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For the right things, Han Taesan is patient.
He doesn’t like standing in lines, or when his friends are late to their plans, and maybe he can get a little sulky when food takes forever and he’s hungry– but for the right things, it’s different.
When it comes to love, for example, for matters of the heart, Taesan has all the patience in the world.
They’ve been roommates for almost four years now, and Taesan thinks he’s been in love with Sungho for at least two of them. Well, actually, if he thinks about it too hard, he starts leaning more towards three, so.. he doesn’t think about it too hard.
He assumes it was a steady transition, either way. It was less falling and more letting the love wash over him like sunlight creeping over a horizon – slow, but inevitable.
Taesan isn’t one to resist love when it grabs onto him. He lets the impression of affection sink into his skin, take root around his bones, settle into the blood that courses through his veins. Eventually, being in love with Sungho became just another part of him, as much as his blood, his bones, his skin. He lives, and he breathes, and he loves the boy in the room across the hall, and these are just simple truths.
So he doesn’t resist love, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s eager to make a move. That has never really been his thing. With love, he’s patient almost to a fault, letting himself sit with the feelings until they change, or fade, or fester. Sometimes the people he loves notice and reciprocate. Sometimes they don’t. Another fact of life.
Regardless, it’s been a while since he’s loved someone who wasn’t Sungho.
There’s one night he can remember if he sits with the thought. Sungho had been seeing this.. guy. Taesan doesn’t remember his name, just that he sucked. He was never good enough for Sungho — he took everything he offered for granted, crushed his spirit like dead leaves under his feet. Taesan hated the guy, and not just because he had the privilege of loving Sungho, but because he had squandered that love like it wasn’t something worth protecting. Taesan would never be that stupid, but that’s besides the point.
After Sungho and the guy had broken up, Sungho had dived head first into a new hobby to mend his heart. He’s always been a creative person, but he started going to this pottery and ceramics place across the city on weekends. He began to bring home the things he made — a shallow bowl with scalloped edges that they use to keep their keys in by their front door. An incense burner shaped into a little flower, now blackened from the ash of frequent use. A planter for the fern that Leehan had gifted them at their house warming party when they’d moved into their apartment.
And then, one day, he’d come back with something specifically for Taesan. Had him close his eyes and pressed the cold, glazed over clay into his waiting hands. It was a mug. Pink and red, the handle made with a little divet for his thumb to rest when he picks it up. On the front of it, Sungho had painted a black cat with shiny eyes, cartoonish and charming.
“Sorry if it looks a little wonky.. the colors came out a little different than I expected when I fired it in the kiln,” Sungho had said, sheepish, fiddling with the edges of his sleeves.
Taesan remembers telling him that it’s the best gift he’s gotten in ages, maybe ever. Sungho laughed and waved him off but Taesan never says things like that if he doesn’t mean them. He’s used that mug damn near every day since then.
Sungho hadn’t dated anyone since that guy . When Taesan had asked about it once, off handed over dinner, he’d just shrugged and said he’s waiting for something real.
You could say Taesan is pining, maybe, but that begats a negative feeling, so he doesn’t think that really fits. It’s not painful to love Sungho, it’s not a chore. Sure sometimes there’s a deep ache in the place between his ribs, but it’s nothing bad. It’s not rot, or an ailment he needs to be cured from, it’s something brighter. Even if nothing ever came of it. Even if they stayed the way they are now for the rest of their lives, Taesan would be satisfied. If it means he gets him in some capacity, he doesn’t care in what form it’s in, in what shape.
Would it be nice to be more? Of course.
Taesan can see it, really, if he lets himself. It wouldn’t be much different than how they live now, probably just with some extra things. Getting him a bouquet when Taesan passes the flower shop on the walk back from work. Massaging out the ache from his shoulders when Sungho comes back from the gym. Being able to kiss him when the urge strikes, instead of just pushing it down.
Nice is an understatement. It would be wonderful – but Taesan isn’t ungrateful. He appreciates what he has, every bit of it.
They’re not together, but Sungho cooks for him almost every night, because he’s adamant that ‘at least one homemade meal a day is the key to true contentment’ . Something his mom used to say apparently. Taesan assures him he can make his own food, or that he doesn’t mind picking himself up something on the way home, but Sungho always waves him off. He says he likes cooking for other people, always has. He teases Taesan for his lack of culinary skills and never complains when Taesan hovers. He perches on one of the counters, watching what he does and sneaking tastes when the opportunity presents itself, and Sungho pretends not to notice.
They’re not together, but he visits Sungho for lunch regardless. Their work buildings happen to be pretty close – Taesan at a decently paying office job that he doesn’t hate but doubts he could never love, and Sungho at the school just down the street. He teaches art to kids. It’s one of Taesan’s favorite things about him. Taesan’s lunch break happens to be at the same time Sungho has a free period, so most days he walks over and spends the time bugging him in his classroom. It’s nice to see Sungho in his element. Sometimes he’ll be working on lesson plans, or looking over students' drawings. Sometimes he’ll be tidying up, clay dried on his hands, and Taesan will follow and feed him forkfuls of his boxed lunch as he darts around the room.
They’re not together, but when Taesan walks through their apartment door after a long day, Sungho already has dinner made, a movie pulled up on their T.V, and it’s almost like they are. Isn’t this what love is about, anyway? Finding someone who brightens up your days, who makes coming home feel like a breath of fresh air? Sungho’s always been like that for him, even before he made Taesan’s heart his own.
He’s grateful. He’s so incredibly, indescribably grateful for what it is he and Sungho do have.
He wishes he was better at expressing his appreciation – Sungho’s the type of person where you never have to assume or guess if he cares or not. It’s something Taesan has always appreciated, how simple it all is. Taesan wakes up and Sungho has the laundry done and folded in a basket outside his door. Coffee is made and kept warm in the pot, his favorite mug (the one he’d made almost two years ago) already set out on the counter. Sungho is often long at work by the time Taesan wakes up, because he likes to get to school early and prepare and Taesan hates waking up. Today, there’s a light blue sticky note on the fridge telling him to look inside, and then another on Sungho’s favorite lunch box, a message scrawled in ink.
I have a meeting during my free period so
no lunch today. I hope this makes up for it!
Taesan grabs the box and pops it open – inside is a healthy serving of freshly made Naengmyeon noodles and sauteed vegetables. How the fuck Sungho cooked and prepared these this morning without Taesan waking up he doesn’t know, but it makes something warm and heavy settle in his chest.
He closes it back up and runs his fingers gently over the design on the sides, cartoon cats and flowers and little clouds. A little slice of bliss. Something rises in his blood, water reaching a boil after spending so long simmering, and right then Taesan makes a decision.
❛ ━━━━━━ ･❪ ❀ ❫･ ━━━━━━ ❜
Taesan bribes his boss into letting him leave work half a day early.
Well, okay, that’s not entirely correct. A more accurate statement would be, Taesan folds his hands very politely on his bosses desk and proceeds to beg to be let out half a day early in exchange for double the amount of unpaid overtime.
It worked, and that’s the important thing, even if Jaehyun (his nosiest, most annoying coworker and one of Taesan’s best friends) tries to weasel information out of him as he’s going to leave.
“Is it a family thing?” He tries, walking briskly by Taesan’s side, voice only growing more frantic as Taesan swipes his keycard. “Your mom? Your sister? Did her girlfriend break up with her? Oh god, I loved them together – please tell me they didn’t break up-”
“They didn’t break up,” Taesan huffs. The door beeps to let him through and he starts towards the elevator, and just barely stops himself from rolling his eyes when Jaehyun follows. He hits the button for the elevator and grits his teeth.
“Okay, then what is it? You never leave work early, you’re either leaving on time or you don’t come in at all,” Jaehyun keeps bringing his coffee cup up to his mouth like he’ll take a sip just to keep talking. It’s amusing. “Are you and Sungho getting a cat or something? No you’d definitely tell me- Are you finally confessing your love, is that it?”
He looks ready to continue rambling, but Taesan makes the mistake of pursing his lips just enough for Jaehyun to stop dead in his train of thought, eyes widening as he searches Taesan’s face for something.
“Oh my god,” Jaehyun’s eyes fucking sparkle, the fingers around his cup clenching, warping the shape. “Oh my god Han fucking Taesan you..”
The elevator doors pop open and Taesan steps in quickly, jamming the ground floor and ‘close door’ buttons repeatedly. Jaehyun deflates, his eyes blown wide and hand moving frantically around in the air. “Taesan I swear to god you better text me if anything happens I will literally set your desk on fire if you d–”
The elevator doors close and Taesan is thankful.
❛ ━━━━━━ ･❪ ❀ ❫･ ━━━━━━ ❜
Taesan stops by the market first. He can’t remember exactly what they have and don’t have, so he gets everything just in case. He has a heavy basket by the time he’s checking out, and the fresh ingredients make it a little pricier than he was expecting, but he doesn’t even blink before running his card. This isn’t about him, it’s about Sungho.
He starts home with two bags in each hand. The autumn days are getting shorter as winter creeps in, and the cold settles on Taesan’s skin, kissing his cheeks. He stops in front of the flower shop. Is it too much? It feels like too much, maybe a little cliche. He buys a bouquet anyway. Roses seemed a little boring, not enough to match Sungho’s light. He goes with red tulips and multicolored gerbera daisies, white, pink and yellow.
Getting into their building is a little difficult, balancing the groceries and the bouquet, but he makes it up to their apartment with two hours to spare before Sungho gets home.
The first thing he does is set out all his ingredients. The second thing he does is call his dad.
His dad tells him all about what they’ve been up to back home while Taesan chops up the green onions and garlic. He then instructs Taesan through the phone on how to start the sauce and begin preparing the eel the way he always used to when Taesan was a kid. He doesn’t ask why his son, who’s never been very adept in the kitchen, is suddenly asking how to perfectly make a dish from his childhood, but Taesan assumes he has an idea.
About a year and a half ago, Taesan took Sungho back to his family home for a weekend. He never had to tell his parents that he was in love with him, not in so many words. He remembers his mothers eyes as she looked back and forth at them at the kitchen table, Sungho embroiled in a discussion with his father about the best way to paint kitchen cabinets. She’d caught Taesan staring at the way Sungho’s cheeks had flushed from the soju, his teeth shiny with every grin and his hands moving in animated gestures as he spoke. She raised an eyebrow at him, and Taesan just shrugged.
“The way you look at him is the way you admire the setting sun” His mother had said on the phone a few weeks later. That visit only reaffirmed fundamental truths that he’d already known.
He bids his father farewell when he has the skewered eel marinating in the sauce. He unwraps the bouquet and snips off the end of the stems and sets them down carefully on the counter. On a bookshelf by their couch is a vase Sungho had made early onto his adventures in pottery. It’s a little lopsided, wobbles a bit when you set it down. It’s perfect.
Taesan fills it with water and carefully transfers the flowers in. He sets it at their round kitchen table, careful to adjust them and smooth the petals so it looks as pretty as possible. It’s definitely too much, cheesy, cliche. His heart thrums in his chest like it’s untethered in the confines of his ribs. Sungho will be home soon, walking through their door like he does every day, and Taesan is starting to feel impatient.
He’s been idle, in his feelings for Sungho. They’ve existed, strong and constant, just under his skin for so long now, that the idea of them being ripped out, laid bare for Sungho to see, to experience, to know… it’s all a bit terrifying.
He isn’t oblivious to the fact that rejection is a very real possibility. Sungho could not feel the same, or not want him that way, not want things between them to change. Usually, this fear of rejection would stop Taesan from ever talking about his feelings, and he’d do that thing he always does, sit with them until they change, or fade, or fester.
Sungho is worth more than that though. He’s worth sunlight and bouquets and homemade dinners, equal returns and kind words. He’s worth softness and waiting and being brave even when it’s hard.
For the right things, Han Taesan is patient, and there’s nothing more right in his life than Park Sungho.
Sungho walks through the door when Taesan’s grilling the last couple skewers of eel. The sound of keys hitting the ceramic dish is the first thing he hears, and then a, “Taesan-ah?”
Taesan meets his eyes when Sungho rounds the corner, eyebrows high as he sets his bag at his feet. “Han Taesan, are you.. cooking?”
He looks terribly pretty. His bangs are windswept and fluffy, framing his face in dark tendrils, his nose a little rosy from the cold. Sungho always dresses nicely for work, professional enough for school but fun in a way that suits being an art teacher. Today, he’s wearing a blue and purple knit sweater and jeans, because it’s Friday and teachers always wears jeans on Friday apparently.
“You look nice,” Taesan says, clearing his throat when he realizes he didn’t exactly answer Sungho’s question. “Uh- yeah, I thought it would be nice. You like Jangeo-gui, right?”
Sungho looks at him for a second, blinking like he’s working through something in his head. A breathless laugh, one hand resting on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, yeah I do.. it’s been a while since I’ve had it.”
There’s more he wants to say, Taesan can tell. He checks the skewers and then turns off the stove, letting the residual heat cook the remainder of the eel, drags a hand through his hair. “Um… I also..” He rubs the back of his neck, nodding towards the dining table.
Sungho tilts his head before glancing behind him, and Taesan notices the way his fingers tense on the counter. “Oh wow,” He whispers, stepping closer to the table. Taesan watches him lightly touch one of the daisies, a yellow one. “These are beautiful.. why did you..?”
Taesan swallows and shrugs. “They’re for you.” He walks from behind the counter to join Sungho by the table. When Sungho looks at him, his eyes are still so quizzical, something soft and a little vulnerable in the inky pools of his irises. Taesan can feel his own heartbeat echoing in his skull.
“You know..” Sungho rubs a petal on the daisy with his thumb, eyes shifting from the bouquet to Taesan’s face. “Flowers and dinner.. it’s a little romantic, Taesanie.”
A laugh bubbles up from Taesan’s chest. His cheeks feel so warm he worries they’re a deeper red than the tulips in the vase. His eyes drop from Sungho’s face, focusing on the flowers instead. He swallows. “I.. well, I just thought…” His words fizzle out. He really should’ve planned this part a bit better, what to say. He had this vague, grand idea for how this would go but it's so quiet in their apartment, so real.
Fingers curl under his jaw, soft, urging him to look back at Sungho. His expression is painfully earnest, wide eyes and brows drawn together, his lips parted just barely. “Taesan-ah..”
Taesan doesn’t know when he got so close. He can make out Sungho’s lower lash line, his own reflection in his pupils, and on a deeper level, he can feel Sungho’s apprehension. A layer of worry, like he’s scared he’s reading this all wrong. Taesan draws a little closer. He blinks slowly, eyes flitting across Sungho’s face, careful, waiting, wanting.
The corners of Sungho’s lips draw up ever so slightly, the hand that had cupped his jaw moving, slowly, to curl around the nape of his neck instead. He doesn’t pull, but he doesn’t have to. Taesan leans down. Their noses brush and Sungho exhales a laugh, a short, breathless thing that makes Taesan’s head spin from the giddiness of it. The first bit of contact is just a gentle brush, a graze, like a whisper of a kiss. It’s barely anything, and yet it’s enough to have Taesan’s breath hitching. He wobbles a little, rests a hand on Sungho’s chest to steady himself.
“Taesan-ah,” Sungho says again, so quiet that Taesan may not have heard it if they weren’t so close. “You can kiss me.”
So he does. It’s still gentle, cautious, testing the waters before jumping in completely. Sungho doesn’t let him wait too long. He slips his fingers into Taesans hair and molds their lips together with purpose, like he’s been waiting for this. The thought strikes Taesan then that maybe he has been. Maybe they’ve both been too cautious, too careful, too patient.
Sungho tastes like chapstick and the salted caramel candies he keeps at his desk at school. He tilts his head just right, presses further until Taesan parts his lips, making the kiss deeper, needier. For a moment, Taesan just soaks it in. He lets Sungho guide him, gives himself over entirely to the feeling of having what he’s wanted for so long. He should’ve known Sungho would be a good kisser. He’s good at everything. Taesan has loved him for so long.
He tells him so. Whispers the words against his lips like he can’t go another second without making them known. Sungho breaks away, fingers twitching against Taesan’s scalp. “What?”
“For a long time,” Taesan mutters. He slides his hand from Sungho’s chest to his shoulder, thumb rubbing across the soft layer of muscle there. “Maybe a few years.”
Sungho stares at him for a long moment before a smile blooms across his face, his head shaking a little in disbelief. “I can’t believe you– I can’t believe us , we’re so stupid, oh my god..” He cuts himself off, kissing Taesan again, nearly knocking him off balance. He quite literally kisses Taesan breathless.
His lips are numb by the time they separate, his cheeks warm, his chest even warmer. “The um.. The food is gonna get cold…”
“I can’t believe you cooked for me,” Sungho scoffs. He cards his fingers through Taesan’s bangs, pushing them back, looking at him like he’s taking in one of those art pieces that only makes sense from one angle. “ And got me flowers.”
“It’s too much, isn’t it,” Taesan reaches out then, touches the side of Sungho’s cheek, just because he can. His skin is soft. Warm.
“No,” Sungho shakes his head, leans a little into Taesan’s touch. And then, honest, “I don’t think you could ever be too much for me.”
Taesan stares when Sungho goes to take his first bite of the eel. His leg is shaking under the table and he’s chewing on his bottom lip. Sungho laughs at him, honey sweet. He reaches out and settles a hand on top of Taesan’s, a simple thing, and it settles the flurry in Taesan’s chest, the sun peaking through the clouds after a storm.
“It’s delicious ,” Sungho says the moment he swallows. His eyebrows raise high and his eyes sparkle in the dim light and Taesan has never felt a love so deep that it feels woven into every breath he takes.
He shrugs, smiling so wide it hurts his cheeks. “You’re surprised?”
Sungho squints and nudges Taesans socked foot with his own. “A little! You never cook, where have you been hiding this?”
“This is my dads recipe, actually..” He plucks his own skewer up and takes a bite. It’s not as amazing as he remembers it being when his father makes it, but it’s still good . Made with love, like his parents have always said. Sungho watches him enjoy an easy, fond look on his face and then they both eat, a comfortable silence hanging around them like a blanket. It’s not heavy, it’s delightful.
They talk a little after dinner, about what this means for them. Sungho insists on doing the dishes because Taesan cooked, and Taesan insists on drying them because Sungho always cooks. They talk about it just like that, side by side, veiled in the muted blue of their kitchen light. Sungho scrubs off a dish, passes it over, and Taesan dries it off while they bare their souls to each other.
It’s not nearly as scary as Taesan thought it would be. It’s easy, the words flow from his mouth before he can over analyze them, before he can shy away from the truths that have sat stagnant within the halls of their apartment for years now.
Taesan loves him. Sungho loves him back.
“We should get a cat,” Taesan suggests, broken up between kisses an hour or so later, his back against Sungho’s mattress. His room smells like fresh laundry and lemongrass and in Sungho’s eyes, Taesan sees home. “Maybe two, so they won’t be lonely when we’re at work..”
Sungho gives him that look again as Taesan reaches out to tuck some of his hair back behind his ear, the one that’s half disbelief and half pure joy, the one that takes over his entire face. “Okay,” He says after a moment, and he laughs. “Fuck it, Yeah. Let's get a cat. Or two.”
They have the whole weekend to figure out what changes for them and what doesn’t. To talk and kiss and explore each other in the ways they haven't.
Then, on Monday, Taesan will wake up to the laundry being done and folded in a basket outside his door. Coffee will be made and kept warm in the pot, and his favorite mug, the one made by his now boyfriend, will be set out for him on the counter. He’ll go to work and on his lunch break, he’ll walk down to the school and clip the visitor's badge to his jacket and feed Sungho while he cleans his classroom.
Taesan will walk home at his regular time, worn out from the day but delighted to be back in his safe space, a breath of fresh air. Sungho will already be starting dinner, and this time Taesan will kiss him when he enters the kitchen. He’ll sit on one of the counters and watch Sungho cook and Sungho will feed him bites of the food to taste just to scold him for being distracting. They’ll eat and fight over who does the dishes until they eventually just do them together and then they’ll just exist in each other's space, and they’ll reap the benefits of being patient.
And Taesan is grateful. He’s so, incredibly grateful for what he and Sungho have, what they’ve always been, and what they’ll grow to be.
Simple, inevitable truths.