leaned down and caught the corner of Chungha's mouth in a kiss.

“Mmf,” Chungha said, angling her heads towards Sejeong's.

As soon as Chungha had made that noise, Sejeong released her lips for a split second, and then tangled her hands in Chungha's hair, pulling her closer, and kissing her again. She didn't really know what was happening, but all she knew was that she was kissing Chungha with something that felt faintly like desperation. Like everything she'd ever felt for her came spilling out into this one gesture, and emotions like longing and comfort and pleading and jealousy were pouring out of Sejeong and into Chungha. Like maybe if Sejeong could just kiss Chungha meaningfully enough, she'd fall right into Chungha's soul, where she kept her dreams and her drive and her kindness and heart, and maybe if Sejeong could find her way there she could stay there forever and be safe and protected and Chungha would never be cold again.

But these thoughts swirled around in Sejeong's brain, like cocoa powder in boiling soy milk, and suddenly everything caught up to her – including the need to breathe. She broke her lips from Chungha's, and didn't immediately think to do anything other than look Chungha in the eye. She was staring at her with a mix of wonder and shock and confusion, and Sejeong was pretty sure she was looking at Chungha like she was the rest of her life, and suddenly she had blown right past warm and was burning with embarrassment and anxiety and maybe also a little bit of lust.

So she did what she always did: she her heel and ran out the door, leaving Chungha in the kitchen, with tousled hair and no flag in the wind.

When she got back, after she'd calmed down and felt the bitter cold return to her cheeks, Chungha was gone. The pot still sat on the stove, with two mugs next to it on the counter. One was empty. But lukewarm hot chocolate filled the other one, and three marshmallows were floating soggily on the top.