Work Text:
Nicholas wakes to warm sunlight on his face and an even warmer torso plastered on his back. He squints to check the bedside clock—10:24am. His arms feel heavy with exhaustion and a throbbing pain grows at the base of his spine. Wriggling from side to side, Nicholas tries to pop his joints as best as he can from where he’s laying.
Behind him, Euijoo snores on. He came to bed late, having worked overtime before hunkering down for the weekend. He snuffles as Nicholas slowly maneuvers his way out of his hold. Nicholas reaches out to rub between his brows, smoothening out the frown with a click of his tongue.
There are boxes and suitcases strewn around the room, unorganized after the long move. Grabbing a random tank top, Nicholas climbs over loose Japanese books as he makes his way to the bathroom to piss and wash his face.
When he emerges, Euijoo is still fast asleep, face down on Nicholas’ side of the bed, blanket on the floor. Nicholas dumps it on his head for good measure.
The rest of the apartment is in slightly better condition than the bedroom, Euijoo having had the foresight to hire movers to help put their kitchen together while they were at work. The movers could have sorted out their bedroom as well but Nicholas asked they leave it to him to put away the mountain of clothes he’s stocked up over the years. Euijoo didn’t bother arguing with that.
Nicholas scrounges up whatever he can for breakfast—bread and some banchan. He stands in front of the whirring coffee maker, a freebie Euijoo won at his firm’s holiday party, while pressing a wad of tissues to his dripping nose. Stupid morning allergies.
He’s just finished pouring the coffee into a cup when long arms wind around him from behind.
“Morning,” Nicholas says, nuzzling into the brown mop of hair on his shoulder. Euijoo’s greeting gets lost somewhere between his pulse and spine. “Toast?”
“Yes please,” Euijoo says, pressing a kiss to the base of his neck before pulling away. He’s extra round in the mornings, sleep-soft and gentle as he wipes Nicholas’ nose, uncaring of his own hair sticking out in every direction. Of course he still wipes his fingers on the back of Nicholas’ shorts, which he whacks Euijoo for.
“Go build us a coffee table.” Nicholas nudges Euijoo in a living room-ward direction, pushing his steaming mug of coffee into his hands. (Re)building the furniture has long been Euijoo’s job because Nicholas lacks the enjoyment and patience for it, much preferring to do the interior design aspect of moving. That’s probably why they work—among many other reasons.
While Euijoo sets up, Nicholas busies himself with preparing their breakfast. He sticks bread in the toaster and contemplates cooking eggs, but decides against it. Their pans are somewhere and Nicholas doesn’t feel like turning the whole place upside down for it. Lunch is in a few hours anyway.
Instead, he settles for popping instant rice into the microwave and slathering jam from a jar with the label rubbed off and butter on their breads. And because Euijoo likes his breakfast as Korean as they come, Nicholas puts a mayak egg from Euijoo’s mother on the rice and scoops a small serving of pickles to go with it.
Nicholas looks up from his breakfast spread to call Euijoo but his voice stops short, chest squeezing at the sight. Euijoo in his pajamas—shorts and one of Nicholas’ old school shirts—bathed in yellow morning sun pouring in through the window.
The light flooding in makes the room look brighter, casts shadows over the plastic-covered furniture. Nicholas knows that if he just walked to the glass, he would see families in the park below, relishing in the summer before the treacherous heat crawled in.
Sitting on the floor with his back to Nicholas, Euijoo fiddles with the screws and bolts of the table they bought when they lived in their first apartment together, a dim studio space that eventually overflowed with things and friends. It was close to university and dirt-cheap, perfect for two fresh grads figuring things out and falling in love.
Soon, Euijoo started as a project manager at a big construction firm. Nicholas took to freelance translating while also working at a fashion magazine. In two years, they escaped the cramped space to find a home in a loft unit in the city center.
Nicholas hated that place. Climbing stairs to get into bed felt novel at first but soon got absurd after a long day. It was ridiculously cold in the winter and obscenely humid in the summer. It was located on the main street which meant noisy evenings and godawful traffic. They picked it for the proximity to work but he hated how they were so close to Euijoo’s job that he’d go to bed alone and wake up to an empty apartment, only the faint smell of Euijoo’s perfume lingering. They’d fought so often in the space that, in the early days, Nicholas was half convinced it would be the last one they ever shared.
Three years later, here they are, slowly unpacking their lives to call another rented space home for the third time. They’d fallen in love with the space as soon as they walked in the door—three spacious rooms, big windows overlooking the more suburban areas of Seoul, brand new ventilation and floor heating. All it took was a shared look before Euijoo signed the papers.
There’s no knowing what these walls hold for them. They’ll probably still argue and pick on each other for habits they can’t shake even after four years together (Euijoo’s blanket hogging and forgetfulness, Nicholas’ laundry mishaps and temper). It’s par for the course when you’re in love with your best friend who you know and knows you like the back of their hand.
But Euijoo comes home to him now, or sometimes with him when their schedules align. They have a growing magazine stack full of shoots Nicholas worked on in a box labeled “Bookshelf”. There are pictures on their fridge from trips to Taiwan, friends’ wedding invitations in the mail, and a pile of recyclables Nicholas has to sort and throw out. Euijoo’s sweaters find their way into Nicholas’ side of the closet. Every morning, Nicholas gets to watch Euijoo wear a watch and ring he gave him love-drunk on the floor of that dingy room, metal cool against his cheek before Euijoo heads out.
Because in the midst of all the chaos; of appliances half-stored in their boxes, bags of clothes and God-knows-what-else; life stages and outgrowing rooms, there’s Euijoo. Euijoo’s always been there. Even when he was leaving at 7am and coming home at 11pm to make enough for rent. Even when Nicholas was staying up late to work a translation gig. Even when they shared a closet, a bed, and everything one could fit in a shoebox—Euijoo was there. Solid and steady.
Nicholas walks over and places the plates down on a stool before crouching down next to Euijoo. He looks up from the instruction manual to smile at Nicholas. All Nicholas does is lean in, his hands naturally finding the curve of Euijoo’s jaw. He feels more than hears the surprised gasp before Euijoo is kissing him back. The manual slips from Euijoo’s fingers and Nicholas pushes it off to the floor to take his place on his lap. Steady arms wrap around his waist, palms keeping him close as Nicholas folds his left fingers over his right wrist behind Euijoo’s head. His pulse gently beats beneath his index and middle fingers.
When they pull away, Nicholas can see the unspoken question tucked away in the upturned curve of Euijoo’s mouth. He ducks back in for a peck instead of an answer.
“Breakfast will get cold and this table isn’t going to build itself,” Euijoo mumbles, thumb coming up to stroke Nicholas’ cheek. His other hand is on Nicholas’ hip bone. Nicholas tries to finger comb Euijoo’s unruly hair.
“I know. I love you,” Nicholas replies with a shrug. And there’s that smile—God, what Nicholas would give to see it for the rest of his life. The kind that crinkles Euijoo’s big round eyes into curves, gathering up at his cheeks as he laughs airily. Nicholas feels the sunlight warmth on his back radiate through his chest and down to his toes when Euijoo cranes his neck to press a feather-light kiss to Nicholas’ lips, mumbling the words back into his mouth.