It all began a year ago when, one spring day, a story akin to a fairy tale started. The circumstances seemed too much of a cliche to result in anything real or form the beginning to a story about happiness, the skies filled with chittering wee birdies a rare clear pale blue and decorated with the lush, bright green leaves dancing on the breeze and covering the pavements that are not a darker shade of grey for once.

So much beauty already, only to be enhanced by the girl with the printed canvas bag with the quote ''Reading is for awesome people'' and onyx cat-eye shaped glasses to walk in and ask to take photographs for an Instagram post for the travel agency she worked for. There was an enthusiastic spark in eyes transforming into those of a professional once the lens is raised, hoping to not be denied this chance at sharing the bakery with the world. Also, the soft-spoken tone with which the request was made could not be resisted so, of course, permission was given to let the lass complete the set goal.

That was the moment the spell first began to take hold on soul and thought, making a simple man in an alien country hope to see a single specific individual drop by regularly. To serve them coffee and a new addition to the assortment of baked goods, hoping to find approval and thus permanently add it to the stock. Witness the tranquil fantasies of the old castle on the hill take hold and colour every visit with its ancient promise of repose and protection it keeps even in contemporary times.

Wishing one day the proposal would come of being beckoned to return to the table and both delight in the comforting aroma of a warm beverage and tiny bites of something delicious gradually reduced with a small fork. Share the afternoon event as the city life passes by the window, the heavens slowly turn a navy blue mixed with royal purple and the stone buildings, some of them roughened by the passage of time, are lit up by small dots of light like the will o' the wisps found in the swamps of this country which was at first so foreign.

But she has made it home.

Y/N, as would soon be the discovered name of the customer who began to drop by at leisure, made the desire for the mutual delight come true. Mental curses for clumsily sitting down formed a cause for the all but smooth speech, stumbling over words regardlessly of being fluent in the local language, alongside the bafflement at the turn of events. However, the messy composure presented instead of the disciplined wise demeanour in the absence of the photographer was not minded.

In fact, it created something beautiful that would be the first step on a shared path.

A smile.

A curling of the lips that meant a reason for amusement - whether it be comical or merely rejoicing in the company - at the hand of a barista who longed for a girl out of the league of possibility. The physical evidence to add to the growing dream about the feeling of that subtle gesture pressed against the mouth that wanted to do more than solely speak.

Another wish that was granted when Y/N agreed to go on a casual date to the military tattoo, an annual music festival that is held at the castle where the royal mile begins and has to be experienced at least once in a lifetime. Certainly as a habitant of the city, according to the girl who just smeared a wee bit of strawberry jam on a raisin scone. The proposal to go came from the mistress of pictures because there was apparent offense at never having been in the year of already inhabiting the town, the carefully put down knife and delayed bite of the food a clear indication of the displeasure. Henceforth, an evening of music mixed with tradition was enjoyed after meeting at the bakery and closed off by the greatest sensation of the night: her lips on mine, small hands on hips whilst bigger ones framed a delicate face.

Finally, after many more outings like this one and multiple trips to the great nature park at the edge of the city - hiking until legs cannot go on anymore yet somehow manage to gather enough strength to make it back to the old mile for a cup of coffee as the never truly-fading rain clouds shed their tears - a relationship was established and has been happily maintained ever since.

Withal, as with any bond of every nature and regardless of the time that has passed since it sprouted, there are insecurities that would rather not be voiced lest the other party will dismiss them carelessly and deem them unworthy of consideration. Even our relationship knows those doubts.

Aside from the one plaguing the mind for a longer period of time but never brought up in the twelve months spent together.

'Joon, are you alright? Yer looking a bit pale.' The freshly baked scone, which is quite more preferable than the ones at the workplace that are made by another, smeared with blueberry jam that was about to be eaten is put down on the small porcelain dish, a worried frown knitting eyebrows together above the eyes that closed so sweetly last night under a watchful gaze. 'What's on your mind?'

Funny how exactly the scenes of the past should repeat themselves while delighting in the same treats. Then again, the country tends to have the effect of repeated history on you in both the positive and negative sense. Ghosts never sleep.

'Y/N, I-' A sigh nullifies the rest of the sentence, nerves agitated by the double-edged blade of a topic that is about to be brought up or walked away from at the last minute. It would be so easy to do the latter, but sooner or later it will return anyway. Hence, it might as well be discussed right now despite the difficulty. 'There is something we need to talk about.'

The stone mug containing peach tea is emptied a wee bit further by a sip, the golden rim trying to conceal the worry creeping into the gaze that first captured mine in person before many times over in photographs. A sentiment that carries over in tight-lipped speech containing a hint of anxiety. 'And what might that be, love?'

Suddenly, this normal breakfast has taken a turn in different directions for both parties, one true to the path whilst the other can only guess where the road leads without context.

'Our first anniversary is coming up and, well... I know we've been holding off and I don't want to pressure you, so please don't feel obligated to agree, but- no, let me rephrase it.' Cultural elements of the upbringing in a country across the world makes it hard to find the right words for the proposal since it is a pretty delicate subject or, rather, mutual favour to ask for directly.

A relieved though amused smile turns the corners of the formerly stern mouth upwards, glad to know nothing truly severe is going on. The giggle from across the table makes the pensive chattering waterfall come to a halt completely. 'There you go again, blethering away and stumbling over words. Where has the charismatic Korean exchange student turned permanent baker and not too shabby barista gone?'

'You do love it, though, when I am clearly struggling.' The remark is playfully answered by stating one of the first things she ever said to love about the man who replaced an entire existence for one abroad and has mostly adapted linguistically and culturally to the new destination to be called ''home'', even more so thanks to the enchanting lass.

'That I do, but pray tell. What did you want to say?' Fingers laced together and chin resting on the entanglement, a relaxed and devilish stare bores into a still jumbled one. The fox-like demeanour confuses the mind once more and to a worse degree as the conjured clear sentence vanishes in thin air upon locking gazes.

Nonetheless, somehow it is rediscovered and voiced in spite of the unconscious enchantment the selkie places on the helpless lover daily. 'We haven't slept together in the time we're together because we don't want to make the other uncomfortable. I know I said I'd wait until you were ready, but we both know it's the other way around. So, with this I'm saying- Uhm, so I'm saying that I... I want you to- okay, let me also rephrase that.'

A barely contained burst of laughter spills forth from the lips which are kissed every morning before life takes us down various roads and at night when they come together again at the crossroads called "home" in the apartment behind the park where we took our first stroll in each other's company. Although, that is on the days when one resides in the other's residence alongside the original owner. Otherwise, both occasions occur via sweet texts, the writers separated by a digital wall.

Fortunately, there is also always the bakery where the story began, sharing an afternoon tea by the window where the first unintentional date took place.

For a minute, the wonderful scene in front is observed, the proposal completely and utterly forgotten until Y/N speaks again after controlling the laughter of which never can be had enough. 'You want me to take your virginity, is that what you want to ask?'

A flush creeps up and colours caramel cheeks a shade of crimson, a sign of still not having really entirely adjusted to the manner of free speech about sexuality in the west. Gaze wavers for a second from the beautiful lass' smug expression to the half-eaten scone before returning to the original point of focus which has now softened, become gentle whereas it was first all game and inviting to form a response as witty as hers was to the abrupt remark.

Teeth bite down uncertainly on a plush bottom lip, head nodding barely visibly as an answer accompanying a doubtful baritone continuation of the conversation. 'I want you to be my first and my last. I've been pondering it for a while, but I'm ready and willing to do this.' Fingers slide over the breakfast table and smooth paper of this morning's chronicle to entangle with the ones that want to be held as long as possible. 'I want to make you feel good.'

The hold on the other digits is not strong, thus easily allowing them to escape. The pang of distress that shoots throughout within when it happens also clearly taints demeanour, body turning instinctively towards hers when the photographer stands up to begin a chase if it is necessary. However, it vanishes just as rapidly as it appeared when she settles down on my lap with arms wrapped around the neck, fingertips lovingly caressing the chocolate-coloured locks at the back of the head. 'You always do anyway.' Big hands place themselves on the silk fabric of the short nightgown given as a birthday present a two months ago, the grasp on the hips protective and sturdy. Lips briefly meet while a small thumb kind-heartedly sweeps back and forth over the just-shaven skin of the cheek, the words hers form shaded by the niceness of the gesture yet inquiring with a need for certainty. 'Joon, are you really sure about this?'

The lock obscuring a part of the face is carefully tucked behind the ear, a short playful tug at the lobe making the severeness disappear by a low giggle and the palm coming to rest on the side of the neck. 'I am. I want this, baby. And I want it to be with you.'

Another soft meeting of mouths, diverting attention from the guided readjustment of the hand formerly touching warm delicate skin to a lower unchartered place cloaked by silk and lace. Fingertips are hesitant at the edge of the thin clothing concealing a forbidden fruit, eyes asking for permission and given so after a brief nod, sliding down to map out the details of a part of the body which is yet unexplored but dreamed about enough times to not be a complete stranger in its nearness.

At first, the movements are shy and everything short of skillful but with a little help in the form of whispered instructions and encouragement, the former doubt that set the heart beating as rapid as a race horse on the tracks of Darby, the last city Y/N visited for work, vanishes and let it be overtaken by excitement. The perverse form of the emotion is strengthened by the small moans and gasps that begin to escape the selkie slowly descending into delirium, digits flying up again to mocha locks to hold on to them for support. Hips are no longer under control and a trail of pecks and lingering kisses make marks on the side of the throat, furthering the descend. Behind this symphony of wanting, there is a barely audible background of a watery sound which seems to get ever so slightly louder when the second digit slips into the physical connection and thus adds to the illusion depicting what is yet to come.

And all of this has an effect on the personal psyche as well, gestures turning more desperate and fast-paced as breathing slowly becomes harder. The show of need on her side, making bodies move like the waves colliding with one another on the northern cliffs, is all that is needed to fully enrapture every sense in a primal chase for that one moment many have described as blissfully floating in ignorance after an act of love that connects individuals as physically as is possible.

A new sort of connection which has been longed for for a while now.

A union that can finally be established.

Face buried in the crook of the neck and shoulder blade left bare by the nightgown, the sounds of desire that are hardly contained fortunately can be muffled. That is, were it not for the nimble fingers running through mocha locks and seductively teasing though ensuring voice of the held enchantress. 'You've been so- fuck, right there - quiet, love. It's a shame because - dammit, so good, Joon - I want to hear you.'

While wanton hips continue to mimic the nature of the water at the shore, albeit in a much gentler fashion since the movements formerly egging them on slow down, two soft palms guide cheeks to an inquiring gaze. As soon as eyes meet, thumbs gently caress the awkwardness away while words work the same magic on intuition. 'You don't have to contain yourself, baby boy.'

A painful twitch at the nickname unconsciously spurs fingers into action to hear it being said again with that sweet tone which has gained notes of pleasure it had never before. The gesture immediately gets a reaction, teeth biting down on the bottom lip already puckered with signs of the enjoyment of the phantom manifestation of sensual love, a pleased sound holding the middle between a moan and a chuckle coaxed out in effect and sounding like a beautiful prelude to a teased song. 'Do you- fuck, keep going, baby boy. Yeah, you like being called that?' Only a nod has to suffice for an answer alongside breathy groans while digits keep focused on their task in exploring a formerly only imagined heat, gazes locked, molten chocolate stare continuously checking for approval despite the encouraging noises and finding it in abundance.

Until hands begin to tighten the hold on broad shoulders and the point of attention shifts. 'It fee- feels so good, Namjoon. Make me cum. Ma-make me cum all over your fi- shit, shit, shit!'

In an instance, Y/N collapses forward in a barely fully conscious state, panting heavily though steadily finding a normal rhythm again regardless of floating in a delirious dream. Carefully, the hand put in the place where it had never ventured before retracts and finds itself coated with an unclear white substance. Although perverse, it brings a satisfied grin to full lips now daring to speak up in longing moments like these after having found the confidence in the assurances of the woman who captures all beauty in the world except herself. 'Is this what I do to you?'

A bit of hesitancy meets the action Instinct urges: tasting the tangy yet addicting substance won from a source who solely belongs to the man holding her. Eyes meet and find similar looks of awe, both pairs impressed and breathless. Just the thought of the liquid further down in a more intimate place than these three digits, especially mixed with the one leaving traces of the self within, fuels the current half-induced maddened state.

It becomes almost as good as being completely inebriated by a good strong whiskey at hearing the answer to the sensual inquiry.

'Yes. That was-' A shuddering sigh to regain the last of lost breath, emphasizing consciousness has not fully returned and yet there is a shameless wanting for more found in the restless aura continuing to surround Y/N. 'That was really good, baby. But,' a hand slowly descends while being monitored by an equally as brash espresso gaze, coaxing out a low grunt from full lips trying to restrain any sound by biting on the lower one though evidently failing as the palm forms around the hardened hot shape that cannot be denied, 'I think playtime is over. I want to feel you this time, Joon.'

The touch below fades, curled fingers coming to rest under the chin and guiding it towards a sweet kiss that would easily fool a person into thinking about anything but the pleasure that is truly sought after. Foreheads resting on one another, the whispered words form the trigger to chase after the desire for physical release and need to please the mistress of pictures who has captured every thought and dream since the first meeting. 'Just you.'

It is all that needs to be heard to be triggered into standing up from the morning chair hastily, coaxing out a surprised cry from Y/N who is still being held in the only pair of arms that should have the privilege of doing so, while dazed directionless feet drunk on the constant meeting of lips already anticipating what is to come stumble towards the bedroom next door.

Fortunately, before wandering too far or wide, they find the edge of the mahogany bed frame covered by the mixture of the thick cream duvet covered by the thinner summer blue blanket given by the selkie's grandmother as a birthday present alongside the fuzzy plaid predicting the proud tartan of the old clan wherein roots lie. Clumsily like the first conversation shed over tea and scones, lovers fall onto one another among the waves of the soft comforting sea about to gain a sinful stream. Yet, they keep on moving happily along, devoted to nobody but the other held dear.

However, in order to fulfil the role of lover properly but tainted by uncharacteristic impatience, big hands rapidly solely remove the clothes hiding the barely hidden and grown painful sign of wanting as the mistress of photos is taking it all in, embedding the amusing image to think back on sometime, while gazes remain locked, an indescribable enchantment binding them without the ability to be broken.

Lust, affection and warmth stare back into a determination suddenly turned shy again when the latter manages to look away to what can no longer be denied. Awareness floods attitude, the temperature of the room and Self seemingly rising with a few degrees and not due to the emotions which have conquered sanity in a fairly brief time, guiding every action thus far. 'Do you- Do you think you- I know I'm...' a second is taken to find the right wording, which is found albeit not to a sense of contentment since it still feels short if not completely empty of the meaning that wants to be conveyed, 'bigger... than average, but...'

Absentmindedly, actively avoiding the radiant orbs of the beautiful selkie on the sheets, fingers fumble with the handle of the night table which conceals the box with protecting wrappers that fortunately could be paid for at a self-service terminal at the supermarket. Regardless, blushing cheeks were obscured by the thick warm scarf decorated with the sparkling melting crystals of winter's tears, giving a person easily another idea as to the cause of the crimson than the truth would reveal.