He tossed and turned and tossed some more. The rumpled sheets underneath him bear testament to his thrashing; this restlessness and disquiet have also been occupying his mind of late. He is so damned tired, physically, perhaps even more so mentally. The dials glowing on the clock by his bedside tell him it is late, or is it early? at 2 am. He's hardly had any wink of sleep since coming home an hour or so ago.

Outside, the skies are lit by the full of the moon; he can glimpse through the partially drawn blinds and see the shadows of the tree branches dancing in the breeze. He sighed, the sound loud in the stillness of his room. Even at this hour his mind is still constant in its roaming, never staying still, always reaching out, wishing, seeking her.

He thought of what he wants to do versus what is reasonable. And once again he is struck by how these things can be so incongruent, so vastly different in nature. Can't a man get a break, he thought, letting himself wallow in self pity for but a moment. He is not this kind of man, one who acts helpless, who would cede without an action, who would reliquish and surrender what he wanted without the barest opposition.

The work certainly isn't helping. He is bone-tired and brain-wearied. All he wanted was time. Only a few more weeks of this and then..

He jumped to grab his keys, putting on his hoodie as he rushed out the door.

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Even at this hour, the streets are busy. People are still keeping such late hours, be it for pleasure or business.  The headlights of the cars along with the streetlamps gave the semblance of a city that never sleeps. It's a hectic life, living in this concrete jungle, even without the added pressure of his work. If he were an ordinary man, he would have long ago made a home, a family; he would have claimed her. As if she were a property to be claimed, he chuckled, thinking of this fiesty peanut that has him wrapped around her little fingers.

He drummed impatient fingers against the wheel, as he tried to keep within the speed limits of the road. It is late and he knows it. He maneuvered the car around the maze that is the streets of Seoul, all the while his thoughts never strayed far from its objective.

She doesn't live very far, fortunately. He has never been a patient man, not on certain things. When it comes to her, he's so lost and turned around. He is the most patient impatient person, the most impulsive thoughtful artist, the most complicated obvious man and the most selfish considerate lover.

She would be asleep. Why do you have to go and bother her at this ungodly hour. She needed her rest. His conscience is always at the ready to talk some sense into him.

Because I want to see her...

Because I miss her...

Because I need her...  And with this, his inner voice quieted itself on its own.

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The apartment complex is full of darkened windows, with only a few faintly lit ones he can see from where he is standing. He knew which one is hers. He parked and walked through the gated entrance, his steps hurried now that his destination is within easy reach. Once he reached her doorway, he entered the passcode without the least bit of hesitation. They have long since exchanged door codes; he still remembers that day as clearly as though it was yesterday. 

She had handed him a nondescript little box, one that was small and rectangular; it sat easily in the palm of his hand. It was made of a heavy cardboard, about the size of a namecard and as thick as a deck of cards. She had tied a red silk ribbon on it with note bearing his name. 

"This is my thank you present to you for taking care of me," she said, her cheeks were pinking already before he could even say thanks properly. 

"Thank you for what?" He shook the box lightly next to his ear, but he didn't hear anything other than the slight movement of paper inside.

"For taking care of me when I had to do the rehab for my ankle. I knew how busy you were but you still came with me to my appointments and everything." 

He took her hands and kissed them, "But you didn't have to give me presents for that. Of course I'd be there; where else would I be? Thank you, my love. What is it?"

"Open it and see."

He was curious, wondering what such an odd shaped box might contain. Her tastes run the gamut; sometimes slightly eclectic, always leaning towards the artistic handcrafted pieces. He's never really sure what treasure she'd come across in her roamings around the city. 

The simple ribbon was easily unknotted; his long deft fingers quick to figure out how to open the tabs on the sides so he wouldn't damage the pretty box. It opened much like a book, spreading apart to reveal a papercutting of a key. He glanced at her questioning and lifted it to see a series of number written on the side. He recognized the numbers easily enough. He looked at her, understanding finally dawning in his eyes.

"You don't really need it," she said, "since you've been here quite often enough, but I wanted to show you I trust you by giving you this." Her voiced trailed in a whisper when her doubts started to rear its ugly head, making her wonder if her gift was too simple, too basic, too ordinary for something like this. She bit her lips in consternation. But she had no need to worry...

His eyes had that charged look in them again that she has come to know. And she saw the way he gripped the key in his hand hard enough he was almost crushing it.

He had no words; he didn't need them anyway. He reached over to bring her closer to thank her properly. He didn't need any words at all.

 

Her house is quiet. A few lit night lamps guided his steps to her room. Her sister must not be here; a quick glance to the left showed her bedroom door wide open and the bed empty, before he continued on to the last door down the hall and slipped quietly inside. He stood looking at the bundle on the bed for awhile; she is all snuggled up, her breathing even and light from the rise and fall of the blanket wrapped around her. The small thread of light from her window is enought to show him she sleeps soundly. He slipped under the blankets with her, hoping not to wake her, yet hoping he would...

It is enough to lie here watching her; to be close enough that her breath stirs the wisps of his hair; with light enough that he can see the face that has been constant in his mind. His eyes, always hungry for a sight of her, missed nothing. He stared at her hair spread around her pillows like a halo, its silky strands gleaming even in the dim lights. He can see her eyes moving slightly under her lids, and he wonders if she dreams right now, if she dreams of him in her sleep, the way he does. But I dream of her even when I'm wide awake, he thought. His eyes followed the trace of her nose, the swell of her cheeks, and saw her lips part when she took a deeper breath in. And with that his hands could no longer keep themselves in place. 

He reached over ghosting the shape of her jaw, his hand resting themselves on her neck to cup her face gently. He moved to drop a light kiss on her forehead. He is selfish, yes, but he will not knowingly wake her, just because he wants to. It is enough to feel her close, to have his lips resting on her, to draw a breath in and have her scent wash over him. He closed his eyes, feeling somewhat slightly settled now that he is with her. 

He felt her movement in the way she stirred slowly and became aware of his presence, and felt ridiculously happy to feel her arms wound around to bring him closer. 

"You're here," she breathed, voice trapped in the shirt, "just now?"

"Just a few minutes ago, maybe more." His arms brought her tighter to him now that she's awake.

"You should have awaken me." He felt her warm breath lingering on his skin, felt the way her lips moved as she speak. "I thought you were filming overnight. I could've waited for you at home."

"So did I. It's alright, I'm here now."

She heard the fatigue in his voice, even as he tried to be her comfort. She lifted sleep softened face to look at him, wanting to see for herself he is alright, that he is just really tired. She is almost just as good in reading him, the way he reads her.

"Tell me, Shikkie," and kissed his chin.

"It's just work. It's nothing. I'm glad it's almost over. Just promise me we'll take a trip before my other filming starts," he said, nuzzling her hair.

"Are you still bothered by it? I told you, it's fine. I know it's just work."

"I know, but I don't know if I'll be okay when it's your turn," he said staring at her; he is so lost so quickly in the depths of her eyes. 

"Just don't watch; I told you I don't," she dimpled at him. She brought him down and let her lips hover teasingly over his. "Besides, I know what your real kisses are like." She nipped gently, letting her words break in between her kisses. "I know how you like to kiss me." 

He didn't need much prompting; those gentle kisses she gave were just a teaser, if you will. He didn't want any appetizers, not tonight. He aims to get the full course, and dessert for that matter.

He took her lips, biting it gently, before deepening the kiss, wanting to taste her after missing her these last few days. He kissed her with an insatiable thirst that only she can quench, and drew on her sweetness deeply, while letting his hands tangle and be lost in the strands of her hair, then being everywhere all at once, creating havoc in their path.

He moved to trap her underneath, her soft curves a contrast to his firm and solid shape. With hearts that beat in sync, breaths drawn in tandem, they danced this dance, familiar yet still bringing them a sense of wonder, of awe, to be one and whole with each other.

"I missed you," her voice is husky, coming out of swollen lips of his doing. It sounded like music to his ears. 

"I missed you more." And with that, he kissed her again, and again, and again...

The night is never long enough when they are together.

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A/N:

Thank you for reading. Shippers, we will stand strong :)