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The first thing Hyunjin notices about their new apartment is how the sunlight pours in through the living room window shutters, quiet and serene, mottled and soothing. It casts little dots of beams to shoot through and hit the wooden floors of their new home. Changbin had said that Chan had picked this room because it had a balcony, so Hyunjin could paint the landscape, something that Hyunjin was eternally grateful for.
The second thing he notices is the sheer number of boxes still blocking the doorway.
“This one’s yours,” Changbin grunts, shoving a heavy cardboard box toward him.
Hyunjin tilts his head, reading the messy black marker scribbles. “‘Random Stuff.’ That could be literally anything.”
“That’s why it’s yours.”
Hyunjin huffs, lips pouting, but says nothing else. He thinks he vaguely remembers labelling the box. Shit, Changbin's right.
The apartment smells faintly of fresh paint, cardboard, and maybe a hint of old coffee lingering in the corner. Hyunjin drops the last box near the window and wipes his hands on his jeans. Dust specks float lazily in the sunlight, tiny dancers catching his gaze. He leans against the wall, stretching his arms above his head. The quiet presses softly on his ears, each small sound, scraping sneakers, the hum of the air conditioner, distant traffic, seeming magnified, personal.
Hyunjin grabs the box and hauls it into his room. It's a mess; art supplies are already starting to take over the far corner, and his bed lies in the middle, unassembled. He'll have to get on that if he wants to actually have a bed to sleep in tonight.
The move is methodical. They haul box after box together, moving them into their respective places. A few get lost in the array, a few are misplaced ("That's definitely yours, Changbin," "No, it isn't." "It literally has your name on it." "…Oh."), but more make it to their destination. A part of Hyunjin is mad he hadn't taken up Chan's offer to help them move in, but more of him is thankful; something about moving in with just Changbin after years of living with the others felt deeply intimate, and the serenity and comforting silence that came with Changbin and him quietly moving things, in their own worlds, but still rotating around the other like moon to Earth, settles something within Hyunjin deeply. While the move had taken longer, it offered Hyunjin a chance to linger in Changbin's presence, one that was unassuming and tender. One who, apparently, decided he was finished for the day and is now staring at Hyunjin as he dramatically huffs the last box into his room.
Speaking of, Changbin collapses on the newly built couch he (read: Hyunjin) had assembled earlier, already sprawling out, one leg tucked under, headphones dangling around his neck. He glances up, one eyebrow raised. “Finally done?”
Hyunjin shakes his head, laughing despite the weariness crawling through him. “For now. We have to unpack, but…" he trails off, looking at the mess of boxes helplessly, "There’s always tomorrow, right?”
Changbin just smirks. "Sure," he rolls around on the couch for a moment, and the image of Dwaekki pops into Hyunjin's mind. He really is Dwaekki, personified. "Please tell me you like unpacking because I don't wanna do it."
Hyunjin rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the small, fond smile tugging at his lips. “You're hopeless," he peers down at one of the boxes. Living Room, sprawled messily in Changbin's handwriting. He taps at it gently with his foot, "We'll survive. And hey, it’s kind of exciting. Starting fresh.”
“Fresh,” Changbin repeats, tilting his head, clearly amused. “Fresh is good.”
Hyunjin nods, surveying the messy room before him, before sighing loudly, "We really should organise."
Changbin groans.
Hyunjin wins in the end. It turns out that even with takeout, it's good to have some utensils of your own to use.
"I can't believe you're making me dig through these boxes today," Changbin's voice echoes through the apartment, whiny. "What happened to 'we always have tomorrow?'" he pitches his voice up, mocking.
"If we do this today, it's less work tomorrow," Hyunjin chides for maybe the umpteenth time.
The boxes litter the floor like obstacles in a game. Hyunjin opens one labeled Kitchen 2 and peers inside: mismatched mugs, a cracked plastic container, and chopsticks from a convenience store. He imagines Changbin standing beside him, debating whether three spatulas are really necessary. The thought makes his chest tighten strangely, warm and fluttering.
Changbin hums behind him, sifting through a box of miscellaneous things, socks spilling over the side. “I think I’ll need a bigger sock drawer,” he mutters. “Or maybe a basket. Yeah. Sock basket. That’s organized.”
“You’re insane,” Hyunjin says, voice soft, entertaining him.
“Or creative,” Changbin counters with a smirk. “Depends on how you look at it.”
Hyunjin laughs, shaking his head. “Creative. Sure. Let’s go with that.”
Changbin pouts before returning his attention to the box, "I don't know where you hid the fucking silverware, Hyunjin."
"Changbin," Hyunjin says, mockingly slow, "You're digging through a box that says Bedroom 1."
Changbin pauses for a moment, computing the information, before quickly sliding the box around to look at the label.
"Well," Changbin's voice is a little put out, but at least he didn't sound embarrassed, "This is why we should've done this tomorrow."
Hyunjin laughs. His chest flutters.
"Stop being a baby," he says instead, and as luck would have it, the next box he opens has silverware stacked neatly at the top, "I found it, let's eat."
"Finally," Changbin's practically jumping up and down, as he runs to check his phone, "The delivery driver is almost here."
There's a suspicious pause.
"…Hyunjin."
He slowly turns his head. Changbin's voice is suspiciously sweet, too nice. Something's in the air.
"Yes?"
Changbin bats his eyelashes cutely, a slow smile spreading across his face, "Would you be so kind-"
"No."
Changbin pouts.
"You are the most beautiful, best dressed, incredibly humble, amazing-"
"No."
"-best at dancing, super sexy, very helpful, most gorgeous, best Versace ambassador in Stray Kids-"
"I'm literally the only one-"
"-great artist, incredibly nice person, super independent, absolutely fabulous taste in everything-"
"I already said no."
"-most awesome, perfect wife person in the world, could you please get the takeout from downstairs for me, since you are all of those things I mentioned before and more?"
Wife.
"…No."
Changbin opens his mouth to say more, but Hyunjin cuts him off, "I already found the silverware."
"But-"
"Go get the fucking delivery, Changbin."
Evening comes, and the apartment is soft in the muted purple light through the blinds. They sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by empty Chinese food containers and a half-empty bottle of wine, courtesy of Chan, who had given it to them as a housewarming gift. Changbin pours two glasses (glasses that he, Hyunjin, had found, after more searching, thank you very much), swirling the deep red liquid.
“Cheers,” he says, clinking his glass gently against Hyunjin’s.
“Cheers,” Hyunjin echoes, the sound resonating in the quiet, unfurnished apartment. Something about that comforts Hyunjin; after years of spending his life in rooms crowded with others, his personal space is something brittle and treasured, the emptiness is akin to a small declaration: this space is theirs, his and Changbin's, and theirs only. Something about that is so special, so sacred.
The first sip warms their cheeks and loosens the edges of conversation. They talk about trivial things at first: food toppings, which boxes to tackle tomorrow, whose turn it is to clean. But beneath the mundane, a pulse hums between them, unnoticed yet insistent.
“So,” Changbin begins casually, “what’s it like… living with me?”
Hyunjin chuckles, tired but soft. The wine in his hand swirls, little bubbles rising to the top and swishing around as Hyunjin turns the, admittedly, for the situation they were currently in, sitting on the sofa, surrounded by empty takeout containers, in a room filled with tan cardboard, too-fancy glass in his hand.
“Different. But good different, not scary different. Mostly.”
“Mostly?” Changbin’s brow quirks.
Hyunjin shrugs, swirling the wine in his glass. “It’s just… weird. We’ve been friends forever. But now it’s… actually living together.”
It's silent for a moment. When Hyunjin turns, afraid that the silence meant that he had crossed something unspoken, he just sees Changbin smile into his own glass, who, upon noticing Hyunjin's focus shifting towards himself, gingerly sets the glass onto the (new!) table before turning to look at Hyunjin, grinning.
“I think it's an upgrade.”
Hyunjin hums, a laugh escaping. “Upgrade, huh?" His ribs contract, squeezing his lungs almost painfully, and for a moment, Hyunjin thinks he can't breathe, in perhaps the most exhilarating, best way. Everything blurs until his focus is a pinprick, a point, all aimed at Changbin, who's nothing but smiles, who's nothing but soft hands and placating words. Who Hyunjin struggles to put into words, even on the best of days.
"I like that," he opts to say instead, "I really do."
Later, after the wine has warmed them thoroughly, Changbin stretches lazily, flopping his whole body onto the couch (Hyunjin wants to scold him, but he holds back, half because he's amused at his antics, half in resignation) with a mischievous glint. “You know what would be funny?”
Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, wary, as the world spins slightly around him. “I feel like I don’t want to know.”
Changbin grins. “We call Chan. Right now.”
"And that is funny, why?"
Changbin sits up a little and, in a voice that could convince someone that the sky is anything but blue, exclaims, "Because it's Chan."
Hyunjin sighs, pretending to look deadpan for a moment, before breaking out into giggles, "Alright."
The phone rings exactly two and a half times before someone picks up.
"Hello?" Chan's voice rings out on the other end, clearly confused, but charmed all the same, "Why are you calling?"
Hyunjin feels himself snickering. Changbin follows, and soon, both of them dissolve into mindless laughter.
"Uh… guys?"
"Hyung," Hyunjin gasps out in between breaths of undeniable joy, "I just love you so much."
Chan makes a confused noise, but is cut off by Changbin's yell of, "We love you, man, cheer up!"
The room erupts again with Hyunjin and Changbin's sniggers, and god. He thinks Chan's saying something to them, but to be honest, Hyunjin's too caught up in the physical world around him that's predominantly been overtaken by Changbin, and his pretty eyes and broad shoulders, in front of him.
"Guys?" Chan's voice finally makes its way to Hyunjin's ears, and to his delight, his voice sounds uncharacteristically soft, almost shy. He thinks if Chan was here, in person, his ears would be cherry red, running down his neck as he blushes furiously, "Are you okay?"
"We're okay," Hyunjin finally says breathlessly, eyes shining, spirits high. Happiness blooms all around him, dancing itself into the paint on the walls. As Changbin's arms wrap themselves securely around Hyunjin's shoulders, he thinks nothing could be better than this, nothing could feel as secure as this moment: "Your housewarming gift was much appreciated."
"Uh," Chan replies eloquently, voice a little weak, "You're welcome?"
"Hyung, hyung!" Changbin's voice bellows out right beside him. He's so loud, Hyunjin's ears hurt a little, but nothing could take him away from this moment, to remove himself from Changbin's embrace, "You never said it back."
"Huh?"
"Say it back!"
"Oh," Chan laughs warmly, bright, “You're welcome. Love you too. Don't have too much fun."
"Hyung!"
Chan's laugh is the last thing he hears as Changbin quickly presses the red 'End Call' button, before the room plunges into silence once more.
There's a beat, before Hyunjin and Changbin simultaneously turn to each other, and the room dissolves into chaos once more.
As Hyunjin hides his grin behind his hand, he shakes his head; the word “Ridiculous” spills from his lips, muttered and subdued, but warmth blooms inside him, soft and tethering.
In the morning, amidst the groans, both from the early start and the night before, the promise from the day before of unpacking is fulfilled.
Hyunjin thinks he's lost count of how many times Changbin grumbles something indecipherable, yet each, strangely, is more endearing than the last. Although one might find the repetition annoying, Hyunjin just finds the little noises of complaint… cute? Perhaps? He doesn't know. Maybe the task itself is all mundane, and maybe opening bland cardboard boxes needed someone like Changbin to add some much-needed spice to the dreaded task, but regardless. Hyunjin finds himself being soothed by the background noise, and lets himself shake out any weird flutters in his stomach as he tries to figure out where his oil paints should go.
In all, however, the move is fairly unremarkable, and soon, Hyunjin finds himself done (mostly) with his bedroom, and he moves to the living room, where he finds Changbin.
"Need a hand?" Hyunjin offers softly.
The disgruntled look on Changbin's face says it all.
There’s a rhythm to unpacking, a rhythm in their movements that feels oddly comforting. Together, they rearrange most of the living room to their liking, albeit perhaps with some bickering. Hyunjin's finished oil paintings are hung, and Changbin's notebooks are nicely stacked onto the shelves. Amidst the chaos, Hyunjin catches himself studying Changbin: the way his hair falls into his eyes, the slight crease between his brows when he concentrates, the way his smile always seems just a little mischievous. His heart skips, inexplicably and violently.
Changbin notices the gaze and quirks an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing,” Hyunjin says too quickly, ducking his head. Pink warms his cheeks.
Changbin squints at him for a moment before giving up and shrugging, "I'm hungry. Let's take a break."
Hyunjin lets himself bathe in the incoming glee for just a moment before steeling himself and turning to Changbin with the most shit-eating, mockery of a grin he could muster.
"But Binnie," voice sickeningly saccharine, "We have to unpack the kitchen first to make food."
One kitchen redecoration, three seconds of absolute silent ecstasy, and far too many swear words being thrown out by Changbin later, Hyunjin's making lunch.
They did have someone deliver groceries, because Hyunjin does value his life. And he thinks even easy-going Changbin might've killed him if he'd tried to push him to go grocery shopping.
So delivery it is.
Cooking at home is infinitely better, Hyunjin thinks, especially now that it's just the two of them. It feels so much less crowded, and for once, Hyunjin can hog the kitchen all he wants. The meal is something simple, just some grilled chicken, veggies, and rice, but it's high in protein, which Hyunjin thinks Changbin will appreciate. The latter who is currently dutifully, Hyunjin will admit, cleaning up the apartment. Without a fuss, he might add.
Food really is a way to a man's heart.
"Lunch's done!"
Changbin nearly drops the fucking box. Damn.
"You are amazing. I feel like a wife, so pampered." Changbin later says, as they sit on the ground in the kitchen. The couch is right there, but neither of them could be bothered, so they're just both on the ground, back at odd angles, shovelling food down their throat.
Hyunjin snorts, but the domesticity of it all envelopes him like a hug. An image of tour suddenly flashes through his mind, one of Hyunjin’s nervous laughter before a live stage, one that triggered Changbin to instinctively reach out, hand brushing Hyunjin’s for reassurance. And for a moment, Hyunjin wonders if he'll be able to experience that every day now, even in the privacy of their own home. Wonders if that time when Changbin fell asleep mid-practice, head resting on his shoulder, fingers twitching as if still keeping rhythm with the music, could become a reality in their everyday life. That perhaps, maybe, instead of falling asleep, head curled awkwardly into the armrest of a couch, waking to an inevitable crick in his neck, that Changbin could just fall asleep in his arms instead, well rested, happy, and so, so warm.
That thought is so surprising that he jolts.
At the questioning look from Changbin, Hyunjin shrinks back into reality.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," Hyunjin stutters out, but he thinks his breathlessness gives him away.
Changbin doesn't say anything more, and they finish their lunch in silence; yet, as Hyunjin turns to start washing the dishes, he feels the former's knowing eyes boring into his back.
After the day's worth of unpacking, they flop onto Hyunjin's bed, tired but at peace.
Hyunjin had suggested they watch a movie. Changbin had suggested horror, which he vehemently protested. Which then turned into an argument. Which then eventually morphed to them staring at the ceiling, talking about nothing.
"I didn't think life would turn out this way, to be honest." Hyunjin finds himself saying.
"Yeah?" Changbin prompts, ever the listener, "How so?"
"I dunno," Hyunjin lets himself mull over the question, "Just. A quiet life. I wondered sometimes, back in the dorms, if we were ever going to make it. Get out."
"I get that," Changbin turns slowly to look at him. Hyunjin keeps his eyes firmly planted on the ceiling, even as his cheeks heat up from the peripheral view of Changbin staring at him, "It was quite rowdy, wasn't it?"
"I loved the boys, I really did."
"No one's doubting that," Changbin reassures him, turning back to stare at the ceiling, "But it is nice to live alone after all these years."
"Do you miss it?"
"What do you mean?"
"The old dorms. Life before."
"Sometimes," Changbin breathes out, "I think it was very… fresh? I dunno," he raises the hand that's away farther from Hyunjin and runs it over his face, reflective, "We were so new. I think we were closer, then," he turns back to look at Hyunjin. This time, Hyunjin meets his gaze, "Sometimes I miss the closeness we had, but. I think a little space is needed. We were so young then."
Changbin's so close to him, breath fanning over his face. His heart pounds.
"Yeah," Hyunjin finds himself saying, "I'm glad I'm rooming with you."
"I'm glad, too."
Hyunjin smiles at him.
As he goes to move his hand, his pinky accidentally nudges into Changbin's hand, and every thought just blips itself out of existence. His breath catches, and he freezes, as does Changbin, as if both of their bodies are in sync.
Ah, Hyunjin slowly turns, as does Changbin. They are breathing the same air, the same breaths. The pull between them is gravitational; somewhere along the way, the Earth and the Moon have created an eclipse. As Hyunjin bores himself into Changbin's eyes, something comes alight in the world: It's always been you.
Because in that moment, Hyunjin realises a terribly foolish thing. A terrifying, scary thing that he'd been too blind to see.
He's in love with Changbin, isn't he?
How ironic? That he, a romanticiser of the world and everything within it, one who paints of wilted roses and abstract feelings, someone who reads books upon books of the messages and intricacies of love and everything that encompasses it, who ingests poetry and quips and little one-liners like they're ambrosia from the gods themselves, etching and tattooing them, until the ink of the words are forever engrained into the metaphorical skin of his soul, would ignore his very own body trying to signal him that his person was right there, just out of reach, for years upon years, always there, always present, always grounding…
Strangely poetic, life is.
For a moment, both of them are too scared to breathe. The entire world is at a standstill, with even the late-night crickets pausing their chirp, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for everything as they know it to collapse and shatter.
“You’re thinking too much,” Changbin murmurs, thumb brushing over Hyunjin’s.
“I-” Hyunjin starts, then falters. The words rest on the tip of his tongue, heavy and weighted. An overwhelming sense of fear, of rejection, of not just the delicate trust between both of them but the fate of Stray Kids as a whole, is up in the air, and Hyunjin fears the worst.
“You don’t have to say it,” Changbin says softly, gently, like Hyunjin is beautiful, fragile porcelain. His eyes are the hearth, and Hyunjin is the flame, “I get it.”
Hyunjin swallows, the warmth of Changbin’s presence pressing against him, steady, always steady. “I know. I just… don’t want to mess this up.”
“You won’t,” Changbin promises, moving his hand so his thumb moves softly over Hyunjin's finger, slow but deliberate. “Trust me.”
Trust me.
Hyunjin trusts.
As his eyes close, he feels the gentle sensation of a blanket being placed over him. Safe, his mind supplies, Changbin is safe.
They don't speak about that night again.
Days turn into nights, and routines form. As Changbin and Hyunjin continue to orbit around each other, they quickly fall into some semblance of comfort between their hectic schedules and Hyunjin's racing heart.
With every glance, every accidental brush of skin, Hyunjin thinks another piece of his sanity threatens to break off and fall apart. Trust me, Changbin had said. Yet it feels like they've gone nowhere at all, until finally, one hazy evening, soft with wine and dinner and laughter, Hyunjin can't stand it anymore.
They were cuddled up together, watching some shitty romcom that someone along the way had recommended. Hyunjin thinks he'd stopped paying attention half an hour ago, and instead, akin to a bunny burrowing for warmth in the winter, had begun to seek Changbin, letting his arms cuddle tighter until he's practically on top of him.
"Comfortable?" Changbin's voice rings out above him, smile evident.
Hyunjin lifts his head to say something back, and he's met with, perhaps, the most gorgeous sight he's ever seen.
Changbin, bare-faced, post-shower. Fluffy, unstraightened hair going in all directions, slightly wavy from both his natural hair texture and heat damage. He has his blue-light blocking glasses perched on his nose, and Hyunjin thinks he's salivating.
"Very," he manages to muster, and Changbin smirks, which just sends Hyunjin spiralling even more, because fuck, how is he even real?
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Hyunjin's breathless voice bounces off the wall, but he can't find it within himself to be embarrassed. Because in that moment, Hyunjin decides that nothing else even matters.
Hyunjin leans just a fraction closer; Changbin mirrors him.
The first kiss is gentle, tentative, almost shy; more chaste than Hyunjin was expecting. For all the confidence and talk Changbin sported, Hyunjin quickly realises he's just as, if not more, affected as Hyunjin is.
When Hyunjin pulls back, Changbin's eyes are closed, eyebrows creased.
"You said to trust you," Hyunjin says quietly, a little urgently, because he needs Changbin to understand, "I need you to trust me too."
The second kiss was quicker, more precise, as Changbin let Hyunjin take the lead. They kiss slowly, deliberately, and Hyunjin lets himself run his tongue over Changbin's lips before slipping into his mouth; Changbin's lips are so soft, and Hyunjin wants to sink his teeth into the flesh. Time slows, and the environment around them, the faint hum of the city, all fade into the background as nothing else matters except them.
They pull back slightly, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling, panting. It feels like unadulterated delight.
“I guess we’re officially… living together,” Changbin says, grin wide, playful yet tinged with relief.
“Officially,” Hyunjin echoes, warmth blooming in his chest, head resting against Changbin’s.
As the sky dims and the hush of the evening falls around them, and Changbin's head falls into the crook of Hyunjin's neck, he realises that for all words and pictures and meanings he's read or saw or taken in, nothing will ever compare to this, and nothing will come close to even attempting to express this feeling of elation Hyunjin feels. And at the heart of it all, it's just them, circling around each other for the last six years, chasing, yearning, just beyond each other's grasp until now.
And as Hyunjin lies his head on top of Changbin's, he realises that truly, nothing else really matters except this.