Chapter Text
Baekjin wakes up slowly.
That’s the first thing that feels wrong.
There’s no jolt. No sharp inhale, no sudden awareness snapping him upright like it usually does.
Just soft light glowing past the blinds, a heavy warmth settled over him.
His eyes stay closed for a moment longer, caught somewhere between sleep and waking, unwilling to move. It’s quiet. Not the kind of quiet that he’s used to, the one that presses in on him, suffocating.
His breathing is even. Almost too even.
Baekjin’s eyes snap open.
He sits up immediately, the blanket slipping off his shoulders as his heart starts racing all at once.
What? Where?
His gaze darts around the room, disoriented, trying to piece together something that doesn’t make sense.
Couch.
Table.
Kitchen.
The memory crashes back in all at once.
Baku.
Baekjin freezes.
“…No.”
His voice is hoarse, barely there. He looks down at himself, a pillow tucked under his head and a blanket draped carefully over him.
That was not how he remembered falling asleep.
His cheeks flush at the memory of something soft against his cheek.
His breath catches. He fell asleep. Here. In someone else’s space.
(But it wasn’t just “someone”.)
Baekjin stands up too quickly, the sudden movement making his head spin slightly.
This is bad.
He grabs his bag, movements rushed in a quiet, controlled way. He acts like if he moves fast enough, he won’t have to think about it.
“You always this dramatic in the morning?”
Baekjin flinches.
Baku’s voice cuts through the space, annoyingly calm. He’s in the kitchen, already up and moving like this is just another day, like nothing about this is strange.
“Relax,” Baku adds, glancing over his shoulder, a lazy grin already forming. “You’re not late for anything.”
Baekjin stares at him.
“…I fell asleep.”
“Yeah.”
“…Here.”
“Also yeah.”
Baekjin’s grip tightens on his bag.
“That wasn’t supposed to—”
“—happen?” Baku finishes easily. “Too late.”
There’s no weight to it, no teasing edge that pushes too far.
Baekjin exhales sharply.
“I should go.”
He steps toward the door like the room is on fire. He needs to move because he knows if he slows down, he might not leave at all.
Baku watches him for exactly two seconds.
“Damn.”
Baekjin pauses despite himself.
“…What?”
Baku leans casually against the counter, arms crossed, completely unbothered.
“Didn’t think you were the type.”
Baekjin frowns. “The type for what?”
Baku tilts his head, grin widening just a little.
“To run off the morning after.”
Baekjin blinks.
“…After what?”
Baku raises an eyebrow.
“Wow,” he says, impressed. “How many poor guy’s hearts have you broken?”
It takes exactly one second, maybe less, for it to click.
Baku chuckles. “If you’re leaving so fast after a sleepover, I can only imagine…”
Baekjin’s face goes red violently fast.
“That’s not—” he chokes, immediately flustered. “That’s not—I don’t do stuff like that! I never even—”
Baku raises an eyebrow. “Never what?”
“I—” his face turns bright red. “I… nothing…”
Baku laughs, the bright sound fills the room instantly.
“Relax, dude, I’m kidding,” he says, waving a hand. “You should see your face.”
Baekjin glares at him, mortified.
“…You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” Baku grins. “You missed it.”
That does something to Baekjin’s chest.
He looks away.
“I don’t remember you being so… crude,” he scoffs, hiding his face subtly.
“Yeah, well, you were gone for a while.”
Baku turns back to the stove like the conversation wasn’t anything strange, like Baekjin didn’t just almost sprint out the door.
“Sit,” he adds, gesturing vaguely behind him. “Breakfast is almost done.”
Every single voice in his head is screaming for him to run, to get out of here and never look back. Everything in him is still half-wound, still trying to catch up to the fact that he had just had the best sleep he’d had in years.
But the smell of pancakes and eggs hits him hard. And Baku is humming a song he knows, but can’t quite put his finger on. It’s too normal, and breakfast would make it even more normal in the worst way possible.
Baku’s shoulders aren’t tense. How can he act like Baekjin isn’t already halfway out the door?
“…You don’t have to,” Baekjin says, weaker this time.
“I know.”
Baekjin exhales slowly. His grip on his bag loosens.
“…Just breakfast,” he mutters, more to himself than anything.
Baku doesn’t comment, but there’s a small, satisfied smile tugging at his mouth.
집
Baekjin sits again slowly, like he’s testing something to see if it will break, like he’s waiting for the moment it all feels wrong again.
Baku sets a plate in front of him like it’s routine.
“Eat before you pass out again,” he says.
The food smells so good Baekjin has to force his face into a neutral expression.
“I’m not going to pass out,” he scoffs.
“You literally did.”
“I fell asleep.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not.”
“Mm.”
Baekjin glares, Baku grins, and just for a second it feels easy again.
Baekjin looks down at the food.
His voice is quieter than usual, still rough from waking up. “…I don’t usually fall sleep like that.”
Baku doesn’t miss it, but he doesn’t look at him right away. He flips another pancake, shrugging slightly.
“Guess you were tired.”
Baekjin shakes his head faintly.
“…Yeah.” His eyes scan over the smile made out of chocolate chips on his plate. “I guess I was.”
Baku glances at him this time, something softer in his expression.
He doesn’t say it. He doesn't point out the obvious. He doesn’t make Baekjin confront it.
“Then do it again,” he says instead. “You look less grumpy.”
Baekjin huffs quietly.
“…I’m not grumpy.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
The back-and-forth comes too easily. Baekjin can almost hear Baku’s younger self in his voice, taunting him cheekily like he used to. It’s too natural.
Baekjin exhales, but there’s no real heat behind it.
He can’t pick up his fork, still too mortified over his earlier confession. What had gotten into him? He couldn't remember the last time he'd lost his composure like that. The Na Baekjin never got flustered. He was cold, calculating, the guy who no one could ever read. One night in his safe haven that smelled like freshly baked bread was doing horrible things to his resolve.
He gazes down at the pancake smile, glaring at it like it’s mocking him.
“Still mad?” Baku teases from where he was cooking.
“Shut up.”
Baekjin doesn’t have to look at him to see the cheeky grin on his face.
“No need to be ashamed Baekjinnie~” He says. “I’m also—”
“Drop it.” Baekjin’s face is red as a tomato.
Baku chuckles softly, humming in defeat. Even when Baku is being an annoying asshole, somehow Baekjin feels at ease. His shoulders have relaxed, just a little, and he doesn’t even realize it.
For a moment, as sunlight filters through the window, catching on the edges of everything, softening the space, Baekjin feels it again. That strange, disorienting thought that this isn’t real. That if he looks too closely, it’ll all fall apart.
Baku’s moving around the kitchen. There’s hot food on his plate and coffee being brewed (even if Baku never liked it).
“Oh, here,” Baku says, walking over to the shoe rack next to his door. He grabs the unopened pack of house slippers, ripping the plastic carelessly.
He places them in front of Baekjin with an awkward smile.
“Can’t believe you’ve already stayed the night and I haven’t given you these,” he chuckles. “What an irresponsible home owner.”
Those beautiful eyes look up at Baekjin from where he’s kneeling before him. Baku could have just placed them on the floor and went back to cooking, but instead he carefully lifts Baekjin’s foot and slips them on.
They’re soft, cozy, warm.
Baku doesn’t say anything as he puts the other on.
It feels like something Baekjin had imagined once a long time ago. A house, Baku on one knee, that stupid smile on his face.
A fantasy Baekjin told himself he doesn’t need. (Nor does he deserve.)
But it creeps back in like the sunlight through the curtains, and Baekjin curses his weak mind for indulging in it once more. He curses his even weaker body for letting Baku guide him so delicately. But he curses his heart the most for still threatening to jump out of his chest, just like it did when he was a kid.
Baekjin leaves soon after and tells himself it’s the right decision. Baku went to use the bathroom, and he slipped away like an illicit affair.
The action itself felt unfair. After Baku had treated him with nothing but welcome warmth, Baekjin had the nerve to run like a secret. The guilt settles low in his chest, but he washed the dishes, folded the blanket, and sat the house slippers down neatly on the shoe rack.
The moment he steps outside, the air hits different—cooler, sharper, real in a way that Baku’s apartment wasn’t. It’s grounding, cold, necessary.
He exhales slowly, adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder.
By the time he gets back to his apartment, everything has settled into place again. He stands in the doorway for a second, staring at the space like it might’ve changed while he was gone.
His apartment is just as he left it, still empty and barely lived in. He steps inside anyway.
The quiet presses in immediately, heavier than before. The air is colder. The space too big for what little it holds. Baekjin exhales sharply, dropping his bag onto the bed.
“…It’s fine.” The words sound hollow.
He moves through the motions, taking off his hoodie and neatly folding it by his closet. He turns on the water heater so he can make tea. He takes a shower while waiting, washing off the traces of warmth and home cooked food that lingered on his skin.
He makes the tea. He busies himself with useless things. Brushes his hair till it’s pin straight. Straightens things that don’t need straightening. Opens a book he doesn’t read.
His phone buzzes and Baekjin freezes. Slowly, he looks down at a notification lighting up the screen.
Humin
His chest tightens.
For a second, he just stares at it like it might disappear. He looks right at Baku’s soft smile in the picture. Baekjin’s too distracted to even be bothered by how stupid he looks asleep on the couch next to him.
Another buzz.
Then another.
Baekjin exhales, picking up the phone like it weighs more than it should.
Humin: you left
Humin: rude
Humin: didn’t even say bye properly
Humin: i made breakfast dude 😭
Humin: okay you ate but that’s not the point
Humin: you always do this
Humin: disappear like it’s nothing
Baekjin’s thumb hovers over the screen. His chest feels too tight.
Humin: did you get home?
Baekjin swallows.
His fingers move shakily as he types. He stops, deleting his message just to type a new one. He deletes it again. Types. Deletes. Types. Deletes.
He locks the phone.
He decides with a sharp exhale, that for the greater good, he isn’t going to reply.
…
He lasts ten minutes (maybe less) before he picks it up again.
The messages are still there, like they always have been.
Baekjin: I got home.
The response is immediate.
Humin: good
Humin: you ran again
Baekjin stares at the words. His jaw tightens slightly.
Baekjin: I didn’t run.
Humin: you literally did
Baekjin: I left.
Humin: same thing
Baekjin huffs quietly despite himself.
The conversation doesn’t stop. Baekjin really tries to set the phone down again. He gets on with his day, folding laundry and creating a proper list for groceries. But it buzzes.
Again.
And again.
And again.
And each time he runs to it like a reflex. Like he was waiting on a college acceptance email. Like a teenage boy with a stupid crush.
Humin: what are you doing now
Humin: did you eat (again)
Humin: you should nap
Humin: actually dont youll wake up at like 3am
Humin: ur sleep schedule concerns me jin
Baekjin stares at the screen.
“…Unbelievable.”
And yet his fingers move anyway.
Baekjin: I have class tomorrow.
Humin: okay and
Baekjin: I need to prepare.
Humin: do it later
Baekjin: That’s not how that works.
Humin: it is today
Baekjin presses his lips together. He should stop replying because this is exactly how it starts. How it pulls him back in. How all the effort he went through to stay away goes down the drain. How with a simple sweet smile Baekjin forgets the reality that he and Humin are better off—
His phone buzzes again.
Humin: come over
Baekjin stills.
The words sit there. Simple, like Baku had already decided.
Baekjin: No.
The response is immediate.
Humin: pleaseeeeeee :((((
Baekjin: I just left.
Humin: yeah so come back :((
Baekjin exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.
Baekjin: That’s not happening.
The typing bubble disappears for longer this time. Baekjin thinks maybe that’s it, maybe Baku will drop it like a normal person would. (In that brief moment, Baekjin doesn’t know if he’d be relieved or disappointed if that would happen.)
His phone buzzes again.
Humin: fine
Baekjin’s shoulders slump, the feeling settles in, forming almost into something he can recognize—
Humin: ill come to you
His train of thought slams the breaks.
Baekjin: Don’t.
Humin: why
Baekjin: Because.
Humin: good reason
Baekjin: I’m serious.
Humin: so am i
Baekjin stares at the screen, heart beating a little faster now. He isn’t panicking, he isn’t scared. It’s something sweeter, something dangerously close to what he cannot have.
He locks the phone again. Sets it down. Steps away from it like that will help.
The room is still empty. Still quiet. Still wrong. And his phone is buzzing again.
Baekjin closes his eyes briefly and lets out a sharp exhale.
Humin: i have extra dinner
Humin: youll be busy when school starts
Humin: let me enjoy the time we have
Baekjin’s hands move faster than his head.
Baekjin: Fine.
He was already regretting giving Baku his address.
Humin: i’m outside
Baekjin freezes.
“…You’re lying.”
His voice is quiet, almost hopeful.
The phone buzzes again.
Humin: check
Baekjin hesitates. He stares at the closed blinds, the ones that silenced the noise of the outside world, keeping him unaware of the movement of the sun. He stands up on bare feet, missing the warmth of those house slippers already. He pads over slowly, as if afraid of any sudden movements.
What if he were to open the blinds and have nobody there? What if it was all just a trick of his mind? Another sleep deprived night where he dreams of Baku saving him from a nightmare alone.
His hands slowly trace the curtain. If he never opens it, he never has to get hurt.
But it’s cold outside and knowing Humin, he forgot to bring a thick enough jacket when he excitedly ran out of his house.
He pulls the curtain back slightly.
And there, standing just outside his building, hands in his pockets, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who just invited himself over, Baku looks up.
It’s almost like he knows exactly where to look. Like his eyes gravitate naturally to Baekjin. Only this time there’s no megaphone, no facades, no danger waiting for them at the gates of their high schools. Just Baku, smiling, holding a plastic bag full of food.
They simply stare at each other for a while, the mutual déjà vu earning its moment to settle in.
Baku breaks first, that same boyish grin shining on his face. But it’s sweeter now, no pride nor strategy. Just Baku.
He lifts his hand and waves like this is normal. As if it was obvious, ‘of course he came.’
Baekjin’s breath catches, because of course he did.
Baekjin shouldn’t open the door. He knows that. He knows it the moment his hand hovers over the handle, the moment his chest tightens with something dangerously close to relief.
This is a bad idea, letting Baku in, letting him walk back into his space. No one else but Baekjin had been in this apartment for months. The walls were still bare and lonely, the floor cold, the couch forgetting what the warmth of companionship felt like.
Baekjin exhales.
He opens the door anyway.
Baku’s already smiling.
“Hey,” he says, casual. “Took you long enough.”
Baekjin’s eyes narrow. “How’d you get here so fast?”
Baku chuckles awkwardly. “Yanno, I ran.”
“How presumptuous of you to assume I’d invite you over.”
“I didn’t know it for sure,” he says. “But just in case.”
Baekjin steps aside without answering and that’s all the invitation Baku needs.
He walks in like he belongs there. Immediately, he makes a face.
“…Dude.”
Baekjin shuts the door behind him. “Don’t.”
“It’s empty,” Baku says, looking around like he’s personally offended. “Did you just move in or are you planning to haunt the place?”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s depressing.”
“It’s temporary.”
“Yeah, well, temporarily fix it then.”
Before Baekjin can respond, Baku’s already moving.
Picking things up. Looking through boxes. Opening cabinets like he has every right to.
“Where’s your stuff?” he asks.
Baekjin gestures idly to his suitcases. “There.”
“That’s not unpacked.”
“I just got here.”
“Yeah, a month ago.”
Baku turns to him, eyebrows raised like Baekjin was being insane. He starts unpacking, just like that, without even asking for permission.
Baekjin watches, a mix of disbelief and something else sitting heavy in his chest as Baku pulls out clothes, shakes them out, starts organizing them like he’s done it before. Like he knows where things should go.
“This is nice,” Baku says, holding up a black turtleneck. “You should wear it.”
Baekjin nods.
“You can put it there,” he mutters instinctively.
Baku doesn’t even look at him. “You’ll hate it there in two days.”
He arranges Baekjin’s clothes by color, just how Baekjin always liked it.
“…You remember that.” His voice comes out soft and slow.
“Yeah.”
Baekjin looks away because his chest feels tight again. The spot on the left, it feels too full, too much.
Baku moves through the apartment like he’s copying a picture in his head, like he knows how everything should be—adjusting small things, shifting furniture just slightly, opening the window to let air in.
It changes the space subtly, enough that it starts to feel lived in.
Baekjin watches it happen.
Baku’s fingers move slow, gentle touches as he folds Baekjin’s clothes. No one has ever put his stuff away for him before, and he hates how all he can do is stand in the middle of the empty space, watching him.
The words slip out before he can stop them.
“Why do you live alone?”
Baku stills, Baekjin’s sweater almost slipping out of his shaky hands.
“What do you mean?” He chuckles, like it can break the tension. He wants to joke, wants to playfully ask Baekjin if this is his way of asking him to move in, but he knows if he says it, he might not take it back.
“You have a stable job, you’re… kind,” Baekjin says. “Why isn't there someone in your life?”
There are a thousand reasons Baku could give, but they all boil down to the same underlying meaning.
Because that “someone” for me will always be you.
It would be easy for Baku to tell Baekjin about the nights he stayed awake. How on dark days he would hold onto Baekjin’s jacket like a lifeline. How he kept imagining a happy life, every time he ran into a married couple or parents with a little kid on the streets. How his world had changed when Baekjin left, and only began to feel right again that day in the grocery.
Baku folds the last piece of clothing. He gets up, standing across from Baekjin.
The distance between them feels heavy, but Baku steps closer anyway. Baekjin stares at him, just like he has been doing all night, whole body tense. Baku moves into his space, the tips of his shoes barely centimeters away.
Baekjin holds his breath, knowing that in this moment of Baku in his house, making it feel like a home, he couldn’t be able to stop whatever would happen next.
Baku just smiles, reaching for the bag of food he brought, his arm extending past Baekjin, grazing his side gently.
“Let’s eat?”
Baekjin swallows hard, nodding beside himself.