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Beomgyu doesn’t really remember when it started.
It might’ve been that night when the group study dragged on too long, when the rain wouldn’t let up and no one wanted to leave Kai’s apartment.
Everyone else filtered out eventually, umbrellas overhead, calls from parents waiting. But Beomgyu stayed, curled up on Kai’s couch, too comfortable to move and honestly too lazy to walk in wet sneakers.
“You can borrow something to sleep in,” Kai had said, voice casual but a little tired, a little soft. Like it wasn’t the first time he had thought of Beomgyu needing something from him.
He came back with a black oversized hoodie and loose flannel pants that cinched awkwardly at Beomgyu’s waist. The hoodie practically swallowed him, long sleeves that covered his hands and the hem brushing the middle of his thighs.
“You’re drowning in that,” Kai had laughed, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.
Beomgyu only smirked, already tugging the hoodie over his head. “Then I guess I won’t get cold.”
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He didn’t give it back.
At first, he tried to. He folded it and placed it in his bag the next day, walked over to Kai in the hallway with every intention of returning it. But Kai just shook his head.
“Looks better on you anyway.”
And that… that was how it started.
Kai was quiet in the way sunrises were. He never rushed, never raised his voice, never pushed Beomgyu to explain why he kept “forgetting” to return the clothes. A shirt here, a hoodie there.
Eventually a worn crewneck, the pale blue one with a small stitched heart near the wrist. Beomgyu only noticed that after he’d already claimed it as his new comfort wear.
Kai never asked for anything back. Instead, he started offering more.
“Take this one, it’s softer.”
“Try this hoodie. Might be warmer.”
“I know you like the ones with pockets."
And Beomgyu took them. Every single time.
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Beomgyu’s closet didn’t look like his anymore. At least a third of it now smelled like Kai’s detergent, like something citrusy and clean. He started wearing Kai’s shirts even at home, lounging in them when no one else was around. He’d tell himself it was because they were in fact, comfortable.
But sometimes he caught himself sniffing the collar. And sometimes, when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror with hair that messy, Kai’s hoodie slouched over one shoulder, he didn’t look away.
He liked how he looked in them. Small. Soft. Almost cared for.
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One evening, Beomgyu came over unannounced. He brought takeout and the latest horror movie Kai said he wanted to watch. He had his usual overnight bag, but no change of clothes inside.
“Accident?” Kai asked, glancing at the bag.
Beomgyu shrugged. “I figured… you probably have something.”
Kai smiled and disappeared into his room, returning with an old gray tee that read “Seoul” in cracked letters and a pair of gym shorts. The shirt was so big on Beomgyu that the neckline slipped off one shoulder. Kai blinked once, just once but he didn’t comment.
Beomgyu noticed.
They were sitting side by side on the couch later, empty bowls of ramen on the table, movie long forgotten in the background. Beomgyu felt full not just from food, but from something else. Something warm. Familiar.
Kai looked over, resting his cheek on the back cushion. “You’re always wearing my clothes now.”
Beomgyu blinked, mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah? Didn’t think you minded.”
“I don’t.”
A beat passed.
“I like it,” Kai added, quieter.
Beomgyu turned his head slightly, enough to catch the way Kai’s gaze lingered on him. Not on his face. On the collar of the shirt slipping down his shoulder. On the way the fabric folded against his skin like it belonged there.
Beomgyu swallowed.
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That night, when Kai was in the shower, Beomgyu looked at himself again in the mirror.
Kai’s shirt hung off his frame, wide and soft and well-worn. It had a small bleach stain near the hem. Beomgyu traced it absently.
He remembered seeing Kai wear this exact shirt once, after dance practice, hair damp with sweat and smile sleepy. Beomgyu had thought he looked good in it.
Now, looking at himself, he wondered if maybe… Kai thought the same.
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The thing was, Beomgyu didn’t fall all at once. It wasn’t a crash. No fireworks. No cinematic moment.
It happened slowly.
In the quiet, everyday things.
In the way Kai always waited for him after class.
In the soft hums he made when cooking.
In the way he folded Beomgyu’s hoodies even better than Beomgyu ever did himself.
In how his shirts smelled like safety.
In how he never asked Beomgyu for anything in return.
He just gave and gave, until Beomgyu found himself seeking more. Reaching without thinking.
Maybe it wasn’t about the clothes at all.
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Weeks later, Beomgyu was back at Kai’s place again, alone this time. Kai had gone out to buy groceries, told him to “make himself at home.” Beomgyu was flipping through Kai’s closet—not snooping, he told himself, just looking.
He found a drawer full of shirts. Familiar ones. All of them slightly stretched. All of them in sizes bigger than Kai usually wore.
And that’s when it hit him.
These weren’t Kai’s favorites. They were his .
Clothes Kai had bought and kept for him .
Clothes he never asked for, but always received.
Clothes he wore when he missed Kai.
When he felt lonely. When he wanted comfort.
Beomgyu sank onto the edge of the bed, one of the shirts in his lap. It was the black hoodie from that first night. It still had his fold marks from last week.
He buried his face into it.
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Kai came home to find him like that, wrapped in the hoodie, sitting quietly at the foot of the bed.
“I think I get it now,” Beomgyu said softly, not looking up.
Kai tilted his head. “Get what?”
“This. The clothes. You.” He swallowed.
“You fell a long time ago, didn’t you?”
Kai’s eyes softened. He set the bag of groceries down carefully, walked over, and sat beside him.
“I did.”
Beomgyu turned to him, suddenly unsure. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Kai shrugged gently. “You looked good in my clothes. I figured… if that’s all I could give you, it’d be enough for now.”
Beomgyu’s chest ached in the best way. He reached out, tugged Kai’s sleeve lightly. “It’s not just the clothes anymore.”
Kai smiled, the kind that reached his eyes.
“I know.”
They didn’t kiss, not right away. There was no urgency, no rush to cross that invisible line they’d been tiptoeing around for months. They just leaned into each other, like gravity had finally gotten tired of waiting and decided to nudge them gently closer.
Beomgyu rested his head on Kai’s shoulder, the familiar scent of laundry and something clearly Kai wrapping around him like a second skin. Kai’s hand quietly found his, fingers sliding into place like they were always meant to fit that way.
Beomgyu felt smaller than usual. But not in a bad way.
He felt… held.
Like he didn’t have to fill space to be noticed. Like he could just exist, and that would still be enough. That he would still be enough.
Kai didn’t say anything, he just squeezed Beomgyu’s hand once, steady and certain. A silent "I’m here." A quiet "You’re safe."
And in that silence, Beomgyu understood... this was what home felt like.
He felt like he fit.
Like this space and this oversized hoodie, this quiet room, this soft boy beside him, he was stitched just for him.
Maybe they weren’t just clothes.
Maybe they were love, folded into cotton and thread and all the unsaid things they were finally beginning to say.