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Yeonjun couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t like him. Who was he without these thoughts, these buzzing feelings, these shortened breaths, and longing stares. He was always doing it. How had he lived any other way?
He’d never said anything. Soobin hadn’t either. He’d caught him staring too many times to not. But he hadn’t. He’d picked up Yeonjun’s habits: slurred words, shy smiles, eye rolls that had no malice. He’d done all that on his own. Yeonjun tapped his foot incessantly, too. He’d spit cuss word combinations only Soobin could come up with. They were beginning to mirror one another.
But neither one had said anything. Rather, they had developed some sort of a language to continue their strange, whatever-the-fuck situation.
Like so: Yeonjun knocking one, two, three, on his bedroom door after showering just to hear Soobin’s sheets rustle and the soft sounds of him getting out of bed and padding to the door. Yeonjun thought these noises sounded very lovely. He’d like to hear these noises while he slept, as he was waking up, all the time. He’d like a lot more things, actually. But before Soobin could open the door to maybe stare him down or look at him in question, a question Yeonjun has never been able to answer, he’d slip away.
Like so: Soobin calling his mother from where he’s sprawled on the couch on a day off. Beomgyu on his phone laughing at something and Kai doing the same. Taehyun kicking up the blender to make one of those horrendous shakes that even Yeonjun, who would eat anything, can’t stomach. It’s all this flurry in the morning, all these everyday occurrences, and Yeonjun standing in the center of it. Soobin giggles into the call, in that sweet voice reserved for family, talking about how things are going well and how things are getting better. He says all these nice feelings, these positives, and he says them while looking at Yeonjun.
Like so: Yeonjun making himself dinner at three in the morning, quietly as he can. Hunger overtakes his mind at the worst times, during the worst schedules. He’s too tired but hunger trumps sleep. The lights are all off, save for the one above the stove. He stirs the pot, letting the spices wash over his face. He hears a noise. He knows who it is. Soobin stays up out of choice, and it’s visible with the ease in his actions as he walks past him to grab water from the fridge. Yeonjun almost dozes off into his pot of ramen and then he feels him behind him, watching over his shoulder, waking him up by just existing. His skin is on fire, heart alert, but it's only the fabric of their t-shirts that is touching. Soobin ladles a little bit of soup and blows on it. One, two, three. Steam floods Yeonjun’s way. Soobin offers the mouth of the spoon to him. Unnecessary, really. Yeonjun opens his mouth anyway, watches the hunger in Soobin’s eyes as he swallows. Then, without a word, he puts the spoon back in the soup and walks away, cracking open his cold water.
Like so: Soobin whining over losing a game to Beomgyu. Taehyun and Kai off elsewhere. Beomgyu laughs in his face, gets up, and does a whole routine of pointing at the score on the TV, pointing at Soobin’s pathetic face, and dancing like an idiot. Yeonjun’s sitting somewhere in the corner, not a part of this scene, but observing. Soobin groans and threatens to throw Beomgyu out the window if he makes another sound. Beomgyu does, because he’s Beomgyu. Soobin gets up and tackles his friend to the floor. They’re laughing like children, which maybe they still are in some ways, and rolling around the floor. Beomgyu pulls away, victorious because technically he still won and beating him up can’t change that, leaving Soobin sprawled on the carpet. He practically cartwheels into the kitchen for some victory food that could come in the shape of any of Taehyun’s horrible assortment of protein bars. Soobin’s shirt is half ridden up his chest from their wrestling match. He lies there defeated, the sun from outside cutting sharp lines of light against his skin. This could be a painting. Yeonjun tosses his phone on the cushions and holds out a hand. Unnecessary. Soobin could get up on his own. He takes it, anyway, letting their hands touch, and fit together, and connect, and all those sensations that Yeonjun had been living with and can’t live without for years wash over him. They stand close, even when their hands are no longer joined. Soobin smooths out his shirt and stares at him pointedly, like he knows Yeonjun was looking the whole time.
Like so: Yeonjun sitting on the terrace and quietly, wordlessly, a bottle of beer slips into his vision. He takes it, the cold feeling shocking against his skin, more so when Soobin’s fingers slip in between his for a moment within the action, more so when Soobin sits next to him. It’s very rare that Yeonjun is the one being sought out. It’s very rare that Soobin is drinking. It’s very rare that they’re alone. Soobin drinks and looks out into the world. The warm night seems to watch them, awaiting something. Yeonjun taps his foot like he’s awaiting something too. He knocks the neck of his bottle with Soobin’s, the sharp sound cutting the silence. Soobin’s eyes are on him again.
“You want to say something,” he says.
Yeonjun does. He doesn’t. He wants to stop being stared at. Stupidly, all he does is stare back.
Soobin swallows more beer. The smell is strong. His voice is warm. “Tastes like shit.” The last word is shuddered into a laugh. Yeonjun smiles too, entranced. He is three, two, one breath away from ruining everything.
“You’re beautiful.”
Silence swallows the words. The night watching them seems to blink out. Soobin’s expression does not change. He drinks his beer without taking his eyes off him.
Like so: Soobin finishing his drink and setting both their bottles down. Soobin’s hand on his chin, his hair in his eyes, and his mouth finally on his. Again Yeonjun thinks, and Soobin kisses him again, urgently. He’s always liked him. He’s always wanted this. He can't imagine himself without this.
Yeonjun kisses him back. Again and again.