Choi Kang-woo watched her, his gaze so feverish it felt as though he were demanding her very soul. She knew exactly the answer he craved, and though she desired him just as intensely, she couldn’t bring herself to voice it. His unwavering attention, waiting for her response, stoked a strange, mounting tension between them.
As their breaths mingled, closer than they had ever been, Han Na-eun couldn’t suppress a short moan. At the sound, Choi Kang-woo’s eyes flickered. He asked, his voice low and grave:
“Do you love me?”
Na-eun took a steadying breath and managed a faint smile.
“Asking me that at a moment like this is practically coercion.”
Though she spoke with a playful lilt, Choi Kang-woo’s warm, deep gaze never faltered.
“I’ll answer you when I’m in my right mind, not when I’m this hopelessly lost in you.”
Undeterred, Choi Kang-woo pressed on, his tone laced with affectionate stubbornness.
“I want to hear it now. Shall I go first, then?”
As he leaned in to whisper against her ear, Na-eun instinctively covered her ears with both hands. It was too dangerous a thing to hear. If he spoke of love in that voice—brimming with such raw, unwavering sincerity—it would burrow into her heart and take root forever. Once that happened, her entire world would be at the mercy of his every word.
“I don’t want to hear it. Later… we’ll do it later.”
The two drew together, their intimacy deepening, their movements growing more desperate.
* * *
She felt as though she had just drifted into a deep sleep when a sound pulled her back to consciousness. It was sharp and distinct. As she rose to reach for her robe, Choi Kang-woo stirred awake as well.
“What is it?”
“I hear something downstairs. Can’t you hear it?”
When Na-eun opened the door, the sound was unmistakable: someone was crying.
“Teacher! Mommy.”
The small, whimpering voice belonged to Minho. Na-eun threw on her robe and hurried down the stairs.
“Minho.”
“Mommy. Teacher.”
Calling for his mother, then his teacher—it was clear he was caught in the grip of a nightmare. Na-eun pulled the boy into a tight embrace.
“It’s okay. Teacher is here.”
She couldn’t explain the absence of his mother; she couldn’t tell him she wasn’t coming. Minho had never called for her before, and hearing him wake from a dream crying for her made Na-eun’s heart ache.
‘Mommy’ must have been the very first word he ever learned, repeated countless times before he found the language for anything else. The abandonment, the profound hollow of a mother’s absence—it was all too painfully palpable.
“Shall we sleep with Teacher? I’ll tuck you in.”
As she soothed him, Choi Kang-woo appeared at the top of the stairs and descended to join them.
“Let me put him to sleep. Wouldn’t he be more accustomed to me?”
Na-eun nodded. That was true; it was vital for the child to grow closer to the rest of the Choi family.
As Choi Kang-woo scooped him up, Minho buried his face deep into the man’s shoulder.
“Uncle.”
“That’s right. Let’s sleep with Uncle.”
Choi Kang-woo carried him toward his room. Even after the door closed, Na-eun couldn’t return to sleep. She waited in the hallway, where moonlight filtered through the thin curtains. The indoor lighting was low, making the garden lamps appear brighter, casting a soft glow over the landscape.
Snow was fluttering down. There had been so much snow this year—it was only December, yet she had lost count of the storms. As she stared out the window, the door opened quietly, and Choi Kang-woo stepped out.
“Why aren’t you asleep?”
“I wanted to stay ready, just in case Minho starts crying again.”
Choi Kang-woo checked the time: 3:00 AM. This woman, worrying over a child at this hour, possessed a maternal instinct that moved him. Whether it was Han Jiho or Minho, her devotion seemed fueled by a kind of magic that made love spring forth in places where it had been long forgotten.
Choi Kang-woo lay down on the sofa, resting his head on Na-eun’s lap as he gazed out the window. Outside, pure white snow fell in silence. Like stars scattering from the sky, the flakes drifted down, coating the world in a soft, ethereal light. It was an enchanting scene, perfect for a long, calm winter night.
Choi Kang-woo spoke in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the view.
“It’s snowing.”
Na-eun, watching with him, replied in a whisper:
“Yes. It’s falling so beautifully.”
Her voice held the same quiet, cozy rhythm as the snow. Choi Kang-woo smiled faintly. For a moment, this silent winter night felt like a dream.
Lying here, cradled by her warmth, was a moment so precious he wished he could hold onto every second. He looked up at her, feeling her presence with a newfound depth.
Na-eun silently and gently stroked his hair. The warmth of her fingertips seeped into Choi Kang-woo’s heart.
On this snowy night, he felt as if he had laid down his burdens and found a true sanctuary. The white world outside, the quiet of the room, and the stillness of their company—it was a peace that, to him, was beyond price.
Closing his eyes, he whispered:
“I’m grateful… that we can be together like this.”
Na-eun smiled down at him. Outside, the snow fell, deepening and whitening the night. The two of them, in their shared silence, met the winter with a warmth as quiet as the falling snow.
Na-eun continued to run her fingers through his hair. Drowsiness began to wash over them.
“Go upstairs and sleep.”
“I like it right here. But if I stay, you won’t be able to rest. If I tell you to go up, you won’t, will you?”
“That’s right. We should stay here tonight. I don’t think it’s right to keep running upstairs every time.”
“Then I’ll sleep in your room. Let me in.”
Na-eun laughed. They retreated to her room together, comforted by the fact that they always rose long before the children.
* * *
Whether he had woken at dawn or simply gone to bed early, Han Jiho was already up. He opened the door and exclaimed:
“Huh? Uncle slept here?”
The innocent, high-pitched voice made Na-eun’s heart skip a beat. She snapped her eyes open, and upon realizing the sight of Choi Kang-woo sleeping soundly beside her, her face flushed a deep crimson.
‘How do I explain this?’
Na-eun frantically racked her brain, offering a flustered smile to the child.
“Han Jiho.”
Han Jiho blinked, looking back and forth between them with pure, unadulterated confusion. To a child, seeing Minho’s uncle in his teacher’s room was a confusing anomaly.
Na-eun steadied her breathing.
“Han Jiho, what do you do when you’re scared at night?”
Han Jiho replied, puzzled:
“Um, I go to Mommy.”
Na-eun let out a small, relieved laugh.
“Exactly. I think Minho’s uncle was scared while he was sleeping last night, too. Minho woke up as well, remember?”
Han Jiho’s eyes widened as he turned to Choi Kang-woo, finally nodding. The idea that a grown man could be frightened was a novel concept to him.
“Even a big man like this gets scared.”
Han Jiho tilted his head, muttering with total sincerity. Na-eun smiled and patted his head, relieved that the child’s innocence had smoothed over the situation.
Choi Kang-woo woke up, having heard the exchange, and offered a sheepish smile. His hair was ruffled in every direction. She never thought she’d see such a disheveled side of him.
“Did Uncle have a scary dream, too?”
Choi Kang-woo nodded.
“A very scary one.”
He spoke with such gravity that Han Jiho seemed to understand perfectly.
“Did a wolf come into your dream, too?”
Choi Kang-woo burst into laughter.
“Yeah. A very big wolf.”
“It’s okay. It was just a dream.”
Han Jiho comforted him and headed to the bathroom. Choi Kang-woo scrambled to get ready, returning shortly in a sharp suit, the messy hair completely tamed.
“I’m not late.”
Na-eun narrowed her eyes at him.
“I should never make this mistake again.”
“What mistake? Everyone is scared when they dream of wolves. You should forgive me.”
He gave her a charming, easy grin before heading out to work.
A wolf, he said. That man looked like he could catch a dozen wolves if he truly wanted to.