Chapter Text
Yeonjun fiddles absentmindedly with his nametag, shifting his weight between his feet. He's uncharacteristically nervous; it’s his second day on the job, and the shift manager had deserted him to man the till alone, for one reason or another.
To his relief, it seems to be a slow morning at the coffee shop. He's served three tired-looking students in the past hour—predictably all black americanos—and he's beginning to grow antsy and restless. To expel some of his nervous energy, he scrubs down the countertop, scraping up old coffee grounds before doing it all over again. He isn't usually the neatest person in the world, but he may as well try to make a good first impression on his coworkers.
The little bell on the door tinkles as it swings inward. Yeonjun glances up from where he'd been polishing the barista machine, and locks eyes with perhaps the most beautiful person he's encountered in his life thus far. A guy around his own age, or maybe a little younger. His shaggy hair brushes his neck, long bangs framing his pretty face, and his clothes hang off his slender frame in a way that's cuter than Yeonjun cares to admit.
He's so busy gawking that he totally forgets his manners, skipping out on the friendly Hello, welcome to Brewed Awakening! What can I get for you today? that'd been drilled into his skull during his rushed training shift.
He's snapped out of his reverie by the bright screen of a cell phone being shoved into his face, and belatedly blurts out his greeting, stumbling embarrassingly over his words. But the guy just continues to stare at him, thrusting his phone a little closer.
Yeonjun isn't sure whether he's supposed to take it or not, so he leans in to squint at the screen. He desperately needs a new prescription in his glasses, and it takes a moment for his eyes to focus on the words. Good morning!! he just about makes out. I'm Deaf, typing is easier for me :) Iced americano please!!
Yeonjun immediately perks up. The manager had mentioned a deaf regular, so he'd taken it upon himself to learn some basic KSL. It may have been a little presumptuous of him, but he'd been expecting somebody older, certainly not a student—and a dizzyingly attractive one at that.
The customer lifts his eyebrows, anticipating a response. Eventually, Yeonjun manages, “Oh! Hi!” before mentally slapping himself when he realises his blatant mistake. He fumbles with his fingers for a second, trying to dredge up what little he'd learned in the free online course he'd taken. “Good morning,” he amends, signing this time, albeit slowly and clumsily. “You're deaf? I know a little KSL.”
The boy blinks a couple times, and then his face splits with a glorious smile, flashing rows of perfect teeth. He nods vehemently, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, and tucks his hair behind his ears to reveal the hearing aids there. (With his hair back from his face like that, he looks so cute that it makes Yeonjun a bit nauseous. Like a little pixie or something. God, has he finally lost his mind?)
“Yeah!” he signs, followed by something that Yeonjun doesn't recognise. He screws up his face to communicate that he didn't understand, but the guy just shakes his head with a laugh.
Yeonjun can't help but return the smile. It's weirdly infectious. “Iced americano? Large?” he signs, and receives another nod in response. He's pretty much exhausted his sign language repertoire now, aside from a few more basic drink options. Rather than inevitably embarrassing himself, he shoots him a thumbs up, then asks, “Name?”
Asking his name isn't exactly necessary, seeing as he's the only customer at the till. There'd be no use calling it even if the shop were jam packed, but for entirely selfish reasons, Yeonjun's dying to find out.
He watches intently as he slowly finger-spells his name: B-E-O-M-G-Y-U, followed by what Yeonjun assumes to be his name sign. Yeonjun recognises the letter B, but not the way he brushes upwards from his chest, fingers splaying out before closing again. Still, pretty name for a pretty boy. And then, “Yours?”
Yeonjun taps the nametag on his chest, and Beomgyu breathes a little, “Ah.”
He prepares the drink hastily, writing Beomgyu's name on the cupsleeve in his neatest cursive before setting it on the countertop, to be greeted with Beomgyu typing furiously on his phone. He turns it in Yeonjun's direction, and he reads, You're new? I haven't seen you here before.
Beomgyu slurps his coffee as Yeonjun nods, reaching for his phone to type his response. Beomgyu hands it over easily, and Yeonjun types out, Started yesterday. I'm crap at making coffee so don't hate me if it's disgusting.
Beomgyu laughs again; light and airy, almost as pretty as his face. Pretty name, pretty face, pretty laugh. Yeonjun is screwed. He takes another sip of his drink, then wrinkles his nose and feigns a retch. Yeonjun doesn't need words to know what he's getting at. Gross.
Yeonjun slaps a hand to his chest, pouting. Ouch.
With that, Beomgyu glances at the time on his phone. His face falls, and he gestures for the card machine to pay. Yeonjun's weirdly disappointed to see him leave so soon, but he plugs in the price, watching Beomgyu’s hands as he taps his card. They're pretty, Yeonjun notices, prettier still when he's signing, and he feels his ears heat up. He mentally adds another point to the expanding list of Beomgyu's prettiest features, though he has a feeling it's going to end up closer to an Encyclopaedia.
Beomgyu bids him farewell with another easy smile and a wiggle of his fingers, which Yeonjun returns somewhat awkwardly. He swiftly makes his exit, and Yeonjun can't keep his eyes from following his retreating back, the way his hair bounces with his steps.
Once Beomgyu's out of the door, Yeonjun leans his elbows on the counter and drops his head to his hands, sighing lowly. Fuck. There's no way in hell he’s developing a crush on a customer, let alone one he can barely communicate with, but the minutes of interaction alone have stirred a strange feeling in his gut. Language barrier or otherwise, Beomgyu is undeniably cute. To put it extremely lightly.
The rest of his shift passes in a daze, and by the time rush hour rolls around and he's struggling through latte after latte for impatient customers, he can't even remember what Beomgyu looks like. His face becomes a blur, but those delicate hands stick in Yeonjun's mind as though glued there, repeating his name sign on an endless loop.
His shift is followed immediately by a gruelling dance class. As sweaty and achy as he is, it's a relief to move his body after standing prone at the till for eight hours. Tomorrow, he'll be back behind that till for yet another eight hours, and with any luck, Beomgyu will return for another drink. Perhaps this time he'll hang around for a bit longer to tease Yeonjun for his subpar barista skills.
He should probably invest the remainder of his evening in studying up on KSL clap-backs just in case, to make the banter a little more two-sided. Maybe even some pick-up lines if he's feeling particularly racy, or at least how to ask for his cell number.
☕︎
As expected, Beomgyu marches into the coffee shop at 11:30 on the dot. Today, he's sporting an oversized hoodie with his university’s logo printed across the front (the same university Yeonjun had graduated from last year. It's a Hell-sent miracle they hadn't run into each other before), and the top of his hair tied up at the back. Yeonjun swallows dryly. He hadn't thought it possible for Beomgyu to get any more attractive, but the universe works in mysterious ways.
This time, Beomgyu's order is a little more complicated. Large vanilla latte, his notes app announces when he hands his phone over. Two shots of espresso.
Yeonjun stares at him for a moment. Drinks of this calibre are still a bit beyond his skill set, despite the abundance of coffees he'd trawled his way through yesterday. He gives a reluctant thumbs up, but then Beomgyu holds up a finger. Wait.
He reclaims his phone, and when he shows Yeonjun the amends he'd made to his order, Yeonjun has to hold back a roll of his eyes. Soy milk. Pretty please.
No way you're vegan, Yeonjun types.
Beomgyu answers with a shrug. Then, using his voice, “Might be.”
Yeonjun's heart stutters. Even through its thick accent, Beomgyu's voice is as pretty as the rest of him, and Yeonjun has to fight to keep the relative awe off his face; it must be difficult, forming words without hearing them. They're a little slurred, maybe, with a hint of a lisp, and yet the tips of Yeonjun's ears heat up just as they had yesterday. He pulls his beanie over them, embarrassed without any real reason. Beomgyu must've caught on anyway, because that disarming smile of his tugs at his lips.
Yeonjun nods resolutely, fixing his face with a scowl to mask how utterly enamoured he is. “Fine,” he signs, his thumb hitting his chest a little harder than intended. “No problem.”
Beomgyu's smirk becomes a bashful grin, and he fiddles with his ponytail as though working through some embarrassment of his own. Maybe he's even flustered, but that's probably just wishful thinking.
Yeonjun wants to tell him. How pretty he is; how his stomach roils every time their eyes meet; how he thinks he might be falling hard after two fleeting conversations—but even if he possessed the words in a language that Beomgyu would understand, he wouldn't know how to say them. Instead, he turns his back, shifting his attention to the coffee machine so he doesn't pop a boner right there and then. Somehow, he doubts that'd go down well.
He messes up frothing the soy milk three times, tipping it down the little metal sink. He can feel Beomgyu's eyes burning holes into his back, and swears he hears an honest-to-God giggle when he sprays milk all over himself on his fourth attempt.
It takes a good ten minutes to accomplish Beomgyu's order, and when he finally turns around, a small queue has formed behind him. He'd been so absorbed in perfecting his coffee that he'd missed the sound of the bell on the door.
As if by some cosmic miracle, Taehyun materialises behind the counter before Yeonjun becomes a spluttering mess in the face of the onslaught of customers. He signs something complicated to Beomgyu, who flips him off in response, claps Yeonjun lightly on the shoulder, then calls out, “Who's next?”
Yeonjun gratefully returns his attention to Beomgyu. His phone is already resting on the counter, facing in Yeonjun's direction, and Yeonjun passes him his coffee before leaning down to read the message.
Good try, barista boy.
He hopes distantly that Beomgyu will stick around for a while today, drink his coffee at one of the little tables instead of leaving. Inevitably, he waves goodbye immediately after paying (Yeonjun definitely doesn't knock a thousand won off the price. Taehyun would have his guts for garters) and sets off down the street, presumably on his way to class. Just as he had yesterday, Yeonjun watches him retreat. He doesn't miss Beomgyu taking a sip of his drink, and silently prays that he'd succeeded in making it somewhat enjoyable.
Taehyun elbows him in the ribs. “Oi,” he hisses. “Stop ogling and get to work.” It's teasing, but Yeonjun knows that any mistake he makes will be a strike on Taehyun's perfect record as shift manager.
Within the span of twenty minutes, he makes three more lattes, six americanos, and two cappuccinos. Yeonjun certainly isn't one to judge others for excessive caffeine consumption, but students really love their coffee.
☕︎
Taehyun hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said Beomgyu was a regular. Aside from his weekend off, Yeonjun sees him every single day that week, always the second the clock strikes 11:30. Along with Yeonjun's KSL vocabulary and what might be slight obsession, Beomgyu's drink orders grow progressively more complex.
On Wednesday of the second week, he requests an extra large cappuccino (“You know we don't do that here.”) with full fat milk, four espresso shots and three pumps of hazelnut syrup.
“Thought you were vegan?” Yeonjun asks with a raised eyebrow.
Although he's still very much a novice, signing is coming to him more naturally now, thanks to the hours of practice he puts in every evening. It's well worth the labour; he can tell that Beomgyu sincerely appreciates it. He patiently corrects any mistakes, coaxing Yeonjun's hands into the correct position with gentle fingers. His skin is soft and warm, and the heat in Yeonjun's belly grows with every touch.
Beomgyu shrugs. “Changed my mind,” he signs. “Give me extra milk. All the milk.”
On Thursday, Beomgyu's notes app is sporting close to a paragraph of specific instructions, and Yeonjun almost jumps over the counter to throttle him.
Medium white mocha in a large cup, two pumps of vanilla syrup, two pumps of caramel and LOTS of whipped cream. Skim milk pls (I'm watching my weight). Extra extra hot. Like burn your tongue kinda hot. Scratch that, my tongue better be melted off by the time I'm finished. Don't use it much anyway. Oh and as much espresso as you can fit in there. I have a test tomorrow and I need to cram.
And a couple of lines below: Thanks Yeonjunie <3
When Yeonjun presents him with his best attempt at the fucked up concoction—bar the scalding temperature, lest Beomgyu's tongue pay the price—their hands brush for a fraction of a second. Beomgyu's eyes linger on the point of contact, but then he's bringing the drink to his lips and taking a hearty slurp.
He cocks his head, looking vaguely impressed, and Yeonjun's chest swells with pride. He'd practise making this abhorrent drink over and over, if it’d earn him an iota of Beomgyu's approval. With his free hand, Beomgyu types something out and sets his phone on the counter. Yeonjun squints at the message, anticipating a not bad or could be better, or something equally as withering.
Instead, his stupid heart climbs into his throat, threatening to spill out of his mouth. There, clear as day, are the words: You've proven yourself. Can I get your number?
Yeonjun almost chokes on his own spit. “Oh! Um, sure!” he blurts, rubbing at his nape just for something to do with his hands. He belatedly remembers what he should be doing with his hands, and clumsily signs, “Yes, you can.” It doesn't quite convey his enthusiasm, but his reddening face is indicator enough.
Taehyun's side-eyeing them from his spot at the barista machine, a little smirk pulling at his lips as Yeonjun hastily types his cell number below Beomgyu's message. His cheeks are flaming now. How embarrassing.
“You're swooning,” Taehyun says bluntly, once Beomgyu's safely out of the door. “What's up with you?”
Yeonjun doesn't have it in him to attempt to wipe the dreamy expression off his face. “He's so cute,” he laments. Taehyun starts up the espresso machine, presumably so he doesn't have to hear Yeonjun ask, “Don't you think he's cute?”
Taehyun yawns, shutting off the machine in favour of pumping five shots of syrup into his iced americano. Just looking at it makes Yeonjun's teeth hurt. He doesn't understand how Taehyun can drink it like that; it totally destroys the sanctity of americano.
“Beomgyu?” he asks, as if Yeonjun would dare wax poetic about anyone else. “He's an asshole.”
“What?!” Yeonjun straightens up to stare at him, utterly scandalised. “No, he's not!”
Taehyun slurps his drink obnoxiously before offhandedly saying, “You know he's my roommate, right?”
Yeonjun blinks a few times in stunned silence, alarmed that Taehyun would withhold such crucial information from him. “He is? Why didn't you tell me?”
“'Cause I knew you'd never let me live it down,” Taehyun says after another sip. “Didn't realise you were that infatuated with him. Jesus Christ, badass Yeonjun all sappy over a boy.” He glances over his shoulder like he's searching for an escape from the conversation, but Yeonjun isn't letting him get away that easily.
“I am not sappy,” Yeonjun argues, crossing his arms over his chest. He has half a mind to stamp his foot like a petulant child, but that would totally undermine his case. “I'm still badass. I like him, is that so wrong?”
“So, so wrong,” Taehyun mutters, shaking his head in mild disbelief. “Doubt you'd feel that way if you had to share a bathroom with him.”
Unperturbed, Yeonjun presses eagerly, “Does he ever talk about me? Please tell me he talks about me.”
Taehyun rolls his eyes. “Don't even start. He practically blackmailed me into giving him your shift rota.”
Yeonjun flushes deeply—equal parts flattered and taken aback—and squares his shoulders. “He asked for my number,” he says proudly.
“So I've heard,” Taehyun says, clearly unimpressed. Yeonjun had been hoping for a little more enthusiasm on his part, but that's just the way Taehyun is. “He was practising saying it out loud, y’know. Kept me up all fucking night.”
Yeonjun's stomach turns, and he bites into his bottom lip as a vague feeling of guilt manifests. “Really?” he asks. “I didn't need him to do that.” It's the truth. As lovely as Beomgyu's voice is, he could've smeared the question in shit on the walls and Yeonjun still would've handed his number over faster than you can say latte.
The bell on the door dings, and their heads snap up in unison. Taehyun dons a friendly smile and calls his routine greeting before telling Yeonjun, “That's what I said. Told him you'd be so geeked you wouldn't even care.” He makes a face sort of like he's in pain. “Guess I was right.”
“I wish I knew more sign language,” Yeonjun says forlornly, turning to flick on the coffee grinder in preparation for another order. “It's kinda messed up that we don't even speak the same language.”
“And yet love endures,” Taehyun grumbles, shifting his attention to the customer. Once he's received their order, he hands Yeonjun the check and adds, “I'm sure Beomgyu would be happy to help you out. I didn't tell you this, but he’s free Thursday evenings.”
Yeonjun almost loses his grip on the portafilter as he jams it into the machine. “Oh, Taehyunnie,” he gushes. “You just kickstarted my love life.”
☕︎
Beomgyu doesn't text him all day. Taehyun scolds him multiple times for using his phone on the clock, but the nagging impulse to check for messages isn't one easily ignored. Yeonjun regrets not asking Beomgyu for his own number in return, a little bitter that he'd beaten him to it.
Taehyun must take pity, seeing him in such a sorry state. “Clock out early if you want,” he says, an hour before Yeonjun's shift is due to end. Rush hour has long since passed, and the shop has emptied out considerably. “I can handle closing on my own.”
As if on cue, Yeonjun's phone vibrates in his back pocket, three times in quick succession. He slaps around for it, and his eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when he zeroes in on the notifications.
FROM: Unknown
16:04
Hi it's me!!!
Beomgyu* whoops
Sorry I took so long I had class but free now
Taehyun lets out an exasperated groan. “That who I think it is?”
“Yeah,” Yeonjun confirms without looking up. He can't seem to tear his eyes away from the messages. “How'd you know?”
“‘Cause you look all gross and lovey-dovey.”
“Oh, right,” Yeonjun says distractedly, frantically typing out a reply. His fingers barely manage to hit the right keys, and he doesn't have the mind to proofread the text before slamming the send button.
FROM: You
16:05
Was getting worried u changed ur mind lol
Taehyub let me finish early :)
Taehyyn
Fuck
FROM: Beomgyu
16:05
Lol excited much
Big plans this evening?
Yeonjun hadn't realised he'd been giggling like a schoolgirl, but Taehyun groans again, even louder than he had a moment ago. “Get the hell out of here,” he orders, though Yeonjun hears the smile in his voice. “Go fuck my best friend.”
Best friend is a far cry from roommate, but Yeonjun doesn't have time to reprimand Taehyun for his elusiveness right now. Instead, he happily obliges, slipping out from behind the counter. “No fucking yet!” he calls over his shoulder, as he sets off toward the back room for his jacket and bag. “I'm courting him.”
It isn't until Taehyun loudly shushes him with a finger smushed to his lips that Yeonjun remembers they're not alone. He bows deeply to the old lady seated in the corner, profusely apologising, and scurries off before he can get scolded further.
His heart slams against his ribcage as he collects his things, and he almost trips several times booking it to the exit, too busy staring at his phone to watch where he's going.
FROM: You
16:08
Probs knock out on the couch soon as I get home
Wbu
He holds his breath, but the apprehension is misguided; Beomgyu's response comes almost instantaneously.
FROM: Beomgyu
16:08
That's what I'm doing rn
I lied abt studying I don't do that shit
The little typing bubble pops up following his message, disappears for a moment, then pops up again. After a painstaking couple of minutes, another text comes through.
FROM: Beomgyu
16:10
Wanna knock out together??
Yeonjun bites the inside of his cheek so hard he's surprised his teeth haven’t torn right through, and hesitates for a moment with his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. If he responds immediately, he'll look desperate. If he leaves it too long, he'll look like he doesn't care.
FROM: You
16:11
I'd love to
Definitely edging into desperate territory, but he has a feeling Beomgyu's already well aware of how whipped he is. How many guys have taken on the arduous task of learning a whole new language just to talk to him? It must be dozens upon dozens, Yeonjun imagines. Beomgyu probably has both men and women falling at his feet, yet somehow it's Yeonjun who's earned the right to spend time with him.
Beomgyu seems delighted, quickly providing his address along with the instruction to come whenever, followed by a string of emojis. Yeonjun plugs it into his maps, and is surprised to find that his place isn't far from the shop. Maybe that's how Beomgyu manages to show up so promptly every day.
When he arrives, he considers texting Beomgyu to let him know, but figures it'd be more gentlemanly to knock. He raps his knuckles against the door three times, then waits, fidgety and anxious, for Beomgyu to invite him in.
Two minutes must pass before he finally realises what an idiotic move he'd made. He inwardly kicks himself for letting it slip his mind that Beomgyu wouldn't have been able to hear the knock, and outwardly slaps a palm to his forehead. Duh.
His phone nearly slips from his hand as he scrambles to deliver his apologies, flushed with a whole lot of embarrassment and a little bit of guilt.
FROM: You
16:25
I'm here
I knocked lmao I'm a dumbass
There's the muffled sound of something clattering in the apartment, and his phone pings with Beomgyu's response a moment later.
FROM: Beomgyu
16:26
Hahaha lol u idiot. Wondered what was taking u so long
Coming!!!
Beomgyu opens the door looking delightfully rumpled, his hair damp and fluffy from the shower, cheeks flushed pink and stretched with a smile. Yeonjun has to clench his jaw to keep it from dropping to the floor at the sight—because sweet Mary mother of Jesus, Beomgyu might actually be an angel, complete with the golden halo of the hallway light painted around his head. He rakes his fingers through his bangs as his smile turns a little shy, pushing them off his forehead.
If this is how Beomgyu looks when he's knocking out at home, then Yeonjun might have to make a habit of coming over. He'd certainly like to.
It's strange, seeing him outside of the shop. Stranger still to see him in sweats and a t-shirt that actually fits him, hair out of his face for once and hearing aids nowhere to be seen. Yeonjun briefly wonders why he wears them, if he seemingly can't hear either way, but there are far more pressing matters at hand. One being Beomgyu's fingers lacing between his own and pulling him down the hallway.
Beomgyu leads them past Taehyun's bedroom and back to his own. Yeonjun lets his eyes wander, building an inventory of every little detail while Beomgyu stacks the textbooks strewn across his desk, and it's so Beomgyu, Yeonjun thinks. Sparsely decorated with little trinkets and mementos, movie memorabilia and souvenirs from past vacations, polaroids of him smiling with his friends.
It hits him hard: Beomgyu is a person, just like him. He has a life outside of Yeonjun, just like Yeonjun has a life outside of him (though it's easy to forget, sometimes). He isn't just the boy in the coffee shop, or even the deaf boy. No, he's memories and love and life, and Yeonjun wants to know all of it. Maybe even be a part of it someday. He might be getting ahead of himself, but maybe he's walking the path leading to a polaroid picture of his own tacked to the wall.
“Coffee?” Beomgyu signs, as Yeonjun stands in the middle of the room, unsure of exactly what to do with himself. “I think I'm a better barista than you.”
And just like that, any awkwardness dissipates. Yeonjun laughs wholeheartedly, throwing his head back before answering, “Yes, please. Make it extra... extra.”
He doesn't have the vocabulary to ask for a drink as enigmatic as Beomgyu asks of him, but Beomgyu will get the gist. It's scary how easily they understand each other, even with the language barrier trying to drive a wedge between them. Trying and inevitably failing.
Beomgyu is laughing, too, and Yeonjun can't stand it; how beautiful he is, how easily he tears away his defences and leaves him breathless, gasping for more. If he could, he'd bottle up that laugh and tuck it away in a pocket inside his chest, right next to his heart. As things are, he lets it ring in his ears until Beomgyu holds up a finger. Wait here. When he leaves the room, he casts a glance over his shoulder as he goes.
Yeonjun dumps his bag and jacket on the floor, then drops onto the made bed with very little grace. His eyes stay glued to the door, and he finds himself counting the seconds Beomgyu's not there. It isn't in his nature to be clingy, but something inside him aches to have him close by.
Beomgyu's back in a matter of minutes, armed with two shop-bought americanos balanced precariously in one hand. He skillfully pushes the door shut with his shoulder before offering one to Yeonjun, who gratefully accepts, and setting his own on the nightstand.
“Made them myself,” he signs once his hands are free, and Yeonjun has to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing again. It takes a while to piece together what follows, but Yeonjun's pretty sure it's something along the lines of, “I might take your job.”
Without warning, he throws himself down beside Yeonjun and drops his head to his shoulder. It's an oddly intimate gesture, holding a million words that'll remain unsaid, and Yeonjun's breath catches. His drink jostles, sloshing onto the pristine white sheets. Beomgyu either doesn't notice or doesn't care, just lets out a contended sigh. The warmth in Yeonjun's stomach is back with a vengeance.
They stay that way for a while, just breathing in the same air. It should be awkward. It should be weird, sitting in silence in the bedroom of a boy he barely knows, a boy he can barely communicate with, but there isn't an ounce of discomfort between them.
Beomgyu lifts his head and eases Yeonjun's cup from his hand, setting it on the nightstand next to his own untouched one. Instead of looking Yeonjun in the eye, he stares down at his hands for a minute, a faint crease marring the skin between his eyebrows. He flexes and bends his fingers a few times as though working up to something, then lifts them and slowly begins to sign.
Yeonjun doesn't catch a word of it. Maybe because he still isn't anywhere in the realm of fluency, maybe because he's too busy staring at Beomgyu's pretty pink lips.
He shakes his head. Sorry, I don't understand.
Beomgyu's mouth twists like he's running through his options. He grunts a soft noise of frustration, and shakes his own head. Yeonjun's on the verge of handing over his phone for one of their typed conversations instead, but then Beomgyu is resting a finger on his bottom lip. Cautiously, wrapping his mouth around the word with utmost care, he asks, “Kiss?”
It's shy and small, a stark contrast to the Beomgyu he's come to know: bright and bolshie and ever quick-witted. This side of him is equally as captivating. Just like his drink orders, Beomgyu is an enigma that Yeonjun doubts he'll ever be able to pin down.
Yeonjun's chest surges, and before he has time to answer, his body is lurching forward independent of his will and swallowing up the word as it rolls off Beomgyu's tongue. He misses Beomgyu's lips in his haste, the kiss landing at the corner of his mouth instead, but Beomgyu shifts until they're exactly where they need to be. They're laughing into each other's mouths and Beomgyu is gripping at the sleeve of Yeonjun's sweater, and Yeonjun thinks his heart might’ve stopped for good.
Beomgyu's hand fists at Yeonjun's sleeve, the other climbing to his nape. The hands that Yeonjun has come to know so well, and hopefully, in time, will come to know even better.
It shouldn't be this easy, but then again, falling for Beomgyu shouldn't have been easy at all. Something slots into place as Beomgyu slowly withdraws, his palm trailing from Yeonjun's nape to his cheek. His eyes are brimming with exaltation, and he flashes the smile that'd left Yeonjun defenceless from the very beginning.
The hand leaves Yeonjun's cheek, and Beomgyu closes his fingers and thumbs, bumping his fingertips together as he had a moment ago. He points to his puckered lips, shiny and bitten pink, and then to Yeonjun's. Yeonjun gets it now. I want to kiss you.
Yeonjun copies the action, and Beomgyu leans in again.