Work Text:
“Soobin! I haven’t seen you in the office for, what, ages. What brings you here today?”
Kim Seokjin pats Soobin’s back in good-natured spirit, a hearty smile gracing his lips as he takes a seat on the chair from the next table. The environment does feel different from his own writing room. Soobin basks in the familiar quiet bustle of his working space; breathes in the orange scented air freshener mixed with the aroma of coffee on nearly everyone’s tables. It feels good to be back.
He boots up his work laptop and arranges his notes. “Nothing special. I just decided to have a little change in scenery to continue my book.”
The older man let out a cheer at his response, earning them multiple bemused stares from the other authors and editors in the room. When someone finally shushes him— Min Yoongi, the editorial manager who gives the duo an almost bored glance before returning to his office— Seokjin slaps Soobin’s back a little harder with as much enthusiasm as his yelling a few moments ago.
“So you’re finally back into writing it, eh? You’re gonna finish it for little ol’ me? Please say you are!”
Soobin laughs as the elder bats his eyelashes at him, puckering his lips and scrunching his face— is that supposed to be aegyo?— and it tickles him just how much Seokjin hasn’t changed.
He knows his editor has been dying to read his work in full, after having loved his manuscript the first time he presented it to him. Seokjin has been giving him his whole support, even going so far as to brag about it to the publishers up top. Never mind that everyone in the company knew that Soobin had no noteworthy work prior to his onboarding as an author— a new talent in the writing industry looking to share his story to the world— Seokjin was the only person who had utmost faith in his abilities.
This is going to turn out amazing, Soobin-ah, he had said on their first meeting. I’ll show this to my publishing team and we’ll have you on board as our official author. It’s good to have fresh faces around the office.
To say Soobin had been lucky was an understatement. He was glad the publishing firm Seokjin worked at was running on fumes, with most of its authors having quit or not producing bestsellers as they used to. The company was eager to offer Soobin the spot, and unsurprisingly it came with conditions.
They gave him one year to complete the book.
“I’m just glad to be here after so long,” Soobin rubs the nape of his neck sheepishly. “And start writing again. I know they’re breathing down your neck, hyung. It’s the least I can do to make it up to you.”
“Damn straight, you punk.” Seokjin grabs the boy in a loose chokehold and ruffles his hair. Soobin all but yelps helplessly in his seat until he lets go. “Do you know how many of my precious black strands have gone grey because of you? And my wrinkles! Oh, don’t get me started.”
“But really. I am so glad you’re finishing this book. All that talk about your imaginary friend,” a laugh of disbelief, “I think it’s safe to say you won’t bring up any of that nonsense again, right?”
And Soobin feels something break deep inside his ribcage. He can’t discern which comes first: the sound of his own heart plummeting down to the depths of his stomach, or the slam of his hand over his laptop, abruptly shutting it off. The loud noise makes a few heads turn. Seokjin gapes, speechless at the sudden display of anger that he’s never seen the young writer exhibit in his years of knowing him.
Inhale, exhale. Count to three.
You’re going to be alright.
When he finally lifts his head, he hopes the smile he gives Seokjin is friendly, even though he feels the strain on the edge of his lip begging to curl into a snarl instead. “You know what, hyung? I’m not feeling it today. I’ll write at home.”
Seokjin could only blink mutely, mouth opening and closing in utter confusion as Soobin hastily stuffed his things back into his messenger bag. Only when Soobin was halfway out the office space, walking with long strides towards the elevator did Seokjin find his voice.
“Wait! What— wait, Soobin. Hold on. Fuck. Was it something I said? Come back and we can talk about it!”
But Soobin keeps walking, his eyes glued to the floor as he rounds the bend of the hallway towards the elevator. His vision starts to blur with the telltale sensation of tears. It urges him to walk just a little bit faster, when suddenly he feels an arm sliding into his. It radiates a familiar kind of warmth and provides a comfort that washes over the anxiety currently taking up space in his body; rattling his bones, making his skin buzz.
The person’s steps fall right into place with his, matching his hasty strides and grounding it with their steady paces. Soobin slows down, only just a little.
He remembers to breathe.
The owner of the arm is silent, but their grip on him is protective— strong and filled with the promises of the night before and many other nights prior: ‘it’s alright, I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere’ .
As the old metallic doors slowly slide open, Soobin catches the reflection of the person beside him— silver haired, each strand meticulously weaved by the gods of an unseen world. It matches perfectly with the face it frames, features so stunning it might as well be a timeless work of art. And just like the first time, he leaves Soobin breathless, this perfection standing right next to him.
“Home?” the shorter male asks. A voice so sweet; of milk and honey and all things in between that remind you of once upon a times and happily ever afters.
Soobin intertwines their fingers, then. Their palms pressed flush against each other and he feels warm all over. This feels right. This feels like—
“Home.”
...✍︎
Once upon a time, there lived a writer. His name was Choi Soobin. His days were filled with fragmented illusions of worlds grander than this; of tiny whispers from fictional ghosts and of familiar blurred faces immortalized on pieces of old parchment. Whatever he conceived in his mind, his hands worked diligently on translating them into words. It used to flow like this: the free river of thought gushing down the ravine, fast and steady and powerful.
Soobin was a god of worlds. And in each of them, he planted seeds of utmost care. Each world has its own beauty, its danger and its past and future. He would weave through the fabric of time and gaze lovingly at the people and at the atmosphere he’d created himself, basking in their excellence. And in the same breath, Soobin could destroy them with a single chapter, or benevolently watch them suffer and strive for survival throughout the span of a whole book.
A beautifully tragic, almost realistic cycle of life. No matter how magical a world one created, it would need to die out, along with its untold truths and memories of events that have not yet come to pass. While others sank their teeth into happy endings, Soobin relished in ambiguous the ends.
It was a concept that needed no preemption. Which was fitting how he chose to write a dystopian fantasy novel as his writing debut.
“I can’t wait to read your very first book.” Beomgyu, a self-publishing writer and Soobin’s best friend since junior high, raised his iced Americano cup as if he was proposing a toast. “Here’s to Choi Soobin’s debut!”
This earned their table a few eyebrow raises, but the regulars here were well accustomed with Beomgyu’s burst of energy. He was a permanent fixture in this cafe, after all. This was his place to observe people and brainstorm on his little romance novels. Word has it that his third book was currently underway.
“Gyu, what the hell. Be quiet,” Soobin whisper yelled. He could only smile at the people still staring, offering small apologetic nods.
But Beomgyu waved his hand dismissively at Soobin’s predicament. “Why? A cool new YA author is about to blow the world away with his first baby and I’m not allowed to hype him up about it? Plus, you’re my best friend.”
“I’m aware I’m your best friend,” he chuckled, “but yelling my name in a coffee shop isn’t the exposure I was looking forward to.”
“C’mon, do you know how many authors our age are out there?”
Soobin tapped a finger to his chin thoughtfully. “Um. A lot?”
“Exactly! But they’re all either shut-ins—” Soobin gasped, seemingly offended, “—or total snobs. And how many of them are Choi Beomgyu? The handsome, dreamy, connoisseur of romance Choi Beomgyu?”
Soobin didn’t know where this conversation was heading, but he indulged Beomgyu anyway. He rolled his eyes and replied, “One?”
“So, would you rather mingle with those other boring writers or with me, your one and only Beomgyu?” he was wiggling his eyebrows, a haughty flair settling on his features. Soobin snorted in amusement. This kid.
“I don’t know. The shut-in types seem less likely to embarrass me in public.” It was Beomgyu’s turn to gasp.
“But I wouldn’t trade my best friend for anyone else in the world. Now, where are you going with this?”
“Just think of me as your first fan before anyone else! All I’m saying is that I’m always with you every step of the way. And I believe in you.”
“You’re gonna finish that book no matter what.”
But that was the thing— Soobin couldn’t.
It was the worst case of writer’s block Soobin has ever had the misfortune of experiencing, especially when he was running behind on the timeline. All of his previous ideas were not good enough; his notebook filled to the brim with scrapped out ideas and initial outlines gone to waste. Something wasn’t right and it infuriated Soobin how the trajectory of his own story was careening out of his control.
He leaned back in his chair and let out a groan. It was past midnight and the world was silent, a perfect environment for any writer to relay the words onto their pieces. But just like all the other nights for the past month, Soobin only had pieces of paper strewn across his desk— crumpled and filled with his angry handwriting and crossed out sentences. The bright glare of his laptop screen made him feel even worse. The cursor on the last word in his opened Word file blinked at him mockingly and Soobin felt like tearing his hair out.
“I think I need to sleep,” he said resolutely, “before I do something really stupid.” Like breaking the only laptop he had.
As he lay on his bed, allowing the darkness to soothe the static in his mind, Soobin began to create worlds. Different worlds; ones with people living in perfect harmony, or ones where mythical creatures coexisted with humans. They may mean nothing and have no correlation with the concept of his current book, but it has helped him tremendously in the past. He’d paint a canvas and dream of it, and when he awoke, he’d write them all down before they slipped away.
Soobin hoped that by imagining these worlds and their intricate rules and behaviours, he could draw inspiration from them. Most details wouldn’t make sense if seen from a standard viewpoint, but Soobin was more interested in the small flame that would inevitably spur him on. An action or a word— these were instigators born from his own mind running wild.
And he lets it run until sleep overtook him, until he was dreaming of knights clad in silver armor brandishing their swords towards an unknown enemy.
It felt like only mere moments since Soobin shut his eyes, but they were now wide open and alert. Something had woken him up. The hammering in his chest was enough of an indication. He checked the time on his phone and cursed at the incredulity of the situation.
3:00 AM
“What the fuck?” he rubbed his swollen face, confused and sleep-deprived. Had it been a nightmare? He couldn’t remember anything.
A thump. It was soft but Soobin definitely heard it. The hairs on his arms stood on end, his heart beating erratically. He waited for another sound, just to make sure he wasn’t going completely insane, when he heard the windows being pushed open.
What the fuck?
Soobin wasn’t superstitious. He’d been living in this apartment for two years without any sign of paranormal activity— no vengeful spirit or unwanted guests tipping glass off the counter or making things go bump in the dead of night. So he was positive that whatever was on the other side of his bedroom door was a living, breathing person.
Or, in other words, an intruder.
He didn’t know where he acquired a sudden foolish burst of courage, but Soobin rationalized that the only way to prove that this was not just the stress playing tricks on his mind was to assess the situation himself.
Opening his door just a crack, the only source of light in his house was the dim ceiling lamp from the doorway, which meant a majority of the apartment was shrouded in darkness. Perfect for anyone to hide and jump him when he came out into the open. Soobin gulped down the jitters crawling up his throat and padded quietly towards the living room. With a shaking hand, he flipped the switch and was met with an open window.
Shit, shit, shit.
Fortunately, no one was hiding in his living room. He scanned the small space, mind running millions of miles per hour because how could someone climb in from his window? He lived on the sixth floor and he didn’t have a balcony. It was impossible.
Soobin then turned towards the kitchen, feeling his heart pound so hard his chest begged to be split open. He grabbed onto an umbrella and all the while, as he inched closer to the inky blackness of the kitchen doorway, he prayed that this was all just a bad dream, and he would wake up soon. Using the umbrella to switch the lights on from a distance, Soobin’s prayers were only half-answered. There was no one in his kitchen, either.
“I really am going crazy.” Soobin began to laugh at the incredulous situation he found himself in.
And suddenly Soobin wasn’t laughing anymore. His eyes darted towards the counter where one of his knives was missing from its holder. Belatedly, he felt the tip of the sharp blade pressed to his throat. The unknown intruder stood behind him, his breath coming in rasps, as if he had run a marathon to break into Soobin’s apartment.
He dropped the umbrella and slowly raised his hands, body shaking like a leaf when the blade dug deeper into skin. A warning.
He licked his lips, and when he spoke, his voice trembled along with his nerves. “P-please. You must have the wrong house. I don’t have any money…”
Soobin knew this was pointless. Begging for them to spare your life never worked in movies; the reality of the situation was far too dire for Soobin to believe that he could walk out of this alive. He wished he had half of his working brain to actually dial the police, even if it had been a false alarm. Now he was going to be murdered in his own home with nothing to his name, not even his damned book that he failed to deliver.
“Please don’t kill me.”
“I won’t,” the stranger said, quick and with a forced gruffness. Something about his voice bore a haunting familiarity that sent chills down Soobin’s spine. It reminded him of ashen beauty after devastating fires; of a light that stays shining even in the face of destruction. It was mercy and kindness, and it was a beautiful sound.
“Just tell me where I am. And who the hell are you?”
“S-Seoul? Yeonhui-dong, Seodaemun-gu,” Soobin supplied, though confusion started to replace the initial feeling of fear. It was already peculiar to ask the person whose home you broke into for your current whereabouts, and even stranger to ask for said person’s name. Was his intruder an amnesiac?
Or he’s completely crazy, a psycho, and he’s gonna use my name for blackmail or something. Oh God, I’m gonna die tonight—
“You didn’t answer my second question.”
Soobin let out a shaky exhale. “Soobin… M-my name is Choi Soobin. P-please, I’m telling you I have nothing here for you. Just leave and I won’t call the cops. I swear.”
Just as swiftly as the knife had been on his throat, the unknown intruder retracted it. Soobin thought he heard a quiet gasp. He immediately ran to the other side of the counter, putting space between him and his potential murderer and with the remaining knives just within his reach in case he was forced to use them.
But the thought was gone the moment he set his eyes onto the person who ‘broke’ into his house. If Soobin had said he was crazy before, he meant it this time.
The boy looked to be about his age, only slightly younger— hair a mess of silver that shone like moonlight, and a handsome face that instantly wrenched Soobin’s ability to breathe away. This was the most beautiful person Soobin has ever seen, and only in dreams does he have the privilege of laying his eyes on such perfection. Where the borders separating imagination and reality were never meant to touch, it now began to blur as realization slowly seeped through his mind.
He stood there, gaping at the boy as his heart began its maddening crescendo of you know him, you know him, you know him.
“Taehyun.”
Taehyun, as in the main character of his upcoming novel, the same novel that he’s been painstakingly trying to finish. But Taehyun was supposed to be fictional. He was not supposed to be here, standing in Soobin’s reality— in Soobin’s kitchen, no less— at 3 AM in the morning.
Neither of them said a word after. Each was lost in their own thoughts, screaming at them that this was unnatural, that the possibility of this occurring should have stayed in the wildest of dreams. It was strange, but it was even stranger how Soobin felt at ease; heart settled into a quiet calmness that he hadn't felt in months.
He saw the way the other boy’s eyes softened, his tense shoulders relaxing as he looked at Soobin. There wasn’t any hint of malice. Soobin instead saw how they grew for him, welcoming him in.
“You’re gorgeous,” he blurted out, too late for him to retract his words but at the same time meaning them.
The small smile on Taehyun’s lips set Soobin’s face ablaze. “Oh? Is that a good thing?”
“Yes. You’re exactly how I imagined you’d be.”
“And that’s good, right?”
You have no idea.
...✍︎
The darkness seemed to weigh on his body, forcefully taking away the air as he gasped helplessly. Flailing his arms about, Soobin tried to grasp onto anything in the empty space but to no avail. He tried to scream, yet his voice refused to work even as he strained his chords. His attempts to escape were slowly becoming futile.
The void seemed to come alive, swallowing him whole and constricting the space, sucking all the air out of his lungs. Suddenly, a warm sensation, almost like a blanket, enveloped him then, and Soobin could finally breathe.
He was in his room. It had been some time since he had dreams that rattled him even after he awoke, its effects remaining on his skin like glue for the whole day. As his mind regained its composure, ridding the remnants of the dream from his thoughts, his eyes slowly adjusted itself to his surroundings. Slivers of warm sunlight peeked through his curtains; the glaring rays indicated that it was high noon.
Everything seemed normal, except the warmth on him seemed to burn his skin and came with a heartbeat that tickled his ribs. Soobin realized that the warmth did not originate from the sun, but in the shape of a person on top of him.
Taehyun was still fast asleep, with an arm wrapped around Soobin’s torso and head comfortably resting on his chest. He sighed in relief— tinged with amusement and fondness ready to burst at the seams— as he figured that the pressure weighing down on him in his dream was only Taehyun. His chin brushed against the younger’s messy silver strands, and at such close proximity, he could count his lashes like feathers off of wings.
Their encounter the night before seemed like a faraway dream now.
“Can I touch you?”
They sat opposite each other, cross-legged on the floor of Soobin’s bedroom, the knobs of their knees almost brushing the other’s skin each time they shifted in position. He had thought that by returning to his room, he could try to make sense of things. While the solitude and familiar comfort did calm him a considerable amount, it did nothing for his thought to word filter.
Soobin felt the heat spread across his cheeks and thanked the dim light from his lamp for masking it from the other male. If Taehyun seemed taken aback by the sudden request, he did not show it. His expression remained stoic, unreadable. It took him a few moments before he wordlessly offered his hand.
There was nothing out of the ordinary about it— calloused from the strifes he fought and survived in, yet it seemed so tender. If Soobin were to take his hand, he might dissolve into his touch.
As he reached out, fingers barely closing the distance, Taehyun suddenly pulled his hand back. His eyes were round orbs that seemed to reflect the moon and all its doubts and secrets. Soobin offered him a kind smile to ease the tension.
“It’s okay. I won’t do anything else. I just want to…” What, exactly? To confirm if Taehyun wasn’t an intangible being, sitting across from him at this very moment? He was real; as real as Soobin and the air he was breathing. Soobin knew this with every fibre of his being.
So, why?
“I’m not worried,” Taehyun said, voice barely above a whisper.
But the words that were left unsaid hung in the air, visible for Soobin to complete in his head: This is all new to me too, and I’m afraid.
And Soobin doesn't pretend he couldn’t recognize the weight of the situation, how it’s tipping in directions that did not benefit them. It seemed to only instigate uncertainty. He knew this was sudden for Taehyun, too, to be thrusted into the world of his own creator without so much as a preamble. Trust was a concept that needed to be rediscovered and regained. So Soobin held up his hand, palm facing forward. Taehyun looked up with a puzzled expression.
“Whenever you’re ready, we’ll do it together.”.
If he was worried the silver-haired male wouldn’t reciprocate his initiation, he didn’t have to. Slowly but surely, the younger boy brought his palm up to Soobin’s and eliminated the remaining distance.
Warm— it felt like this. Soobin marveled at the sensation of soft skin, of Taehyun’s coarse lines on his smooth canvas. It felt like things were being slotted into place, as if the seal of their hands would open doors they have yet to come across. Instinctively, Soobin curled his fingers in between the younger’s own and Taehyun trailed his actions almost a heartbeat after, interlocking.
They stayed that way for what seemed like eons, lost in each other’s touch— splaying their palms, intertwining their fingers, and allowing the other to trace mindless patterns around their hands— until Soobin breathed out the words.
“You’re real.”
It didn’t sound like a revelation, nor was it meant to be. It was said with the firmest of convictions.
Gazing into Taehyun’s peaceful features now, Soobin wondered if he ever wanted to delve into the how’s and why’s. He brushed away the loose strands of silver obscuring the younger’s face, feeling the ghost of a smile dance on his lips. His action seemed to stir Taehyun awake.
The boy was disoriented. His tired eyes blinked blearily against the sun and his brows knitted together in confusion. Soobin wanted to coo. Taehyun looked so vulnerable like this.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Taehyun hummed. Soobin wasn’t sure if the question even registered fully in his mind. He chuckled, and as his chest jostled with the motion, realization hit Taehyun like a splash of cold water. He sat up, ears tinged red with embarrassment. Soobin laughed at that. Taehyun was impossibly cute for someone destined to lead a revolution (but that was a story for another day).
“I guess you were lonely on the spare mattress. It was pretty cold last night, too.” Soobin allowed himself to tease the younger boy, enjoying how his facial expression jumped from one dilemma to another, and how the bloom of red now settled on his cheeks.
“You can sleep with me tonight if you want. I really don’t mind, Taehyun.”
And Soobin meant it. There were times, too many to count, where Soobin wondered what it would feel like to have the comfort of someone else’s body next to his.The feeling of close proximity, of shyness abandoned and the intimacy of it all. Where they could trade secrets till dawn and whisper the sweetest promises to one another. He would never have to be alone with his thoughts anymore— no longer having to envision worlds and people when he can have the physical manifestation of all of those in the form of this boy, sitting on his bed.
Soobin yearned for Taehyun, for the warmth he emitted. It made him feel safe.
The silver-haired boy blinked up at him and nodded. Soobin decided he was against asking the how’s and why’s. He was content with Taehyun’s presence here with him, filling up the space he once thought was unattainable. Questions would only disrupt that peace.
...✍︎
Having another person in the house meant two of everything— two toothbrushes in the holder above the bathroom sink, two servings of food, two different routines. It also meant having to learn about one another. All of their wants and needs, their likes and dislikes, and observing their habits and mannerisms. Understanding the notion of give and take, and that your space is now theirs to share.
Even if Taehyun came as an unexpected guest, in the days they spent living together, he became a permanent fixture in Soobin’s life. And none of that was difficult. It was only ever easy with Taehyun. Everything he needed was already there, he had said.
It was an effortless assimilation, one that Soobin realized he wouldn’t have any other way.
He learnt that Taehyun could fall asleep if someone ran their fingers through his hair, and that he favored mornings the most. He preferred forehead kisses and morning cuddles in bed. His favorite meal of the day was breakfast— he has low tolerance for spicy foods and he hates leafy greens, even going so far as to declare bell peppers the bane of his existence. When Soobin baked him cookies, he found that Taehyun has an insatiable affinity towards sweet things.
In between, the boy craved knowledge; never one to shy away with questions until his curiosity was quenched. And Soobin would happily indulge him in his queries. One of the most interesting things he noticed about Taehyun was that the younger would leave his mouth hanging open— as he listened to Soobin explain things or as he daydreamed, lost in thought. When Soobin told him of this fact, Taehyun snapped his mouth shut and looked away.
“Tell me if my mouth is open next time. I don’t want to look weird,” he had said.
“But you don’t look weird,” Soobin assured. You look absolutely adorable.
It was true that Soobin procured Taehyun from his mind, a mere fictional character filled with his own flaws and secrets. But he never would have imagined him with all these little quirks that made him oddly real and impossibly human.
He learnt something new about Taehyun every day. And each time that he did, he wrote it down so he wouldn’t forget.
But how could I forget you, my love, when you are the fire I have desired for so long?
...✍︎
“Can I kiss you?”
He hadn’t meant to interrupt Taehyun’s descent into easy slumber. His fingers had been carding through the younger’s soft locks for a while now and he knew from the quiet sighs and even breathing that Taehyun was slowly falling asleep. But his lashes fluttered open then.
Taehyun craned his neck to look at Soobin from his position on the elder’s chest. His beautiful round eyes seemed to hold vast galaxies in them, and Soobin knew all the stars speckled in between were of unspoken words and bridled emotions.
“That’s a really dumb question.”
“Excuse me?”
A giggle slipped past his lips. Soobin felt his heart melt at the sound. The silver-haired boy aligned himself right above him, straddling him, and Soobin’s hands automatically placed themselves around the small of his back. He held his breath, waiting. Guided only by moonlight splayed in thin lines across the room, Soobin allowed himself to be mesmerized by Taehyun’s overwhelming presence— his strength, his compassion, his beauty, his very essence of being.
If Taehyun so wished, he could commandeer an entire room to act on his request. People would follow him, carry on his wishes and share his legacy until their dying breath. His actions would always come from the heart; pure and unadulterated even in the face of vile despair. And the people in his world loved him, their leader. He had that effect on them.
But right now, with just the two of them in this small space they call home, in between bridges yet to cross, Taehyun has all of Soobin’s attention. His fingers came up to trace the younger’s jawline, thumb swiping his chin, barely ghosting over his bottom lip.
Even in darkness, Soobin could feel the younger’s gaze on him as his fingers danced across his face— mapping out each feature and committing them to memory, to be remembered. He cupped the side of his face, and Taehyun fell pliant against his touch.
This was Taehyun’s answer, and who was Soobin to deny them of this?
“Come here,” he breathed, realizing how ragged he sounded.
Their kiss started sweet. Tender and shy around the edges as they bumped their noses and giggled noiselessly afterwards. Kissing Taehyun felt like this: warm sunny days on the beach, with smiles rivaling the beauty of those blue skies, and peals of laughter ringing in the open space as the waves crashed into the gulf of his heart. It felt like the waves were being called home.
Home, where a lonely ember now grew into a warm, fiery hearth that could house two.
Never has Soobin experienced this kind of warmth before. The fire stoked the hunger gnawing at the pits of his stomach, craving more and more and more. Its flames enticed him, dancing in his vision, erasing all thoughts from his mind until there was only Taehyun. Him and Taehyun. Soobin and Taehyun. Nothing else mattered.
He could feel it in the younger, too— evident in the shudders against skin on skin, the messy grips in locks of hair and the hands that wandered fervently.
Soobin held the nape of Taehyun’s neck to keep him in place and surged upwards, sliding his tongue into his parted mouth. A low whimper settled in the base of the younger’s throat as he cradled Soobin’s face, body flushed against him as they deepened the kiss. They melted into one another, breaths only coming in short gasps before one of them would seal the gap again; hungrily, greedily.
Each kiss was more desperate than the last. Neither of them wanted to stop, never wanted to come apart.
They wanted to savour each other’s tastes, wanted to mark the feel of their lips pressed against the other so they wouldn’t forget. That this is how it feels like to want someone so selfishly.
I love you.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
The words were spoken that night, in hushed whispers only the heart could hear. A promise that, in the mornings to come and in the nights that followed, there is an eternity ahead of them. That they could always fall into each other’s arms so long as they stayed this way.
I love you. Easily and without a doubt.
Soobin has kept his writing room locked ever since.
...✍︎
An incessant buzzing sound woke Soobin from an unexpected nap on the couch. The last thing he remembered was cuddling with Taehyun, sharing lazy kisses under the late morning sun that streamed in from the window. His silver-haired lover was nowhere to be seen.
He groaned, feeling the dull pounding of a headache at the back of his skull. The heat of the sun seemed to scorch his skin, leaving him feverish. With eyes still refusing to squint against the light, Soobin flapped his arm about until his hand smacked against the surface of the coffee table. His phone was the source of the commotion.
Without looking at the contact name, he picked up the call. “Hello?”
“Soobin!”
His eyes flew open. Soobin sat up with a jolt, and instantly regretted doing so. The vertigo only made his headache worse; heat began to pool in his head, like hot magma ready to spill through the cracks of his skull.
“H-hyung! Seokjin-hyung. Hi, yes. Um—”
“I’ve been trying to reach you for 10 minutes,” his editor’s voice sliced through, exasperated and close to a scream. “What happened? You promised me you’d come in today for the monthly review!”
Belatedly, Soobin recalled that he did give Seokjin his word the night before. But Taehyun had distracted him, then— lips trailing the back of Soobin’s neck and beckoning him into bed that he forgot to follow up with an excuse, that there was nothing for him to show. He hadn’t written anything in so long. He feared he may as well have forgotten how to.
“I’m sorry, hyung. I really am. But I’m still stuck,” he supplied weakly, wincing at the drawn out groan on Seokjin’s end. As if he has heard of this excuse multiple times over.
“Soobin, I’ve been really patient with you. In fact, the management has been nothing but kind to you and your writer’s block. We know how that’s like; we understand. But it’s been close to three months without any updates!”
The pain in his head only seemed to worsen as Seokjin spoke, clearly disappointed in Soobin skipping over and not meeting any of the checkpoints they set out for him. He felt his world spinning as he struggled to string together a response towards the elder’s rants.
“These reviews aren’t just there for you to present your progress, you know?” his editor was saying. “We do this so we can give you feedback on your writing and how you can be more efficient in managing your time with it. Even a little progress goes a long way, Soobin-ah. The least you can do is come here so we can solve this together.”
Seokjin’s voice was soft now, a kind of pleading tone that seemed to wash over his frustration earlier. And Soobin really did feel bad; felt the evil twist of guilt settling in his stomach. He knew he was causing a lot of trouble for Seokjin, but he couldn’t bring himself to write.
“The management has agreed to extend your period to another six months,” Seokjin continued. “I hope that’s enough time for you to wake up and start writing again. I know this debut means a lot to you, and maybe you’re a little scared the public won’t receive it well.”
“But I believe in you, Soobin-ah. So, please. Please finish the book.”
And maybe it was the unforgivable heat on that day, or the ooze of hot liquid dripping from his head, weighing him down, but Soobin was unhinged. He heard the maddening snap from somewhere within him. What came next was out of his control.
“I don’t want to.”
The line was silent for a few heartbeats before Seokjin spluttered, “E-excuse me?”
“I can’t, hyung. I can’t finish the book.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the elder scoffed, “Why not? You’ve come so far.”
Soobin took a deep, shuddering breath before replying. “Because he’s real. And I don’t want him gone.”
“What? Soobin, I don’t understand. Who’s real?”
“Taehyun. He’s real, hyung. He’s here right now and if I finish this book, he’ll disappear.”
The world seemed to fold in on itself, and Soobin felt his body lurch forwards— or backwards, he couldn’t discern. Similar to dreams where the sensation of falling jolts you awake after, Soobin felt the sickening motion ten times worse, as if someone was ripping his soul from his body. He gulped down the bile rising in his throat, wincing at the red hot pain as it seared his insides.
The truth.
He refused to think about it, let alone speak the words aloud because he feared that if he did, Taehyun would appear more as an illusion rather than Taehyun. What has been kept locked away for months now came forth like the accursed objects from Pandora’s box. And all Soobin could do was stare helplessly as it marred his once perfect world.
“What are you even talking about, Soobin? Isn’t Taehyun the main character? And you’re saying he’s...? God, I don’t believe this!” His editor paused to laugh— a forced, ugly bark of laughter.
“Stop this. Stop giving these stupid excuses. It’s okay if it’s just me. But don’t let me catch you saying this nonsense to the board, do you understand?”
Seokjin was absolutely livid, tone almost entering hysterics as he admonished the writer. And Soobin had expected this reaction; could do nothing about it but hum in compliance to appease the editor. The elder took that as an acceptable response and hung up, but not before telling Soobin to ‘get your act together’ and ‘call me back when you have a better reason’.
The living room stopped swaying after that, yet his mind remained blank. Soobin stood there, petrified at the thought that no one would believe him. Not Seokjin, and not even Beomgyu. The intense fear took on a living shape and engulfed him in its gaping maws, twisting his guts and tearing his limbs apart.
He must have been so dissociated that he didn’t hear Taehyun calling his name. His sweet voice slowly penetrated his senses, anchoring him back to their reality.
“—ng. Soobin-hyung?” the younger called out to him. He was fresh out of the shower, with a towel around his neck and his hair still wet. He was wearing one of Soobin’s favorite T-shirts. “What’s wrong?”
“Seokjin called,” Soobin managed, even though his tongue felt heavy.
Taehyun frowned at the mention of his editor’s name. “Oh. I bet he asked you to finish your book.”
The elder nodded dumbly and the silence that surrounded them was not the kind they were comfortable with. The air felt charged, almost as if one wrong move could bring everything crashing down. The atmosphere was filled with a sense of foreboding. Soobin was about to say something, to remedy the situation. He couldn’t stand thinking about Seokjin or the book any longer.
But Taehyun was the one to break the silence. The words that spilled from his mouth brought Soobin’s entire world to a screeching halt.
“I think you should do it. You should finish writing the book.”
A feral growl ripped itself from the depths of Soobin’s throat and he yelled, “No!”
He saw the way Taehyun flinched at his sudden volume; not once had Soobin raised his voice towards his lover. He never found a need to. But right now, as he closed the distance between them in quick strides, he seemed to forget himself. He towered over Taehyun, grabbing the younger’s wrists and holding them in front of him.
“Take that back,” he said, disregarding the hurt on his lover’s pretty face. “You didn’t mean it, I know you didn’t. Take back what you said!”
“Hyung! You’re hurting me,” Taehyun was saying, but the elder ignored his struggle against him.
“How dare you. Do you want us to just be mere memories? Are you saying our love isn't real?”
“You know that's not what I meant, Soobin!” the silver-haired male yelled. He kicked Soobin in the shin and started pushing, started fighting back.
Soobin saw red.
Something sinister, something that went beyond anxiety and fear took over the reins and clouded his judgement. Furious, he slammed Taehyun against the wall and kissed him. It was messy, demented— filled with clashes of teeth and bruised lips and not at all like their other kisses. It was fear driving him mad. It was fear causing him to inflict pain onto the one he swore he would love and never cause harm.
And that was when it happened. Soobin felt a wetness against his cheek— tears, he thought. But when he opened his eyes, the haze that filled his mind dissipated as he took in the sight before him.
Taehyun was fading, his entire body filled with creases like those on crumpled paper. He was shaking, body racked with sobs; where tears should fall, it was replaced with the blackness of ink. Soobin touched his cheek and saw the black liquid still fresh on his fingers.
He stared in mute horror at the tiny imprints of words scattered throughout Taehyun and realized that they were all his. Words from his book.
As the boy crumbled, so did the words. They spilled from his sides and onto the floor. Soobin broke free from his trance and fell to the ground, following Taehyun, collecting the words and trying to keep them from leaking out of him.
“Oh no, what have I done? What have I done…” Soobin couldn’t breathe. He tried his best to piece Taehyun back together, but the more he tried, the more the boy unraveled like a thread without its spool.
In the end, he scooped whatever he could into his arms and cradled him, rocking back and forth. He mumbled apologies over and over again, his own tears mixing with the ink splotches on Taehyun’s body.
He pressed a kiss on what he could only assume to be Taehyun’s forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you. Please, Taehyun. Please come back to me.”
Soobin closed his eyes and waited, all the while repeating his words like an incantation that could conjure his lover back. He waited until the sun was set to sink into the horizon, when the shadows came out to play tricks in the corners of his mind. He waited even in darkness. He waited, and he repented.
A hand came up to his face, rubbing at the patch of dried tears on his cheek. Taehyun hushed him, gentle as he whispered soothes to mend his broken heart. Soobin opened his eyes and Taehyun smiled up at him.
“It’s okay, hyung,” the boy said when Soobin hugged him tight, relief washing over both of them. “I’m here now.”
...✍︎
‘Where do you think I’ll go once the story ends?’
‘I don’t know. And that’s what scares me. What if I never see you again?’
A thoughtful pause as he weighed his answer. ‘You will. We’ll definitely see each other again.’
‘How are you so sure?’
A hum, and then he was silent. His lover thought him to be asleep.
‘You can write about us. Write about our love. We’ll dance through the pages and live through the ages. We’ll have a lifetime spread before us, and we’ll spend it together.’
‘Of course. I’ll do it.’
But —
‘We’ll definitely meet again,’ he said, knowing his lover still doubts.
‘I promise.’
...✍︎
Soobin fumbles with the keys to his front door, his nerves still jittery from the bus ride home from the company. His tears finally fall, free from the judgemental stares of the public. Teardrops dot the carpeted flooring of his apartment hallway, seeping into the recently vacuumed material. Seokjin’s words are still ringing in his head. He can’t bring himself to will them away.
Imaginary friend.
Before he completely loses himself— frustration reaching to extreme heights as he still can’t seem to find the correct key— he feels those arms around him again. Taehyun hugs him from behind, his hand over Soobin’s chest in an attempt to calm his erratic heart.
“Breathe. You’re okay. You’re safe,” he says quietly, gently. “Here, let me do it.”
Taehyun takes the keys from Soobin’s shaking hands and easily unlocks the door. They both file in and Soobin can finally breathe. He makes a beeline to his room and falls face first onto the bed. He inhales the covers; newly washed, but he can still detect the scent of Taehyun’s warm shea and his vanilla amidst the strong fragrance of the detergent.
He forgets how it used to be without Taehyun. Rather, he refuses to think about it. This is home now. It looks like this and smells like this— of the both of them together, cherishing the time they have as if it were their last.
He hears the younger’s footsteps inching closer towards their room. Even when Taehyun shuts the door with a click and sits on the bed with him, he’s reluctant to peel his face off of the covers. He feels the dip on the mattress shift, as if Taehyun is adjusting his position.
“Hyung, look at me.” And Soobin does.
“You promised that no matter what anyone said, you would finish the book,” he continues, and there’s a sad, pleading look on his features. It glistens in the swell of his eyes and Soobin pretends he doesn’t notice it lest he finally admits the truth.
But that was a lie. A useless, measly cushion to comfort him if he fell through. Soobin has acknowledged the truth. He’s regained his composure over the last few weeks, preparing himself for the inevitable. He promised Taehyun he could do this. But why is he regressing now?
“I know. But what Seokjin-hyung said— the word he used to describe you. Fuck,” He swallows the urge to scream.
“It’s hard, Taehyun. It’s harder than I thought it would be. You’re real to me, but you aren’t to other people. I can’t live with that knowledge, Taehyun.”
Soobin found this out the hard, devastating way. He had called Beomgyu over one day to introduce Taehyun, saying it was a surprise. He remembered the excitement he felt that day, his entire body buzzing with nerves but he was happy that he could finally share Taehyun’s existence with someone else.
And who better than his best friend?
“Hey, Soob-hyung! Wow, it sure has been a while since I came over,” Beomgyu greeted him as he came in. He took off his shoes and looked around expectantly. “So, what's this surprise you wanted to tell me about?”
Soobin squeezed Taehyun’s hand and smiled wide. But his friend seemed to look past Taehyun, his eyes darting around the small hallway as if Soobin had hid an enormous present somewhere in the vicinity. His smile waned when Beomgyu cocked his head to the side, seemingly confused.
“Y-you don’t see...?”
A thought came across Beomgyu, then. His face lit up like a child on Christmas morning. “Ohh, did you hide it? Alright, game on. You owe me a tub of ice cream if I find it!”
As Beomgyu went ahead into Soobin’s home, searching for something that was already in front of his very eyes, Soobin's entire world shattered.
That was the day he realized that Taehyun was only real in his eyes, and no one else’s.
Soobin sits up and the younger male scoots closer, so they’re sitting cross-legged, facing each other. A reminiscent towards their first meeting.
“Whenever I think I’m ready, I remember the times we spent together, our promises of together and I just can’t bring myself to do it. I’m sorry, Taehyun.”
He avoids his lover’s eyes, those frightfully perceptive eyes. He knows he’s weak in admitting these things aloud— retrospectively, he knows he’s selfish because he wants and wants and wants. Even when he knows it isn’t just him, that Taehyun feels the exact same way, he’s still too much of a coward to do the right thing.
“Listen to me,” Taehyun takes his hand into his and wraps it in his warmth. A warmth that Soobin has memorized and grown to love. “The people here, they’re real people— Seokjin and Beomgyu, they’re real. And you need to go back to them.”
“You’re real too” Soobin says, feeling all the fight leave him.
“I am, yes,” Taehyun reassures, so gentle in the way he cups Soobin's face in his palms.
“I know I’m real, and you know it too. We can live in our own world with our own stories yet to tell. We’ll love each other until the ends of time. But for now, I need you to finish telling my story. Give me that ending.”
Soobin gazes into his lover’s eyes then, and he sees eternities in them; their eternities, each a different life on different planets and star systems. He loves the way those eyes sparkle for him, loves the way they love him. He knows they will always love each other in different lifetimes. It just so happens that this isn’t one of them.
In that moment, his heart decided it was time to take the leap.
He envelopes Taehyun’s hands in his, kissing his palms before they’re both leaning into each other.
Do it for me.
I promise.
...✍︎
“Choi Woosun-ssi!”
Soobin snaps out of his reverie. He had been absorbed in reading the recent reviews on his debut novel— some were downright mean and turned his mood sour, but most were high praises, applauding him on his intricate world-building and character development. Seokjin had told him to ignore the bad comments, said they were mostly from disgruntled old authors who never thought of writing his story.
He even received a congratulatory video from his best friend when his books finally hit major bookstores nationwide. He laughed out loud when he realized that Beomgyu was filming in that same cafe. He could see the annoyed glances from the customers sitting behind him.
“Yah! Choi Soobin! Congrats on your writing debut!” he cheered and Soobin could hear others cheering as well— the regulars and even the baristas. They must have known about Soobin from Beomgyu. He smiled fondly at the thought.
His mother’s name is called twice, so he hurriedly pockets his phone and heads toward the prescription counter to pick up her medicine. The hospital in his hometown is relatively small, and not a lot of patients are warded here. So pick-ups are usually a smooth and fast process.
“Hi, yes. I’m here on behalf of Choi Woosun.”
“Alright. Please advise your mother to take these twice a day and this one right before bed,” the nurse instructs as she bags two strips of pills and a bottle of medicine. She hands it to Soobin and flashes him a kind smile.
“Thank you,” he bows gratefully to her. As he turns to leave, a voice stops him in his tracks.
“Yewon-noona, have you seen my glasses?”
“Doctor Kang! There you are. You left it here again,” the nurse lets out a teasing laugh as she hands the man his glasses.
Soobin turns slowly, feeling like the ground may give out at any given moment because he knows that voice. Even if it has been over a year, he knows who it belongs to. His heart yearns for it, wants to listen to it again if only for just a second.
The doctor is younger than Soobin, with black hair that falls just above his eyes and a handsome face that, like all the other times he’s laid eyes upon him, renders him breathless. He almost drops the bag of medicine for his mother as he gasped.
“Taehyun.”
“Mm? Yes, how can I help you, sir?” the doctor— Kang Taehyun as his card reads— smiles at him and it took everything in Soobin to not break down in front of him.
I’ve missed you so much.
“O-oh, no. Nothing of the sort. You, uh, you just look really familiar. Like someone I know.” Soobin feels his face heating up at the embarrassment he’s creating for himself. He should have just kept his mouth shut.
“Do you know each other?” the nurse pipes up, eyes sliding between the two.
Kang Taehyun shakes his head, “I don’t think so. But I am new to this hospital. I was transferred here from Seoul. Perhaps we’ve met there? Though I don’t remember treating you.”
“I-I’m really sorry. I just thought you looked like somebody I used to know.”
And when the doctor stares at him, the memories flood his mind and settle in his heart contentedly. Those are the same eyes with twinkling stars and millions of different stellar systems. Those deep orbs he wished to drown in, wished to gaze back as they loved him all over again.
I’ve found you.
The man hums, seemingly in deep thought. “You know, I have a terrible memory. And I don’t always remember my patients,” he giggles at that and Soobin can’t feel his legs. They may as well have already melted at the pretty sound.
“I really may have forgotten who you are. Let’s grab some coffee next time so you can tell me about yourself. It may jog my memory a little.”
And Soobin is too dumbfounded to even register the events that passed by in a whirl. Kang Taehyun had given him his business card and left, waving at him until he disappeared from the prescription counter entrance. When he snaps out of his trance, he’s already standing next to his car in the parking lot.
It was a beautiful day with the sun hiding behind white voluminous clouds. Soobin looks at the card still in his hands, then at the blue heavens above him.
A warmth he thought lost fills him up again, and Soobin is finally home.
Once upon a time, there lived a writer and his lover. Their names were Choi Soobin and Taehyun. They’ve written down their story, and now they’ll live forever.