Archive of Our Own ^beta

Gravestones don’t last forever.

Beomgyu’s not quite sure why it’s that particular thought that haunts him, lingering for days after every visit to the graveyard, but it leaves him colder than winter ever could. It has been three years exactly since this particular gravestone had been planted, still relatively shiny and new in comparison to the others that lay weather and broken around him. He didn’t think it mattered too much though, whether the stones were elaborate or simple, tall or short, polished or covered in mother nature’s kisses as time passed–they were all the same dull shade of gray, cold to the touch and rough against his skin.

Not too unlike the faded string wrapped around his left pinky finger.

Still, he does his best to upkeep this one, cleaning it every few months and making sure the grave was never barren of lavender: Soobin’s favorite. It wasn’t the easiest task, especially come the colder months, when most blooms are no longer easier to acquire and more of a burden on his wallet, but it’s a small price to pay for the endless guilt that tears at him incessantly. An atonement that he’s terrified will never be enough.

And so he finds himself here, like clockwork, nose runny from the cold and boots wet from the dew and decaying leaves that litter the graveyard–a blanket of warmth before the snow washes everything out in a couple weeks. The lavenders in his hand are wilted already, but he won’t settle for any other bloom–he’s stubborn that way–and if Soobin was here he would probably tease him for it. But Soobin wasn’t here, and the lavenders are wilted, and Beomgyu’s entire body aches with grief.

It’s one of his rare, free weekends, which meant that he could visit Soobin earlier in the day, so he’d chosen to come right before sunrise. The two of them were never early risers, but in the last three years insomnia had rendered a normal sleep schedule to a mere dream. It was incurable, unforgiving no matter how many medications he’d tried, because the answer lay in the arms of his dead soulmate and not in cheap melatonin gummies. He debates for a brief second before settling down on the grass, cringing as his jeans get soaked, but it’s closer to Soobin than a chair would be, so he only complains in jest.

“I might have to borrow your pants for work tomorrow, hyung. I hope you don’t mind,” he whispers.

His words are carried by the late autumn breeze, and he shivers. Birds chirp from the trees, stragglers that haven’t migrated yet for the winter and he listens to them for a moment. The clouds were beginning to break apart, streaks of pale lights barely visible as he leans back against the stone. It’s not the most comfortable, and he knows his back will ache tomorrow morning, but it’s comforting. If he closes his eyes and imagines hard enough, he can feel his hyung’s arms, warm around his shoulders, can still hear his voice amidst the rustle of leaves. The world was rotting around him, but the sun was rising, casting a distant warmth against his cheeks, and the smell of lavender was staining his lungs. He gingerly clears off the curling leaves until the patch of damp grass is clear before arranging the flowers in his palm around the stone.

The cool tones of lavender contrast against the warm hues of autumn and it makes for an entirely pretty sight. Beomgyu had asked, many years ago, why lavender, of all flowers, to which Soobin shrugged.

“It was eomma’s favorite, so I guess I naturally started to like it too. It smells like home.”

From that point on, their shared apartment was always filled with the scent, and Beomgyu had done his research, had tried growing his own many times over, but his thumb was about as green as the summer sky, and eventually he’d given up. Store bought had done the trick well enough. It wasn’t exactly the most cost effective option, considering the two of them were living in the heart of Seoul, and could barely cover the expenses of staying alive and tuition, but it made Soobin smile every time. And without Beomgyu realizing it, the scent of lavender had become home for him too.

Not all soulmates have a happy ending. It was an indisputable fact of the universe, much like the fact that not everyone was even lucky to get one in the first place. Soulmates were rare, and to have them be united was extraordinary. The odds were already so slim, so skewed, that no one really entertained the idea of not meeting their soulmate, or, worse, having that precious bond severed. Everyone thought they would be the lucky few, exempt from such a tragic fate. Was it presumptuous? Perhaps. But Beomgyu couldn’t really begrudge the naivety, after all…he had been the same.

He didn’t see the signs, didn’t pay attention to the way his other half was drowning. The two of them had been happy, he was sure of it, but love can make you blind to the grandest of things, and now Beomgyu was paying the price. The snap of the red string had left him on the edge himself, and now he was a survivor with a pack of cigarettes as a constant weight in his back pocket and a crappy job managing a coffee shop in the heart of Seoul.

His hair had grown longer, teasing his shoulders and constantly hanging over his eyes, which boasted dark circles to rival any poor college student that came into his shop. Losing a soulmate was more than just a snap of thread, but something more viscerally altering, as if his very soul had been ripped in half, and now there was a jagged hole in the space where his heart used to be. Time was a flimsy balm people liked to believe in, if nothing else than for the sheer placebo effect of it. The doctors and therapists weren’t helpful, sweeping his grief under a rug of medications and other treatments that never really got rid of the pain. Just numbed it somewhat.

Breathing exercises, a therapist suggested, with the same detached, clinical tone of every other psychologist. Beomgyu had scoffed, rolled his eyes for good measure. Breathing was the only thing he could do, one labored inhale after another, in the middle of the night, when his bed was too empty, too wide, just like the rest of the apartment.

Some days he was angry that Soobin had taken so much from him, and was able to shove aside his own guilt for righteous fury. Some days he breathes out of spite, not desperation, but each lungful burns just the same.

“It’s all part of the grieving process.”

It’s a blatant lie, he knows, but he nods and plays along. Signs the bill with a bitter taste in his mouth. Did the grieving process really involve his entire life crumbling around him? Was this going to be his normal forever? A carousel of loss after loss after loss?

He’d been dropped from his program, a forced “break” for his mental health that the program director assured him was for his benefit and that it would only be temporary. The office where Beomgyu sat felt so cold, despite the sun streaking through the perfectly polished windows behind the director. It was the end of his first year of his masters, he’d barely survived through the winter semester. And for all his struggles, his grades were horrendous, his attendance in shambles, and his cohort more of a gaggle of distant strangers than close colleagues. The conversation lasted merely a few minutes, with little regard to how Beomgyu was actually doing, and more so to deliver the news with as little tact as possible. The proverbial hammer had come down then, quick and clean and final.

“You’re more than welcome to join the cohort once you’re in a more… stable place.”

It had been almost two years since then, and Beomgyu had never once turned back.

Still, there were worse places to be, he muses as he walks to the coffee shop he manages, a local place that the owner had gotten too old to manage by himself. He handed management over to Beomgyu after a few months of his employment. It made better money than just the average worker, and though most of the part timers were students, meaning they came and went with the semesters, Beomgyu was lucky enough to have Huening Kai as a junior. He’d been working for a full year now, had even stuck around during the summer to save up extra funds for his own place. The kid was as sweet as they come, and somehow he’d managed to settle somewhere near Beomgyu’s heart, plushie obsession and all.

He’d managed to weasel the story out of Beomgyu at some point, when the two of them were too high strung on espresso shots and the general frustrations of the closing shift. Kai was only a third year uni student, but talking to him had lifted something off Beomgyu’s chest that no licensed therapist had been able to.

“You’re late hyung,” Kai’s voice greets him as soon as he walks through the cafe doors, bell chiming as the door swings. The yellow lights of the cafe were soothing, and the lingering smell of ground coffee beans filled his lungs. Kai’s backpack was thrown on the counter, and the boy in question was busy digging out his laptop to charge.

“Good morning to you too, Kai-yah,” he ruffles the younger boy’s hair as he passes by. The locks are blue, recently dyed and matching surprisingly well with the muted green sweater he was wearing.

“Good morning, hyung,” Kai huffs, plugging in his laptop and flicking it open. “We’re supposed to open in like fifteen minutes, by the way.”

“I know, I work here.”

He puts up his hair in an old claw clip and trades his coat for a worn gray apron, his name tag half falling on but he doesn’t really bother to fix it. Most regulars know him by now, and no one really cares enough to talk for more than a few passing seconds before they grab their coffee and leave. Kai was the easier to talk to of the two of them, which is why Beomgyu stuck to actually making the drinks and packing pastries they get from a local bakery than working the register. It’s not that Beomgyu thinks he’s terribly unapproachable (Kai would disagree to a certain extent), it’s just that it typically went over better with patrons when they interacted with Kai first thing in the morning instead of him. To Beomgyu’s own credit, at least he’s more pleasant after his smoke break.

After two years of running the coffee shop, he could basically perform his opening duties in his sleep, and thankfully last night’s closing shift did their job well enough that he was able to get the place ready without any hiccups.

“You could help, you know,” he mutters without any real bite as he passes Kai, checking over everything once last time before he goes to flick the sign at the door.

“I have an assignment due in four minutes,” Kai says without looking up, “besides, I already did my job.”

“How on earth are you planning on finishing an assignment in four minutes?”

“Ye of little faith,” Kai tsks as Beomgyu rejoins him behind the counter, the sound of aggressive typing underlying the younger boy’s words. Beomgyu shakes his head. It wasn’t like he had much room to talk, he’d been a university student himself after all, but sometimes the lengths that Kai went through just to procrastinate left him just a little concerned. Mostly impressed–but still, concerned.

Their conversation stalls when the morning rush hits, and Beomgyu loses himself in the familiar rhythm of creating various beverages, the sound of students milling around the counter and the occasional cold draft as people walk in settling around him. It’s not the most glamorous job, but the constant din of patrons helps drown out thoughts he’d rather not have at all, and for a little while he can take comfort in something relatively mindless after countless hours of experience. But of course, no reprieve lasts forever, as if the universe delights in waiting until he’s found some semblance of equilibrium before destroying it once again.

Yeonjun’s return is unexpected, but not necessarily unwelcome. The fall semester was drawing to a close, with only a few straggling leaves still clinging desperately to cold, barren branches, and any day, there’s going to be snow. Despite the incoming cold, Beomgyu wonders if Yeonjun’s presence is a sign that the world is healing, trying to piece itself back together as much as it can, though inevitably it will never be whole again.

Still, Beomgyu clings to the promise of seeing his cousin again, doesn’t even complain when he has to get up at the ass crack of dawn to drive down to the airport to pick the older boy up. He arrives a good half hour before Yeonjun’s plane is set to land, which is just enough time for a quick smoke in his old car. The sunrise is admittedly gorgeous, a rarer sight nowadays with the perpetual grey that stretches across the sky, and the golden hues that kiss his cheek are calming as he rolls down the window to let the smoke out. It’s a perfect opportunity to reminisce, and he lets his memories play out, trapped in the hazy past. It’s been so long since he’s seen Yeonjun, the last time being the funeral, two years ago. He recalls the older boy’s ashen face, the red rimmed eyes as he held Beomgyu, the utter pain in his gaze as he tells him that he can’t stay, that he has to go back overseas for his job or he might lose it.

“I’m so sorry, Gyu. I would stay here if I could–”

“Why don’t you?” Beomgyu demanded, chest heaving. They were in Beomgyu and Soobin’s apartment, a scatter of torn papers across the floor from his earlier fit. Yeonjun had leaned down to pick a page off the floor, face twisted as he stared at it.

“Why did you tear up your work, Gyu-yah?” he asked instead, softly, avoiding the younger’s gaze. Beomgyu’s breaths stutter. It was the night before his cousin was set to leave, his bags by the door and the moonlight witnessing their last moments. The conversation is exhaustingly familiar by now, and with the clock ticking, he wasn’t above begging, but Yeonjun wasn’t budging and the anxiety was threatening to choke Beomgyu.

“Answer me, hyung.”

“I’m sorry. I…I can’t. You knew I would have to go back.”

Beomgyu wants to scream, but he crumples, no different from the pieces of paper around him, and Yeonjun is there, strong arms holding him in the middle of his living room. Citrus and vanilla fills his lungs, blocking out the lavender scent of the apartment, and he breathes it in desperately, a brief reprieve that he selfishly wants to last forever. But Yeonjun is leaving, and he’s left to pick up the pieces.

His phone pings, drawing him from his thoughts, and he looks down to see his cousin’s name across the cracked screen, a single message peering up at him. Beomgyu stares at it for a while, waiting for something in his chest to ignite, to feel any sort of excitement, maybe even anger, but it’s all muted underneath the overwhelming nostalgia that squeezes around his heart. Every part of him is numb, and he goes through the motions of putting out his cigarette mechanically, walks through the doors of the airport and waits.

Yeonjun looks good, as much as he’s loath to admit it, the States have done his cousin justice. Even with his faded blonde hair and hoodie zip up, the older boy manages to look like a model as he makes his way through the crowds. His tan skin is glowing healthily, out of place in the dreary autumn, but Yeonjun tended to have that effect regardless. Even when they were younger, the older boy was a magnet, a charmer, with sly, feline eyes and the ability to mesh seamlessly into whatever environment he was placed in, yet somehow still stand out. He was their scapegoat, when Soobin was too shy to ask for an additional napkin at the ice cream shop or if Beomgyu was close to getting in trouble with another kid on the playground because it was his turn to use the swings.

Many times it left Beomgyu envious, but a side effect of growing up together meant that that envy had turned into respect, an admiration for the way his hyung could conquer whatever challenges came his way. But distance made the heart grow colder, and Beomgyu found that jealousy reawakened upon Yeonjun’s return, try as he might to squash it. It nips at him even as he wraps his arms around his cousin, breathes in the familiar scent of lemon tinged vanilla that mingles surprisingly well with the smell of smoke and tries to keep his tears from staining Yeonjun’s stupid leather jacket. It’s dizzying, along with the sense of nostalgia that overcomes him, tinged with safety as much as it’s stained with grief, and it’s as intoxicating as the nicotine he breathes in everyday. But he pushes it all to the back of his mind, focuses on Yeonjun’s voice, telling him how much he’s missed him, asking for the millionth time if it’s really okay for him to stay with Beomgyu, and if they can pick up coffee on the way because he’s going to die if he doesn’t get an Americano within the next hour.

When Beomgyu opens his eyes, he sees a boy standing close to them, silver hair framing the widest eyes he’s ever seen that seem to pierce right through him. He shudders as he draws back from Yeonjun to ask about him.

“Oh right, this is Taehyun, he’s the kid I’ve been telling you about.”

“I’m only four years younger than you, hyung,” Taehyun raises an eyebrow, but he turns to Beomgyu with a smile.

It happens comically slow, the way the smile is wiped off the younger boy's face once his eyes land on the hand Beomgyu still has on Yeonjun’s arm. Belatedly, Beomgyu realizes what he’s staring at, and snatches back his hand, stuffing it into his pocket before his brain puts the pieces together.

In his defense, he doesn’t assume the average person is able to see the strings, seeing how rare the whole phenomenon was, but that didn’t mean the chances of running into another person with a soulmate was zero. Of course, with Beomgyu’s shitty luck, maybe he should have expected something like to happen. His face heats up without his permission, but he glares back at Taehyun, until his own gaze lands on the other’s hand, and everything stops for a moment as the breath freezes in his lungs.

Because not only did Taehyun have a soulmate string himself, but it was just as frayed and dull as Beomgyu’s own.

“Are you two okay?”

Yeonjun’s voice jolts him out of the impromptu staring contest, but before he could open his mouth, Taehyun is talking, a warning underlying his tone as he brushes off the older boy’s concern.

“Everything’s fine, hyung, I think I’m just tired from the plane ride.”

His cousin doesn’t look entirely convinced, but Beomgyu doesn’t give him a chance to dwell on it as he tells them that they should hurry to the car before he gets ticketed. It’s a lie, he’s not stupid enough to chance his only form of transportation, but it works to get Yeonjun moving. Taehyun eyes him warily, but there’s a flicker of gratitude in his brown eyes and Beomgyu files it all away for later, even if he’s bursting with questions. If Taehyun doesn’t want to say anything, then Beomgyu won’t either. He wonders instead if Yeonjun knows that he’s somehow found himself befriending two very, very, unlucky people.

The car ride from the airport is thankfully only slightly tense, though his grip is still knuckle white on the wheel as Taehyun gives him directions towards his apartment. He’s filled in on Taehyun’s own life courtesy of Yeonjun’s non stop caffeine induced chatter, the only thing left of his Americano is half-melted ice.

Despite the buzz of his own thoughts in his ears, Beomgyu learns that Taehyun had been studying abroad that summer, had signed up for one of Yeonjun’s dance classes on a whim, and the two became close friends pretty quick. He nods when appropriate, asks questions to not seem rude, to which Taehyun answers occasionally, their eyes meeting in the rearview mirror a little too often to be entirely comfortable. He feels oddly exposed.

He’s surprised when Taehyun’s apartment isn’t actually too far away from his, but he says nothing as Yeonjun leans out the window to bid the younger boy goodbye. The two watch Taehyun disappear into the building before Beomgyu pulls back onto the road.

“So?”

He looks over at Yeonjun who’s eyebrows are raised pointedly.

“So…what, hyung?”

“What did you think of Taehyunnie?”

“He seems nice,” he chooses his words carefully, keeps his voice neutral even though he wants nothing more than to ask about the younger boy’s severed string, wondering if his story is similar to Beomgyu’s or if it was an entirely different heartbreak. But he knows, too, more than anyone, that these kinds of wounds are best kept private, so he bites the inside of his cheek and drums his fingers clumsily along the steering wheel as Yeonjun fiddles with his crappy radio.

It’s nearly lunchtime by the time they pull into the parking lot of Beomgyu’s apartment and the two of them sit for a moment in silence after Beomgyu turns off the car. It’s Yeonjun who breaks the silence, ever the braver one of the two of them.

“How have you been, Gyu?”

The nickname leaves him aching, and he doesn’t realize how much he’s missed it, how isolated he’s been the last two years—it’s no one’s fault but his own, but his loneliness doesn’t care about the cause.

“Fine, hyung.”

“Bullshit.”

The vehemence in Yeonjun’s voice makes his head snap to the side.

“What?”

“You’ve been smoking, haven’t you? I can smell it all over your jacket.”

Beomgyu groans, letting his forehead rest on the wheel as he mutters, “Hyung, don’t do this right now. You just got back and I had to get up at four in the fucking morning to come pick you up, so can you at least wait until I take a nap to yell at me?”

He hears his cousin sigh, and Beomgyu smells coffee on his breath.

“I’m sorry, Gyu I just…I can tell you’re not happy. I thought…”

“You thought I’d move on, didn’t you?” his voice is quiet, but sharp, and he can’t help the bitterness in his tone. “Sorry to disappoint, then.”

He sees Yeonjun’s stricken gaze in the corner of his vision as his cousin reaches out.

“Beoms, hey, no, you know that’s not what I meant–”

Beomgyu shrugs off the older boy’s hand, his whole body trembling as his head swims.

“I’ll grab your bags.”

He doesn’t give Yeonjun the chance to say much else before he’s shoving his way out of the car. He knows he’s being mean, that he should apologize, but a small part of him relishes it, his heart singing to Yeonjun’s hurt even as his brain screams at him to shut up. He’d have this battle with himself many times in the coming weeks, his heart lashing out while his mind begs for him to move on, his soul unable to decide if Yeonjun’s presence is a balm or a bullet.

That was the thing about grief, though, he supposes. It splits you apart until your heart and brain are two estranged entities, orbiting each other instead of working seamlessly in tandem. His past has left him broken, yes, but it also left him incredibly selfish, his jagged edges drawing blood whether he wanted them to or not. So was it truly fair to pin the blame on Yeonjun, when his hands are just as sullied with his inflictions?

He’d all but abandoned his family, barely calling for holidays and birthdays, had ignored the list of contacts in his phone until eventually even his closest friends have given up hope of reaching him. He’d built his prison with his own hands, a justified punishment, and as a result he’d grown accustomed to it, the bars familiar underneath his palms, all but fusing with his skin.

But Yeonjun…Yeonjun wanted him to leave, was waving a key at him, begging him to take it. And Beomgyu is a coward, turning away again and again and again.

Despite the initial tension, the two of them manage to settle eventually. It’s a little rough–Beomgyu isn’t used to his apartment being shared after so long, and the additional mattress he’s dragged into his room barely fits but it’s better than facing the empty room across from his.

Beomgyu watches his cousin take in the apartment, eyes snatching on the dried, flakey lavender, gaze softening as it lands back on him.

“Everything is still the same.” He says after a moment and Beomgyu hums a little, doesn’t know how to tell Yeonjun that everything’s changed, so he busies himself with dragging one of the suitcases from the door.

“Beomgyu.”

He looks up, sees something that looks suspiciously like pity in his hyung’s face.

“We’re okay right?”

He can tell it’s not what Yeonjun wanted to say, but he nods anyway, takes the easy way out because quite frankly it’s all he has the energy for.

“Yeah, hyung. We’re okay.”

Yeonjun doesn’t argue when Beomgyu tells him to take the bed, still wary from their earlier spat in the car even as Beomgyu offers to wake him up for dinner.

“Why don’t we all go out for dinner tonight? To that barbecue place you like so much.” Yeonjun speaks in a rush as Beomgyu is closing the door, and the younger boy pauses, sticks his head back into the room as he raises an eyebrow.

“We all?” He echoes.

Yeonjun nods, “You, me, Taehyunnie—I bet the kid doesn’t have anything in his fridge right now. Besides, I’ve been deprived of good food for too long.”

Beomgyu’s stomach twists, and though he wants nothing more than to decline, he hears the hope in Yeonjun’s voice. He sighs.

“Fine. But you’re paying.”

The answering grin is infectious, and despite himself, the corners of his mouth twitch up too.

Later that evening, the two of them find themselves waiting in a booth, the older typing away furiously at his phone, no doubt urging Taehyun to hurry up and Beomgyu looks on in amusement.

“He’s asking if his roommate can come.”

“It’s your bill, hyung,” he shrugs.

“How generous,” Yeonjun rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, and it’s easier between them, now that they’ve both rested. The smell of grilled meat reminds Beomgyu that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast the day before and in spite of strange company, he’s actually looking forward to the food. He doesn’t eat out much anymore, he doesn’t have the financial capacity to do so, but he didn’t realize how much he’s missed it.

“They’re on their way,” Yeonjun sets the phone down, crosses his arms and leans forward, “so, tell me, what’s been happening over here lately?”

“Nothing much,” Beomgyu fiddles with a napkin, “cafe’s fine, bills are being paid, life goes on, right?”

“..right but..isn’t there anything else?” Yeonjun hedges carefully.

Beomgyu narrows his eyes, “Like what?”

“Have you written anything? What about busking? You used to love it.”

“I don’t do that anymore, hyung.”

“Why not? I’ve heard you, you’re amazing Gyu. You could even start a channel or something, start growing your audience, get back into things.”

“It’s not that easy,” Beomgyu wilts underneath Yeonjun’s excitement for him, “I just…it’s not for me, anymore. That’s all.”

“But—“

“Sorry we’re late, hyung.”

Taehyun’s face comes into view and behind him is a telltale mop of blue hair that has Beomgyu choking in surprise.

“Kai?”

“Hyung?”

“You two know each other?” Yeonjun looks between them and Beomgyu can’t help but laugh.

“Kai’s my part-timer.”

“Small world,” Taehyun murmurs as he sits next to Yeonjun, leaving Kai to squeeze next to Beomgyu.

“Is that all I am to you hyung? I thought we were friends,” the blue haired boy pouts and Beomgyu pokes his shoulder, suddenly glad he’s here. There’s a lull in their conversation as they order, before Kai excitedly launches into a barrage of questions. Their food comes and they all dig in, their hunger triumphing further curiosity until the last bit of meat is gone and the side dishes are cleared. They steer away from any heavy topics, opting for casual banter that Beomgyu finds himself enjoying a lot more than anticipated. It’s almost easy, once the alcohol hits his system, to avoid looking at Taehyun’s hand, to pretend like his own doesn’t look the same. It’s…nice. He even finds himself a little sad once the night inevitably draws to a close.

“We have opening shift tomorrow and I have to finish up a couple things to submit before finals start.” Kai whines as they stall in front of the shop, scarves and coats all adorned to stave off the cold night air. “I can’t believe you’re already finished, hyung, it’s not fair.”

Taehyun laughs, and the sound catches Beomgyu off guard, soft and sweet as it rings through the cold air.

“Well it wasn’t fun, but trying to book a flight once the holidays start is a nightmare.”

Yeonjun shudders next to him, “Tell me about it. I hate booking flights, and packing, and flying as a whole concept, actually.”

The rest of the conversation is lost to him as he watches Taehyun, cheeks and nose tinted pink from the cold as the street lights play on the planes of his face. With a pang in his chest, he’s reminded of Soobin, of the way his nose would become so pink, it would make him look even more like a bunny. He tears his gaze away, nudging Yeonjun to leave.

That night, when his cousin’s breaths even out and he’s left staring up at the ceiling, he’ll trace back over Taehyun’s face in his mind, until his thoughts settle on that damn string.

He doesn’t know if it’s exactly fair, to build this deep but one-sided sense of camaraderie with a stranger—because as much as Yeonjun’s talked his ears off about Taehyun and no matter how similar their fates may be, Taehyun is still an puzzle Beomgyu knows only a few pieces of. The younger had been mostly quiet at dinner, playing into Yeonjun’s jokes with expertise and nudging cuts of meat he knows Kai likes subtly in his direction, but never really drawing attention to himself. It was somehow endearing, reminiscent of Soobin’s—

He squeezes his eyes shut, nips the thought as soon as it comes but it still leaves a hot trail of shame and longing through him, burning his eyes.

God, he really was pathetic.

He doesn’t know how it becomes a habit, the four of them hanging out together, but Beomgyu can’t say he minds it all too much. Every few days Yeonjun (and Kai…but mostly Yeonjun) would drag them out for something or other. Whether to grab street food and wander around aimlessly for an hour or to bully a set of children off of a swing set, it was nice to have something to look forward to. At the very least, he’s not spending as much time sulking in his apartment.

Final’s season draws to a close, and the city quiets as the first snowfalls draw a white blanket over everything. The cafe isn’t quite as full, since most students are heading back to their respective homes for the upcoming break, and Beomgyu lets Kai rope him into decorating the windows when there’s a lull between patrons. Beomgyu loves it all, spends his time watching the snowflakes drift reverently towards the ground every time he takes a smoke break behind the cafe.

His thoughts aren’t as devastatingly loud either, and whether that’s due entirely to the change in seasons or the group outings he’s always forced into, he’s not sure. He learns more about Taehyun, and to his surprise, about Kai as well, who’s taken a particular liking to Yeonjun that Beomgyu has definitely noticed (and definitely teased the poor boy about at work). Even Yeonjun, who he’s known since they were children, has something new to share, and each story he tells about his time abroad leaves Beomgyu more melancholic.

He tells Soobin about it all, of course, sitting on the cold frozen ground at the end of that first week after Yeonjun’s return. His teeth chatter through most of his recounts, and the heat pack is anything but helpful in his grip, but he stays until he runs out of things to say and his nose is all but ready to fall off.

“You’d have loved them, hyung.” he traces a hand through the powdery snow atop the grave, “Kai especially…I’ve never seen him so excited. I think it’s because he has a crush on Yeonjun-hyung though, because I don’t remember hyung ever being that funny,” he rolls his eyes, but a smile plays on his lips.

“And before you ask, Yeonjun-hyung is fine too…he’s a pain in my ass, but he pays for dinner, so I guess it’s okay. He says he’ll come and visit soon…when he’s ready.” He bites his lip, hesitates a little before he treads on. “Taehyun has a soulmate too–or I guess had. His string is broken though, just like mine.” He looks down at his hand, though it’s covered in a glove, he’s memorized every little fraying detail of the string around his pinky, he could picture it clearly, “I kind of want to ask him about it, but that would be rude, right? He hasn’t asked about mine…I don’t think.”

Beomgyu frowns as a thought occurs to him. “You don’t think Yeonjun-hyung already told him right? He wouldn’t do that.”

Soobin, of course, doesn’t answer. Beomgyu sighs, breath curling in the air before he places the flowers gently amidst the snow. It’s chrysanthemums this time, like a stolen drop of sunlight, not too unlike his soulmate, a snatch of warmth in Beomgyu’s life that was taken away too soon.

The comparison leaves him halfway between laughter and tears, and he tells himself that he should stop reading Soobin’s cheesy novels and thumbing through his annotated classics as he walks back to his car. The clouds block the sunrise as he drives, and when he enters the cafe, Kai doesn’t mention the puffiness of his face or the red around his eyes that lingers even after a warm cup of coffee and enough time indoors.

“I’m thinking about visiting my parents.”

Yeonjun is sitting across from him, a hot Americano between his palms as he joins Beomgyu on his lunch break. They’d stayed indoors this time, courtesy of the ridiculous wind chill and Yeonjun’s insistence.

Beomgyu takes a long sip from his latte, a new concoction Kai had been messing around with before he answers.

“You should, hyung. They probably miss you.”

“You brat, what do you mean ‘probably’, huh?”

Beomgyu shrugs, biting back a grin.

“I’m kidding, don’t be a baby.”

Yeonjun sticks his tongue out at him before his mood sombers.

“You should visit too.”

“Your parents?” Beomgyu plays dumb, lifting up his drink to hide his face.

“No, idiot. I mean you should go visit your parents. I know they haven’t seen you in a while.”

“What, were you keeping tabs on me while you were abroad, hyung?” He tries to keep his voice light, but it comes out harsher than expected. Yeonjun doesn’t flinch, brows pinched as he speaks.

“No, but they always ask me about you.”

He freezes. “What?”

“They know it’s almost impossible to reach you,” his cousin takes a sip, eyes never leaving Beomgyu’s face, “so they had no choice but to reach out to me. I’m on the other end of the world and yet somehow I still was the only option instead of their actual son.”

Yeonjun doesn’t raise his voice, he almost never does really, but sometimes Beomgyu wishes he did so that he could have a better excuse to lash out. But his cousin is the epitome of calm, voice even and final as he pins Beomgyu with his gaze.

Beomgyu looks away, picking at the cardboard around his drink as he turns over Yeonjun’s words.

“When are you leaving?” He says after a moment, still not meeting his cousin’s gaze.

“Gyu…”

“Drop it, hyung. Please.”

His voice wavers at the end, and he hears Yeonjun let out a long sigh.

“I’m leaving in two days. I think the same as Kai, we’ll be taking the train together since we’re heading in the same direction.”

It’s an obvious out, but Beomgyu takes what he can get.

“You two have been getting pretty close, huh?

There’s a light blush across Yeonjun’s cheeks, but the older boy smiles a little. Beomgyu is happy for him, he is, but his stomach still twists and he focuses on his drink before the bitterness reaches his face. The two days pass too quickly and the night before the four of them decide to gather in Taehyun and Kai’s apartment for a sleepover-turned-send-off. The train is set to leave early in the morning, so the four of them cram onto the poor loveseat in the living room, Beomgyu on one end and Taehyun on the other with Yeonjun and Kai squished in the middle, empty takeout containers and wrappers littering the crooked wooden coffee table.

Kai has an anime playing on the TV, leaning into Yeonjun’s space and chatting a mile a minute about the plot though it’s clear that none of it is registering in the older’s head, if the lovesick smile on his face is any indication.

Beomgyu meets Taehyun’s gaze, taking in the cozy look of the younger as they exchange amused smiles. He’s wearing a plain t-shirt with the name of a band Beomgyu’s never heard of on the front and a well worn pair of jeans, a few simple chains adorning his neck that compliment his silver hair nicely.

It’s funny how the days used to blur together, sunsets and sunrises indecipherable, but now it’s like time has decided to slow down. Every encounter with the four of them marking a new milestone, another chance for Beomgyu’s heart to do those traitorous little flips inside his chest. It happened in the blink of an eye yet it feels like forever since the four of them have come together like this. The collection of photos in his phone has grown for the first time in two years, and he’s part of a group chat of all things. It was hard at first, keeping up with the barrage of messages (and on Yeonjun’s part, a new photo of a cat every day) but now he finds himself checking his phone religiously. There’s still the pain that lingers, the reminders that slip into his mind like poison once the messages inevitably stop for the night, but Soobin’s absence no longer feels as haunting.

He doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing—sometimes it freaks him out, when it hits him that a few days have gone by where he only thinks of his soulmate in passing, when his thoughts are busy with another boy. He doesn’t know what to do with this guilt, so he shoves it down, like he’s always done, lets the lines blur between life and death, between Choi Soobin and Kang Taehyun, until he convinces his heart that they are not two separate entities.

In his mind the only difference really was a piece of invisible string, one burning blood red behind his eyelids and another devoid of any color entirely–sickly, and yet…still as enticing.

They haven’t talked about it still, the glaring similarity between the two of them. There hasn’t really been an opportunity, with his cousin and Kai’s constant presence as a buffer, and the friendship was still a little too new for Beomgyu to brave a private message with the younger boy. It’s a weak set of excuses, and eventually, the universe sees right through his bullshit, because between one blink and the next, Yeonjun and Kai have gone to bed, will be leaving in a few hours, meaning that Taehyun and Beomgyu will be left alone. For the first time.

He’s not nervous about that, he tells himself as he busies his hands with tidying the apartment with Taehyun, the only thing between them the flickering of artificial colors from the TV, muted but still playing, and the crinkle of plastic. Silences with Taehyun, though an often occurrence, were not unwelcome. There was something grounding about the other boy, a calming and frank aura that draws Beomgyu closer against his will. They work in tandem for a few moments before Beomgyu finds the nerve to break through the quiet. His heart pounds too loudly, and he prays that the other boy doesn’t hear.

“Aren’t you heading back for the holidays, Taehyun-ah?”

Taehyun pauses, a pile of empty cans in his grip, “I would need a place to go back to in the first place, hyung.”

The answer catches him off guard, and he stutters a little.

“Oh I didn’t know–”

“It’s alright, hyung.” The younger boy tilts his head, eyes softening a little, “I don’t talk about it, so you wouldn’t have known. I don’t really have the best relationship with my parents…it’s better for everyone if we stick to greeting cards,” a wry smile, tinged with too many emotions for Beomgyu to parse through.

His heart aches nonetheless, and his hands twitch with the unfamiliar urge to pull the younger boy closer.

“What about you?”

“What?”

Taehyun frowns a little, “Aren’t you going home?”

“No I…” can’t doesn’t quite cover it, but won’t is an admission he’s not ready to face just yet. His lips tremble, unable to settle on an answer that doesn’t expose him too much yet still plays with the truth enough that he’s not lying to Taehyun’s face. He doesn’t know why it matters, why Taehyun’s impression of him without the buffer of the rest of their friends is important all of a sudden.

“I understand,” Taehyun says softly, and Beomgyu blinks because the other boy is too close, a palm on his arm, steadying.

“Oh,” he breathes, caught in the other’s gaze like a fish out of water before he catches himself as his cheeks burn and he looks away while he clears his throat. “Yeah.”

The silence stretches on too long, then the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, before he can even decide why they come unbidden in the first place anyway.

“At least we have each other then.”

He tries to play it off, tries to pretend like his heart isn’t in his throat as he faces Taehyun’s big eyes again.

The smile he receives might as well have been a death sentence, heart seizing as his mind screams traitor traitor traitor at him. Suddenly the apartment is too small, too cramped to handle the whirlwind threatening to tear him from the inside out.

“Yeah…at least we do,” Taehyun whispers, his gaze flickering down to Beomgyu’s hand.

That night, Beomgyu’s entire body feels numb–he’s floating, circling around the magnet that was Kang Taehyun. The living room is clean at some point, he’s not really sure when the two of them started moving again, breaking apart only to exchange fleeting glances that neither is brave enough to let linger. The questions are burning his tongue, and Beomgyu lets himself imagine asking them for a second, plastic tupperware crinkling underneath his clumsy fingers.

There’s a reason they claim that patience is a virtue, though at this point in his life Beomgyu isn’t a believer in virtues—if they truly existed in this world then shouldn’t Soobin be here with him right now? Shouldn’t he be shutting down any thoughts of the other boy? But he can’t no matter what he does, and it makes him feel sick. Perhaps it’s why karma comes back to bite him in the ass once he realizes that Yeonjun and Kai have paired off together in Kai’s room which leaves…which leaves the two of them to stare at each other across from Taehyun’s bed. Beomgyu curses his cousin for convincing him to not bring an additional sleeping bag.

“I can take the couch,” Taehyun offers immediately, drawing Beomgyu’s gaze from the bed. It’s a dark night, the only lights offered through artificial city lights from below, but still, somehow, the younger boy’s eyes shimmer, a smattering of stars all on their own.

“I’m not kicking you off your own bed, I can take it.”

“Hyung that couch is horrible and you’re my guest, I’m not letting you take it,” Taehyun crosses his arms, and the action is so reminiscent of Soobin’s own pouts that it elicits a startled laugh from him.

“But I’m older so you have to listen to me, Taehyun-ah.”

That gives the other a pause, and he can almost see the gears turning in Taehyun’s brain, and he would have smiled if the words that come next don’t send him into cardiac arrest.

“Then we compromise. We can share the bed.” Taehyun’s face betrays no hint of humor, voice steady and plain, like he didn’t just set Beomgyu on fire.

“Fine,” he forces out through a tight throat, prays that his hands stop trembling–this is fine. They were friends, weren’t they? This didn’t…this didn’t mean a single damn thing. It shouldn’t.

So why did he want it to?

The bed isn’t all that big, but they somehow manage to leave a few inches between them, back to back and Beomgyu feels like every nerve is alight, hyper aware of every single breath Taehyun takes in, his own coming out shallow and too quick. He tries to stay quiet, but he should have known it was a futile attempt because Taehyun’s soft voice is filling in the space between them.

“Hyung…I can leave if you’re uncomfortable.”

It takes a few tries before his voice is working, “No it’s not that. It’s not you.”

It’s me and my stupid tattered heart that can’t decide what it wants anymore.

There’s the sound of shuffling, the bed dipping with Taehyun’s movements before the younger boy speaks again, still soft, but this time there’s a hint of a command in his words, gentle yet authoritative.

“Look at me.”

It’s impossible to ignore the voice, as much as Beomgyu wants to, and he finds himself looking up into Taehyun’s eyes, the younger propped up on one elbow, silver hair cascading like threads of moonlight. Beomgyu wonders if he runs his fingers through them would his hands come away, skin stained silver?

Taehyun’s touch is feather soft, nimble fingers gently moving the stray strands from Beomgyu’s face. The string glows softly, hanging from the boy’s pinky and Beomgyu’s eyes are inexplicably drawn to it–he’s never seen it up close like this. It fascinates him, despite knowing his own doesn’t look that much different. Still there’s a few details that leave him more curious than before: Taehyun’s string is duller, somehow, and while the end of Beomgyu’s string looks faded from the careful erosion of time, Taehyun’s end is splitting, uneven and fraying, like someone had taken a blunt knife to it.

“What happened to your soulmate, Taehyun-ah?” he whispers, not taking his eyes off the string.

A hitch of a breath, and Beomgyu is afraid to look when the boy speaks.

“Nothing happened to them, hyung.”

At that, confusion finally allows him to look up, “What do you mean?”

Taehyun presses his lips together, eyes wide but unreadable as ever, and surprisingly Beomgyu feels a flicker of irritation in his chest.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“Because you might not like the answer, hyung.” Taehyun removes his hand, fingers curling into a fist.

Beomgyu frowns, “But–”

“Would you tell me about yours?” Taehyun cuts him off, challenge underlying his words.

Would he?

Beomgyu doesn’t know if that’s the right question…could he would be a better one. Could he tell Taehyun about Soobin? Could he talk about all the little tells the older had, the details that had Beomgyu falling deeper and deeper every day, from the dimpled cheeks to the kindness that never ended, always extended for Beomgyu even when he didn’t deserve it? Could he admit, out loud, after so long, that although Soobin had given him everything, Beomgyu was a selfish asshole who couldn’t do the same? That he was the reason Soobin had found solace in death rather than in his arms?

His hesitance makes Taehyun smile wryly, the action not reaching his eyes.

“We’re not too different, huh?”

“I suppose not.” Beomgyu admits, voice hushed.

Taehyun lays down again, cheek pressing into the pillow, but his eyes never leave Beomgyu’s.

“I think I want to like you, hyung.”

The blood freezes in his veins, and his heart struggles to pump through the ice as he stares. His lips part, but no words come out, nothing seemingly enough to capture the mess of thoughts that slam into him.

“I…”

Taehyun shakes his head a little, “Don’t…I know you’re not ready, hyung. If I’m being honest, I don’t think I am either. But that’s just the thing,” he exhales shakily, “how long are we going to let these strings define us? How much more suffering for something most people will never see, let alone understand?”

His eyes burn as the words burrow into his skin, sharp and precise, cutting all the way down to his bones until he has no hope of ignoring them.

“I don’t know, Taehyun-ah,” his voice breaks, “does grief ever have an ending? Is that even something you can let go of?”

Taehyun hums, short and soft.

“I don’t think you have to let it go completely but…I think you have to allow yourself to move on, to experience something else.”

What a strange concept. To live without grief at the steering wheel…could he do it? It’s an enticing theory, one he hasn’t really given himself much permission to examine or test. But Taehyun seems convinced enough, and he wouldn’t lie to Beomgyu, right? Beomgyu didn’t know too much about the logistics of the whole soulmate thing, what exactly made up these strings and what went into deciding who will end up with what person; in any case, he’d always assumed it was a lucky, wonderful gift, a special love letter from the universe bestowed upon a select few. He had no way of knowing how much it would kill him to have it taken away, though, a drug given without consent, really.

“Do you really think that’s possible?”

It sounds childish, coming out of his mouth, voice trembling with the weight of his terror, but Taehyun doesn’t crumble underneath it, his fingers gently threading through Beomgyu’s own. His skin is warm against Beomgyu’s, seeping lovingly into his palm and Beomgyu wants to hold onto it forever, wants to allow the gentle flame to consume him until it melts away the jagged edges protruding from his heart. He wants to take and take and take until he feels nothing else but the unwavering confidence of Taehyun’s love.

“I want to make it possible, hyung. Will you let me?”

He doesn’t know when the tears finally fall, but between one blink and the next, the edges of Taehyun’s face blur, and it’s only then that he allows himself to nod.

“Yes.”

It’s bittersweet, sending off Kai and Yeonjun, but this time, he’s the one shoving his cousin off of him, scowling as he tries not to let Yeonjun’s stupid teary eyes get to him.

“Hyung–ow! Let go of me!--you’re going to miss your train!”

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?” Yeonjun’s eyes are red rimmed, nose and cheeks pink from the cold as he holds Beomgyu at arm’s length.

“I’m going to be fine, hyung. You’re going to be gone for like what, three weeks? It’ll be nice to not have to worry about my fridge being raided for a while.”

“You punk, I’m going to–”

The train whistles behind them, cutting off any threat Yeonjun was going to make as Kai nudges the older boy. Surprisingly, there’s not a single tear in the younger boy’s gaze, and it’s not a small amount of relief to Beomgyu that there will be at least one level-headed person to get the two through the long ride.

“Take care of yourselves, and keep us updated,” Taehyun says next to him, his arm brushing against Beomgyu’s and he tries not to focus on it, though his heart does a tiny flip nonetheless.

“We will!” Kai beams, grabbing Yeonjun’s arm and dragging him away, but not before he waves, “Bye hyungs!”

The two watch them board, and Beomgyu snickers into his scarf as he spies Yeonjun’s pouty face through the windows. It was like watching a pathetic cat getting dragged off to the vet, and without a second thought, he snaps a picture and makes a mental note to pull it out the next time Yeonjun tries to tell any embarrassing stories about him to the younger two.

“You think he’s going to be okay?”

“Who, Yeonjun-hyung?” Beomgyu asks as he pockets his phone. The train starts to move, a plume of smoke wafting overhead and blending into the cold grey sky.

He hears the younger boy’s smile, “Obviously. I’m not worried about Hyuka.”

“Don’t let hyung hear you,” Beomgyu laughs softly.

Taehyun turns to him, drawing his attention.

“Well…hyung’s not here right now.”

Beomgyu swallows, “No I guess…it’s just the two of us for a while.”

Taehyun smiles, precious sunlight that breaks through the blanket of the drab winter around them and Beomgyu is like a wilted flower, chasing it desperately, petals unfurling towards it in hopes of basking in such a rare sight.

The first few days are relatively normal, with Beomgyu spending most of his time at the cafe, having to work a little harder to compensate for Kai’s absence but Taehyun keeps him company. The younger boy sometimes brings a book to read or some sort of activity book to occupy himself with when Beomgyu is too busy with customers to entertain him. It doesn’t take long before he’s offering to help, one of his books abandoned in favor of looking at the espresso machines with the same fascinated look he gives everything else, and Beomgyu can’t deny he melts a little.

It was that way with nearly everything, wide eyes so eager to know, to soak in the world around them with a fervor Beomgyu hasn’t experienced himself in a long time and it leaves him missing it—the wonderment, the appreciation for every little thing that he’d otherwise barely blink at. It’s endearing, watching Taehyun simply live, and his heart sings every time those gorgeous eyes turn on him, taking him in like he’s something worthy of understanding, of being cared for. It’s intoxicating, this new way of life, and with every day, he feels bits and pieces of himself melding together, some of those pieces foreign, not quite fully him, but they’re carefully carved and put together all the same by Taehyun’s hands.

It’s…comfortable. It’s easy. It’s scary. It leaves him high on hope one day and choking on guilt the next, but Taehyun is patient, an artisan truly in love with his craft.

Eventually, Beomgyu is brave enough to invite him over to his apartment, a place no one but Yeonjun has stepped foot into. He’s jittery the entire day—Taehyun is set to come an hour after Beomgyu finishes his shift, and even though they’ve spent enough time together to have gotten closer, this still feels like a big step, something a lot more intimate than sharing a literal bed together. He smokes two cigarettes that day, downs enough caffeine to have him seeing sounds, and still, it’s not enough to shed the fear that clings to him.

But he could only stall at the cafe for so long before his part-timer starts sending him weird looks and the last thing he needs is the judgment of a half-pint freshman who doesn’t even know what’s at stake—which is everything, as far as Beomgyu is concerned.

By the time he reaches the apartment, he’s sweating from the walk turned jog, and there’s a tight feeling in his chest that’s most likely from his smoking habit, but Yeonjun isn’t here to berate him for it, and he downs a bottle of water a little too quickly and chokes on it. Thirty minutes until Taehyun is set to show up—this is fine. He can do this.

He looks around, breathes in the faded scent of lavender (he really should get rid of the dried bundles hanging on the walls) and feels a little bit of the anxiety melt, replaced with a bittersweet longing. He walks over to the coffee table, where there’s a couple of Soobin’s old classics spread out and he gently presses his fingers along the covers, tracing the cracks in the paper…Soobin was never really careful with his books, shoving them into his backpack haphazardly because no matter how early he wakes up, somehow he always ends up running late. The memory makes him smile a little.

Taehyun might like these too.

His fingers pause, and he turns the thought over and over again as he gets ready. He doesn’t overthink his outfit (he’s so tired from not sleeping the night before that he can’t muster up the energy even if he wanted to freak out), a simple white tee and a brown cardigan thrown on top. He doesn’t bother changing out of his jeans, but he does put up his hair into a newer claw clip, decorated simply but elegantly with a few pearls, something Taehyun had picked up for him when his old one broke at work.

“This one would look nice on you, hyung. The cream color matches a lot of your outfits, too.”

He stares at himself in the mirror. His clothes have gotten bigger, the bags permanent underneath his eyes (Kai had reassured him it makes him look enticingly edgy…whatever that meant) and only exaggerated in the dim light of the evening. His skin is a pale imitation of what it used to be, and his hair hangs in dull brown strands. He tilts his head this way and that, look and looks but can’t find what Taehyun could possibly see in him.

The ring of the doorbell draws him out of his room, and with one last steadying breath, he opens the door.

Taehyun’s arms are full of bags, the smell of warm takeout making his mouth water instantly while his stomach reminds him that he hasn’t had anything other than coffee and cigarettes.

“Taehyunnie,” the name slips from his mouth like a prayer, his answer a sweet, careful smile. Behind it though, he can tell the younger is just as nervous.

“I brought dinner.”

“You’re an angel,” he takes the bags before he steps aside to let the younger boy through.

He tries not to hover, but he can’t help but hold his breath as he watches Taehyun take in the apartment. The younger’s eyes roam as he slowly walks towards the living room, his gaze catching on the bookshelf, the collection of games underneath the TV, the bundles of lavender hung on the wall. He takes it all in a slow circle until he’s facing Beomgyu again, a soft reverent look on his face.

“It’s lovely, hyung.”

Beomgyu forces nonchalance around the lump in his throat, “Yeah?”

Taehyun nods, “Lavender is good for anxiety. It’s also a really good bug repellent, but I guess you wouldn’t have a problem seeing how high up we are and the fact that it’s…winter.”

Beomgyu laughs in disbelief, heart fluttering as he delights in Taehyun’s mannerisms because of course he’d have some random facts to share without prompting. It dispels any of the lingering nerves—really, what was he so worried about?—as he walks to the little kitchenette to place the bags on the counter and take out plates. Taehyun follows him, brows furrowed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing really, Taehyun-ah,” Beomgyu hands him a plate, “Just…that was so you.”

When the confusion doesn’t clear from the younger’s face, Beomgyu reaches out with a finger, smoothing the wrinkles between his brows. He doesn’t know why he feels brave all of a sudden, but he does know that something about all of this feels right, that having Taehyun here is somehow exactly what his apartment needs.

“The random facts, the way it was the first thing you said. It was cute, actually.”

Something wonderful happens at that moment: rosy blooms that spread across Taehyun’s face in full force. In all their time together, it’s always Taehyun making his cheeks heat up, making him stutter and shy away from his compliments, and Beomgyu decides right then that he wants to change that.

“You think it’s cute?”

Taehyun’s voice is a little odd when he speaks, eyes not quite as bright as he asks and it’s Beomgyu’s turn to frown as his hand falls to his side.

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because most people find it annoying.” Taehyun shrugs, tries to smile a little as he delivers the self-deprecating words.

This time, Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate to reach out to him, to let his hand settle on Taehyun’s arm.

“I’ve never found you annoying, Taehyunnie,” he says gently.

“Thanks, hyung,” Taehyun says after a moment, straightening up as he clears his throat.

“What do you wanna watch?”

“I’m good with anything,” Beomgyu smiles, “you pick. I’ll dish everything out and bring it over.”

The movie they end up watching is Brave of all things, but Beomgyu doesn’t complain—he enjoys it particularly because of Taehyun’s commentary, the other pointing out random facts or details either about the setting of the film or the actual makings of it. He listens to it all, not really paying attention to the TV and instead focusing on Taehyun’s profile and the way the colors from the screen slide along the planes of his face. His silver hair turns red and orange and green from the artificial lights, shiny strands fluttering with every laugh.

Everything about him was beautiful, cute yet handsome at the same time: Taehyun was sharper in places than Soobin was, but still soft and youthful. But it was more than just looks, there was just something about Taehyun that felt safe—a tree offering shade after a long walk in the sun, a rock by the river to sit on. It was like every part of him was made with the intent to be gentle and attentive, giving Beomgyu exactly what he needs without asking for it.

At some point he started to nod off, the rumble of Taehyun’s voice soothing, and vaguely he registers the world tipping, a solid weight underneath his head and an arm around his shoulders. His plate is pried out of his loose grip, the sound of the TV turned down until it’s just a low murmur and the tenderness of it all makes his heart ache.

He hears humming after a few moments, and even through the haze of half-wakefulness, his brain manages to place the song, an English nursery rhyme that settles around him like a hand stitched blanket. Before long the lyrics grace his ears in Taehyun’s breathy voice, every note enchanting, lulling him further and further away from his body. But he forces himself to stay awake, to hang on until the last verse for his eyes finally flutter shut while his head is nestled perfectly in the crook of Taehyun’s neck.

Roses are red, dilly, dilly
Voilets are blue
Because you love me, dilly, dilly
I will love you
Let the birds sing, dilly, dilly
And the lambs play
We shall be safe, dilly, dilly
Out of harm's way

It doesn’t take long before it becomes their thing, before Taehyun’s scarves remain draped across the old couch in the living room and the scent of sage to settle into the apartment. They skirt around the topic of soulmates, though more than once, Beomgyu catches Taehyun’s curious gaze on the photos around the apartment. Some of them are face down, but there’s a few that he left upright, but he’s thankful when the younger chooses not to ask.

After the first time, Beomgyu wakes up in his own bed, a sticky note on his nightstand stand withTaehyun’s neat scrawl telling him that the leftovers are all put away and to call him once he wakes up. He read the note several times, lips curved upwards as the lingering notes of the lullaby tickled his memory.

It makes him…happy.

They run through all of Taehyun’s favorites, a combination of Disney movies and documentaries that Beomgyu actually ends up genuinely enjoying to his surprise. He starts coming up with lists of his own, and the sheer excitement on Taehyun’s face whenever Beomgyu mentions a new documentary to check out leaves him giddy. They text when they’re not together, and every notification makes his heart skip a beat. They trade stories, and Beomgyu learns about Taehyun as a child, cooing over the pictures that he bullies the younger into showing him (only to get bullied in return) and laughing about the things the young boy tells him about his time abroad (mostly these things involve Yeonjun’s embarrassment in some form or other, but no one has to know).

In turn, Beomgyu opens up a little more too, and by the time the end of the week rolls around, he’s made up his mind to ask Taehyun to stay over.

“Really?” Taehyun asks as he joins Beomgyu on his smoke break at work. He’d brought tteokbokki from the place down the street, the rice cakes still steaming which makes them all the more enticing in the cold. Beomgyu traces the snowflakes on their way down as he blows out a string of smoke.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re over practically every night at this point so…why not?”

Despite how close they’ve gotten, Beomgyu is still nervous, which is why he chose to ask when the nicotine was fresh in his lungs.

The nerves linger, right up until Taehyun shows up at his doorstep, a small duffle in one hand and their usual bag of snacks in the other.

“Hey,” he’s breathless, like he’d just run a mile.

“Hyung,” Taehyun’s arms wrap around him unabashedly—a recent development that Beomgyu very much enjoys. The musky notes of sage fills his nose as he rests his chin on Taehyun’s shoulder.

“You gonna let me in?” he asks after they linger in the door for too long.

“Mmm…I kind of like it like this, actually.” Beomgyu whispers back, arms tightening a little.

“...I do too, but the ice cream is going to melt.”

Beomgyu pulls back to give Taehyun a look.

“Ice cream? It’s freezing outside.”

“It was on sale.”

“I fully support your financial decisions,” Beomgyu amends, letting the other boy into the apartment.

They go through their usual routine, except this time Taehyun is in his pajamas, a pale green color that suits him really well and they pass the tub of ice cream back and forth, not bothering with anything other than their respective spoons as they watch the screen.

This time Taehyun is quiet, and Beomgyu misses the quiet hum of his voice, but something about this is nice too. Just enjoying each other’s company, shoulders and knees pressed together, Taehyun’s skin warm through the thinner material of his pajamas. It’s grounding, like every moment with Taehyun, and though the quiet gives Beomgyu time to think, his brain isn’t overloaded with the normal buzz that leaves him reaching for his cigarettes.

The ending credits roll, and the ice cream tub, empty, lays between them as foreign names flit across the screen. Taehyun turns off the TV, plunging the rest of the apartment into pale dim light. The city lights mingle with the moon’s rays, a scattering of misshapen stars along their skin, and it makes Taehyun look ethereal. Beomgyu has a hard time suppressing a shiver when the other’s wide eyes land on him.

“I didn’t bring a sleeping bag.”

A smile plays on Beomgyu’s lips as he holds out his hand. Taehyun’s fingers slot into his perfectly.

“Then we compromise,” he echoes words from a different moment, “we’ll share my bed.”

He’s rewarded with a quiet laugh, “Alright, let’s clean–”

“Leave it,” Beomgyu interrupts gently, “we’ll clean up tomorrow. Come on,” he tugs the younger boy up with him, nerves alight with excitement and fear and suddenly he needs to do this now, before his brain has a chance to fully comprehend what he’s doing.

Taehyun follows him, their hands still linked, and it’s really only just a few steps into the tiny hallway that houses the two bedrooms. They stand in front of the door on the left, Soobin’s bedroom door, locked still, at their back, and Beomgyu swallows, hand hovering above the doorknob.

“I’ve always wanted to see your room,” Taehyun says softly, “I bet it’s all pink with bows and stuffed animals.”

“Hey,” Beomgyu pouts, “Kai’s room is full of plushies, I never see you making fun of him.”

“Because it’s Kai.”

Beomgyu snorts, “Fair point.”

With a breath, he opens the door and steps through, pulling Taehyun with him.

Like the first time Taehyun stepped foot into the apartment, Beomgyu waits with bated breath.

The room itself isn’t all that impressive, but it’s about as personal as a bedroom could get. The old guitar his parents had gifted him when he first got accepted into his graduate program sits in the corner, collecting dust, and the small desk underneath the window houses piles of notebooks, albums, and old textbooks he never threw out for some reason. A record player sits on his nightstand, a cigarette pack in between it and the ashtray that he got from a thrift shop. His bed is simple, headphones hanging off one of the posts and plastic stars above it on the ceiling, poorly arranged to mimic the Little Bear constellation because Soobin thought it was funny at the time. There’s a few missing, and Beomgyu always meant to replace them but…

“So?” his voice trembles a little, hushed in the quiet of the room.

“I like it,” Taehyun whispers back, turning back to face him, moonlight making the edges of his silhouette softer as he smiles and the words sound a lot like “I like you” in that moment. He breathes easier again.

“Even though it doesn’t have any pink bows?” he teases.

Taehyun hums something that sounds like a laugh as he walks over to the desk, fingers trailing over the spines of the books and albums and Beomgyu watches him quietly, sinking into the bed. His chest feels tight, filled to the brim with warring feelings that are frankly a little hard to ignore in the silence, when Taehyun’s eyes aren’t on him, when his hands are cold and empty, even when he curls them into the comforter. But if he’s being honest, amongst it all, there’s one feeling that stands out to him, drowning out all the others.

Lately there’s been a terror that grips him whenever he falls into the comforts of the familiar–the strange sense of deja vu overwhelming and leaving him tilting off his axis. Where lavender and smoke had filled his lungs, now he breathes and it’s sage and smell of rain that clings to his flesh. Somehow, Taehyun had become a constant in his life, had crept into his heart through the cracks when Beomgyu wasn’t looking.

“I didn’t know you wrote lyrics, hyung.”

The words, quiet yet so bright in their curiosity, much like the boy they belong to, snap him out of his reverie. He blinks a few times before his eyes settle on the open notebook in front of him, torn music sheets sticking out from where he’s stuffed them years ago, when he had been in the post-bacc program of his dreams, pursuing music and songwriting.

He doesn’t quite remember how it got there, or how long the pages have been open, baring his history for Taehyun to peek through. He kind of regrets not burning it, then, like he’d often thought to do with all of his old work, but each time he’d try, his eyes would stumble across a little scribble, etched shyly in the corner of a particular page in Soobin’s handwriting. Shaky blue underlines from Soobin’s favorite pen beneath lyrics he particularly loved, or notes on how to improve them had made his hands shake too much for him to get his lighter to work. The older boy had treated Beomgyu’s words as if they were reverent, holy scripts, like his heart was a timeless classic, meant to be loved and taken apart and put back together with new meaning.

“I used to,” his voice doesn’t sound quite like his, warped in the liminal space of his apartment.

Before he can think of moving to grab the notebook, Taehyun plucks it from the bed as the mattress dips with his weight, steady fingers curling carefully around the fraying cover. Beomgyu’s breath stutters.

The sound of skin on paper is too loud in the silence as Taehyun’s wide eyed gaze roams, and heart in his throat, Beomgyu wonders what he sees. If he can peer through paper and into his soul. The broken string on the other boy’s pinky glows silver in the moonlight, and Beomgyu shivers as a late night breeze passes through the apartment, kissing his neck and teasing the pair of broken thread between them. He suppresses a shiver.

“These are really good,” a small, shy smile, “you should finish these, hyung,” Taehyun’s voice is oh so careful, but the words pierce through Beomgyu and leave fire in their wake. His breaths are shallow as the ghost of Soobin’s voice curves around him. The younger's concerned gaze blurs before him, and he feels like he’s floating, the scene playing out in front of him with terrifying realness, and he’s scared to blink, lest it disappear before he can torture himself by savoring it.

“You should finish these, Gyu-yah,” Soobin whispers one night, moonlight dancing between the pages sprawled between them on the floor as Beomgyu strums a distant melody. The older’s slender fingers trace graphite on the paper, a familiar reverence in his words that leaves Beomgyu breathless and aching.

“Someday…these aren’t that good, just drafts, hyung,” he finally manages softly, afraid to speak too loud into the calm air. The breeze ruffles their hair, passing cool kisses along their cheeks as the curtains dance. Spring was coming, the promise of blooms and sun so poignant in the night air, and there was no better way to taste it than by sitting here in the middle of the tiny apartment that became a paradise just for them. It was one of Beomgyu’s favorite things, settling down after a long busy day on the floor of his bedroom to catch up with his soulmate. Red string glistens, drawing a swirl of crimson on the floor and Beomgyu chases the line with his eyes.

“Then I’ll wait for them,” Soobin reassures him easily, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, and it sounded more like “I will wait for you.”

Beomgyu had melted underneath his gaze.

Soobin was always so patient with him–sure they bickered, like any two people as close as they were would do–but when it came to Beomgyu’s heart, Soobin had given him nothing but time.

“You’ll be the first one to hear it,” he promises, barely a whisper. The smile that splits across Soobin’s face is utterly enchanting, magic pulling on the corners of his own lips as the older boy holds out his pinkie, the red string between them glistening.

“Promise?”

Beomgyu laughs, feeling light and carefree, even as curls his pinkie around his hyung’s in a binding vow.

“I promise, hyung.”

There’s heat against his cheeks–soft palms–and a saltiness that brushes his lips and he realizes that he’s crying.

Taehyun’s face is pale as he calls to him, and slowly, the buzz in Beomgyu’s ears fades, and the world is back in focus, sharp and empty of Soobin’s ghost. His lungs burn, heart flutters too quickly, lips numb, and it isn’t until Taehyun coaxes him through one inhale after another that he realizes he’s having an attack.

“That’s it, breathe with me, hyung. You’re doing so well.”

He follows Taehyun’s voice, feeling like a traitor with every echo of his thoughts.

Would he ever be free from it? Everything reminds him of the other boy, innocent questions becoming sharpened arrows that he can’t dodge. His present is constantly at the mercy of his past, unfairly shackled to someone who is never coming back and it hurts.

It hurts that he can’t look at Taehyun without feeling guilty for thinking about Soobin. And it hurts that he can’t think about Soobin without thinking about Taehyun.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, as if such simple words would be enough. “I’m so sorry.”

Taehyun’s gaze flickers, a plethora of emotions that Beomgyu can’t decipher.

It was the biggest difference between the two: Soobin was easy to read, an open book from the very beginning, but Taehyun wore his mask so well, he fears that there truly is nothing underneath, should Beomgyu ever get to see the boy behind it.

“Nothing to be sorry for, hyung.” Taehyun assures quietly, still gently cupping Beomgyu’s cheeks, “I should have asked...”

He shakes his head, a few stray tears falling loose.

“No,” he breathes, “no it’s okay. I’m just…I’m tired.”

“Tired of what?” the other boy whispers and the lock on the dam shatters. The words tumble out of him like dirty secrets, rushed and trembling, and laced with the remorse of a sinner at a confessional.

“I’m tired of feeling all of this guilt, Taehyun-ah. I’m tired of being stuck here. I’m tired of missing him,” he takes a shuddering breath, shuts his eyes like that will help him avoid the shame that floods through him, “I feel like I’m ruining this, what we could have, because I’m too much of a fucking coward to move on. I’ve always been selfish, it’s why I lost him–why I lost Soobin-hyung–and I’m so–” he chokes on a sob, “I’m so fucking scared that if I take again, if I let myself have this, that I’ll lose you too.”

His ears are filled with the sound of his own ragged breaths for a long moment, the only reassurance that Taehyun doesn’t immediately hate him the gentle thumbs that sweep his cheeks of tears, the pads of his thumbs coming to rest in the corner of his eyes.

“Tell me about him, hyung,” Taehyun’s breath kisses his wet lashes as his eyes open in shock.

“What?”

“Tell me about your soulmate. Everything. Let it all go,” Taehyun says, determined. “Let me carry your guilt for you.”

“Taehyunnie, I–” Beomgyu tries to object but Taehyun shakes his head.

“No. Let me carry yours…and you can carry mine,” his lips twitch in a ghost of a smile, “A compromise?”

Beomgyu searches his gaze for a long moment, sees nothing but patience and love and it breaks him, his heart spilling from his lips as he talks. He tells Taehyun everything: from when the string first appeared, back when he was too young to understand its severity, to meeting Soobin, to falling in love, to the life-altering call from the hospital that informed him of Soobin’s passing. He talks about Soobin’s favorites, details the nights they spent pressed together, classic literature books and sheet music open as highlighters and pens are shared (but not the blue ones because those were Soobin’s favorites; Beomgyu stole them anyway). He talks and talks and talks until his throat is dry and the words aren’t glass shards against his tongue. And Taehyun listens to it all, hands never leaving Beomgyu, holding him, brushing the fallen strands of his hair…every ministration a reminder of his presence and the gratitude is so overwhelming, Beomgyu would cry if he had any more tears left.

“And now…now I’m here. And he’s not.”

His lip trembles, and Taehyun places a thumb gently upon it.

“But he’ll always be with you, hyung. Right here,” Taehyun taps his chest with his other hand. “And I know he would want you to be happy again.”

His breath hitches. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Taehyun whispers.

Beomgyu takes in a long shaky breath; nods; allows that single word to calm him enough for him to ask.

“And you? What happened to your soulmate Taehyunnie?”

Fear flickers in dark eyes and something heavy settles in Beomgyu’s gut. Taehyun braces himself, jaw twitching before he opens his mouth to speak.

“I don’t know who my soulmate is.”

Beomgyu startles back, Taehyun’s fingers slipping from where they were loosely holding his chin.

“What? Then how did…”

“I broke it,” for the first time, Taehyun’s voice trembles, the words too big, too heavy for the space between them.

“You broke it,” he echoes, eyes searching the silver haired boy’s face. Taehyun shrinks a little, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You said you were scared, hyung, to take,” Taehyun looks down at his hands, “well…I was scared to give. I didn’t like the idea of soulmates–no, I hated it. Why did I have to give myself to someone who didn’t know me? Just because I was their soulmate, what right did that give them to my heart?”

Beomgyu’s a little terrified of the vehemence in Taehyun’s voice. He’s never heard him like this, so broken and full of…disgust. He almost doesn’t recognize the person in front of him, gaze taking in the tense lines of Taehyun’s body, frozen in his own shock. But then his eyes land on the boy’s hands, notices they’re trembling, and oh…

He moves on instinct, holds out his arms and feels his heart shatter anew when Taehyun crumples into them without hesitation. The relief of the younger boy is palpable and with a jolt Beomgyu realizes that Taehyun’s fear was of his reaction, that he was scared Beomgyu would hate him for his admission. He holds Taehyun tighter, tucks the younger’s face into the crook of his neck and listens. It’s a few moments before Taehyun speaks again, and he sounds so young, so afraid…Beomgyu rests his cheek against moonlight colored hair.

“Everyone told me I was lucky, that I should be so excited to meet my soulmate. They were jealous because they thought it meant that there was someone out there who’s obligated to love me. But that never sat right with me, you know? I didn’t want…I didn’t want to be someone’s chore. I wanted them to love me for me.”

Beomgyu’s lips twitch in a sad smile.

“No strings attached, huh?”

He feels Taehyun’s breath on his neck– a strained, quick, laugh.

“Yeah. I just…it felt like a burden. I couldn’t love anyone else, I couldn’t let anyone else love me, all for some elusive, mysterious person that I might someday meet.”

“I get it,” Beomgyu says after a moment, moves a little to let Taehyun look up at him.

“You wanted a choice, right?” Beomgyu holds up his hand, letting the string dangle between them, “I’ll be honest…everyone told me kind of the same–the whole thing about luck and how great it would be. And it was. I was lucky to meet Soobin when we were both so young,” he sighs a little, and the string dances in time with his breath, “but I realized that luck is pretty fickle when it comes down to it. And I…I took it for granted.”

His hand comes down, settles on top of Taehyun’s own, pinkies pressed close and strings blending together in a pool of silver. They don’t speak for a while, their breaths and the distant muffled din of the city at night the only sounds as the two of them simply exist: somewhere between Beomgyu’s grief and Taehyun’s fear. It’s comfortable, and the terror of it all melts away the longer they stay, the familiar becoming synonymous with healing rather than terror. He makes up his mind.

“Taehyun-ah.”

“Mm?”

“I think I want to love you.”

Taehyun’s breath stutters.

“No strings attached?” he whispers.

This time, Beomgyu’s smile is genuine, full and unabashed as he squeezes Taehyun’s hand gently.

“No strings attached.”

They don’t sleep that night, and Beomgyu calls off from work at three in the morning even though it’s an asshole thing to do right around the holidays, but he doesn’t care. They lay in Beomgyu’s bed, and somehow he ends up being the little spoon, Taehyun’s heartbeat steady beneath his ear as the younger boy cards his fingers through his hair. They talk a little more, but their words are fewer and far in between, both of them basking in the haze of new beginnings. It’s surreal, in a way that leaves him wondering if he’s awake at all or if he’s stuck in a dream.

“Taehyunnie?”

“Hm?”

“Could you…sing for me?”

Taehyun is quiet for so long he’s scared the other boy has fallen asleep.

“What song would you like, hyung?”

“Anything. I just want to hear your voice. It’s beautiful.”

Taehyun laughs softly, and Beomgyu wonders if he could capture the sound, if the notes on his guitar would somehow be justice enough to the melody of Taehyun’s words.

“Only if you’ll play for me at some point too.”

Beomgyu looks up into Taehyun’s sweet face, sees the way Taehyun’s eyes flicker to his lips and he saves them both the trouble by closing the distance, coming up until their lips touch. The kiss is short and sweet, tender and new, a wound finally free from its stitches and Beomgyu has never felt more alive as he breathes in minty sage.

“A compromise?” he breathes when they pull apart.

“I sing, you play?” Taehyun asks.

“I give, and you take,” Beomgyu answers, settling a palm over Taehyun’s heart.

“I can do that.”

Taehyun’s hand covers his, gaze soft and full of so much love that Beomgyu wonders how he could have ever wanted to stay trapped in the walls of his grief when freedom meant Taehyun’s reverence, when healing sounded like the sweetness of Taehyun’s voice.

In time, Beomgyu will come to understand that scars never truly fade, but they become less angry, torn red skin giving way to light pinks that most days he’s able to ignore. And some days they would be all that he sees when he looks at himself in the mirror; some days Taehyun would have to drag him away, would love him until he thinks of nothing else but the love they’ve sewn between them, their hands and hearts entwined, broken strings be damned. And some days it would be him, holding Taehyun, choosing him again and again and again.

A compromise.

Taehyun sings, Beomgyu plays, and they both love.