Archive of Our Own

For most people, a wedding is everything. It is the one event they allow themselves to splurge in the hopes of turning their dreams into reality. Usually, forgoing special circumstances, couples take anywhere between one to five years to plan out the big day. They take notes and make lists, organizing every single detail, from the cake and flowers, down to the number of toothpicks and napkins. Dates are also significant, if not one of the most crucial matters. There’s a date for everything: invitations, orders, photographs, clothes shopping, clothes fittings, reservations, and about a thousand more meetings. It’s always a whirlwind of laughter, cries, frustration, and mental breakdowns, that go on until the day of the actual wedding, where it simply kicks into overdrive. 

Wonwoo understands, though, why the preparation is filled with so many perils (and mostly tears). A wedding is important. It’s to celebrate a couple’s union, a couple’s love for each other surrounded by the people they hold most dear. He understands the need for everything to be in order, the desire for that one day to be perfect. He understands it especially now, when he’s about to go through that whirlwind of emotions himself. 

But before that, he needs to actually propose to his boyfriend. 

And that is when he ponders, why are proposals not considered as bearing as much weight? There is no wedding without a proposal. Well, barring all illegal and drunk occurrences. At any rate, it’s true that some men and women go to extreme measures to propose to their significant other, but as far as Wonwoo is concerned, it’s nowhere as intensive as wedding planning. Which he thinks should be corrected. 

Proposing to someone might not be on the scale of planning an entire wedding, but it is stressful and labor intensive. There are a lot of factors involved that wedding planners do not have to calculate. Like the most important question: what if they say no? (Granted, wedding planners do have one fear: either party getting cold feet and not showing up). On a realistic front, though, the chances of getting stood up on your wedding day is significantly lower than getting rejected when you’re down on one knee. 

And so to rectify this discrepancy in the way society views proposals in relation to weddings, Wonwoo has decided to put his writing degree into good use. He will do so by penning the adventures and perils that arise on the journey of falling in love and finally taking that leap of faith.

____________________________

1. Falling in Love

Wonwoo and Junhui met for the first time during their junior year in high school. Back then, if someone had told Wonwoo that he will one day marry the guy, he would have snorted and picked his book back up to ignore further ridiculous notions from entering his mind. 

It’s not that he didn’t like Junhui—no, okay, that’s not exactly accurate. 

His first impression of the new student was, shall he say… shaky, at best.

Attending a high school that houses a little less than three thousand students, the news of an additional one joining the ranks doesn’t usually create a ripple. Teenagers are more concerned with their own cliques than some random person coming a month or so after the first day. At least, that’s how it used to go. The status quo was shaken with the arrival of Wen Junhui. Before the lunch bell even went off, Wonwoo had already heard about the guy at least five times during class and while walking through the halls. The reason was simple: Wen Junhui was hot. And like most shallow teenagers, that seemed to be enough to turn the gossip wheel. 

Needless to say, Wonwoo was not impressed. What’s the point of having a pretty face if you had no intellect? If he wants to see pretty people, he could just turn on the tv, or scan through the magazine racks at the library. He has no interest in talking to a mannequin or poster board. 

He retains his indifference to the gossip until the very last period, his most hated one: trigonometry. As usual, he walks into the classroom and frowns at the overly cheerful posters hanging above the white board. He glowers at the smiley faces painted on the anamorphic numbers and symbols, as if seeing an integral dance along with an X will make the subject less dry and more comprehensible. Every time he affords those hateful graphics glimpses, he idly wonders if his teacher really believes that they help make the class more fun. 

Grumbling internally to himself, he shuffles to his seat and plops down, swinging his backpack around to fetch his notebook and a pencil. There’s already a set of three questions squiggled on the board as the daily warm up exercise, meant as a review of the last chapter, and a preview for the upcoming lesson. Wonwoo thinks it’s just punishment. Or more likely, a way to make the rowdy third years quiet down long enough for the teacher to take roll and steady his nerves. Wonwoo's thumb clicks on the flat and rubbery eraser top of the mechanical pencil exactly three times to make the lead descend to the perfect length. Then he starts on the first problem, writing one of the numbers neatly along the lines, doing a fantastic job at tuning out the shrill voices and obnoxious laughter around him. There’s still about five minutes before the final bell, so everyone around just chats aimlessly over something mundane. Like Homecoming. 

Half of the first problem is solved when a hush falls throughout the room. The lack of sound aside from the pencil tip sliding across paper is jarring, and quite frankly, unnerving. Before Wonwoo lifts his gaze from the numbers, he hears the sharp click of the door closing, followed by a nervous and soft voice.

“Um, hello.”

There’s no greeting in response, and Wonwoo can hear quiet footsteps hitting the cheap carpet. The set of feet walks behind him in order to reach the teacher’s desk. From his periphery, he sees his classmates turning in unison to follow the person who just entered. That’s the thing with high schoolers; sometimes, they have this weird pack-like behavior. Wonwoo shakes his head and turns toward the teacher’s desk, right as the man hums and says something quietly.

The boy standing on the other side of Mr. H’s desk is tall, with black shoulder-length hair which he keeps flicking out of his eyes. The fabric of the blue hoodie he’s wearing is filled out nicely by broad shoulders, and his legs are encased in dark washed jeans. Not exactly Teen Vogue material, Wonwoo thinks wryly, not understanding what the big deal is. The new student is listening intently to Mr. H’s instructions as the man hands him the syllabus and a stack of papers that Wonwoo can only guess to be problem sets. He nods along, gathering the papers as best as he can without spilling them. From this distance, Wonwoo can’t see his face, but if the foot tapping is any indication, he’s very nervous. Wonwoo feels kind of bad. 

The bell rings. Students reluctantly stop their gawking to take their place and start on the problems. Wonwoo almost forgot he was in the middle of solving them. He curses the new guy under his breath for distracting him, and curses himself for acting exactly like the brainless zombies around him. Refocusing his attention to his notebook, he finishes the equation and punches the numbers into his calculator. He’s written down the answer and moving on to the second problem when he senses someone coming from his left. Reflex takes control, and he glances over. 

His breath catches in his throat. 

Okay, so maybe now he sees why this guy’s been the talk of the school. Although it’s not so much that he’s hot as much as him possessing very nice and proportionate features. There’s something very intriguing that capture’s people’s attention. It’s the way his eyes are large and childlike. How the angle of his nose bridge accentuates a peculiar charm. It’s the fullness of his lips and how it softens the high cheekbones and angular jaw. 

Noting Wonwoo’s gaze directed at him, the student offers a shy smile, head ducking to hide the splash of pink spreading across his face, as he takes the empty desk two people away from Wonwoo. Something funny stirs in Wonwoo’s stomach, but he attributes it to hunger from not finishing his sandwich for the sake of finishing the last chapter of his book. 

Wonwoo doesn’t talk to the new student, which he later finds out is named Wen Junhui. It’s not that he’s purposely avoiding the guy, it’s more that he doesn’t initiate anything beyond a small nod in acknowledgement when they see each other in the halls. Plus, it’s a little difficult to talk to a guy who’s constantly surrounded by a throng of people like he’s a freakin’ prince or something. 

After about a month, Wonwoo is certain that there must be something more to Wen Junhui than his looks. Because while, yes, he always appears put together, the crowd surrounding him has yet to let up. Beauty can only get you so far in life before your inability to think renders you friendless. He knows Junhui has a brain—a very nice brain—because in the few weeks that he’s been here, he’s managed to jump to the top of the grading book, bumping Wonwoo down to number two. It’s trigonometry, though, so Wonwoo isn’t heartbroken over it. But it proves that some people can have looks and brains. The realization should have prompted Wonwoo to talk to the guy, get to know him, be friendly. Maybe find out why the funny feeling in his stomach hasn’t stopped appearing coincidentally every time he sees Junhui or hears his voice. A voice that’s very nice, but not as nice as his laugh, which has the magical ability to turn Wonwoo’s sour mood immediately into a smile, albeit small. 

But nope. His brain isn’t having it. Wonwoo is not going to become a stereotype nor a cliché: the typical teenager crushing on the hot and smart new kid. No sir, Wonwoo is a strong and independent young man. He’s fine being a classmate and nodding buddy with the guy until they graduate and forget about high school forever. 

Too bad Junhui doesn’t agree with those plans. 

The problem with avoiding someone who doesn’t know you’re doing it, is exactly that. They don’t know, so sometimes, they happen to seek you out and prod you until you have to reply unless you want them to think you’re rude or a weirdo. And Wonwoo doesn’t want Junhui to think he’s either of those traits, hence the reason for their first actual conversation. 

It happens in the library. Wonwoo shouldn’t feel nervous. They’re on his home turf, the place he spends most of his time if not in class, his second home. And yet, his palms are sweaty, and his insides quiver more than an arrow flying in midair. Junhui, on the other hand, seems quite at ease. At least, on the surface. During the short bursts that his brain doesn't overthink and panic, it allows Wonwoo to notice how the brunet is fidgeting with his fingers and pulling on the sleeves of his jacket to hide his hands inside the sweater paws. Wonwoo tells himself it’s neither cute nor endearing. It’s infinitely more difficult to convince himself of the same notion when it comes to Junhui’s smile and twinkling eyes.

“Hi, I know it’s a little late, but I’m Junhui. Nice to meet you.”

“I know—I mean, uh, hi. I’m Wonwoo. Nice to meet you, too.” Wonwoo could probably fry an egg over his face right now. He should cut his losses and bury himself in his book again. 

But Junhui giggles, and he freezes. His stomach is filling up with butterflies.

“I always see you with a book, but I’ve never had a chance to ask what you’re reading. Do you mind some company for a bit?”

Yes, because I didn’t plan on having my heart explode this afternoon.

“No, it’s fine. My ride won’t be here for a while.”

The smile Junhui flashes him is blinding.

They spend the next twenty minutes or so discussing the book Wonwoo is holding, which is a part of a series. Junhui’s just finished the first volume, and he’s been debating whether giving the sequel a chance is worth it. They talk about the characters and the plot holes, discussing the theories and possible outcome. They’re having fun, and Wonwoo almost wants to text his dad asking to stay a little longer. 

He sees and talks to Junhui a little more frequently after that, but they don’t form any sort of bond until Homecoming night. Wonwoo didn’t want to go, but his friends dragged him to some popular house party. Nothing about it is pleasant: the people, the music, the food, the drinks, the smell. The only reason he hasn’t walked out the moment he stepped foot into the house is because he spots Junhui in the living room. 

The latter is stuck, sandwiched between two seniors on a couch, chewing with their mouths open. The poor guy looks about two seconds from crying. Every time he tries to get up, one of the seniors would wrap an arm around him and point to something in the kitchen that Wonwoo couldn’t see. Junhui’s strained smile would stay stuck to his face until he’s let go, then he’d try to resume his escape. Wonwoo wants to help, but he’s not really sure how or if Junhui wants him to. They might be friends—to an extent—but he can’t just assume these things. 

So he looks around the room for the people that usually hangs out with Junhui, most likely the ones who took him to the party in the first place. The book enthusiast rounds the corner into the kitchen, where he's almost knocked out by a drunk guy wearing a bucket over his head, singing the tune to a Saturday cartoon. The stench of sweat and body odor mingles with the cheap beer, and Wonwoo gags. He grabs a soda bottle from the cooler and continues his search. He comes up empty. By the time he makes it back to the living room, the couch Junhui previously sat on is now Junhui-free. The idiots are still there, though, throwing chips into the other’s mouth and creating a mess on the floor. 

Wonwoo takes a few sips of the soda and goes to find Junhui instead. He’s not sure why. The guy apparently escaped his confinement, and he’s probably with his friends now, so Wonwoo should just go home. However, there’s a nagging feeling in the back of his head. Something that tells him he should look for his classmate and make sure he’s really okay. 

He finds him a few minutes later in the basement. Just as Wonwoo predicted, he’s surrounded by his friends. That should’ve been enough to assure him that the guy was fine. The scene didn’t look all that different from the one at school. Except for the beer keg in the middle and Junhui’s obvious tense shoulders and wary expression. With a single look, Wonwoo knows: they’re trying to get him to drink, and he’s too scared to tell them no. 

One of the guys around him grabs a red cup and fills it up to the brim, foam overflowing onto his hand. With a sleazy grin, he hands it over to Junhui. The latter eyes the content, clearly uncomfortable. His hands stretch out the fabric of his sleeves again, and he shakes his head, eyes lost. The guy holding the cup says something, but Wonwoo can’t hear him over the music and pounding bass. The sleazy guy pats Junhui’s shoulder in a fake act of friendship, shoving the cup at him. The content sloshes and overflows onto the floor. The pressured teen jumps back to avoid the spill, but his “friends” hold him back, blocking his potential exist.

Wonwoo acts without thinking. He marches down the steps of the stairs, shoulders shoving people aside. A couple feet away, he calls out for Junhui. The boy turns around, momentarily released from the tight grip on his shoulders, thanks to the shock. His eyes widen, but his expression smooth out in relief.

“Wonwoo,” he breathes, smile hesitant, but oh so grateful. 

“Come on, I’ll walk you home.” Reaching out, he grabs his wrist and tugs. 

The boys barely take a step before the bullies get in their way. “Who the hell are you?” one of them demands, breath reeking of alcohol.

Wonwoo glares at them and tightens his hold on Junhui’s wrist. “None of your damn business, asshole!” He shoves his way out, leading Junhui in front of him.

“The fuck did you just—” 

“Wonwoo, watch out!” 

One of them grabs at his shoulder and yanks him back. He loses his footing, but manages to duck. Straightening out, he winds his arm back and lands a punch across his face. The guy drops like a rock, screaming as he cradles his bloody nose. His friends rush over to him, and the boys use the opportunity to run.

It’s not until they’re down the block from the house, that Wonwoo registers the pain in his knuckles. Sucking in a breath, he raises it to eye level and winces at both the ache and the sight. In hindsight, punching a guy wearing glasses wasn’t such a good idea. There are tiny cuts across his knuckles, and the muscles are slightly red and swollen. 

“Oh, my god!” Junhui exclaims, gently, but urgently taking the injured fist into his grasp. “I am so sorry! We need to do something.”

“It’s fine, I just need to wash the cuts and ice it,” Wonwoo feigns nonchalance, but even the slightest movement makes him flinch.

Junhui clicks his tongue, and now it’s his turn to lead Wonwoo away.

They find themselves, fifteen minutes later, sitting on the sidewalk in front of a convenience store. Junhui has the injured hand cushioned in his lap as he rips open tiny packets of wet wipes soaked in oxygen peroxide and cleaning the wounds. Every swipes has Wonwoo sucking a breath through his teeth, which is quickly followed by a hasty apology and sympathetic squeeze around his wrist. Meticulously, Junhui takes care of every cut, throwing the soiled pieces into the plastic bag at his feet. He pulls out an ice pack and breaks the seal, kneading the bag for a few seconds until the coolness spreads. He places it gently over Wonwoo’s knuckles and holds his hand.

“Thanks.”

A soft and guilty smile spreads across full lips. “I should be the one saying that.” Lifting his eyes away from the injury, he meets Wonwoo’s gaze. “Thank you for coming to my rescue. I don’t think anyone ever threw a punch for me,” he chuckles softly.

Unable to not reciprocate, a similar, but deeper, sound tumbles out of his lips. “I’ve never been in a fight before today,” he confesses. “But I’m glad I did.”

The boys share another tender smile, then take solace in the peaceful atmosphere, just enjoying each other’s company, hands still tightly entwined.

Looking back, Wonwoo would pinpoint that moment as the beginning of their friendship. Because after that faithful night, they became each other’s shadow. If they weren’t in class, they’d be side by side. In the cafeteria, at the school library, sitting on the top of the hill overlooking the football field, at each other’s house. They spent that whole summer together, alternating trips to the public library and the arcade. Wonwoo would win most of the time, and Junhui would whine about it. But still, he’d tag along and laugh, clinging to Wonwoo’s shoulders to cheer him on as the other tried to beat the highest score. 

Afterward, they’d go for ice cream, and the game champion would let Junhui eat off of his cone, all the while complaining half-heartedly about the thief of his precious dessert. Junhui would giggle as he swiped another bite and run away before Wonwoo could catch him. It’s not that the sneaky boy didn’t offer his own cone. The issue was that Junhui always ordered something sour, like lemon sherbet, and Wonwoo wasn’t keen on getting a lemon flavored brain freeze.

Senior year came and went in a flash. One moment it’s the first day of school, the next, they’re applying to college. Junhui seemed nervous, more than usual about it. The boys were occupying different spaces in Wonwoo’s room. The owner sat at his desk, typing furiously at the keyboard of his computer, while his best friend laid sprawled on his bed, half buried under the bed sheets and his piles of notes. 

Wonwoo had paused to grab his water bottle, and his ears picked up the lack of noise coming from behind him. Junhui always hummed to some song whenever focused on homework, but apparently he’s stopped at some point. Curious, Wonwoo turned around. His friend had flipped to his back, hands knotted over his stomach as he stared up at the ceiling, eyes distant. Maybe he’s trying to think of his essay thesis. The room’s owner almost turned back to his work, but something felt off, so he stayed put and cleared his throat.

“Are you okay?”

Junhui remained quiet for a bit. “Do you think we’ll get accepted into the same university?”

Until that moment, the two of them never really discussed their plans after graduation. At least, not those sorts of plans. Wonwoo is left baffled temporarily. It’s never occurred to him that they might be separated in less than year. Something cold crawls around his spine and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 

“Why wouldn’t we?” he says instead, feigning confidence. “We’re not among the top ten for nothing. We’ll get in.”

Junhui hums, but his mind is still somewhere far off. “It’d feel really weird not having you around,” he muses quietly, turning his head to finally look toward the desk. There’s a small but melancholic smile on his lips. “I’d miss you a lot, I think.” 

The coldness spreads. Wonwoo frowns. “Stop babbling nonsense.” His tone comes out more biting than he intended; he quickly adds with an eye roll, “And obviously you’d miss me. I’m awesome.”

His companion snorts, but a soft laugh escapes as he rolls back to his stomach. “We both know you’d miss me way more, Jeon Wonwoo. Your life is too boring without me around to spice things up.” He scans the text for a few seconds, before picking up the highlighter to mark it. “Not to mention, you probably wouldn’t even be able to get up in the morning without my wake up calls.” 

“I survived without your morning calls for ten plus years,” he mutters, “Pretty sure I’d manage without you around.”

It was meant as a joke. A rebuke against the jab at his inability to get out of bed before at least eleven. But when Junhui’s easy grin slips off of his face, and he cuts his eyes away with an “Oh,” uttered, Wonwoo realizes he’s fucked up. If there’s one thing he can’t handle it’s a sad Junhui. Something in his brain comes undone at the sight, and the need to rectify the error overwhelms him. 

Without a second thought, he picks up his laptop and shoves Junhui aside, crashing onto the mattress next to him. His neighbor stares at him with confusion, highlighter still gripped in his hand.

“What…” he starts to wonder, but Wonwoo cuts him off, eyes never leaving the screen as fingers find the keys.

“My back hurts. I wanna lay down for a bit.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Junhui shifting a bit, elbows digging into the comforter. There’s not much room on a twin mattress, and they’re pretty big guys. Unless he wants to end up on the floor, Junhui’s shoulder is going to stay pressed against Wonwoo’s. “Then should I move to your desk?”

“No,” he replies immediately, face betraying nothing. “You’re warm.” 

Junhui stifles a laugh as he looks at him incredulously. “So what, I’ve been demoted from alarm clock to space heater?” Even as he uses a playful and indignant tone, though, he’s shuffling to yank the ends of the blanket out from beneath him, gingerly pushing Wonwoo onto his side to retrieve the other end.

“Consider it a promotion, actually,” the boy says, feeling the weight of the fabric draping over his shoulders a few seconds before Junhui settles in next to him under the cover. His heart pounds, but he succeeds in concealing the thrill from turning his blank expression into a foolish grin. 

Junhui snorts, but he picks up the book again and returns to work. “Would you ask your roommate to take over the job in the dorms next year, then?” he teases.

“That’d be a weird request,” Wonwoo mumbles, internally recoiling at doing this with anyone else but his best friend. “I’d just find you, even if you end up living across campus. Or actually,” he pauses the typing to turn his head. “I’d—” His breath and whatever he wanted to say get stuck in his throat. His face is less than three inches away from Junhui's. It makes him painfully aware of how handsome Junhui looks.

As much time as they’ve spent together, they’d never been this close physically before. The butterflies in his stomach take flight, and he’s trying his best to muffle the erratic beating of his heart by pressing the pillow close to his chest. 

Whether it’s a blessing or a curse, he realizes that Junhui seems just about as flustered as he is. A faint blush is spreading across his cheeks, and he can discern tiny short breaths getting sucked past those pink lips. This is bad. Crushing on your best friend is bad. But his heart isn’t listening. Neither are his eyes, apparently, because they keep flicking from those large and twinkly eyes to the soft lips. 

Is he hallucinating or is Junhui leaning in? Oh god.

“Boys! Time for dinner!” 

The two jerk apart. The momentum is so great, Wonwoo almost falls right off the edge. Thankfully, Junhui grabs onto his flailing arm and pulls him back to the center before he crashes onto the carpet. The two laugh it off with nervousness and pretend the past minute or so didn’t happen. They leave the room to head downstairs, where Junhui has dinner with his family. 

Later on, a couple years later in fact, Wonwoo learns that Junhui did lean in that day, and he spends a good chunk of time wondering how different things would have turned out if they had had their first kiss then. 

To no one’s surprise, except maybe Junhui (but he’s the exception to a lot of things, so Wonwoo doesn’t think he counts), the boys got accepted to the same university, under the same major (literature), but with a different minor. While Wonwoo pursued an interest in music composition, his best friend went for dance. They didn’t room together during the first year, but their buildings were close enough that they remained each other’s constant during the stressful and turbulent first year. 

They also made friends, two boys from the same year. It was almost comedic how their roommates (later turned friends) were basically their twin set. There was Jihoon, Junhui’s roommate, majoring in music composition, the quiet and serious type, not a morning person at all, could eat an entire feast without gaining a single pound. And then Wonwoo’s roommate, Soonyoung. How many similarities the guy shared with Junhui was actually a little freaky: both Gemini (born five days apart), same blood type (realized during blood typing lab where they were partners), going for the same classes due to common major/minor, and most of all, they were both spaz balls that often gave Jihoon and Wonwoo headaches whenever they got together for prolonged periods of time. It was good that they weren’t each other’s roommates, or the other guys sharing their suite would probably go insane within a week. 

Instead of seeing that as a warning, though, the four of them ended up rooming together the following year, living in an apartment that was part of the student housing quarter. They kept their roommate arrangement, which Wonwoo was grateful for. He had no idea if he could handle (and hide) his rampant crush on Junhui if they shared not only the same apartment, but room as well.

For a while, things worked out amazingly well with the quieter and more calm members balancing out the energy balls. But things rarely go smoothly for long.  It took Jihoon about a month to find out that Wonwoo harbored a ginormous crush on his own roommate.

“How did—I mean, I don’t like him like that. We’re just really good friends.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, massaging the sides of his nose where the silicon pads of his glasses left imprints. “Please don’t insult my intelligence. The only person who wouldn’t know is Junhui, but his head is always somewhere in the clouds, so I guess you lucked out.”

Wonwoo clears his throat. There’s no point trying to dissuade Jihoon now. He might as well ask what tipped him off so he can be more careful. “How… did you know?” 

Putting his glasses back on, Jihoon studies his homework for a second before answering. “You look at him like’s he’s the single bright star on a moonless night,” he starts. “You massacre Soonyoung at every game we play, but the moment Junhui starts to whine, you secretly let him win a round. When he clings to you, you pretend to be affronted, but I’ve yet seen you actually push him away. Last week, after he came home to say he’s going to some group dinner, your face fell so fast, it’s a wonder it didn’t end up on the floor.” He glances up. “Shall I go on?”

Embarrassed, Wonwoo rubs at his neck. “I think you’ve made your point.” 

His flat mate hums in satisfaction. 

After that heart to heart conversation, Wonwoo became a lot more aware of his behavior around Junhui. He started to mold his actions toward his best friend the same way he would toward Soonyoung. Instead of successfully masking his crush, though, it resulted in Junhui pulling away, too. He hung out with their friends a lot more, and often avoided going anywhere alone with Wonwoo. In the morning, he’d still come to wake Wonwoo up, but he left as soon as Wonwoo roused up. There was no more silly chats as he sat on the edge of the bed, fingers carding through the sleepy boy’s hair. No more tickle fights to get him to shriek and bounce out of bed, out of breath, and with sore cheeks from laughing too much.

Nope. Just a voice coming from the doorway, “Wonwoo! Wake up. It’s seven. Class starts in an hour.” 

In the evening, he’d sit on the couch with either Jihoon or Soonyoung, watching tv or doing homework. Whenever Wonwoo would look over, he’d avert his eyes, and Jihoon would meet Wonwoo’s gaze above Junhui's head. The shorter boy would frown and mouth, “You idiot!”

The cold war between the supposed best friends go on for about a week until Soonyoung deems it appropriate to intervene. They were sitting outside of the dinning hall, eating a late lunch when his roommate brings it up.

“So what’s up with you and Jun?”

Wonwoo nearly chokes on the sandwich. “Nothing. We’re fine.”

“Right, and I’m the Queen of the Nile.” He takes a sip of soda. “You do know that he thinks you hate him, right?”

“What?” Wonwoo stares at Soonyoung like the latter had gone insane. “I don’t hate him.”

“Well, I know that,” his companion retorts. “But he doesn’t. I mean, you two went from being joined at the hip to suddenly quitting cold turkey.”

Repressing the need to roll his eyes, he replies, “He’s not a drug.”

“You might want to look at yourself in the mirror a little more thoroughly.” 

Wonwoo says nothing in response, taking extra long to chew. 

“Okay, why did you start avoiding him?” Soonyoung asks with a sigh after he gets up to throw the wrapper away. “Does it have something to do with your crush on him?”

Once again, Wonwoo almost chokes. It’s on soda this time, so hurray for variety. “Did Jihoon tell you?”

“Tell me what? That you’re in love with him?” Soonyoung scoffs. “Dude, your eyes turn into hearts whenever Junhui appears. I might get distracted a lot, but that’s hard to miss.”

Okay, Wonwoo is definitely panicking now. He licks his suddenly dry lips and sits up. “You cannot tell him.”

“Junhui? Why not? I’m pretty sure he’ll be happy if he knew, a whole lot happier than he is now, thinking you hate him.” 

“No,” Wonwoo insists. “It’s just… a crush. It’ll blow over, and then we can go back to being friends again.”

Soonyoung looks at him in exasperation. “That’s your plan? Man, I feel bad for Jun.”

“Shut up.” He throws a balled up napkin at the idiot’s head. The ball bounces off and lands in his lap. “I don’t want to ruin the friendship by getting feelings involved. It always messes things up, and the school year barely even began. What if things go wrong? We’ll still have to share the apartment. Do you know how awkward it’d be?” He sighs. “I don’t want to lose my best friend.” 

“Look.” His companion picks up the napkin and juggles it between his hands idly. “Jeonghan’s Halloween party is coming up in a couple weeks. Maybe use that as the opportunity to make up or at least, talk to each other. Jihoon and I are tired of your cold war, when we all know you guys don’t hate each other. Believe me, Junhui has no clue you like him. If anything, he thinks the way you’ve been acting all this time before you avoided him was normal friendship behavior for you two.” 

Objectively, Wonwoo realizes it’s probably true. At the time, when Jihoon brought it up, he’d been so panicked, he overcompensated. “I guess.”

“Don’t let it turn out that your attempt to keep your friendship intact results in you losing it.”

“Wow.” Wonwoo sits back against the chair. “That was surprisingly good advice.”

“Oh, shut up!” Laughing, Soonyoung throws the napkin at Wonwoo. 

The four of them went to Jeonghan’s party, and frankly Wonwoo doesn’t recall much of the evening. Not that he can blame alcohol for the amnesia, since he didn’t drink anything stronger than ginger ale. The reason for the sobriety and selective memory blank comes down to a single boy. For some reason, Wonwoo keeps thinking about that Homecoming night, when Junhui was pressured into drinking. 

He knows it’s different now. Jeonghan’s party was little more than just about twenty people hanging out at his apartment, chatting, eating and drinking, alternating between seats and the middle of the living room to dance along to the Top 40 Hits blasting from the speakers somewhere. Even the attendees are a different breed: most of them were people Wonwoo knew or at least spoke to before, and the rest of them were the upperclassman’s friends. So really, the chances of Junhui getting into trouble were basically slim to none. 

Logic didn’t help, though. More than half of his attention was always spent on locating Junhui. 

Such as when Mingyu talks to him about a new chicken dish he recently learned to prepare and cook for Minghao, Wonwoo responds with noncommittal sounds as he scans the crowd to find Junhui at the snacks table with Hansol and Seungkwan. A little later in the evening, when Seungcheol gathers everyone for a game of charades, Wonwoo thinks about how to approach Junhui instead of guessing what weird animal Jisoo is trying to imitate, all the while ignoring Seokmin’s ridiculous guesses as the guy wheezes next to him. 

The memory gets a little fuzzy after that, but Wonwoo does recall someone asking him to restock the sodas in the cooler. He’s in the middle of pulling out the cartons from underneath the kitchen counter and ripping them open, when a set of shoes appears under his nose. From his squatting position, he glances upward, hands never stopping their movements. A girl is smiling at him. She’s talking. He’s not listening. He guesses she must be someone’s friend, since she seems pretty comfortable with the scene. 

She asks for his name, and he pretends not to hear her over the music as he stacks the cans neatly in the cooler, wedging them in rows among the half melted ice. Maybe if he ignores her long enough she’ll leave. As slowly as he can, he keeps arranging the different colored cans, going for aesthetics: red, blue, green, orange, repeat. But she’s still there, babbling about one thing or another. And he’s… annoyed. It might be a result of his sour mood, or perhaps his tolerance for idle chatter has been molded to only allow Junhui’s voice to drone on about silliness and nonsense. Whatever the case may be, he doesn’t want to stay and endure this more than he needs to. 

Finished with the task, Wonwoo stands up and scans the counter for napkins or a dish towel to dry his dripping fingers. He sees a stack of black napkins with dancing pumpkins, and he reaches for them. His attempt is foiled by a dainty hand grabbing his. He jumps out of his skin as if electrocuted, but the girl holds on.

“Your hand is freezing!” she cries, cradling his fingers with hers. “Let me warm it up for a bit before your fingers fall off.” She laughs. The sound grates at his nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

“Thank you, but there’s no need,” he replies firmly, but not unkindly. With the same approach, he slips his hand out.

Cherry lips drop into a frown; shapely brows furrow. 

Before her anger turns into words, another voice cuts through the tension. It sounds like honey.

“Won-won! There you are, babe!” Like a ray of sunshine on a rainy day, Junhui glides into the room. His smile is radiant as he gazes at Wonwoo. The latter just stands there, transfixed by the boy and everything he encompasses. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he scolds gently, a soft giggle tumbling out of his lips. They’re a soft pink. Soft like their owner. 

Junhui grabs Wonwoo’s hand and laces their fingers together. He’s too dazed to feel faint. Nodding toward the girl, Junhui leads him out of the kitchen and through the living room. They don’t stop until they slide open the glass door and step out into the cool October night.

They’re alone out here. It’s just them and the moon. Momentarily, Wonwoo wonders which moon is more beautiful. 

But the slight and nervous movement at his side yanks him out of the daze. Junhui isn’t looking at him; he’s staring at their hands, gently pulling his away. He knots his own fingers together, partially hidden by the long sleeves of his hoodie. He’s staring at the ground; Wonwoo is staring at him.

The words come spilling out before he has a chance to think twice.

“I’m sorry!”

Wonwoo blinks. Junhui looks at him. 

“Why are you apologizing?” Wonwoo wonders with bewilderment. 

Junhui cocks his head and furrows his brows. “Why are you apologizing?”

The younger shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweater. “You go first.” 

Nodding, his companion takes in a deep breath and starts over. “I’m sorry, for, uh… I know you don’t like me infringing on your personal space. But I saw you and that girl, and you looked really uncomfortable, so I acted on instincts. I figured if she thought you were already taken, she’ll leave you alone. I’m sorry for grabbing your hand, and um, calling you that, and, um…” He lets the rest of his voice melt into the cold air like the puffs of air between them. 

Wonwoo studies him by the dim light of the patio. Since that Homecoming night, a lot has changed. Junhui’s cut his hair and dyed it brown. He’s learned and shared many secrets with Wonwoo along the years, becoming the one person who probably knew him the best. Yet at the same time, Junhui looks exactly like he did that night. That timid innocence still lingers in his gaze, the gentle aura radiating out of his body. Wonwoo is hit with an overwhelming sense of yearning for his best friend. The feeling of missing someone so much it turns into a sharp pang in your chest and makes it hard to breathe.

Led by the need to assuage the pain, Wonwoo steps forward and takes the fidgeting hands into his own. Their owner snaps his head upward and stares at him with bafflement and confusion swirling in those large eyes. Wonwoo squeezes once, and he feels hesitant fingers returning the pressure.

“Junnie,” he sighs; the tightness around his fingers are firmer. “I’m sorry for the past few weeks. I don’t… hate you.” He swallows. “I was just going through some stuff, and I was being stupid. You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who hurt you and our friendship…” The word tastes bitter on his tongue. 

Relief overflows, and Junhui lets a shaky laugh escape. “Are you sure you’re okay with me?” he asks, voice as soft as the breeze. 

Wonwoo nods, mouth cracking into a smile. “I should be asking you that question.”

Junhui laughs, and there’s a wet sound to it. It pricks at Wonwoo’s conscience. So just like the handholding, Wonwoo is driven by the need to make the pain stop. He can’t stand seeing Junhui sad, especially because of him. 

Gently, lest he freaks him out, he tugs on their joined hands, bringing Junhui closer to him. He keeps a hand clasped around the tan fingers, while his free arm comes to circle his waist. The hug is at an awkward angle, limbs seemingly unable to fit together. And yet it feels… perfect. He feels Junhui’s warmth under his clothes, the lean muscles and softness of his cheek pressed into the crook of his neck. The faint scent of familiar shampoo accompany the tickle under his chin from the brown strands. One of Junhui’s hands grips the back of his sweater as the brunet burrows closer against him. 

There’s a different squeeze around Wonwoo’s heart now. But this time, he smiles in welcome, resting his cheek on the crown of Junhui’s head.

“I missed you,” Junhui confesses against his skin, eliciting a small shiver despite the warm breath caressing his neck.

Wonwoo swallows in an attempt to steady his voice. “I missed you, too, Junnie. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You fixed it.” 

It was far from okay, and they both knew it. But that’s how Junhui operates. Always seeing the positive. 

“You’re too forgiving.”

“Only to you.”

Wonwoo’s treacherous heart pounds, and he hopes to god Junhui can’t tell. 

The boy in his arms shifts, nose brushing against the column of his neck. His voice is less muffled like this. “What exactly did you go through? You said ‘stuff’, but that’s one of the most unspecific words you could have used.”

It’s the younger’s turn to let a nervous chuckle tumble out. “It’s really embarrassing.”

“You’ve told me embarrassing stuff before, though,” Junhui points out with a teasing giggle. “Like the first time you rode a bike without training wheels and rammed the front wheel in between a man’s legs.”

“Hey!” Red faced, he pokes at Junhui’s side, prompting a peel of giggles. “We said never to speak of that again.”

“Well, then tell me what happened.”

He sighs. “I will… Later. Just give me time. Is that okay?” Inching away enough to see Junhui’s face, he’s glad to note a smile and understanding eyes looking back at him.

“Okay.” 

To say that things returned to normal after that night would be generous. Things were better, but still strained, somewhat. On Junhui’s side, he treaded carefully, nervous of suffocating Wonwoo. As for the latter, still hyperaware of his growing feelings, tried to set limits to how much he allowed himself to monopolize Junhui’s kindness. That approach worked for about three days before Wonwoo gave up. He doesn’t want this weird distance between them; he wants Junhui to forget the idea that he might be a bother to Wonwoo. And for that, he knew that he had to take the first step to mend the drift.

Wonwoo blames the bad decision on Mingyu, and to an extent, Minghao for not stopping him. 

Granted, the intention was good. But Mingyu gravely overestimated Wonwoo’s kitchen skills, hence the disaster that occurred one Thursday night in the middle of midterm season. Junhui had three exams that day, back to back from eight in the morning to six in the evening. The poor guy had been stressed beyond measure over the past week, and yet he’s still managed to act as Wonwoo’s alarm clock and comforted him when he went into full panic-mode. On top of that, there would always be some kind of snack or small meal labeled with Wonwoo’s name in the fridge waiting for him. Now that Wonwoo’s gone through his own definition of hell, he had to do something for Junhui.

Except he should have probably gone to buy him food someone else cooked, because looking at the table now, Wonwoo isn’t sure any of this could be considered ‘food’ or even ‘edible’. Jihoon's and Soonyoung’s unsolicited comments don’t help matters, either.

“What the hell is that?” Jihoon picks up a single chopstick and waves it around a black lump. 

Soonyoung leans down to sniff at a plate topped with noodles. “This isn’t even fully cooked! Dude,” he says, straightening up. “I thought you loved him. Generally, people don’t give the ones they love indigestion.”

“Or a trip to the hospital,” Jihoon adds, scowling in contempt at what he thinks is supposed to be pork cutlets. “And how can you mess up rolled omelets so badly? It’s literally fried eggs.”

Wonwoo groans, yanking the chopstick out of Jihoon’s hand. “I messed up, I get it. Thank you very much for pointing out the obvious.” He unties the apron and flips it over his head, depositing it on an empty chair. “I’ve never cooked before, so the fact that I didn’t set off the fire alarm is pretty good.”

Jihoon sneers. “What kind of low-ass standard is that? You’re lucky Junhui can cook, or you’d both starve to death.”

“Or be forever dependent on takeouts,” Soonyoung adds. “But seriously, I can’t believe you chose to cook for him when you have no experience. I mean, the pressure’s high enough, but he can actually cook. And it’s good. It’s like trying to bake a cake for a baker. You got guts, I’ll give you that.” 

Glaring at his friends, Wonwoo huffs. “Okay, are you guys done insulting me? Or are you actually going to help me get rid of this before Jun gets back?”

“Fine,” Soonyoung makes a show of rolling his eyes and sighing like it’s a real pain to grab a trash bag. 

“What are you gonna do for him, then?” Jihoon wonders, grabbing the bag away from Soonyoung once the other got distracted by a piece of chocolate hidden in the drawer.

“Well, I already ordered the pizza, so hopefully they’ll get here before him.”

“Good thinking, my man!” Soonyoung praises, chewing loudly. “Your brains have always been your best assets.”

“Most of the time,” Jihoon mutters. “If his brain worked as well as it should, he wouldn’t have attempted this in the first place.”

Guess they weren’t done insulting him quite yet.

“Just hold open the bag, okay?”

“Okay, geez—” 

Beep!

The electronic lock on their door goes off, and Wonwoo stiffens. His eyes dart to the oven clock: 5:30pm. The door opens, followed by Junhui’s voice.

“Hey, guys!” 

Wonwoo freezes. Half of his brain processes Junhui’s upbeat voice, which means he probably did well on the exams, explaining why he’s early. He cheers a little at that. But the other half sees the mess in front of him, and he wants to hide under the table.

“Hey! How were your exams?” Soonyoung asks, not leaving any pause for Junhui to answer, “Oh, sorry! Look at the time! I gotta go!”

“Wait, where are you going?” Junhui wonders, taking off his shoes.

“Uh… To the gym! Gotta go. Bye!” Just like that, the coward grabs his keys and runs for the door, picking up his shoes into his arms, and races down the hall in his socks.

“What in the world?” Junhui backs up and looks after him from the doorway. 

“Yeah, I just remembered I have a club meeting,” Jihoon claims, although his calm voice is a lot more believable than Soonyoung’s. He shoves his feet into his sneakers, pats Junhui’s shoulders, then closes the door behind him.

“Um…” The very confused student turns back to Wonwoo. “Okay.” He blinks. “Are you gonna leave me on some wild excursion, too?” he chuckles as he comes closer.

“No, I, uh…” Wonwoo stops talking when his friend approaches, head tilted to observe the “food.”

“Is this a rolled omelet?” Junhui wonders, picking up the plate. He lifts it and turns it around to study the weirdly colored eggs at different angles. 

“Yes…”

Putting it down, he refocuses on Chef Disaster. “I didn’t know you were interested in cooking. Did Mingyu influence you?” He chuckles, moving on to study the rest of the dishes.

“Not exactly…” Wonwoo chooses his words carefully. “H-how were your midterms?”

“Fine, I guess.” Junhui’s distracted again, poking the cutlet with a chopstick. “I only got stumped on the final question, so I guess it’s not too bad. Why did you decide to make all this by yourself? It must have taken a lot of work.” He looks up, smile dazzling. “Were you practicing for some special occasion?”

Wonwoo cracks under the disarming gaze. He swallows. “Well, you’ve been so stressed lately, and you just took three midterms, so it would have been nice if you had something nice to come back to, you know? And…” He drifts off when Junhui’s eyes widen.

“You cooked for me?”

“I… tried, yes.” Oh, god. His face is so red and hot, he should just hide in the bathroom forever.

“That…” Junhui glances at the plates. Wonwoo screws his eyes shut, unable to handle seeing the reaction, but not brave enough to plug his ears. “That is really sweet.” A giggle. “Thank you.”

Wonwoo’s eyes flash open. “What?”

To his shock, Junhui’s pulling out his chair and sitting down, grabbing an empty bowl and a pair of chopsticks. “So, come on!” he urges, much to Wonwoo’s confusion. “Introduce each dish so I know what I’m eating.”

“Huh? No, you can’t eat it!”

“Why not? You made this for me.”

“Yeah, but it’s all burnt, and Soonyoung says the noodles aren't cooked all the way through, and…” He grimaces. “Frankly, I don’t even think it’s edible.”

“Oh, don’t say that. You can still eat parts of it.” He grins.

If Wonwoo had any doubt that he could love this guy any more than he did, Junhui sure proved him wrong. His heart is filling up with so much affection, he thinks it might burst.

With a sheepish smile, he sits down and grabs his own set of bowl and chopsticks. “Just so you know,” he says when Junhui picks up a piece of broccoli that’s managed to stay green. “I did order pizza.”

Junhui laughs, and Wonwoo follows suit.

There was no repeat of Chef Wonwoo after that, and even to this day, Junhui continues to gently steer him out of the kitchen whenever he tries to make anything more complicated than a sandwich or cereal. Coffee is okay, although Junhui is always awake before him, so that’s a moot point. 

What did end up happening a lot that autumn is the almost daily cuddle session in the morning. It didn’t start out that way, obviously. Originally, it was just a continuation of Wonwoo’s wake up call. Junhui had started coming into Wonwoo’s room again, and the younger took full advantage of it. 

The sleepyhead stays buried under the covers, rolled up like a burrito with only his hair poking out from the top. He’s awake, not that Junhui needs to know quite yet. 

“Come on, Won-won,” Junhui laughs with slight exasperation. “You’re gonna be late for lecture.” Gently, he shakes the roll where he estimates it to be Wonwoo’s shoulders. 

“I don’t wanna go to o-chem,” the bedroll whines. “I’ll just listen to the podcast.”

“We both know you won’t,” Junhui replies knowingly. “Or you’ll fall asleep halfway through. Now get up.”

“I hate you.”

He hears a snort, and the weight by the edge of the bed disappears. “Well, you’re not exactly my favorite person on the planet, either.”

Wonwoo frowns. He knows it’s a joke, but he doesn’t like it. “Family doesn’t count, so you can’t say your brother.”

“It’s not,” comes the teasing answer. “Jihoon’s my favorite.”

The sheets fly open. “What.” The indignation almost evaporates at the sight before him. Junhui’s standing by the side of the bed, with the morning sun shining through the windows behind him. A soft glow shimmers around his head, light bouncing off the brown strands. Junhui’s already dressed and ready to go, complete with dazzling smile and perfect face. 

Wonwoo sulks, remembering what they were talking about before his vision was robbed. “Why is he your favorite?”

Leaning over him, Junhui grins and pokes the center of Wonwoo's chest, right on top of his sternum. “Because he actually tries to wake up when the alarm goes off, unlike somebody.” A shrug, followed a smirk. “And he’s cute.”

Wonwoo narrows his eyes. “Fine, then. I’m awake now, so go ahead and leave! Go back to your favorite cute guy!” Pushing himself out of bed, he stalks to the bathroom, irritated. All the more because he hears Junhui’s laughter following him.

Junhui’s tactic to get him to class on time eventually changes from goading to coaxing. And while he’ll never admit it out loud, that was his favorite. Although, since Junhui’s stuck to doing it even now, he’s pretty sure the older figured it out at some point, even without him vocalizing it. 

Autumn was coming to an end, and the frosty fingers of winter were slowly creeping in through every crook and cranny, turning everything beyond his comforter a frozen wasteland. Wonwoo laid curled up contently under the covers, protected and warm. The alarm had gone off twenty minutes ago. Soonyoung had gotten up and thrown out a series of expletives about the cold hardwood floor as he shuffled off to the bathroom. 

Like clockwork, the bedroom creaked open a minute later, signaling Junhui’s entrance. He treaded over to the bed and sat on the edge, shaking the lump under the thick blanket.

“I made toast. Come out before they freeze.”

“When’s the heater gonna be fixed?” he mumbles, face planted against the pillow.

“By the end of the week, I think,” Junhui answers. “Now get up.”

“It’s cold,” he complains, tightening his grip on the comforter. “The school is gonna end up with four frozen corpses if they don’t send someone to fix the heater before then.”

Junhui laughs, and Wonwoo smiles. “Well, that would solve the issue of finals. But until then, you need to get your butt to class or you’re gonna fail before sweet death can come to claim us all.”

“How morbid.”

“You started it.”

He feels a dull slap where Junhui swats his shoulder. In response, he huffs and shuffles away toward the wall, keeping his back turned to his friend. 

“Running away isn’t going to solve your problems,” Junhui points out. “I don’t understand why you always have to make it so difficult.”

Because you make it so easy for me.

Before Wonwoo can wrack his half-asleep brain for a witty response, the mattress dips under Junhui’s weight, and then it settling over him. Through the thick material, he feels arms around his torso, and knees on either side of his waist. He imagines Junhui must look like a koala clinging to a tree trunk right now. It’s a good thing Wonwoo’s face is hidden from view, because coldness is no longer an issue. He’s burning up. 

“Are you trying to crush me under your own weight?” he asks, pulling his head free of the covers. Junhui reaches up to help, until they’re staring at each other from inches away.

The koala looks very self-satisfied. “Yup.” 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, and Junhui giggles.

Not that he doesn’t enjoy this. In fact, he’s enjoying it a little too much. Something gotta be done before his lower region betrays him. He does not want to have to defend his hard-on as simply morning wood. Best to avoid it before it gets to that humiliating point.

As subtly as he can, he flexes his hands under the comforter, getting a good sense of Junhui’s waist. Then when the koala expects it the least, he strikes. In one smooth move, he flips their positions, sending Junhui flat on his back, sandwiched between the mattress and a very proud Wonwoo.

“Whoa! Okay,” the victim laughs, flicking the hair of his eyes. “Um, good morning!”

Wonwoo cracks a smile. “Morning.” He lifts an elbow from beside Junhui’s face to brush the brown lock away. 

“Guess that worked better and faster than I thought,” the previous koala comments, cheeks tinted pink. “I should have tried that first, then.” He wiggles around a bit, and Wonwoo almost groans from the friction. “But getting crushed like this isn’t all that bad,” he reflects, too distracted by the logistics to notice Wonwoo’s tight lipped expression. “Maybe because you’re so light. Am I really that heavy?” 

“Yes,” Wonwoo replies in a matter of fact way. “Like a pile of rocks.”

Junhui pouts, and the boy on top wants to scream. “That’s not nice. Rocks are cold and hard. You said I was warm.”

“A pile of hot rocks,” he concedes.  

When the boy sticks his tongue out and squints his eyes cutely, the groan escapes on its own. But thankfully, Wonwoo manages to drop his head and buries his face against the comforter laying across Junhui’s chest. He whines some more to mask the embarrassing sound.

“Why do eight o’clock lectures exist?” he laments. “Why are there annoying people like you who can get up at the crack of dawn? It’s not natural.”

The rumble of Junhui’s laugh reverberates against his cheek, and he smiles, pressing closer to the lovely sound. His hidden smile widens when he feels slender fingers card through the hair at the back of his head. Another hand wiggles out from the confines of the sheets and rests on the small of his back. He feels all warm again.

“I prefer to think of myself as special.”

A snort is used to respond, prompting another airy laugh.

“You should be glad I exist, otherwise how would you even make it to class on time?”

I am glad you exist, you dummy. More and more every single day. 

On their own accord, his arms tighten around Junhui’s torso, and they end up just laying there, sharing the warmth and the sense of tranquility. 

It takes Jihoon’s irritated voice calling from the kitchen to snap them out of the dreamlike state.

“Are you two coming out any time soon? If not, I’m eating your breakfast and leaving without you.”

The snuggling cats laugh quietly to themselves, reluctantly disentangling their limbs from around the other. “Coming, Jihoon!” Junhui calls, getting up and making the bed as Wonwoo scratches his hair and walks to his closet. 

“So your favorite likes stealing people’s toasts, huh,” he mutters, pulling out a pair of jeans and a sweater. “How very adorable.”

“Pff.” Junhui pops up behind him, chin propped on his shoulder. Wonwoo’s heart skips a beat from the proximity of their faces. If he so much as turns, their lips would touch. So he stays frozen in place, gripping the clothes in his grasp. “I said he’s cute. And it was only a threat, he didn’t actually steal it yet. So hurry up before we’re all late.” Squeezing his sides and eliciting a laugh from him, Junhui smiles and leaves the room.

People say Christmas is the season for miracles. Well, Wonwoo supposes it holds some truth considering what happened that winter. At this point in their lives, Wonwoo had grown to accept that his relationship with his best friend was rather peculiar, in comparison to most. Objectively speaking, even the best of friends don’t spend as much time together as he and Junhui do on average.

The other pairs didn’t fill up the little free time they have by curling up next to each other on their beat up couch, sharing a blanket and hot chocolate, as one of them reads out loud. Most couple of friends tried to set each other up with dates. Wonwoo and Junhui did the opposite; they drove away any potential suitors either unintentionally (Junhui’s innocent handholding habit), or on purpose (Wonwoo’s death glare in combination with his arm around Junhui’s neck to tuck him to his side). It was a rare occurrence for one to be present somewhere without the other, excluding class. They were together without actually being together, and while a part of Wonwoo still wished for more—especially when they had the apartment to themselves, and Junhui clung to him more than usual—he was satisfied. As long as they had each other, he would be okay.

A couple months of sweet limbo floated by, and before they knew it, Christmas carols began to drift through the radio at coffee shops and shopping malls. Even Jihoon caught the bug, humming a few bars here and there around the apartment. Wonwoo himself wasn’t much of an enthusiastic fan; he chose to go along for the ride every year, enjoying the atmosphere more than any particular aspect of the holiday. Junhui, on the other hand, was a Christmas freak. Not that anyone was surprised by the fact now that they’ve been living with each other for two years.

But to come home from class to the apartment looking like a Hallmark card definitely shocked him. 

“So what do you think?” Junhui asks proudly from a ladder, having just hung a string of fairy lights above the living room window. 

Instead of answering the question, Wonwoo gapes at the rest of the apartment. “When did you even have time?” 

In the corner of the room, a fake tree had already been erected, branches fluffed out to look almost as good as the advertised picture on the box. It’s a nice green, without any of the fake snow clumped at the ends. At its foot are several plastic containers with pink and blue ornaments, along with silver garlands, all waiting to be put to use. Hanging from the ceiling, somehow, are star and snowflake ornaments tied to ribbons of different lengths. The glitter sprinkled on the surface of each piece catches the light and make them twinkle. There’s a wreath on the back of the front door, and after touching the pine needles, Wonwoo confirms that it’s real and not cheap plastic. 

Still in awe, Wonwoo keeps his gaze on the decorations as he slips his shoes off and proceeds into the apartment cautiously.

“Well, you know,” Junhui chuckles nervously, shrugging. “I only had one class in the morning, and a review session later tonight, so… I thought I’d get us into the Christmas spirit.” He watches Wonwoo take it all in. “So how does it look?”

The other boy nods slowly. “It’s nice. Very nice.”

“Yeah?” Junhui beams, smile brighter than the lights behind him.

“Yeah.” Wonwoo nods in amusement. He always admired how Junhui could find the most pleasure in the smallest things. “But shouldn’t you be studying for finals? We only have two weeks left.”

Frowning, the older makes some sort of whining sound. “I know. I was stressed, so I took a break from it.”

“By turning the entire apartment into a Christmas wonderland?”

“Yep. And I have a gingerbread baking contest with Mingyu on Friday night, so don’t make any plans.”

Wonwoo shakes his head at the silliness, but laughs despite himself. “Alright. I’ll keep my calendar open.” 

Satisfied, Junhui grins and throws him a wink. Or at least tries to. The two burst into laughter.

At long last, Finals Week pass. They all make it out with minimal damage, and for some reason Soonyoung thinks it means they should celebrate. Back then, Wonwoo simply thought his roommate wanted an excuse to party. It wasn’t until the day of, that he realized Soonyoung was a schemer whom he’d later have to thank. 

“Come on, guys,” the evil hamster says sweetly, oh-so innocently gripping his friends by the necks to prevent them from escaping. “I didn’t make the rules. You know what to do.”

The boys on either side of him raise their eyes to look at the bunch of green leaves with white buds, garnished with a crooked red bow. Wonwoo feels his stomach churning and his face heat up. Across from him, Junhui isn’t faring much better. It’ll be a miracle if his sweater survives all the twisting and stretching. 

While Junhui is still distracted by the mistletoe, Wonwoo glares at his roommate and mouths, “I hate you.”

Soonyoung merely grins, eyes squinted happily. “Aww, I love you, too, sweetie.” The idiot receives a punch to the shoulder. “Hey! There’s so hitting on Christmas.”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Wonwoo points out in a dead voice. 

“Um,” Junhui shuffles, eyes darting between the blasted plant and his best friend. “It’s just a kiss, right?”

Wonwoo’s heart leaps. “We don’t have to.”

“Says who?” Soonyoung protests. “You don’t mess with traditions. Now kiss!”

“What kind of sick voyeuristic tendency do you have?”

Soonyoung makes a disgusted face, but then it relaxes and turns smug. Wonwoo doesn’t like where this is going. “Fine. Then to uphold the spirit of Christmas, I’ll sacrifice these perfect lips and kiss Junnie.”

The words fly out of his mouth before Wonwoo is even aware he’s spoken them. “Over my dead body!”

“Wow, someone’s being possessive of their best friend,” Seungkwan mutters on his way to the kitchen to get eggnog. Wonwoo resists the urge to smack the plate of cookies out of his hand.

Turning back, he sees Junhui hiding his bright red face behind his hands, while Soonyoung is chortling, holding a hand up to support himself against the wall. He gets a very strong urge to grab Junhui and run out of the apartment, but he reigns it back. Junhui doesn’t do well with the cold, first of all. Second, it would mean admitting defeat, and Wonwoo is not about to lose to Kwon Soonyoung.

Distracted by the numerous thoughts clashing inside his head, he doesn’t notice Junhui shifting. It’s not until his shadow looms right over Wonwoo that he realizes what’s happening. The entire thing lasts less than a second, but it leaves Wonwoo reeling for much longer afterward. Junhui leans in and pecks his cheek, lips barely making contact with the heated skin, before he flees to the kitchen. 

Stunned, Wonwoo stands there blinking at the spot his best friend had occupied a second ago. He’s never been more grateful to the dim lights of the hallway until that moment. Soonyoung wakes him out of the daze with a pat on the shoulder. 

“Not bad for a first try, right?” the idiot cackles. “Don’t worry, there’s more scattered around. Maybe the next time you guys end up under it, you’ll grow a pair and kiss him instead.”

A growl sounds from deep in Wonwoo’s throat as he eyes his roommate. “What makes you think I won’t just go around the apartment and throw every bunch into the trash?”

“That’s not cool, man!” he pretends to be offended. “I paid thirty bucks for those, and you’re not the only guy who could use an excuse to smooch their crush.”

“What?”

The confused boy is met with an eye roll. “I swear, you’re so involved in Junhui you don’t see anything else around you,” he sighs. Swinging an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder, he directs his gaze across the way, searching until he finds his target. He gestures through the doorway leading to the living room. 

There’s more than one person in that frame: Jeonghan lounging on the couch with Jisoo next to him, while Seungcheol is perched on the armrest and chatting with a standing Jihoon, then there's Hansol and Chan playing the bottle flip game on the floor in front of the couch. But with the context of this conversation, Wonwoo infers Soonyoung is referring to Mingyu and Minghao standing in the center of the room.

Mingyu is holding a plate of cookies with a hopeful expression on his face, grinning that dopey but somewhat endearing smile that most people compared to a puppy. On the other hand, though, Minghao is holding the offered cookie in his hand with an air of trepidation. He sniffs cautiously at the snack, then nibbles at the edge. Their voices are drowned out by the music and incessant chatter, but it seems like Mingyu is encouraging him to take a larger bite, which he obliges, albeit a little begrudgingly. Mingyu is all but bouncing in place now, forcing his companion to shoot a hand out to steady the plate of cookies lest they all come crashing to the floor. 

Soonyoung’s voice drifts into his observation. “My stomach is riding on this. If you confess to Junnie before Mingyu does to Hao, Seokmin owes me lunch for a week, and vice versa. So as my friend and roommate, you have a duty to get me free food.”

Arching a brow, Wonwoo glances sideways. “Honestly, I should do my best to get Seokmin to win just to spite you for betting on us in the first place.”

“Wha!” He sputters in offense. “Maybe I should just have continued to threaten to smooch Junnie instead.” At least having a sense of self-preservation, the coward runs away before Wonwoo could hurt him.

True to his words, though, mistletoe was stashed almost in every corner. But of course, it was never called into focus unless the pairs of 96 and 97-liners were under it. Wonwoo was convinced their entire group of friends conspired against him. It speaks volume when Jisoo gets involved, egging him on with gentle, but persistent prodding. That’s how Wonwoo ends up returning Junhui’s peck on his cheek on the third round. 

Shyly, Junhui buries his face into the crook of Wonwoo’s neck, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. They get a few whoops and whistles, but after that, they’re left alone. Wonwoo circles his arms around to hold Junhui to him.

“Sorry,” he whispers against his ear.

The boy shakes his head, tiny smile tugging at his lips. Lips that have kissed Wonwoo’s cheek twice now. “It’s okay.” He giggles, breath tickling the younger's neck. “Why are they suddenly so concerned about us kissing under the mistletoe?”

Wonwoo shrugs, suppressing the desire to press another one to his temple. Idly, he wonders if kissing someone could become an addition. Now that he knows how it feels, it’s hard not to want to do more. Especially when Junhui starts to sway them back and forth, eyes closed, smiling contently just resting against his chest and in his embrace like this.

“I don’t know,” he manages to find his voice, speaking softly. “They’re probably all drunk from the spiked eggnog.”

Junhui giggles again, and his heart squeezes. 

By the end of the evening, when they all get comfortable on the couch and floor with blankets to watch The Santa Clause, Wonwoo has lost count of how many pecks he and Junhui traded. According to Soonyoung, it’s three more than the 97-liners, but then again, he and Seokmin haven't exactly kept accurate count, despite the very important payoff. They’ve been busy stuffing their faces and coming up with the most Christmas-themed jokes. As the night progressed, they became less and less funny, and more weird. 

Wonwoo leans against the side of the couch, head resting on the roundness of the armrest. Tucked under his arm, Junhui fixes the blanket to cover both of them and lays his cheek against Wonwoo’s chest. Around them, the group progressively settle down, crashing from the sugar high, and for some, lulled to dreamland by the alcohol. The chatter and laughter gradually dwindle, until there’s only the quiet breathing of thirteen boys and the voices of the actors on tv. 

Lifting his head from its resting place, Junhui scans the room, noting that everyone’s fallen asleep. He flickers his eyes to Wonwoo and smiles when he sees the younger is still awake. As quietly as possible, he stretches his arm and picks up the remote by Jihoon’s pillow to lower the volume a few notches. Then he sits back and lets Wonwoo pull him in, resuming their previous position. For a while, they just watch the movie in comfortable silence. 

His heart is still drumming noisily, and the butterflies in his stomach apparently don’t observe Christmas, because they have yet to stop swarming. Yet strangely, there is a certain calmness that seems to surround him, which he attributes to the boy clinging to him. Under the blanket, Junhui is holding his hand loosely, thumb stroking over the back of it. 

For someone who doesn’t do well with the cold, Junhui’s touch never is. He’s like the sun, radiating out warmth, always shining bright. Even when Wonwoo gets cranky and snaps at him, he’ll back off and give him room. He doesn’t fight back with hurtful comments or holds grudges. Naive and kind to a fault, never willing to burden others with his problems and issues, holding it all in and dealing with everything himself. That tendency worries Wonwoo, makes him want to bundle the boy in blankets and protect him from the world. But he knows he can’t do that, not if he wants Junhui to grow. So all he can do is hold him and offer silent support. 

So wrapped up in his thoughts, he doesn’t register his actions until his lips are pressed softly against Junhui’s forehead. Wonwoo flicks his gaze downward to see the former staring up at him, large and gentle eyes fluttering. They hold eye contact for a moment. He starts to panic, ugly thoughts and caustic insecurities claw at him. The butterflies have died, leaving behind a bitter and ashy taste on his tongue. He breaks eye contact, glimpsing at the bouquet of tiny greens and whites hanging from one of the ribbons. 

He points to it, anxiety dispelling as he opens his mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t think I’d get conditioned to respond to it that quickly.” The weird laugh tumbling out of his mouth sounds jarring to his ears. He waits for Junhui to grin and roll his eyes, for him to call him a dork and turn back to the tv. But he doesn’t do any of that. He keeps gazing steadily. The younger swallows thickly. For once in a very long time, he can’t read what Junhui is thinking. 

“Wonwoo,” he calls at last, voice small. Nerves prompt him to bite his lip and clutch the fingers laced with his tighter.

“Hm?” Using his free hand to rub up and down the sweater covered arm, Wonwoo feigns calmness.  

Junhui takes in a breath, chest expanding with the action. Wonwoo wonders if he should ready himself for what his friend is about to tell him. “In a week, when Christmas is over and all the sprigs of mistletoe have withered, will you still kiss me?”

In hindsight, Wonwoo really should have prepared himself. His stomach drops, and his breath catches. Christmas miracles must exist, because he finds his voice, and it doesn’t shake like his insides when he asks, “Would you like me to?” 

Pink stains Junhui’s cheeks, but a timid smile tugs the corners of his mouth. Wonwoo lifts his fingers and strokes across the soft skin, encouraging him to respond. Junhui nods. 

The butterflies return, but his heart has burst out of his chest. All Wonwoo can manage is a broad grin, which Junhui soon returns. 

Their first kiss happens three days before Christmas. It’s neither heated nor intense, but rather slow and sweet. The culmination of the years pining and yearning for someone they didn’t believe would return their feelings. 

Pulling away enough to see the sparkling eyes he adores so much, he grins and presses their foreheads together. His hand cradled around the strong jaw, he lets his thumb run over the full bottom lip. “I love you, Junnie,” he whispers. 

Their first kiss happens in front of all of their friends, yet bearing no witness. It’s a secret meant to be shared between them for now. A moment for the new lovers to learn the feel and taste of each other. 

Junhui beams, grazing the tip of Wonwoo’s nose with his. “I love you, too, Wonwoo.” 

Their first kiss happens on a cold winter night. Snowflakes flutter in the icy wind, twirling and dancing in front of the window pane. For Wonwoo and Junhui, though, the cold doesn’t matter. Not when their hearts are warm. 

____________________________

2. When To Propose?

How do you know they are The One?

The transition from best friend to boyfriend was subtle, yet at the same time very stark. Subtle the way that nothing earth-shattering happened; they didn’t switch roommates in order to share the same room, and they still hung out in groups for most outings. In fact, for about two weeks after the confessions, the only change was the label. The word ‘boyfriend’ was added to their vocabulary. And of course, being a man of his word, Wonwoo kept kissing Junhui long after the mistletoes were trashed, and the New Year passed. 

Soonyoung had cheered at the news. Well, not initially. 

He had taken a short trip home to visit his family, and he returned to the apartment a day after the festivities died down. Jihoon was out getting food with a few others, leaving Wonwoo and Junhui alone at home for a couple hours. Which they took full advantage of, snuggling on the couch under a blanket. It’d started out innocently enough, with Wonwoo reading out loud from the newest mystery novel they bought. But then hands started to wander, and lips began to roam jaws and necks. Pretty soon, the boys were more interested in exploring each other’s mouths than the old castle full of secrets. Unfortunately for all parties involved, Soonyoung walked in at that precise moment.

His shriek was scarier than the murder plot.

“Um, okay, what the hell?” Kicking the door shut behind him, he drops his bags and marches toward his very red roommates. “When di—What hav—How can you—WHEN?!” He stops in front of them, squeezed between the couch and coffee table. “You better not be telling me this is just ‘best friend bonding time’” he warns, marking air quotes, voice dripping with mockery, “Because I swear I will pummel you with pillows.”

“Will you please calm down?” Wonwoo finally manages to push his mortification far enough to make his brain work. “God, not even a minute back and you’re already making a ruckus.”

“Don’t ignore my questions!” Still flabbergasted, he flickers his eyes frantically from Wonwoo’s seemingly calm demeanor to the petrified scaredy-cat curled up at the other end of the couch. “When did Junnie and Wonwoo become…” He twists his hands together, face mimicking the motion into a scandalized frown, “JunnieandWonwoo?”

“At the Christmas party,” Wonwoo answers.

“What!” Another shriek, this time making Wonwoo wince, while Junhui slowly pulls the blanket over his head. Wonwoo’s foot finds his underneath and pats it once. “No way! I was there! I would have seen it!”

“We talked after you guys fell asleep.”

“I cannot believe this! I cannot believe my closest friends would betray me like this,” he laments, not an once of sincerity to be found. “You kept this a secret from me on purpose, didn’t you?” he accuses. “You didn’t want me to win.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t aware I had to report a relationship update.”

“Well, you did,” Soonyoung retorts, pulling his phone out. “Because it means I won’t have to pay for food for a week! Boo-yah!” His fingers fly over the keypad, eyes squinted into slits as his grin grows. A delighted chuckle slips out.

“So how was your trip, Soonyoung?” Junhui asks quietly, trembles underlying the inquiry as he lowers the blanket to wrap it to his neck. “How’s the family?”

“Oh, no, sir,” their friend shakes his head, eyes turning severe. “You’re not getting out of this that easily. I want details.” Then without waiting for a reply, he wedges himself in between the boys on the couch, purposely sitting on Wonwoo’s foot in the process.

The latter groans, shoving at the offender's shoulder in order to pull his socked limb out. “What else is there to know? You already won, anyway.”

“Au contraire, mon frère!”

“Where did you even learn that?”

“Not important. Besides, I’ll be the one asking questions.”

Rolling his eyes and dropping his head against the back of the couch, Wonwoo feels a headache coming on. 

Ten minutes later, Soonyoung looks notably less enthusiastic, and even more disappointed. “So you guys have technically been together together for two weeks, and you haven’t even gone on a date?”

“We did!” Junhui insists, still clutching the end of the blanket like a shield.

Soonyoung heaves a sigh, then offers his Gemini twin a sympathetic look. He grabs his hand and shakes it. “Junnie, Saturday trips to the bookstore does not constitute a date. It’s the same freakin’ thing you two have been doing for the past two years. So my point stands: you guys haven’t been going out at all.”

“Would you chill for a second? What’s the big rush? It’s not like we’re on a time limit or something.”

“True,” Soonyoung concedes to reason and logic, miraculously. “But I have been watching you two dancing around each other for too long to not see any payoff. More importantly, if going to the bookstore is your idea of a date,” he shoots Wonwoo a look, “Then you’re boring!”

“Well, good thing I’m not dating you, then.”

“Thank god for that!”

Junhui giggles again as Soonyoung puts a hand over his chest in an overly dramatic way. Wonwoo heaves a sigh.

“By the way,” he stops momentarily. “Does Jihoon know about it yet?”

“No.”

The hyper hamster brightens up, back shoot up. “So I’m the first one?” 

While Junhui chuckles at the unrestrained delight of being in on the secret, Wonwoo scratches his temple with a finger, pondering date ideas. They only had a few more days left before the new quarter begins, and it would be nice to go out and not have to worry about quizzes and problem sets. 

The date occurred three days later. It was during those few hours spent together that Wonwoo realized how different things were between them now. A pleasant giddiness swept over his body that morning, when he returned to the apartment. His heart pounded not with nervousness, but with delight and anticipation, a light flutter that tugged the corners of his mouth upward without his knowledge. 

He knocks on the wood, ignoring the corner of the keycard digging into his hip from its hiding place. Junhui opens the door a few seconds later, eyes shining. His usual cheerful expression gradually morphs into surprise, then settles on elation as Wonwoo offers the small bouquet of purple and pink flowers toward him. The brown paper and cellophane wrapper crinkle and crack as the bouquet exchanges hands. 

The walk down the block had frozen Wonwoo to the core, but as Junhui giggles and wraps him in his arms, all the ice melts away. 

“You’re so cold,” Junhui whispers, pulling him inside the apartment and closing the door. He keeps a hand around Wonwoo’s stiff fingers as he searches for a temporary vessel to house the flowers. He grabs an extra large plastic cup adorned with the burger joint logo they all worship, and fills it up with water from the tap. All the while, his fingers rub at Wonwoo’s digits, slowly bringing them back to life.

“It was worth it,” he answers, squeezing the hand enveloping his. “What’s a date without flowers?”

Junhui laughs, turning the water off and faces him. “I’d much rather have a warm and happy Wonwoo and no flowers, than flowers from an icicle.”

Grin turning wider, it’s his turn to tug the older into a hug, swaying them back and forth. “I am happy and warm,” he counters, kissing Junhui’s forehead. He hears a content hum, before the mop of brown hair nestles against the crook of his neck. 

After a moment of comfortable silence, Wonwoo ventures softly, “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?”

“Do what?” the other asks, lips brushing warm skin. “Get me flowers or hug me?”

“Both.”

Inching away enough to hold gazes, a playful smirk appears on the corner of Junhui’s mouth. “Are you implying you’ve loved me longer than I have you?”

“I know I have,” he replies with confidence. All those months and years of pining, while Junhui was blissfully unaware, oblivious in his actions and affection. 

Narrowing his eyes and scrunching up his nose, Junhui states, “You know nothing, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He rolls his eyes, but the chuckle escapes anyway. “Okay, then are you gonna tell me it was love at first sight?”

“Definitely not.”

“I’m offended!”

They laugh, and Junhui pecks his cheek. “Are you warmer now?”

Wonwoo nods with a smile. “Yeah. You’re the best space heater.” 

“Had you stopped after ‘you’re the best’, it would have been very cute.” He grins. “But good enough. Let’s go!” 

Once they’ve made sure that Junhui put on the necessary layers to combat the weather, the two set off. They spend the morning strolling through the streets, arm in arm, talking and laughing quietly together. It’s far from the first time they’ve done this, but Soonyoung is right. It’s different from their regular outings. Wonwoo can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, but there’s a spring in his steps and a flutter in his chest when he glances sideway and catches Junhui’s eyes dancing with mirth and excitement. The weight and sensation of the arm hooked through his feels comforting now. Only a month ago, walking around like this would have filled him up with so much dread and nervousness over the possibility of his crush being discovered, that he probably wouldn’t have retained anything Junhui tells him.  

When frostbite nips at their noses to the point of turning them pink, Wonwoo guides them to the nearest cafe where they take refuge among the fragrant roasted beans and buttery goodness of freshly baked pastries. Junhui orders something sweet, and Wonwoo makes fun of him for being a baby for his inability to drink black coffee.

“What’s the big deal about black coffee anyway?” he whines, sipping a mocha in which he poured one sugar packet too many. “It’s not like I can’t drink it. I just choose not to.”

“Mhm,” Wonwoo agrees easily, placating as his sips on his cup. “I’m sure you can.”

His boyfriend narrows his eyes. “By the tone you’re using, I’m getting the complete opposite feeling.”

“Well, you can always prove me wrong.” Reigning back the grin, he goes for casualness as he offers his paper cup.

Junhui eyes the container with distrust, then reluctantly reaches across the small table to take it. Completely at ease, the owner of the cup props his chin against his fist and watches the boy tip the cup against his lips. He takes exactly one sip, tiny, before setting it back down on the wood. His face is contorted into a grimace, eyes squinted, nose scrunched.

“There!” he announces, smacking his lips. “I did it.” Before Wonwoo can comment, he immediately grabs his own coffee and downs a good gulp of the sugary drink. 

Wonwoo laughs, retrieving his discarded cup. “Good job, you’re a real adult now.”

The other sticks his tongue out in defiance, and the two crack up. 

“You know,” Junhui says after a moment, “I heard that some people can be defined by their choice of coffee.”

“Really? So what would that make me, bitter?”

Chuckling and shaking his head, Junhui replies, “I never said it was accurate, but you gotta admit…” 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, poking the other on the forehead. The latter retaliates with a poke to the cheek. They continue to chat about this and that, but in the back of Wonwoo’s mind, he does see a link between Junhui and his coffee selection. Sweet describes Junhui pretty well. 

The spend the day at the museum that neither one had had a chance to visit ever since it opened, and then stop for dinner at a small Asian blend restaurant a few blocks away from the main campus. All in all, it’s a nice day, and an even nicer date. It’s just that neither really thinks about how it should end until they walk back to the apartment.

Usually, you’d say goodbye at the door, exchange 'thanks for taking me out’ and ‘of course, I had a great time’, and then perhaps end the night with a goodnight kiss. Then one would shyly turn around and head inside, while the other tries his best to hold the grin from spreading too wide as he backs away and wave a final time. 

Well, that’s all nice and and wonderful for people who actually live in different houses. What do you do when you already share an apartment? Is Wonwoo supposed to walk Junhui to his bedroom door? But what if he doesn’t want to go in his room and wants to sit on the couch to watch tv or get some water from the kitchen? When are they supposed to say those overly used (albeit accurate) lines to each other? When do they kiss goodnight? Do they kiss goodnight in this case? When does the date technically end?

“Hey, Wonwoo.” The gentle voice and light tug on his sleeve catches his attention, and his consciousness returns to the present. 

Junhui is staring at him with his head titled, eyes round with concern. Their dark depths catch the glow from the streetlight, making them twinkle even more than usual. Wonwoo takes in their surrounding. They’ve already returned to the student housing quarter, their building is within view at the end of the path, past the scrawny and leafless trees.

“Hm?” He returns the pressure around his fingers, so warm despite the freezing wind whipping around their bodies. “What is it?”

A shaky smile appears. “That’s what I wanted to ask you. You seem… distracted. Are you okay?”

Wonwoo laughs, white puffs materializing in the air between them. “I’m fine. I was just… thinking.”

“Can I know what about?” the curious cat wonders, more playful now that he can tell his boyfriend isn’t plagued by any dire problem. 

The tips of the younger’s ears heat up despite the icy temperature. “It’s kinda—no, a lot—silly,” he chuckles, using his free hand to scratch his nose. 

“Tell me!” Junhui urges, wiggling their joined hands to make their arms swing back and forth. He draws another laugh out from Wonwoo, heartier this time.

So the younger obliges, once more unable to find the ability to deny Junhui much of anything. “See, I told you it was silly,” he says sheepishly afterward when Junhui giggles and snuggles up to his arm, hand tightening for a second to assure him it’s okay that it was a silly notion.

“You’re cute, Jeon Wonwoo,” he proclaims, making the subject of the adjective arch a brow.

“I don’t think many people have called me cute, not since I was a kid.”

“Well, I think you are,” Junhui insists with another grin, poking his cheek. “Although, I’m way cuter.”

Wonwoo side-eyes him and snorts. There’s no way he’ll agree out loud to that statement. Even if he might believe it to be true. “The fact that you said it yourself automatically docks away points.”

Junhui shifts, and Wonwoo can tell something’s up. He’s barely had time to properly look at the schemer that the latter shouts, “Bitterwoo!” Then runs off, airy laughter following him.

“Hey!” 

Giving chase, he doesn’t catch up until they’re within feet of their building. Wonwoo tackles Junhui, grabbing him around the waist to stop him from escaping. Cries of protests tumble out as arms unsuccessfully try to untangle the tight grip. Labored breaths cut through the silence, accompanied by broken laughs as the boys finally stop wiggling and trying to take the other down. They stand facing each other, chests heaving and cheeks rosy from the cold, but the mirth still lingers in the crinkles around their eyes, the wide stretch of their mouths.

“You’re like a little kid,” Wonwoo remarks, reaching up to smooth down the errant locks of hair. 

Mischief overtakes Junhui’s expression as his eyes narrow, and his grin turns into a smirk. “I hope not, considering what we’ve done together.” Then he winks, quite well for him.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “You’re terrible.”

With two fingers, he pokes the younger’s chest in quick fashion. “But you love me anyway.”

“Yeah.” There’s no point denying the facts, not when both of them know the truth of that statement. His hand glides down from the top of Junhui’s head to stroke at the cheek below, fingertips lingering over the freckles sprinkled over the skin like a beautiful constellation. He’s focused on his task, but he senses the gentle yet earnest gaze boring into him. He sees from the periphery the soft and tender expression taking over Junhui’s eyes, so full of love and affection for the man standing in front of him. Wonwoo’s heart clenches, and he takes a step forward. 

There’s no need for words to be spoken, for any hint to be given. They just understand with a single look. Hearts beating as one, they lean into each other, meeting halfway. Their lips make contact, gently and unhurried. Wonwoo can taste the cold on the tip of his tongue, the happiness in the slight curve of Junhui’s mouth, the warmth in the way full lips nip and tug. 

And there lies the difference between their friendship and relationship.

It’s not that he can kiss Junhui whenever he wants, or be at the receiving ends of touches and hugs. 

It’s the comfort and reassurance in the knowledge that feelings are mutual, that those small gestures and looks do mean something. It’s realizing that he and Junhui share something special that no one else does. It’s about spending the entire day together, and still finding it not enough. 

It’s something their friendship lacked due to fear and anxiety. 

Intimacy.

That’s the change that is both subtle and stark.

Breaking off the kiss, Junhui leaves one more peck by his jaw. Ragged breath fans across the exposed skin where the scarf came undone from the wrestling match. Junhui lets a soft chuckle slip through as he fixes the wool back into place.

“Let’s head inside,” he suggests, pulling away and taking Wonwoo’s hand. So warm. “I don’t want you getting sick.”

Wonwoo agrees with a nod. 

The sudden change in temperature once they reach the apartment is startling, causing them to strip off the layers of coats and scarves they’d spent so long stacking on earlier in the day. Their roommates seem to be missing as they take in the unusual lack of noise. Checking the fridge informs them that the two had gone to Seokmin’s for game night, and that Wonwoo and Junhui were welcome to join them. 

Deciding that they’d had enough excitement for the day, the boys think it wiser to relax for the rest of the evening. Since no one is here to judge, they play out the ‘end of the date’ scenario, by having Wonwoo walk Junhui to his bedroom door.

Instead of the usual lines, though, Junhui says, “It’s too early for bed. Let’s watch a movie or something.”

“Sure,” Wonwoo agrees easily. “We can decide after we get changed.”

Once Junhui heads inside, Wonwoo goes down the hall into his own room to find some loungewear to trade for the jeans and sweater. 

He’s just pulled the shirt over his head that he’s tackled from the back. “Gotcha!”

With a laugh, he turns to meet Junhui’s face over his shoulder, wearing a proud grin. “I win!”

“I wasn’t aware we were playing,” he says slowly, letting the clinging koala to sway them back and forth.

“Irrelevant!” he claims. “I finished getting ready first, so I’ll get to choose the movie.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes good-naturedly, patting the hands clasped over his stomach. “Fine. But then you make the hot chocolate while I queue it up.”

“Deal!” 

A few moments later, the boys are lounging in Wonwoo’s bed, comforter drawn over their laps, laptop perched on each of their leg. The rich texture and sweetness of the milk and cocoa powder coats the inside of Wonwoo’s mouth as he takes small sips, eyes glued to the screen. He cracks a smile every time Junhui giggles at a joke or gets appalled at something a character says or does. About a quarter through the movie, Wonwoo feels Junhui starting to lean against his side, and the former tugs him closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. Junhui’s head comes to rest on his chest, and Wonwoo props his cheek on the crown. With the hot beverage long gone, their hands find each other. Pale fingers curl loosely around tan ones, sitting casually between the boys.

The next morning, Wonwoo wakes up for the first time to find Junhui’s in his bed. He doesn’t get much time to compute the fact they slept together in the purest and most literal sense of the word, and how it makes him feel, because he receives a very light peck on the lips.

“Good morning, Sunshine!” Junhui greets him in a half whisper, smile brighter than the sunlight streaming through the blinds.

He grins back, eyelids still droopy with sleep as he rubs his eye and swings his arm around the slender waist, burying his head into his boyfriend’s stomach. “Morning,” he mumbles against the fabric of the oversized t-shirt. “Did you wait for me to wake up just to give me a good morning kiss?”

“Maybe.”

He snorts, tickling Junhui into another giggle. Long fingers card through his hair, blunt nails scratching his scalp. If he were a cat, he’d purr. But he’s not, so instead, he inches closer and rubs his face against the shirt, hold around the older tightening slightly. The smell of Junhui’s body wash and scent, with a whiff of cologne surround him like a favorite blanket. Not for the first time, he thinks about how familiar and soothing that specific combination is. 

Back then, Wonwoo only thought of it as Junnie, unmistakable and purely his. It brought a smile to Wonwoo’s face and a sense of peacefulness whenever the older hugs him, or when they’re together in general. It’s the smell that eventually starts to cling to his sheets and his clothes, becoming more and more personal as the two can no longer distinguish where one ends and the other begins. Without his knowledge, Junnie becomes part of who he is. 

But of course, he doesn’t realize any of that until years later. 

They’d been living with each other for five years at that point, dating for almost four. After graduating university, they found an apartment to move into that was somewhere around the midpoint of both of their workplaces. Junhui had a part-time teaching position with Soonyoung at a dance studio, while Wonwoo still held his position at the local library. While the job was satisfactory and provided them financial stability, somewhat, Wonwoo still wanted to pursue a writing career. Or at the very least, if he can’t get a career out of it, he still wanted to write recreationally. 

Junhui, of course, had been nothing but supportive of his boyfriend’s wishes. 

Especially when Wonwoo decided to attend a writing seminar comprised of guest speakers and workshops, giving out resources as well as facilitating networking opportunities.  It would be held a couple towns over, lasting through that weekend. 

“So you’d be leaving on Friday afternoon,” Junhui recaps the itinerary as he stands by the kitchen island, cutting up vegetables for the dinner. “Get to the hotel before seven, if traffic isn’t too bad.” The knife slices through the carrots rhythmically for a moment, before agile fingers scoop up the pieces and deposit them in a glass bowl nearby. “And the first session starts at eight on Saturday, right?”

Wonwoo watches the movements of his hands for a second, completely disregarding the onion and garlic cloves he’s been tasked to peel. “Yeah. There’s a complementary breakfast at seven or something.”

A soft smile tugs the corner of Junhui’s mouth as he glances at his boyfriend across the counter. “Breakfast at seven? You sure you’ll even be able to make it to the first session without me there?”

A piece of garlic flies through the short distance and hits Junhui in the chest, which he doesn’t catch and ends up having to retrieve it from the floor. “I can get up by myself perfectly well,” he says once the cook straightens back up. 

Junhui shoots him a look, fingers drumming on the side of the cutting board. “Is that so? Well, I have yet to see that with my own eyes.”

“You might if you didn’t rouse me up before I get a chance to do it myself,” he retorts, obstinate.

Letting out an incredulous laugh, Junhui blinks. “So it’s my fault?”

“Yep.” He grins, prompting his boyfriend to roll his eyes and laugh. 

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say, Won-won.” The cutting board ends up in the sink as Junhui rinses his hands and starts to set up by the stove. “I still need that onion and those cloves.” 

Wonwoo heaves a sigh like the task is momentous, drawing a soft chuckle from the chef, who’s pulling out a pot from the cabinet and filling it up with water. By the time Junhui finishes loosening up the bundle of egg noodles and separating them out into four servings—two for dinner, two for their lunches tomorrow—Wonwoo throws the peels away and hands the edible roots to the chef.

“Thank you very much for your hard work!” the latter says with exaggerated gestures, turning around to slice and dice to his heart’s delight. 

“You don’t have to sound so sarcastic every time, you know,” Wonwoo mutters, drying his hands on a dish towel. He comes to stand behind his companion, watching the boiling pot over the broad shoulders. 

The older glances over with a teasing smile. “How else can I show you that I appreciate you?” Before Wonwoo gets a chance to counter with something witty, he’s surprised by a peck on his cheek and a giggle. 

“Sneaky,” he comments with a smile, wrapping his arms around Junhui’s waist, and props his chin on the slope of his shoulder. Everyday he feels grateful to have this goofball within arm’s length. 

“One of my best attributes!” the goofball boasts, grabbing two plates to set aside.

“I thought your face was,” he teases, swaying them back and forth. “Or have you finally realized that I’m the better looking one in this relationship?”

A mock glare meets his eyes when he tilts his head to the side to meet Junhui’s gaze. He grins innocently. The former pokes his forehead. “I said it was one of them, smart-ass. We both know my visuals are extraordinary, but your face comes to a close second.”

“In a two-person competition, coming in at second place isn’t all that great.” 

Wonwoo gets jolted a bit with the shrug. “That’s just how things are sometimes. But it’s okay, I still love you.”

He snorts. “Gee, thanks.”

Junhui only giggles and turns his attention to the hot water about to boil.

For a few minutes, only the clatter of utensils and kitchenware fill the air around them, accompanied by the cook's soft humming. Garlic and onions sizzling in the pan soon replaces the sounds around the small apartment. Wonwoo’s stomach rumbles from the delicious smells. He thinks it goes unnoticed, masked by the droning of the hood, sucking up the oily steam. But as the meat and vegetables finish cooking, Junhui picks up a piece of pork, blows on it, and feeds it to the koala clinging to his back. 

“It’s good,” said koala compliments with a satisfied grin.

Junhui beams. 

After dinner, Wonwoo gets the dishes done and finds Junhui in the bedroom, a small duffle bag on the bed with a couple sets of clothes laying next to it. He also spots a bag of toiletry, already containing the necessary items. The man responsible is standing by their bed, mouth twisted to the side as he thinks, index finger tapping his chin. Noticing Wonwoo entering, he turns to him.

“I’m not sure which book you want to take with you,” he says, indicating toward the small pile on the floor by the nightstand. “But I already packed the extra phone and laptop chargers, along with paper and pens.” Not leaving enough room for a response, he goes on, “I can’t help thinking I’m forgetting something, though. Oh, wait! I know!” The words hardly leaving his mouth, the boy runs out of the room. 

He returns just as Wonwoo takes a seat at the end of the mattress and examines the folded outfits. The noisy rustling of plastic coming down from the hall gives Wonwoo a pretty good idea of what the forgotten items could be. When Junhui reappears, grinning, equipped with two packets of veggie snacks in his hands, his boyfriend lets a chuckle tumble out of his lips.

“There!” Junhui announces, placing all the items neatly into the bag. “Now you’ll just have to add your laptop to the top on Friday.” He places the bag on the side so he can recline fully in the middle of the bed, head coming to rest on Wonwoo’s lap.

The latter readjust his position to make it more comfortable. His smile is fond as he gazes down at the boy, carding his fingers through the now raven locks. Content, Junhui closes his eyes and leans into the touch.

“Did I forget anything else?” he asks, fingers blindly seeking for the bony hand he’s held so many times before. Finding what he wants, he laces them together and rests them over his chest.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo answers, voice soft.

The tone surprises Junhui into opening his eyes. “What did I forget?”

He’s about to get up and rectify the problem, but the other pushes him back down with their entwined hands. Confusion swirls around in the large and dark eyes, and Wonwoo lets out a chuckle. Bringing their faces closer, he bumps their foreheads together. “You. I wish I could take you with me.”

A wide and dazzling grin blooms across soft pink lips. He reaches up and smoothes his hand over the strong jaw, cupping the side of Wonwoo’s face, and kisses him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, lips close enough to graze the corner of Wonwoo’s. “But I'll have three classes to teach this weekend, and Soonyoung would kill me if I call in sick.”

Wonwoo redirects his boyfriend's head toward his lips. “I know, just wishful thinking.” Slowly, he shifts their position again, until he’s laying with his head on the pillow and holding Junhui on top of him by the waist. 

“Mm,” the latter hums, leisurely trailing small nips along the column of Wonwoo’s neck. 

The latter turns his head to the side to allow him better access, and closes his eyes at the familiar pleasure. His hands find the hem of Junhui’s t-shirt and slip inside. Fingertips draw small circles on the golden skin, strokes progressively turning sloppier as the kisses return to his lips, and his tongue finds Junhui’s. He swallows all of the sweet sighs and delicious moans Junhui makes, demanding more as he nuzzles against the base of the older’s throat, tongue swirling around the dip, gliding over to shapely collarbones, sucking on them. A melody of soft murmured breaths greet his ears, and he grins against the heated skin. He places his mouth there, sucking gently, drawing more mewls from his favorite cat. Long fingers find themselves tangled in his hair, pulling with just enough tightness to make pleasure course down his spine.   

The skin under his fingertips is hot and inviting. He slips his hands further up the shirt, lazily exploring the vast plane of muscles, lean and strong from years of dancing. He reaches the nape of Junhui’s neck and presses down at the specific spot he knows will reward him with the beautiful sounds. Wonwoo is not disappointed by the song that Junhui sings for him, triumphant in the knowledge that he is the only who gets to hear it. 

Ragged breaths fan across his neck as he skims his fingers over the broad shoulders, bunching the shirt up in the process. His hands guide the brunet’s arms through the sleeves. Getting the hint, a cry of weak protest slips out between their connected lips. 

“Wonwoo,” Junhui whines, thick with desire. 

He swears that voice has more magical powers than any love potion could ever wish to possess. 

Wonwoo opens his glossy eyes in time with the lift of Junhui’s torso as the latter sits up, leaning his hands on either side of Wonwoo’s head. His body feels bereft without the weight of his boyfriend, but he’s momentarily distracted from the yearning by the vision before him. 

Black disheveled hair from hands running through it multiple times, large innocent eyes blown wide by arousal, cheeks dusted pink, plump lips red and slightly swollen from his kisses, still gleaming with saliva. Junhui’s chest is heaving, and there’s definitely something poking his thigh where their bodies are pressed together. It takes Wonwoo a lot of self-control not to tug Junhui back down with a hand cupped around his neck so he could crush their lips together again. 

“What is it?”

He senses Junhui’s thigh twitch, its owner affected by the lower timber of his words. Smiling, he rubs the tender skin on the inside of the wrist on his right, eyes strained on the body on top of him. 

“I have an advanced class to teach tomorrow,” he informs him with a pout, leaning down to brush the tips of their noses together.

Wonwoo isn’t sure what he’s trying to get at, but he resumes drawing patterns on the small of his back, while his other hand skims along the jeans’ waistband. “I know.”

Junhui purses his bottom lip, eyes shinning. He drops his lips back onto Wonwoo’s, “Then you should also know that I'll need to be able to walk without wobbling like a baby on shaky legs.”

“You’re so cute.” Laughing heartily, Wonwoo pecks his cheek, hand continuing their travel to his inner thigh. He can feel how hot it is even through the tight confinement of the jeans. The ministration elicits another moan from its willful victim, prompting Wonwoo’s grin to widen further. 

Face flushed, Junhui rolls over to lay on the bed next to him, throwing his arms over to his face to hide. Wonwoo finds it adorable how, even after all this time, his boyfriend could still get embarrassed over this so easily.

“Do you know how mortifying it was last time?” he laments. “I had to sub for Soonyoung’s class because he was sick, and one of the teens asked why I was walking all wonky. Before I could even find some believable lie, another kid asks if it’s because I went riding over the weekend!” 

Wonwoo bursts into a fit of laughter, and Junhui hits his shoulder with a whiney, “Stop! It’s not funny!”

Unable to stop, Wonwoo can only try to stifle his laughter by flinging his leg over Junhui’s waist and burying his face against the fabric of the t-shirt. His hand pats the pectoral muscle lying by his nose as a sign of comfort. “Well, the guess wasn’t exactly wrong.” 

He hears a huff. “You’re so mean.” Or so he says, but in the same breath, Wonwoo feels strong arms wrapping around his torso and a kiss pressed to his forehead. “It was all your fault.”

“I would apologize, but we both know you enjoyed yourself.” When he lifts his head, he sees another pout, which he kisses off. “I promise I’ll be gentler this time,” he vows, rolling over on top of the sulking kitten. 

Junhui throws him a dubious look, but raises his arms for Wonwoo to strip the shirt off of him. “I don’t think you even know the meaning of the word ‘gentle,’” he mutters when pale fingers snap the button of his jeans and unfasten the zipper.

“You like it better that way,” Wonwoo retorts, right before a groan is ripped out of him from Junhui’s teeth on his earlobe. Returning the favor, Wonwoo roams his hand over Junhui’s chest to finds the pert bud and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger.

Junhui sucks in a breath, body writhing underneath Wonwoo’s. “If I can’t walk properly tomorrow, you’re gonna have to call Soonyoung and let him yell at you.” The threat is less than scary to begin with. When it’s broken up in pieces by pants and moans, its purpose becomes the complete opposite.

Smirking down at Junhui, he runs a hand through the sweaty ebony bangs. “Since when have I been afraid of Kwon Soonyoung?”

As far as symposiums and workshops go, the one Wonwoo went to that weekend wasn’t the best in terms of materials and guest speakers. In that respect, the one he attended three months later landed him his first approved manuscript. But the reason why this particular workshop sticks in his mind even now has to do with one writing exercise on the second day. 

Once the presentation and speakers had their speeches and answered questions, assignments were given out as practice. Once written, they would be traded off at random to be reviewed and revised by their peers, all in attendance. It was a great way to get feedback and get a feel of where your individual style falls among the rest. Any practice is good practice, Wonwoo thought, as he opened up his laptop and waited for the presenter to pull up the correct slides with the prompt. Yesterday, they had a similar exercise, dealing with world building and character development, along with a few other important points to consider while writing fiction work. They tackled nonfiction in the afternoon. Today was supposed to be about varying topics that authors often draw from personal experience. 

The speaker addresses the group and clicks the arrow button on her laptop. A simple sentence appears at the center of a pretty background.

What is home?

Wonwoo blinks. Three words. Such a short and seemingly easy question. But if it’s so easy, why can’t he think of anything to write?

His fingers hover over the keypad. The cursor on the white paper blinks incessantly at him. All around, he can hear the rapid clacking of keys, the swift pen strokes and papers crinkling. He sees heads hunched over computer screens and notebooks. 

Home. 

Wonwoo thinks of his childhood home, the house he grew up in with his parents, and later shared with his little brother. While he considers himself fairly close to his family, he hasn’t been back to visit them in years. They talk on the phone, he emails and texts Bohyuk every once in a while, but that house, that city hasn’t been home for a long time. Wracking his brain, he can’t remember when was the time he actually referred to the house he grew up as such. It’s been along the lines of ‘going to see my parents’, ‘my parents’ house’, ‘childhood town.’

For years now, ‘home’ is a small apartment with pale blue curtains that do very little to stop the light from encroaching, a beat up couch that always seems to swallow books when you fall asleep on it. Home is where mismatched wooden shelves take up most of the walls, filled with books and photo frames; it's where there is a square table in the kitchen, with black paint no longer shiny, but still sturdy enough for two lovers to share daily conversations over meals. When he thinks of ‘home’, he sees little spice bottles all lined up neatly inside cabinets, two mugs hanging on hooks over the sink, a fern with vibrant green leaves hanging in a basket by the window; he sees a bed for two with rumpled sheets hidden under a gray comforter. ‘Home’ includes the small chips in the bathroom tiles, the crooked closet door that won’t straighten up no matter how many times it’s taken apart and put back together, the gap in the bedroom window that’s small enough to ignore, but plenty large that it permits extra cuddling time during winter months. 

All of those details combine to describe the sense of familiarity and comfort that are associated with the concept of ‘home’, someplace where you are yourself, a place you call yours. It’s your identity, your refuge, your haven. 

Wonwoo places his hands on the keys again, ready to let his thoughts flow out and transform into words on the white page. However, he stops before the first key is struck.

The small apartment with all of those items and objects is a physical place that he refers to home nowadays. That much is true. But they’re just things. Someone could live in a place for years, owning furniture and decorations, learning and adapting to all the defects over time, and yet never feeling at home. Because the concept of home isn’t just a place. It’s the feeling and emotions associated with it; it's the people who add warmth and life to the cold and inanimate objects lining the location. That warmth and those colors turn an apartment into home. 

A warm body lying at his side, bright sparkly eyes. 

Black hair sliding through his fingertips. Cheeks flushed red by his teasing. Full, pink lips blossoming into a smile. Sun-kissed skin dotted by freckles like constellations. 

Sound brings life. Sound makes an ordinary place home. 

A light and air laugh. A voice soft, but passionate. A ‘good morning’ whispered across his lips, a 'sweet dreams’ next to his ear. A phone call in the day to remind him to eat. His name being called.

For many, home is not only a place, but a person.

For Jeon Wonwoo, that person is Wen Junhui. 

Junhui is warmth and happiness, he is the sun that chases away the rainy days. He is the shoulder to lean on, the hand to hold onto. He is the reason Wonwoo strives to be the best version of himself, the one person Wonwoo doesn’t have to hide his thoughts and worries from, the person who sees him for him. 

Wonwoo can move from house to house, adapt to the new place, let his roots grow. But he knows it’ll never truly be home if there is no Junhui. 

His Junnie. His home.

That day, Wonwoo sits in the large conference room surrounded by people furiously composing essays about what they consider home. That day, Wonwoo comes to realize that at some point, Junnie has become synonymous with home. 

And that’s when he knew, recalling all the memories they shared through the years until then, that he's ready to take the next step. 

____________________________

3. The Proposal

Several elements go into preparing a proposal, but arguably, the most important one is the ring. There are some questions to consider, such as the price range, the style, and of course, the ring size. Wonwoo can figure out the price range on his own, but finding out what kind of ring Junhui would want to wear and his size would require some more work. Although Wonwoo is often exasperated at his boyfriend’s obliviousness and absentmindedness, he has to admit that those annoyingly endearing traits come into good use now. He also feels thankful to the arbitrary rule that spring and summer has been deigned as “Wedding Season” by corporate big wigs.

It’s a warm night, and they’re sitting on the couch with the fan directed toward them from the window to pull in any possible fresh air from the starry sky. One hand on the remote, the other running through ebony locks, Wonwoo flips through the channels searching for something interesting. Junhui’s on his phone, curled up next to him, giggling at one thing or another. The sight brings a soft smile to his boyfriend’s face as he glances from the boy laying on his lap to the tv. 

A commercial for bridal gowns comes on. Wonwoo stops channel surfing. He checks the guide to find out he’s stopped at one of those fashion and style channels. Well, this was a good way to get an idea of what Junhui might possibly like and dislike. He just has to wait for the right opening. Wonwoo sits through about a minute of mind-numbing commercials about bridal sales and jewelry clearance, before Junhui notices the oddity.

Lowering his phone, he turns his head to the tv, neck rubbing against the slippery fabric of the basketball shorts. Wonwoo sees him from his periphery. Junhui blinks a few times as if to make sure he’s not hallucinating—understandably, considering neither one of them would ever sit through this sort of program willingly—then shifts his face to look at Wonwoo. 

“What are you watching?”

A shrug. “I don’t know, I think it’s that show where brides-to-be go to try on dresses or something.”

“Okay,” Junhui laughs, “Why are you watching that? You can hardly stand idle chatter, and that’s basically how everyone talks on that show.”

“Yeah, but it’s popular for a reason, right? I’m kinda curious.”

The other chuckles and pats his knee. “Alrighty, then.”

For approximately fifteen minutes, they watch the show and add in their two-cents about a variety of things, some of which do include the dresses. During the commercial break, ads for rings finally come across the screen, which was his hope all along.

“Wow!” Junhui exclaims. “That’s… the price with the sale already in effect? Damn.”

Wonwoo hums. “Because that’s platinum. The other metals probably cost less. Besides, that diamond is huge.”

“How do you do anything wearing that ginormous rock on your finger?” Junhui wonders. “Wouldn’t it whack against everything and get damaged? And look at how ornate the prongs and whatever else is! That’s gonna get caught in hair, clothes. I doubt you could even do the dishes. And even if you could, imagine all the grime that’s gonna get stuck in all those crevices.” He makes a face, nose scrunched up, mouth pressed into a thin line as he shakes his head to dispel the image from his mind.

Laughing, Wonwoo pats his head. “If you have enough money to afford that monster of a ring, I’m pretty sure you’re affluent enough to hire people to help with the chores. You’d just sit there and look pretty, no grime will ever get anywhere near it.”

“I’m pretty,” he says cheekily, staring up at Wonwoo with a grin. “And I still do chores.”

Wonwoo snorts, and the two laugh. After a short pause, the schemer tries to get a feel for things again. “Gold or silver?”

Junhui shrugs. “Either, as long as the style isn’t ostentatious. But I guess silver or white gold is less gaudy.”

Noted. Well that takes care of style. Now on to ring size. 

If he were to try something now, Junhui might get suspicious. So instead, he feigns casualness as he slides his hands over Junhui’s and laces their fingers together. They continue to talk until the show ends, then Junhui takes over the remote and switches on a crime show. Focus divided between the murder onscreen and the hand grasped in his hold, he contemplates how to extract the measurement. 

An idea suddenly occurs to him.

Mingyu and Minghao—believe it or not—have couple rings. Sometimes, Wonwoo still has trouble stifling his laughter when he recalls how their friends finally got together. Leave it to Mingyu to blurt out his longtime crush’s name during a word association game. Once Minghao had calmed down from the wheezing and cackling, he smacked Mingyu in the back of the head and dragged him out of the room. Wonwoo didn’t miss the slight rosy tints on both of their faces, though. Less than five minutes later, Wonwoo had received a text from Mingyu with hearts and the words: He likes me too!!! followed by more hearts.

Seemed like it happened just last week, not two years ago. But in any case, those two self-claimed fashion experts must know a thing or two about rings. Now the only issue was how to ask them and not reveal his plan prematurely. Because if there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s the fact that no secret is safe from being shared among the thirteen of them, either by accident or not.

As Wonwoo came to learn, though, procuring the right ring wasn’t the tough part. It’s hiding it from eleven nosy people and keeping them from spoiling the surprise.

Much to Wonwoo’s chagrin, Mingyu and Minghao are no help at all. The latter was too perceptive and kept hounding Wonwoo with questions concerning the real reason he’s interested in rings, which of course made Mingyu suspicious.  

“Are you trying to copy us?” he asks with narrowed eyes, sucking the straw between his teeth.

They’re at the food court of the mall, taking a short lunch break. He had called them with the excuse of searching for Junhui’s birthday present. They’d agreed easily enough, saying they could take the opportunity to get something for Soonyoung, too. The ruse had gone quite well for the most part. They even found some nice sneakers to replace Soonyoung’s ratty ones, and Wonwoo bought him a nice jacket to apologize for the time they went camping and Wonwoo accidentally set the dancer’s shirt on fire. 

Mingyu had decided on a cookbook for Junhui, claiming the older had gushed about it to him once, but Wonwoo wonders if it’s also some immature jab at Junhui’s cooking skills. Although, admittedly, Junhui did tend to forget to lessen the amount of spices whenever they have the couple over for food. Minghao’s fine with it for the most part, but Mingyu always ends up emptying their milk supply to the last drop. 

Since Wonwoo has yet to purchase anything for his own boyfriend, he thought bringing up the idea of rings as a gift to be reasonable. His friends did not seem to think so.

Wonwoo lifts his gaze from the matching rings adorning their index fingers to shoot Mingyu a glare. “Do I really look like I’d stoop so low? Besides, I said I was contemplating a ring for him, not the both of us.”

“Why a ring of all things?” Minghao wants to know, eyes sharp.

Wonwoo shrugs, grateful with every passing second that he has perfect control of his poker face. “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Seems like something nice he can wear without creating any trouble with work. A necklace might smack him in the face when his dances, and he’d lose a bracelet in less than a week.” He has to mentally pat himself on the back for thinking of all the excuses.

“Who says he has to wear any jewelry to work, though?” the younger retorts. The way he’s studying Wonwoo makes him sweat. “Why are you so intent on a ring?” Then he stares even harder. A spark of realization flickers. “Are you actually thinking about—” 

“Oh! Sorry!” Wonwoo scrambles for his phone, pretending to have received a call from Junhui. “I’ll be back.” Out of sight and hearing ranging, he sighs. Goddamnit, Xu Minghao! 

Once he comes up with a good excuse, he returns to the table and announces that he suddenly needs to go run “errands” for Junhui. The two still give him weird looks, but they refrain from commenting on his awful lie. 

A couple weeks later, Wonwoo goes to the mall by himself. He’s decided that talking to the salesperson would be the best choice, and he kicks himself for not doing that in the first place. The idiot couple have yet stopped to give him knowing looks whenever they meet up, and their downward glances around Junhui’s left finger are more than too obvious. He’s just glad that they have the decency not to bring it up, especially when Junhui is around.

The lady who comes to help him is very nice, and they chat for a bit. She shows him the models that fit his wishes aesthetically as well as financially, bringing a few out to let him take a closer look. All he can think about while they discuss options is how glad he is that he’s not shopping for a diamond ring. Just a glance at the cases adjacent to the simple bands is enough to make his head spin. There must be dozens of diamond cuts and settings; he wouldn’t even know where to start. 

On the other hand, the selection for men is rather boring. He knows Junhui prefers simplicity, but Wonwoo wants to find something a little more special than just a silver band. The saleslady takes him around the glass cases, pointing out best-sellers and the such. When he shares his concern about sizing, she assures him that they’ll be able to resize it if it doesn’t fit. Since he guesses the circumference of his finger is about that of Junhui’s, he tries a couple on to reassure himself. How anticlimactic would it be if Junhui, eyes wide with excitement, tries the ring on just to find out it can’t get past his second knuckle. Or if it’s too loose, and he loses it (which seems more and more plausible as Wonwoo ponders it). 

In the end, he finds one made of white gold with a single 0.05 carat diamond in the center, customizing the inside with their initials. She gives him the necessary forms to fill out, then offers a smile and a Congratulations, as she takes his card and forms to the main registers. A soft smile lingers on his face as he drums his fingers on the glass, looking at the shining diamonds below. It feels like a huge weight had been lifted off of his chest, and he can finally breathe. Now all that’s left is to plan the time and place to ask Junhui to marry him. 

The mere thought sends a thrill up his spine and a swarm of butterflies to take flight in his stomach. Now he knows he probably looks like a fool in love, and yet he finds himself perfectly okay with the idea. He can hardly wait to see Junhui. 

He’s in the midst of browsing the display cases, killing time until the transaction is done, when a hand pats him on the shoulder. He startles and turns around. Why does life hate him? The pleasant smile freezes on his lips. Who does he see but the worst person to be caught trying to hide a secret… 

Jeonghan beams at him, blond hair shiny under the fluorescent light of the jewelry store. “What are you shopping for?”

“Um,” he starts to stall for a reprieve until his brain catches up from the shock. “Nothing really, just looking. What are you doing here?”

“My computer was acting up,” he explains, “So I brought it in for repair.” With a flick of the head, the older indicates toward the store across the way. “I saw you and thought I’d come say hi.”

“Right.” He’s blanking out. Nothing comes to mind. All he can think of is that he hopes the saleslady doesn’t return now. 

Giving him a strange look, Jeonghan takes a step forward and glimpses at the display. “Wedding rings,” he states, returning his attention back to the slowly reddening man. “Are you thinking about—” 

“No, no, no,” he cuts in, perhaps a little too eagerly, but it’s hard to keep his composure when it’s so close to the truth. “I, uh, I was just walking around.”

To show that life really hates him, the saleslady saunters back, grin not faltering a bit. Actually, it might have grown brighter when she spots Jeonghan and him together. He has a very bad feeling about this…

“And you’re all set!” she cheers, handing him a small paper bag. “And is this your—” 

“No!” he nearly screams, jolting both people on either side of him. Sucking in a deep breath, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, this is my friend.” Shooting her a look that he hopes would convey his desperation, he adds, “Thank you very much for your help. I’m sure my mom will love it.”

“Oh. Oh!” her face breaks into another smile. “Of course, it was my pleasure. Tell her happy birthday for me. Have a wonderful day!”

“I didn’t know your mom’s birthday is coming up,” Jeonghan says as they leave, eyeing the suspicious little package Wonwoo all but shoves into his pocket. 

He hums out a noncommittal sound, mind spinning for an excuse to escape. “So how have you been?”

“Oh, just peachy!” the other male replies, but Wonwoo wasn’t born yesterday. He knows something is coming. “Just the same old story. But you know what really broke my heart lately?”

There it is…

“What happened?”

“I found out one of my best and personal friends from high school got married, and she didn’t even tell me!” Eyes wide, he puts a hand over his chest in grossly exaggerated manner. “I mean, I wouldn’t have gotten upset at not being invited, but to not even mention it to me until I ran into her the other day and saw the ring around her finger. What a betrayal.”

Wonwoo sucks in a deep breath and lets it out through his nose. There is no friend from high school, he’s willing to bet money on it. “That’s too bad,” he says evenly. “Maybe she felt awkward because you haven’t spoken in a long time.”

“You think? Hm… perhaps.” He seems to mull the idea over, then cocks his head to look at Wonwoo. “You and Junhui better tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“You know damn well what,” he shoots, eyes narrowed. “If I have to find out from someone else, you two are dead to me. And it would be a shame, because Junnie is adorable.”

“Noted.” It’s not like Wonwoo planned on eloping without telling their closest friends. He just wanted to think about it on his own, and then announce it when they were both ready. Telling them now would only increase the chances of Junhui hearing about it. 

The two friends part ways in the parking lot without any other jab from the older. Wonwoo is grateful, but he’s still on edge by the time he gets home. 

And for good reasons.

For the next couple days, he receives very ambiguous and yet specific texts from their friends, suspiciously one after the other. All he can comment on is the fact that none of them seems to know the meaning of the word “subtle.” 

Rapping Guitar-Man: Hey! Don’t feel pressured or anything, but a friend of mine just opened her own photography studio

Rapping Guitar-Man: So if you ever need pics for any occasion: birthdays, holiday cards, announcements… hit me up! There’ll be great discounts! :D

Coups! I Think I Did It Again: Whats up, buddy! So my cousin bought me this book, but it’s not exactly my style. Do you want it?

Coups! I Think I Did It Again: *attached a photo* [Book cover: Secret Engagement]

Huge Pupper: *attached a photo* [small, quaint little bistro front, with flower baskets and outdoor seatings]

Huge Pupper: I took Hao here last week. Highly recommended! (^_^) Someone even got proposed there!!!

Snarky Kermit: idk what you got planned, but you better not do it w/o us

Texts, however annoying, Wonwoo can handle it. He mostly leaves them all as Read. After all, he’s had years of experience ignoring their antics. What he can’t handle are Junhui’s questions, the innocent curiosity rounding his eyes as he unknowingly kickstarts his boyfriend’s nervous breakdown.

“Is there… something I don’t know?” Junhui wonders aloud midweek, supervising Wonwoo beating eggs for their omelets.

The sous-chef nearly drops the bowl onto the counter, spilling then entire egg mixture. Thankfully, he tightens his hold at the last second. He keeps his eyes downward, wrist faltering slightly. “What do you mean?”

Junhui shrugs and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, leaning his elbows on the surface in front of him and propping his chin on a fist. “Like, is someone getting married?”

This time the bowl does slip out, but they both reach out at the same time to grab it. “Sorry!” he says quickly. “My hand’s getting tired.”

“Here, gimme.” Junhui straightens up and takes over, continuing to beat the yellow mixture and its tiny pieces of green onions into a fluffy foam.

“Thanks.” Wonwoo grabs a paper towel to sneakily wipe the sweat off of his clammy palms with the pretense of wiping the egg splatter. “But that’s a little random.” To hide his potentially burning cheeks, he rounds the counter and comes to sit at the kitchen stool next to his boyfriend. “Did something happen?”

“I’m not sure,” the older replies, giggling slightly when he feels Wonwoo’s arms snake around his waist. “Hey! I’m trying to make dinner here.”

“Go ahead,” Wonwoo smirks into the t-shirt, tugging the boy closer. “No one’s stopping you.” He hears another soft giggle and a gentle pat on his shoulder.

“Anyway, Soonyoung was being weird today.”

“That’s nothing unusual.”

“Okay,” he concedes, elaborating, “Weirder than normal. He kept humming the wedding march throughout the day, and then used every single wedding puns he could think of. But every time I asked, he kept evading the question and gave me this look and grin, like he knew something I didn’t.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.” The mixing stops, and he sets it on the counter. Large hands come to rest on Wonwoo’s shoulders, then warm fingers card through the hair at the nape of his neck gently. The motion is so relaxing, Wonwoo feels himself melting under the ministration. “Before we left, he told me to ask you.”

Wonwoo freezes. A bucket of ice water has been poured over his body. Fuck you, Kwon Soonyoung. 

Channeling all of his frustration and irritation out into a sigh, he reluctantly extracts himself out of the comforting embrace. Junhui is staring down at him with that disarming and open expression. It’s so trusting, it guts him. Wonwoo hates lying to Junhui, mainly because he is so damn gullible of what everyone says. Wonwoo hates exploiting that flaw.

Taking Junhui’s hands from around his neck, he folds them in between his and smiles. “There is no wedding. Soonyoung’s just messing with you.”

Reciprocating the smile, Junhui replies, “You know, for a while, I thought Soonyoung was getting married, and I was the only one who didn’t know. How awful would that be?”

A laugh fills the air. “Knowing him, I highly doubt it’d even be possible. Remember when he thought we forgot his birthday?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “He went to everyone and asked us what the day’s date was. It was cute, though.”

“Hmph,” Wonwoo snorts. “Soonyoung isn’t cute.”

“Oooh, somebody’s getting jealous~” he sings, cupping the seated boy’s cheeks. The smile is so bright and beautiful, Wonwoo can’t even muster up fake anger to counter-attack. Which isn’t such a bad thing, because the sulking gets him a lingering kiss, which he takes full advantage of. They almost miss out on dinner that night. 

It would be naive (and stupid) of Wonwoo to think that Soonyoung’s little joke would be the end of it. A couple days later, he receives a very special guest at the library. It’s not the first time that he’s met Jihoon at work. From time to time, the latter came to relax in a quiet corner, headphones on and hands busy with pen and paper. That’s usually when he had songs to review for the company he worked for, and Wonwoo would silently buy him a coffee and leave a cookie next to him. Most of the time, the shorter boy wouldn’t even spare him a glance until closing time, when Wonwoo made the rounds to clear people out. The librarian would always be relieved to see the cookie gone; it means that Jihoon had something other than caffein running through his blood vessels. It’s a nice little routine that’s been going for a while, and it’d more times than not end with the musician following Wonwoo back to the apartment and eating Junhui’s food. For some reason, when Jihoon came over, Junhui never failed to remember to lessen the spices, and he'd always manage to lift the stressed musician's mood.

That’s what Wonwoo expects to happen today; however, the visitor actually comes to seek him out. Then with less than ten words, hands him a flash drive. Unsure, the librarian takes the offered item and waits for an explanation. All he gets is a shrug and a tiny hint of a smile.

“Just a short playlist of the songs I thought would suit you and Jun. The last five are originals he once said he liked. You may choose to do whatever you want with them. They don’t belong to the label.”

“Um, thank you?” he hesitates, twisting the small piece of plastic between his fingers. Tapping it to the palm of his hand, he says, “You do know that nothing’s going on, though, right? We’re not eloping. I haven’t even asked him to marry me yet.”

Heaving a sigh, Jihoon looks toward the ceiling and pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is what happens when you play a game of telephone with our idiotic friends,” he mutters. Once he lowers his head, he explains, “They’re all convinced you’re hiding your engagement from us, and they’re all trying to guilt-trip you into telling.”

“Figures,” Wonwoo mutters with a head shake. “Well, if you ever talk to them, please relay the message.”

Jihoon hums. “Will do. But uh,” he motions toward the flash drive. “I meant what I said. Whenever you do decide to plan your wedding, those are very good songs for the reception.”

Wonwoo smiles, warmed by the thoughtfulness. He knows it must have taken him a lot of time, precious time he could have spent sleeping. “Thank you, Jihoon.” 

The smile offered is gentle and sincere. It’s enough to transmit the message. He and Jihoon have never been much for verbosity. “Congratulations, Wonwoo.”

A warm and funny feeling swirls in his stomach, but his grin widens. “He hasn’t said yes yet.”

His friend snorts and rolls his eyes, teeth still on display. “We both know he will. With any luck, he’ll be too flabbergasted to respond with something cheesy.”

The two laugh in agreement. And then just like tradition, Jihoon later joins them for dinner, much to Junhui’s excitement.

While Junhui has his back turned to pull the lasagna out of the oven, Jihoon leans closer to Wonwoo’s chair to retort with a smirk, “Guess I’m still his favorite even if you marry him.”

Wonwoo pretends to glare, and Jihoon laughs. Coming out with the delicious dish, Junhui beams seeing his two favorite people enjoying themselves. 

In comparison to the rest of their friends, Jihoon’s meddling was the nicest and less intrusive of the bunch. That weekend, Wonwoo accompanied Junhui to the studio to hang out (and keep an eye on Soonyoung’s big mouth). Toward the afternoon, as their last classes were finishing up, Seokmin stopped by, holding flowers for some reason. Immediately, Wonwoo’s stomach dropped at the sight. 

He runs out of practice room the moment he spots the younger through the clear doors, grinning as brightly as the overhead lights. The too happy goof gets intercepted in the foyer before he gets a chance to barge into the dispersing students milling about. 

“Hi!” Seokmin greets with enthusiasm. He thrusts the bouquet of yellow, orange, and red flowers toward Wonwoo. “I heard from Soonyoung! Congratulations! When are we supposed to get our invitations? Is the wedding gonna be this year, because I was thinking of taking a short trip home, and I’d hate to miss out on my friends finally tying the knot! Oh man, this is so exciting!”

The enthusiasm and excitement is so grand, Wonwoo has a hard time finding the breaks. As a last resort, he brings himself to wave the flowers in the air to get the blabbermouth to quiet down for a minute. 

“Calm down! There is no wedding!”

“Huh?” His eyes bulge. “WHY?! Don’t tell me—” Lifting his gaze toward the back, he asks in a hushed voice, “Don’t tell me Jun actually said no.”

“No.”

“He said no?” he all but screeches.

“Shhhh!” Wonwoo clamps a hand over his loose lips. “No, I mean, I haven’t asked yet. So please just be quiet and don’t say anything to him.”

“Ohhh…” The younger nods thoughtfully. “Okay,” he eyes the bouquet and hums, “What about the flowers? Oh, I know! I’ll just say it’s to celebrate the weekend!”

And somehow, that idiotic excuse works on Junhui. But then again, he might be too happy to receive flowers and seeing an old friend to actually pay attention. At least that disaster was averted.

By the time the news reaches Seungkwan, Wonwoo is ready to pull his hair out. If there’s anyone worse than Jeonghan in terms of gossip, it’d be him. It does’t help that he also has a weird sense of protectiveness over Junhui, despite being much younger. It’s usually cute (and Wonwoo admittedly has a fondness for the boy), but right now, the meddling is creating several ulcers in the pit of Wonwoo’s stomach.  

The fair is in town, and all thirteen of them decided to go for a day. It’s been fun: they gorged themselves on greasy junk food and sweets, rode as many rides as they could stand staying in line under the scorching sun for, and even managed to win a few prizes. Everything was going great, until they passed a booth advertising traveling tours. 

Seungkwan’s idea of ‘helping’ consists of grabbing all the brochures in sight and conducting an impromptu interrogation about each destination. Wonwoo can feel the second-hand embarrassment bury him alive as he watches the poor teenagers manning the booth trying to answer the questions. 

“Are you planning a trip?” Junhui asks afterward, glancing at the thick stack of notes and pamphlets.

“Yes, but it’s not for me,” the younger answers, shooting Wonwoo a look as he hooks an arm around Junhui’s. “I care deeply about my friends’ happiness. The guy is in the midst of planning a proposal, but his ideas are less than imaginative.” He holds Wonwoo's eye contact. “Knowing him, it’ll probably end up somewhere super boring or overused, like during dinner at a fancy restaurant Downtown.”

A poke into his ribcage jolts him, and Wonwoo glances to the side to see Hansol snickering with Chan. He frowns. 

“I want him to consider a destination proposal!” Seungkwan states. “Make it unforgettable, because his future fiancé is worth it.”

“Totally,” Hansol adds, lopsided grin stretching wide. When he senses Wonwoo’s dark mood, he mutters a “Yikes!” then slithers away to Junhui’s other side to hide. That coward. Of course, unbeknownst of the stormy clouds, Junhui laughs and wraps his arm around Hansol's neck, walking with the two younger boys stuck to his sides.

Chan braves the older man’s fiery temperament, cheekily asking, “Don’t you think so, Wonwoo?”

The addressee mumbles out something no one can hear and sucks on the straw of his now empty cup. Junhui gives him an odd look, but quickly gets distracted by ice cream. Wonwoo lets out a relieved sigh.

Having meddlesome friends is exhausting.

Perhaps it’s the novelty finally wearing off, but after a couple weeks, the teasing and interference slowly dwindled down to occasional questions about the progress of the planning. Mainly from Seungkwan and Hansol who wanted to know if they needed to book plane tickets any time soon. 

There is no destination proposal, but Wonwoo had spent a whole month preparing everything down to the very minute detail, and all he can hope for is that it will suffice to wow Junhui. The flowers (a larger and more elaborate version of the bouquet given during their first date) should be delivered to the apartment within a few minutes of his arrival from work, he’s received confirmation for their reservations earlier in the day, and if all goes well, they should be able to swing by the park right on time for the Festival of Lights (hopefully as fiancés) afterward.   

The thing about important dates, though, is how prone they seem to attract misfortune. Matters that never bore weight before, all of a sudden become issues of utmost importance. 

Such as the sudden downpour in the afternoon that causes a traffic jam so heavy, Wonwoo barely makes it back to the apartment in time. Only to realize that the elevator is broken, forcing him to climb all six flights of stairs by foot. When he finally reaches the landing, he’s sweating like a pig in summer and panting like a freight train. 

“Wonwoo!” Junhui cries, abandoning the door and crouching down to lift his boyfriend’s arm over his shoulder, half-carrying him inside. “Here, sit down. I’ll get you some water.” Gently setting him down on the couch, the brunet runs to the fridge and grabs a cool bottle, twisting off the cap before handing it over.

Wonwoo chugs half of the fresh liquid past his parched throat, chest heaving as he crashes back against the cushion. “I hate cardio,” he mutters. The dash and the rain has made his clothes cling to him, and he shivers from the wet touch. 

“Maybe we should cancel tonight’s plans,” Junhui suggests gently, taking the water bottle away and recapping it. “You’re exhausted.” Folding a leg under him, he takes a seat, concerned gaze sweeping over the clammy skin and heaving chest. Gently, a hand combs back the damp bangs away from Wonwoo’s forehead.

Unfortunately, his efforts and good intentions are completely ruined by the boy’s harsh head shake. “No, we can still make the reservations. Just give me five—no, two minutes to breathe, then I’ll go shower and change.”

Biting his lip, Junhui frowns. “It’s just dinner, Wonwoo. I know it wasn’t easy to get reservations, but your health should matter more.” 

A squeeze around his heart makes Wonwoo’s breath hitch. His cool fingers find their warm counterparts and lace them together. “It’s not just dinner. I wanna show you something, too.”

The promise of a surprise sparks excitement, and it shows through the brightening of the older’s face and a quirk of the lips. But the slight crease between his brows is still apparent. Wonwoo lifts his hand to smooth it out. “Is that what the flowers are for?” Junhui asks, indicating toward the kitchen table where a vase sits with an ornate bouquet. The splash of colors is such a beautiful contrast to the gray veil that the rain and dark clouds had cast over their apartment.

Wonwoo chuckles. Well, at least the delivery was a success. “The flowers are parts of it. But we need to leave the apartment if you want to see the rest.”

The smile is still there, but so is the slight trepidation. Junhui caresses the side of Wonwoo’s face. “It’s pouring, though. And you just climbed six flights of stairs. Do you really want to do that again after dinner, and whatever adventure you have planned?”

“It’s gonna take more than a little rain and a broken elevator to deter me,” Wonwoo vows, prompting his companion to giggle. 

He leans forward and kisses Wonwoo softly. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but thank you.” 

Never being good with self-restraint when it comes to kissing Junhui, Wonwoo knots his free hand to the back of the older’s head and pulls him back. Initially, he only meant to return the gentle pecks, but Junhui is warm and inviting. He finds himself craving more, inching forward and tightening his grip. He nips and licks across the plump lips. They part; a soft moan spills out. The blood rushing past his ears are no longer due to the unexpected exercise. He deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue in to tangle with Junhui’s. He feels a hand cradling the side of his face, familiar fingertips pressing against the pulse point under his jaw. 

“Wonwoo.” His name is delivered on a needy sigh, echoing with the sweet cadence of the voice he loves so much. He tugs Junhui closer by the waist, pressing the male to him. Junhui ends up straddling his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, digging into the damp denim. He’s not cold anymore, though.

“Wonwoo,” Junhui repeats against the sensitive skin of his neck, hands resting on his chest. They’re both panting, but Wonwoo continues to pepper small kisses from Junhui’s temple down to the side of his face. “I thought,” Junhui fights back a shiver, swallowing thickly. “I thought you said you wanted to go out.”

It’s like an electric shock passes through him. Groaning, he presses his face into the crook of Junhui’s neck. “I did.” He sighs, regaining his determination at the thought of what he had planned for this date. “Alright. I need to shower.”

With reluctance, he tastes those addictive lips once more, before picking their owner up and placing him on the couch. Originally, he had wished for a hot bath to warm him up from the sudden chilly weather. But now, he really needed a cold shower. And by the looks of Junhui’s red cheeks, he’s not the only one needing a little reprieve.

Miraculously, they arrive at the restaurant on time and manage to stay dry enough to head into the lobby without leaving a water trail behind. Wonwoo’s never been more grateful to working elevators. He might have spent a month planning this out, but he does not contain the necessary stamina to climb thirty flights of stairs in order to get to the rooftop restaurant. 

As promised, the vista of the city is spectacular. Not even the rain could ruin such a breathtaking sight. The entire floor is surrounded by glass panels, offering a nearly 360 view of the twinkling lights and black velvet canvas. Next to him, Junhui is speechless. Large eyes roam the luxury decor and its sky high backdrop, jaw slack with surprise and wonder. Going through all of the earlier troubles is worth it just for that reaction alone, Wonwoo thinks with quiet satisfaction. He takes Junhui’s hand into his own and tugs him along, following the hostess to their table. 

“I can’t believe we’re here,” Junhui admits in a hushed tone, giggles spilling out as he hides behind the menu to peek through the window at his side. “Look how small everything is! Do you think they'll notice if I take a selfie?”

A fond smile quirks the corners of Wonwoo’s mouth as he looks at the man across from him, bursting with childish excitement and glee. “If you're sneaky, probably not."

"Awesome! Cover for me." Wonwoo watches Junhui pull his phone out and angles it the way he deems appropriate for the perfect shot. A skill Wonwoo was apparently still lacking, despite his boyfriend's constant coaching. Nowadays, Junhui handles all of their pictures. Still, Wonwoo is endeared by the dork. His dork.

Once he's taken a good dozen shots of himself in front of the night sky, the photo-bug sets the phone down with satisfaction. "Ah," he sighs dreamily at the view. "It's really something."

"Hopefully the landscape is just a bonus and not a distraction from the taste of the food,” he jokes.

“They could serve me a cheeseburger with fries, and I’d still be happy.” Lifting his gaze away temporarily to look at Wonwoo, he tilts his head. “But I do want to ask: what’s the occasion? We already celebrated my birthday, yours isn’t coming up for another couple weeks, and it’s not our anniversary. And by the looks of things, this isn’t just a place you can pop in at any time and get a table right by the windows.”

“You’re surprisingly perceptive tonight,” he retorts, stalling.

“Hey!” Junhui whines, but the grin makes the complaint a lot less convincing.

Laughing, Wonwoo shakes his head. “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

Proving Wonwoo’s theory about the view in relation to the food to be completely false, the couple enjoy a delicious meal from start to finish. The timing is impeccable and the service is excellent. While he clearly enjoys the dinner and the conversation, Wonwoo can’t quite sit still without sensing the butterflies swirling in his stomach. It’s been a long time since he’s been this nervous around Junhui, and it’s reminiscent of their first date. Only then he’s been plagued with small (and in hindsight, silly) questions. He only has one question to ask tonight, and Junhui’s response would change the rest of their lives. 

Dessert is about to be brought out.

Stealthily, keeping his focus on Junhui’s bright smile and sparkling eyes, he slips a hand into his pocket. 

Who knew that a small velvet box containing a single ring could feel so heavy?

“Junnie,” he calls softly, picking up the older’s hand off of the table. Junhui smiles back, large eyes catching the light reflecting off of the overhanging chandeliers, making them shine even brighter than usual. To gain courage and hopefully help him breathe easier, Wonwoo squeezes the fingers tangled with his, sensing the reassuring pressure returned to him. “We’ve been through a lot together, and—” 

A roar of applause and cheers erupt from the back of the restaurant, making the both of them jump from the sudden noise. They crane their necks toward the disruption, only to see a couple hugging. The man is spinning the young woman in his arms, and she’s trying her best not to cry as she clings to his neck. 

“Congratulations!” people cheer.

From the kitchen, a staff member brings out a cart with multiple platters of dessert, flowers, and whatever else Wonwoo can’t make out from the distance. Even if he can’t see, though, it’s not difficult to guess what’s happening. 

Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, Wonwoo lets out an exasperated sigh. Seriously? What are the odds that the one night he finally manages to pull his plan into action, someone else beats him to the punch? 

“Aww, how sweet!” Junhui comments, chin cupped in his palm, gazing at the pair as they receive more well wishes from the tables nearby. Wonwoo wants to drop down and die. His boyfriend’s wistful sigh pulls him out of the gloom. “They look so happy.” 

Blowing a sigh, Wonwoo sinks back against his chair. Damn it!

Well, he’s not going to let that impromptu proposal ruin his proposal. There’s still the Festival of Lights, he thinks as they exit the elevator and cross the lobby. For once tonight, luck seems to be on his side. The sky had stopped pouring; only a light drizzle remains as they share an umbrella and walk down the street arm in arm.

“There’s more?” Junhui asks with awe.

Wonwoo hums, not willing to let his excitement spill out too soon lest it gets ruined by something else. “So just follow me,” he says, patting the hand resting against his arm.

Grinning, Junhui nods readily, snuggling up closer. “I’d follow you anywhere, Jeon Wonwoo.”

He hides his smirk by pressing his lips to the crown of silky black hair, but his heart is soaring at the thought. 

They stroll down the streets, vacant as a result of the time of night and weather. The soft pitter-patter of light rain creates a soft melody around them. For a while, it seems as though they are the only two people in the world. 

Just like the paths leading up to the site, the area of interest is mostly deserted. Wonwoo is glad that the Festival wasn’t cancelled despite the weather. Choosing to put up an outdoor exhibit based entirely on light is risky, but it’s obvious that they took the rain into consideration. The whole park is lit up like a Christmas tree. But next to Junhui’s expression, though, the spectacle is only second best.

“Okay, there is definitely a special occasion,” Junhui says once he’s calmed down. Shaking Wonwoo’s arm (and the umbrella), he pleads, “Tell me!” 

A soft laugh tumbles out of the younger’s mouth. “Don’t you want to walk around the exhibits first?” he teases.

He’s met with a pout. “You’re mean.” 

“How about I tell you as we walk?”

“Okay!”

After only a couple minutes, the rain stops completely, allowing them to stride under the sea of light and experience the magical spectacle freely. Junhui’s fingers are warm, fitting perfectly in between the gaps of his hand. He finds himself thinking back on a time when even holding hands was nerve-wracking, and he chuckles.

“What’s so funny?” his companion wonders, a little petulant that he’s not sharing the joke.

He stares at the gentle smile, seemingly glowing under the illumination. “Just remembering old times, when we first started out.”

Junhui’s expression softens, and he squeezes their joined hands. “It seems like so long ago, and like it was just yesterday at the same time.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Do you have any regrets?”

He thinks for a moment, in which Wonwoo holds his breath. “Yeah,” he says finally. “One.” When he glimpses at Wonwoo’s worried expression, he giggles and pokes his cheek. “I regret not seeking you out sooner. It took months before we actually became friends.”

The relief leaves Wonwoo’s head spinning. “Sorry,” he chuckles. 

They stop at the foot of a large tree, decked out in fairy lights that twinkle every few seconds. They stare up at the sight; Junhui in wonder, Wonwoo in restlessness. One look at the boy next to him, though, and he feels that familiar sense of peacefulness descend over his shoulders, relaxing his muscles. 

“Junnie,” he tries again, prompting the other to turn. He breathes in. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Wonwoo,” Junhui replies with a smile. No hesitation, no doubts. Just honesty and earnestness. 

Wonwoo’s heart fills up with so much affection for this beautiful and kind man, he’s not sure what to do. Deciding that actions are worth more than any flowery words, he digs into his pocket and takes out the small box. 

“I want to give you something,” he says as he places the item in the palm of Junhui’s hand.

A quirked brow and a glimpse is all that Junhui offers in reply before he bites his lip and traces the velvet top with a shaky finger. Wonwoo waits with bated breath as Junhui opens the box. His eyes widen and his lips part. 

“Wonwoo,” he breathes out, eyes flickering to meet his boyfriend’s. Unshed tears cling to the lashes, and the lights all around make them sparkle like tiny gems. “This is…” 

Smile wavering, Wonwoo asks, “Will you marry me?”

A wet, but excited laugh fills the air, and Junhui nods. “Yes!”

The overwhelming joy surges through his vessels, and he tugs Junhui forward, crushing the soft lips against his own. He’s not sure if it’s the euphoria or Junhui’s own happiness, but the kiss is so much sweeter than any of the ones they’ve shared up to this point. It takes Junhui gasping for breath to remind him that they’re still in public and that he needs to stop before it escalates into indecency. When they pull away, lips swollen and gleaming, he chuckles in apology, resting their foreheads together.

The ring is a perfect fit, and Wonwoo cheers silently at the success as Junhui hugs him, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He buries his face into Wonwoo’s neck, and the latter presses a kiss to his temple. “I love you, Moon Junnie.”

Laughing, he tightens the embrace. “I love you, too, Jeon Wonwoo.”

The news reach their friends soon enough, with a simple picture of Junhui’s left hand sent from Wonwoo’s phone, captioned, “I did it.” Both of their phones quickly explode with notifications of the group chat, with the usual antics they’ve come to secretly love. Once the well wishes and slight irritation from not being there to witness it all end, one question makes the couple gulp with slight trepidation.

So who’s gonna be your best men?

____________________________

In the end, perhaps planning a proposal wasn’t as intensive as a wedding, which Wonwoo is starting to believe considering how many meetings he and Junhui have already had to attend. But he will stand by his earlier statement that it’s much more stressful waiting for your significant other to say yes. Not to mention frustrating when some random couple decide to ruin your best plans just because they were two minutes faster. At least at their wedding, he won’t have to worry about another couple trying to say “I do” before he and Junhui have had the chance. 

Although now he’s highly considering the option of eloping. 

“Why are you making that face?”

Turning around, he sees Junhui walking toward him, a teasing smile dancing on his lips. A mug of iced tea makes clinking sounds as he sets it down on the desk away from Wonwoo’s laptop.

“What face?” he wonders, tapping the trackpad to minimize the window of the file document.

“The one you make whenever the wedding planner suggests something outrageous,” Junhui replies, swinging his arms around Wonwoo’s neck and pressing his cheek against the younger’s.

He grunts out a noncommittal sound despite feeling the bad mood evaporating into thin air as he places a hand over both of Junhui’s. 

The latter sways back and forth, giggling as he causes Wonwoo to move side to side on his chair. “So what’s gotten you looking all sour and dour?”

Still gripping Junhui’s hands, he leans back in order to rest his head on the strong shoulder and make eye contact. “How do you feel about eloping?”

“What?” A laugh. “We’ve already sent out the invitation samples to be printed, not to mention made the down payment for the reception. We can’t just waste it all.”

“But I’m exhausted,” he complains, pouting. “Aren’t you?”

Laughing, Junhui gives the whiney boy’s cheek a peck. “Nope! It’s exciting! Seeing everything come together.”

“Of course,” Wonwoo mutters with a fond smile. “Only you would think the whirlwind is exciting.”

“Don’t be so grumpy,” Junhui encourages. “Please, Won-won?”

Shooting him a look, he states, “You do know that one day, the eye fluttering and cute voice aren’t going to work anymore, right?”

Instead of feeling discouraged, the clinging koala beams. “Perhaps, but I’m gonna keep going until then.” 

Wonwoo laughs at the obvious pride and confidence in that claim, making his fiancé grin even wider.

“Ha! I win!” he announces, squeezing Wonwoo to him. 

Reluctantly, Wonwoo admits defeat. “Fine,” he says with a soft smile. 

Deep down, though, he knows it’s neither the first nor the last that he’ll let Junhui win. And honestly, he can’t say he minds when the consolation prizes are a peel of giggles and a series tender kisses.