Kiss Me Like You’re Not Married.

It had been about six days since Joon-Won saw or called Tae-hyun.

He had sent one text right after he left Tae-hyun work place that day.

"I need to go quiet for a few days. I'll make it up to you, promise."

No calls. No texts. Just silence.. not the cold kind, but the kind that felt like it was carefully built, brick by brick, to keep emotions from spilling over.

Tae-hyun had replied with a simple,

T.:

"I get it. I'll be here.'

And Joon-Won appreciated that more than he said.

⸻

At home, the atmosphere had shifted. Subtly. Uncomfortably.

Ha-eun hadn't yelled since the argument, but her silence had been louder than any fight. They still functioned like a couple breakfast together, caring for their son, coordinating errands. But the affection was… filtered. Mechanical.

She'd glance at him across the kitchen table and look away before their eyes could meet. She'd smile for their son, but her laughter hadn't come out once in days. And at night, when they lay next to each other, she kept her back turned, arms hugging her own body under the sheets.

It gnawed at him.

He wasn't cruel to her, he hadn't been. But he had become distant. And Ha-eun noticed everything.

That night, when their son had finally dozed off after asking for appa to sing two songs instead of one, Joon-Won knew he couldn't delay the talk any longer.

He found her in the living room, half-curled on the couch with a throw blanket, scrolling on her phone but not really seeing anything.

"Can we talk?" he asked, voice low but firm.

Ha-eun looked up slowly, brows furrowed. "Now?"

Joon nodded. "Yeah. Now."

She set the phone aside and sat up straighter, already guarded.

He sat down beside her, keeping a respectful distance between them. No physical distractions. Just the truth.

"I've been thinking about what happened. And everything since," he began, measured and careful.

Ha-eun's eyes scanned his face. "So have I."

They both fell silent. The air between them was brittle.

"I know I've been off," he said. "I know you felt it."

"I didn't just feel it, Joon," she said, her voice sharper than she meant it to be. "I see it. You come home, you help out, you act like everything's fine, but you haven't been here. Not really. Not with me."

"I know," he said softly. "That's why I need to say this now… before it keeps getting worse."

She folded her arms, bracing herself. "Go on."

"I think I need a break."

Ha-eun blinked. Her whole body stiffened. "A break?"

"I'm not saying divorce," he clarified quickly, calm but unwavering. "I'm not there. Not yet. I just… I don't know who I am anymore in this marriage. And I think I need to figure that out."

"So you want to leave?"

"I don't want to abandon you. Or him." He glanced down the hallway where their son's room was. "This has nothing to do with being a father. I'll always be here for him. But as your husband… I can't keep lying about where I'm at emotionally."

Ha-eun's expression twisted, part disbelief, part heartbreak. "Is there someone else?"

He didn't answer immediately.

"That's not the point of this conversation," he said after a long pause. "This is about us."

She let out a shaky laugh. "That's not a no."

"It's a complicated truth, Ha-eun. And I think deep down, you've known something's been wrong for a long time."

Tears welled in her eyes.. not falling yet, but heavy and threatening.

"What about our son?" she whispered. "What are we supposed to tell him if you… if you're not here?"

"I'm not disappearing." His voice was firmer now. "I'm his father. I'll always be in his life. every day if I can. But if I stay in this house pretending, what are we teaching him? That love looks like distance? That honesty comes second to obligation?"

She covered her mouth with her hand, breath hitching.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," Joon-Won added. "But I can't keep hurting myself either."

Ha-eun turned away, silent. She didn't yell. She didn't demand anything. She just let the silence sit there and ache.

When she finally spoke, her voice was raw.

"I gave up so much for this marriage."

"I know," he said gently. "So did I."

They didn't solve anything that night. But the words were out. The mask had been dropped. There was no screaming, no slammed doors, just two people sitting beside each other, realizing that maybe, just maybe, love wasn't enough to fix what had grown in the silence between them.

The weight of Joon-Won's words lingered in the air long after he said them.

Ha-eun sat stiffly on the couch, blinking fast, her fingers curled tight in the blanket on her lap. She didn't yell. She didn't run out of the room. But the way her breath caught and how her lower lip quivered, it broke something inside him.

He got up quietly and returned moments later with a glass of water and a box of tissues. He placed both gently on the coffee table in front of her and sat beside her again, this time a little closer.

She didn't touch either for a moment. Just stared at the glass like it was something foreign.

Then her voice broke through the silence, barely audible.

"I love you, Joon."

His chest tightened. Her voice wasn't angry or accusing, it was soft. Almost afraid.

"I know," he said gently. "I love you too… in the way I can. That hasn't changed."

She finally reached for the glass and took a sip, her fingers trembling just slightly.

"I'm not mad," she said, staring at the rim. "Just… hurt. Because I didn't think we'd get to this kind of point."

He nodded slowly. "I didn't either. But pretending we haven't already been drifting would've hurt us more in the long run."

Ha-eun wiped at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.

"Are you going to stay somewhere else?"

"Maybe for a while," he answered carefully. "We can work that part out together, at our pace. I don't want to disrupt our son's routine."

Her brows furrowed. "He's so attached to you. He asks where you are when you're late. He listens for your footsteps."

"I know," he said, swallowing hard. "Which is why I want us to co-parent.. fully, together. Even if I'm not sleeping here every night."

She nodded silently, her thumb running over the rim of the glass. She didn't push him further on that.

"Will you still take him to soccer? And his dentist appointments? Still be around when he wakes up sometimes?"

"Every chance I get," he promised. "I'm not walking away from being a dad. I just need space to be honest about who I am as a man… and as your partner."

Ha-eun let out a long sigh. Her shoulders drooped a little, like she was finally allowing herself to feel the sadness without trying to hold it all back.

Then after a pause, her lips tugged into the faintest, tired smile.

"You know…" she murmured, "you're starting to sound a lot like the Joon-Won I dated in college."

That caught him off guard. He tilted his head, unsure if she was joking or not.

"Really?"

She sniffed and nodded with a crooked smile. "Yeah. Quiet… serious… dramatic," she teased lightly. "Always thinking too much and saying things like you're in a movie."

He chuckled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "You fell for that guy, remember?"

"I did," she said, looking at him. "He was intense, mysterious, and hot-headed. Everyone said I was crazy to chase him."

Her voice softened. "Maybe you're just finding your way back to parts of yourself that got lost in the routine. And I can't really hate you for that."

His heart ached. For her. For the memories. For what they were.

She leaned back slightly, pressing a tissue to her cheek. "So… what now?"

He exhaled slowly. "We keep showing up for our son. We talk. We don't hide things, not from each other, not from him. We don't let him feel like something's wrong or broken."

She nodded, biting her bottom lip.

"We co-parent," he said firmly. "Even if we're figuring out the rest."

She looked at him again, really looked at him and then leaned sideways, resting her head lightly on his shoulder with a sigh. A peace offering. One last act of closeness before the space between them began to change shape.

"I hate this," she whispered.

"I know," he whispered back.

"But… I guess I get it."

He didn't reply, he just gently placed his hand over hers on her lap and held it.

That night, they didn't sleep holding each other. But they didn't sleep far apart, either. Just two people in the same bed, lying under separate thoughts, quietly mourning the shift in something that had once been whole but maybe still had time to heal in a new shape.

.

.

.

The next morning came in a blink of an eye, light spilled softly across the kitchen floor, golden and forgiving. It was early, the kind of peaceful stillness that came before the rush of the day.

Joon-won was crouched in front of the fridge with their son, holding up two juice boxes like they were a life-or-death decision.

"Apple or grape?" he asked seriously.

Their little boy squinted like he was solving a puzzle. "Apple!"

"Bold choice," Joon said, passing it to him and ruffling his bedhead.

Laughter echoed through the kitchen as the boy climbed onto one of the tall chairs, swinging his feet while sipping from the straw. Joon leaned back against the counter, watching him with quiet focus, half-smiling at the small moments that seemed so much louder these days.

Ha-eun stepped in a minute later, already dressed for drop-off. She had her hair tied up in a soft bun, still a little tired around the eyes, but less heavy than the nights before. She watched the two of them, father and son in matching navy T-shirts and let herself smile.

"Did you two even brush your teeth yet?" she teased as she grabbed her keys.

Their son looked at her, wide-eyed. "Appa said juice first, then brushing."

"Convenient," she muttered with a smirk.

"Routine flexibility," Joon replied, raising a brow as he reached for the comb she'd left on the table and gently smoothed down their son's hair.

Ha-eun stood there for a moment, just watching the gentleness of her husband's hands, the calm in his face, the way their son leaned into him so easily. There was something painful about how normal it looked. But also… something comforting in that.

She glanced at the time, then knelt to tie their son's shoes. "I'll drop him off today."

Joon nodded and chuckled lightly as he watched her put on her shoes. "You always do."

When their son was ready, already grabbing his little backpack, Ha-eun looked over her shoulder at Joon-won. Her tone softened.

"So… are you leaving today, or…?"

He straightened up slowly, then folded his arms loosely. "I thought about it. I think the best way for now, is if I stay a week here, and a week away. Alternate."

She blinked, nodding slowly, processing it.

"That way," he continued gently, "we both get time with him… and some time apart to figure things out. I'll still visit every day during the week I'm away. I'll come by before he gets back from kindergarten, spend time until he naps. Once he's asleep, I'll head out again."

She studied him for a moment. Not challenging, just quietly absorbing the structure of what their lives would now become.

"Okay," she finally said, with a small exhale. "Okay. That sounds fair."

A silence hung between them. Not heavy just full of mutual understanding. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't easy. But they were choosing to be kind to each other anyway.

Their son tugged at Joon's pants. "Appa, come say bye at the door."

Joon followed them both to the entrance, crouching down again to give the boy a tight, lingering hug.

"Be good today. Listen to your teacher. Don't fight Min-jun about the red crayon."

The boy giggled. "I won't! Maybe..."

Making Joon-won and Ha-eun look at each other with parted lips before laughing lightly at their sons cuteness, As they stepped outside, Ha-eun lingered at the door for one more second and met Joon's eyes.

They shared a quiet, wordless smile.. the kind you give someone when you both know things aren't what they used to be, but that something tender still remained.