Work Text:
Yechan's laundry detergent smells like lavender.
Seongmo takes a t-shirt out of his dresser, and he can tell it's been freshly put away because when Seongmo holds it up to his nose it's floral, soft, and calming. Worn-in and black, so faded it's turned a smoky gray with a band logo Seongmo doesn't recognize on the front. When he pulls it on, he sighs at the softness against his skin.
He can hear Yechan in the kitchen, plates clattering and drawers opening as he puts the dishes away. A mundane chore, domestic if Seongmo lets himself think about it for too long.
He doesn't let himself imagine it.
"Almost ready," Yechan calls, over the sound of him whisking something in a bowl. Seongmo calls back an okay and pads into the bedroom. Flicking the light on by the dresser, warmth floods into the space.
The storm caught them both by surprise, Seongmo swearing and holding his work bag over his head while he ran up the steps. Yechan was just bringing groceries inside, the side of his reusable bag turning dark where the rain pelted the surface. Seongmo isn't soured by the fact that he had to take the train to Yechan's place once he saw the state of things, dinner not started and the living room torn apart.
Seongmo doesn't even get to ask why Yechan's DJ equipment is pulled out from beneath his desk and sprawled out across the coffee table, he's just shooed into the bathroom and told to take a hot shower. By the time Seongmo emerges from the steam, he can smell Yechan frying up tofu and singing to the playlist blaring through his phone.
Which brings them to now, Seongmo wearing Yechan's clothes and grabbing two cans of soda from the fridge as Yechan plates up pad thai.
"Come on," Yechan says, when Seongmo tries to turn towards the living room. Yechan steers them into the bedroom instead, nightstand cleared off and just enough to fit their food, Yechan cracking open his drink and standing with a hand in his hip.
"Your living room looks like a disaster," is the first thing Seongmo says to Yechan since entering the apartment.
"I'm reorganizing," Yechan says, taking a sip and not elaborating further. Seongmo rolls his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed and shuffling backwards until he can cross his legs. He points to their dinner, to which Yechan immediately hands Seongmo his plate.
"Does reorganizing mean your living room is out of commission for the next three days?" Seongmo asks, chewing around a piece of tofu. Yechan shakes his head, wandering over to his desk and picking up a notebook. He slides the pen out and sits on the the bed, scribbling something that Seongmo can't make out from upside down. He watches in interest, finishing the majority of his dinner until Yechan finally hums in satisfaction and turns the diagram towards Seongmo.
"I just ordered a new mixer," Yechan explains, clicking the pen. His eyes are shining in excitement. "Way better than the one I've got now."
"You mentioned wanting one," Seongmo hums, crawling forward until he can deposit his plate back on the nightstand. Yechan's food remains untouched.
"See, the thing is," Yechan starts, pointing with a pen to the notebook he's holding up. He's waving the back end of the pen around as he speaks, pointing to the diagram written on the page. "You have to know how the the faders work on the mixer in order to blend sounds. The one I ordered looks like this."
Yechan sighs when he realizes he can't show the diagram properly, so he puts the pen in his mouth and angles the paper so the light hits it clearly. His legs are crossed on the bed, bare skin brushing against Seongmo's knee. Skin tinted golden by the small bedside lamp. Outside, the gentle patter of rain knocks on the windows.
"Uh huh," Seongmo says, even though he really doesn't get what Yechan is explaining. He's just trying to indulge him.
"'M serious," Yechan mumbles around the pen. He plucks it out of his mouth and sets it on the nightstand. "It used to be so hard to get the blend right with my last setup!"
He's so enthusiastic, talking with his hands and gesturing to his crudely-drawn diagram as he explains to Seongmo. When he tosses his notebook off to the foot of the bed, his shirt rides up and Seongmo gets a peek of his smooth stomach beneath.
"You're cute," Seongmo says, and Yechan stops mid-sentence. He scrunches his nose up and Seongmo nearly doubles over in laughter, clutching his knees and leaning forward as he laughs.
"Shut up," Yechan groans, kicking his leg out helplessly to nudge Seongmo. "This is important."
"Yeah, really important," Seongmo says, but he's already kneeling on the mattress and closing in on Yechan's space. He feels like the roles are reversed, he feels like it's back when they first met and Yechan was the shy one and Seongmo had a voice that could fill any conversation. Seongmo grabs his face in his hands, thumb smoothing over Yechan's bottom lip, forcing Yechan to look into his eyes.
There aren't many moments in their relationship where Yechan is quiet anymore, his personality always too big for any room he's in. He's quiet now, dazed, looking up at Seongmo and letting him manipulate him around as he sees fit.
"You didn't come pick me up at work today," Seongmo says, tracing the corner of Yechan's mouth.
"Does that mean you missed me?" Yechan asks, when he finds his voice. When his hands find Seongmo's waist, slipping beneath the t-shirt Yechan let him borrow.
"It means I thought you got flattened by the subway," Seongmo says, but he doesn't exactly deny Yechan's words either. Yechan's eyes fall closed and he pulls Seongmo closer, head resting on his chest. Fingers splayed against the warm skin of his back.
"I was cleaning up here," Yechan mumbles, his head angled away from the window. "Or trying to."
The storm is picking up outside, wind shaking the tree just beyond Yechan's third-floor apartment. Seongmo looks around, realizes the bedroom is noticeably more tidy than the few times he's been over before.
Seongmo shrugs. "I'm used to it being a mess," he explains. "Doesn't bother me anymore."
Yechan makes a noise like he wants to protest, and he turns his head to plant a kiss on Seongmo's exposed collarbone, then another. "Not the point."
"Then what is the point?"
Yechan doesn't answer at first, just lets himself trail his lips over any peek of skin he can see on Seongmo. His hands wander further up Seongmo's back, rucking up the shirt until he's mostly exposed. When he finally angles his head to look at Seongmo's face, his lips are parted and shiny.
"I think you should move in," Yechan says, palm flat against Seongmo's back. Holding him in place in case he tries to scramble away. Fitting, since Seongmo immediately feels the urge to shrink down to nothing.
"What?" Seongmo asks, even though he doesn't need Yechan to repeat it. He feels his head spin.
"Don't freak out," Yechan soothes, rubbing his hand up and down Seongmo's skin. "Try to think of it from a practical standpoint."
Seongmo's eyes narrow, looking around the room, trying to avoid Yechan's gaze. He can tell Yechan is staring straight at him.
Yechan continues to speak, his voice dropping lower, softer. "It's closer to your job, rent is cheaper, you don't have to worry about looking for a roommate once Dogyun moves out." He's tracing patterns against Seongmo's lower back, fingers feather-light. "It could be good for you."
Seongmo hears I could be good for you.
A year. That's how long he's been dating Yechan. It took Seongmo three months to even utter the word boyfriend. Eight months for Yechan to meet Seongmo's younger brother. The days slip by so quickly the longer Seongmo thinks about it.
Instead, he thinks about the first time he spent the night. How the subway wasn't so loud after midnight in this neighborhood, the way the lights reflected off the windows in the living room, how Yechan's face looked when he slept. Combing through Yechan's bedhead and pulling the sheets up closer to their bodies, Seongmo allowed himself to think he could get used to this.
Seongmo doesn't realize his lips have parted until Yechan runs his thumb across his lower lip.
"Tell me what you're thinking," Yechan says, but Seongmo doesn't have to. Yechan knows him well enough by now, that silence is a lack of protest.
"Okay," Seongmo says, so quiet he wonders if Yechan even heard it. By the way Yechan moves to cup Seongmo's face and turn his head to kiss him, he thinks he might have.
"Okay," Yechan repeats in between kisses. Seongmo melts into them, allows himself to enjoy it. By the fifth kiss Seongmo is smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, pushing Yechan away with a laughing protest.
"You have to get your shit off our coffee table," Seongmo says, when Yechan releases his lips and is peppering kisses to Seongmo's cheeks, his nose. Yechan laughs loudly then, kneeling in his bedsheets and almost swaying Seongmo back onto the mattress with how hard he laughs. He's breathless when he kisses Seongmo again, this time so soft it aches.
"Anything you say," Yechan replies, and Seongmo tries to not let the floor swoop out from under him. Aching, tender, soft when he pulls Yechan closer.
Inside, the lamp is still warm. Outside, the rain stops.