Chapter Text
Gi-hun’s leg moved rhythmically against the floor as he rubbed the palms of his hands against the fabric of his pants, trying to get rid of the sweaty feeling. He let out a small sigh and lifted his gaze toward the door, as if looking at it long enough could make time stop or make his date arrive as promised.
Date.
Was it really that? Technically In-ho hadn’t told him it was a date; he had only given him the exact time and place where they would meet when he came to find him after classes. But a date? That was never mentioned.
Still, a part of Gi-hun wondered: if it wasn’t that, then what was it? Why would In-ho ask him to go to a café after having read the embarrassing display of his feelings if it wasn’t exactly a date? But the cruel part of his mind reminded him that maybe In-ho was too polite to reject him in front of the whole classroom, or maybe In-ho wasn’t the person Gi-hun had thought he was all this time and was simply another heartless teenager who wanted to see Gi-hun suffer and had asked him to a café hoping it would be a date and then never show up.
Gi-hun shook his head, trying to push that train of thought away. In-ho wasn’t like that; he had analyzed him, followed him, and listened from a distance enough to know he wasn’t. Jung-bae was right that he wasn’t exactly a kind person, but he definitely wasn’t someone who found amusement in hurting, wounding, or seeing others’ misfortune.
Gi-hun tugged lightly at the sleeves of his thin sweater. He had stood in front of the mirror for more than twenty minutes trying to choose which outfit would be ideal, what would be perfect for a casual outing with a classmate he happened to be in love with, and nothing more. His hair fell wildly over his forehead and the back of his neck; he had tried to brush it, fix it a bit with gel, maybe even copy his friend Sang-woo’s neat style, or the same tidy, flawless way In-ho wore his hair. In the end Gi-hun had lost the battle with his hair and let it settle freely.
He sighed again and raised his cell phone. 4:45. More than fifteen minutes had already passed since the time he and In-ho had agreed. He looked back up at the café door, still nothing. He let out a small groan of frustration; in the excitement and nervousness he had completely forgotten to ask for In-ho’s phone number, although thinking it over, the other hadn’t asked for his number either, as if it didn’t matter to him.
The café bell rang, announcing the arrival of a new customer, the same little sound it had made for the last fifteen minutes. Still, Gi-hun looked up in that direction again, only to find the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
In-ho entered the café wearing a blazer that somehow made him look even more elegant; his hair, which was usually neat and combed to one side with a bit of gel, now fell freely over his forehead, highlighting the little light-brown streaks when the sun hit it. His chest rose and fell as if he were catching his breath, as if he had run to get there.
Did he run to see me? Gi-hun thought.
Gi-hun blushed as he watched In-ho walk toward him. He got up clumsily from his chair, bumping into the table in front of him.
“Gi-hun... I’m so sorry. I was ready, I swear, but my little brother spilled grape juice on me, so I had to get ready again and... I realized I hadn’t asked for your phone number and I didn’t know how to tell you. I hope you didn’t have to wait too long, I’m really sorry.”
Gi-hun rubbed his thigh lightly, right where he’d bumped against the table. It didn’t really hurt enough to need physical comfort, but it was an interesting way to keep his hands busy so it wouldn’t look like he had Parkinson’s.
“Oh, don’t worry. I haven’t been here long, only about fifteen minutes.” In-ho looked surprised, and Gi-hun could practically see his cheeks blush.
“Fifteen minutes? That’s fifteen minutes I made you waste. I’m going to kill Jun-ho,” he muttered at the end.
“What?”
“Oh, no, nothing. Let’s just sit down.”
In-ho kindly pointed to the chair next to Gi-hun before stepping behind it. Gi-hun glanced at him and then down at the chair, not quite understanding In-ho’s gesture, until realization hit him. His cheeks flushed a faint crimson, which he managed to hide by turning his back to In-ho and letting him pull out the chair for him.
When In-ho sat across from him, his gaze also shifted toward anything but Gi-hun. Just like the older boy, his cheeks were faintly red, a mix of the earlier rush, the embarrassment of being late, and the excitement that threatened to spill out through his trembling fingertips.
He turned his attention to the table in front of him and then to the boy sitting opposite. He frowned, noticing that Gi-hun had no coffee in front of him, nor any sugar-filled dessert he knew perfectly well Gi-hun adored.
“Why haven’t you been served yet?”
Gi-hun startled slightly, glancing at the empty space between his hands. He gave a small smile.
“Well, the truth is I hadn’t ordered anything... I didn’t know if you’d come, and I didn’t want to—”
“You thought I was going to stand you up?”
In-ho cut him off, his dark eyes watching him the way one might look at a small puppy expecting to be scolded, or abandoned. Gi-hun averted his gaze, his heart pounding so hard against his chest he thought it might burst out.
“Well, honestly... I thought maybe you’d changed your mind or thought the situation through more carefully...”
“Why would I have changed my mind?” In-ho tilted his head slightly. Gi-hun finally looked at him
“You know... Maybe you would’ve realized it wasn’t worth interrupting your day just to get coffee... with me.”
Gi-hun had explained everything with slight hand gestures. In-ho kept staring at him the same way, raising an eyebrow at the defeated and resigned way Gi-hun had drawn that conclusion, as if he were used to it, as if it didn’t surprise him that someone might treat him cruelly, as if being mocked was something normal, even expected.
In-ho blinked, startled when he realized he’d drifted off into his own thoughts. He straightened in his seat.
“Do you want a coffee?”
Gi-hun lifted his gaze back at him, then turned toward the counter, as if only just realizing they were in a café and, in fact, coffee was expected. He cursed himself internally for not having studied the menu carefully. Now he felt like a complete fool in front of In-ho, who was probably watching him and thinking about how clumsy, unpolished, and distracted he was.
He looked back at In-ho. The younger boy’s eyes were fixed on him, studying the way his lips moved ever so slightly while focusing on something as vague as a café menu, but which, to him, deserved all his attention. Their eyes met, and In-ho quickly looked away from that enchanting gaze, his cheeks heating up again as the air inside the café seemed to grow warmer.
“Hot chocolate would be fine.”
Gi-hun started searching his pants pocket for the single bill his mother had given him to go out. In-ho noticed the movement and quickly reached out, placing his hand—warm, strong, and firm—on Gi-hun’s arm.
“I’ll pay. I’m inviting you, remember?”
Gi-hun looked at him in surprise, lips slightly parted, eyes searching the younger boy’s face for a hint that he was joking. When he found none, he swallowed hard.
“That’s not necessary...”
In-ho shook his head.
“I’m inviting you. I want to. Let me do it, please.”
Gi-hun looked at him for another moment in silence before nodding.
“Alright.”
That simple answer was enough to make In-ho visibly relax and smile.
“Perfect. Do you want a dessert?”
Gi-hun shook his head. In-ho frowned before standing up to place their order.
Gi-hun turned his torso slightly to the side to watch In-ho as he passed by and walked away. He studied his messy hair, shining under the sunlight that struck it. There was nothing of the usual teenage clumsiness in his movements. In-ho moved with confidence and precision. Gi-hun couldn’t hear what he was saying from that distance, but his gaze stayed on his face, on the way he spoke so calmly, pronouncing each syllable with precision, his hands resting on the counter as he gave his order, his eyes fixed on the cashier who simply smiled at him, and In-ho responding with his usual charm.
In-ho turned his face until his gaze met Gi-hun’s. The intensity of those dark eyes, the way those serious, unshakable features softened into a warm smile, it caused a little pull in Gi-hun’s stomach that quickly spread into the pink flush of his cheeks. He snapped his gaze back to the empty chair on the other side of the table.
His cheeks burned, his palms sweated, and his heart hammered hard against his ribs. He was more than nervous, he felt like he might faint at any moment, or worse, do something utterly foolish because of his uncontrollable emotions. He tugged at the sleeves of his thin sweater just to have something to distract himself with, trying to breathe steadily. Had In-ho noticed the way he’d been staring at him? Had he felt uncomfortable? Because if the letters hadn’t made him uncomfortable in Gi-hun’s presence, then surely being caught hypnotized by him would. What if In-ho thought he was a creep and asked him never to speak to him again?
Gi-hun was so absorbed in his spiral of self-loathing that he never lifted his gaze back to In-ho, because if he had, he might have noticed the utterly enchanted way In-ho was watching him. Focused on the way his long, slender fingers fidgeted to calm his nerves and anxiety, the way his messy black hair somehow suited him even without being brushed at all. It was a disheveled style, but Gi-hun somehow managed to make it work.
But what mesmerized In-ho most was the faint crimson that colored Gi-hun’s cheeks every time their eyes met, it was adorable.
In-ho returned to the table where Gi-hun still sat with his head bowed, lost in thought, tugging lightly at the sleeve of his sweater, consoling himself with the feeling of fabric covering him. He set down an apple pie he’d bought at the counter right in front of Gi-hun, and he could practically see how Gi-hun’s pupils dilated at the aroma, how his head lifted slightly, and he was almost certain he heard his stomach growl.
Finally, Gi-hun raised his head, first looking at the pie. His stomach rumbled desperately at the rich aroma wafting from it. Then his gaze rose to the boy across from him. In-ho was returning to his seat, a beautiful and calm smile on his face. He looked at Gi-hun, who only stared back silently before glancing again at the pie and then back at him. In-ho tilted his head slightly.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you like apple pie? I can get you pecan, or whatever you want...”
“I told you no,” Gi-hun murmured. In-ho noticed how he tugged at his sleeves again, a nervous habit he was starting to recognize.
“Oh, I assumed you were just being polite.” He picked up the pie, cut a piece with the fork. “You know, like you really wanted it but didn’t want to seem rude since I said I’d pay.” He shrugged.
He lifted the piece of pie toward Gi-hun, holding his other hand a few inches below, ready to catch any mess, as he brought the fork closer to Gi-hun’s face. Gi-hun’s eyes flicked from the fork to In-ho himself, sitting upright with that easy smile on his face, completely unaware of how violently Gi-hun’s heart was pounding in his chest.
Heat rushed to his face, painting his cheeks a faint crimson. Gi-hun looked into In-ho’s eyes once more before glancing back at the fork. He pressed his hand against his thigh before parting his lips and accepting the bite.
The pie tasted like heaven. It had just the right amount of sweetness that Gi-hun loved, without being cloying or overwhelming. In fact, with every second savoring it, he found himself enjoying the flavor even more.
In-ho leaned back against his chair again, taking a piece of pie for himself this time. He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste as it spread over his tongue. Gi-hun lowered his gaze, blushing, avoiding eye contact.
“Did you like it?” In-ho offered the pie toward him again. The older boy nodded.
“It’s the perfect balance between sweetness and that little kick of cinnamon. It’s perfect.”
“Right? I knew you’d love it.”
Gi-hun picked up a spoon to eat with. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to have In-ho’s attention on him like that again, but at the same time, he was embarrassed by it. He studied In-ho from where he sat: the messy hair, the bright eyes watching him, the faint crooked smile Gi-hun had spent three years silently memorizing. But what stood out most was the 'Bluey' pin hanging from the hem of his blazer. Gi-hun couldn’t help but smile at how adorable the sight was.
“So...” Gi-hun poked at the pie. “You have a little brother?”
In-ho nodded, never taking his eyes off Gi-hun, off every small movement, the way his fingers curled around the spoon with uncertainty, and how he used that same uncertainty to scoop up a piece of pie. The way his cheeks seemed to hold a permanent flush of red that the older boy futilely tried to hide by looking down or away.
The way his black hair fell across his head like dominoes, curling slightly at the ends. In-ho wanted to run his hand through it, tangle his fingers in the dark strands, feel the softness mixed with lavender-scented shampoo between his fingertips, maybe even lean his face into it, rest his cheek against that softness while the scent wrapped around his senses. He imagined that maybe paradise could feel something like that.
“Uh? Oh, yeah. I have a little brother, he’s five years old, his name’s Jun-ho.” In-ho pulled out his phone, which he had forgotten in his pocket. He quickly unlocked it and searched for a photo to show Gi-hun. “Look, that’s him.”
Gi-hun took the phone. In-ho smiled at the obvious blush spreading across Gi-hun’s cheeks.
The picture showed In-ho in the foreground, with the small face of a little boy peeking over his shoulder. Jet-black hair, his tiny arms wrapped around In-ho neck. In-ho was holding Jun-ho by the black of his knees so he sat on his back. Both had damp hair, In-ho had brushed his own off his forehead, revealing his full features. But the cherry on top of the photograph was that In-ho wasn’t wearing anything on his upper body, just a pair of swim shorts.
Gi-hun knew perfectly well that In-ho was an athlete, the captain of the Taekwondo team, and that he spent a considerable amount of time at the gym lifting weights. But what he hadn’t known was the aesthetic physique In-ho had under his school uniform. Gi-hun blushed harder, turning his eyes away from the phone to hand it back.
“You can tell you two adore each other.”
“I love him a lot, and I hope he loves me too.”
In-ho raised his hand, ready to brush away the strands of hair on Gi-hun’s forehead that kept him from admiring his beautiful face. But just before he could reach him, the barista called his name with their drinks ready.
In-ho stood to grab them, placing one in front of each of them when he returned to the table. Gi-hun thanked him.
Gi-hun lifted his eyes toward In-ho again, his trembling hands wrapped around the hot chocolate cup.
“Uhm… so, did you want to talk about something?”
In-ho tilted his head slightly to the side.
“Well, I’d like to talk about everything with you. To get to know you more. Does that bother you?”
Gi-hun shook his head.
“No, it's fine but... It’s just that I thought… maybe you’d scold me about the letters.”
“Why would I?”
“You know…” Gi-hun poked at the pie in front of him with his spoon, needing something to distract himself. “Maybe they could’ve made you uncomfortable.”
“I liked the letters.”
Gi-hun raised his eyes and met In-ho’s, who was watching him with shining dark eyes, full of determination, as if he couldn’t fathom how Gi-hun might believe his writing could ever make him uncomfortable.
“I liked them a lot. I even thought about keeping them, but that wouldn’t have been right, especially because it was obvious you didn’t intend for them to end up in my hands.”
Gi-hun blushed and straightened in his seat, as if that small distance could shield him from the other boy’s overwhelming presence.
“They didn’t even have a sender’s name.”
“What? Then how did you know they were mine? I thought Jung-bae or Sang-woo had added it.”
“It’s easy. You have this really cute way of extending the last stroke in a syllable. And the way you draw the 'siot' , even in your own name; you do two divided strokes instead of just one. Or with your ‘eo,’ you make it in one continuous motion, slightly bending the first stroke. You always write the same way, in your essays, your assignments, when you go up to the board… or in your letters.”
Gi-hun would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised by what In-ho revealed. Not just at the idea of In-ho being aware of his handwriting, but that he seemed interested enough to notice the particularities that made it distinct from others.
He felt his cheeks heat up.
He brought his right hand to the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the stack of letters. He looked down at them, all those words, all those feelings on paper, everything he had wished to say. The letters were the written embodiment of everything he felt, every word carrying Hwang In-ho’s name.
Those letters didn’t belong to him anymore. Truthfully, they never had. They were In-ho’s, they always had been.
He raised his gaze to find In-ho calmly sipping his mocha. Gi-hun extended the hand holding the letters toward him. In-ho noticed, lowered his drink.
And then, everything happened too fast... so quickly that neither Gi-hun nor In-ho could process it before it was too late.
With his trembling hand and his usual clumsiness, Gi-hun knocked into In-ho’s cup just as he was setting it down in front of them to take the letters. The cup toppled over the table. Gi-hun barely reacted in time, pulling his hand back and shielding the letters. But in doing so, he pushed the cup closer to the edge, knocking it off the table completely.
It crashed against In-ho’s leg, spilling liquid all over his clothes.
In-ho hissed at the sensation, scooting back from the table to avoid the rest dripping down, though it hardly made a difference. His clothes were already soaked, his shoes now stained with coffee.
Gi-hun stared at the scene in horror, quickly set the letters down on the table, and jumped to his feet.
“In-ho!” Gi-hun rushed toward him. “In-ho, I’m so sorry, forgive me! I didn’t mean to… Let me, I’ll help you.”
Gi-hun grabbed the napkins from the table, trying in vain to dry In-ho. He started running his hands over his abdomen, letting the napkins absorb the excess liquid, though his clothes had already soaked up enough to remain wet. Gi-hun grabbed another handful of napkins and continued pressing them against In-ho’s body, his fingers trembling, his movements frantic.
In-ho’s cheeks turned a deep crimson. His gaze lifted from his own clothes to sweep across the café. He noticed the curious eyes on them, some smiles, some glances tinged with pity. He returned his gaze to the front, to Gi-hun just a few inches away, hands moving over him despite the barrier of wet clothing, feeling the pressure of Gi-hun against him.
He swallowed hard as Gi-hun continued dabbing at his abdomen, moving down toward his thighs, apologizing in a nervous, desperate way.
“Gi-hun…”
“I’m so sorry, In-ho. I didn’t mean it.”
“Gi-hun…”
“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” Gi-hun pressed the napkins against In-ho’s right thigh. “I’m so sorry.”
“Gi-hun…”
“I swear I’ll make it up to you.” Gi-hun started rubbing clumsily in a desperate attempt to clean. “Let me buy you another dr—”
Gi-hun’s wrists were suddenly trapped under the firm but trembling hold of In-ho. Their eyes met for the first time during the whole scene, and the silence between them felt heavier than the curious stares surrounding them.
Gi-hun swallowed, his lips moving awkwardly as if searching for excuses that dissolved before they could leave his mouth.
“I… really… you have no idea how sorry I am,” he stammered, his voice breaking. His face burned, an absurd contrast to the soaked napkins still clutched in his hands.
In-ho turned his gaze sharply away, the heat in his face unrelenting, and to his own dismay, he felt his whole body betraying him.
“Enough…” he murmured, barely audible.
But Gi-hun didn’t stop. He leaned closer, pressing his body toward In-ho, desperation marking every line of his face.
“Let me fix it, please. I’ll buy you another drink, another set of clothes if you want… or… or two coffees!” He blurted it out, as if his ridiculous offer could undo what had happened.
In-ho glanced at him from the corner of his eye, holding back a heavy sigh. Gi-hun was so close he could see his lips trembling.
“I don’t need any of that." In-ho said, barely moving his head. His tone was sharper than he intended. “I’m going to the bathroom.” He didn’t wait for a response before walking away.
The air burned against his face, and every movement was torture: the wet weight of his clothes sticking to his skin, heat radiating from his chest to his fingertips. He clenched his jaw, holding back the tremor in his hands, and took refuge behind the bathroom door. He leaned against the sink.
Cold water ran over In-ho’s hands, soaking his fingers before he brought some to his face. He looked in the mirror, his reflection showing flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and too-rapid breathing. He swallowed, trying to calm the heat that wasn’t just from the spilled coffee.
He clung to the edge of the sink, leaning forward. His chest rose and fell violently, his cheeks burned even more, and no matter how much he tried to ignore it, his own body betrayed him. That uncomfortable pressure of wet clothing, that impulse he couldn’t control, made him feel ridiculous.
Gi-hun’s name slipped into his thoughts, inevitable. His closeness, his desperate voice, the clumsiness of those hands moving over his clothes. In-ho closed his eyes tightly, trying to empty his mind, but all it did was make the image return more vividly, accompanied by that unbearable sensation crawling across his skin.
Meanwhile, at the table, Gi-hun slumped back against the chair, defeated. He pressed his lips together until they went pale, the crumpled napkins forgotten on the table. His leg shook nervously, unable to find rest.
The silence consumed him. Every second that passed without In-ho returning felt like an added weight on his shoulders. He covered his face with one hand.
“I ruined it… I ruined everything." He muttered under his breath.
He had seen In-ho’s expression, that restrained gesture, that discomfort, and he hated himself for being the cause.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, forehead against his interlaced fingers. The misery cut deep into his bones.
He looked at the dark coffee stain spreading across the table, a cruel reminder of his disaster. No one around seemed to be paying attention anymore, but to him, it was as if the entire café silently mocked him.
“I’m such an idiot…”
The image of In-ho walking away replayed over and over in his mind, each time further, more definitive. He felt a bitter pang in his chest: the fear that, in one clumsy moment, he had lost any chance with him.
When In-ho finally came out of the bathroom, still with slightly damp hair and a flushed, wet face, his steps were no longer as rushed or tense as before. His gaze landed on Gi-hun, hunched over the table, defeated, and his chest tightened painfully.
“Ready?” he asked softly, picking up his blazer.
Gi-hun looked up, surprised by that voice, which sounded neither accusatory nor distant. He blinked, unsure, as if he couldn’t believe In-ho was really speaking to him.
“Let’s go…” he said, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret, approaching Gi-hun. “I don’t want to stay here smelling like coffee. How about we take a walk? Maybe to a park, or just around for a bit.”
Gi-hun swallowed, clumsy and uncertain, trying to process what was happening, not fully understanding it. He wanted to respond quickly, but his voice came out quiet and shaky:
“Y-yes… of course.”
He picked up the stack of letters on the table. They left the café together. The door closed behind them, leaving the noise and discomfort of the interior behind. Outside, the fresh air enveloped them.
Gi-hun walked with his shoulders slumped, resigned. Each step was a reminder of his clumsiness, of how he had ruined everything. Shame consumed him, the thought that maybe In-ho was only accompanying him out of courtesy and nothing more.
The fresh air was a relief after the stifling heat of the café. They walked side by side, aimless, though In-ho naturally suggested they head toward the nearby park. Their footsteps echoed on the wet pavement, accompanied by a silence that seemed heavier with each passing minute.
Gi-hun was the first to speak, his voice low, almost trembling:
“Hey… about earlier…” he started, not daring to look him in the eye. “I… I know I’m a mess. I always have been.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, hunching slightly over himself.
“And if after this… you decide you don’t want to talk to me again, I understand. Really. I won’t bother you anymore.” His voice cracked slightly, but he forced himself to continue. “I mean, I totally get it. I could’ve hurt you if the drink had been hot, I made you have a bad time, and believe me, it happens a lot with me, I always end up like this, you know? Messing up, saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing and…” He sighed. “Anyway, for me, it was enough just to… well, spend time with you. And I don’t want you to think that I’m… I don’t know... a problem. Because I didn’t… I never wanted to…”
“Can I kiss you?” In-ho’s voice interrupted him, sharp, direct, cutting through his rambling like a blade.
Gi-hun froze, eyes wide, as if he hadn’t fully understood what he had just heard. His heart stopped for a second, then beat so hard that his hands trembled inside his pockets.
In-ho stared at him steadily, breathing slightly ragged, lips parted, waiting for a response.
“W-what…?”
Before he could respond coherently, In-ho leaned toward him, closing the distance, and their lips brushed in a timid, fragile, delicate contact. Gi-hun, stiff, didn’t know how to respond; his eyes stayed open, his breath held, as if he still couldn’t comprehend what was happening. The kiss was brief, clumsy, incomplete.
In-ho pulled back almost immediately, frowning, confused, stepping away to give him back his personal space, ready to apologize for his impulsive behavior, for getting it wrong.
But then something in Gi-hun shifted, transformed. Fear, doubt, insecurity, all that had paralyzed him vanished, replaced by an urgent impulse. His trembling hands shot out of his pockets, and almost desperately, he grabbed In-ho by the collar, yanking him forward roughly.
This time, he kissed him for real.
Their lips came together in a desperate clash, so sudden that In-ho struggled to process the whirlwind of sensations rushing through him. But instinct took over. He gripped Gi-hun’s waist, pulling him flush against his body, rising onto his toes and forcing Gi-hun to give ground, to surrender the lead in the kiss and let In-ho take control.
It was desperate, inexperienced, but somehow passionate and utterly captivating. Gi-hun still held on to In-ho by the collar of his shirt, his knuckles white from clutching the fabric, yanking him closer. In-ho smiled into the kiss, sliding one hand up to the nape of Gi-hun’s neck, threading his fingers through those black strands—just like he had imagined countless times, just as he had wanted—and the sensation was even better than he had ever dreamed.
They only broke apart when air began to run out, their lips still linked by a faint thread of shared saliva, their flushed cheeks matching the color of their swollen mouths.
Gi-hun was still clutching In-ho’s collar, holding him close. In-ho chuckled softly before leaning in further, dropping back onto his heels, which inevitably forced Gi-hun to bend down with him.
“Hey… you can let me go. I’m not going anywhere.” In-ho’s smile was playful.
Gi-hun blushed, lowering his gaze to where his hand gripped the other’s shirt. He let go as if it burned him.
“S-sorry…” he muttered, embarrassed, turning his face away to avoid In-ho’s eyes.
In-ho could only watch him with amusement, fascinated by how the older boy was still nervous and flustered even after kissing him like that, after holding on to him so desperately and passionately.
In-ho took his hand into his own, and he could see and feel Gi-hun’s whole body tense at the touch. Gi-hun turned his head slowly, almost as if in disbelief, terrified that what he was feeling wasn’t real. His eyes fixed on the shared touch, In-ho’s hand holding his, and in a quick movement, the younger one intertwined their fingers.
Then In-ho noticed something on Gi-hun’s shirt and frowned.
“Oh…” Gi-hun followed his gaze, focusing on what In-ho was staring at. “Sorry." In-ho murmured.
Gi-hun lifted his face to study him, while In-ho still looked at his shirt, brow furrowed. There, faintly visible, was a damp, light brown stain on the fabric—a mark left from pressing up against In-ho’s body. Gi-hun started laughing. In-ho lifted his face to him.
“Sorry? In-ho, I spilled coffee all over you earlier, this is nothing. Honestly, it’s practically my fault too." Gi-hun continued laughing. In-ho smiled at the sound, at the sight of this Gi-hun, so happy, so natural." Well, at least now we’re even?”
In-ho shook his head, his smile still lingering.
“Oh no, Gi-hun. We’re far from even.”
Gi-hun’s laughter faded. In-ho stepped closer, invading his personal space. And then, before Gi-hun could react, he felt In-ho’s hands grip the collar of his shirt, tugging him forward, forcing him to lean down just enough to feel the heat of In-ho’s breath against his lips.
“We’re so far from even, Seong Gi-hun.”
And with that, he sealed their lips together in another passionate kiss.