you’re like a shinkansen, they had said. walking too fast. falling too quick. slow down.

it’s what they always told her. a love too fast would too soon dim down, so take it slow, kim chaewon, aren’t you usually slow (and distrustful and hesitant and difficult) about things like this, so why is it different with her—

her.

chaewon’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of a book thumbed away to flip to another page. her head still in hitomi’s lap, she quietly tugged at the other’s sleeve, and the hand obliged without a word, fingers lightly coming down to lightly caress her cheek before slowly combing through her locks.

“awake?” hitomi asked.

chaewon hummed. “wasn’t sleeping,” she said, and the book shifted down slightly to reveal a pair of eyes catching her gaze.

“what are you thinking about?”

“do you think i’m a shinkansen?”

the eyebrows furrowed. there was a thoughtful hum, and the book was pulled away, set aside as hitomi glanced down at her.

“a shinkansen?” a small smile, bemused but thoughtful. “if you’re one, then i'll be the rails.”

chaewon blinked, then a soft smile crossed her lips. “do you want to be with me that much?”

“we’ve been together for a year,” hitomi reminded her with a chuckle. as if chaewon could ever forget. “don’t act so surprised!”

“but.” a love too fast would too soon dim down, “but you might get bored.”

“and the world might explode in a week, but we’re here right now, aren’t we?” hitomi swept a few strands away from chaewon’s face and bent down to peck the tip of her nose, sending a flutter of warmth to blossom and spread inside her chest. softly, “that’s what matters most, chaewonnie. the fact that you’re with me today.” hitomi smiled, “you can be a shinkansen, and i’ll find a way to be there for your journeys.”

“every journey?”

“if you don’t get bored.”

and they said, don’t love too fast. when they got each other’s name on the first day and kissed on day six, when they went on a date on week two and chaewon asked her to stay the night—too fast, people told them, slow down, but they met each other’s parents by week three and, by week four, they scribbled each other’s name on their palms, a silent promise to never let go.

you’re like a shinkansen, people had said, one day you’ll leave her behind without noticing. except there was not a day passing without chaewon waking up next to hitomi and falling a little more in love, the room hitomi occupies inside her chest getting bigger with a renewed warmth every morning and then night and all the seconds in-between.

so chaewon breathed out, “i won’t,” one hand reaching up to pull hitomi’s fingers towards her lips, gently pressing a kiss to her warm palm.

“i won’t,” she repeated, believing, and hitomi smiled down at her, wordlessly saying i know. she always knew.

(and hitomi was right, because of course she was.

they’re still together today, and that was what mattered most.)