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Moving is strange, your life temporarily packed in boxes and your body shifted to a new house, a new city, a new state before you really even find your footing. That’s what Juyeon thinks when he wakes up in a sparse bedroom curled up in a sleeping bag, staring at a muted green-gray painted ceiling.
It is Tuesday morning, the first morning in their new house.
Juyeon shifts, stretches quietly enough as to not wake the sleeping body next to him. Hyunjae is facing him, arm curled beneath his head and sandy blonde hair hanging in his eyes as he sleeps. He looks peaceful, body tucked into a sage green sleeping bag that he insisted was fine until their bed frame was delivered. He looks unbothered amongst the chaos, and Juyeon wants to reach out to brush the hair from his eyes.
He decides against it, not wanting to disrupt his rest, but Juyeon doesn’t miss the chance to press his lips to Hyunjae’s crown before sliding out of his makeshift bed and heading down the birch wood staircase and into the kitchen.
A makeshift dining area is just that— makeshift. Small boxes labeled “living room” had been dragged in by Hyunjae at some point last night and were propped up on either side of a tiny round table barely big enough for a pair of dinner plates. Placed rather poorly in the center of the kitchen, it’s a nuisance enough to make you conscious of your elbows if you were to get up and grab a cup of coffee lest they knock into the table.
Juyeon smiles at the arrangement fondly as he sits on one of the boxes, resting the book on the table and flipping to a dog-eared page. The novel had seen better days, cover creased and outer pages yellowed for years of use. It was one of the few things Juyeon had tucked into the car while the rest of their belongings were packed away into a moving truck, a small reminder of home he flipped through when it wasn’t his turn to drive.
He’s two chapters in when he hears feet padding down the stairs, Hyunjae’s familiar yawn as he walks into the kitchen. His t-shirt, something Juyeon faintly recognizes as his own from his undergrad days, hangs loose around his collarbones. The old fabric stretched thin from a lifetime of love, now finding a home on the very person Juyeon calls his own.
“I was wondering how late you’d sleep,” Juyeon says, voice quiet. It feels strange to talk loudly in a still-empty home.
Hyunjae furrows his brows, looks at the digital display on the microwave and frowns. His voice sounds like sand when he speaks. “It’s only eight, babe.”
Juyeon hums, the twinge of a grin playing on his lips when Hyunjae reaches a slipper-clad foot to tap against his leg with feigned annoyance. Juyeon feels Hyunjae’s lithe fingers in his hair, combing through the locks as he looks at the three mugs already in the windowed cabinet to the left of Juyeon’s chair.
“Decisions, decisions,” Juyeon says, only looking up when Hyunjae laughs. Even half asleep he’s beautiful, overcast light casting him in hues of gray. Juyeon can’t help but stop, remove one of his hands from the book so he can wrap his arm around Hyunjae’s waist.
Hyunjae is smiling at the touch, hands automatically coming down to cover Juyeon’s own. “Tell me what you’re reading,” he requests, tapping his fingers against the back of Juyeon’s hand before reaching out to grab a Seattle souvenir mug from the cabinet.
Juyeon smiles, feels Hyunjae twist out of his grasp to set up their beat-up French Press by the window. He knows this game, finds a line that jumps out at him on the page.
“‘
Ask her if she still keeps all her kings in the back row,’”
Juyeon reads.
Hyunjae gasps, a little laugh escaping his lips as he taps the last of the ground coffee into the container. He flips the switch of the electric kettle plugged in by the sink before turning around. “Still carrying that old copy of The Catcher in the Rye around?”
Juyeon lifts up the book, waving it a little. “Always.”
He reads as Hyunjae takes out another mug, humming a song they heard on the radio during the drive here as the water heats up. The kettle soon sings with Hyunjae, fading off into a choked whistle as he flicks it off and takes it off the base. Juyeon listens to the sound of water hissing as it’s poured over coffee grounds, smiles as his nose is filled with brewing scents of caramel and cedar. The cup is steaming by the time Hyunjae sets it in front of Juyeon, who puts the book aside with ease.
“I knew I made the right choice in waiting for you to wake up first,” Juyeon says, taking a sip of the hot beverage. It warms the marrow of his bones almost as much as the sight of Hyunjae sitting across from him. “Nobody makes coffee like you.”
Hyunjae rolls his eyes, but it’s tinted rosy with fondness. “Please,” he replies. His foot taps against Juyeon’s ankle as they drink, souls slowly waking up to the overcast October morning. Juyeon wonders if he cracked the window, if they could smell the sea from here. He thinks Hyunjae is a mind reader, because he puts down the cup with an excited look.
“I opened up the window in our room before I came down,” he says, voice sounding a little more like his usual self as he wakes properly. “You’ll never guess what you can smell out here.”
Juyeon licks his lips, tilts his head as he takes in Hyunjae in his oversize shirt, messy hair glory. “Tell me.”
An ear-to-ear grin. “The ocean.”
Juyeon finds himself throwing his head back in laughter, the first bit of unbridled laughter in their kitchen. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Hyunjae laughs, like the tension has left his body. His mind is still clouded, though, still mirroring the overcast sky outside their new home. Juyeon knows what is occupying his thoughts, and he stands up and opens up the fridge before he asks.
“Nothing,” Hyunjae says, but he clarifies in his next words. “Thinking about the new semester.”
Juyeon nods, takes out the half-carton of eggs they bought down the street last night. He opens up a nearby box and finds what he’s looking for— a small frying pan. The entire time he doesn’t face Hyunjae, giving him the space to work out his emotions.
“Grad school jitters,” Juyeon replies, and he hears Hyunjae make a noise of agreement behind him.
“I really hate how you get in my head sometimes, you know,” Hyunjae says, but Juyeon knows he doesn’t mean it. Juyeon puts the pan on the stove, leans to the side to get a better view of the burner as he experimentally turns one of the knobs. He hums in satisfaction when the burner ignites, a small blue flame licking up to kiss the cast iron pan. It isn’t until his hand leave the pan’s handle that he turns, looks at Hyunjae in his morning haze.
“Come over here,” Juyeon urges, and Hyunjae obliges. His arms find their home wrapped around Juyeon’s waist, gentle hands splaying flat against his stomach as Hyunjae rests his chin on Juyeon’s shoulder.
“Good morning,” Hyunjae says, voice quiet. Juyeon chuckles.
“Good morning, scholar.”
A groan, a nosing against Juyeon’s neck. A habit Hyunjae picked up years ago whenever he had too much on his mind. He moves his head after a moment, looking at Juyeon’s hands as he begins breakfast.
“You know,” Juyeon says, feeling Hyunjae hum against his back. “A big change in your life is a lot like cooking eggs.”
Hyunjae laughs, kisses the junction where Juyeon’s neck meets his shoulder. “How do you figure?”
Juyeon raises up an egg in his hand, off-white shell seeming to glow in the brightening light of morning. “Well, they’re both delicate, have to be handled with care.”
“Right…” Hyunjae trails off, not trusting where this is going.
“But sometimes,” Juyeonsays, smiling serenely as he taps the egg against the countertop and cracks it into the pan with one hand. “You just have to take a crack at it.”
“Ugh,” Hyunjae groans, even louder this time. He buries his face into the fabric of Juyeon’s shirt and lets out a long whine. His words are muffled when he speaks. “That was
terrible.”
Juyeon laughs, picks up the bright red spatula he also fished out of the box and tests out the edges of the sunny-side egg as it sizzles in the pan. He feels Hyunjae pull his face off of Juyeon’s shirt, chin finding its home back on his shoulder. The next words wash a sense of calmness over Juyeon’s body.
“I love you.”
A sizzle, a crack as Juyeon slides the egg off the pan and onto three paper plates stacked on top of each other. “I love you, too.”
They spend the morning like this, attached to each other as Juyeon cooks before finally peeling away to sit down at the table. Juyeon presents plastic cutlery to Hyunjae, who laughs before taking the fork— but not before pulling Juyeon down into a lazy kiss.
Juyeon sits down on his box seat but hops up again, feeling Hyunjae’s quizzical eyes on him as he leans over the sink. With a large hand, he pushes open the tiny window overlooking their garden before sitting back down with a smile. Shared coffee, shared plates of eggs, shared home.
After a moment of quiet morning together, Juyeon realizes he can smell the ocean.