Work Text:
In this world of zero
I know you're my one and only
In this darkness like
Oh my god, so holy
From the tip of my fingers
Everything runs far away
_ _
It’s dangerous out here: in the forgotten world beyond the city walls, where the living forest ends and dry earth and crumbling buildings begin. The car rattles on the cracked and breaking road, guided carefully by Yeonjun around numerous potholes that would probably take a tire out if given the chance. Soobin sits in the passenger seat—elbow braced on the open window and gaze scanning the terrain for any signs of an encroaching blackout. He’s got his backpack crammed between his long legs, and from experience Yeonjun knows it’s stuffed full of flares, first aid supplies, food, and a makeshift shield generator that Soobin’s been tinkering with for the last several months, because his boyfriend likes to be prepared.
“I’m sorry,” Yeonjun murmurs, barely dodging another pothole, “for bringing you out here.”
It’s probably not the best one-year anniversary celebration choice, putting them both in danger and breaking city rules, but this feels vital in a way that Yeonjun can’t explain. He’s been keeping this secret for so long now and he can’t share it with Soobin at home, where his parents are always fighting, or in any of their usual hangouts because their city is small and eyes are everywhere. People might talk and the wrong people might listen and … well the thought makes Yeonjun sick with fear. He’s even scared to tell the rest of the boys, even though he knows deep down that none of them will judge him.
Soobin first, then the rest will come.
“It’s fine,” Soobin says now and his big hand curves over Yeonjun’s knee, a warm touch that makes Yeonjun shiver in spite of the summer heat permeating the car. “It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”
True—none of them have ever been big on rule following. In the last three years, they’ve explored what feels like every possible centimeter of the tangled, empty forests and mountains surrounding their sheltered home.
- The abandoned warehouse, where they laid out blankets on the concrete floor and traced imaginary constellations on the crumbling ceiling, marveling at what the stars might have looked like, in the days before the black expanse came and the sun began to die.
- The swimming facility with its dried out pool that they spent an entire afternoon trying to fill, just for the hell of it. Where Yeonjun kissed Soobin for the first time—their clothing soaked and sticking to their bodies and the taste of river water permeating their mouths, but Yeonjun felt like he could fly when Soobin wrapped an arm around him and kissed him back.
- The gravel lot that was a quarry once upon a time, where they’ve taken the car (stolen from Yeonjun’s parents) and danced to old music from an equally ancient stereo perched on the hood, making up their own lyrics to drown out the sections of the song punched through by static.
- The lonely, barren apartment complexes that were probably the height of luxury in a forgotten time, now dotting the sides of the mountain like white-walled sentinels. In their more daring moments, they’ve climbed the crumbling staircases to the upper floors and pried open rotting front doors, finding all kinds of treasures inside. Yeonjun has a little stash of trinkets hidden in a box under his bed back home: jewelry, postcards from places that no longer exist, an old card game he doesn’t know the rules to, and even a little stuffed cat that Soobin carefully washed and gifted him for his birthday.
(He doesn’t know why, but he likes old things—little reminders that the earth was different once, little glimpses into what life could have been like if they were born in that time.)
Today, Yeonjun heads for the swimming facility, following the narrowing road up, up, up until they’re near the top of the mountain and Yeonjun can see the circle of the city in the valley below—the protective dome shimmering gold, then blue, then purple.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Soobin says after Yeonjun parks and they both pause to stare down at the only home they’ve ever known. “That you can’t see any of the colors from the inside.”
“Modern technology,” Yeonjun murmurs and opens the door. Dirt crunches beneath his boots and he takes a deep, fortifying breath as he retrieves his own backpack from the back seat—its contents much, much different than Soobin’s.
He startles when Soobin grabs his hand and looks up into serious dark eyes. He’s always felt like Soobin can see right through him, even when they were kids, even when they were trying to figure out what the blurring lines between friendship and More meant. Now he fights the urge to shrink away, to snap something defensive—scared of the sympathy and understanding and love in Soobin’s eyes, scared of finding out today that it might be conditional.
“Hyung,” Soobin says, firm. “Whatever it is, I love you.”
“You don’t—” Yeonjun starts and Soobin shakes his head.
“Whatever it is. I love you. Okay?”
He looks so determined and serious, this wonderful boy who lets Yeonjun in through his bedroom window when Yeonjun’s home gets to be too bad and curls around Yeonjun in his too-small bed, cradling him until he stops shaking. Who stacks books up in the corners of his room and pays endless late fees to the archives as he tries to get through all of them, determined to finish each one. Who always gets so shy when the teachers call on him in school, stuttering over his words even though he knows the answer. Who leaves Yeonjun cute little notes in his backpack, his textbooks, the margins of his notebooks, complete with funny doodles that never fail to make Yeonjun laugh.
Who came all the way out here, no questions asked.
“Okay,” Yeonjun says, a little strangled. “Okay, jagiya.”
Soobin winks at him over the nickname and then lets Yeonjun take the lead, heading up the final path to the swimming facility with their hands still linked. The rusting metal door creaks loudly as they slip inside and close it carefully behind them. Yeonjun walks along the edge of the empty pool to the wall of dirty glass windows on the other side. It’s beautiful here, he’s always thought, with the diffused golden light spilling through and the view of the mountains beyond it. So quiet, too, far from the contained bustle of the city.
Here he can almost forget the danger of the world they live in—that inky darkness can descend at any time and bring terrifying creatures with it, though the science corps have gotten better at predicting the blackouts.
Soobin checks the watch on his wrist. “I think we should have a few hours before we have to head back.” He sets his bag down and then perches on the edge of the pool, knocking the heels of his sneakers against the tile as he swings his legs back and forth like a child.
Yeonjun nods and turns back to the windows, peering up at the cloudy sky and the hints of weak sunlight peeking through the gray barrier. “Do you think they’ll ever come back?”
It’s something they often talk about: the space exploration mission that launched when they were barely ten years old—determined to find a better planet for humanity than the current, dying one. Soobin’s sister was a member of the team, one of their pilots, and they haven’t heard from her or the others in nearly a decade. Not a single message after their initial flurry right after launch.
“No,” Soobin says quietly. “I think they’re gone.”
“Space is really big,” Yeonjun points. “You never know.”
“Yeah,” Soobin agrees and stands, coming to wrap his arms around Yeonjun from behind, chin on Yeonjun’s shoulder. “We’ll just have to make sure we follow them someday.”
It’s another thing they all dream of: getting away from this place and into the great unknown. There’s already been talk of a secondary team that could launch in the next couple years. It’s been the only thing keeping Yeonjun focused in school.
But he doesn’t want to really think about any of that today.
He twists in Soobin’s arms and presses their foreheads together. “Soobin-ah, will you wait here for a minute?” he asks, heart pulsing somewhere in the back of his throat, making it hard to talk. “I have a … a surprise.”
Soobin doesn’t tease him like Yeonjun was expecting, just nods and pecks him on the cheek before letting him go. Yeonjun smiles gratefully at him and takes another steadying breath. He can do this. He’s planned this all carefully in his head a thousand different ways and it’s just Soobin. Big-hearted, gentle Soobin.
(Nothing bad will happen.
Nothing bad will happen.
Nothing bad will happen.)
He scoops his pack off the floor and leaves Soobin by the windows, ducking through another set of doors to the old locker rooms. Most of the lockers themselves have rusted and fused together, turning into strange, twisted creatures that Beomgyu tried to name once, making them all laugh as he pretended to be a researcher discovering a brand new species. Yeonjun moves past them, too, and into the changing stalls. Almost all of them are missing their doors, but they still provide some semblance of privacy, which soothes the anxiety clawing around inside Yeonjun’s head.
He sets his backpack on the bench, blinking down at the little pins adorning it—rainbows and cartoon characters, all gifts from the boys at various occasions. For over a year, he’s kept this buried. This unfolding, scary secret that is shaping and changing him in new ways. He hasn’t told anyone about how some days, he doesn’t feel like he fits in his own skin anymore. And it’s not that he wants to be someone else, he doesn’t, he just … wants to be a different version of himself, he thinks. Or a different side. Or … something.
He’s spent hours combing every archive in the city, trying to find an explanation, a word, a definition—anything to help him trace the shape of the discomfort and desire that sits inside of him. So far nothing has helped and it’s driving him crazy, so he figures it’s time to tell his boyfriend and hopefully get some support.
As long as Soobin doesn’t misinterpret this. (Please don’t let Soobin misinterpret this.)
Yeonjun shakes out his trembling fingers and unzips the pack, carefully extracting the clothing he’s been hiding under his bed for two weeks. He bought the outfit from an out-of-the-way department store, tucked away on a quiet city side street, timing it carefully so the place would be nearly empty and the clerk on duty wouldn’t gossip about Choi Yeonjun picking out clothes for a supposed girlfriend, which would inevitably get back to his parents.
He tried them on at home when he was certain his parents would be out for the day and cried at his reflection in the mirror, though the tears felt like good ones, healing ones—a piece of this complicated puzzle falling into place.
Just like back then, he starts with the skirt, swapping out his faded, knee-length shorts for the soft black fabric that falls around his calves and swirls when he spins in it. He loves how delicate it makes him feel, how pretty and femine, and he runs his palms down the pleats, swallowing around the lump in his throat.
A lacy, floral shirt is next and he tucks it carefully into the skirt, adjusting the fall of it until he likes the way that it sits on his body. The black lace detailing along the collar and sleeves are a nice contrast to the sharpness of his collarbones and the muscles in his arms. It’s a little oversized, because he needed something that could fit the breadth of his shoulders, but like the skirt, he likes the way it fits him, likes how it makes him feel. Not quite whole but … settled, on his itchy, twisty, wrong days.
Once he’s dressed, he moves back into the main room and uses a clean space in the dirty mirror to carefully apply the eyeshadow, eyeliner, and lipstick he stole from the collection that his mother hasn’t touched in months. It took him several hours of practice, curled up under his blankets with a flashlight and a handheld mirror, but he thinks he’d gotten good at it now—or at least enough for the makeup to look decent and not like it was applied by an overzealous five-year-old. The lipstick is a nice, soft shade of red and the brown eyeshadow has a hint of shimmer that catches the light when he turns his head just right.
He finishes off the look with a pair of his mother’s old earrings: long golden tassels that sway and brush his jaw and neck with their movement, so different from the simple hoops he always wears at home. His hair isn’t long enough to tie back, but he combs through it with his fingers, arranging the fall of his dark bangs so that they’re out of his eyes and accent the earrings and makeup well, instead of obscuring it.
He looks … not different. Like himself, he thinks, as he blinks at his reflection in the mirror. Like a piece of himself he doesn’t know what to call yet, but feels new and fragile and like it was always here: waiting to be unearthed from the soil between his ribs and held up to the light.
His mother is always praying: to Buddha, to their ancestors, to God—never picky about who might be listening. It’s always felt futile to Yeonjun. It hasn’t stopped the blackouts or the fighting or the drinking or the chaotic mess their house keeps descending into. She told him, once, long ago, that she just finds it comforting and maybe he finally understands her a little better now because he can’t help bowing his head and clasping his hands together and thinking, desperate: please let him still love me.
He’s so fucking scared, but there’s no point in continuing to stall and linger in the locker rooms, letting himself spiral further. So he squares his shoulders, puts his other clothes back into his bag, and half walks, half marches back to the main atrium where Soobin is waiting.
He’s moved back to the edge of the pool and he looks up when Yeonjun pushes through the side doors, eyes widening as he takes in Yeonjun’s new appearance. His mouth drops open and he looks a little stunned, a little red in the cheeks, but not disgusted. He clambers to his feet, nearly tripping, and takes a few steps forward before he waits, framed by the sunlight, for Yeonjun to come to him.
Yeonjun does, dropping the backpack and fighting the urge to wring his hands together. His heart hasn’t moved from his throat and all his carefully rehearsed words are gone so when he manages to pry his mouth open all that comes out is a blurted: “this isn’t a kink thing.”
Soobin’s eyebrows disappear into his bangs, cheeks reddening even further, and Yeonjun feels like he might throw up any second here but he forces himself to keep going, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s, um, it’s not a sexy thing. I mean—I think I look good—but that’s not the point. I’m—I’ve been thinking for awhile now that I’m not—I don’t know how to explain this. Just—when we’re alone, can you—Soobin-ah, can you maybe call me noona sometimes—if I—if I ask you to?”
Well, that was an incoherent mess. He cracks one eye open to find Soobin staring at him, a confused furrow to his brow.
“Noona?” he repeats, sounding dubious now, and Yeonjun feels the first rush of tears prick at his eyes, start to blur his vision.
“Yeah,” he hiccups. “I don’t—I don’t always feel like a boy, Soobin-ah. That’s what I wanted to tell you. So maybe sometimes, can you call me noona? If that’s okay.” He sniffs, swallows, can’t look Soobin in the eye. “Is that okay?”
(Please let him still love me, please let him still love me, please let him still love me….)
Soobin touches him, tracing the lace resting against his collarbones, sliding a palm across the side of his neck, thumb brushing the corner of Yeonjun’s mouth, careful not to smear the lipstick. Yeonjun wonders suddenly, in the panicked part of his brain, if Soobin is going to hit him—smack him across the face like his father and mother do sometimes when they get really drunk and really upset. But this is Soobin. Big-hearted, gentle Soobin.
And Soobin says, all tender affection, “you look so pretty, noona.”
Oh. Oh.
Yeonjun chokes on a sob, another piece slotting into place with a loud click because that feels so good. Hearing the honorific from Soobin’s mouth feels so good.
Soobin pulls him closer when he realizes that Yeonjun is crying, patting him anxiously. “Noona,” he repeats, nearly crushing Yeonjun against his chest. “Yeonjun-noona, thank you for telling me. You’re so brave, I love you.”
He’s so earnest. He’s so good—this boy that feels like Yeonjun’s soulmate the longer the years stretch on, the more they grow up together.
“Soobin-ah,” Yeonjun babbles, not even sure what he’s trying to say. Some tangled combination of: thank you and I love you and you’re wonderful, kind, incredible, the best.
Soobin hums to soothe him, folding around him like a big, comforting octopus. Yeonjun starts to sink down, thinking they should sit on the floor until he gets his stupid tears under control, but Soobin stops him, holding him still.
“Don’t, noona,” he says, pulling back enough to check on Yeonjun’s outfit, “you’ll ruin your skirt. Hold on.”
He yanks his hoodie over his head, revealing a white t-shirt, and sets it on the dirty tile like it’s nothing. “Here.”
Yeonjun sniffs again and sits down, carefully wrapping the fabric of his skirt tighter around his legs to keep it safe. “You’re the best boyfriend,” he announces and Soobin grins at him, not nearly as embarrassed by the compliment as he would have been even six months ago.
He sits down cross-legged across from Yeonjun and touches his face again, the corner of his eye, the line of his brow. “Your makeup looks so good,” he says.
"I’ve been practicing,” Yeonjun mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat.
“You look beautiful.” Soobin drops his hand. “Happy anniversary, Yeonjun-noona.”
Yeonjun dabs at his red-rimmed eyes. “Happy anniversary, Soobin-ah.”
One year. It feels longer and yet only the beginning. They’re young, he knows that, and this world doesn’t often let you grow old, but he hopes, even now, that they have decades ahead of them. Decades here. Decades amongst the burned out stars. Wherever they end up, as long as they’re together.
“I got you a gift,” Soobin announces and twists to dig around in his backpack. After a moment, he pulls out a terribly wrapped box, handing it over to Yeonjun with a sheepish dip of his head.
Yeonjun stares at the mishmash of paper and abundance of tape with a helpless amount of love burning like a miniature sun in his chest. He’s careful opening it and he lets out a small, delighted gasp when he lifts the lid of the box and sees a gorgeous, golden pendant.
“It’s a compass,” Soobin explains, sounding nervous, as Yeonjun lifts it out of the box and lets it spin, catching the light. “Because you’re my true north, you know? And if we do end up getting off this rock, I hope we can stay together. And always find each other.”
No, no he’s not going to start crying again. He’s not.
He stares at Soobin, at the open, earnest look on his face. “I just got you a stuffed raccoon,” he says, feeling small and far, far too loved.
“I love raccoons,” Soobin says, “that’s a great gift.”
(You’re wonderful, kind, incredible, the best….)
Yeonjun shakes his head, too emotional to do anything else, and leans in to press his mouth to Soobin’s. Soobin makes a pleased noise against his lips and deepens the kiss, palms sliding over Yeonjun’s waist to hold him close. When Yeonjun pulls away, his lipstick is smeared along the edges of Soobin’s mouth and fuck it’s so hot that Yeonjun has to mark him up some more—paint red down the side of his neck while Soobin sighs and tilts his head obediently to give Yeonjun better access to his skin.
He wants to keep going, wants to climb into Soobin’s lap and get Soobin’s hands under his skirt and see what happens, but Soobin’s watch chimes a warning and he reluctantly sits back, knowing better than to ignore it.
“We have to go,” Soobin says, sounding disappointed. He doesn’t bother to wipe off any of the lipstick.
“I should change back,” Yeonjun says, but Soobin takes his hand and shakes his head.
“No, noona, not yet. We can go to my house. We can get in through the window, leave the car nearby. It’ll be almost dark by the time we’re back, no one will see us.”
It’s risky, a somewhat terrifying gamble, but Yeonjun doesn’t want to let go of this yet, either, so he caves easily.
“Okay,” he says with a nod and lets Soobin help him up and slip the necklace over his head—the metal cool against the skin of his chest.
They run for the car together, hand in hand. On the horizon, Yeonjun can see a towering wall of darkness slowly consuming the landscape.
“Shit,” he gasps and picks up his pace, clutching his skirt in his free hand so he can move better.
Soobin takes his backpack from his shoulder and tosses both of them into the backseat while Yeonjun practically throws himself behind the driver’s wheel, scrambling to shove the key in the ignition and turn it. Soobin tumbles into the passenger side, wrenching the door shut behind him.
“That’s so much closer than it should be,” he says, frantic. “Drive, drive, drive.”
Yeonjun presses a booted foot down on the gas pedal and curls his fingers tighter around the wheel. “Hang on.”
It’s a mad, terrifying trip down the mountain as the shadows close in. Somehow, Yeonjun manages to keep the car intact and stay ahead of the rolling blackout. He’s still shaking a little by the time he stops in front of the tunnel entrance they discovered years ago—one of the many strange, secret ways out of the city that haven’t been filled in as defenses tightened. He watches, stomach in knots, as Soobin sprints to open the heavy metal gate so the car can drive through. It’s almost completely dark now and Yeonjun can hear the telltale, blood-curdling hiss of the living shadows as they start to coalesce into the massive creatures that can topple buildings like paper.
“C’mon, baby,” he mumbles as Soobin finally gets the gate open and hurriedly gestures him through.
He floors it, then slams on the brakes as soon as he’s inside and rushes to help Soobin close the gate again. They slam it shut just as Yeonjun sees the first flash of teeth in the abyss and the city barrier hums to life, covering the gate and shutting everything out.
“Fuck,” Soobin gasps and sags into Yeonjun’s side. “That was too close.”
“Yeah,” Yeonjun agrees, shaky, and kisses his hair. “We’re okay, though.”
“We’re okay,” Soobin echoes. “Let’s go home.”
Familiar warning sirens echo through the city as Yeonjun navigates out of the tunnels and onto the streets, calling for all citizens to get off the streets and into their homes. Street lamps flicker to life, trying to counter the inky black pressing up against the dome, shutting out the sun. It’s still so dark that Yeonjun can barely make out anything ahead of him and it’s a miracle they manage to find a parking spot near Soobin’s house.
Soobin guides them down the twisting side streets by memory, palm hot against Yeonjun’s, and over the back wall of the courtyard.
“This is actually easier with a skirt,” Yeonjun says as he drops to the ground on the other side, catching himself on Soobin’s shoulder. “I just have to be careful not to catch it on anything.”
“If it gets wrecked, I’ll buy you a new one, noona,” Soobin promises, ducking down to avoid the golden-lit living room windows.
“You should buy me one anyway,” Yeonjun whispers, suddenly enraptured by the idea. “I’ll get you more stuffed raccoons.”
Soobin laughs, low, and stops in a crouch beneath his bedroom window, reaching up to carefully push it farther open and detach the screen like they’ve done dozens of times before, even in the dark.
He goes in first, then pulls Yeonjun through the gap and onto the wood floor below. It creaks, loud, beneath their shoes but the sound of the TV doesn’t pause, playing what sounds like a historical drama of some kind.
(Yeonjun’s never liked those—most set in a world fully inhabited, where people could fly or travel to different cities or live their lives without fear of the dark, a world Yeonjun never got to experience. It hurts more than mere trinkets do, presents a fuller picture of everything they’ve lost in the last twenty years. Plus, if they’re from before the blackouts, then it’s quite possible everyone acting on screen is dead in real life, as his mother likes to point out, and that’s too eerie for him to cope with.)
“We made it,” Soobin whispers.
Yeonjun breathes a sigh of relief and flops onto the floor. Most likely, Soobin’s parents won’t come check on him, even with the sirens still going in the distance. They’re neglectful in different ways than Yeonjun’s, which Yeonjun feels bad about, but it has made Soobin’s home a safe haven it might not have been otherwise.
“We left our backpacks in the car,” Yeonjun realizes. “Your present is in there.”
“You can give it to me tomorrow,” Soobin says, easy as ever, and settles down next to him. “Getting to see you so dressed up felt like a present too.”
“Shut up,” Yeonjun mumbles, embarrassed, and smacks Soobin on the arm. Soobin gives him a wounded look, but there’s a smile twitching in the corner of his mouth.
“It was,” he insists and Yeonjun drops his head back to the floor, hiding his face behind his hands.
“Do you have questions?” he asks, muffled. He’s sure Soobin must.
Soobin is silent for a moment, but it’s his thinking/gathering words silence not his upset silence so Yeonjun waits him out, nervously drumming his fingers against the plush blue fabric of the rug beneath them.
“How long have you been feeling this way?” Soobin eventually asks. “Not always a boy?”
“I don’t know,” Yeonjun admits. “It’s hard, all the lines are blurred. Maybe always? But definitely in the last year, more and more in the last six months.”
Soobin nods, absorbing this. “And I’m the first person you’ve told?”
“Yeah,” Yeonjun whispers.
“Thank you.”
“You already said that.”
“I wanted to say it again.”
“Any more questions?” Yeonjun asks, a little desperate to change the subject.
Soobin rolls to face him, touching his cheek. “No. You don’t always feel like a boy and that’s okay, noona. Whenever we’re alone, I’ll call you whatever you want. Just tell me.”
“Just like that?” Yeonjun asks in disbelief.
“Of course.”
“You don’t think it’s weird or anything?”
Soobin shakes his head. “We’re all complicated beings, right? Sexuality, gender—I’m sure you’re not alone in this. It isn’t weird, it’s just a part of who you are. You’re all Yeonjun, whether you’re noona or hyung. And I love Yeonjun. So yeah … just like that.”
“Soobin-ah,” Yeonjun croaks. “You’re gonna make me cry. Stop it.”
“Sorry,” Soobin says, not sounding sorry at all. “Just one more thing, noona. You can always talk to me, okay? I might not always understand, but I’ll always listen. Whatever you need to say.”
I love you so much, Yeonjun thinks helplessly and rolls closer, pulling Soobin into his arms.
“Thank you. Jagiya.”
“And I have that part-time job now,” Soobin says against his neck. “I’ll buy you all the skirts you want. Or dresses. Or whatever. And your own makeup.”
Yeonjun kisses his jaw, his cheek. “I’ll get you every cute stuffed animal I can find.”
“Deal,” Soobin agrees. “Now we should get up, my back’s hurting.”
Yeonjun agrees, feeling his hip aching from being pressed to the floor, and staggers to his feet with a groan. They take off their shoes, dropping them carelessly by the closet, and then squeeze together on Soobin’s narrow bed, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Soobin stuck to his ceiling in elementary school, with the help of his hyung.
Soobin touches the fabric of the skirt, fanning it out across the mattress. “You do look really pretty.”
“Enough compliments,” Yeonjun complains, though he can feel a delighted smile tugging at his mouth. “And my makeup’s all smeared now.”
“Want me to help you take it off?”
“Yeah,” Yeonjun decides after a moment and Soobin gets up with a pat to his leg, slipping into the hallway.
He returns a few moments later with some makeup wipes clearly liberated from his mother. “She’s still at work,” he explains as he sits back on the bed, facing Yeonjun. “And dad’s asleep.”
Yeonjun nods and scoots closer, until their knees are touching. He’ll worry about his own parents in the morning.
Right now, it feels strangely intimate, letting Soobin run the wipe gently over his eyelids, gathering more makeup with each pass. Soobin’s fingers are on his chin, tilting his head this way and that to make sure he’s gotten all of the liner and shadow residue. He’s just as careful with Yeonjun’s mouth, but has to press down a little harder to get all of the lipstick. Yeonjun watches the concentrated furrow of his brow—the same one he always has when trying to tackle math equations—and experiences a familiar rush of affection.
His lovely boy.
“All done,” Soobin declares after a few more swipes, dabbing the corners of Yeonjun’s mouth. “Do you want to change too? I have spare clothes.”
Yeonjun hesitates because yes, the skirt and the lace feel a little uncomfortable now and the dark has made everything at least ten degrees colder. But … he doesn’t want to stop being noona yet.
“You won’t,” Soobin says, like he can read Yeonjun’s mind. (Yeonjun has never completely ruled out that possibility.) “You don’t have to dress a certain way to be my noona. I’ll call you noona until you tell me to switch.”
“You’re amazing, Choi Soobin,” Yeonjun huffs to hide the fact that he’s about to start crying again. “Please bring me sweatpants.”
Soobin laughs and obeys, retrieving the gray pair that Yeonjun almost always selects when he sleeps over, along with the rainbow hoodie that Yeonjun also has pretty much claimed as his own.
“Here, noona.” He says, setting them on the bed. “Do you want me to step out?”
Yeonjun shakes his head. They’re comfortable around each other and that hasn’t changed. “Help me with my skirt?”
Soobin’s gaze darkens, which is flattering, and he nods, gesturing for Yeonjun to stand up. Yeonjun complies, the skirt falling around his calves with a soft swish of fabric. He swallows as Soobin finds the clasp and then the zip, undoing both and letting the skirt fall to the floor in a puddle, leaving Yeonjun in his underwear and the lacy top.
“Look,” Soobin says, gaze flitting from his thighs to his waist to his groin to his face. “I know this isn’t a sex thing, but you’re very hot. I just want you to know that.”
“I do know that,” Yeonjun says with more confidence than he currently feels.
“Good,” Soobin mutters, reaching for the hem of Yeonjun’s shirt. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
Nearly bare, Yeonjun shivers in the chill of the room, but doesn’t protest when Soobin predictably kisses him, running hot hands over his stomach and chest. He doesn’t go any lower and Yeonjun is grateful for that—not really interested in acknowledging his dick right now. He’s still learning how he feels about his body on days when he doesn’t entirely fit into his skin and like everything it’s complicated and evolving and messy, and he’s sure he’ll figure it out eventually through starts and stops and trial and error.
But for now, he wants to kiss his boyfriend and enjoy the way his boyfriend touches him, the way his boyfriend whispers noona gently in his ear, the way he feels so entirely safe right now, and so entirely loved.
The cold is persistent, though, and Soobin’s body heat isn’t enough to counteract it, so Yeonjun reluctantly untangles their limbs and redresses in the sweatpants and hoodie. Soobin dons a sweater, too, and exchanges his shorts for warmer joggers, then snags Yeonjun’s hand.
He’s humming—a song he must have heard at school, from one of the rich kids that can afford phones that play music—and he sways Yeonjun along to the tune. Yeonjun finds the rhythm and settles in, taking over to guide Soobin in a slow circle across the room, accompanied by the occasional creak of the old floorboards.
It’s black outside but the sirens have stopped and for now there is him and Soobin, dancing in this quiet room, secure in the knowledge that whatever happens, they’re not alone. Someday the dark may pierce through the city barrier and consume them. Someday the sun might finally go out and then barriers won’t matter at all. Someday they might find a home on a better world. Someday they might be buried on this one.
Someday they’ll grow old. Someday they’ll die young. Someday they’ll touch what’s left of the stars. Someday they’ll sink roots like trees into the earth.
Taehyun talked about parallel worlds once—thousands of branches and opportunities and tiny, little changes unfolding the universe into new shapes like paper cranes. For the moment, in spite of the fact that his skin doesn’t always sit right on his bones, can’t always contain the enormity of what lives inside of him; in spite of the messy, complicated blur of his identity, evolving into what he hopes is something beautiful; in spite of the blackouts and the wreck of his home and the suffocation of the city; in spite of all of that … Yeonjun is glad that he’s in this world.
Because this world, for all its struggle and flaws, has Choi Soobin.
And that, Yeonjun decides as he pulls Soobin down for another kiss, sighing against the warmth of his mouth, is worth all the rest.
The hole in my soul begins to mend
Frigid air starts to thaw
In this world of zero
I found warmth that's you
Take all of me