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Seokga swallows a sound of delighted surprise as Hani's lips meet his, warm and sweet, and tasting of hot chocolate.

What are you doing?A voice in his head demands, a voice that is cold and crotchety, a voice that has been his source of guidance since his fall and the entirety of his very long, cranky immortal life since. This is foolishness. Pull away. Push her away. They all betray you eventually.

Seokga ignores that voice.

Instead, he reaches up and tugs her head down farther. And damn it, the way that her soft hair tickles his face, the way their kiss is a little awkward and fumbling due to his position, the way her pert nose bumps against his…it's all enough for him to want to unravel completely, to shred the boundaries between them into nothing.

He loves the way her breath hitches in her throat, loves the way her hair smells like some ridiculous, fancy shampoo. Seokga wonders at the warmth of her, the softness of her skin, the sweetness of her lips. Seokga wonders at her.

When Hani's hands cup the sides of his face he can feel his heart stutter—actually fucking stutter—at the way her fingers feel against his skin. He wants to hold those hands in his, wants to knit his fingers with hers, wants to trace the lines of her palms.

Hani pulls away, but only slightly, and Seokga makes a petulant noise of discontent that he would be embarrassed about if he weren't so—so godsdamn…obsessed. Hani laughs and her lips slant against his again, her tongue tracing his, one hand lazily toying with strands of his hair. Something blooms within the barren plains of his heart, something that is green and small and smells of spring. A seed of happiness, nurtured by Hani's kisses, just beginning to grow.

It has been so long since he has felt this stirring of life, of joy, within him.

Seokga allows himself to smile against her lips as they slowly break the kiss. He gazes up at her—this gumiho who he has somehow become head over heels smitten with.

"Hani," he whispers, longing to pull her closer, to crush her against him, to hold her and never let go. "Hani." He loves the way that her name tastes on his lips—like citrus and cinnamon and hot chocolate and home.

Home.

It has been so long since Seokga has had one.

"Hani," he whispers again, reaching for her.

And for the first time in six hundred and twenty-eight years, Seokga feels as if there is somewhere he finally belongs.