of course he knew how she slept
inside, lee sun joon actually craved for her affection. wait, no-he demanded it.
When she slept, the covers, which were clutched tightly by fair and slender fingers, reached past her nose and just barely touched the tips of her eyelashes. Long and dark eyelashes that belied the fact that she was indeed a woman (she had fooled them for a long time at Sungkyunkwan, and he had a feeling that he would have remained foolishly believing that she was a he were it not for the fact that his feelings had overflowed and fallen out of control and that she had clumsily, as always, fell into such shallow water and banged her head on a rock somewhere underneath, prompting him to save her and open her robe to creamy, porcelain—stop that thought immediately).
Of course he knew how she slept. After years of being roommates and being together (where they had nonchalantly defied tradition—they were in love, that was the reason why—which was entirely another story), he had mastered the art of knowing Kim Yoon Hee down pat, from the fact that she often smiled in amusement at his failed attempts to be romantic, until the fact that she slept just like that, rotating every so often, and rolling over to the nearest source of warmth during the night.
And as always, Lee Sun Joon the righteous wanted her to fall asleep the correct way, without the risk of nearly suffocating herself with the covers, and right by his side and clutching him fiercely, just like the wife that she is, dammit.
The first time they slept in one blanket as husband and wife, he was successful in pulling out the covers from her clutches and face, but he could never budge her from sleeping in such a way, her arms pinned straight, her legs unmovable wood. Frustrated, he had slept. He would just tell her that he wanted her warmth (and that she ought to face him and let herself be gathered into his waiting arms) in the morning.
When he opened his eyes, though, he found his face smack dab in the wall, which was supposed to be three meters away from the side of the blanket where he was actually sleeping. And there was a pair of hands that was clutching his back—it was hers. Her small hands were bunched up in the fabric so much, as if the fact of letting go was the most absurd, foreign idea. He smiled, and shut his eyes to go back to sleep, even if the floor was cold and the position was a bit uncomfortable to his…morning wood (they could take care of it later).
It was then that perfectionist Lee Sun Joon decided that it was fine to be incorrect every now and then.