Radiant Short Story Collection

Only our own sign language

The warm afternoon sunlight pours in through the living room windows, bathing the wooden laminate floor in a bright, cozy glow. I sit on the sofa, leaning back against a large cushion with my legs stretched out, looking at the small footstool beside the sofa steps. Across from me on the carpet, right near the puppy mat, sits Chanyeon in a cross-legged position. He’s wearing a loose, comfortable sweatshirt, and his soft dark hair shimmers in the clear sunlight as he watches our little rescue dog patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.

“Waiting for the green light,” Chanyeon murmurs softly. His deep, resonant voice gently fills the quiet room, sounding warm and clear.

I smile and look down at the skinny little thing. “You can come up, baby.”

As soon as I give the okay, the little one nimbly hops up onto the footstool, then uses it like a step to trot right up onto the sofa cushion. He passes me by, circles around twice, then flops down onto Chanyeon’s lap and immediately claims the fluffy cushion there. Chanyeon bursts into breathless laughter, the corners of his calm eyes crinkling. In the golden afternoon light, the pure warmth spreading across his handsome face shines perfectly.

“I think I’ve officially become a human puppy bed now,” he teases, a mischievous spark lighting in his gaze as he looks up at me.

“It just means he knows exactly who gives the best head rubs.” I reply softly, lying back comfortably with a tiny, giggly smile.

Chanyeon slides his big warm hand along the little one’s back, then gently works his long fingers into a slow massage behind its ears. Our tiny dog seems to love the attention, stretching its head back and pressing its whole body into his palm. In less than a few minutes, its eyelids grow heavy and it drifts off to sleep, making soft, steady snoring sounds while its little paws twitch just a little against Chanyeon’s jeans.

Chanyeon shifts his weight smoothly on the cushion, moving closer until his broad shoulders are firmly pressed against mine, anchoring his sturdy frame right beside me. He raises his left hand and, with soft, graceful movements, draws in front of my eyes the quiet sign language shape of love—a secret message prepared only for the two of us. Then he lays his open palm flat over my hand on the blanket, and slowly threads his fingers between mine until our hands are tightly interlaced, safe and protected.

“I could stay here like this for hours,” he whispers sweetly. His voice drops into that precious tone just for us, filling the small space between us with a deep sense of comfort. He looks down at our joined hands, gently squeezing my fingers, and lets a soft, satisfied smile bloom across his features. As the afternoon’s quiet stillness wraps completely around our little secret bubble, it’s as if he wants to make me feel I’m perfectly settled right beside him.