When morning comes

"This is a bad idea, unnie," she pouts, stirring in bed, eyes still fluffy, hair tangled and in disarray. Yongsun giggles by her side, her hand caressing her abs beneath her comfy, matching pyjamas – it feels hot and firm and she traces it, drawing circles, comforting her.

"Just try it," she says encouragingly, kissing her cheek gently.

Byul, though, isn't so sure and she has reasons to be worried: bad experiences while cooking pile up on her back and she doesn't want Yongsun to see how disastrous she is - she doesn't need to impress her but, sometimes, likes to show her best traits. Not on the kitchen: there the most she can do is to burn the oven - not that it had ever happened, yet. But Yongsun is demanding to be fed breakfast in bed, and not exactly the type Byul has in mind - nothing dirty, only pancakes and coffee, something sweet, she has said, sugary to start the day with energy. She has shaken her head in disapproval at the idea but is slowly being persuaded with pouts and smiles and promises of later mentioned in a sultry voice.

Byul has tried to change her mind, has suggested eating leftovers, her mother's kimchi packet on the fridge, but Yongsun has dodged all her attempts of convincing her. She wants something and she will get that - and Byul will end complying with her desires, she always lets her win, granting all of her wishes.

For the coffee she has no problem, she knows how to operate the Nespresso machine that Yonghee unnie bought - simple, easy, the best solution to have caffeine early in the morning. But pancakes, that's a world new challenge - and as much as she likes to challenge herself she is aware of the chaos ensuring her messy attempt at baking.

"Unnie, can we just order it?" she suggests one more time, only to make Yongsun laugh. It is a nice sound, clear and open and vibrant, it comes from her heart and spreads all over the room and Byul finds herself smiling, too, thrilled, enthralled by the pitch of it.

"Do it for me, baby" she pleads, pouting and it is too cute to even think of resisting - Byul has grown so weak to Yongsun's tactics, it is becoming an issue: she would do anything just to put a bright smile on her face (a smile she will then proceed to kiss, melting it with her lips until they both are giggling, stupidly in love).

She wouldn't sulk and protest this much if it wasn't because she doesn't want to leave the bed - it has been so long since the last time they both could spend a lazy day, Byul wants to cuddle with Yongsun, pepper kisses all over her freckles, mark her flesh with bare teeth, tracing her frame, surround her with her hands, colouring her contours with soft caresses and bold touches. Is it too much to ask to have a day alone with Yongsun, without having to get out of bed, to miss for an instant the warmness that she radiates, the softness of her skin, the taste of ? Byul doesn't think so, but Yongsun wants what she wants and gets it always. Really, all that Byul wants is to lay on top of Yongsun, listening to the song of her heart, discern if it sounds as enamoured as she is: if they produce the same music, beating at the same pace. She wants to marvel at the wonder that Yongsun is, contemplate her snuggling by her side, with her hair spreading over her shoulder, counting the freckles on her bare skin, sketch over her body all the ways she adores Yongsun.

Yongsun is just testing Byul - she knows well how little she likes to cook, - but, despite being together for so many years, it still amuses her to nag at her, to ask and see how far she is willing to go - how deep is her love.

"Come on, it is so easy," she presses her, kicking her ankle with laughter. "Didn't you said that we had the same cooking skills?" she wonders and Byul regrets ever mentioning it.

"Perhaps, but, unnie, I don't want to poison you," she advises, grimacing at the thought of it – at the accuracy of it actually happening.

"I can make a pancake!" Yongsun exclaims, rolling her eyes, "and so you can as well," adds, voice sweet, encouragingly - she is really ready to risk her safety just to see Byul suffering, just to push her out of her comfort zone.

"But while I'm at the kitchen, I'll miss all the fun," she complains, looking over her, making clear her point - her fingers travel down Yongsun's chest, sneak beneath the T-shirt, tickling her belly, rounding her waist and hips and it sends shivers, her spine arching up, anticipating the touch of cold fingertips sinking on the soft skin beneath his s. "Well, unnie, I have to go, prepare your breakfast," she sighs, devilishly, smirking brightly, knowing how Yongsun is feeling - the rush of hot blood, her cheeks blushing, the gleam on her eyes that are marvelling her sight: she is sure that, right now Yongsun’s mind regrets asking her to cook (that she wants this as much as Byul does).

"Oh..." she sighs, dejected, looking at her, a small smile painting her face. "Well, have fun out there, making breakfast!" she beams, cheering, giggling with mischief. Byul rolls her eyes, shakes her hair that scatters, falling over her shoulders. She leans in to kiss Yongsun once more, smirks at the pain crossing her expression when she leaves without touching her again, leaving her panting gently, exasperated to get something that Byul is not going to provide soon.

"The fun is going now," she tells, chuckling, getting up from bed, feeling the lack of Yongsun next to her, the warmness that she radiates, the sun of her smile beaming on top of her, blinding, beautiful like a rainy morning.

"I'll come later, check that there isn't a fire on my kitchen," Yongsun advises her, “Yonghee unnie won't like if the house is ruined," and she giggles with Byul at the possibility, already thinking of excuses to give to her sister if the worse scenario happens – which could possibly be if left Byul uncheck.

"Why don't we move in together?" Byul asks, her voice rising, a last note of cheerfulness coming from the hall. Yongsun laughs because it is so silly, Byul treats this place as her own house, she comes in uninvited – not that she minds, she likes Byul too much, loves her presence, the way she makes her feel as if butterflies loiter inside her chest: as if every day was Sunday: she is always showering her with affection, makes her laugh, is her constant company and the only one that she requires, without her, Yongsun can’t function properly as if missing half her heart.

"You are here all the time, even if I'm not home. What would be the difference?" she states, chuckling, her giggles echoing like ringing bells.

The kitchen feels empty when she is there alone, too big to hold only her – and she wishes for Yongsun to come over, to help her. Byul searches for a good recipe and swears to follow all the steps perfectly. It can't be that hard: so far she looks for the ingredients - eggs, milk, flour, sugar, - she organises them over the counter, opening pantries, tiptoeing to reach the high shelves and smiles, reassured, that she has them all. But she had everything ready, too, that time she made a soufflé for Wheein and nearly ended her taste buds - she had to throw out the little bit she ingested, that awful her creation was (Wheein has developed a fear for Byul near a kitchen since then).

"So good so far," she mumbles, whisking the eggs to a soft, white cream. She adds sugar carefully - has learned from past experience that is better to put more later than to throw it all in one go. The consistency is viscous and absolutely disgusting and she is contemplating getting rid of the mixture, make it drown down the sink and call the bakery for fresh, gorgeous ones when Yongsun enters unannounced, making her squall in surprise, the fork on her hand flying, eggs splashing from the bowl - a little disaster five minutes into cooking.

Yongsun can only smile, coming closer to where Byul is, an idea lingering on her mind. She traces her neckline with a mischievous finger, the tip barely brushing her skin, whipping off remains of eggs that have smeared her clothes, landing on her flesh. But the touch loiters a little too long, feeling the pulse - agitated, convulsed, - and Yongsun tastes the mixture out of Byul's lips, smirks wider at the confused expression taking over her. Byul looks the most lovely all bewildered, hair in a messy, a short ponytail, sweeping over her shoulders - and her hands play with it, tangling around the dark flocks.

"It's not terrible," she compliments her, hands travelling to the small of her back, fingers clutching at the hem of her pyjamas, trailing at the beginning of her hips, feeling the surface of her bare legs beneath.

"Do you really want breakfast?" Byul wonders, in amazement at her acts, at her fingers sliding, grazing the muscles of her thighs. Yongsun can only beam, relishing into the taste spreading on her tongue, the flavour of summertime and fresh harvest strawberries that belongs to Byul's toothpaste, the fragrance of failure meddling with the softness of cotton and cherry blossom from her hair tickling her nose.

"Yes, just add the milk and the flour now, with care," she commands, watching Byul's astonishment colouring her eyes. She does as she has been told and, in no time, the counter is filled with falling powder, snow during spring inside of her house, and the idea makes her chuckle. Byul is soon half-covered, her arms white, her nose scrunching in a smile, her cheeks clouded with a veil of dust and Yongsun has the urge to touch her, to brush away the flour sticking on her fingers, them gently. "You are really messy, Byulyi," she whispers into her ear, "What would you do without me?" she continues, her voice low, seductive, her tongue curled on the edge of , a smile wild, eyes twinkling with something unreadable. Byul bursts in laughter.

"Not pancakes, for sure," and to her giggles, Yongsun joins very soon, the sound of it like sweet music early in the morning.

Byul shakes her head, shakes out the feeling of Yongsun on her flesh, warm and comfortable, a touch well memorised. She said she wanted pancakes and, even if it cost her reputation, she will deliver. But, to deliver, she has to endure Yongsun and retreat to the recipe, that is now on Yongsun's hands, who is watching at it intently, a grin on her lips. She has sneaked out to reach for her phone, has stolen it and is holding it to test Byul's resistance, to see if she is still willing to try - if she is willing to risk Yongsun's kitchen just to prove her wrong, and Yongsun can only shake her head imagining the results of a burning pan, a fire destroying her house. It is not that pleasant having to explain to her sister what has happened, so she decides to instruct Byul herself - after all, she knows the drills of pancake making and how not to distract Byul right now.

"Put a pan on the fire, with some butter and let it melt," she commands, feeling Byul's hands around her waist, ready to snatch at her, to take the phone back. She lays it on the counter, busies herself mixing the mixture, removing suspicious lumps. Byul does as she ordered and the butter fills the room with its sweet, milky flavour. "Hurry, don't let it burn!" Yongsun exclaims and Byul needs a second to recover from her excited yells. "Pour some mixture, slowly, let it spread evenly," Byul can see Yongsun from the corner of her eyes, how she is coming to critic her work, putting her cheek on her shoulder, messing with her emotions. But she refrains the urge to kiss her - there will be plenty of time for that, later, she is going to claim her lips, bite the pancakes straight from Yongsun's skin, she won't let all these touchy instances go unnoticed.

Yongsun is now leaning on the hollow of her shoulder, chin buried on her collarbone, so close that Byul just needs to turn a centimetre to bump again her nose. She smells like flower buckets, neat, fresh, her dark hair falling like a curtain, a river of black ink, her eyes observing the pan while her lips are tickling Byul's skin, making her uncomfortable, sending rushes of desire down her senses - she wants for nothing but to finish the task. "Now, see the bubbles? That means you can flip it over," she cheers, watching the pancake but her voice sounds so tempting, was it always this appealing? Byul wants to pull her into her arms and kiss away that smugly smile straight from her lips. But she also wants to earn the price that comes after making Yongsun happy - after buying her food or helping her with a difficult choice, she will always repay her with an unending sheer of love.

The pancake is flipped with ease and it turns out to be quite all right, much to Yongsun's delight. She is squealing, her high pitch laughter stuffing the kitchen with fun and fondness and Byul can't contain the pride of being the cause. Maybe have sacrificed her comfortable morning in bed has worth it to have this loud, clapping, amazed Yongsun, declaring her food edible - which is far much more than poor Wheein could have ever said. Byul makes another pancake, following minutely the steps marked by Yongsun, with the same result: a happy girlfriend ready to enjoy her food.

And once she is done with breakfast, Byul is ready to enjoy her part, to get her price for enduring Yongsun's attacks with so much dignity, for the efforts made, her commitment to do anything asked by Yongsun.

There is nothing sweeter than having Yongsun pressed between her arms, feeling the taste of her lips - like burned sugar and spring - on top of hers, her gigglings filling her ears, her heart contented, a morning wasted to make her happy and that, for Byul, means the world.