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Sungho’s plan that night was simple: sit still and watch A Space Odyssey. That was his idea of a peaceful night; the title reminded him of a David Bowie song, and really, what could go wrong with a movie that had a Bowie reference?
He checked Letterboxd. 4.3 rating—not bad. That shouldn’t be too bad, he thought. He didn’t have high standards for movies anyway; he just liked watching them. If it was bad by someone else’s measure, it was simply bad for them, not for him. His Letterboxd account was a messy reflection of that: sometimes he wrote long, rambling reviews; sometimes he just tapped a star rating and called it a night. It depended entirely on his mood.
Thing was, he hadn’t considered the one factor that could ruin his perfectly quiet evening: his friends. And maybe, possibly, his boyfriend.
So here he was, in the comfort of his new apartment. He’d finally moved out of the old one, fed up with the cramped space and the peeling walls, the noise that always seemed to follow him no matter where he went. This place, however, was different. New paintings he’d made himself adorned the walls, a few movie posters he’d splurged on, and photo frames of friends from high school sat scattered across the shelves. It was clean, orderly in the way he liked, but still alive, still unmistakably him.
Then there was Leehan. His friend since middle school, a constant presence in the background of his life, had ended up at his door that evening. Leehan’s roommate had kicked him out—apparently, the boyfriend was coming over, and the roommate didn’t want Leehan around.
Which, of course, meant that Sungho’s plans were already ruined.
He’d tried to be patient, at least at first. He made a mental note to himself to keep calm, to just let things slide. After all, Leehan wasn’t bothering him intentionally—he was just Leehan. Always a little loud, always needing to fill the silence with movement, conversation, or background noise. But the thought of trying to sink into the slow, deliberate pace of A Space Odyssey while someone else was bouncing around the apartment, eating chips, tapping on their phone—it felt like the universe laughing at him.
And then there was the subtle, nagging possibility that he might get a text. Or a knock. Or… worse. The boyfriend could show up at any moment, and with him came unpredictability. He could handle Leehan. He could handle chaos. But the boyfriend? That was a different equation altogether.
So there he sat, the remote trembling slightly in his hand, staring at the paused screen. The room smelled faintly of the coffee he had made earlier, and a breeze from the slightly open window carried the distant hum of traffic. He thought about starting the movie anyway, headphones in, volume high—but that wasn’t really the point, was it? The point was the peace, the quiet, the slow surrender into something vast and unknowable. And right now, peace felt like a stranger he couldn’t quite find.
Sungho sighed, flopped back on the couch, and accepted it. Some nights, he reminded himself, peace wasn’t about being alone—it was about finding it anyway, even when the world—or friends, or boyfriends, or both—decided to show up uninvited.
“Sorry if I ruined plans, Sungho-hyung,” Leehan said, his bottom lip jutting out just slightly, a pout that somehow made him look younger than his age. “I didn’t know that the boyfriend was coming over, too. So it was last minute for me, too…”
Sungho’s chest softened. He felt that familiar, protective, almost paternal surge he always got around Leehan. It wasn’t like he worried constantly—it was more like… instinct. Like wanting to make sure this friend of his was always safe, always comfortable.
He smiled, a small, easy curve that didn’t need words to reassure him, but words came anyway. “It’s okay, Leehan-ah. It happens. You’re free to come over anytime.”
Leehan’s face brightened immediately, a little spark in his eyes that made Sungho’s chest squeeze in an odd, soft way. He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “You’re way too nice, Sungho-hyung. Most people would’ve kicked me out by now.”
“You’re my friend,” Sungho said simply, shrugging as if it were the easiest thing in the world. But internally, he felt something warm coil in his stomach, that quiet satisfaction of knowing he could provide some kind of stability for someone else—especially for Leehan, who sometimes seemed like he needed it more than anyone else.
Leehan flopped onto the couch beside him, close enough to feel the heat of his arm but not so close as to cross the line, and let out a contented sigh. “Guess this means your movie night’s over, huh?”
Sungho glanced at the paused screen of A Space Odyssey, and for a moment, he thought about protesting. But he didn’t. Because maybe, just maybe, a little chaos wasn’t the worst thing in the world—especially when it came with someone you liked around.
“Maybe,” he said, leaning back and letting the tension in his shoulders dissolve. “But it’s fine. We’ll survive. Somehow.”
And for the first time that evening, the apartment felt like it wasn’t just his—it felt like a shared space, full of warmth, small annoyances, and quiet comforts.
“Do you want food, Leehan-ah?” Sungho asked, stretching a little as he got up from the couch.
“Yes, please. I’m starving…” Leehan said, flopping further back into the cushions with a dramatic groan. “I haven’t eaten since—well, I don’t even remember. Your place always smells like heaven when you cook, by the way. Totally unfair.”
Sungho rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Flattery won’t get you extra servings, you know. But I’ll make you something anyway.”
Leehan’s grin was guilty but unrepentant. “Worth it. Totally worth it.”
Sungho moved into the kitchen, the quiet hum of the fridge and the clatter of utensils filling the space. He liked these moments—the mundane, ordinary things that somehow felt intimate. Chopping vegetables, stirring sauces, the smell of garlic and oil mixing in the air. He glanced back at Leehan, who was now perched on the counter edge, legs swinging, scrolling aimlessly through his phone.
“You should text your roommate and thank them for kicking you out,” Sungho said, not really looking at him.
“Ha ha, very funny,” Leehan replied, tossing his phone onto the counter. “I’m not that annoying. I promise.”
Sungho smirked, shaking his head. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that while I cook you something edible.”
The two fell into a comfortable rhythm—Leehan chatting idly about nothing in particular, Sungho replying with short, teasing remarks, occasionally glancing over to make sure Leehan wasn’t poking the spice too much or making a mess. It wasn’t the peaceful night he’d planned, not even close—but somehow, it was better than he expected.
Because even with interruptions, even with friends showing up at inconvenient times, even with life refusing to let him sit still and watch a Bowie-approved movie in peace… he realized it wasn’t the solitude he craved most. It was the quiet chaos of people he cared about, the warmth of shared spaces, the tiny, ordinary acts that made a night feel like home.
Sungho froze mid-stir, knife in hand. His apartment was suddenly… popular? And that made him wonder: who the hell could it be? Definitely not his boyfriend—he had that all-night work thing, the one that stretched until dawn, and he didn’t give anyone else his address except Leehan and, well, Sungho himself. Heck, even his family didn’t know he’d moved. He hadn’t talked to them in a while, and he wasn’t planning to until he got an apology.
Leehan, ever the faster one, jogged to the door. “Oh, Taesan-ah!”
Ah. Right. Sungho’s brain clicked. He’d sent his address to that group chat with the three of them. Of course. Mystery solved.
Still, Taesan wasn’t exactly the type to show up unannounced. Usually, he at least gave a heads-up to Leehan or Sungho. But then again… that wasn’t the first time Taesan had dropped by unexpectedly.
Sungho’s mind wandered back. The last time this had happened, Taesan and Jaehyun—Sungho’s boyfriend—had gotten into that ridiculous fight at the Chinese restaurant. Which, honestly, was also the moment Taesan had shoved some sense into Sungho, and suddenly here he was, with a new apartment, new habits, new… life.
Sungho scoffed, setting the knife down. “Why are you visiting town all of a sudden, one-with-music-and-nature boy?”
Taesan raised a brow, rolling his eyes with that infuriating mix of charm and judgment he always carried. “Haven’t seen my two friends in a while. God forbid I visit them.”
“You normally tell us three weeks in advance,” Leehan added, folding his arms and giving Taesan his most “seriously?” look.
Taesan shrugged, completely unapologetic. “Schedules are for mortals. I’m obviously above all of that.”
Sungho groaned quietly, moving toward the door. “You’re lucky you bring good vibes and not a banjo or something. Otherwise, I’d be regretting this already.”
Taesan grinned, stepping into the apartment like he owned it—which, technically, he didn’t, but Sungho didn’t bother arguing. Not yet, anyway.
And somewhere in the back of Sungho’s mind, he realized the peaceful night he’d planned… was officially over.
“Still with that boyfriend of yours, Sungho-hyung?” Taesan asked, hands stuffed in his pockets as he wandered slowly around the apartment, eyes flicking over the paintings and movie posters. He stopped in front of one of Sungho’s own canvases, tilting his head. “Not bad. Definitely… you.”
Sungho sighed, remembering that ridiculous, chaotic night at the Chinese restaurant. The way Taesan and Jaehyun had practically come to blows over… what, noodles? Chopsticks? Something utterly stupid. “Yes. I am,” he said, a little defensively, though his voice had a tired softness to it.
Taesan turned to Leehan, one brow raised. “Have you met his… douche boyfriend?”
“He’s not a douche!” Sungho said quickly, stepping closer, almost instinctively protective. “You really met him on a bad night!”
Leehan shrugged, leaning against the counter with a small, reminiscent smile. “I’ve met him. He’s nice to me. I don’t know why you two clashed like that, though.”
Sungho rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. He remembered every detail of that night—the shouting, the awkward silences, the tension that had made the air feel sticky. The whole thing had been ridiculous, over nothing, and yet… Taesan had never let him forget it.
“Bad timing,” Sungho muttered, finally conceding. “It was… a bad night.”
Taesan smirked, clearly amused. “Sounds like you two are still… fragile. Fun.”
Leehan laughed softly. “Fragile is one word for it.” He glanced at Sungho, a little teasing, a little fond. “But you know, at least he’s still with you. That’s what matters, right?”
Sungho’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Yeah. That’s what matters.”
For a moment, the apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the city outside. And though his peaceful night was long gone, Sungho felt… strangely content. A little chaos, a little teasing, a little history catching up with them—it all made the space feel alive in a way that was rare, and kind of… comforting.
Leehan disappeared toward the bathroom, muttering something about needing a shower before they all ate. The apartment suddenly felt quieter, except for the soft sizzle from the pan as Sungho stirred whatever he was cooking.
Taesan sauntered closer, hands still in his pockets, his gaze casually scanning the kitchen before settling on Sungho. “Why are you really here, Taesan-ah? You made music again?” Sungho asked, eyes trained on the pan but ears alert.
Taesan shrugged, leaning against the counter with a grin that seemed to say he knew exactly how much it annoyed Sungho to be distracted. “I have a couple of demos. Why? You want me to send it to that… douche?”
Sungho rolled his eyes without looking up, his voice flat but carrying all the warning he could muster. “Taesan-ah.”
Taesan laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay! I’ll stop. Don’t get all chef-mode on me, I can handle it.”
Sungho shot him a look over his shoulder, still stirring the pan. “I’m not chef-mode. I just… focus better when people don’t annoy me.”
“You mean, you like having me annoy you?” Taesan teased, leaning just a little closer. “I remember you being way more… tense the last time I came over.”
Sungho snorted quietly, shaking his head. “That was different. That was—” he paused, letting out a small sigh, “—the Chinese restaurant incident. That doesn’t count.”
Taesan’s grin widened. “Oh, it counts. Big time. You just don’t want to admit it.”
Sungho glanced at him, briefly meeting those sharp, teasing eyes, and then turned back to the pan, muttering under his breath, “Maybe it does… maybe it does.”
The air between them was charged but light, a mix of past annoyances, unspoken familiarity, and a teasing tension that made Sungho’s shoulders relax despite himself. Even the sizzle of the pan seemed to match the rhythm of their back-and-forth, a mundane moment made unexpectedly… electric.
Sungho finished cooking and wiped his hands on a towel. Taesan hovered nearby, insisting on helping him set the table. Plates, cutlery, and glasses were arranged with surprising care—Taesan’s version of “help” was meticulous, though occasionally laced with teasing commentary. They waited for Leehan to finish his shower so they could all eat together.
Sungho stood near the coffee table he had assembled himself, checking his phone while it charged. The table was still a little wobbly, and he made a mental note to tighten one of the legs later.
Behind him, Taesan poked at his back, then slid his hands to his waist, resting there lightly.
“Taesan—“ Sungho started, voice low but firm.
“What?” Taesan’s tone was easy, teasing, like he wasn’t expecting the conversation to be serious at all.
The two of them had always had a confusing friendship, even to themselves. People thought they were dating back in high school. They had been each other’s first kiss, for fuck’s sake. That alone complicated everything, even now.
“I have a boyfriend, Taesan-ah. I love him.” Sungho said it plainly, carefully, trying not to sound defensive.
Taesan didn’t fucking care. Not really. He smirked, shrugging like it was the easiest thing in the world. But in the quiet, private corners of his mind, he always thought he could treat Sungho better than that… guy. That douchebag whose name he didn’t even remember.
“Mm,” Taesan said, unconcerned, though the corner of his mouth quirked just a little. “Not like that’s stopping me from hanging out with you.”
Sungho shot him a look over his shoulder—half exasperated, half amused—but didn’t move away. It was familiar. Predictable. Confusing. And maybe, just a little comforting.
Because Taesan would always be Taesan: a headache, a tease, a reckless friend who knew exactly which buttons to press. And no matter how much Sungho loved his boyfriend, Taesan still had a way of making him pause, of making him remember how messy and complicated… and alive, life could be.
Taesan leaned a little closer, brushing his lips softly against Sungho’s shoulder. Sungho couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him—half annoyance, half something he didn’t want to admit.
“Come on, Sungho-ya,” Taesan’s voice dropped low, casual but loaded with meaning. “You know the reason why I asked you for dinner that one time.”
Sungho rolled his eyes, turning his head just enough to glare at him without moving away. “Yeah, and on the same day, you met my boyfriend and called him a dick.”
Taesan chuckled, unbothered, hands still resting lightly on Sungho’s waist. “He was a dick. For a few minutes, at least. But you didn’t seem to care. You were too busy looking… adorable.”
Sungho snorted, shaking his head, a flush creeping up his neck. “Adorable, huh? That’s what you call me when you’re trying to annoy me?”
“I call you whatever I want,” Taesan said, grinning. “Besides, it’s true. You didn’t get defensive that night. You just… stayed yourself.”
Sungho stiffened, but not entirely in a bad way. Memories of that night—the awkward restaurant tension, Taesan barging in like he owned the place, the ridiculous argument that ended with Sungho’s patience tested to the edge—flickered through his mind. And somehow, despite everything, he couldn’t deny the pull of Taesan’s presence.
“Taesan-ah,” he said finally, voice low but steady, “don’t get used to this. I have a boyfriend, remember?”
Taesan’s smirk softened, just slightly, almost teasingly tender. “I know. But it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a little… closeness while you’re still here.”
Sungho’s breath hitched. Damn it. Every time.
The apartment felt smaller somehow, charged with that old, confusing energy they’d always carried—something between familiarity, nostalgia, and a quiet, impossible tension that refused to be ignored.
Taesan leaned in again, this time pressing a soft, deliberate kiss to Sungho’s forehead. Both his hands rested lightly on Sungho’s waist, anchoring him in place. Sungho felt his chest tighten, an involuntary shiver running down his spine.
“Taesan—” he started, voice low, caught between exasperation and something else he wasn’t ready to name.
Taesan smirked, not moving away. “Relax. I’m not trying to cause trouble. Just… reminding you how long we’ve known each other.”
Sungho swallowed, glancing down at his hands, unsure where to put them. “Yeah… we’ve known each other a long time.” His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful.
The apartment felt smaller somehow, the air thick with the kind of tension only old, complicated friendships could create. Sungho could feel Taesan’s warmth through the fabric of his shirt, the subtle weight of his hands, the quiet persistence of someone who’d always been a little too close for comfort.
He reminded himself—again—that he had a boyfriend. That he loved him. That boundaries existed. But despite the reminders, he couldn’t deny the pull, the familiarity, the way Taesan had always had a way of threading himself into Sungho’s calm, steady world and making it… messy, electric, alive.
Sungho exhaled slowly, leaning back just slightly, letting the moment linger. “Just… don’t make this a habit,” he murmured.
Taesan’s grin was infuriatingly gentle. “No promises, hyung”
Leehan eventually stepped out of the bathroom, towel still wrapped around his shoulders. Taesan and Sungho instinctively shoved each other away, hands flailing slightly, hoping—futilely—that their friend wouldn’t notice the awkward closeness from a moment ago. But of course, they were already too obvious at the start, and Leehan had probably noticed anyway.
They settled around the small dining table, plates steaming, forks poised. The faint, familiar laugh track from Friends hummed from the TV in the background, a cozy soundtrack to the quiet domestic chaos of the evening.
For a few moments, they all ate in peace. No words, just the occasional scrape of a fork, the soft clink of cutlery against porcelain. Sungho felt a warmth in his chest as he watched Leehan take a bite, and the instinct to mother his friend—always strong, always slightly ridiculous—kicked in.
“Here, let me put some more on your plate,” he said gently, scooping a bit more food onto Leehan’s dish.
Leehan looked at him, wide-eyed, mock horror spreading across his face. “Ah—Sungho-hyung! Stop, I’m gonna explode!”
Sungho chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re not even halfway done, and you still say that every time.”
Leehan groaned dramatically, leaning back in his chair with a contented sigh. “Every time! But fine, fine… you just want me fattened up so I can’t leave, don’t you?”
“Maybe,” Sungho said innocently, though the glint in his eye betrayed him. “You’re too skinny anyway. Someone has to take care of you.”
Taesan, meanwhile, had settled back in his chair, silently observing the two with a faint smirk. “You two are ridiculous,” he muttered, though there was a softness in his tone that made Sungho glance at him briefly, catching the briefest flicker of amusement.
Leehan, clearly oblivious to the tension between the two, dug in again, happily shoveling food onto his fork. The apartment smelled of the meal Sungho had cooked, the warmth of it filling the small space, blending with laughter and light from the TV. Peace, chaotic but gentle, had returned—at least for the moment.
Once they’d all finished eating, Sungho moved to the sink, hot water running over his hands as he washed the dishes. The clink of plates and the faint splash of water was the only sound in the kitchen, a domestic rhythm he secretly liked.
Leehan and Taesan stayed on the couch, the sitcom Sungho had put on playing faintly in the background. Neither of them was really watching; the subtitles were long abandoned, and the laugh track only vaguely punctuated the awkward pauses in their conversation—or lack thereof.
Leehan’s eyelids drooped. The day had been long—he’d worked through the entire afternoon, only to have his roommate kick him out for the night. Walking to Sungho’s apartment had been tiring, especially since there was no new parking in the area, so he had just trudged over, trusting Sungho’s place would be safe.
“Goodnight,” Leehan mumbled, finally surrendering to exhaustion. He padded to the spare room Sungho had fixed up for him, the one with the clean sheets and neatly stacked blankets, and closed the door behind him.
The apartment fell slightly quieter after Leehan’s retreat. The sitcom faded from the TV when Sungho eventually muted it, its canned laughter replaced by the soft rhythm of running water. Sungho was still elbow-deep in soap suds, washing stubborn pans and scrubbing utensils, his mind wandering as he worked.
Taesan leaned back on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling idly. He wasn’t speaking, wasn’t even glancing toward Sungho for now. The apartment felt heavy with a quiet tension—just the two of them, the lingering warmth from dinner, the faint scent of food, and the muted city hum outside the windows.
Taesan stepped closer, sliding behind Sungho, wrapping his arms lightly around his waist. The warmth of his body pressed into Sungho’s back, slightly disturbing the quiet rhythm he’d established while washing the dishes.
“Ah—Taesan…” Sungho sighed, finally turning his head just enough to face him, water dripping from his hands onto the sink.
“What?” Taesan murmured, moving closer until their foreheads touched. The closeness made Sungho’s breath hitch, caught somewhere between irritation, disbelief, and something entirely different he wasn’t prepared to name.
“You need a little fun,” Taesan said, voice low, teasing, yet strangely tender.
“You were the one who told me to get back to painting,” Sungho reminded him, leaning slightly against the counter to maintain his balance, though it did nothing to create distance.
“I did do that, didn’t I?” Taesan replied, pressing just slightly more against him, the subtle pressure of his hands at Sungho’s waist grounding him, but also igniting a spark.
And then he closed the gap.
For a split second, Sungho hesitated—but only for a heartbeat. Something warm and electric surged through him, and he didn’t pull away. Instead, without thinking, he kissed Taesan back.
The taste of him, the heat, the familiarity of a touch that had existed in so many forms over the years—it was dizzying, grounding, and inevitable all at once. Sungho’s hands, still wet from washing dishes, found their way to Taesan’s shoulders, and he leaned in just a little further, letting the small chaos of their closeness take over.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t supposed to happen. But in that quiet apartment, with the lingering scent of dinner and soap in the air, it felt… right.
And for a moment, nothing else existed—no boyfriend, no boundaries, no sitcom in the background—just the two of them, tangled in the familiarity of a friendship that had always been impossibly complicated.
They kissed longer, and for a fleeting moment, it was like being back in high school again—awkward, electric, and entirely unspoken. Every brush of lips, every hesitant press of a hand carried years of history they’d never really named. First kisses, first touches, first confessions they hadn’t said aloud, all tucked away behind smiles and silences.
Taesan slipped a little tongue against Sungho’s mouth, testing, teasing, and for some reason, Sungho didn’t pull away. He let him.
God, this is bad, isn’t it? Sungho’s thoughts raced even as his body betrayed him, betraying the boyfriend he loved and the loyalty he prided himself on. But… every time they fought, every time something in his relationship made him pause and doubt, a thought always crept in: Taesan wouldn’t treat me this way.
The contradiction made his chest ache, hot and heavy. He loved his boyfriend—truly—but Taesan had a way of stripping him down to the core of familiarity, of remembered trust, of years spent intertwined in a friendship that had never been ordinary. Every move, every touch, every kiss carried that weight.
Sungho’s hands trembled slightly as they rested on Taesan’s shoulders, holding him close but unsure how much he wanted to let go—or stay. His mind screamed, This is wrong. I love him. Yet his body whispered a different truth: some pull was too strong to resist, some memories too soft to ignore.
The kitchen smelled of soap and the faint remnants of dinner, but for a moment, none of that mattered. None of it mattered except Taesan, the way he fit so perfectly against Sungho, the way his lips knew all the places Sungho hadn’t told anyone about.
And in that suspended moment, Sungho realized something terrifying and inevitable: no matter how much he loved his boyfriend, no matter how hard he tried to obey his own rules… some part of him would always remember Taesan. Always want Taesan.
That was, until Sungho’s phone started ringing.
Both of them pulled away, a little abruptly, and Sungho grabbed his phone. Taesan’s hands lingered at his waist, though—subtle, but deliberate, as if refusing to let him slip away completely.
“Hello?” Sungho said, forcing his voice calm, trying to shove the racing of his heart aside. That subtle contact, the weight of Taesan pressed against him, made it harder than he expected.
“Pumpkin! They let us off early. I’m coming over real quick because Riwoo and Woonhak had things for you from their trip, is that alright?”
Sungho’s stomach suddenly dropped. The last time he’d felt a pit like this was… the last time Taesan had shown up unannounced, that chaotic dinner back in November. Memories of awkward words, long silences, and heated looks came rushing back all at once.
“Uh—no, yeah, that’s fine,” he said quickly, trying to steady himself, voice just a touch too bright.
“Yeah, okay. Love you too, bye.”
Sungho put the phone down, but the heavy feeling in his stomach didn’t leave. His hands shook slightly as he ran them through his hair, trying to gather his scattered thoughts.
Taesan, noticing the sudden shift, let out a long, exaggerated sigh. Finally, he released his hold on Sungho’s waist, hands falling to his sides. “Was that your… douche of a boyfriend?” he asked, voice half teasing, half skeptical.
Sungho shot him a look, equal parts exasperated and guilty. “Yes. And don’t call him that. Not when I’m… trying to act normal.”
Taesan smirked, obviously not buying it, though he let the comment slide for now. “Trying to act normal, huh?” he murmured, his gaze sharp, teasing, and maybe just a little possessive.
Sungho exhaled slowly, staring at the sink. The dishes, the quiet apartment, the weight of Taesan’s presence—it all felt suddenly complicated. The reminder of Jaehyun, his boyfriend, clawed at the edges of his calm, mingling uncomfortably with the lingering warmth of Taesan still pressed against him.
“You need to go, Taesan-ah…” Sungho said, voice low but firm, trying to steady himself. His hands fidgeted at his sides, still damp from the dishes.
Taesan tilted his head, smirk tugging at his lips. “What? Why? You can tell him I’m just eating dinner. Totally innocent.”
Sungho’s eyes narrowed. “You kissed me.”
Taesan raised his eyebrows, mock offense clear in his expression. “You kissed back.”
“Exactly,” Sungho said, exhaling sharply, his voice a mixture of exasperation and guilt. “Exactly why you need to leave before I do something I’ll regret. Before… everything gets messy.”
Taesan laughed softly, a low, teasing sound that made Sungho’s stomach twist. “Messy?” he asked, leaning closer, hands brushing Sungho’s shoulders. “You’ve been thinking about this for years, Sungho. You just didn’t admit it.”
Sungho flinched slightly but didn’t move away entirely. “I… I have a boyfriend. I love him. That’s not a maybe, that’s real, Taesan.”
Taesan’s smirk softened for the first time that evening, just slightly. “I know. And I respect that. But you can’t tell me you didn’t wonder… at least once… what it would’ve been like?”
“Just go, Taesan. I really wanna avoid a fight with Jaehyun,” Sungho said firmly, trying to keep his voice steady while his heart still thudded in his chest. He rubbed the back of his neck, the warm tension from earlier still lingering and making it hard to think straight.
“Okay, I’m going,” Taesan said, stepping toward the door.
“Thank you,” Sungho replied, relief softening his tone for just a moment.
But then, Taesan stopped abruptly, a theatrical grimace crossing his face. “Ow,” he groaned.
“What?” Sungho turned sharply, exasperated, wet hands still hovering over the sink as if he might fling a dish at him out of frustration.
“Think I broke my toe,” Taesan said, hopping slightly on one foot, hands clutching at the other as if the pain were real. His grin, however, was far from sincere.
“Taesan!” Sungho barked, exasperation and disbelief mixing together. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”
“God, you’re no fun when you’re tense, Sungho-ya,” Taesan replied, leaning against the doorframe for support, though clearly enjoying the chaos he was creating. “You sure you want me to go? Maybe this thing can be solved between me and Jaehyun if we just… sat down and had a little heart-to-heart. He could tell me his issues, I’ll tell him mine. We’d figure it out. Peace, understanding, all that jazz.”
Sungho’s hands clenched at his sides, frustration warring with the faint pull of nostalgia he always felt around Taesan. “Taesan…” His voice was low, almost a warning, but it carried the weight of everything that had happened tonight—the kiss, the closeness, the unresolved tension of years.
“I promise I’ll talk slowly,” Taesan said, tilting his head innocently, hands still pretending to cradle his imaginary injury. “I’ll even bring snacks if it helps. You really think this has to end in yelling, Sungho? Surely there’s a way to make everyone feel… comfortable.”
“Taesan, please,” Sungho said again, quieter this time, his voice carrying both exasperation and a subtle note of pleading. “Just… leave. Go, before I actually start regretting letting you stay this long.”
“Okay, well, give him my best, would you?” Taesan said with a sly grin as Sungho swung the door open.
And of course, waiting there outside, standing just far enough to be seen but close enough to make Sungho’s stomach tighten, was Jaehyun. Perfect timing, as usual. The evening that had already been a whirlwind of awkwardness and tension was about to get… more complicated.
“Actually… I could do that myself!” Taesan said, voice dripping with mock seriousness as he stepped a little closer to the door, completely unbothered by Jaehyun’s presence.
Sungho opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Taesan kept going, waving his hands as if he were declaring a small victory. “Myungjae! Hey—Taesan just came over to make me and Leehan listen to some new tracks of his! He was about to leave, but Leehan’s in the guestroom sleeping.”
Jaehyun raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth twitching. He clearly didn’t like how easy it was for Taesan to just dominate the situation, even if it was technically harmless.
Taesan, meanwhile, hadn’t even noticed Jaehyun’s tension. He was too busy pointing at the small ice cream package Sungho had pulled out earlier. “Did you bring ice cream?” he asked, eyes lighting up. “That’s so nice! A tiny little ice cream package just big enough for two! Hey, are you guys gonna feed each other? ‘Cause that’s just so darn cute!”
Sungho’s face flushed instantly, and he mumbled, “Taesan… it’s not like that…”
Taesan, of course, ignored him completely. “I mean, look at it! Tiny scoops, perfect for sharing. You could practically melt someone’s heart with that presentation. And don’t even tell me you’re not thinking about it, Sungho-hyung!”
Jaehyun’s jaw tightened slightly as he crossed his arms. He looked at Sungho, then at Taesan, then back at Sungho again. “Are you… actually going to let him stay long enough to, what, cause chaos? Again?”
Taesan grinned, unfazed. “Chaos? Me? Never! I’m a perfectly responsible adult, I swear. I just bring… perspective. And a little ice cream. That’s all.”
Sungho groaned quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. The familiar tug-of-war between his history with Taesan and his present with Jaehyun made his head spin. Here he was, standing at the doorway, caught between a teasing, reckless friend and the boyfriend he loved, both staring at him with completely different expectations.
And as Taesan leaned casually against the doorframe, gesturing to the ice cream like it was the most important thing in the world, Sungho realized… tonight was far from over, and peace in his apartment was a distant memory.
“Okay, I’m really going,” Taesan said, stepping past Jaehyun with a casual ease, voice loud enough to fill the small hallway. “Look, man. I really came by to show them new tracks, and I haven’t seen my two friends in a while, so I figured to visit. So don’t get all West Side Story on me, okay?”
Jaehyun opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Taesan didn’t give him a chance. With a final, playful smirk, he walked to the right, glancing back once at the two of them in the doorway.
The elevator doors slid open just as he reached them, and he stepped in with the same casual swagger he’d carried the entire evening.
Sungho and Jaehyun stood there, the quiet settling back into the apartment like a slowly returning tide, only now it felt heavier, charged with all the leftover tension, teasing, and unspoken words.
The elevator doors closed, and Taesan was gone.