Where Past Meets Present

The warmth of his touch spread through me, and the comfort of his presence was like a blanket wrapping around my soul. His laugh, the way he leaned in when he talked, every little gesture was a piece of home that I hadn't realized was missing. With every sip of my latte, the world grew clearer, and with every word he spoke, my heart felt a little less broken.

The kiss of remembrance had not only brought back a flood of emotions, but it had also brought peace to the chaos in my mind. The pain was gone, replaced by the sweetness of his kiss and the gentle way he spoke to me. It was as if he was willing the memories back into existence, his love acting as a balm to my amnesia.

As the night grew late and the coffee shop's lights dimmed, we continued to talk. Each word we shared was like a thread weaving back into the tapestry of our lives. With every giggle and every nod, we were rebuilding our bond, one memory at a time. And though I knew the road ahead would be challenging, the warmth of his embrace was all I needed to face whatever was to come.

The sound of a car honking in the distance brought us back to reality. Park Myung checked his phone and sighed. "It's late, Noona. We should go home." His eyes searched mine, looking for any sign of protest.

"Home," I repeated, the word feeling strange on my tongue. "Where's home?"

He took my hand, standing up. "It's where we make it," he said firmly. "And right now, let's go to my place. You can rest, and we'll keep working on your memories."

We stepped out into the cool night air, the city's lights reflecting off the pavement. As we walked, the weight of the day's events started to feel a little lighter. Maybe it was the caffeine, or maybe it was the comfort of being with someone who truly cared for me. Either way, I felt a sense of calm that had been elusive since the headache had started.

When we arrived at his apartment, it was like stepping into another piece of our shared history. The furniture, the books, the art on the walls—it was all a part of us. And as we sat on his couch, his arm around my shoulders, watching the first episode of our favorite show, the world outside the window was forgotten.

The plot unfolded before us, and with it, my mind began to fill in the gaps. The characters' voices, the soundtrack, even the commercials that played—each one a trigger for a memory that had been buried deep within me. And as the show went on, so did our conversation, a gentle dance of remembrance and discovery.

The night grew deeper, but our hearts grew fuller. With every shared laugh, every whispered confession, every silent moment where we just enjoyed being together, I felt myself coming back to life. And when he leaned in to kiss me again, it wasn't a kiss of desperation or a plea for recognition. It was a kiss of love and understanding, a promise to keep fighting for what we had.

As we drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside could have crumbled to dust for all I cared about. In that moment, the only thing that mattered was the warmth of his embrace and the gentle whispers of his love. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that together, we could conquer any obstacle, even the fog of forgotten memories.

---‘’’----

The bright morning light streamed through the windows of Park Myung's apartment, casting a warm glow across the room. The curtains fluttered in the breeze, a soft reminder of the world that waited outside. The air was filled with the scent of brewing coffee and the distant sounds of the city waking up. His apartment was a sanctuary, a place where the chaos of the world was kept at bay.

I opened my eyes to find him already up, dressed in his usual jeans and t-shirt, his hair slightly disheveled from sleep. He was standing in the kitchen, his back to me, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. "Bae," I called out softly, my voice still groggy with sleep.

He turned around, a steaming mug in his hand. "Noona," he said, his voice filled with relief as he saw that I was awake. He walked over to me, placing the mug on the side table and gently brushing the hair from my face. "How are you feeling?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the previous night. I took a deep breath, the scent of the coffee filling my senses. "Better," I murmured. "The headache's gone."

He nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good. That's good." He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand finding mine. "Do you remember anything else?"

I searched my mind, the memories were still fragmented and incomplete. "Pieces," I admitted. "But I feel like I'm getting there."

He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "We'll get there, Noona. I'll help you put the puzzle back together." His hand squeezed mine, and I felt a surge of gratitude.

We sat in silence, watching the light change from the soft glow of dawn to the harsher light of day. The quiet was comforting, a testament to the strength of our bond. And as the sun began to rise over the city, we made a pact—to rebuild our love, one shared moment at a time.

The sound of my phone buzzing brought me back to reality. I picked it up, my heart skipping a beat as I saw the message from Kim Seon Yung. 'With whom are you?' The words echoed in my mind, and I felt a twinge of guilt for the lie I had told him.

"Park Myung," I said, showing him the message. His eyes widened in surprise before narrowing in suspicion. "What's going on, Noona?"

"Kim Seon Yung... he wants me to meet him," I explained, hoping the explanation was enough. "It's nothing, just an old friend from work." But even as the words left my mouth, I knew they sounded hollow.

"An old friend," he repeated, his tone neutral. "Why is he texting you at this hour?"

I swallowed hard, searching for a lie that would soothe his suspicion. But before I could speak, the doorbell rang, cutting through the tension. Park Myung's grip on my hand tightened. "I'll get it," he said, standing up.

My heart raced as he walked to the door. Who could it be? A deliveryman? Another memory I hadn't recalled? Or perhaps, something more sinister? The door opened, and a gust of cold air filled the room. Park Myung's voice grew muffled, and the sound of another man's voice grew clearer.

Kim Seon Yung's voice.

I sat up, the blankets pooling around me. What was he doing here? Why had he texted me in the early morning? The room spun, and for a moment, I feared the headache would return with a vengeance. But instead, a new kind of pain began to bloom in my chest—the pain of realization.

When Park Myung returned, his face was tight with anger. "It seems your 'old friend' is quite eager to learn," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

I stumbled out of bed, pulling on my clothes from the night before. "What are you talking about?"

"Kim Seon Yung," he spat out the name. "He's here, asking for you."

My stomach dropped. This wasn't what I had planned. "What do we do?" I asked, fear creeping into my voice.

"We don't do anything," he said, standing firm. "You tell him the truth. That you don't need his help anymore. That you're with me now."

The door to the apartment opened, and Kim Seon Yung's silhouette filled the frame. He looked at me, his eyes wide with surprise. "Noona, what's going on?"

Park Myung stepped in front of me, his body a wall of jealousy and protectiveness. "What do you want from her?" he demanded.

Kim Seon Yung's gaze flicked to me before returning to Park Myung. "I just wanted to make sure she was okay."

"And what gives you the right to check up on her?" Park Myung's voice was a low growl, his fists clenching at his sides.

"I care about her," Kim Seon Yung retorted, taking a step forward.

The air in the room grew thick with tension, the scent of unspoken accusations and unresolved feelings hanging heavy in the air. My heart hammered in my chest as the two men faced off, both equally determined to protect what they believed was theirs.

Park Myung took a step closer, his eyes never leaving Kim Seon Yung's. "You don't get to decide what's best for her," he said, each word a challenge. "Not anymore."

Kim Seon Yung's jaw clenched, his fists mirroring Park Myung's. "I've known her longer than you have," he countered. "And she's not just your 'noona' to play with."

The two men were a breath away from each other, the energy between them crackling like a live wire. I knew I had to act before things escalated further. I stepped in, placing a hand on Park Myung's arm. "Bae, please," I begged.

He looked down at me, his eyes softening slightly. "What do you want?"

"I need to talk to him," I said, my voice shaking.

Park Myung didn't move, his muscles coiled and ready to spring.

"Alone," I added.

He took a deep breath, his hand flexing on my arm. Finally, with a nod, he released me. "Fine. But if he so much as looks at you the wrong way, I'm coming back in."

With that, he stormed off into the other room, leaving Kim Seon Yung and me standing awkwardly in the living room.

"What's going on?" Kim Seon Yung asked, his voice filled with concern. "Why are you with him?"

I looked at him, the weight of my forgotten past pressing down on me. "I don't know," I admitted. "I don't remember much."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching for mine. "Then come with me. We can figure this out together."

But the warmth of Park Myung's touch was still on my skin, a reminder of the promise we had made just hours ago. "I can't," I whispered. "I have to stay here."

Kim Seon Yung's eyes searched mine, looking for something he wasn't finding. "But why?"

I took a deep breath, trying to find the words to explain what I didn't fully understand myself. "Because I think... I think I'm falling in love with him."

The words hung in the air, a declaration that seemed to echo through the apartment. Kim Seon Yung's hand fell away, his face a mask of shock and hurt. "You remember me," he said, his voice hollow.

"But I remember how he makes me feel," I said, tears welling in my eyes. "And right now, that's enough."

Without another word, Kim Seon Yung turned and walked out of the apartment, the door slamming shut behind him. I stood there, my heart aching for the friend I had pushed away and the man I had hurt.

Park Myung emerged from the bedroom, his eyes searching for mine.

"Is he gone?" he asked, his voice tight.

I nodded, my throat thick with unshed tears. "Yes," I whispered.

He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to me. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he murmured, pulling me into a warm embrace.

"It's not your fault," I said, my voice muffled against his chest. "I'm the one who forgot."

He kissed the top of my head. "It's not your fault either. We'll figure this out."

But as we stood there, the silence grew louder. The unspoken question hung in the air—what if I never fully remembered him? What if Kim Seon Yung was a part of my life that I couldn't forget?

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