Kiss Me Like You’re Not Married.

They left the apartment that night like nothing had changed, except everything had.

It was Tae-hyun who turned off the lights, who asked Joon-won if he should "fix the way the pillows look," only to then mess them up more. Joon-won had leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching him like he wasn't sure if Tae was being flirty or simply trying not to look too in love. Neither of them said what it really felt like, that the world outside those walls no longer felt as real as the one they'd built between them.

They put their rings back on before heading home.

It was quiet, awkward. They didn't talk about the rings. Joon had offered Tae a ride and he accepted it wordlessly, fiddling with the silver band on his finger the entire time. They didn't kiss goodbye, didn't touch hands. But when Tae stepped out of the car, Joon whispered, "Night, baby."

Tae-hyun didn't even look back. But his smile didn't fade for an hour.

⸻

The painting was still there, hanging above the headboard in Joon-won's apartment, even now.

Tae-hyun had never even asked if he kept it. He only learned during a blurry voice call a week later, when Joon had said, "That thing you painted. It's in the bedroom of that apartment."

"You hung it?"

"I had to. You said you painted it for me."

That was the first time Joon had admitted to keeping something.

Since then, their late-night calls had gotten longer, messier, softer. They no longer spoke of tricking the wives or covering their tracks. Now it was more like..

"What was your favorite part of today?"

"Your voice sounds tired… did you eat dinner?"

"I wish I was there to see your face right now."

It was Joon who said "baby" now casually, quietly, always like it was just part of a sentence. But each time, Tae's heart beat faster like he was seventeen again and too scared to ask if he could hear it one more time.

Their days played out like any other couple's. Tae woke to his son climbing into bed asking about pancakes. Ha-eun braided her hair in the bathroom mirror while Joon-won made breakfast in pressed shirts and dress pants. Their wives still met up at cafés or playgrounds. The four of them still shared a group chat. A few pictures a day. A funny reel. A weekend plan suggestion. On the surface, nothing had changed.

Underneath, everything had.

.

.

Their late-night calls hadn't stopped.

At first, they were strategic. They planned how to deflect their wives, when to suggest double dates, how to shift the attention to the kids when the questions got too specific. But those calls evolved.

Now they were softer. Slower. Sleepier.

Tae-hyun had started calling at 1:30 a.m. instead of 1:00 — just enough time for their wives to be fully asleep.

And Joon had started answering with, "Hi, baby," without hesitation.

The first time he'd done it, Tae-hyun had gone silent on the other end of the line for three full seconds, and then said, in the smallest, happiest voice Joon had ever heard him use: "Say that again."

It happened almost every night now.

Sometimes they'd talk about nothing at all, just soft, tired voices over the phone, breathing into the dark. Sometimes Tae would fall asleep mid-call, and Joon would whisper "Goodnight, baby," even if Tae couldn't hear it before ending it.

⸻

Life with their wives had fallen back into rhythm or something that looked like it.

Ha-eun was still cheerful and bright, still managing her son's school life with a clipboard and color-coded calendar. She smiled easily around Joon, but didn't touch him much anymore. Not out of coldness, just routine. A shift that went unnoticed by most.

Seo-yeon had been more affectionate lately. She kissed Tae's cheek more often, held his hand during walks, bought him pastries on her way home from work like they were dating again. He returned every gesture. He loved her, after all.

But love didn't stop his thoughts from drifting.

It didn't stop his breath from catching every time Joon sent a message in their group chat. Or when his voice dropped during dinner to comment on something only Tae would catch. Or when their kids laughed together and the four adults shared eye contact that stretched a little too long, a little too full of things unsaid.

⸻

The group chat between the four of them was still active. Mostly the wives sharing photos of their sons playing together, or planning another picnic at the river. Joon would drop the occasional dry joke. Tae would react with hearts he pretended were directed at the kids.

No one questioned it.

Until one night, the routine cracked.

⸻

It was 1:35 a.m. Joon was leaned against the headboard in a dark room, one hand holding his phone, the other resting loosely on his thigh. His voice was low, steady.. they were talking about something small. The way Tae had handled a conflict at work. Nothing serious. But Tae had been rambling on, and Joon had been listening intently, lips curved in the dark.

Then—

The bedroom door opened.

Ha-eun stepped in, her hair loose around her shoulders, her sleeping gown on, face half-asleep. Her eyes adjusted to the dark slowly.

"Joon? Baby?" Her voice was a whisper, confused. "Who are you talking to?"

He didn't startle. He simply glanced at her, phone still against his ear. "Tae."

She blinked. "At this hour?"

"We're talking about something personal. He's been… going through a lot."

His tone was calm. Not evasive, not guilty, just tired. Steady. Like this was the most normal thing in the world.

She walked closer, frowning a little. "Is he okay?"

"You can ask him yourself," Joon said, and without waiting for permission, he held the phone out.

Ha-eun hesitated, then took it gently. "Tae-hyun?"

There was a pause.

Then Tae-hyun's voice, perfectly controlled: "Hi, Ha-eun. Sorry.. I didn't mean to bother him. Just needed a voice to talk to, I guess."

She blinked. "Are you alright?"

Tae chuckled softly. "I will be."

Joon watched her closely. She looked uncertain, but softened at the sound of Tae's voice. She always liked him. Trusted him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly.

"I'll be fine," Tae said. "Just… a long day. Missed talking to someone who listens, you know?"

That line made her glance at Joon. He didn't react.

She smiled a little, then handed the phone back. "Well, don't keep each other up too long. Both of you need sleep."

Joon gave her a nod. "We'll wrap it up soon."

She kissed him softly on the lips, absently and walked back out.

When the door closed, the silence on the line stretched.

Then Tae-hyun's voice returned, lower than before, slightly cold. "She's sweet."

"She is," Joon said softly, a slight smile appearing on his face when he caught the coldness in Tae-hyun voice.

"But she walked in on my time."

That line hit harder than it should have. Joon looked down at the phone, lips twitching.

"She didn't mean to," he replied, voice still level.

Tae's voice was laced with something quiet and sharp. "I know. Still pissed me off."

"You hid it well."

"I always do."

Joon smiled. "You're so composed, even when you're jealous huh?."

Tae didn't deny it. "I don't like sharing, Joon."

Joon leaned his head back against the wall. "Me neither."

There was a pause. Then Tae said, quietly: "You gonna call me baby in front of her next time too?"

Joon exhaled a laugh. "You want me dead?"

"I want you honest."

That silence returned, thicker now.

"I'll find a way," Joon said eventually. "Even if I have to whisper it."

Tae's reply was softer now. "Then whisper it now."

Joon did.

And Tae closed his eyes, phone tucked close to his cheek, chest aching.

They both sat in their beds in separate homes, married to other people, whispering the names they weren't supposed to say.

And outside their rooms, the rest of the world kept sleeping.

.

.

.

The next morning at the house, Joon-won had expected the silence.

Morning routines in his house had never been loud, but today the quiet felt like something waiting to explode. Ha-eun stood by the kitchen counter in her robe, one hand wrapped around a steaming mug, the other scrolling absently on her phone. She hadn't looked at him once.

He walked in, adjusting the cuff of his shirt as he reached for the coffee pot.

"Morning," he said plainly.

"Mm."

He didn't push.

Not until she placed her mug down with more force than necessary.

He glanced over. "Something wrong?"

She looked at him like she had been holding it in all night. "Were you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"About the call," she said, eyes narrowing. "Last night. With Tae-hyun."

He stayed perfectly still, pouring coffee into his mug. "I told you it was him."

"Yeah. You said you were having a heartfelt conversation. At one-thirty in the morning."

He took a slow sip before replying. "We've been friends for months now. This isn't new."

"It's not normal either," she snapped. "What exactly are you talking about at that hour?"

He leaned against the counter. "Nothing inappropriate."

"That's not an answer, Joon."

He looked at her for a moment, then spoke carefully. "You're the one who encouraged me to make friends. You wanted me to have someone to talk to. Now that I do, you're acting like I cheated."

She folded her arms. "Because it doesn't feel like friendship anymore. Not with the way you act around him. The way you talk about him."

Joon's jaw twitched, but his tone stayed cool. "You're reading too much into it."

"Am I?" she pushed. "You barely touch me these days. You've been distant. Cold. You stay late at work more than usual, and when I ask, you always say don't worry about it. I'm your wife, Joon. Let me worry."

"I am telling you," he said, voice lowering. "There's nothing wrong. I'm just tired."

"Tired of me?"

That one landed.

His lips parted, but nothing came out. She took his silence personally.

"God," she said, backing away. "You don't even deny it."

He exhaled through his nose and set the mug down with a soft clink. "I'm not doing this now."

"No, of course not," she muttered. "You never do anything now. Except shut down. Or leave."

He turned and grabbed his blazer from the hook near the door. "I'm going to work."

"Do you even care about how I feel?"

"I do," he said, slipping on the jacket. "But not when you're attacking me for being a friend to someone you said was a good person."

"Don't twist this."

"I'm not. You are."

Her voice broke. "You don't even want to fix this."

He paused at the door, eyes still unreadable. "Don't wait up. I'm not coming home tonight." And just like that, he left slamming the door shut behind him.

And with that, he walked out.

Ha-eun didn't cry. Not yet. Instead, she stood still in the foyer, phone trembling in her hand. Her thumb hovered over her contact list for a second, then tapped.

Seo-yeon didn't picked up on the third ring so she ended it, took her keys and left the house with her heart in her stomach.

When Ha-eun arrived at their house later that day, Seo-yeon was in the middle of laughing at a scene in the movie playing. Her legs were tucked under her on the couch, Tae-hyun lounging beside her in sweatpants and a hoodie, arm around her shoulders.

He looked up in mild surprise when the doorbell rang.

"Did you order something?"

"Nope," she said, already walking toward the door.

When she opened it, Ha-eun stood there, hair tied back, no makeup, looking like she hadn't slept.

"Hey…?" Seo-yeon blinked. "You okay?"

"I needed to talk to someone," Ha-eun said, and her voice cracked just slightly.

Seo-yeon stepped aside immediately. "Come in."

Tae-hyun sat up as the door closed. His heart sank the moment he saw her face.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, slowly.

"No," Ha-eun said, sitting down on the edge of the couch. "It's about Joon."

Tae's throat tightened. He kept his expression neutral. "What happened?"

She exhaled sharply. "He left. This morning. After a fight. Said not to expect him home tonight."

Seo-yeon gasped. "Wait—what?"

Tae-hyun felt a dull throb in his chest.

Ha-eun leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "It started last night. I walked in on him talking to someone on the phone. At one-thirty in the morning."

Seo-yeon blinked. "Who was it?"

Ha-eun looked at Tae-hyun directly. "It was you."

His stomach dropped.

He stayed still. "Yeah. We talk sometimes."

"At that hour?" she asked, eyes watering now. "He said you were talking about something personal. And he was so calm. Like it was nothing."

"Because to us…" Tae-hyun said slowly, "it is nothing. Just late-night conversations."

Her voice trembled. "Do you know how distant he's been? How cold?"

Tae-hyun glanced at Seo-yeon, then leaned forward slightly. "I didn't know it had gotten that bad."

"Well, it has," Ha-eun said, now fully unraveling. "He acts like I'm the one being dramatic. Like I'm imagining everything. But I'm not. I feel it."

Seo-yeon reached out and held her hand. "Maybe it's not about Tae-hyun. Maybe it's stress."

"No," she whispered. "It started after they became close. I liked that they were getting along. I thought it was healthy. But something changed. I don't know what, but it did."

Tae-hyun could feel his pulse in his ears.

He didn't speak.

Not until Ha-eun turned to him again. "Has he told you anything? Off? Weird?"

Tae wet his lips. "No. Not really. He's… always been private."

"He's not just private anymore. He's somewhere else entirely. Like he checks out whenever I ask what he's thinking. Like I'm not even in the room."

Seo-yeon rubbed her shoulder. "Did he say where he's going tonight?"

"No," she said. "He just said not to wait for him."

Tae-hyun couldn't stop the small shift in his expression.

Seo-yeon looked at him sideways, frowning slightly. "You okay?"

He nodded quickly. "Just… surprised."

Ha-eun sighed and buried her face in her hands. "I'm so tired of feeling like I'm losing him."

The room fell quiet for a moment. The TV still played in the background, but no one was watching it.

Tae-hyun got up quietly and walked into the kitchen, needing a second to breathe.

He stood there, palms pressed against the counter, heart racing. Joon hadn't told him a thing. And now he was somewhere alone… angry, detached, unreachable.

Tae-hyun picked up his phone, typed a message to Joon-won quick with slightly shaky hands.

T.:

'You okay?'

T.:

'Where are you?'

No reply.

He stared at the screen.

Then typed again.

T.:

'She came here. Said you left.'

Still nothing.

After a long minute, he deleted the third message he had typed, 'I wish I were with you' and set the phone down.

Behind him, the echo of Ha-eun's voice still carried through the walls.

And for the first time since this started, Tae-hyun felt the burn of guilt crawl too deep to ignore.