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The left side of the bed isn't warm, anymore.
Yeonjun squints. Blinks his bleary eyes, tries to focus despite the heaviness that weighs them down.
He stretches out an arm from its position under the pillowy covers to grab his phone. The device lights up a little too brightly, but through the haze, Yeonjun catches a quick glimpse of the time.
It's 2:54 AM.
The night sky bathes the room in darkness; a soft, yellow glow from the lamp next to the window is the only deviation. It’s silent, though Yeonjun tries to grab a hold of any slight noise, any telltale sign of subtle movement. There’s nothing.
It’s only the rustling of sheets that pierces the silence as Yeonjun rolls over to stare at the ceiling. He inhales deeply, half from the languidness that buries itself in his veins, the other half from his desire to catch traces of cinnamon and vanilla in the air.
The scent still dances, thankfully. It’s laced with light hints of the brand-new lavender body wash that has been sitting in their shower as of yesterday afternoon.
With a reluctance to his movements, Yeonjun sits up. He doesn't want to leave the softness of the bed. The lull of his pillow is much too inviting. But the curiosity eats him up, a heavier weight in comparison to the tiredness in his bones.
After all, he figures, an empty, cold bed is worse.
Carrying a blanket, Yeonjun pads out of the room, gently closes the door behind him. A chill passes through him, but he fights it away.
He looks to the side and, sure enough, the sliding door’s open. The curtains framing it swing slightly with every gust of wind, casting shadows on the light brown floor.
Yeonjun smiles, endeared. He makes a quick trip to the kitchen, makes sure his steps aren't too loud. His fingers prance through the numerous boxes lining the counter—he really has to clear the area up—until he finds one marked Chamomile.
A few minutes later, Yeonjun slides the glass door open. He’s there.
Soobin’s there and he seems so focused, eyes transfixed on the sky despite the darkness.
It’s quite a striking sight—Soobin’s clad in a dark blue hoodie and light grey sweatpants. He’s seated on a chair, staring off into the distance with his arms crossed. His right leg is bouncing, the way it always does.
It’s either out of habit or stress, Yeonjun recalls. He hopes it isn’t the latter, though he feels like it is.
What are you thinking about, Soobin? Yeonjun wants to ask. He wants to smoothen the creases between Soobin’s eyebrows, wants to hold him close until all the worry lines disappear.
Instead, Yeonjun sets the warm mugs on the table. He takes a seat beside Soobin, fixes the blanket so it falls perfectly on both of them. Then, Yeonjun watches, too.
Watches the tiny stars twinkle; watches the lamps flicker on the streets down below. He looks at it all with focused eyes, desperate to find the wonder Soobin sees in it.
Because if Soobin feels at home here, where wind ruffles hair, where dark marries every inch of light, who is Yeonjun to deny? So he sits, relishing in the atmosphere. Gazes at the sky and those twinkling lights.
And once he feels a sense of calm wash over him, Yeonjun basks in it. It’s pretty, he decides. Haunting, but beautiful.
The tinkling sound of ceramic is a welcome ring to Yeonjun’s ears. He hears Soobin take a sip from the mug. He pauses, sniffles. Takes a few more sips. Sets it back on the table.
Yeonjun sneaks a glance at Soobin, lets out a soft gasp in surprise. The younger boy’s already looking at him.
Soobin's gaze is soft, inquisitive, everything all at once. Like Soobin’s trying to say something through it. As if he’s sure Yeonjun will understand, no matter what.
And Yeonjun does. Of course he does.
Soobin’s eyes gloss over, and Yeonjun notices a sheen of dampness coating them. Nothing falls, though. Yeonjun watches Soobin blink slowly, sees him look down.
Hears him say, with a soft voice that’s slightly croaky with disuse, “Thanks for staying with me, hyung.”
Yeonjun aches, bittersweet. He longs to cuddle Soobin close, coax him back to bed.
But Yeonjun knows Soobin like the way sunflowers always tilt towards the sun. Knows him like the aroma of his grandma’s cookies baking in her rusty oven. He knows Soobin needs a little more time.
So, he looks back at Soobin, hopes he can convey everything with his eyes, too. “It’s no problem, Binnie,” Yeonjun whispers, alongside the soft glow of the moon. “I don’t mind.”
Silence coats them again, but it’s welcome. They wait until the mugs are empty and cold.
Then Soobin slowly starts to lean on him now, soft cheek resting on the skin of Yeonjun’s shoulder.
And it’s okay, Yeonjun concludes, he’s better, so Yeonjun holds him. Combs through Soobin’s hair with his fingers. Rubs the back of Soobin’s hand with his thumb. Holds him as close as he possibly can, hopes it’s enough comfort. Soobin sighs quietly, face falling into the crook of Yeonjun’s neck.
A little later, they stand up. Yeonjun stretches, and Soobin lets out a giggle as the blanket falls to the floor.
They grab the mugs, fix the chairs.
“After you,” Yeonjun says once they’re by the glass. Soobin nods, the pink dusting his cheeks visible as he steps inside the apartment. Yeonjun follows, sliding the door shut.
As they settle in bed, Yeonjun turns towards Soobin, who is fluffing up his pillow.
“Hey,” Yeonjun starts, fondness bubbling in him as Soobin turns to look, “How’re you feeling now?”
Soobin blinks a few times. Clears his throat. “Um, I guess…” he starts, hesitance written in the slight shake of his voice.
Yeonjun takes Soobin’s fidgety fingers in his hands. “You don’t have to answer that. It’s okay.”
Soobin shakes his head. “Can I use the—the numbers, instead?” He murmurs, tracing the lines on Yeonjun’s palm.
“Go for it. Whatever feels right for you is fine by me, baby. You don’t have to ask.”
He’s playing with Yeonjun’s knuckles now, pressing, circling.
“A five.” Soobin interlaces their fingers. “Better than awhile ago’s three, though, now that you’re here.” He slowly looks back up at Yeonjun. Soobin’s gaze is warm despite the visible weight pressing his lids down. He’s tired.
Yeonjun hums in response, presses the softest of kisses to Soobin’s forehead.
Soobin’s eyes flutter shut, he sinks into the touch. They fall to the pillows, all shining, sparkling smiles. Wrapped in each other, the bed morphs into home once again.
(In a few hours, Yeonjun will wake to the sun cradling his face. He will hear water pouring from the faucet—it’s Soobin, brushing his teeth. Yeonjun will grin lazily, forcing himself up.
He’ll tiptoe to the bathroom and engulf his boyfriend in a hug so big, they’ll both melt in each other’s arms. Soobin will laugh, foamy toothpaste making the sound almost unintelligible. “Morning, hyung.”
They’ll have pancakes and coffee. Yeonjun will find a drop of syrup on the corner of Soobin’s lip; he’ll quickly kiss it away.
Once they’re done, they’ll wash the dishes. Soobin will murmur, “Thanks again. For—for last night.”
Their elbows will brush together. Yeonjun will chuckle softly, “I don’t mind.”)