Chapter Text
The rain had been going on all morning, a fine mist against the windows that blurred the outdoors. It was the kind of rain that softened everything it touched—the kind that made the world feel quieter, gentler, as if it knew Riku and Daeyoung needed time to breathe.
They sat together at the kitchen table, both with warm mugs in hand, Jelly snoozing at their feet. Riku was still in his sweats, his post-workout hair sticking up at odd angles, while Daeyoung wore one of Riku’s sponsored hoodies, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms as he stared down at his phone.
Riku was halfway through a story about his latest scrimmage about how one of the younger players had landed a ridiculous spike that had nearly knocked his water bottle off the bench, when he noticed the silence on the other side of the table.
Daeyoung wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even blinking.
"Hey," Riku said, setting his mug down. "You okay?"
Daeyoung looked up, eyes wide and strangely distant. He opened his mouth once, then closed it, then tried again.
“I got a message,” he said, holding out his phone with a trembling hand. “From my old director. Have you ever heard of Moonlight Sonata?”
Riku blinked. “Isn’t that a really famous musical?”
Daeyoung nodded. “They want me for the lead. The show’s being restaged. A new theater. Bigger production. It’s in Seoul.”
Riku’s brain took a moment to catch up, like it was buffering the words.
“They want you for the lead?” he asked, already breaking into a grin. “That’s incredible. Jagi, that’s—why do you look like someone just told you your fish died?”
Daeyoung bit his lip. “Because it’s in Korea. And rehearsals start in two months.”
The hitch in Daeyoung’s voice that carried too much hesitation, too much guilt.
“And I’d have to go back. For almost a year.”
Riku leaned back in his chair and blinked at the window, the city skyline disappearing into the clouds. For a moment, the only sound was Jelly shifting at their feet and the low hum of the rain.
He thought about the past year. About the pressure of the Olympics, the weight of every match. The thrill of standing on the podium, bronze medal in hand. The overwhelming pride, but also the exhaustion. The ache in his knees. The long nights away from home. Away from Daeyoung.
“You want to do it,” Riku said gently.
Daeyoung hesitated. “I... yeah. I do. I miss Korea. I miss Daegu. I miss my mom’s cooking. I miss walking home from rehearsal with my earbuds in and the whole city lit up. But Riku, your life is here. Your teammates are here. The sponsors. Your routine.”
“My routine is just squats and protein shakes,” Riku deadpanned.
Daeyoung didn’t smile.
“I don’t want to go without you,” he whispered.
There was a pause, heavy and slow, as Riku looked across the table at the man he loved– hair messy, expression vulnerable, hoodie sleeves a little too long for his arms. A version of home, sitting right in front of him.
And then, slowly, Riku spoke.
“Let’s go together.”
Daeyoung blinked. “Wait, what?”
“I’ve always wanted to live in Korea for a while. A real stay. Not just training camps and hotel rooms and weekend visits. And I’ve already competed. I did it, love. I got the medal. Now I want to live. With you.”
Daeyoung stared at him like he wasn’t sure if Riku was joking.
“I mean it,” Riku said, softer now. “Let’s move there. For a year. Just us. You do the show. I’ll train, keep up my form, maybe even join a team out there for fun. We eat street food. Visit your family. Take Jelly to parks. Let’s do it.”
Daeyoung’s eyes filled before he could stop them. He dropped his phone on the table and stood so suddenly that Jelly gave a soft grunt and shifted away from his feet.
Riku barely had time to react before Daeyoung leaned over, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, face buried in the curve of his neck.
“I love you,” Daeyoung mumbled, voice muffled. “You ridiculous, sweet, sentimental man.”
Riku smiled, arms wrapping around his waist, pressing his face into Daeyoung’s shoulder. “I love you more.”
They stayed like that for a while, bodies folded into one another, the weight of the choice melting into something soft and thrilling.
“Are we really doing this?” Daeyoung asked eventually, pulling back just enough to search his husband’s face. His eyes were still glassy but brighter now.
“We’re doing this,” Riku confirmed.
“Even if you have to live near my family?”
Riku snorted. “I like your mom. Your brothers kinda scare me, but I’m willing to face them for the sake of tteokbokki and tradition.”
Daeyoung laughed, hands brushing through Riku’s hair.
“We’re going to have to find a place. And ship our stuff. And figure out Jelly’s documents. And—”
“Shh,” Riku interrupted, tugging him close again. “We’ve got time. We’ll figure it out.”
Outside, the rain kept falling. But inside, the air had shifted, it was warmer now, full of the kind of hope that blooms quietly, like spring.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
The decision had been made in a heartbeat, but the logistics took weeks.
Daeyoung kept a running list in a spiral notebook with pink tabs sticking out like flags. Riku tracked things digitally, leaving a trail of reminders in his calendar and alarms that went off at the most inconvenient times—“cancel gym membership,” “update dog health records,” “Yushi keys.” They were opposites in how they planned, but it somehow worked, like everything else between them.
They gave themselves six weeks to prepare. Just enough time to coordinate the flight, handle paperwork, and soak in the final stretch of their current life before starting over in Korea.
“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Daeyoung said one afternoon, sitting cross-legged in their bedroom, folding shirts into two small open suitcases. The warm light from the window painted his face gold, and Jelly was curled up against his thigh like a small guardian. “I keep expecting to wake up and realize it was a dream.”
Riku looked up from where he was sorting through his volleyball gear. “Well, if this is a dream, you’ve been doing laundry in it, so… dream bigger.”
Daeyoung snorted. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“I am. Very.”
Their home slowly emptied, box by box. They weren’t selling the place. It was too full of memories for that. Instead, they arranged for Yushi to stay there, offering it rent-free in exchange for keeping it warm and well-cared-for.
“I’m gonna miss you guys,” Yushi had said, leaning in the doorway of their kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee. “But I’ll make sure everything stays standing. Even the succulent you keep forgetting to water.”
“I don’t forget to water it,” Riku argued.
“I forget to water it,” Daeyoung admitted, sheepish.
“Riku’s sister already called dibs on watering the plants anyway,” Yushi added, smirking. “She said, and I quote, ‘There’s no way I’m letting Riku kill that monstera. It’s basically our family now.’”
Daeyoung burst out laughing. “I told you it looked like a person when it leans toward the window.”
“Creepy plant child aside,” Yushi said, lifting his mug, “I’m happy for you. Both of you. It’s a big deal.”
It felt like a big deal, but somehow not scary. Maybe it was the way they moved together so easily, the way every box they packed became another small reminder that they were choosing this life together.
They decided early on to pack light.
“Why bring five sweaters when we always end up stealing each other’s?” Riku had said while tossing half of his winter clothes into a donation pile.
Daeyoung nodded in agreement, already stripping his closet down to just a few stage basics and his (and Riku’s) favorite worn-in hoodie.
They packed two large suitcases and one shared duffel bag. Most of their daily essentials—kitchenware, small appliances, even home décor—they decided to leave behind or store.
“We’ll just get what we need in Korea,” Daeyoung said. “I want our place there to feel new. Like a new chapter.”
So the home, once filled with signs of their life: a mug collection that had slowly grown from travels and anniversaries, a corner of the living room where Riku had built a makeshift gym, the stack of playbills tucked between their bookshelves, slowly became emptier.
The day before their flight, Riku walked through each room one last time. The stillness felt heavier than expected. This was the first place they’d lived together, the space they’d come home to after fights, triumphs, shows, injuries. The walls still echoed with their laughter, their routines, their little inside jokes shouted from room to room.
Daeyoung came up behind him, arms looping gently around Riku’s waist.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
Riku leaned into the touch. “Just… it’s weird. How much of us is still here, even when all our stuff is gone.”
“It’ll still be here,” Daeyoung murmured. “This place is ours. We’re just borrowing another city for a while.”
Riku turned in his arms, cupping Daeyoung’s face. “You always say the perfect thing, huh?”
Daeyoung gave a small, tired smile. “Only when you’re tired enough to let it count.”
They kissed, slow and quiet, the kind of kiss that didn’t need urgency. Just a reminder.
Jelly let out a small bark from the couch, unimpressed by their sentimentality.
“Sorry, Jelly,” Riku called out with a grin. “We’re being gross again.”
Then the morning came too fast, and the airport was the blur it always was—people and lines and announcements in the background that neither of them fully processed. Jelly wore a tiny sweater that made strangers smile, her carrier bouncing lightly against Riku’s side as they walked toward their gate.
Daeyoung checked their boarding passes three times and rechecked their passports twice, and Riku said nothing except to kiss his temple whenever his husband started to fidget.
They boarded with sleepy eyes and heavy limbs. Once seated, Riku held Daeyoung’s hand beneath the blanket, fingers interlaced tightly, like letting go might somehow make all of it less real.
Just as the plane began to taxi, Daeyoung turned to him with wide, quiet eyes.
“We’re really doing this,” he whispered.
Riku turned his head, smiling softly, brushing a knuckle along Daeyoung’s cheek. “Yeah. We really are.”
And somewhere below them, the city they’d called home slipped quietly out of view.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
The arrival gate at Incheon buzzed with early-morning chatter, the air thick with movement, the airport staff ushering travelers, families reuniting with hugs and loud greetings, the quiet clack of suitcase wheels on tile echoing around them. Riku kept one hand firmly on Jelly’s carrier while Daeyoung clutched the handle of their shared suitcase, his eyes darting through the crowd until they landed on a familiar figure.
“Noona!” Daeyoung called out, a grin spreading across his face as he raised one hand in a wave.
The woman standing a few meters away turned toward the voice, her face lighting up as she made her way toward them with confident strides. Her hair was pulled back neatly, makeup understated but elegant, and she wore a perfectly tailored trench coat that made Riku feel suddenly underdressed in his slightly rumpled hoodie and travel-wrinkled jeans.
“Daeyoung-ah,” she greeted, pulling him into a brief but warm hug before stepping back to glance over at Riku. “And Riku-ssi. It’s been a while.”
Riku bowed politely, shifting the carrier to his other hand. “It’s good to see you again, Noona. Thank you so much for picking us up.”
“Of course,” she said, waving her hand like it was nothing. “Your brother’s caught up at the office, so I told him I’d come. Besides, I wanted to be the one to show you both the new place.”
Daeyoung’s smile softened with gratitude. “We really appreciate it. I know it’s not easy to find something with our list of ‘must-haves.’”
“No worries,” she said, already turning to lead them toward the parking garage. “You two are lucky you have me. A home picked over video calls and photos can go either way, but I really think you’re going to love this one. The landlord just finished renovations a month ago. The floors are new, the kitchen's surprisingly spacious for Seoul, and you’ve got a balcony with a bit of a view.”
Riku’s eyebrows rose slightly. “A balcony?” he repeated, casting a sideways glance at Daeyoung. “You didn’t mention that.”
Daeyoung shrugged, a little sheepish. “I thought we’d probably end up with a shoebox.”
“It’s cozy, not a shoebox,” his sister-in-law corrected, pressing the elevator button for the garage. “But I’ll let you be the judge.”
They rode the elevator down in easy silence, Riku watching the light flicker floor by floor as Jelly gave a soft yawn from his carrier. Once they stepped outside, the cool Seoul air greeted them. It smelled like concrete after rain, roasted chestnuts from a nearby stand, and something distinctly alive.
The car she led them to was sleek and clean, the backseat already folded down to make room for their luggage. She opened the trunk with practiced ease, motioning for them to set things down wherever they’d like.
“Put Jelly next to me,” Riku said, sliding into the back seat with the carrier in his lap. He glanced at Daeyoung, who was already settling beside him. Their knees touched. Even something as mundane as a car ride felt new here, a shared experience tucked into the start of something bigger.
The drive wasn’t long, but it gave Riku time to watch the world outside the window. Seoul stretched out around them—bustling streets and high-rise buildings, neon signs still dim in the morning light, people moving quickly with earbuds in and coffee in hand. It was the beginning of the day for the city, and it already felt like it was racing forward.
“Traffic’s lighter than usual,” his sister-in-law remarked as she turned down a quieter road. “I took the back route. It’s less scenic, but we’ll get there faster.”
“Thank you again,” Daeyoung said, adjusting the strap of his bag where it had slid off his shoulder. “I know it’s a lot.”
She glanced at him in the rearview mirror, her tone warm but matter-of-fact. “You’re family. It’s not a lot.”
Riku felt a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. The last time he’d seen her was at the wedding—barely a blur of greetings, a polite hug, and a short toast. He’d been too overwhelmed to take much in back then, but now, watching her switch lanes with smooth confidence and hearing the way she spoke with quiet certainty, he understood how she’d carved out a career in real estate with such success. She was precise. Professional. But kind.
Soon, the buildings began to change to less office towers, more residential, a mix of older buildings with vines climbing their walls and newer complexes with minimalist designs. They passed a park where children were chasing pigeons and an ajumma selling roasted sweet potatoes on the corner. The car slowed as they turned onto a narrower street lined with ginkgo trees, golden leaves still clinging to branches even this late in the season.
“Here we are,” she said, pulling to a gentle stop in front of a modest four-story building with soft gray walls and wide glass doors.
Riku and Daeyoung got out of the car and stood side by side, squinting up at it.
“This is it?” Daeyoung asked, his voice curious.
“Third floor,” she confirmed, locking the car and walking ahead of them toward the entrance. “Two-bedroom, open layout. The landlord keeps the place well-maintained. And you’ve got a small balcony facing west—sunsets are going to be good.”
They followed her inside, the quiet click of her heels echoing in the stairwell as she led them up. The moment they stepped into the apartment, Riku felt something ease in his chest.
The place was simple, but clean, with sunlight pouring through the windows and wooden floors that gave it warmth. The living room was open, connecting to a small kitchen with modern appliances. The walls were freshly painted, and there was a faint scent of lemon from whatever cleaner had been used that morning. It didn’t feel like home yet, but it felt like a possibility .
Jelly gave a tiny bark from her carrier as Riku bent to let her out. The little dog trotted forward, nails clicking against the floor as she began her own inspection of the place.
“I’ll let you two explore a bit,” his sister-in-law said, setting a small folder down on the kitchen counter. “Your lease, emergency numbers, landlord contact, all in there. You’ve got a grocery store a block away and a convenience store open twenty-four hours just across the street.”
Daeyoung turned to her, eyes soft. “Really, Noona. Thank you.”
She smiled and reached out to ruffle his hair—something only an older sister figure could get away with. “Don’t get sentimental on me now. You’re going to do great here.” She glanced toward Riku. “Both of you.”
With that, she gave a little wave, walked herself out, and the door clicked gently shut behind her.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Daeyoung turned toward Riku, a quiet smile spreading slowly across his face as his voice barely rose above a whisper. “We live here now.”
Riku took a slow breath and looked around the space–the empty walls, the slanted sunlight, the little dog now curled in a patch of warmth on the floor–and nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer and pulling Daeyoung gently pulled him into his arms. “We do.”
But they didn’t plan to sleep at the apartment on their first night. Even with the sunlight pouring into the clean new space, even with Jelly already curled up on the living room floor like she’d claimed the place as her own, there was something grounding about postponing the move-in by just a bit. The apartment could wait until tomorrow.
Daeyoung’s second older brother lived just five minutes away—a small house tucked behind a quiet row of shops, a short walk past a park and a famous bakery Daeyoung wanted to visit. Riku couldn’t help but slow his steps a little, wanting to memorize the way his husband lit up with every turn they took through the neighborhood.
The house came into view just as the sun began dipping low, the sky tinged with gold and pink and softening shades of dusk. It was cozy and lived-in, the kind of place that always had something on the stove and blankets tossed over the backs of chairs. A windchime by the door danced gently in the breeze.
As they approached, the front door creaked open before they could even knock.
Daeyoung’s brother stood in the entryway, grinning wide and waving at them with a “ Ya, hurry up, you’re late! ” His hair was a bit messy, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and he looked every bit the exhausted but proud new father.
“Hyung,” Daeyoung laughed as he stepped into the entryway, pulling him into a quick hug. “You said dinner was at seven. It’s barely 6:45.”
“Exactly,” his brother replied with a wink. “You should be early. I’ve been making food all day. I’m not letting it get cold because of you.”
Riku ducked his head in a respectful bow, slipping off his shoes and giving a quiet, “It’s good to see you again, Hyung-nim.”
His brother-in-law clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Glad you came, Riku. You look taller than I remember.”
“I haven’t grown,” Riku said sheepishly, and Daeyoung laughed behind him.
The moment they stepped inside, warmth wrapped around them. The house was clean but comfortable, with toys peeking out from under the sofa and a baby monitor sitting on the dining table beside folded towels.
And then came the quiet footsteps of someone else approaching from down the hall.
Daeyoung’s sister-in-law appeared, holding a small bundle against her shoulder, eyes a little tired but smiling with the unmistakable tenderness of someone who had fallen in love with the baby she carried. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and the baby, wrapped in a pale green blanket, gave a soft, sleepy sound that made Riku’s heart squeeze before he could even see their face.
Daeyoung’s breath hitched audibly beside him.
“Noona,” he whispered, eyes already locked on the tiny face. “Oh my god.”
She smiled and stepped forward, tilting the baby gently toward them. “He just fell asleep, but you can still say hi.”
Riku watched as Daeyoung reached out with hesitant, careful hands. His voice had dropped an octave, soft and reverent. “Hi there, little guy…”
He touched the baby’s hand with a single finger, and the infant’s tiny fingers curled around it instinctively. Riku had seen Daeyoung emotional before—on stage, in private, after shows and on anniversaries—but there was something new in his expression now, something quiet and stunned and completely open. It struck Riku in the chest, made something swell inside him that he didn’t quite have words for.
“What’s his name?” Riku asked softly.
“Youngmin,” his sister-in-law replied. “Born seven weeks ago. Just started sleeping longer than three hours a night, which means we’re now at the ‘laughing-while-crying-from-exhaustion’ stage of parenting.”
She said it with humor, but her eyes shone as she looked down at her son. Youngmin’s mouth was parted slightly in sleep, cheeks round and pink, a tiny tuft of black hair sticking out from beneath his little beanie.
“He’s perfect,” Daeyoung murmured.
“He has your brother’s ears,” Riku added with a small grin.
“God, I hope not,” Daeyoung joked, and everyone laughed. His sister-in-law gently handed Youngmin off to his father, who held him with practiced ease, bouncing just slightly on the balls of his feet as he disappeared down the hallway to set the baby in his crib.
Dinner was loud and warm and full of second servings. The table was crowded with bulgogi, spicy tofu stew, banchan in small dishes, and bowls of rice that never stayed full for long. Daeyoung caught up with his sister-in-law in rapid-fire Korean, slipping back into his family’s rhythm with such ease that Riku found himself just watching for long stretches, charmed by the way his husband’s expression changed when he was home.
They talked about the apartment, about the show Daeyoung would soon start rehearsing for, about Riku’s time at the Olympics. His sister-in-law had watched the games, apparently. She asked questions about the atmosphere in the village, about how it felt to win a medal.
“I remember seeing the match,” she said, resting her chin on her palm as she leaned toward him. “You cried during the anthem.”
Riku flushed slightly. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It was very endearing,” she assured him. “My husband cried too, and he wasn’t even playing.”
By the time the dishes were cleared, Youngmin had stirred awake with a soft wail, and Daeyoung went with his brother to see him while Riku helped dry the dishes. The house dimmed, the corners filled with the muffled sounds of family.
Later that night, Daeyoung curled into Riku beneath a thick comforter in the guest bedroom. The mattress was firmer than their usual one, the ceiling unfamiliar, but none of it mattered.
“He’s so small,” Daeyoung whispered after a long silence.
“Youngmin?”
“Yeah. It’s hard to believe we were ever that small.”
Riku smiled, brushing a hand through Daeyoung’s hair. “You were probably born singing.”
Daeyoung chuckled, voice low and drowsy. “You were probably born blocking spikes.”
The room fell quiet again, save for the ticking of a clock on the wall and the faint sound of traffic outside.
“I’m glad we stayed here tonight,” Daeyoung murmured. “It feels like... a softer way to start.”
Riku pressed a kiss to his temple. “Then let’s start slow.”
And with that, they fell asleep, wrapped in warmth and the soft, steady certainty of being exactly where they were meant to be.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
It took two weeks for the apartment to feel like home.
At first, it felt like a hotel room—too pristine, too quiet, with none of the soft clutter they were used to. Their voices bounced oddly off the blank walls, and Riku kept opening the wrong drawers in the kitchen when looking for things. The shower pressure was a little too strong, and the bedroom light flickered once before settling into a constant glow. It was a place still learning how to hold them, and they were still figuring out how to fit into its corners.
But slowly, it began to change.
Their lives settled into the space like water into a glass. Shoes started piling near the front door. Jelly’s toys found permanent hiding spots under the couch. The blanket from their old home appeared draped over the arm of the sofa, and Daeyoung’s vocal warmups echoed faintly from the bathroom in the mornings. Their coffee mugs lined up beside the stove like old friends.
The apartment was smaller than their home in Japan, but it didn’t feel cramped. It felt close. Like everything they needed was always within reach. They didn’t have a dining table, just a low coffee table where they often sat cross-legged, knees brushing as they ate. And in those small touches of closeness, in the quiet laughter and wordless glances passed back and forth over shared meals, something like home started to bloom.
Jelly was the first to fully settle in.
She claimed her spot by the window from the start. Every day, like clockwork, she would stretch out on the floor where the sunlight hit just right and peer through the glass, ears twitching with every honk, every laugh, every gust of wind. She’d watch the skyline, the distant cars, the people walking below like they were part of a show meant just for her.
Riku adored watching her.
He would pause with his coffee in hand every morning to crouch beside her, resting an arm on the windowsill and silently admiring the way her tiny head tilted just so. Sometimes she made soft, interested noises, as if commenting on the scene outside. Sometimes she’d just stare, eyes wide, tail occasionally thumping with calm approval.
“You like it here, huh?” Riku murmured one morning, gently scratching behind her ear. She made a soft chuffing sound and leaned into the touch, clearly agreeing.
Behind him came the quiet padding of footsteps, and then the low rumble of a familiar yawn.
“Are you talking to the dog again?” Daeyoung’s voice was rough from sleep, amused and fond all at once.
Riku smiled as he turned to look. “She listens better than most people.”
Daeyoung, still in one of Riku’s sweatshirts that hung a little snug on his broader frame, made his way into the kitchen to put on the kettle. His hair was a sleep-flattened mess, his eyes half-lidded, but he looked content, completely at ease. He moved around the apartment with the muscle memory of someone who belonged there.
A few minutes later, tea steeping in mugs, Daeyoung returned to the living room, stepping quietly until he was behind Riku, who was now leaning slightly against the windowsill. Without a word, he wrapped his arms loosely around Riku’s waist and lowered his chin to rest gently on top of Riku’s head.
Riku melted into the embrace with a sigh. Daeyoung was warm and solid behind him, tall enough that he could rest against him completely, surrounded. The weight of his chin on Riku’s head felt grounding, affectionate in the softest way.
“She’s really claimed that window,” Daeyoung said, watching Jelly flop dramatically onto her side in the patch of sun.
“I think she thinks it’s her job to protect Seoul,” Riku replied.
“She’s doing great. Very intimidating.”
“She barked at a butterfly yesterday.”
Daeyoung laughed, the sound low and warm above him. His arms tightened slightly around Riku, his thumbs brushing slow circles just above his hips. “You’re settling in too, right?” he asked, quieter now. “You’re okay here?”
Riku tilted his head back slightly, just enough to feel the line of Daeyoung’s jaw above him.
“Yeah,” he said. “At first it felt weird. I kept looking for things that weren’t here. But now? Now it’s starting to feel like we really live here.” He paused. “It’s smaller, but it’s enough. It’s just right, actually.”
Daeyoung hummed in agreement, dipping his head to press a kiss into Riku’s hair. “I like it better this way,” he murmured. “Feels like we’re closer.”
Riku leaned back a little more, letting himself fully rest against his husband. “We were already close. You’re just using this as an excuse to be clingy.”
Daeyoung grinned, pressing another kiss. This one behind Riku’s ear. “Clingy is my love language.”
They stood like that for a while, the tea cooling slightly on the table behind them, Jelly snoozing, the world outside slowly shifting as the morning stretched on.
Eventually, Daeyoung moved to sit by the window, and Riku joined him, folding his legs beneath him and resting his head on Daeyoung’s shoulder. They sat in easy silence, sipping their drinks, watching the city from above.
And in that quiet, Riku realized something simple and sure: home wasn’t something you arrived at all at once. It crept in slowly, built itself in tiny moments, morning light, shared tea, a warm hand on your waist.
And now, wrapped in that warmth, he could finally say it with certainty.
This was home.
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
The apartment was peaceful during the day.
At first, Riku didn’t mind the quiet.
After the constant motion of training camps and the relentless adrenaline of competition, the calm felt like a reward. He’d jog through the nearby park every morning, looping around rows of ginkgo trees while Jelly trotted faithfully at his side. Back home, he’d shower, make coffee, and settle on the balcony to practice his Korean, murmuring phrases under his breath while writing them down phonetically in the margins of his notebook.
He told himself this was enough. That he was being productive. That he was adjusting.
But by the third day of Daeyoung’s rehearsals, the silence started to feel less like peace and more like emptiness.
He found himself wandering the apartment, doing things just to do them. Folding towels that didn’t need folding, scrolling endlessly on his phone, rearranging the spice cabinet just because he couldn’t remember if sesame oil should go on the left or the right. Jelly looked up at him like she, too, was wondering when something interesting was going to happen.
Still, Riku didn’t bring it up right away. He didn’t want to sound like he was complaining. They had chosen this together. He wanted Daeyoung to succeed, to glow in his element. And he was—every night he came home glowing with stories about new choreography, funny castmates, vocal breakthroughs.
But Riku couldn’t help feeling just a little… adrift.
It finally came out in the middle of a make out session.
They were curled up on the couch, the air around them warm and still, city lights flickering faintly outside the window. Riku was sitting on his husband’s lap and Daeyoung’s shirt was crumpled due to Riku’s grip on it. His lips were soft, slow, insistent against Riku’s. His hands slid up under Riku’s shirt, fingers cool against his stomach. Riku kissed him back with equal intensity, their breathing growing heavier, the space between them shrinking.
And then…
“I’m bored.”
Daeyoung froze. His lips hovered just above Riku’s. “…What?”
“I’m bored,” Riku repeated, not even trying to hide the whine in his voice.
Daeyoung blinked, leaning back slightly. “Uh. Give me a couple minutes and you definitely won’t be.”
“No, jagi.” Riku pouted, dragging his hands down Daeyoung’s chest to anchor him in place but softening the words with a small laugh. “I mean during the day. When you’re at rehearsal. I don’t know what to do with myself.”
Daeyoung gave him a long, amused look. “You waited until I was literally trying to crawl inside your shirt to tell me you needed a hobby?”
Riku pouted more dramatically this time. “It felt urgent. ”
So of course, Daeyoung leaned in and kissed the pout, warm and unhurried.
“Okay, okay,” he said, nuzzling into Riku’s cheek. “Let me think…” He sat up just enough to secure Riku in his arms, looking thoughtful. “What about… Would you want to go with my second sister-in-law this weekend?”
Riku blinked. “Go where?”
“She volunteers. On weekends. It’s this community center that does free lunch service and some after-school programs. She’s been helping with the food prep and teaching art classes for the kids. She mentioned she’s always looking for extra hands, especially someone who can lift things and help run around.”
Riku tilted his head. “You think she’d want me there?”
“Are you kidding? She loves you. Ever since you helped her clean up after dinner last week, she’s been going on about how polite and well-trained I’ve made you.”
“Well-trained?” Riku repeated, incredulous.
Daeyoung grinned. “I didn’t say it, she did. But hey, it’s a compliment.”
Riku rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “What would I even do there? My Korean isn’t perfect yet.”
“You’d be helping in the kitchen or setting up chairs. It’s nothing fancy. She said a lot of the volunteers are older and could use someone younger to do the heavy lifting.” Daeyoung reached out and traced a gentle line across Riku’s jaw with his finger. “And I think you’d like it. You’re good at being around people. You make things feel lighter. And it’d give you something real to do. Something outside the apartment.”
Riku was quiet for a moment, considering. He liked the idea. He liked the idea of helping. Of being part of something, even if it was small. Even if it was just for a few hours a week.
“Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll give it a shot.”
Daeyoung leaned forward again, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to Riku’s mouth. “I knew you would. I’ll let her know you’re interested.”
Riku grinned into the kiss. “This still doesn’t solve my current boredom, though.”
Daeyoung didn’t hesitate. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m very prepared to handle that.”