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There are many things in life that come easily to some people, but for others—like Myoui Mina—they never seemed quite so simple.
One of those things was something silly, almost trivial if examined too closely, yet still enough to make people question her endlessly because of the way she behaved. Maybe that was why they so often called her a spoiled, stuck-up little girl—somewhat selfish and snobbish too—because of her reserved, almost introspective nature, always preferring to observe rather than approach.
The truth was that Mina simply didn’t know how to receive touch. Or perhaps she had never cared enough about it. After all, it had never been a priority at any point in her life, though people never seemed to understand that about her.
She had long since lost count of how many times people looked at her as if she were some seven-headed monster ready to destroy an entire city after they found out. As if being a reserved person were some kind of crime. The world became confusing when examined too closely.
The questions always followed, along with the bewilderment over how someone could live for so long without cuddles, touches, or hugs. Mina always answered that she was used to it.
In truth, that was only half true. She left out one important detail that no one needed to know.
Mina desperately wanted to be touched, but she was too ashamed to admit it.
Born and raised in a home where affection was rarely expressed through physical gestures, but rather through actions and quiet demonstrations of care, she had never become accustomed to giving hugs or even small kisses on the cheek—often finding them unnecessary.
At first, it had never been a problem for Mina. Not until it began to affect her relationships directly.
People often considered her rude, spoiled, or even cold because she didn’t know how to express herself, whether through words or touch. She knew even less about how to react when someone else touched her.
The woman hadn’t realized just how terrible she was socially, and because of that, everything seemed to happen late for her.
So frustrating.
Now, at twenty-two years old, Mina had never kissed anyone on the mouth, much less had sex like so many people impulsively did during their teenage years without stopping to consider the consequences.
They called it an experience. That was what people always said to justify reckless, immature decisions made with hormones running wild and a complete lack of common sense, all because they believed they knew everything and stood at the very top of the world when they were young.
Ah, hormones.
Not that Mina had been wrong to wait. Logically speaking, she had done the right thing by giving herself time to think clearly rather than acting on desire.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had somehow missed a deadline—one that existed only inside her own head. The pressure she placed upon herself continued to grow, appearing as a sharp sting in her chest whenever she realized that she was the only one among her friends who had never done any of those things.
Everything became worse when their group grew.
Kim Dahyun, a longtime friend of hers, began dating Chou Tzuyu and, as a bonus, introduced Mina to a woman she simply couldn’t get out of her head.
Hirai Momo.
From the first moment their eyes met, the younger Japanese knew she was going to have problems with the performing arts student. She could feel it in the way her stomach twisted so violently that she thought she might throw up everything she had eaten, in the way her heart seemed to forget how to beat, and in the way the world around them appeared to slow down as they stared at each other.
That was the day Mina learned that Momo ran hot, almost like an oven.
Her hand was firm, slightly calloused, but still soft and warm as it wrapped around Mina’s colder one. The touch lasted no more than a few seconds, but to Mina, it felt like an eternity as she watched Momo’s smile grow across her face, stretching her pink lips and crinkling the corners of her eyes as her cheeks lifted.
Those large eyes stared at her with fascination and curiosity—like a puppy—as though Momo were already preparing to turn Mina’s entire life upside down without even realizing she was doing it.
They were so compatible that Mina felt her chest ache with every silly conversation, every random message Momo sent overflowing with information Mina could barely keep up with. She would listen and answer even when Momo lost track of the subject and Myoui had to guide her back to the previous topic.
Mina didn’t complain.
She liked how Momo could be calm, yet energetic and chaotic at the same time. It was a kind of chaos she enjoyed—not too messy, but not overly organized either. A perfect balance of everything that made Hirai Momo who she was.
Maybe Mina was beginning to lose her mind, but who could blame her?
Maybe everyone was a little crazy.
Or maybe Momo was the one driving her insane.
And then came the touches.
If Mina had once believed they were unnecessary and unpleasant, she completely changed her mind the first day Momo hugged her.
She felt the perfect combination of muscle, soft curves, and warmth, a heat that seemed capable of overpowering every bad feeling she might have been carrying before. It felt like being home. There was comfort in it, along with an almost impossible sense of peace. A strange peace, one Mina had never experienced before and certainly wasn’t going to complain about discovering only now.
Strong arms wrapped around her waist with firmness and gentleness in equal measure. The warmth blooming from that simple touch made Mina’s body stiffen because she had no idea how to react, but her mind short-circuited the moment she realized that yes—touch was wonderful.
Damn it, why had she waited so long to experience this?
“Sorry. I didn’t know you didn’t like it.”
Momo had said that to her that day, and instead of hinting that it was perfectly fine as long as it came from her—and only her—Mina simply stood there looking foolish, already missing Momo’s warmth after she pulled away to speak to Sana, who had called her over for yet another one of Minatozaki’s ridiculous ideas.
Mina didn’t know how long she remained frozen in the same spot like an idiot, her mouth hanging slightly open as though she had just discovered one of the seven wonders of the world.
She only returned to reality when Chaeyoung placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her out of her trance.
How desperately Mina wanted that again.
But she was far too much of a coward to ask.
[...]
As they did every week, movie night eventually arrived, and somehow eight women ended up crammed inside Mina’s small apartment, all squeezed together on the couch while a cliché movie played on the television.
They had spent far too long arguing over what to watch, and once again, Sana had won purely because Jihyo became too exhausted to continue fighting.
Loud conversation filled the room, mixed with choked laughter and comments Mina couldn’t even be bothered to listen to because they were far too embarrassing. She didn’t need to know what the other women did behind closed doors. Perhaps squeezing all of them onto one small sofa hadn’t been the smartest idea, but Myoui had to admit that it felt good to have Momo touching her again.
An empty pizza box sat on the coffee table, containing nothing but grease stains and the crusts Sana and Nayeon never bothered to eat. The unopened soda bottle was practically empty, nine full cups were scattered across the table, and a few snacks they had stolen from Mina’s refrigerator had been abandoned there in case anyone became hungry again.
A typical girls’ night.
Mina had nothing to complain about, even if she would need to air out the apartment afterward to get rid of the lingering smell of cheese.
Mina sat between Momo, who occupied one end of the couch, and Sana, who was physically incapable of staying still.
There was no way for her body not to press against the women surrounding her, but only one of them made her brain fry and turn into jelly, leaving Mina unable to remember how speaking worked.
At some point, while the movie continued and several side conversations unfolded, Momo’s arm slipped around Mina’s waist and pulled her closer. A surprised, confused breath escaped Mina, her muscles tensing once again when she felt Momo’s body pressed against hers.
“My arm’s falling asleep. This is more comfortable.”
“Oh, sure.”
Mina didn’t know what else to say, especially when that damned smile appeared on Momo’s lips. Hirai soon became distracted, turning her head to talk to Nayeon, who had been the only one lucky enough to claim Mina’s favorite armchair.
On any other day, Mina would have kicked her out of it—or simply stared until Nayeon surrendered, unable to resist the Japanese woman’s glare—and reclaimed her rightful place as she always did.
But Momo’s warmth and the half-embrace around her waist were more than enough to make Mina abandon the idea.
“Does it bother you?”
"No. I’m fine with it.”
“Really?”
Momo raised her eyebrows in disbelief, tilting her head slightly to the side. That alone was enough to make Mina’s heart leap so violently that she became convinced she was about to have a heart attack.
“Really.”
It took some time for her to relax, but before she realized it, her head was already resting against Momo, her cheek pressed between the woman’s shoulder and collarbone.
Momo rested her chin on top of Mina’s head as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
And Mina adored it.
It felt almost domestic, the kind of affection she had been craving for far too long.
The movie continued, filled with confusing scenes and ridiculous dialogue worthy of harsh judgment. Fingers brushed against Mina’s waist through the fabric of her shirt, which she now considered far too thick.
She held her breath, terrified that if she made any sudden movement, Momo would notice and stop immediately.
God knew how desperately Mina didn’t want that to happen.
The movie eventually ended, and so did the soft, gentle affection—which had also begun causing entirely different feelings—that Mina had been receiving.
Momo pulled away.
Mina had no choice but to accept it, even while internally begging for more of Hirai’s touch.
Her gaze lingered on Momo, pupils dilated and lips unconsciously forming a small pout. Mina barely noticed she was doing it before Momo had already stood up from the couch and joined the others in cleaning the mess they had made inside the living room of Mina’s small but comfortable apartment.
“Next time, we’re not letting Sana choose the movie.”
“Hey! I made a great choice!”
“Watching your stuck-up blonde bitch alter ego isn’t exactly a great choice, you know?” Momo teased, laughing loudly and hunching her shoulders when Sana shoved her and smacked her arm.
If Momo were being honest, it hadn’t even hurt.
Maybe they were the living definition of Chip and Dale.
Mina enjoyed watching the way they interacted. They looked like sisters, and it was pleasant—except when Sana became clingy, which was almost always, and hugged Momo as though they were dating.
And that was exactly what was happening now.
With her arms wrapped around Momo, Sana hugged her best friend from behind, taking advantage of being slightly taller—perhaps one or two centimeters—to rest her chin on Hirai’s shoulder.
Sana’s hands settled over Momo’s stomach, squeezing whatever softness she could find and making Momo squirm and laugh while trying to grab her shirt and get dressed at the same time that she attempted to escape Sana’s koala-like grip. After several curses and shoves, Momo finally freed herself from the koala she called her best friend.
A bitter taste rose in Mina’s mouth.
A chill ran down her spine, and she became so unfocused that she barely noticed the farewell touches on her shoulder.
She simply watched.
She didn’t appear visibly upset by what she saw, but her chest felt as though it had collapsed into a hole. A sharp pain struck her heart, her throat tightened, and suddenly she wanted to cry.
That urge disappeared the moment Momo smiled while saying goodbye.
It was almost as though Momo were an angel, capable of bringing Mina peace no matter what she did.
But the horrible feeling—jealousy—returned when Mina watched her leave, practically dragged away by Sana, who remained glued to Momo’s arm while gesturing excitedly at Mina, completely unaware of the storm of thoughts inside her head.
Mina wanted a hug.
Why was it so difficult to ask for one?
[...]
Mina had always believed kisses were completely overrated because of how often people talked about them. There were so many words, so many descriptions, that it always sounded as though people were exaggerating and trying to make kissing seem like the most wonderful thing in existence.
She didn’t know whether she was simply bitter because she had never experienced it and always shut down the conversation as quickly as possible, or whether she considered herself too intellectual to be impressed by something so uninteresting.
A little egocentric, perhaps.
Maybe she should stop spending so much time with Nayeon.
Mina couldn’t lie. Many movies and books she had watched or read had made her feel that famous warmth beneath her navel and wonder what it would be like.
But it happened so rarely that she quickly forgot about it afterward.
Some things simply didn’t make sense to her, and one of them was why people loved talking so openly about intimate experiences—such as kissing—with others.
Shouldn’t it be personal?
It didn’t seem like something that should be shared with just anyone.
Her opinion changed entirely the day her lips met Momo’s after they drank too much during a long study session.
Perhaps mixing alcohol with textbooks had been a terrible idea when they were supposed to remain completely focused on what they were doing. But logic ceased to exist when Momo looked at Mina with those eyes and practically begged them to drink a little.
Her excuse was that she had endured a stressful day, something Mina could understand. In the end, it resulted in half a bottle of wine disappearing, their books forgotten to the side, and two mouths pressed together.
“Are you okay? I think you drank too much,” Momo had said before everything turned upside down.
At least, that was what Mina remembered.
“I’m fine. I don’t get drunk from only two glasses.”
“If you say so. Your face is as red as your shirt.”
Momo’s far-too-warm hand moved, resting against Mina’s forehead as though she were trying to check her temperature.
Mina didn’t dare move when those fingers slid downward and Momo’s palm cradled the side of her face, holding her cheek with such gentleness that Myoui leaned into the touch without even realizing it.
A relieved sigh escaped her at finally receiving something she had wanted for so long.
Everything seemed better when Hirai’s thumb moved over her face as though she were trying to map every detail she could find.
Attentive eyes.
A feather-light touch tracing the delicate line of Mina’s nose, brushing over the tiny mole there, and gliding toward lips softened and faintly stained by wine.
At that moment, Mina forgot how to breathe.
Her dark eyes remained fixed on Momo’s concentrated expression, the woman appearing barely aware of the world around them. It was as though everything had stopped once again, as though the books beside them no longer mattered while Momo stared at her as if Mina were the most precious being in existence. To Momo, Mina was the very definition of perfection, of sublime beauty, as though no one else could possibly compare to her.
So graceful that she seemed blessed by Aphrodite herself.
It should have been a sin to be so beautiful, beautiful enough to leave anyone breathless and desperately tempted to kiss her.
“Your moles almost look like constellations. They’re so perfectly aligned,” Momo mumbled distractedly.
“Stop being stupid.”
“I’m not being stupid.”
Momo leaned closer.
“You are. You’re saying things that don’t make sense again.”
Another hand held Mina’s face.
The tips of their noses brushed, close enough for Mina to feel Momo’s heavy, restrained breathing against her skin.
Those dark eyes continued to stare at her, now fixed entirely on her lips.
Mina shifted nervously where she sat, seriously wondering whether she was imagining things rather than witnessing Momo preparing to cross a boundary that already seemed dangerously thin.
“It does make sense,” Momo insisted, her voice lower now, rough and almost breathless.
“You know it doesn’t.”
Mina barely noticed that her own voice sounded even worse than Momo’s.
There was no answer.
At least, not one spoken aloud.
Momo’s lips suddenly pressed hard against hers.
Mina’s breath caught, a gasp escaping at the first touch as her entire body tensed once again.
Thought became impossible when she felt those same lips moving eagerly against her own.
The kiss was clumsy, almost confused, matching the frantic rhythm of the heartbeat pounding inside her chest. Still, Mina closed her eyes and tried to surrender to the restless movement of their mouths, even though she didn’t fully understand what she was doing.
Her hands trembled as they grabbed Momo’s ridiculous dog-print shirt, fingers crushing the cotton fabric when Hirai moved closer, pressing her into the couch and sending the books tumbling to the floor beside them.
The atmosphere between them changed instantly.
Low murmurs escaped between their joined mouths, and Mina couldn’t tell whether that needy sound had come from her. But the vibration in her throat and Momo’s enthusiastic reaction were enough to give her an answer.
Why the hell did this feel so good instead of overrated like she had imagined?
How had they even ended up like this?
The taste of wine dominated the kiss.
Their tongues moved together—Mina was only attempting to imitate what she felt because she had no idea what she was doing—and that alone was enough to make her melt into the touch and surrender even further.
It wasn’t what she had imagined.
There were no fireworks like the ones described in books. She felt something warm simmering low in her stomach, but none of the famous butterflies people always mentioned.
Momo’s hands left her face only to grab Mina’s waist. By the time she realized what was happening, Mina was sitting in the other Japanese woman’s lap, her hands occupied with pulling at dark strands of hair and lightly scratching Momo’s nape while dragging her impossibly closer.
The kiss broke when Momo’s fingers sank into Mina’s waist, drawing another needy sound from her mouth.
Her lips tingled, hot enough that she could still feel Momo’s against them.
When Mina finally found the courage to open her eyes, Hirai was staring at her with a hunger unlike anything she had ever witnessed. It was frightening and exhilarating in equal measure.
Mina swallowed hard, drawing air through swollen lips as Momo pulled her body closer. Hirai’s mouth moved to her throat, traveled upward along her jaw, and finally pressed a kiss to the mole above Mina’s upper lip.
“It does make sense,” Momo repeated, reaffirming what she had said minutes earlier.
Mina no longer cared about their silly argument.
“You’re right. It does.”
"Glad we agree, then, Minari.”
A damned nickname shouldn’t have made Mina feel a faint pulse of desire.
It shouldn’t have set her cheeks on fire, much less filled her mind with such indecent thoughts.
She didn’t know how to respond.
Her hands trembled too violently where they rested on Momo’s shoulders, and she couldn’t trust her voice to remain steady if she tried to speak.
But Mina didn’t need to say anything.
Momo wasn’t waiting for words when she leaned forward and claimed Mina’s swollen, wine-flavored lips in another kiss.
Kisses weren’t nearly as overrated as she had imagined.
[...]
If kissing Momo made Mina feel as though she were in heaven despite still being on earth, then she had to admit that other things introduced her to something that could truly be called paradise. Momo’s lips felt wonderful against her mouth, but somehow they were even better when they traveled over her body behind the safety of Mina’s bedroom door, far away from the rest of the world.
The sheets were rumpled, clothes scattered across the floor as though they no longer mattered. The younger woman lay sprawled across the bed, her head resting among soft pillows, dark hair in complete disarray over the pillowcases.
One hand covered her mouth.
The other remained tangled in Momo’s hair while Hirai stayed far too occupied between her thighs.
Mina whimpered.
The quiet sound accompanied the almost desperate movements of her hips rising from the mattress, restlessly searching for the mouth that was introducing her to a world she had never known existed.
She had nothing to complain about.
Fingers sank into her hips, thumbs rubbing against the prominent bones beneath her skin.
Soft lips brushed her inner thighs, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses, while teeth pressed into heated skin and created small bruises that would take days to disappear.
And Mina certainly wasn’t going to complain about the pair of eyes watching her with such devotion that it made her feel small, vulnerable, and strangely protected.
The wet tongue, the slick sounds, the rustling sheets, and their far-too-heavy breathing made everything even better.
Not even their skin, slippery with sweat, seemed unpleasant now.
It only made the experience more intoxicating, leaving Mina desperate for more of what she had only just discovered.
“Good?” Momo murmured as she lifted herself above Mina, still positioned between her legs.
Her wet mouth and chin created a sharp contrast with the concern in her gaze and the almost tender softness of her voice.
Once again, Mina didn’t feel brave enough to admit it aloud.
She merely nodded, sighing when Momo kissed her swollen lips—tender from every bite—and Mina tasted herself on Hirai’s mouth.
Her legs trembled, and a moan escaped her when she felt Momo’s fingers slide effortlessly inside her.
The slick sound seemed to echo through the bedroom and strike directly against Mina’s ears, which were now as red as her face.
And when those fingers moved, curling against a place Mina had never dared touch when she was alone, she finally understood why people enjoyed sex so much.
Maybe touch wasn’t so bad after all.