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“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”
- Jane Austen, Emma
It’s easy to get lost in Namdaemun Market with its bustling streets and never-ending stalls. Beomgyu’s never been great with directions; he’d oftentimes find himself wandering from one interesting-looking tent to another, until his senses would kick in and remind him that he was, in fact, lost.
Today’s different, though. The place still thrums with energy, but Beomgyu’s completely focused on the broad, tall back right in front of him. He trails behind the plaid flannel, its black and white pattern rustling in the early afternoon breeze. Beomgyu’s done nothing but make sure he hasn’t lost sight of it—his very own shield against the searing rays of the sun.
Beomgyu smiles a little at that.
“Hey,” the back stops. Beomgyu stills in his tracks, eyes moving up to meet Soobin’s face, whose features spell something close to concern.
Huh. Cute.
“Hm?” Beomgyu plays it cool. “Why’d you stop, hyung?”
“I don’t know,” Soobin shrugs. His hair falls into his eyes. “You okay?”
Beomgyu gives him a once-over before steering them away from the center of the alleyway. He drags them towards a shaded area that’s significantly less populated, the warmth of Soobin’s hand in his as the only proof that he’d been following.
“I’m okay,” Beomgyu assures him once they’re tucked within the market’s shadows, “why are you asking?”
“You’re…” Soobin shakes his head, “sort of quiet.” His shoulders sag alongside his words and the bags in his hands spin, their handles twisting. Beomgyu reaches for one and Soobin hands it to him, the plastic rustling in his grasp.
“Yeah,” Beomgyu smiles, sighs. “I’ve just been thinking a lot, that’s all.”
Soobin nods at that, dropping the conversation altogether. He links an arm with Beomgyu’s and rests his head on Beomgyu’s shoulder, pressing a kiss near his collarbone.
“Let’s grab something to eat?” It’s whispered into Beomgyu’s skin.
“Tteokbokki?” Beomgyu gasps.
It’s times like these when Beomgyu feels it—the enormity of Soobin’s honey-laden heart. He doesn't show it often, and especially not in public, but it’s there, a welcome rhythm mirroring Beomgyu’s own.
When Soobin looks up, his eyes shine. “Whatever you want.”
“You’re the best, hyung.” Beomgyu pierces his first garaetteok with a toothpick. The gochujang sauce oozes out, scent tickling his nose in a way that almost makes him want to sneeze. “Haven’t had this in a while.”
“Mm,” Soobin nods beside him. “Just as good as I remember.”
The tteokbokki here isn’t too spicy, just the way Beomgyu likes it. He frequented this very food stall in Namdaemun when he was still in university, and maybe it isn’t just the food that he loves so much—it’s the memories he’s associated with the place, too. Like his first visit to the market and how the flurry of activity made him feel so small in his too-big sweater, as if he’d been thrown into this too-big city without much of a warning. Like that last-minute Seoul souvenir shopping spree he’d had in his sophomore year, a borderline failed attempt at finding something worth bringing home for his family before he returned to Daegu for winter break. Like his first heartbreak and how he sobbed into Soobin’s shirt for what seemed like half an hour, which only ended once the vendor handed him a steaming bowl of tteokbokki, because it seemed like Beomgyu needed it.
Fun times, really. Especially the last one—Soobin had no idea that the person Beomgyu had been sobbing about was him. Took him a year to realize and a lifetime of having to endure Beomgyu’s teasing jabs for being way too dense.
Beomgyu’s about to remind him of it, turning to face Soobin with the memory ready to roll off the tip of his tongue, but instead, he almost bursts into laughter.
“Jagi, there’s,” Beomgyu wheezes, tapping on his chin for emphasis, “there’s sauce on you.”
Soobin rolls his eyes at Beomgyu’s failed attempt at holding his laughter in. “Wipe it off for me?”
“Okay,” Beomgyu nods, mirth starting to stir in his stomach. He tries to neutralize his expression before standing on his tiptoes. He leans in, cups Soobin’s face in his hand, closes his eyes, and—
“Don’t you dare kiss it away, Beomgyu-yah, we’re in public,” Soobin hisses, his fingers wrapping around Beomgyu’s wrist.
He knows Beomgyu too well.
“Fine,” Beomgyu huffs, swiping at the skin with the tissue that came with his tteokbokki instead. “You’re no fun.”
Soobin sticks his tongue out at him and they continue to eat like that, shoulder-to-shoulder, the occasional snarky remark in between bites of their food. It’s the type of peace that Beomgyu’s familiar with—the casualness that permeates the air, testament to how easy it is to be with Soobin, how natural being Beomgyu-and-Soobin is even in the humid afternoon rays, the clamor of the market at its rush hour.
Beomgyu almost forgets about his appointment until his phone starts buzzing violently from the pocket of his jacket.
“Suit fitting time,” he frowns. “Taehyunie’s by the entrance already.”
Soobin takes the bag Beomgyu had been holding. “Go,” he says, and not even a second after, he leans in, quick press of his lips on Beomgyu’s, feather-light.
Beomgyu’s mouth hangs open at that, the public display of affection catching him off guard.
“Hyung, I thought—”
Soobin laughs. “See you later, babe.”
The fact of the matter is this: Beomgyu and Soobin know each other well. Maybe too well.
Beomgyu could rip himself apart, reach into the furthest caverns of his body. He could prod, poke at everything that makes him a living, breathing being, and even then, it would be Soobin that spills out of him, Soobin who stains his fingertips.
Soobin’s nowhere because he’s everywhere. Beomgyu cannot pin him down, cannot explain the phenomenon of him. Because he’s already there. He’s already Soobin. There’s nothing more to it.
Beomgyu cannot rid himself of Soobin long enough to say—hey. I need to jot you down. I need to lay you on the plane of this wooden table and tell you how much you mean to me.
He can’t. He can’t.
But he tries, because he has to.
Soobin-hyung, the first time I met you, I wanted to push you off the swing—no. Beomgyu crosses it out, ink smearing the page with the force of his strokes. That’s boring. Soobin’s heard that one too many times.
Soobin-hyung, my best friend, the love of my…
That’ll never do; it’s too sappy. Beomgyu drops his pen and resists the urge to crumple the paper in his trembling hands.
Writing vows should be easy. Beomgyu and Soobin know each other inside out. But there’s so much Beomgyu feels when he thinks of Soobin, and there’s nothing left for him to say.
Like how he thinks of lists when he thinks of Soobin, how Soobin checks the boxes off and renders the entries invalid at the same time. How Soobin is everything Beomgyu’s ever wanted but also nothing close to it; predictable yet surprising in all the best ways—Beomgyu and Soobin have known each other for years but they’ve never dwindled, never fizzled out.
What else could he write that Soobin wouldn’t know? What else could he say with a heart that’s already wide open, readable, transparent?
Soobin’s too much of him. Beomgyu’s heart screams a sound so silent, it settles in his bones.
Beomgyu steps inside his apartment with the energy of the outside breeze coursing in his veins.
Soobin peeks at him from the living room. “Hey,” he nods. “You’re home.”
Home. Right. Beomgyu almost lets out a giddy laugh at that, his insides crumbling into dust. God, he’s hopeless. It’s already been three years since they’ve moved into this apartment in the heart of Gyeonggi-do, yet it still feels new. As if there are corners he hasn’t seen, crevices that are yet to contain memories.
Beomgyu isn’t stupid. He knows the map to this very apartment like it’s the back of his hand; floor plans and contents of every single cabinet imprinted behind his eyelids. Still, though, there are things to be marveled at that he hasn’t noticed before, like how the ceiling light frames Soobin’s face in an infuriatingly amazing angle from where he’s seated on the couch. Like how it only takes Beomgyu four, five steps from the entryway to reach the living room corner, and another two to reach Soobin and take his unsuspecting hand into his.
“Where,” Soobin makes a face as Beomgyu pulls him up and away, “are we going?”
“Our room.”
“I was in the middle of watching something, you brat!”
Soobin doesn’t resist though, and Beomgyu knows he’s won.
“Listen, hyung,” Beomgyu starts, once they’re both inside, “I need you to do something for me.”
Soobin stills in his path towards the bed, and turns around. His face looks pained and if Beomgyu weren’t so desperate, he’d definitely laugh. “Oh no,” Soobin deadpans, eyes traversing Beomgyu’s frame, “Choi Beomgyu asking for a favor? That’s never good news.”
“Hey!” Beomgyu shoves him forward and Soobin flops, chest-first, into the bed. His shoulders shake from silent laugher and Beomgyu sighs, crossing his arms. “I was serious.”
“Fine. Hit me.” Soobin rolls over on his back, eyes trained on the ceiling. Even from this angle, he looks devastatingly pretty. His hair glints in the light, ends falling down to just above his eyebrows. His lips are in that seemingly perpetual pout of theirs, and it takes everything in Beomgyu not to join Soobin on the bed and kiss him silly—Beomgyu hasn’t washed up yet and they both have a shared hate for lounging on the mattress without taking a shower.
So, he takes a deep breath and lets out the words he’s been meaning to say for the past few days, “Hyung, can you be sweet to me?”
“What?”
“C’mon, please?” Beomgyu flashes Soobin his sweetest smile, eyes crinkling, on the brink of closing. “I need to write our vows but I can’t.”
“And you need me to be sweet because…?” Soobin’s sitting up now, frown deep by his eyebrows, mouth hanging open just the slightest bit.
Beomgyu rolls his eyes. “I need writing inspiration, duh.” He punctuates his statement as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world—which it definitely is; Beomgyu needs that writing push now more than ever—but Soobin just looks even more confused.
“Beomgyu-yah…”
“My brain’s mush,” Beomgyu whines as he plops onto the bed. He ignores Soobin’s complaints of you’re getting dirt on our bed, please wash up first, and kicks his legs up like a petulant child. “Please?”
“Like hell am I ever going to act sweet on command.”
“Why are you so stubborn,” Beomgyu pokes Soobin on the cheek, where his dimple’s supposed to be. “Where’s my sweet Soobin-hyung? I want him back.”
Soobin makes a face and rolls over to look Beomgyu in the eye. “When have I ever been sweet?”
“Jagi.” Beomgyu pouts.
Soobin’s glare hardens.
“If you want me to say something good, then you’d have to help me out. I’m like,” Beomgyu shakes his head, “at a loss for words. And you know me, I’m—”
“—Never at a loss for words?” Soobin supplies.
Beomgyu nods, head bobbing up and down so quickly it makes him dizzy. “Exactly.”
“Listen, Gyu-ah. I don’t have my vows yet, either. You still have time.”
“A week.”
“Still enough time.” Soobin squints. “And you’re the better writer. If anyone’s supposed to be panicking, that would be me.”
“That’s exactly my point. I’m the writer. I’m supposed to come up with something good.”
“Hey,” Soobin shushes him, voice taking on a newer, more serious note, “you do know I’m the biggest fan of your writing, right?”
Beomgyu melts. Thinks about the piles of notebooks on his desk, the scrawls in it messy, jagged. Thinks about how Soobin is the only one he’s ever given the go signal to flip through their pages, to read. Thinks about how Soobin has only ever cradled the words in his hands, traced the lines with his fingertips, with a gentleness that makes Beomgyu’s heart spin.
When Beomgyu writes, he pours everything. Soobin knows that. And Soobin’s always treated them as an extension of Beomgyu himself. “Yeah,” Beomgyu whispers. “You are.”
Soobin squeezes his hand. “I’ll love anything you come up with. I promise.”
“Okay, jagi.” Beomgyu leans in to kiss Soobin on the forehead. He doesn’t miss the way Soobin’s cheeks redden—whether it be from the term of endearment or the forehead kiss, Beomgyu wouldn’t know. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You’re the best writer I know, okay?” Soobin whispers, thumb caressing the back of Beomgyu’s hand. “There’s nothing to be worried about.”
“Aw,” Beomgyu pouts, lower lip jutting out. He holds their intertwined hands up, bringing them to Soobin’s line of vision. “Would you look at that? Soobinie-hyung can be sweet, after all—”
“Fuck off,” Soobin lets go of Beomgyu to slap him on the shoulder and they both collapse on the mattress, laughter tainting the room golden.
Five AM on his wedding day, and Beomgyu still has nothing written.
He holds a fresh sheet of paper up, squinting. The overhead hotel room lights seep through the translucent page, highlighting its emptiness.
When Beomgyu lets go of it, the paper flits down, as if in a trance. It lands on his lap.
Well, at least his room is nice. It’s spacious. He’s lounging on the living room couch, legs stretched out on the glass table. The largest TV he’s ever seen sits in front of him, but Beomgyu’s yet to use it. He’s been busy the entire day, out doing errands and last minute adjustments.
It’s been lonely despite all the preparations. He’s banned from seeing Soobin, though he’s literally just a few doors away. Taehyun had just left Beomgyu’s room a little over an hour ago, going over the program, the guest list, the afterparty menu for the nth time. The details are drilled into Beomgyu’s head now, he could probably recite them to perfection if prompted.
Really, Taehyun’s organizational skills are no joke.
But he’s gone off to check on Soobin, and all Beomgyu has now is this monster of a hotel room, way too silent for the thrum—of nervousness? excitement?—circling his body.
With a disgruntled sigh, Beomgyu makes a beeline for the kitchen. The hotel was generous enough to supply his room with a ramen cooker and a day’s worth of snacks. He rummages through the basket, deciding on a harmless pack of mild Jin Ramen, and sets to work. He tears the flavor packet and sprinkles it on top; waits for the water to finish flowing over the noodles. The steam fogs his glasses so he takes them off, sets them on the counter.
The food is heavenly. Beomgyu thinks nothing beats this, having ramen in a hotel room right before dawn, all to himself.
He doesn’t hear the knock on his balcony door until his phone lights up with a text from Soobin, telling him to look outside <3.
Sure enough, Soobin’s there. He’s dressed in all black, the hood of his sweater covering up to the top of his head, so only a tuft of his hair sways violently in the breeze. He throws Beomgyu a small wave when he walks up to unlock the sliding door.
“Isn’t it freezing?” Beomgyu asks him, warming up Soobin’s cheeks with the palms of his hands. Soobin’s eyes fall shut and Beomgyu notices the bags under them, a barely-there hint of Soobin’s lack of sleep. He frowns, tracing the darkened skin with his thumbs, until Soobin’s eyes pop open.
“Your hands are uncharacteristically warm.”
“It’s the ramen.”
“At five in the morning?” Soobin cracks into a laugh, and Beomgyu brings them to the couch, sighing as they collapse into the soft cushion.
“Why are you here, hyung? We aren’t supposed to see each other yet.”
Soobin side-eyes him. “Didn’t take you as the type to follow those rules.”
“Well,” Beomgyu mulls it over, “you’re right. I’m surprised about you, though. How did you manage to—” He’s cut off by Soobin’s hand covering his mouth, lazy grin on his lips as he stares Beomgyu in the eyes. Beomgyu shoves his hand away, grabs his bowl of ramen, and waits for Soobin to talk, an eyebrow raised in impatience.
“What can I say? I’m unpredictable.” Is all Soobin lets out.
Ah, Beomgyu knows this one. He finishes the last of his noodles in one mouthful, and stands to dispose of the bowl in the sink once he’s done. He’ll wash that later. For now, though…
“Wedding day jitters, jagi?”
Soobin’s reply comes in the way he averts his eyes. His leg, bouncing up and down. His teeth, grazing the plush of his lips.
“Aw,” Beomgyu sits back down, “you can talk it out, you know.”
Soobin releases a sigh. “I know this is exactly what you told me last week, but.” He tugs at the frayed ends of the couch pillow. “Vows are so fucking hard to write.”
Beomgyu thinks about his still-empty envelope. Nods in affirmation and this shared sense of dismay. “Tell me about it.”
It’s almost funny—they’re both too predictable. Beomgyu troubles himself silly much too early, worries about things in advance, while Soobin only chooses to revel in nerves in the actual moment, once it’s a breath away. They're colossal opposites in the way they handle things.
Soobin tips his head back, nape on the top of the headrest. Beomgyu follows suit. They stare at the ceiling for a while, silent, blinking.
They don’t have to say anything. Their words flit through the still air. Soobin’s worries, Beomgyu’s grounding. Once it gets too much to bear, Beomgyu reaches out for Soobin’s hand, feeling the remnants of the chilly morning air on his fingertips.
“I don’t know, I just.” Soobin breaks the silence. “There’s nothing left to… to say.”
Beomgyu laughs, “Right? We know too much.”
“And,” Soobin continues, “I can’t believe I’m professing my love to you in front of so many people. It sounded okay in theory, but,” he shakes his head, “Beomgyu-yah, you know I love you, right?”
Beomgyu does. He smiles, nods. “I know you do.”
“So why are vows a thing?” The route Soobin’s going sounds more like a rant, with the way his voice climbs higher—not anger, no, but a little more subdued, like he’s passing off his fears as complaints. Beomgyu lets him talk, humming to let him know he’s listening, nodding whenever Soobin pauses. “If I know it, and if you already know it—the literal person I’m writing my vows for,”
Beomgyu flushes, “Jagi, please—”
“—Then why are we still meant to say these things in front of everyone?” Soobin ignores him, hands covering his face. “It’s embarrassing, babe. I love you too much. I don’t need them to hear that!”
“Hyung,” Beomgyu says in his best faux-serious voice, “does that mean you’re leaving your fiancé at the altar? Can’t believe you’re giving up so close to the finish line.”
“You’re kidding, right.” Soobin’s voice is lethal.
Beomgyu can’t take it anymore, shoulders shaking from rowdy laughter. Soobin sits up at the sound, pout on his lips. Beomgyu kisses it away, still breathless from his laughing fit. Sleep-deprived Soobin is way too cute. “It’s only us, okay hyung? Think of the ceremony as only us. No onlookers, no cameras, no—”
“No judgy eyes?”
Beomgyu kisses Soobin’s forehead, endeared. “No judgy eyes.”
They fall into silence, then. He feels the nerves dissipate into the air and Beomgyu knows nothing else but the boy beside him, still the same after all these years, hair a little longer, features so much sharper. The gentle orange glow of dawn kisses the slope of Soobin’s nose and Beomgyu is lucky, so lucky.
“I love you,” Beomgyu whispers, thumb tracing Soobin’s bottom lip, its dips and curves, where it touches his chin. “But you know that already.”
Soobin exhales, shaky. Beomgyu feels it in his chest. His own breathing falters. Rewires, until its pattern dances in sync with Soobin’s; rise and fall.
It’s always like this—their rhythms slotting together. Seamless, as if it’s meant to be.
It is. It is.
When Soobin speaks, Beomgyu has to go completely still to hear. “You know me.” His fingers crawl up Beomgyu’s shoulders. “Right, Beomgyu-yah?”
Beomgyu nods, once. “I know you.” He’s certain his eyes are watery.
“God,” Soobin shakes his head, “I love you so fucking much.” Then he’s pulling Beomgyu into a kiss so searing, Beomgyu’s toes curl through the cotton of his hotel slippers.
I know you like this, I love you like this. I know you know how much I do.
Soobin leaves at six. Before he slips out of the room, Beomgyu sees it: the three syllables he mouths over his shoulder. The morning light warms Beomgyu’s skin as Soobin slides the glass open. Soft streaks of sun, and Beomgyu’s heart tilts towards it, falls into its beckoning rays. It blooms.
Beomgyu is filled with love and he lets the feeling pour out, cradle him unabashedly. To his right, the paper rustles in the breeze. He picks it up once Soobin’s gone.
You know me, hyung, Beomgyu thinks, uncapping his pen. He trembles with the force of a silence so rich with thought, with memory. You already do.
An hour before the ceremony, Beomgyu passes by the garden.
The fresh air excuse worked like a charm. He made it out of his room, tiptoeing through the hallway and out towards the veranda.
The sun blinds him for a moment. He blinks to refocus his vision, and the sight that greets him is heavenly; marble fountain, cobbled pathway, bushes thick with leaves. Beomgyu strolls through the area, reveling in the quiet. He sticks a finger through the stream of water. Throws a 50 won coin from his pocket into the fountain, like he’d done when he was a kid. It falls with a small splash, the water hitting his arms.
Quickly, Beomgyu looks down. His suit is perfectly dry, thank god.
It’s at that moment when Beomgyu hears footsteps from up ahead. He freezes, eyes wide.
“Soobin-ah,” comes a voice.
Shit. Beomgyu thinks fast. He ducks, speed-walks towards the entrance bushes. He finds an empty spot within all the leaves and settles there. He isn't supposed to be seen with Soobin, they’d skin him alive.
But what they don't know won't hurt them. Beomgyu is curious, almost always to a fault. From the spaces between the branches, he can make out a very familiar back—Soobin’s, there’s no doubt there. In front of him is…
Wait. Beomgyu squints. That's his mom. She’s wearing the same midnight blue dress he’d gotten for her, her trademark folded fan dangling from a string wrapped around her wrist.
“Eomma?” Beomgyu mouths in surprise, careful not to make his presence known.
“I’ll do my best, eommoni,” Soobin is saying, dabbing a handkerchief under his eyes.
Beomgyu’s mom laughs. “Ah, I know my Bbabang is in good hands, I can feel it.” She moves closer to Soobin, pats him on the shoulder. “You’re a good one, Soobin-ah. I know how much our Beomgyu loves you.”
“Thank you,” Soobin says, face starting to crumple, and the way his voice cracks has tears pricking in Beomgyu’s own eyes. “I’ll take care of him, I promise.”
His mother takes Soobin into a hug, and oh, Beomgyu can’t watch this—his makeup’s done already. He trains his eyes on the ground and focuses on a stray, golden-brown leaf, on how beautifully it’s flecked in the sunlight, and definitely not on the voices that go, thank you for loving our Beomgyu and oh, eommoni, thank you for trusting him with me.
Another fact of the matter is this: Soobin is a string that Beomgyu, try all he might, will never be able to unravel completely.
“Beomgyu-yah,” Soobin whispers in Beomgyu’s ear. His mouth is close, a little too close. It makes Beomgyu shiver. He feels Soobin’s smile in the air.
“What,” Beomgyu whispers back.
“You’re so pretty,” Soobin tucks a piece of Beomgyu’s hair behind his ear. “So, so pretty. Thought you should know.”
“Jagi, you’re a fucking sap.” Beomgyu swats at his shoulder, the smooth material of Soobin’s suit coming into contact with his hand.
Laughter twinkles in the air.
Soobin does this when he’s tipsy, tethering dangerously close to drunkenness. His voice takes on a lower tone, his words curl into each other. But this is also new, his boldness, clinginess. His knees are pressed to Beomgyu’s own, his hands on Beomgyu’s whenever he isn’t reaching out for a piece of cake from the table in front of them.
Beomgyu thinks he’ll never tire of this. Of how the space Soobin has carved in the confines of Beomgyu’s heart constantly stretches to store new quirks of Soobin’s, new tidbits of habits Beomgyu hadn’t picked up on before. There’s still so much more to Soobin, more than Beomgyu will ever be able to find in one go.
And Beomgyu is more than okay with that—not pulling the string all at once. Beomgyu has all the time in the world to watch Soobin unravel, unfurl into whatever it is time decides to mold him into.
“There’s a bit of frosting near your lips,” Beomgyu tells him.
“Kiss it away?” Soobin taps on the skin right below it, leans forward.
It’s chocolate. Rich, deep—the sweetness isn’t too much. Just the way Beomgyu likes it. When he pulls away, Soobin inches forward, their foreheads bonking together.
“What is this,” Beomgyu laughs, breathless in surprise. This is new, Soobin granting permission for Beomgyu to be affectionate in public. It’s even newer, having Soobin initiate acts on his own accord.
Blues, purples, whites. The lights overhead thrum with the same rhythm as the music, casting color on Soobin’s skin, the front of his suit, his lap. His hands are warm when they cup Beomgyu’s face, and Beomgyu’s eyes fall to his cheeks, at the pink flush on his skin, definitely not from the party lights.
“We can do this forever,” Soobin mumbles. “Can’t believe we’re married now.”
It’s Beomgyu’s turn to feel the lights on his skin, warming the bridge of his nose, his chin. He blinks and Soobin smiles at him. There’s an overwhelming sort of expression on his face that makes Beomgyu want to turn away and blush, but also kiss him silly.
He chooses the latter. Color bursts beneath his closed eyes; bright yellows, sky blue. When they pull away, Soobin’s eyes twinkle with a mystery only Beomgyu can decipher, his lips glossy and stained a deep red.
It makes Beomgyu smile. He kisses him again, soft lips, warm skin, Soobin. Beomgyu is physically unable to let go. “My husband.”
“Husband,” Soobin repeats. His voice sounds dazed. Beomgyu doesn’t think he’s seen anything shine as brightly as Soobin does, tonight. “I like the sound of that.”