Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Q. How did Beomgyu and Yeonjun’s day go?

Beomgyu didn’t know how they ended up at a comic café.

Actually- scratch that. He did know. Yeonjun had pointed at it with the enthusiasm of a fox seeing a bunny and said, “Let’s go in,” and Beomgyu, because he had made the tragic mistake of letting Yeonjun plan their hangout day, said yes.

Now they were sitting in a cozy booth surrounded by shelves of manga and manhwa neither of them had ever heard of, with warm lighting overhead and the lingering smell of instant ramen in the air. The table in front of them was stacked with snacks. Melon soda, chocolate-covered biscuits, spicy ramen, and a suspiciously large cup of something that Yeonjun claimed was iced coffee but tasted like regret and burnt sugar.

“We don’t even read,” Beomgyu said, deadpan, eyeing the unfamiliar volumes on their table like they were in a foreign language. Which, in fairness, most of them were.

Yeonjun popped a chip into his mouth and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We’re here for the vibes and aesthetics.”

“Vibes and aesthetics,” Beomgyu echoed, staring blankly at a manhwa with a shirtless vampire on the cover.

“And that’s the vibe,” Yeonjun said wisely, taking a sip of his tragic coffee.

Beomgyu sighed and leaned back into the soft booth seat, watching a couple across the room actually reading in peaceful silence. He turned back to Yeonjun. “You dragged me here to pretend to be literate, huh?”

Yeonjun smirked. “Please. We’re sophisticated. Look, I brought a highlighter.”

Beomgyu choked. “For what? To highlight the word ‘destiny’?”

Yeonjun burst into laughter, nearly spilling his drink. “Oh my God, you’re the worst.”

“You started it!” Beomgyu said, grabbing a manga at random and flipping through it upside-down. “What even is this one? Why are all the guys shirtless and sad?”

“That’s every romance plot ever,” Yeonjun said, reaching over to flip the book the right way. “Also, you’re holding it backward, Einstein.”

Beomgyu gave him a look. “I know. I was testing your intelligence.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. “Gosh, how did Taehyun even put up with you?”

Beomgyu looked up with a raised brow, mouth full of biscuit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” Yeonjun grinned, “you’re loud, dramatic, allergic to seriousness, and you read books upside-down.”

Beomgyu pretended to think. Then he shrugged, tone softening just slightly. “Honestly? I don’t know either. But… I’m lucky he does.”

Yeonjun stared at him for a second longer than usual, then leaned back with a lopsided smile. “You’re in love.”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

Beomgyu shrugged, poking at the biscuit crumbs with one finger. “Like it’s some big, starry - eyed revelation. It’s just... true. But you don’t have to say it like you’re reading the last line of a love letter.”

Yeonjun smirked. “Can’t help it. You sounded all soft and sincere.”

Beomgyu opened his mouth to retort. Then paused, tilted his head thoughtfully, and added, way too casually.

“But really though, we’re really better off as friends.”

Yeonjun slapped a hand to his forehead. “Why do I even try to have sincere moments with you?”

“I didn’t ask you to!” Beomgyu wheezed. “You’re the one who brought out the dramatic monologue energy!”

“I was being nice!” Yeonjun said, reaching for his drink like it could save him from this chaos.

Beomgyu laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach. “I just wanted to be clear! In case you-”

“In case I what?!”

“In case you got ideas!”

“I don’t have ideas!” Yeonjun shouted, flailing slightly with a chip in hand. “I barely have brain cells when I’m around you!”

“That checks out.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me.”

“Not in that way!”

“Exactly,” Beomgyu said triumphantly, pointing both fingers at him. “See? Friends.”

Yeonjun got up. “Bye I’m ordering another ramyeon.”

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

Yeonjun came back with a bowl of ramyeon and a book.

“CHOI BEOMGYU. LOOK.”

Beomgyu leaned over the table.

Yeonjun had opened a book where one of the characters looked exactly like Soobin, except this version didn’t have his hair dyed blonde, and was holding a bow and an arrow, posing a cool pose.

Beomgyu blinked. “Wait. That’s actually kind of spot - on.”

“Right?” Yeonjun grinned. “Should I send this to him and say, ‘You in an different universe’?”

“Only if you want to hear him say, ‘Please stop,’ in ten different ways.”

Yeonjun shrugged. “He’ll survive.“

Beomgyu shook his head, nibbling a biscuit stick. “We could’ve gone anywhere. A park. A museum. Literally anywhere less... bookish.”

“And yet,” Yeonjun said, motioning around proudly, “we’re surrounded by stories, by imagination, by the collective dreams of artists.”

“By noodles and very dramatic illustrations.”

“Exactly!”

They both burst into laughter again. A few people turned to glance at them, and Beomgyu gave an awkward wave before slouching lower into his seat like he hoped the couch would absorb him entirely.

Eventually, the sugar rush wore off, and Yeonjun's reading turned into lazy page flipping while Beomgyu tried to decipher a story about magical creatures that spoke only in riddles.

Then, Beomgyu randomly started, “Okay, my turn. Why Soobin?”

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, why Soobin?”

Beomgyu widened his hands dramatically. “You, of all people, funny, cool, devastatingly handsome, settling for that tall quiet guy who cries at Disney movies?”

Yeonjun burst out laughing again. “He’s sweet! And actually likes reading. And he makes really good eggs.”

“Eggs, Yeonjun.”

“Hey, when you’re tired, a perfect sunny - side - up means everything.”

Beomgyu shook his head with a playful groan. “Your standards are so low. Raise the bar, please.”

“I did. He’s six feet tall.”

That earned a loud snort from Beomgyu.

“I’m serious!” Yeonjun insisted, laughing too hard to sound convincing.

They high-fived again over their mutual ridiculousness.

Eventually, Beomgyu stretched with a groan. “I’m done. I read two pages and forgot how to think.”

“Same,” Yeonjun yawned. “We’ve absorbed enough creativity to last us a week.”

Beomgyu raised his hand. “To literature.”

Yeonjun gave it a fist bump. “To pretending we know what’s going on.”

They cleaned up their snacks, stacked the untouched books neatly on the table, and headed outside into the cool evening air. The breeze was a little sharp, the sky glowing faintly with the last stretch of daylight.

“Next time,” Beomgyu said, sticking his hands into his pockets, “you’re not picking.”

“Says the guy who thought indoor skydiving was relaxing.”

“I thought we were going to float. Not get turned into a human frisbee.”

Yeonjun grinned. “I have more ideas. I’m thinking… board game café next?”

“Please no. You cheat every time.”

“Just because I win every time.”

Beomgyu groaned, but he was smiling.

They stepped out into the evening, the air crisp and a little too cold for just their thin jackets, but neither of them minded. The sky was soft with fading color, the street lights just beginning to blink on.

They walked a little slower than usual, hands in pockets, letting the calm settle over them.

“But,” Beomgyu said after a moment, nudging Yeonjun with his elbow, “Thanks for bringing me here. It was stupid and weird, and I still don’t know what any of those plots were, but... it was fun.”

Yeonjun arched an eyebrow. “Wow. You admitting I did something right? Write it down.”

“I’m serious,” Beomgyu said, smiling. “I think I might bring Taehyun here next time.”

Yeonjun gave him a sideways glance. “Oh? Why? Does he like reading?”

Beomgyu opened his mouth to answer, only for his phone to buzz in his pocket.

He answered, voice already softening. “Hey.”

Taehyun’s voice came through the phone, a little muffled, a little warm. “Hey, will you be back for dinner?”

Beomgyu’s smile stretched instinctively, the kind that softened all his edges. He glanced down at his shoes and replied without missing a beat, “Of course, jagiya. I’m on my way.”

There was a pause. Then a breath. Then, so faint it was almost nothing, Taehyun let out a tiny, flustered sound, like he’d turned away from the receiver to hide the way his ears were probably turning pink.

Beomgyu smiled. He could feel him blushing.

“Okay,” Taehyun said after a beat. “I’ll wait for you.”

“See you soon.”

He hung up and slipped the phone back into his pocket, still glowing.

Yeonjun was staring at him with his arms crossed, smirking. “Jagiya, huh?”

Beomgyu gave him a look. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not saying anything,” Yeonjun said innocently, raising both hands. “But I am feeling slightly third-wheeled by a phone call.”

Beomgyu laughed. “I guess I have to go now. Duty calls.”

He started walking backward, hands in his pockets, still smiling. “Tell Soobin I said hi.”

“And tell Taehyun,” Yeonjun called after him, “that I think he’s got the patience of a saint!”

Beomgyu looked back over his shoulder. “I tell him that all the time.”

Yeonjun shook his head, but his slight smile lingered even after Beomgyu disappeared around the corner.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

Beomgyu stepped inside, dropping his keys quietly. “I’m home-”

He paused. The lights were on, and from the kitchen came the soft sound of something boiling.

Taehyun peeked out, wearing Beomgyu’s hoodie, hair a little messy. “Hey.”

Beomgyu blinked. “How are you home so early? I thought I’d beat you today.”

Taehyun shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Finished early.”

Beomgyu walked over and pulled him into a hug. “Sorry I’m late.”

Taehyun leaned into him, arms wrapping around his waist. “You’re not. You’re right on time.”

Beomgyu kissed his forehead gently. “I missed you.”

“I know,” Taehyun said, smiling against his shoulder. “I missed you too.”

Chapter Text

Q. Second double date?

The plan had been simple, dinner at the cozy restaurant they’d all fallen in love with last month. The one where Soobin had, exactly a month ago, declared they would spend the next date at the same place.

But plans had a habit of falling apart when Taehyun looked at his phone a little too long.

Beomgyu had found him sprawled on the living room couch, swiping lazily through short form videos of strangers flailing on roller coasters and laughing breathlessly between rides. He’d leaned over the back of the couch, chin pressing into Taehyun’s shoulder, and watched for a beat. The shriek of a drop tower bled from the phone’s speaker.

“You want to go?” Beomgyu had asked, not really expecting the shrug Taehyun gave in response to mean anything.

But then Taehyun locked the screen, turned his head, and raised a brow in that quiet, knowing way of his.

“Why not?” he said.

A few days later, they were standing in the fluorescent glow of ‘Sanctuary Amusement Park’, far from their original plans, and even farther from anything resembling subtlety.

Beomgyu didn’t remember how exactly the plan had derailed so completely. One minute, they were talking about food at the restaurant. The next, he was tapping his card against a reader for four full - price tickets while Soobin cheered like he’d just won the lottery and Yeonjun offered a dramatic bow of gratitude.

"Thanks, rich guy," Soobin had said, grinning as he tucked his phone into his pocket and pointed toward the nearest map like a man on a mission.

Sanctuary was overwhelming in all the ways amusement parks tended to be. An endless blur of soft neon signs, shrill laughter, and a smell that danced between fried sugar and vague machinery. Children darted between legs, clutching helium balloons. Somewhere, a carousel spun to a music box tune, eerily cheerful in its loop.

It was buzzing with families, couples, and shrieking teenagers. Lights blinked from every direction, music played from invisible speakers, and the smell of fried food was aggressively delightful.

“So what are we riding first?” Taehyun asked, adjusting his hoodie.

“The scariest one,” Soobin said, already pulling Yeonjun toward the towering roller coaster that looked like it might detach from the tracks if the wind blew wrong.

Taehyun shuddered, arms folded tightly as the rollercoaster thundered past, shrieking on its tracks like it had a personal grudge against gravity. He hated that sound. The deep, rattling clatter that always made his stomach drop before he even got near the ride.

Beomgyu noticed immediately. He turned to him with that soft, instinctive concern that came from knowing each other too well.

“Hey,” he said gently, already reaching out. His hand found Taehyun’s without thinking, fingers lacing through. “You okay, jagiya?”

Taehyun managed a small smile, grateful for the contact, the grounding warmth of Beomgyu’s palm against his. “Yeah, just… forgot how loud they are,” he muttered, voice barely audible over the crowd.

From behind, Beomgyu called out with a laugh, “Hey, chill out, guys! Someone can’t ride extreme rides here!”

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” Soobin’s voice was full of energy, his fingers still tightly intertwined with Yeonjun’s. He tugged, clearly excited about the ride, the thrill of it almost infectious.

Beomgyu raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine! You guys go!” he called out, his tone playful but his eyes staying on Taehyun, checking in with a soft glance. He gave Taehyun’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

He didn’t even flinch. He squeezed Taehyun’s hand and leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. “Let them go. We’ll get churros and mock him from a safe distance,” he whispered with a grin.

Taehyun chuckled, finally relaxing a little. “Okay.”

Yeonjun hesitated, looking over at Beomgyu and Taehyun with a smile. “You’re sure about this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as if the answer was already obvious.

Soobin’s grin grew wider. “Absolutely. You’ll love it! We’ll be back before you can even finish your churros!” He pulled Yeonjun forward again.

Taehyun watched them go, a quiet smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His hand found Beomgyu’s naturally, their fingers lacing together without a second thought. "Guess it's just us," Taehyun said softly.

Beomgyu leaned back against the bench, his free hand reaching into his pocket. "Yep," he said with a wink, "and we’re gonna make the best of it. No extreme rollercoasters, just us and some snacks."

He passed Taehyun a churro, the sugar coating it sparkling in the afternoon sun. Taehyun took it, his fingers brushing lightly against Beomgyu’s as he did.

“Yeah, sounds perfect,” Taehyun said, sinking back into the bench with a relaxed sigh.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

The minutes dragged by as Beomgyu and Taehyun relaxed on the bench, the hustle and bustle of the park a pleasant background hum. They shared a few quiet moments, laughing softly at people passing by, enjoying their own little world while Soobin and Yeonjun went off on their adventure.

But it wasn’t long before they spotted the two of them returning, weaving through the crowd It was.

Soobin looked funny, at least to Beomgyu.

He stumbled slightly as he neared the bench, his face flushed with exhaustion, hair slightly disheveled from the wind. “Okay... never doing that again,” he muttered, his usual energy drained. His hand immediately reached for Yeonjun’s, holding onto him like a lifeline.

Yeonjun, on the other hand, was completely unfazed. His usual calm demeanor hadn’t shifted at all. He walked beside Soobin with a smile, looking like the ride hadn’t even made a dent in his tranquility.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Yeonjun said, his tone still smooth, as if he’d just come back from a leisurely stroll, not from plummeting down a rollercoaster.

“So how did it go, Mr. ‘It will be fun’?” Beomgyu smirked, his voice light with teasing as he looked at Soobin, who was still clutching Yeonjun’s hand like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

Soobin groaned dramatically, his head falling back onto the bench with a thud.

gave a small chuckle as he sat next to Soobin, letting him rest his head on his shoulder. “You’re the one who dragged me into that ride, Soobin,” Yeonjun said with a soft smile. “Now you get to suffer the consequences.” His fingers gently brushed Soobin’s hair out of his eyes, a surprisingly tender gesture considering the playful banter between them.

Beomgyu leaned back, glancing over at Taehyun with a grin. “You hear that, Taehyun? Suffer the consequences,” he repeated with a teasing tone. “I think that’s exactly what we’re avoiding by staying here.” He nudged Taehyun, who was trying not to laugh at the scene in front of them.

Soobin shot them a tired look, barely opening his eyes. “I don’t need your mockery, okay? I’m already tired enough as it is.”

Taehyun leaned on Beomgyu’s shoulder, looking between Soobin and Yeonjun. “So, does this mean next time, we’re sticking to the Ferris wheel and cotton candy?”

Beomgyu chuckled, resting his arm around Taehyun’s shoulders. “Yeah, something a little more… gentle. Maybe a carousel.” He raised an eyebrow at Soobin, as if daring him to protest. “I think that would suit the ‘adventurer’ here.”

Soobin let out a resigned sigh, but there was no real frustration in his voice. “Fine, next time. You two win. No more extreme rides.”

“But don’t you like extreme rides, Beomgyu?” Soobin’s voice was still teasing, though there was a hint of curiosity behind the words as he peeked up from his semi - dramatic slump on Yeonjun’s shoulder.

Beomgyu didn’t immediately respond. Instead, his gaze shifted to Taehyun, who had settled comfortably against him, his head resting lightly on Beomgyu’s shoulder. The sight made Beomgyu’s chest tighten just a little, a soft smile tugging at his lips without even realizing it.

Taehyun’s breathing was steady, his presence soothing, like a quiet anchor in the middle of the park’s chaos. His fingers were gently curled around Beomgyu’s hand, still holding onto it loosely, the contact simple but grounding.

Beomgyu’s expression softened as he turned his attention back to Soobin, who was still waiting for an answer.

“Yeah…” Beomgyu said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. “Now I don’t anymore.”

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

The sun began to dip lower in the sky, painting the entire amusement park in warm, golden hues. The energy had shifted, more relaxed now, as the afternoon slowly gave way to evening.

True to their words, they all spent the rest of the day indulging in slower, more laid-back rides. The carousel had been the first stop, with its soft, nostalgic music playing as they circled around in slow motion. Beomgyu and Taehyun had chosen a pair of horses, and Beomgyu had made sure to give Taehyun the white one—the one that seemed to glow under the setting sun.

“Fancy ride for a fancy guy,” Beomgyu had joked as he’d helped Taehyun up.

Taehyun had smiled, his hand finding Beomgyu’s once he was settled. “You always know how to make things feel special,” he had murmured quietly, only for Beomgyu to hear.

Their hands stayed clasped throughout the ride, the gentle sway of the carousel soothing, like the world was slowing down just for them. Beomgyu couldn’t stop glancing at Taehyun, his heart full of a quiet kind of happiness. There was something about sharing these small moments that felt more intimate than any adrenaline rush they could’ve chased earlier.

Soobin and Yeonjun were on the carousel too, but on a horse across from them, teasing each other about which one would go the fastest. Soobin, ever the competitive spirit, had challenged Yeonjun to a “race” between their horses, even though they both knew the carousel wasn’t exactly made for speed.

“You’re on,” Yeonjun had said with a grin, clearly entertained by Soobin’s enthusiasm.

The two of them had exchanged playful glances and light-hearted banter, but when the ride had come to an end, Soobin had caught Yeonjun’s hand, pulling him toward the Ferris wheel.

“Next up, the big one,” Soobin had declared, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Taehyun and Beomgyu had followed along at a slower pace, content to just enjoy the quiet of the park as it started to thin out, the crowds beginning to dissipate with the approaching evening. The Ferris wheel loomed ahead, its lights glowing softly in the twilight. The ride was peaceful, the perfect kind of experience to cap off the day.

As the four of them climbed into separate cars, Soobin and Yeonjun took the one in front, already laughing and teasing each other as the wheel began its slow ascent. Beomgyu and Taehyun were in the one directly behind them, and the view from up there was breathtaking. Both the park and the sky painted in warm shades of orange and pink.

Beomgyu leaned back against the seat, his arm comfortably around Taehyun’s shoulders. Taehyun rested his head against Beomgyu’s shoulder once again, a contented sigh escaping him.

“You know, I used to hate heights,” Taehyun said softly, his fingers tracing small patterns on Beomgyu’s arm. “But… with you, it doesn’t feel so bad.”

Beomgyu smiled, kissing the top of his head gently. “I’m glad I make it easier,” he whispered, his voice low and affectionate. “And for the record, I used to love heights. But now, I’m happy just being with you.”

Taehyun turned his face up toward Beomgyu, their eyes meeting for a moment that felt timeless. There was nothing but the soft breeze between them, the quiet hum of the Ferris wheel, and the gentle pulse of each other’s presence. For once, the world outside didn’t matter.

Beomgyu nudged him gently. “Look at that view,” he said, his voice low and full of fondness as he pointed to the fading sun. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Taehyun smiled, his eyes lighting up as he looked out at the horizon. “It is. And I get to share it with you.”

Beomgyu’s smile softened, and he took Taehyun’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers as they sat together in silence, watching the world below.

Meanwhile, Soobin and Yeonjun were enjoying their own little world in front of them. Soobin leaned over to Yeonjun, his voice light but sincere. “I think I’m gonna be okay with this kind of ride. It’s slow, it’s quiet... kinda nice.”

Yeonjun chuckled softly, looking out at the view. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I think I’ll take this over a rollercoaster any day, too.”

Soobin smiled and leaned against Yeonjun’s shoulder, their hands naturally intertwining. “You’re making me soft, yeobo” he said teasingly, but there was affection in his tone.

The moment the word left Soobin's mouth, Yeonjun stiffened for a second, his heart skipping a beat. His face instantly flushed a deep shade of pink, and he looked down at Soobin, wide-eyed. "Yeobo?" Yeonjun’s voice cracked just a little, his cheeks burning hotter. “Did- did you just-”

Soobin chuckled at Yeonjun’s flustered expression, the way his eyes darted around like he was trying to process the word. “Yeah, I did,” Soobin said with a mischievous grin, letting the teasing linger in his voice. “I mean, Beomgyu calls Taehyun jagiya all the time. Don’t you think we should have our own thing too?”

Yeonjun’s fluster deepened at the mention of Beomgyu and Taehyun. His heart fluttered, and his mind briefly went back to their own small moments of affection. How they’d share gentle touches or soft glances when no one else was around. The idea of calling Soobin something special like yeobo seemed like a little leap, but it felt right. Still, the thought of it made him more shy than he wanted to admit.

“Well…” Yeonjun hesitated, his voice a little quieter now. He avoided Soobin’s teasing gaze for a moment, his hands nervously shifting. “I’ve actually thought about it too.”

He turned to Soobin, his expression softening as he met his eyes. “But I was too shy to ask. I didn’t want to sound cheesy or like I was moving too fast…”

Soobin blinked, his heart swelling at the vulnerability in Yeonjun’s voice. Without thinking, he reached up to gently cup Yeonjun’s face, brushing a thumb over his cheek in that familiar, calming gesture that always made Yeonjun feel at ease.

“Hey,” Soobin said, his voice tender now, no teasing left in it. “There’s nothing cheesy about it. It’s just… us. And I think it’s perfect. If you want to call me yeobo, you can. I’d like it.”

Yeonjun’s eyes softened, his lips curving into a shy smile. His heart felt light, his worries melting away with the warmth of Soobin’s touch. “Really?” he asked, his voice still a little unsure but full of hope.

Soobin nodded, a soft laugh escaping him. “Really. I wouldn’t mind being your yeobo.”

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, both content with the little bubble of intimacy they’d shared. The Ferris wheel continued its slow ascent, the sky now dotted with the first stars of the evening. The park’s lights twinkled below them, casting a soft glow around their little moment.

Finally, after a long pause, Soobin broke the silence with a playful smirk. “Just so you know,” he said with a teasing tone, “I’m still calling you yeobo.”

Yeonjun laughed softly, his cheeks still flushed but his heart now lighter than it had been all day. “I guess I’m okay with that.”

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

The peaceful end to the day, full of simple joys, felt like a perfect snapshot of their lives, content, full of love, and exactly where they needed to be.

Chapter Text

Q. Does it hurt Taehyuniee?

“Hey, I’m back!”

Beomgyu’s voice echoed through the house as he kicked the door shut behind him, arms full with grocery bags and keys dangling from one finger. The smell of rain clung to his clothes, the early evening drizzle had caught him on his walk home, and all he could think of was getting inside, seeing Taehyun, hearing the quiet welcome he’d grown used to.

But the house stayed still.

Silent.

He paused in the entryway, slipping off his shoes, heart beating just a little faster.

“Taehyun?” he called again, voice lifting into a question now. He stepped into the living room. The couch was empty. No laptop open, no blanket in a pile, no soft music from Taehyun’s endless playlists humming in the background.

No answer.

He froze.

It wasn’t the same fear as it used to be. Not anymore. Back then, his worst fear had been walking through that door and finding Taehyun gone. A suitcase by the door. A note and papers on the table. Silence that wasn’t just absence but finality.

But that fear had changed.

Now, it wasn’t that Taehyun would leave.

It was that something might happen to him. That Beomgyu wouldn’t be there when it did.

He dropped the keys on the table and moved faster. “Taehyun?” he called again, louder this time, panic tightening his throat.

And then he heard a soft sound. Sharp, breathy, from somewhere above. Like someone biting back a groan.

From the stairs.

Beomgyu hurried toward the noise, and there, about halfway up, he saw him.

Taehyun was gripping the railing tightly with one hand, the other pressed awkwardly against the wall for balance. His jaw was clenched, and his right foot hovered just above a step, like it couldn’t bear to touch the floor.

“Taehyun-” Beomgyu was already moving, his hand reaching out as he climbed up to him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I… tripped.” Taehyun’s voice was low, tight with pain. “Was coming down to grab the laundry.”

His breath hitched as he shifted slightly, and Beomgyu instinctively steadied him, arm around his waist.

“You sprained it?” Beomgyu asked gently.

“Think so. I can’t put weight on it.”

Beomgyu looked at him closely. His face was pale, but his eyes were alert. Still, the sight of him like this, helpless, hurting, alone, knocked the air from his lungs.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you. You were out, and I thought… I could handle it.”

Beomgyu was already carrying Taehyun to the sofa in the living room before his tounge could move.

I didn’t want to bother you.

The words echoed in his mind, dull and heavy, like a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been dreading. Not because he was surprised, but because somewhere deep down, some part of him had feared Taehyun still believed that.

He had looked at him, at his jagiya, pale and wincing, gripping the stair railing like it was the only thing keeping him upright. And in that moment, something in Beomgyu’s chest twisted. Not with anger, not even with frustration, just a quiet ache.

A deep, wordless kind of grief that someone he loved this much could think that he might ever be something inconvenient.

Taehyun, who folded Beomgyu’s laundry even when he forgot it in the machine.

Who still stayed after everything he had to endure.

Who forgives Beomgyu too easily, or at least after everything he had done too him, it felt too easy.

And still, he thought he needed to carry pain by himself just to avoid being “a bother.”

Beomgyu didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. The words, whatever they were, clogged his throat, caught between anger at himself that made Taehyun feel that way and the overwhelming urge to wrap him in everything soft and safe.

So instead, he just held him.

One arm firm around his waist, one hand steady at his back. And when Taehyun shifted like he might protest, Beomgyu didn’t let him.

He carried him. Gently. Quietly. As if it were instinct.

Because it was.

He placed him on the couch with practiced care, like every movement had already played itself out in his head before it happened. Pillows. Blanket. Ice pack. Water. All of it without a word.

And when he finally sat beside him, he reached for Taehyun’s hand. Held it like it was the only thing anchoring him.

Beomgyu’s thumb moved slowly across the back of Taehyun’s hand. The silence had stretched long enough now that it felt purposeful, like neither of them wanted to break it first. But the words were pushing at the back of his throat, no longer stuck, no longer quiet.

He looked at Taehyun, really looked at him.

Hair a little tousled, damp at the temples. Brows furrowed not just in pain, but shame. Like he still thought he’d done something wrong. Like he was bracing for disappointment, for silence, for that old ache that used to sit between them when things weren’t spoken.

Beomgyu squeezed his hand.

“I hate that you still think that,” he said quietly. “That you could ever be a bother to me.”

Taehyun blinked, startled by the sudden break in silence. He didn’t pull away, but his eyes dropped down to their joined hands.

“I didn’t mean it like-”

“No.” Beomgyu’s voice was gentle, but firm. “You did. You meant it like someone who’s used to being a second thought. Who’s used to swallowing pain so no one else has to see it.”

He took a breath.

“And I’m the one who made you feel that way.”

Taehyun’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “That’s not what I meant…”

“It’s not about what you mean,” Beomgyu said. “It’s about the fact that I let you believe, even for a second, that your hurt was something I wouldn’t want to carry with you. That loving you meant only the good parts, not this too.”

He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind Taehyun’s ear, slow and soft. His fingertips lingered at his jaw for a moment, like he was still grounding himself.

“You take care of me all the time. In a million quiet ways.”

He smiled, but it was small. Almost sad.

“You could cry for no reason at all, and I would still want to hold you.”

His voice was soft, steady, but there was a tremble behind it. Not fear, just honesty. The kind that comes only when you stop trying to sound strong.

“You could wake me up at 3 a.m. just to say you're cold, and I’d wrap myself around you without a second thought.”

He looked down for a second, like he was trying to gather the right words from somewhere deep inside.

“You could fall, hurt, ache, forget, mess up- Any of it- And still- still, you would never, ever be a bother to me”

Taehyun huffed a laugh at that, but it cracked in the middle. He looked like he might cry, or maybe like he was trying not to. His fingers curled tighter into Beomgyu’s.

“You’re not a bother,” Beomgyu whispered. “You’re the person I want to come home to. Every day. For the rest of my life.”

Taehyun’s eyes fluttered closed. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

The way he leaned in, the way he let himself be held, those said everything.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

Beomgyu returned from the kitchen quietly, the soft rattle of the first aid kit tucked under one arm, a glass of water balanced in the other. Taehyun had fallen into a light doze on the couch, one arm resting over his eyes, the other limp at his side. The living room light pooled around him like something fragile. Small. Still.

He set the water down on the table and knelt carefully beside him again.

“Hyunnie,” he said softly, resting a hand on his knee. “I brought some ointment. For the swelling.”

Taehyun stirred, shifting slightly and blinking against the light. He didn’t speak, just nodded, quiet in the way he got when he was hurting but didn’t want to draw attention to it.

Beomgyu uncapped the tube and squeezed a bit onto his fingers. His hands were warm from running them under the tap moments ago, just like his mother used to do for him when he was little. He reached out, slowly, gently, and began to massage the ointment into Taehyun’s ankle.

His touch was delicate, reverent.

Taehyun flinched once, the pain still fresh, but he didn’t pull away.

“Sorry,” Beomgyu murmured. “I’ll be gentle.”

He took his time, not just because he was being careful, but because something about this moment demanded it. The way Taehyun let him. The way his guard didn’t come back up. It was quiet in the room again, but it wasn’t the same kind of quiet from earlier. This one had weight to it. Warmth.

Beomgyu set the ointment aside and reached for the blanket to tuck it around Taehyun’s legs, but his gaze caught on something.

The curve of Taehyun’s collarbone. A faint line just above it, pale but visible under the low light.

He didn’t even realize he was reaching out until his fingers were already tracing the scar. His thumb brushed over it like it was something precious. Taehyun tensed, just slightly, but he didn’t stop him.

“Sorry,” Beomgyu whispered into the skin.

Beomgyu leaned in without thinking. He pressed a kiss to it. Just one. Light as breath.

Then another, to the scar on his forearm, the one that ran like a whisper of a line down skin that shouldn’t have had to learn how to break.

“I’m sorry.”

And then, lower, across the wrist that still ached in the winter, the one he had grabbed too hard, too long, too cruelly, one awful night. That one, he lingered on. His lips trembled as they met the skin, and he pressed them there for a beat longer.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of that wrist, then the back of it, then held it in both hands, as if it might break if he didn’t.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Taehyun was completely still now. His hand didn’t move from Beomgyu’s grip, and his breathing had changed. Slower, steadier, like something had eased deep inside him.

Beomgyu kissed the wrist again, not moving, just resting his lips there.

“Sorry,” he whispered again. His voice cracked.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was small, fragile, almost embarrassed. But it broke something in the room, like the final thread of silence that had been holding it all in place.

His eyes stung. He blinked once, then again, but it was useless.

The tear slipped out anyway.

It traced the curve of his cheek as he leaned over Taehyun’s hand, then fell silently onto the inside of his wrist. Right over the spot he’d kissed.

Beomgyu froze when he felt it fall.

He hadn’t meant to cry. He didn’t even know he could. Not here, not now, not when he was the one who was supposed to be comforting. But it came anyway. One tear, then another, then another, warm and bitter and quiet.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again, voice softer now, more broken. “You didn’t deserve any of it. “

The tear that slipped down his cheek fell onto Taehyun’s wrist, quiet and warm. Beomgyu didn’t try to wipe it away.

He just stayed there, forehead pressed gently against Taehyun’s arm, voice low and raw.

“I should’ve been better.”

Taehyun didn’t speak.

But he moved.

His thumb brushed Beomgyu’s cheek, slow and careful, wiping the tear away. Not with urgency, not to stop it, just to be there as it fell. Then his hand cradled the side of Beomgyu’s face, fingers curling gently behind his ear, holding him like something precious. Something forgiven.

Beomgyu leaned into the touch. He didn’t mean to. It just happened, instinctively, like his body finally understood it was allowed to fall apart here.

Taehyun didn’t let go.

He didn’t look away.

And when Beomgyu’s breath hitched again, shaking slightly from the effort of keeping quiet, Taehyun shifted, made space, and pulled him closer.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he tucked Beomgyu’s head beneath his chin, one arm wrapping slowly, protectively, around his back. His fingers slid into his hair again, moving softly, rhythmically, like he was reminding him,

I’m still yours. Even after everything. I’m still yours.

Beomgyu exhaled hard, burying himself into Taehyun’s warmth, his shoulders trembling once, and then settling.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. One last time.

Taehyun kissed the top of his head. Just once.

He didn’t say I forgive you.

He didn’t have to.

Because the way he held Beomgyu, the way he tucked him closer and closed his eyes as if there was nothing else in the world that mattered, it said it all.

Chapter Text

Q. House rules and a shared bedroom?

Something had changed since that night.

It was subtle. No grand declarations. But it lived in the quiet spaces between them now. In the easy way Taehyun leaned into Beomgyu’s touch, In the way silence no longer felt like something that needed to be filled.

Like a tide that came in overnight, lapping gently against the shore, changing the shape of things without drawing attention to itself.

It had been nearly a month since the ankle sprain. The swelling was gone, the bruising faded, but what lingered was something deeper. Softer. A quiet kind of trust that hadn’t been there before.

Beomgyu noticed it every time he came home.

Like tonight.

He stepped into the house, tired from back to back meetings, his tie already loosened and hair damp from the misty rain outside. The smell of something warm and savory drifted from the kitchen. Taehyun had clearly beaten him home, which still felt new, strange, and domestic in the most disarming way.

“I’m home,” Beomgyu called out, dropping his bag by the door.

“In the kitchen,” came Taehyun’s voice, not raised, not distant. Just present.

Beomgyu’s chest relaxed the way it always did now.

He smiled as he made his way in. Taehyun was standing barefoot at the counter, scooping rice into two bowls. His sleeves were pushed up, and his hair looked freshly washed, still a little damp at the ends.

“Hey,” Beomgyu said, wrapping his arms around him from behind.

Taehyun didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned back slightly into the embrace.

“Long day?” he asked.

“The longest.”

“Then eat before you pass out.” Taehyun nudged him gently with an elbow.

Dinner was simple. Rice and chicken, some pickled radish, miso soup. They sat across from each other at the kitchen table, the soft hum of music filling the quiet moments between bites. Taehyun refilled his bowl without being asked, and Beomgyu brushed rice off the corner of his mouth with his thumb, laughing when Taehyun gave him a look.

Beomgyu talked more than usual. Mostly about the intern who kept emailing the wrong client, and how he pretended not to notice until it turned into an emergency. Taehyun listened with a quiet smile, nodding along, shoulders shaking with the occasional laugh.

When they finished eating, Beomgyu stood to clear the dishes, but he reached for the plates, Taehyun caught his wrist. Softly, without a word.

Beomgyu paused, eyes flicking down to the fingers wrapped loosely around his arm, then back up to Taehyun’s face. There was no urgency there. No tension. Just something quiet and deliberate in the way Taehyun held him.

And then, still without speaking, Taehyun gave the slightest tug.

Beomgyu let the dishes go.

He followed.

They moved slowly, comfortably, Taehyun’s hand slipping from his wrist to his fingers as they walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. The light was warm, the rain outside still tapping gently against the glass. Everything felt dim and close, like the whole apartment had exhaled for the night.

Taehyun sat first, guiding Beomgyu down beside him.

Still silent. Still holding his hand.

Then he reached forward to the coffee table, picked up the worn notepad that usually lived on the fridge, and opened it carefully to a clean page.

Only then did he speak.

“I want to talk about house rules.”

Beomgyu turned toward him more fully, watching the way his eyes stayed on the page instead of looking up.

“House rules?”

“Not about chores or anything,” Taehyun clarified. “Just… us. Things we need. Things we want to promise each other.”

Beomgyu’s chest tightened. Not painfully, but in the way things do when you realize you’re being handed something important. Something delicate.

“I’m listening,” he said.

Taehyun exhaled quietly, then tapped the pen to the page. “Rule one. No more doing everything alone.”

Beomgyu nodded slowly.

“I mean it,” Taehyun added, voice softer now. If it’s going to a hard appointment. Or trying to act okay when you’re not. We talk. We share the weight.”

“Okay,” Beomgyu said, his voice just as quiet. “Deal.”

Taehyun wrote it down, then said, “Rule two. If one of us needs space, we say it.”

“No leaving without a word. No shutting down. Just… say it.”

Beomgyu’s breath caught slightly, but he nodded again. “Yeah. That’s fair.”

Taehyun hesitated. Then added, “Rule three. If something hurts… we don’t hide it.

“Not anymore.”

Beomgyu didn’t respond right away.

He was staring down at Taehyun’s hand, the one holding the pen. He could still remember how that same wrist used to ache when it got cold. He could still remember the shape of the bruise. He could still remember kissing it, that night, for the first time. Saying sorry over and over like it could undo what had already been done.

Wordlessly, he reached out and took the pen from Taehyun’s hand.

Taehyun blinked, surprised, as Beomgyu turned the notepad over and wrote something on the back:

Rule four: You can wake me up for anything. Even if it’s just to say goodnight again.

When he handed the notebook back, Taehyun stared at the page. For a long time.

He didn’t say anything.

Instead, he set the notepad down on the coffee table, then shifted forward and curled into Beomgyu’s arms. No hesitation. No second guessing.

Beomgyu held him. His hand found Taehyun’s back, the other pressed gently to his neck. Taehyun’s forehead rested against Beomgyu’s chest, right over his heart, and he stayed there. Still and quiet and unafraid.

Taehyun stayed there for a while. Long enough for the sound of the rain to fade into the rhythm of Beomgyu’s breathing, for his body to relax completely against the warmth of his chest. His fingers rested lightly on the hem of Beomgyu’s shirt, unmoving, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

But then, slowly, he pulled back.

Not all the way. Just enough to look at him.

His expression was soft, unreadable in that way Taehyun always was when he was figuring out how to say something without startling either of them.

“Oh,” he said, voice quiet but clear, “and… I was thinking of moving into your room.”

Beomgyu blinked.

For a second, all he could do was stare. Processing the words, turning them over in his mind, like he wasn’t sure he heard them right. And then,

A small, surprised breath escaped him. Not laughter. Not shock. Something warmer.

“Yeah?” he said, his voice hushed. Careful, like he didn’t want to scare the moment away. “You want to?”

Taehyun nodded, once. “If that’s okay with you.”

Beomgyu let out a breath that felt like it had been sitting in his chest for weeks.

“Of course it is,” he said. But then, just as gently, “Are you sure? I mean- Are you sure you’re comfortable with that? Really?”

He didn’t ask it like a test.

He asked it the way you ask someone where it hurts. Not because you doubt them, but because you care enough to make sure they know it’s okay to still need space.

Taehyun didn’t answer right away. But he didn’t look away, either.

He just leaned in again, slowly, and rested his forehead against Beomgyu’s. Close enough that their noses brushed, close enough that Beomgyu could see the faint curve of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t,” he whispered.

And there was something in his tone. Not fragile, not hesitant, but steady.

Certain.

Beomgyu’s heart gave a small, grateful ache.

He nodded, his fingers slipping through Taehyun’s hair, brushing back the still-damp strands. “Okay,” he said, voice barely a breath. “Then I’ll clean out the left drawer. And… maybe hide the hideous socks you always judge me for.”

Taehyun huffed a laugh, soft against his cheek.

“Please do.”

They stayed like that for a while, foreheads pressed together, breaths shared in the quiet space between them.

The list of rules still lay open on the coffee table beside them.

But somehow, this felt like one too. One they didn’t have to write down.

A rule about choosing each other.

Over and over again.

Chapter Text

Q. How did Beomgyu and Yeonjun meet?

Beomgyu woke up with a smile on his face. The kind that didn’t feel rehearsed or weighted down by something else.

Because today, he got to see him.

Choi Yeonjun.

Just the thought made his chest flutter in a way it hadn’t in a long time. This was light, easy. Like the first clean breath after weeks of stale air.

He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair, and allowed himself the indulgence of thinking back. Not far, just far enough to remember the first time they met.

He had been numb that day.

He remembered that part clearly.

It was a few days after he stopped talking to Taehyun. After Beomgyu had stood in the bathroom, staring into the mirror, and saw nothing in his own eyes. Not even anger.

A hollow reflection. A version of himself he barely recognized.

And then his father had called. Not to ask how he was doing. Just to snap about the upcoming investor meeting and how Beomgyu better not show up in that “wrinkled excuse of a suit” he’d worn last time. He needed something new. Sharp. Respectable.

Beomgyu had almost ignored him.

But something about the thought of leaving the house, of not being in that silence, made him get up. Maybe for the first time that week.

He never thought he’d be grateful to his father. Not for anything.

But if it weren’t for that phone call, he never would’ve stepped into the quiet, polished boutique downtown. Never would’ve wandered between the racks in a daze. Never would’ve looked up when the man behind the counter asked if he needed help.

And never would’ve seen him.

Yeonjun.

Choi Yeonjun, in a crisp black shirt and sleeves rolled just past his elbows, working in a luxurious store for suits. Smile easy but eyes knowing, like he could see right through everything Beomgyu didn’t say.

“Bad day?” he asked as he saw Beomgyu walk to the store.

Beomgyu had blinked at him. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only a little.” Yeonjun’s smile widened, as he took a few steps forward, not too close, just enough to make it feel like Beomgyu wasn’t floating alone in the space.

Then, with a slight gesture to the immaculate suits lining the rack beside him, he said, “Then may I brighten your day with one of these?”

Beomgyu almost laughed. He didn’t. But he almost did. And that was already something.

Yeonjun helped him browse, not in the way most salespeople did, offering bland compliments or lingering too long. He made small jokes. Asked Beomgyu questions that weren’t about his budget or preferences, but about the kind of impression he wanted to leave. The kind of person he wanted to feel like when he wore the suit.

It was the first time in weeks that Beomgyu felt like someone was listening for more than just answers.

He ended up trying on a deep navy set with subtle pinstripes. Yeonjun adjusted the fit gently, fingers brushing Beomgyu’s shoulders and back, tugging here and there with a concentration that felt both professional and personal.

“There,” Yeonjun said, stepping back. “Now you look like someone who wins arguments just by walking into the room.”

Beomgyu caught his own reflection. For a second, he didn’t recognize himself, and for the first time in a while, he didn’t hate what he saw.

They talked a little more. Laughed, even. And by the time Beomgyu left the store, receipt folded neatly in hand, the weight he carried had shifted just a little. Not gone. But lighter.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

It wasn’t the last time he saw Yeonjun.

In fact, in the weeks that followed, he found more reasons to walk past the store. Sometimes he went in. Sometimes he didn’t. But every time he did, Yeonjun was there, smiling like he’d been waiting for him.

And then one afternoon, something changed.

Beomgyu stepped inside the boutique quietly. The bell above the door chimed as usual. But there was no greeting this time. No easy voice calling from across the store.

Instead, he spotted Yeonjun near the back of the boutique, half crouched near a clothing rack, holding a pale grey suit in both hands.

It took Beomgyu a moment to realize what he was looking at.

There was a tear.

A long, sharp rip along the inner seam of the jacket. Clean, but unmistakable.

Yeonjun’s face was pale, eyes wide, lips parted in what looked like shock. He ran his fingers over the fabric like he was hoping it would disappear under his touch.

Beomgyu stood still.

He’d never seen Yeonjun look like that. So rattled. So unsure.

“Hey,” he said gently. “How much for that one?”

His head snapped up, and for a split second, something unreadable flickered across his face. Surprise. Embarrassment. Maybe even guilt. But it was gone just as fast, replaced by the same smooth professionalism Beomgyu had seen him use on every other customer.

“Ah- sir!” Yeonjun straightened up in a rush, holding the suit awkwardly in his arms. “Please, have a seat. Excuse me, I’ll get you a new one.”

His tone was bright. Polite. Distant.

Beomgyu blinked.

Sir?

He didn’t move. Just tilted his head a little, eyes narrowing as he watched Yeonjun start to turn away.

“Since when did you get so formal with me?” Beomgyu asked, not unkindly. Just… puzzled.

Yeonjun froze.

Then Beomgyu took a step closer, his gaze drifting down to the pale grey suit still clutched in Yeonjun’s hands. The fabric was torn clean through at the seam, but it was still beautiful. Still whole, in its own way.

“I want that one,” he said simply.

Yeonjun turned slowly, eyes wide.

“I want that one,” Beomgyu repeated, motioning gently to the suit. “The one you’re holding.”

Yeonjun looked down at it like he’d forgotten it was even there. Then back at Beomgyu. “Are- are you sure? It’s-”

But he stopped.

Because somewhere between the last word and the next breath, he understood.

The way Beomgyu’s eyes didn’t flinch from the rip. The way his voice hadn’t hesitated. The way he stood there, not as a customer, but as someone who was offering something back. A wordless reassurance.

Yeonjun blinked once, then slowly, a small smile curled at the edge of his lips. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, not yet. But it stayed there. Steady.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “I’ll pack it for you.”

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

Yeonjun returned a few minutes later, the boutique quiet except for the soft rustle of tissue paper as he carefully folded the torn suit and placed it inside a matte black garment bag. The logo of the store gleamed in subtle silver on the front. Sleek, polished, like nothing had gone wrong at all.

When he handed the bag to Beomgyu, his fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary on the handles.

“Thank you,” he said, voice softer now. Not rehearsed. Not professional. Just… honest. “Really.”

Beomgyu took the bag, their hands brushing briefly, and nodded.

Yeonjun looked down. Then up again.

“Is there…” He hesitated, like the words were heavy in his mouth. “Is there anything I can do to pay you back?” It came out quiet, not casual at all. Almost a whisper.

Beomgyu didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head slightly, considering. Watching the way Yeonjun’s shoulders tensed, waiting.

“Actually,” Beomgyu started, voice a little more serious now, “there’s something.”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow, but stayed quiet.

“There’s a banquet,” Beomgyu said, exhaling through his nose. “One of those fancy, miserable ones my father throws every year for company partners and board members. It's… next week.”

Yeonjun’s smile faded into something more neutral, cautiously attentive.

“And this year,” Beomgyu continued, “he’s trying to use it to-” He made a vague, frustrated gesture in the air. “-set me up. With someone. One of those clean, well mannered heirs who probably thinks conversation is a business strategy.”

Yeonjun blinked, a little amused despite himself.

It’s like a corporate merger,” Beomgyu muttered.

Yeonjun huffed a quiet laugh.

“I told him I already had a partner,” Beomgyu added, eyes drifting away.

Yeonjun straightened slightly. “Oh.”

“But,” Beomgyu said with a dry smile, “I don’t. Obviously.”

Yeonjun studied him, waiting.

“So,” Beomgyu said, voice softer now, but steady, “I need someone to pretend.”

He didn’t look up right away. Just ran a hand through his hair, hesitated, then added, “I thought maybe… you could help me. Just for the night. Just to get through the dinner, smile at a few executives, and make it believable.”

Yeonjun’s brows lifted a little, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I’ll pay you, of course,” Beomgyu added quickly. “I’m not asking for a favor. I know it’s a lot, and it’s last minute, and-”

“I’ll do it.”

Quiet. Simple.

Beomgyu blinked. “You will?”

Yeonjun nodded once. “You don’t have to pay me.”

“I want to,” Beomgyu said immediately.

“Then you can pay me,” Yeonjun replied with a shrug. “But that’s not why I said yes.”

Beomgyu opened his mouth to ask what was the reason—but he stopped himself.

And maybe it didn’t matter right now. Because for the first time in days, something in his chest eased. Just a little.

And Yeonjun’s smile stayed, faint and unreadable, as he added, “Guess I better start practicing my charming smile.”

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

And more sooner than they expected, fake became real.

It wasn’t the night of the banquet, though Beomgyu still remembered how Yeonjun had shown up at the hotel ballroom in a black suit that fit him like it had been made for this very lie. He’d walked in beside Beomgyu, arm brushing against his just enough to look natural, and smiled at every person they passed like he belonged there. Like they belonged together.

He charmed Beomgyu’s father. He laughed at dry corporate jokes. He reached for Beomgyu’s hand under the table when the tension in his shoulders started to rise.

It should have felt staged.

But it didn’t.

Not even a little.

It was really after the last handshake, the last glass of wine, the last smile Beomgyu forced when all he wanted was to go home, that something shifted.

They were in the car, late, city lights streaking across the windows, and Yeonjun was quiet beside him.

And then he said, casually, without looking over, “You looked good tonight.”

Beomgyu turned to him, caught off guard.

Yeonjun met his eyes then, and there was nothing performative about it. No smirk. No teasing.

Just that. Just the truth.

And Beomgyu’s heart did something strange. Heavy. Full.

After that, Beomgyu realized that he had already experienced what it felt like to be in love.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

The unwanted memory crept in when Beomgyu accidentally found the torn suit he bought few years back.

And from that, he knew that Yeonjun is his first love.

But Taehyun would always be his first and only love.

Chapter Text

Q. How did Yeonjun and Soobin meet?

Yeonjun had no idea how he got there.

One minute, he was outside. Standing beneath gray clouds, heart beating in his throat, gripping his phone like it could anchor him to the sidewalk. His thumb hovered over the screen. An unsent message, a question he already knew the answer to.

He didn’t send it.

He walked.

Or maybe floated.

He didn’t remember passing the guests. Didn’t register the soft hush of the hall, the press of perfume and expensive shoes, the petals scattered like they were supposed to mean something. He didn’t remember giving his name, if he gave it at all.

All he remembered was Beomgyu.

Standing at the altar.

The black suit. Tailored. Clean lines. Familiar.

Too familiar.

And Beomgyu looked like a painting. Perfect. Still. Unreal.

Yeonjun couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

Not even when the music began to swell.

He stood just past the last row of chairs, alone, out of place. No tie. No jacket. Shirt wrinkled and sticking to his back from nerves and panic and regret. His collar was open, and it felt like he’d torn it that way just trying to breathe.

Then Beomgyu turned his head.

And looked at him.

That’s when everything inside Yeonjun split open.

Because Beomgyu saw him.

Like he wasn’t supposed to be here, but somehow still was. Like some ghost from a version of Beomgyu’s life that he wasn’t allowed to fit into anymore.

His eyes weren’t calm. They weren’t proud or focused or soft like someone about to say I do.

They were panicked. Lost. Like the music was too loud. Like everything was wrong.

Yeonjun stood frozen, eyes wide, his mouth parted like a word had tried to form but died in his throat.

And in that moment, he hated himself.

Because there was a split second when he let himself believe Beomgyu might walk toward him instead.

Might stop everything.

Might choose him.

That hope, that tiny, awful flicker, hurt more than anything else.

Something warm fell from his eye before he even noticed the sting.

A tear.

No sound. No warning.

Just the ache of a thousand unsaid things spilling out of him, drop by drop.

And Yeonjun did what he always did when it hurt too much to stay.

He turned.

And he ran.

Out the door.

Into the wind.

Away from the music, the suits, the quiet that felt too loud.

And most of all, away from the boy he once loved.

The one who would never be his.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

The glass hit the counter with a quiet thud.

“Another,” Yeonjun muttered, voice rough around the edges. His eyes were hazy, cheeks flushed from more than just the whiskey burning its way down.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “The usual?”

“Yeah.” Yeonjun didn’t look up.

As the bartender poured, footsteps sounded behind him. Slow, casual. Someone slid into the seat beside him.

“The usual, huh?”

Yeonjun turned his head sluggishly, blinking up at the guy.

Tall. Warm smile. Messy natural black hair. Easy eyes.

“Must’ve come here pretty often?” the guy asked, voice light.

“Huh? Yeah.” Yeonjun shrugged, then picked up his glass and downed it in one go. No hesitation.

The guy whistled low under his breath. “Woah. Rough day?”

Yeonjun didn’t answer. His throat was too tight. His chest too full. And what would he even say?

The bartender beat him to it.

“Pretty much rough week,” he said, wiping down a glass. “Little fella’s been like that since he first came here. Quiet. Drinks too fast. Stares at the same spot like it owes him an explanation.”

Yeonjun mumbled, “Hey,” half heartedly, but didn’t argue.

The guy beside him, Soobin, he later learned, tilted his head. “You wanna talk about it?”

Yeonjun let out a dry laugh, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Not really.”

Soobin didn’t move. “Well, too bad. Because drunk people shouldn’t bottle things up. It’s unhealthy. And tragically boring.”

Yeonjun looked at him again, eyes glassy. “You always this nosy?”

“Only when it looks like someone might drown if they don’t spit something out.”

There was a silence.

Then Yeonjun slumped forward onto the counter, cheek pressed to the cool wood.

“I went to a wedding today,” he mumbled. “Shouldn’t have.”

Soobin blinked. “Oh. Ex?”

Yeonjun let out a short, broken laugh. “Not even. Never got that far. I don’t even know what we were.”

Soobin raised his eyebrows but stayed quiet.

Yeonjun kept going, words spilling now, slurred at the edges but sharp where it mattered. “He- he was all I could think about for five years. Five. Years. Even when I knew he was already halfway out of reach. Even when I told myself it was just a stupid crush. It wasn’t.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “And then today I saw him. In a suit. Waiting at the altar. Looking like everything I’ll never have. He looked right at me.”

Soobin’s gaze softened. “And?”

Yeonjun laughed bitterly. “And it hurts like hell.”

The bartender slid him another drink without a word.

Yeonjun didn’t touch it this time.

Then, after a beat, he turned his head toward Soobin.

“What about you?” he asked, voice quieter now, worn out. “Why’d you come here?”

Soobin leaned back a little, the faintest grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Me? Oh, I’m just here with some colleagues. There’s some sort of post event party going on at the back.” He gestured vaguely toward the noise behind them. Muffled laughter, pop music filtering through walls, someone clearly doing karaoke too confidently.

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “Not your scene?”

Soobin laughed, soft and deep. “Not tonight. Too tired to join them on the dance floor. And if I hear one more person yell sing the wrong lyrics to Dynamite, I might lose it.”

That pulled a short, unintentional huff of amusement from Yeonjun.

Soobin smiled at that. Small, but real.

Yeonjun continued gulping shots. Didn’t even flinch as the liquid burned down his throat.

They continued talking. Soft threads of conversation that twisted between nostalgia and tension, familiarity and something more fragile. The bar's music gave them privacy, its neon lights casting a sleepy glow across their table.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

Soobin grunted under his breath, shifting his weight awkwardly as he held Yeonjun higher against his side. The man had gone completely limp halfway through the cab ride, head leaning onto Soobin’s shoulder, a soft, breathy mumble escaping his lips every now and then, none of it coherent, all of it soaked in liquor and heartache.

Soobin had never expected he’d be carrying a stranger he just met a few minutes ago to his apartment. Especially not a beautiful, tragically drunk one whose pain sat so openly on his face.

“God, you’re heavier than you look,” Soobin muttered, fumbling with his keys while trying to keep Yeonjun from face planting into the hallway wall.

Yeonjun groaned faintly in response, his arm draped over Soobin’s shoulder, hand curled into the fabric of his blazer like he was afraid of letting go.

Soobin sighed again. He was so, so close to calling Beomgyu for help. He even had his finger hovering over the name in his contacts. But at the last second, he stopped himself.

Beomgyu had his own mess right now. Soobin didn’t know all the details, but he knew enough. Enough when he saw his best friend’s lifeless eyes when he walked down the aisle.

Besides, even if Beomgyu is okay, they’ll just panick together.

And Yeonjun needed somewhere quiet to fall apart.

And for some reason, Soobin couldn’t quite explain, he didn’t mind being the one to offer that.

Soobin finally managed to get the door open, nudging it with his foot and half dragging Yeonjun inside. The apartment was dim, quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the soft clink of keys landing in the bowl by the door. It wasn’t much, couch, bookshelf, warm lighting, a few scattered plants that were somehow still alive, but it was safe. And maybe that was enough.

He guided Yeonjun to the couch, lowering him down as gently as possible. Yeonjun slumped back, head resting against the cushion, eyes barely cracked open.

“You good?” Soobin asked, crouching down in front of him.

Yeonjun blinked slowly. “M’fine… just tired.”

“No kidding,” Soobin muttered, reaching for a glass of water and setting it on the table. “Drink this when you wake up. And if you throw up on my couch, I swear-”

“You’ll still be nice about it,” Yeonjun murmured with a ghost of a grin.

Soobin paused. Then let out a soft, surprised laugh. “That so?”

Yeonjun didn’t answer. His eyes were already slipping closed again.

Soobin stood, rubbing at the back of his neck. He hesitated. Then grabbed a blanket from the nearby chair and laid it carefully over Yeonjun’s legs.

He didn’t expect to hear from him again.

But he did.

The next morning, when Yeonjun woke up, disheveled, sheepish.

he made Soobin coffee and apologized three times for the intrusion. Soobin waved it off with a lopsided smile and a muttered, “You’re lucky I like drama.”

They exchanged numbers. “In case you get wine drunk and wander into another wedding,” Soobin joked.

What started as texts turned into coffee.

What started as coffee turned into dinner.

Then walks around the city. Then late night phone calls. Then Soobin falling asleep with Yeonjun’s voice still in his ear.

There was something about him. Something aching and bright and endlessly soft underneath the tired jokes and guarded eyes. Something that made Soobin want to stay close. Not to fix him. Just to know him. To keep him company in all the quiet spaces between what hurt and what healed.

It wasn’t sudden.

But it was real.

And one evening, weeks later, Yeonjun leaned across the table mid-laugh, the city light catching in his eyes, and Soobin just… said it.

“I like you.”

Yeonjun blinked. A heartbeat passed. Then another. Then he smiled. Crooked, surprised, shy, and reached across the table to touch Soobin’s hand.

“I was hoping you’d say that first.”

Chapter Text

Q. How did Taehyun and Hueningkai become friends?

It started with the piano.

Soft, hesitant notes drifting through the house walls just past midnight.

Taehyun had been curled up at the corner of his bed, knees drawn in. His eyes were unfocused, the dull throb in his arms pulsing in time with his breath.

He hadn’t meant to cry, but the tears had dried hours ago anyway, leaving only the quiet sting behind his eyes and a ringing sort of silence in his chest.

And then, the piano started.

Soft, unsure notes filtered through the wall. Loud enough to be heard, but also tentative enough to sound as if the person playing wasn’t confident to be heard.

It wasn’t polished. Some notes missed. Others repeated. But it was human. Unfiltered. A kind of music that didn’t ask to be heard, and maybe that was why Taehyun couldn’t stop listening.

He didn't know who lived in the house next door. Just that the house had been vacant until recently. Beomgyu hadn’t mentioned anything about a new neighbor, and Taehyun hadn’t asked.

But that night, the music kept him company.

The next morning, he saw someone on the front lawn next door. Hoodie. Slippers. Messy bed hair and a carton of Uilk in one hand. Taehyun wouldn’t have looked twice. until the guy looked up, blinking with surprise.

“Oh,” he said. “Are you next door?”

Taehyun paused. “Sorry?”

“Could you heard me last night? I think I was too loud. The piano?” He gestured toward the house with a sheepish smile. “Keyboard’s by the window. I was trying to keep it down.”

Taehyun blinked. “You play?”

“Trying to,” the guy said. “I’m Hueningkai.”

A beat of silence. Then,

“Taehyun.”

They shook hands over the picket fence, fingers chilled from the morning air.

It wasn’t anything special. But the next night, the piano came again. Slightly softer, slightly steadier.

And when Taehyun stepped out onto the porch the following morning to get the mail, Hueningkai called over from his driveway, “Let me know if it ever gets annoying.”

Taehyun surprised himself by saying, “I liked it.”

It was the first real conversation he’d had in days that didn’t leave him feeling small.

And after that, the houses didn’t feel so far apart.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

It had been a surprisingly warm afternoon, the kind of golden, slow day that made it easier for Taehyun to say yes when Hueningkai asked if he wanted to hang out.

Just the mall. Hueningkai had texted.

Taehyun stared at it a long time, thumb hovering, indecisive. The apartment was clean. The laundry folded. Dinner prepped and sitting in the fridge. There was technically nothing stopping him from saying yes. Still, his heart picked up its pace with that familiar flutter of unease.

He glanced toward the hallway, quiet and still. Beomgyu wouldn’t be home until later. And he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Just a short trip. Not even far. He typed slowly.

Sure.

The mall was crowded, but not in a bad way. With Hueningkai around, everything always felt a little easier. They wandered through stores aimlessly, sipping on iced drinks, pausing to poke fun at absurd clothes, trading stories that made Taehyun laugh more than he expected. Hueningkai talked with his whole body, always expressive, always bright.

And when Taehyun finally slipped his key into the front door, he had no idea that his sense of time had betrayed him by a mere minute.

He went out for just a while, and he didn’t come back late, so it should be fine, right? Wrong.

He couldn’t remember anything else. Only a loud crack as the drink cup flew smacking against the wall and splattering dark tea across the white wallpaper.

Then Taehyun flinched, arms curling toward his chest. His breath stuttered out of him.

Beomgyu stepped forward again, fists clenched. “What the hell were you even doing? Laughing with him? Acting like some single guy with no one waiting at home?”

“Beomgyu, stop-”

Beomgyu grabbed his wrist, hard enough to make Taehyun’s knees buckle. “You don’t walk out without telling me. You don’t leave me wondering where the hell you are.”

“I just wanted a break,” Taehyun said, voice cracking. “Just for a little while.”

Beomgyu’s grip tightened before he shoved his hand away with disgust, sending Taehyun stumbling sideways into the wall.

“Then go take a break somewhere else.”

The hallway rang with silence after that.

Taehyun stood there, shaking. His hand trembled where the wrist throbbed red. His heart beat so loud in his ears he couldn’t hear anything else. Not the soft thud of Beomgyu walking away. Not the splattered tea dripping down the wall.

Only the piano again.

Soft. Familiar.

The song rose and broke, dipped into sorrow and climbed again, delicate but shaking, as if each note was a word he didn’t know how to say out loud.

Taehyun lingered in the doorway. He didn’t speak.

The music did. It carried everything else.

Taehyun’s wrist throbbed in time with the rhythm. His chest ached, soft and hollow. And he didn’t know if it was worse to step forward, or to leave the room.

So he stayed exactly where he was.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

They sat on the porch swing, mugs in hand, watching the late spring sky dim into soft blue.

Hueningkai nudged Taehyun gently with his shoulder. “You remember the first time we talked?”

Taehyun smiled into his cup. “The milk carton. The hoodie. That terrible posture.”

Hueningkai laughed. “Excuse me, I was carrying emotional depth.”

“No,” Taehyun said, grinning, “you were carrying expired milk.”

They were quiet for a moment, listening to the wind rustle through the trees.

“You know,” Taehyun added, voice softer, “I don’t think you ever realized what your piano did for me back then.”

Hueningkai turned, watching him now.

“I guess back then I just liked playing.”

Taehyun glanced at him with a smile.

“Well, it saved me.”

Hueningkai gave a small smile, eyes soft on Taehyun.
“Glad you don’t need saving now.”

Taehyun didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed on the street ahead, calm and still, but Hueningkai noticed the way his fingers tightened slightly around the mug.

“You know,” Hueningkai said after a beat, “I mean it when I say I like having you around,” he said gently, “but… you’ve been here almost every night.”

Taehyun looked down at his hands.

Hueningkai continued, his tone cautious but kind, “Does Beomgyu know you’re here this often?”

“He does,” Taehyun said simply.

“And he’s okay with it?”

Taehyun’s fingers curled slightly around his cup. “He’s been… trying. Things are better.”

Hueningkai nodded. “That’s good…”

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

Later that evening, Taehyun stepped through the front door. The lights were low, warm as ever. The house smelled faintly of mint and something sweet. Maybe honey, maybe vanilla. The air had that settled stillness to it, like someone had been waiting quietly for a while.

In the living room, Beomgyu was curled up on the couch, a book in his lap, but his thumb hadn’t turned the page in a while. The television was on, muted, a wildlife show playing gently in the background. A blanket was folded neatly at the edge of the couch beside him, space left open. Waiting.

He looked up when the door opened.

“You’re back,” he said, his voice even, too casual. His smile was small, polite, not quite reaching his eyes.

“Yeah,” Taehyun answered, toeing off his shoes. “Sorry I stayed late.”

“It’s fine.” Beomgyu stood and set the book aside. He walked over, reached for Taehyun’s arm like he always did, brushing off a speck of dust that wasn’t really there. “Did you eat?”

“Hueningkai made ramen. Tried a new recipe.” Taehyun watched his face carefully.

Beomgyu nodded. “That’s good.” His tone was warm, but a little too careful. He was trying not to ask. Not to press. His hands moved slower than usual, folding into his sleeves once the gesture was done.

That’s when Taehyun noticed it.

The slight dip in Beomgyu’s shoulders. The hesitation when he looked up. That pause before speaking, like he was editing out something too honest.

And suddenly, Taehyun could feel the shape of it. Not jealousy. Not bitterness.

Just that soft, dull ache of being left out.

Beomgyu didn’t want to make it Taehyun’s problem. That much was obvious. He was doing what he always did lately. Being quiet, being steady, being good.

But Taehyun saw it anyway.

He stepped closer, hands slipping out of his pockets. He reached for Beomgyu’s hand, and when their fingers touched, he didn’t let go.

“Hey,” he said softly, thumb brushing the side of Beomgyu’s palm.

Beomgyu glanced up, startled by the quiet weight in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyun said, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… spend so much time away.”

Beomgyu shook his head quickly, too quickly. “No, it’s not- You don’t need to apologize for-”

Taehyun squeezed his hand.

Beomgyu’s words faded.

There was a long, quiet pause between them, soft and a little heavy.

Then Taehyun leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently to Beomgyu’s shoulder, grounding himself there. Not just to comfort Beomgyu, but because he needed it too.

Beomgyu wrapped his arms around him slowly, holding him close. Not tighter than usual, but not looser either.

“I like when you’re home,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

“I know,” Taehyun whispered.

They stayed like that for a while, just breathing in the same space. The television flickered gently behind them. The sound of wind outside barely reached the walls.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

Later that night, the rain came.

Soft at first. Then steadier, tapping against the windows like fingertips brushing glass.

The couch had become their cocoon. Blankets pulled over their legs, the air between them warm with shared breath and skin. The muted TV cast soft light across the living room, but neither of them was really watching. Taehyun was curled against Beomgyu’s side, head resting just under his chin, one hand tucked beneath the hem of Beomgyu’s sweater like it belonged there.

Beomgyu’s fingers moved in slow, idle patterns along Taehyun’s spine. He didn’t say anything, but he hadn’t looked away from him since Taehyun leaned in. Like something he’d lost once, and never wanted to misplace again.

Taehyun let out a small hum.

“What?” Beomgyu asked, voice low and fond.

“Nothing,” Taehyun murmured. “Just… this is nice.”

Beomgyu smiled into his hair. “Yeah.”

Another beat of quiet. The kind that felt full, not empty.

Taehyun shifted slightly, just enough to glance up. “Are you warm enough?”

Beomgyu blinked. “Are you?”

Taehyun tugged the blanket higher over both of them in answer. His hand, still under Beomgyu’s sweater, settled flat against his stomach. It made Beomgyu shiver a little, and Taehyun grinned when he noticed.

They didn’t speak for a while after that.

Eventually, Beomgyu tilted his head back against the couch and let his eyes close, lulled by the rain and the weight of Taehyun against him. Taehyun’s fingers traced small, invisible lines over his side. Absent minded, but soft. Like he was thinking with touch instead of words.

When Beomgyu’s breathing slowed, Taehyun whispered, “Still awake?”

A beat. Then Beomgyu opened one eye. “Barely.”

Taehyun kissed the corner of his mouth.

That woke him up a little more.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Beomgyu murmured, smiling now, eyes fluttering shut once more.

“What thing?”

“Reminding me how stupid I was to ever let you sleep in the other room.”

Taehyun rested his head back on Beomgyu’s chest, the rise and fall of it steady and familiar.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly.

Beomgyu didn’t answer with words. He just held him closer.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

Later, they moved to the bedroom without saying much. Just soft brushes of hands against shoulders, a shared glance, Beomgyu flicking off the lights with a touch that felt reverent.

They lay under the covers, facing each other in the dark.

Taehyun reached out and pressed his thumb to Beomgyu’s lips. “You talk in your sleep sometimes.”

“Oh?” Beomgyu blinked. “What do I say?”

“Mostly… my name.”

Beomgyu flushed, then buried his face against the pillow. “I’m embarrassing.”

Taehyun laughed quietly, then leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Beomgyu’s. “I like it.”

Their hands found each other under the blanket. Fingers tangled. Hearts, too.

And eventually, the rain slowed. The night grew still. And somewhere in the silence, they both drifted off. Curled into one another like something that had always been meant to fit.

Not because they forgot the past.

But because, in the quiet of that room, they were building something new.

Something warm.

Something safe.

Chapter Text

Q. Beomgyu’s work life?

“Good morning, boss!”

Beomgyu glanced up from his phone just in time to see Heesung offering him a joking salute by the elevator.

“Morning,” Beomgyu said, stifling a yawn behind the back of his hand.

Heesung was already juggling a tablet, two folders, and what looked like an empty coffee cup. “Heads up, finance wants to talk to you about Q3 adjustments again. And HQ’s still asking if you’ve signed off on the new intern program.”

Beomgyu stepped off the elevator as it opened onto the top floor. His floor.

“Didn’t we just adjust Q3 two weeks ago?”

“They adjusted it again.”

Beomgyu gave a tight sigh and continued walking. His pace was smooth but unhurried, even though he could already feel the storm brewing in his inbox. He didn’t like starting his day bracing for a fight with spreadsheets, but that seemed to be the trend lately.

His office came into view. Glass walls, corner view, minimalistic but expensive. It was the kind of place people dreamed of getting to. The kind of place his father used to scoff at, calling it too "youthful."

Beomgyu called it freedom.

“Thanks, Heesung,” he added before stepping inside. “Hold off HQ for me, will you?”

“You got it.” Heesung grinned and peeled away like he thrived on chaos, which he probably did.

Beomgyu’s office door hissed shut behind him. He exhaled slowly. The air smelled faintly of ink, and his desk, though stacked with folders, still felt cleaner than his mind.

He shrugged off his coat, hung it over the back of his chair, and dropped into the leather seat like gravity had finally won.

“Oh, you got me coffee.”

Soobin scoffed. The response came with a faint crackle. “You mean the coffee you act like was blessed by angels?”

“You do have heavenly hands,” Beomgyu replied.

“Heavenly hands?” Soobin smirked. “Please. With these hands, I could ruin your whole sense of reality.”

“I’m reporting you to HQ.”

“You are HQ.”

There was a beat. Then, a sigh. “I’ll be back here in five.”

Beomgyu smiled.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

Five minutes later, after Beomgyu had barely managed to sift through a growing pile of unread emails, Soobin appeared again at the office door. He leaned casually against the frame.

“Client canceled the meeting,” he said, as if delivering breaking news, and maybe enjoying the small disruption more than he should.

Beomgyu looked up from his screen, relief flooding through him. “Seriously? Now?”

Soobin shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. “Well, you’re officially free to drown in more emails… or take a coffee break. Your call.”

Beomgyu let out a tired laugh, grateful for the unexpected break and Soobin’s easy company.

Soobin leaned back, gaze scanning the piles of folders. “You look tired.”

“Thanks.”

“I meant it literally.”

He sipped his own drink. “Is it the numbers or the insomnia again?”

Beomgyu didn’t answer right away.

Sometimes, in the quiet between tasks, in the gaps between meetings, his thoughts still drifted to Taehyun. Not the current, sleepy Taehyun who hogged the blanket at night, but the earlier, distant version of him. The one who used to flinch at sudden movement. Who folded his clothes with trembling hands. Who apologized before speaking.

Sometimes, that version haunted Beomgyu more at work than at home. Because here, he was confident. In control. Respected. Here, he didn’t hurt people.

“I’m fine,” he said eventually, softer than before.

Soobin didn’t push.

They stayed like that a while. Just two friends in suits, sipping overpriced coffee in a too-quiet office, pretending the world didn’t feel a little too sharp some days.

“So what’s on your plate today?” Soobin asked eventually, reaching for the folder at the top of Beomgyu’s stack.

Beomgyu pulled it back. “Chaos. Finance. HQ. You.”

“Rude.”

“True.”

Soobin blinked.

“I think the coffee’s giving you personality.”

They both laughed.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

Beomgyu’s chair was still turning slightly when the office door clicked shut behind him, forgotten emails blinking in quiet succession on his screen. His coffee had gone cold, and Heesung had walked in not two minutes ago with another set of updates.

But none of that mattered.

The text had come through softly, a small buzz against his desk. A short text from Taehyun, clumsily typed, but everything else slipped out of focus, his body stilled.

Cut myself cooking. It stings. Hurts more than I thought. Can you come home?

No dramatic wording. No urgency. But something about the simplicity of it made Beomgyu flinch. The wording. The trust it took to ask. He didn’t waste a second. He just moved.

His jacket was already half-on when Heesung returned to the doorway, holding a tablet with reports.

"Boss?"

"Later," Beomgyu said, brisk but not unkind.

He didn’t explain further.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

The house welcomed him with a hush, the kind of silence that clung to early afternoons when the world outside was still busy moving. Light spilled across the hardwood floor in long slants, soft and golden, dust suspended like tiny constellations in motion.

The kitchen smelled faintly of something burned. Soy sauce, maybe, or garlic. A pot sat abandoned in the sink, lid askew, one handle crusted with dried broth.

He set his keys down with a muted clink and followed the sound of nothing until he found him.

Taehyun was perched on the edge of the couch, back slightly curved forward, knees drawn up. His left hand was cradling his right, thumb wrapped loosely in a folded napkin and some medical tape, poorly done and already spotting faint red.

He looked down, expression unreadable, like he wasn't quite in the room.

Beomgyu didn't speak.

He moved with quiet urgency, crossing the living room in slow steps, crouching without a word in front of him.
Their eyes met, but neither said anything. That was the thing about them now. The understanding came before words ever had to.

Gently, Beomgyu reached for his hand. His fingers ghosted over the bandaged area first, testing for flinches, then peeled the napkin back with quiet care.

The cut wasn't deep, but it was long and fresh, just along the curve of Taehyun's thumb, probably from a slip with the chef's knife. A stupid little accident, but he knew Taehyun. Knew how he masked pain, how he tried not to make a fuss.

Beomgyu disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, he returned with the first aid kit tucked under one arm, a warm mug of barley tea in the other, and a soft towel slung around his shoulder.

He set everything down on the coffee table with methodical care, then knelt again in front of Taehyun and got to work.

Silence stretched between them, not heavy, just settled. The only sounds were the rustle of gauze, the soft rip of tape, the clink of ceramic on wood when Beomgyu handed him the tea. His fingers were steady, his movements gentle. There was no scolding. No lecture. Just the care, quiet and full.

When the cut was cleaned and wrapped, Beomgyu didn't move right away. He reached up, brushed a stray strand of hair from Taehyun's face, then he leaned forward, resting his head lightly on Taehyun's knee.

Taehyun didn't move, not for a while. Then slowly, his hand, the good one, lowered and threaded itself into Beomgyu's hair, soft and absent minded. His fingers moved slowly, rhythmically, like he was remembering a pattern he hadn't realized he missed.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Outside, the sun shifted westward, casting shadows across the walls.

Eventually, Beomgyu stood and disappeared again, returning with a blanket that smelled faintly of lavender. He draped it over Taehyun's lap, then nudged at his leg gently until there was enough room on the couch for him to settle in beside him.

He tucked his head under Taehyun's chin. Taehyun shifted just enough to rest his cheek atop Beomgyu's hair.

No one said anything. Not "thank you." Not "I'm sorry." Not "I love you."

But the way Beomgyu's hand found Taehyun's under the blanket, and the way Taehyun lets him, that said everything.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

Later, they had brushed their teeth in the small, shared bathroom. Side by side. The mirror fogged slightly from the hot water.

Taehyun leaned into him without thinking, shoulder to shoulder as he rinsed, his head tilting just enough to rest lightly against Beomgyu’s arm while he dried his face.

By the time they were in bed, the moon was already high, soft silver spilling across their sheets in broken beams through the half-open curtains.

Taehyun sat against the headboard, blanket over his legs, reading absently. He hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes. Beomgyu came in last, phone still in hand, thumb scrolling slowly through emails before finally setting it face down on the nightstand.

The mattress dipped with his weight.

He didn’t reach for Taehyun right away. He just lay there, one arm tucked under his head, watching the shadows dance along the ceiling. The fan spun lazily above them, clicking every fifth turn. Familiar.

Taehyun set his book down at last.

Without a word, he shifted. Crawling closer, until his head could tuck under Beomgyu’s chin and his hand could press lightly to his chest. Beomgyu adjusted to him like instinct, wrapping one arm around his shoulders, drawing him closer.

Taehyun's breath was warm against his collarbone. Slow. Calm.

Beomgyu kissed the top of his head, barely there.

“Better?” he whispered.

Taehyun nodded without lifting his head. “Mhm.”

Beomgyu’s fingers moved in lazy circles along his back, fingertips memorizing the lines of his spine like he was trying to ground them both in this moment.

Nothing more needed to be said. The soft hum of the night, the low thrum of their hearts beating close, that was enough.

Eventually, Taehyun's breathing deepened, the kind of rhythm that told Beomgyu he had drifted off, safe and still. Beomgyu didn’t move. He didn’t dare. Just stayed there, holding him, his own eyes fluttering shut not long after.

In another room, the dishes waited. In the world beyond this house, there were deadlines and texts and people who didn’t understand the strange, quiet language they spoke in touches and glances.

But here, in the hush of their bed, under moonlight and cotton sheets, it was just them.

Home.

Chapter Text

Q. Are Taehyun’s trainee days hard?

The training room smelled like floor polish and stale sweat, lit by harsh overhead lights that buzzed faintly above them. The mirrored walls reflected two boys in loose t - shirts and scuffed sneakers, bodies already sore before the real dancing began.

Taehyun was the first to drop his bag, stretching silently in the corner like he always did. Methodical, focused, earbuds in. Beomgyu showed up a few minutes later, hair still damp from a rushed shower, a banana half - eaten in one hand.

“Hey,” he mumbled around a bite, flopping dramatically onto the studio floor beside him.

Taehyun didn’t look up. “You’re late.”

“Fashionably,” Beomgyu said, peeling off his hoodie and throwing it over a nearby chair. “Besides, you’d miss me if I wasn’t.”

Taehyun cracked a smile, just faintly. “I wouldn’t miss your smell.”

Despite the teasing, they settled into rhythm quickly. The room filled with music and motion. Awkward at first, then sharper. Their instructor wasn’t around yet, so they practiced on their own, replaying choreography from the week before.

“Left. No- left, Beomgyu,” Taehyun said, tapping the floor with his foot as he corrected him.

“I am going left,” Beomgyu insisted, spinning the wrong way again.

“You’re going my left.”

“Oh. Right.”

Taehyun stopped moving, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s literally the opposite.”

But they kept going. They always did.

When their limbs grew heavy and their shirts stuck to their backs, they took a break by the windows, cracked open to let in a trickle of late summer air. Beomgyu passed Taehyun a half - frozen water bottle. Taehyun accepted it wordlessly, then tapped Beomgyu’s knee with the cap in thanks.

Some days were harder. Sometimes one of them cried in the bathroom and came back with red eyes, pretending it was allergies. Sometimes they walked home in silence after a harsh critique, earbuds in but no music playing.

But then there were the small wins.

Like the first time they nailed a routine in perfect sync, a moment that made Taehyun’s breath hitch in excitement, his eyes lighting up as they looked at each other across the mirror. They didn’t even say anything, just laughed and clapped hands together, giddy from the tiny victory.

Or the time they stayed late to record a demo, layering Beomgyu’s gentle falsetto over Taehyun’s low harmonies. They huddled over the laptop, earbuds shared, nodding along as they listened back with wide eyes.

“This could actually be good,” Beomgyu whispered, like it was a secret.

Taehyun just grinned. “It is good.”

Even after the building emptied out, they didn’t want to leave.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

On another evening, after a particularly long vocal session, they sprawled on the floor together, watching the ceiling fan spin.

“Do you ever think we’ll debut?” Beomgyu asked, arms tucked behind his head.

Taehyun was quiet for a moment. “Only if we both make it.”

“Yeah.”

Beomgyu didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. That night, while walking Taehyun to the bus stop, he held up his pinky.

“No matter what,” he said, the streetlamp casting a halo over his tired face.

Taehyun looked at him for a long second, then linked their pinkies together with a soft grin.

“No matter what.”

They weren’t just trainees.

They were teammates before the teams were picked. A duo before there was a group. Until they’re not.

But at that time, Taehyun and Beomgyu found something quieter. A bond that made the hard days feel less impossible.

Back then, it wasn’t about being idols yet. It was just about music, and the person beside you trying just as hard.

And that was enough. For now.

The morning after a long practice night came early, as it always did.

The training building was quiet at first, just the soft shuffle of sneakers on polished floor and the low whir of the vending machine outside the studio. Taehyun arrived first this time, his backpack slung low and hair still damp from his rushed shower. He stretched out alone for a few minutes, watching his reflection blink back at him through the mirror.

Beomgyu burst in five minutes later, chewing toast between hasty breaths. “I overslept,” he mumbled with his mouth full, “but I dreamed we were on stage. It was, like, a huge dome stage. You were wearing the ugliest jacket.”

Taehyun didn’t turn around. “You sure it wasn’t your reflection?”

Beomgyu laughed, the sound echoing against the walls. He didn’t answer. Just dropped his bag in the usual spot and sat beside Taehyun on the studio floor.

They started warmups in silence, syncing up almost instinctively, mirroring each other’s moves without needing to talk. They’d been doing this long enough to fall into a rhythm that didn’t need words.

Sometimes Beomgyu would glance over mid-routine, watching how Taehyun’s brow furrowed when he concentrated. Always precise, always controlled. And sometimes Taehyun would catch Beomgyu dancing too hard during a run-through, making exaggerated faces that cracked them both up mid - move.

“You look like a dancing fish,” Taehyun wheezed once, hunched over with laughter.

“Fish have talent,” Beomgyu gasped back, dramatically flopping to the floor.

When breaks came, they lay side by side under the air conditioner vent, sharing one bottle of Pocari and half a chocolate bar someone had left in the fridge.

Taehyun took a sip, then passed it. “You know the staff are gonna kill us if we keep eating their stuff.”

Beomgyu shrugged. “We’ll debut before they catch us.”

“Bold of you to assume,” Taehyun said, grinning.

Later, during vocal practice, Beomgyu struggled with a particularly high note. He kept cracking, even after multiple tries. His fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, frustration pinching his expression.

Taehyun said nothing at first, just kept scribbling down notes from his own lines. Then, without looking up, he reached over and nudged a lozenge toward Beomgyu.

“Try again,” he said. “You’ll get it.”

And Beomgyu did. Not on that try, but the one after.

There were a lot of quiet kindnesses between them. It was just the understanding that came from pushing through the same ache, day after day, with someone beside you who never let go.

They left late again, the sun already gone and the streetlights flickering to life. Their shadows stretched side by side across the cracked sidewalk as they walked to the nearest bus stop.

Beomgyu kicked a pebble forward lazily. “You know… even if we don’t debut right away… I think I’m still glad we’re doing this.”

Taehyun, watching the sky begin to turn lavender, nodded. “Yeah.”

They didn’t need to say anything else.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

The closet smelled faintly of cedar and worn cotton. Taehyun stood in the soft morning glow, holding up an old pair of sneakers. Sole tattered, white canvas fraying at the toes. A warm breath of a smile tugged at his lips.

They were souvenirs of another life, polished floors, tap shoes, and early wake - up calls. Memories of laughter echoing between mirrored walls, of scuffs and mistakes and heat-soaked choreo practices. Memories when he and Beomgyu had nothing but sweat and songs and a dream.

A soft light footstep behind him.

“You still have them?” Beomgyu asked, voice gentle.

Taehyun looked over his shoulder, smiling. “Yeah. I couldn’t bring myself to toss them.”

Beomgyu stepped beside him, brushing fingers over the cracked rubber where it dug into the fabric. “You used to trip over your own feet in these.”

Taehyun nudged him back affectionately. “You nearly knocked out the speaker wearing those same shoes.”

Beomgyu chuckled, leaning his head on Taehyun’s shoulder. “True. But I was dancing in them.”

“Still more graceful than me.”

They stood side by side in quiet. The sneakers were more than shoes. They were anchors to a time that felt simple and honest and full of possibility.

Beomgyu slipped his fingers into Taehyun’s, soft and steady.

He guided them both toward the kitchen, their hands interlocked like a promise. Beomgyu’s footsteps, light, sure, led them to a small table by the window, where warm mugs and a plate of fruit mirrored sunlight.

Taehyun settled into the chair, Beomgyu pulled his own in close and gently tilted Taehyun’s mug in just enough so he could take it. He placed his hand over Taehyun’s. Warmth and comfort, a shared morning stillness.

Taehyun looked up and caught Beomgyu’s gaze. His eyelashes lifted in a soft smile. No words said, but everything understood.

Beomgyu softly reached across to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Taehyun’s ear. Taehyun took his hand, tilting his fingers to press gently against Beomgyu’s palm. A moment. A breath. A kind of quiet love.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

So yes, Taehyun’s days had been hard.

There were years when the ache in his legs never faded, when the sting of criticism lingered longer than bruises. Nights spent blinking at the ceiling, wondering if he was falling behind, if the exhaustion was worth anything at all.

But they weren’t so hard now.

Because Beomgyu was there, in the quiet, in the laughter, in the small, steady ways that made the world feel softer.

And somehow, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Q. Is Hueningiee left out??

The afternoon sun was gentle, casting long shadows on the pavement as Beomgyu and Taehyun walked side by side. The city buzzed around them. Cars humming past, the distant chatter of people on their weekend errands. But between them, it felt calm. Easy. Taehyun’s hand brushed against Beomgyu’s every so often, and eventually Beomgyu just reached over and took it, fingers interlacing without a word.

They were headed toward their favorite café, the quiet one tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore, where the barista always remembered Taehyun’s order and Beomgyu got to pretend he knew anything about coffee. The walk there had become a ritual. A little pocket of peace.

As they turned the corner by the bus stop, Beomgyu suddenly nudged Taehyun’s arm. “Look.”

Across the street, standing near a vending machine with a can in one hand and headphones around his neck, was Hueningkai. He looked up right at that moment, spotted them, and grinned like the sun came out twice.

“Hey!” he called, jogging across.

Beomgyu raised a hand. “Out in the wild, huh?”

Hueningkai gave a dramatic bow. “I leave the house on rare occasions.”

“Careful, you might touch grass,” Taehyun teased.

“Oh, I kicked some on the way here.” Hueningkai laughed, then looked at them more closely. “Where are you guys headed?”

“Café,” Beomgyu said. “The usual one. We were going to get some late lunch.”

Taehyun nodded. “Why don’t you join us?”

Hueningkai hesitated, pulling a slight face. “Ehh… I don’t wanna be a third wheel while you two sit there being all lovey - dovey. I’d rather not spend my afternoon as the sad background character.”

Taehyun smiled, quiet and a little mischievous. “It’s not going to be just us.”

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

Hueningkai sat at the corner of the table, hands wrapped around a lukewarm iced latte, and blinked slowly at the group in front of him like he’d just woken up in an alternate universe.

Beomgyu and Taehyun were squeezed on one side of the booth, legs comfortably tangled under the table, while Soobin and Yeonjun sat across from them, Yeonjun slouched and somehow already halfway through his drink, Soobin upright and meticulously stirring the foam on top of his.

“I still don’t know how I ended up here,” Hueningkai muttered under his breath.

Yeonjun caught it and smirked. “You followed them like a lost duck.”

“I thought it was just coffee,” Hueningkai said dramatically, turning to glare at Taehyun. “You tricked me.”

“You said you didn’t want to third-wheel,” Taehyun replied innocently, taking a sip of his hot chocolate. “So we invited enough people to form a wheel factory.”

Soobin snorted. “He’s got a point.”

Beomgyu leaned in toward Taehyun, lowering his voice in mock-seriousness. “Are we the center in this metaphor?”

“No,” Yeonjun said. “You’re the couple making everyone else reconsider romance.”

Taehyun smiled, setting his drink down. “That sounds like a compliment.”

“It wasn’t,” Yeonjun deadpanned, then grinned anyway.

Hueningkai sank lower in his seat. “I feel like I’ve been thrown into some chaotic double date without signing the consent form.”

“You’re the emotional support single friend,” Soobin offered kindly, reaching over to push the plate of fries toward him.

Hueningkai narrowed his eyes. “Don’t try to bribe me with carbs.”

“You say that like it won’t work,” Beomgyu said.

Hueningkai grabbed a fry with a sigh. “It’s already working.”

The table buzzed with casual laughter. Light, easy, like the kind that came from being around people who knew each other well. The kind of atmosphere where teasing was safe and affection was slipped in between sarcasm.

Yeonjun was telling some over the top story about his failed attempt at cooking last night, Soobin jumping in to correct the details, which only made Yeonjun exaggerate more. Beomgyu listened with a wide grin, clearly enjoying the show, while Taehyun leaned his head against Beomgyu’s shoulder without even realizing it.

It was comfortable, somehow. Messy and mismatched, but warm. Like a group that hadn’t planned to end up here together, but were secretly kind of glad they had.

Hueningkai looked around at all of them. Soobin resting his chin in his palm as he watched Yeonjun ramble, Taehyun picking at the pastry they were sharing with Beomgyu, who was trying to steal all the strawberries off it, and he shook his head slowly.

“I still don’t know why I’m here,” he mumbled again.

But this time, he smiled.

He stared into his cup like it held answers, swirling the ice half-heartedly. He didn’t really mind being there, he just wasn’t used to it. Sitting in the middle of two couples, watching them bicker and banter like they’d been stitched together with the same thread. The cafe buzzed softly around them, jazz music low and the windows glowing gold with late - afternoon light.

Taehyun leaned across the table slightly, nudging a paper napkin toward Hueningkai with one finger. On it, in his neat handwriting, was a doodle of a stick figure sitting alone at a table surrounded by hearts. Underneath it, in all caps, was written,

"THE TRAGIC LIFE OF HUENINGKAI: NOT THIRD WHEEL, BUT FIFTH."

Hueningkai stared at it. “…You’re a menace.”

Taehyun smiled sweetly, then passed Beomgyu a piece of croissant without breaking eye contact.

“You can sit with us anytime, you know,” Beomgyu said after swallowing. “Third wheel, fifth wheel, we don’t care.”

Yeonjun reached across the table to steal a fry from Hueningkai’s plate. “He’s right. We don’t care. I mean, we care that you’re here, just not in the weird way that makes you excluded. You’re like the unofficial group mascot.”

“Wow,” Hueningkai deadpanned. “So honored.”

“You should be,” Soobin said. “We don’t let just anyone witness Yeonjun making a fool of himself in public.”

“I am a gift to this table,” Yeonjun declared dramatically, then promptly choked slightly on his drink.

Beomgyu clapped sarcastically. “A gift with a choking hazard label.”

Taehyun rolled his eyes but reached over to pat Yeonjun’s back once. More out of reflex than concern. “This is why we can’t take you anywhere.”

The conversation drifted again, easy and unhurried. They shared bites of desserts. Soobin offering a forkful of something chocolate to Yeonjun, Beomgyu feeding Taehyun a piece with exaggerated romance until Taehyun smacked his hand away, and Hueningkai dramatically pretending to throw himself out the window.

Eventually, Hueningkai leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely. He wasn’t laughing as loudly as the rest, but there was a softness in his face now, something settled.

“Okay,” he said finally. “You’re all disgustingly cute, and I hate that I’m saying this, but this isn’t as bad as I thought.”

Beomgyu grinned. “You mean you like us.”

“I mean I tolerate you. At most.”

Soobin raised his glass. “To tolerating us.”

Everyone lifted their drinks. “To tolerating us,” they echoed, with the kind of uncoordinated chorus that only close friends could pull off without embarrassment.

Taehyun glanced at Beomgyu, who was already watching him with a quiet smile. Their fingers brushed again under the table, not on purpose, but neither pulled away.

Hueningkai saw it out of the corner of his eye, and though he didn’t say anything, he smiled into his drink.

Maybe being the fifth wheel wasn’t so bad when the ride felt like this.

₊˚ ʚ୨ +×+ ୧ɞ ˚₊

Hueningkai wasn’t sure how much time had passed—just that at some point, the sunlight had shifted from golden-bright to soft and slanting, casting warm streaks across the tabletop. Outside the window, the shadows of trees moved gently in the breeze, and inside, the hum of espresso machines and low conversation filled the cozy cafe with a comforting kind of noise.

He sat slouched in his chair, legs stretched out and ankles crossed, his latte still in front of him. The seat was warm beneath him, and he’d long stopped checking the time.

“So... does anyone want the last pastry?” Beomgyu asked, pointing to the plate in the center of the table. A sad, half-eaten croissant with one lonely strawberry sitting next to it.

Yeonjun perked up. “I’ll take it.”

Hueningkai blocked his hand mid - reach with a fork. “You’ve had two.”

Yeonjun gasped. “Are we counting now?”

“We’re rationing,” Hueningkai said with a straight face. “Some of us haven’t had sugar since yesterday.”

“Your self control is not our burden,” Yeonjun said, hand still reaching.

Hueningkai glanced at Beomgyu and Taehyun, trying to get support, but all he saw was Taehyun quietly taking the strawberry and popped it into his mouth and Beomgyu watching him with amused fondness, then he reached over to wipe a bit of juice from the corner of Taehyun’s lip with his thumb.

Hueningkai made a dramatic gagging noise. “Can we not do whatever that was?”

Beomgyu just smirked. “You’re welcome for the free front-row seat to romance.”

“Romance?” Hueningkai raised a brow. “You just wiped his face like a mom at a birthday party.”

“Exactly,” Beomgyu said proudly.

Soobin and Yeonjun were still bickering quietly, but with smiles now. Soobin shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was dating this man, and Yeonjun holding back laughter like he was very aware that Soobin absolutely could believe it.

Taehyun sat back against the booth with a soft sigh, stretching his legs under the table. His foot bumped Beomgyu’s, and this time he didn’t bother pretending it was accidental. Their knees touched, familiar and unspoken.

Hueningkai looked around again, his eyes flicking over each of them. Beomgyu leaning into Taehyun, Soobin now resting his chin on Yeonjun’s shoulder as they scrolled through something on Soobin’s phone, both laughing quietly over it.

And him.

Sitting there, in a mix of warmth and half - melted whipped cream, watching these four people orbit around each other like they’d been born to do it.

Taehyun smiled quietly. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked around the table, the clutter of plates and glasses, the overlapping voices, the soft kind of comfort that came from knowing everyone there had history, had shared mornings and long nights and unspoken understandings.

There was no script to follow. No need to act like anything but themselves. It was, simply, good.

Eventually, Hueningkai pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped at the screen. He wasn’t looking at anything, really. Just needed something to do with his hands while his heart caught up.

“You’re not taking pictures of us, are you?” Beomgyu teased.

“I’m checking the weather,” Hueningkai replied flatly.

“Oh, right. Because you’re leaving.”

“Maybe,” Hueningkai said. “If I don’t die from secondhand affection first.”

Taehyun reached over and gently bumped his shoulder. “You’ll come next time too?”

Hueningkai sighed like it was a burden. “If you promise no weird public displays of spoon feeding.”

“No promises,” Beomgyu said.

“Then I’m bringing sunglasses,” Hueningkai said, finally giving in with a small, reluctant smile.

The sun was lower now, casting long shadows on the pavement outside. The group lingered a while longer, ordering one last drink to share, teasing Yeonjun about his sweet tooth, passing a single biscotti around like it was a sacred relic.

And though Hueningkai never admitted it out loud, something about being there, surrounded by their love, their jokes, their chaos, felt… good.

Not like he was tagging along.

But like he belonged.

-END-