Archive of Our Own

During the worst of it, Beomgyu eats so much chocolate that he starts to notice it burning his tongue from the sweetness. Also, because it has whisky in it, but that’s not what he was concerned about.

Before taking a decision such as quitting something so habitual to his day, mental health and the excuse to get away from people, or rather, close to them, Beomgyu had to go down the rabbit hole of browsing how bad it’d be to quit cigarettes. He’s read about the experience and the withdrawal symptoms that come with trying to forcefully excavate it from one’s life. He panicked about being an addict and resumed his search.

He saw a lot of advice. An app to track and encourage you. A friend who’s also trying to quit. Journaling about his experience. And all the other myriad of ways he could placate the little, desperate creature in him to be doused in smoke.

But none of the ideas seemed as interesting as buying a bubble blower.

And that’s how he finds himself right now: standing on his balcony, blowing bubbles and watching them drift into the distance before popping. It’s distracting him from his clawing urge to buy a pack and smoke it all in a few hours. But he wishes blowing bubbles was the solution to dealing with his life’s stress.

Realistically, he knows it doesn’t lie within cigarettes either. But it keeps his hands busy, and okay, he will admit this— he believes he looks cool while he’s smoking. It was a naive, inveigled reason to dip his fingers into such a destructive habit. And before he noticed it, it became an integral part of his day and so much more than just blowing out puffs of smoke.

It started to ground him. Which is the crux of his struggle. He doesn’t want to depend on something that’ll destroy him. Carelessness could kill him.

He stares at the screen door of his opposite neighbour. Prying isn’t his intention, but he can see him move around his flat shirtless sometimes. At first, it was something he giggled about, but after a few exchanges with them being in the balcony at the same time, spotting him like that twisted something warm in his stomach.

And it’s like he could feel him watching when he comes out to the balcony. Dressed this time. He looks like he’s going somewhere, catching an item off the clothing line. If their balconies were any further apart, they’d both get by fine without greeting each other. But it’s hard to ignore someone when you can see them looking at you from so close.

Beomgyu doesn’t mean to put him on the spot, but—

The mysterious neighbour looks at the bubble wand he’s holding, then his eyes move to Beomgyu’s face. He’s seen him smoking before. That’s usually what Beomgyu uses the balcony for. He has a dryer. And technically, Beomgyu doesn’t need to blow bubbles in the balcony, but it helps to trick his brain by doing a smoking-like activity in the same place where he usually smokes.

He expects a laugh or a comment, but the hot neighbour just nods his head at Beomgyu’s direction in acknowledgement and turns away.

Beomgyu, a little bummed about the lacklustre exchange, takes his bubble thrower and heads back inside.

Packing everything and emptying his boxes is always Beomgyu’s least favourite part of moving. Doing it multiple times in the past few years has made him some sort of minimalist. He got rid of a lot of what he owned or shipped it back to his room in his parents’ house. It made it easier for him not to drag his life around whenever he chooses not to renew the lease for whatever reason sprouts in his brain.

It’s a feeling, sort of. He chases that feeling of belonging somewhere. Every flat is the same. Walls of concrete, some furniture and people inside. He realised the latter part a bit later. That furniture doesn’t make a warm home, but the people he lives with do.

And even though he maintains some rituals of inviting his friends over when he can, his flat remains empty save for him being in it. He wakes up alone, goes to work, gets back to the place being the way he left it, sighs and starts cooking.

The first thing he does when he has everything transferred is go to the balcony and take a smoke. It’s one of his little rituals. It’s like incense for the house, but in his own way.

The clouds are like plumes in the sky, informing him of the rain that’s soon to trickle down on the buildings and the people, blanketing them all in its form of greeting. He fetches his lighter from his chest pocket. The ornament on it looks like the art on stained glass in cathedrals. He bought it from a flea market because it's pretty, though refilling it is always a hassle. So he only uses it on occasions like this, but keeps it with him at all times.

His cigarettes are in his silver case. The engraved text reads: but can you let it change you? He doesn’t know what it insinuates; he just got it because it goes with his lighter when he’s feeling fancy. It’s a ritual.

The railing of the balcony is damp against his elbows. So it must’ve been raining, and he hadn’t noticed. The sky is taking a break. Just like him. He inhales the smoke and puffs it out in the damp air. It smells different in this type of weather. The smoking and the gloominess stir up some melancholy in him.

A new start somewhere different. But he’s still the same person.

His attention is shifted from the street below him when the sound of a screen door is pulled open. He lifts his head up, and he’s met with the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. Handsome, pretty, breathtaking. None of these words cut it because the smoke gets stuck in his oesophagus and he’s coughing and gasping for air.

The man looks at him then, a little concerned, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, hello! I’m Choi Beomgyu— the new tenant here. I’m surprised the balconies of different buildings are this close.”

The neighbour gives him a brief smile. “Nice to meet you, Beomgyu. I hope you don’t smoke a lot because the smell reaches my flat when the wind is strong. I’m quite sensitive to smells.”

He didn’t say his name. He feels a little stupid for trying to be friendly.

His nose is red. He looks like that guy from Frozen from how red it is. Beomgyu is quite used to people telling him they hate the stench of smoke, but this is the first time he’s gotten such a unique complaint.

“Would you close the balcony when I’m smoking then? I’m not home from nine to five. So I’d only smoke here at night.”

The neighbour frowns. He thinks it’s because he’s asking him to do something. But then he says, “You shouldn’t tell strangers when you’re not at home, Beomgyu.”

And the way he said it, low, almost threatening. No, no, that’s his imagination. It was a little demanding. Stern.

He stubs the cigarette on the ceiling and flicks it to his balcony’s floor. He has to dust and mop the place, anyway.

“I’m not scared of theft. Don’t have many valuables.”

“Someone could wait for you,” he says.

He flushes at the implication. “Are you calling me valuable?”

The neighbour steps off the balcony’s railing and waves Beomgyu off. “I’ll close the balcony’s door if you wanna smoke some more.”

“It’s okay. I’m done here,” he says. But his neighbour is already closing it and getting inside.

Beomgyu flicks the lighter, watching the fire burn the butt of his new cigarette and finds the tips of his fingers have gone warm despite the chilly air.

The next time he sees his neighbour is undoubtedly also on the balcony. He’s made a habit of grabbing the bubble blower whenever his fingers itch to hold a cigarette. The absurdity of this thing reminds him of how pathetic he is to think of caving to his whims. He’d say he’s not embarrassed about taking it everywhere with him, and he isn’t. So what if he blows bubbles in his lunch break instead of smoking?

No protocol was set against it. In public, it’s whimsical. Kids love this thing. Last time he sat in the park, he finished the whole liquid inside blowing bubbles for the children playing in the sand, tripping over trying to catch the bubble before it fell.

He got some nasty stares from the parents for facilitating their kids’ falls. He should’ve shown them their knee-scars from skating and doing whatever weird shit he used to do. A childhood well-lived shows on the body.

Anyway, he lacks any sort of embarrassment about being seen blowing bubbles. But ever since he noticed his billboard-sized crush on his neighbour, he’s been getting a little shy when he sees him blowing this damn thing.

But since he didn’t feel the same way about being seen smoking, he braces himself straight and continues at it. He puts the wand in the bottle and pulls it out to blow on the stick to make the bubbles come out. His neighbour is reading something, one leg over the other one with the book in his hand above his knees. He looks sophisticated when he’s focused like this.

Beomgyu is a little curious about the book’s title. But he doesn’t dare interrupt his peaceful expression.

One of the bubbles manages to fly to the neighbour’s balcony and land on his page because he looks up with a face twisted in annoyance. Damn, it must’ve left a mark on the page.

“I’ve been meaning to ask—” he starts, closing his book with one finger inside. “Are these a replacement for cigarettes?”

“Yes,” he says. “I’ve been trying to quit. This helps the most.”

The neighbour hums. “Have you also been eating a lot of sweets?”

“How did you know?”

“How did I know hmm… I used to smoke, too. Though I never tried your— methods,” he gestures to Beomgyu’s bubble blower.

He’s a little surprised at his neighbour's old smoking habit, but before he can ask about it, he’s throwing the bubble blower onto his balcony. It lands in his lap, and his neighbour holds it up to examine it.

“Try it. Let’s see if you can blow bubbles that’ll reach me. If they touch me, you win.”

He giggles, uncrossing his legs. “Win what exactly?”

Beomgyu tries to come up with a prize. He hadn’t thought that far when he said it. “I don’t know. You can decide. If you lose, you tell me your name, though.”

“I haven’t told you my name?” he asks, face twisting, trying to remember. “Guess I haven’t. I tend to forget to. Alright. I’ll hold you to it!”

He sets his book on the table and twists the wand in the bottle to fill it with soap. Then he starts blowing on the wand. His lips contort into a pout, and his cheeks are puffed out to let out all the air in his mouth. He looks cute, and a little ridiculous.

So that’s what his neighbour has been seeing. Though he doesn’t know about the cute part.

The bubbles that are blown scatter everywhere in the air, most of them not even waiting to land on something before popping. He doesn’t know the secret— the wand has to have some empty space from the soap to push out more bubbles. He doesn’t know the reason behind it, just something he’s noticed from doing this every day.

“You’re pretty bad at this,” Beomgyu comments. He has one hand on his cheek, watching the bubbles fly like his personal show.

But not just the bubbles.

His neighbour’s dedication to the challenge after finding it silly. He’d never thought he’d be up for it, but there was no harm in trying anyway.

He laughs when the guy starts coughing because soap got in his nose. “Do you give up now?”

“Not until this bottle is empty.”

“You sound like an alcoholic,” Beomgyu jokes. “Just one more bottle.”

“Hey! I don’t even drink,” his neighbour argues.

Beomgyu sits back on his chair on the opposite side to Soobin’s. “You don’t drink or smoke. What do you do at social functions?”

“I’m an introvert, and I work from home, so really, be myself, I guess.”

“It’d be hard to rob you,” Beomgyu says.

The neighbour stays still for a second before letting out a loud laugh. “I like it when people reference things from earlier conversations. Good one.”

“Thank you, I take a lot of pride in being funny.”

He looks at him, then, after blowing out some bubbles.

“You could do that,” he says.

The bubble lands on his index finger. “What? Shit. I lost.”

The man laughs and throws him the bottle. Beomgyu catches it with two hands after backing off a little.

“The funniest thing you did was blow bubbles instead of smoking cigarettes. You could do that. Be yourself instead of drinking and smoking to blend in.”

Beomgyu stands there, looking at this stranger, giving him random advice with barely any knowledge about him. And somehow it lands. It lands the way the soft bubble landed on his finger before popping and becoming a part of his skin exterior.

“So what’s your prize gonna be?”

His neighbour stares off into the distance. “Can we save it for another time?”

Another time. Beomgyu seeing this man almost every day has become a habit now. He sees him more than his building’s neighbours and his close friends. It’s like he’s found his own designated place in his life.

“Sure, I’m getting cold, so I’ll go inside,” he says.

Beomgyu turns around and holds the door open when the man speaks.

“What?” He turns around to hear him repeat what he said.

“Choi Soobin. My name.”

Soobin.

Pretty.

Everything he’s seen from Soobin somehow is. He wonders what Soobin will ask for. Whether he has it in mind already or still hasn’t decided on it.

He smiles, clutching the bubble blower in his hand. “Enjoy your book, Soobin.”

It’s a cold December night with fog licking the horizon.

Beomgyu is about to go onto the balcony when he spots Soobin sitting on the fire escape. He looks solemn, his head ducking down with his hands lying limp by his side. His phone is lit beside him on the stairs, but he isn’t looking at it. He wonders why he’s sitting out there in this cold.

And before he opens the screen door and calls for his name, he sees it. His tears coming down his cheeks. Now that he’s looking at his eyes, he seems to have been crying for a while. The eyebags under his eyes are darker than he’s ever seen them.

It breaks his heart to see him like that. He wants to ask or help, but he doesn’t know if Soobin wants to be seen by someone in such a vulnerable state. He’s the private type, and from their conversations, he’s assumed that he isn’t the type to talk about his feelings with other people.

But Beomgyu will keep him company. Even if he doesn’t feel it. His hand hugs the cup of tea, and he blows the steam in his direction, content to just sit inside for today. He takes a sip and tries not to guess why Soobin could be crying.

Was he broken up with? Did someone dear to him die? Did he fuck up something in his work? No, he doesn’t seem to be the type to cry about work.

Is he feeling lonely, too? But then why’d his phone be discarded next to him like that? He must’ve read something that made him cry. Soobin wipes his eyes with his fingers and sniffles into his sleeve. His nose is so red. It’s usually red from the cold, but never like this.

Would he be a shitty person for finding it a little endearing?

It’s at times like this that he wishes he and Soobin were friends. They’re neighbours, but barely. They talk sometimes, but not enough. They’re basically better than complete strangers. He’s come to enjoy that detached dynamic in its own way, but—

Beomgyu just looks at him and yearns to embrace him, lend him his ear or his shoulder. Anything.

Then an idea pops up in his head. He could blow him some bubbles. Or something else. Make him a folded paper. He used to be good at making Origami. Birds, boats and such.

He rummages in his drawers. He grabs the first yellow paper he finds and starts folding it from memory—surprised to find that he still remembers how to do it—then he unfolds it to write a message inside. A one-liner. He doesn’t know if Soobin will know it’s him because he plans to throw it without showing himself, but if it makes him feel better, then it’s worth it.

Opening a sliver of the screen door without making a sound is a little difficult, but he manages to open a part that’d allow his projectile-throw it out.

The bird lands a few steps below Soobin’s feet, and Beomgyu hides behind the wall before Soobin can spot him. He probably looked at his balcony. But it’s empty.

Beomgyu didn’t throw anything after all.

He tries to peek with one eye at Soobin examining the origami, and he eventually spots the open me written on it. But he doesn’t open it before inspecting it some more. He’s still crying, but now there’s a smile on his lips. Small, but there. Beomgyu would never mistake it.

He unfolds the part where Beomgyu wrote the message, and he doesn’t smile again, but he says I know it’s you. Beomgyu hears it, even though it’s not loud. The world is rendered into a vacuum when Soobin speaks. The car honking, the electricity whizzing and the sound of the wind can’t be louder than his voice when he focuses on it.

Satisfied with Soobin going inside after folding the bird back again, Beomgyu reheats his forgotten tea without confirming Soobin’s words.

He’s not so proud of what he wrote. But he thought it was funny. And Soobin likes it when he’s funny and doesn’t pretend to be anything he’s not.

Playing catch is the best way to chase away sadness. You or me or both?

The first time Beomgyu sees him shirtless is one morning before he’s heading for work.

That day, he wakes up in a bad mood from the neighbours’ kids running all night and keeping him up, so he decides to have a smoke with his coffee before leaving. He’s always thought cigarettes go nicely with a cup of coffee, but today it’s more of a bitter mix to him. He didn’t add any sugar because he’s out of it. And the only sweet condiment he has is honey. It tastes too much like flowers to go with it.

So now he’s drinking bitter coffee while smoking a cigarette instead of having breakfast. And he feels a headache building up with a sense of doom in his forehead.

Great, just what he needed today.

His neighbour, whose name he still doesn’t know, is stretching in his living room across from him. The balcony is open with only the screen door closed. He feels like he’ll come to yell at him any moment now, but he hopes it’ll be after he’s had his cigarette. He doesn’t wanna argue about his habits before that. He leaves in ten minutes anyway, or he won’t catch the train in time to work.

If he’s late when he hasn’t overslept, he’ll be reprimanded for nothing. But he needs this.

The thing is, the cigarette isn’t really magically improving his mood. It’s just what he tells himself. An indulgence. But is it an indulgence when he can have it anytime? 

Smoking stopped being fun when he moved out of living with his parents. So, like, four years ago.

It changed from an adolescent act of defiance to an addiction and a laziness because it helps him be like others. Maybe his neighbour is right. The stench of cigarettes is disgusting not only because of the smoke, but because of what it indicates.

I can’t hold back. I can’t be myself. I need this thing to hold on because I find life so boring with nothing to look forward to.

His neighbour eventually comes out to the balcony. Beomgyu tries not to stare, but his body is so fucking lithe. Beautiful. He’s never felt more gay while staring at someone.

“Good morning,” he says. A bit later than he’d liked to.

“Morning. I love nothing more than the smell of cigarettes after waking up,” his neighbour says, torso bending over the railing with his pecs touching it. He wonders if the steel will leave a mark.

“Oh, get off my back. I’m already in a bad mood, Mister-Ironic. If you want me to stub my cigarette, you’ll have to ask nicely.”

“You seem like you’re in a bad mood today.”

Does he look like shit, too? That’s the last thing he wants.

“I fucking hate kids.”

The guy whistles. “Wow, you don’t wanna have kids?”

“I’m gay,” Beomgyu says, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Can still have kids by the way.”

“I know, Mister,” Beomgyu scoffs, blowing out the smoke.

“I’ll give you a cookie if you throw it out,” he says, trying to reason with him.

“A real cookie? Not a metaphorical one?” Beomgyu asks.

“Yeah,” he laughs. It sounds beautiful. Overshadowing the bird-song. “What the fuck is a metaphorical cookie?”

“The cookies we accept on websites?” He tilts his head.

“Do I look like some web dev to you?”

Beomgyu takes his form in. He looks like a wet dream. Lean muscles on his long torso. He looks like he’s taller than him. Beomgyu likes tall men. “I don’t know. You could be a Discord mod or something. You never leave your home.”

“Touche.”

He heads inside and comes back with a paper bag with the supposed-cookie inside. “Can you catch it?”

“There’s no other choice.”

The guy throws it to him, and Beomgyu catches the edge of the bag between his thumb and index finger. He sighs after having his heart drop between his knees at the scare. “Fuck, at least count or something.”

“You did a good job. They say the best way to catch something is to let your reflexes do the job. If you focus on the target, your chances of missing are higher.”

He stubs his cigarette on the ashtray he has on the balcony’s table and opens the paper bag to take a cookie out. There’s two big ones inside. “Who said that?”

The guy smiles, smirks, really. His mouth curves up to his left cheek. “I just made it up. But I don’t know. Someone must’ve said it before me. ”

He stares at this odd guy in perplexity. His morning got better thanks to him, though. It’s not every day that someone gives him cookies. It’s viewed as a lucky thing in many places. He feels a little like that now. Blessed.

He jumps on the knobs of his feet when he checks the time.

“Fuck. I’ve got to go. Thanks for the cookie. I owe you.”

His neighbour waves at him. “You don’t owe me. I did this selfishly.”

Selfishly, huh?

“I brought a ball,” Soobin says, throwing it at Beomgyu’s hand, but it lands against his head.

He laughs, staring at Soobin in disbelief. “What I meant by playing catch is catching your enemy, but this works too.”

“Oh,” Soobin says, his shoulders dropping. “Now I feel stupid.”

Beomgyu throws it at him. “Don’t be. Though if it falls, that’d be a hassle.”

“If it falls, it’s game over to whoever couldn’t catch it.”

He throws the ball. It’s a tennis ball, orange and not yellow. He catches it with his left hand. He throws it again. “What if you threw it badly? Wouldn’t it falling be your fault?”

Soobin catches the ball and moves it from his right hand to his left hand. “Why’re you assuming I’d throw it badly? That’s not nice of you Beomgyu-ssi.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s natural to think I’d win. I have no guarantee that you’re better.”

He catches the ball with both hands before it falls off the railing.

Soobin laughs boisterously at his bent gait.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“What?” He asks, acting oblivious when he knows damn well.

“Being annoying. Fuck. How did you even know it was me who threw you that paper?”

He throws the ball. Soobin catches it without hesitation.

“You’re the only one who’d do something so absurd.”

“Wow, thanks,” he says, faking a disappointed tone. But he’s not really.

“It’s a good thing. You’re so much fun.” He throws the ball.

Beomgyu flushes, but he still catches it with his right hand. He starts to move it in the air, trying to trick Soobin about the direction.

“You think that’s gonna work on me?” he smiles.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Gotta try my luck.”

He throws it to the left side of his balcony, and Soobin still catches it.

He groans in frustration and stomps his feet. He’s getting heated up over this stupid fucking game.

“Why do you want it to fall so badly?” Soobin asks after throwing it at him again.

He needs to stop talking after throwing the ball to distract Beomgyu with the input. Or his fucking voice to be very specific.

The ball is in his left hand, circling the air, trying to intuitively pick a spot to throw it at. He decides on Soobin’s face. It’d convey his feelings well.

“I don’t want it to fall. I want to win.”

Soobin staggers back, and his chair falls. But his hand comes up holding the ball.

“What the fuck?” Beomgyu laughs, struggling to stand. “You’d do anything to win, it’s pissing me off.”

Soobin laughs too, and that earns them a loud shout from their downstairs neighbour about keeping it low on this random Tuesday evening or they’ll call the cops on them.

“Sorry,” they both say in unison.

Their faces come up from looking at the guy, and they laugh again. Soobin decides to throw the ball then.

It touches the edge of Beomgyu’s finger, but he fails to catch it. It falls on the balcony of his downstairs neighbour. Fuck, he’s gonna have to apologise again when he sees him.

He looks at Soobin and tries to shoot laser out of his eyes and make him fall again.

“What do I get this time?” he asks, smirk digging into his cheeks. It’d be more annoying if his dimples weren’t so pretty. Heartbreaking thing for an asshole to have.

Beomgyu scoffs. “Nothing. Just ask for what you wanted last time.”

Soobin hums and stands up to fetch something from his pocket.

He throws him an orange flower. Beomgyu holds it in his open palm. “You casually had that on you?”

“Open it.”

He unfolds the scribbled part and reads the come over?

“Oh,” he lets out. “But that’s not you asking for something.”

“Then give me your number,” he says. “And come over.”

Beomgyu fetches a paper from inside and writes his number on it. Then he folds it into a paper plane and throws it towards Soobin’s balcony.

He’s lucky the wind is on their side today.

Soobin’s arms stretch out to catch it before it falls short of the railing.

Unknown number

Hello, Soobin here!

How do you feel about a picnic since the weather is nice now?

Beomgyu stares at the notification before saving the number.

You

hi soobie

a picnic sounds niceeeee.

what should i bring?

Soobin next door

Yourself. 

I’ll handle it but you can bring anything u want

You

do you even know what i like?

Soobin next door

U liked my cookies

You

i did 

they weren’t too sweet

Soobin next door

You must like gimbab

You

Is this a school trip

Soobin next door

So u don’t like gimbab wahh

You

i do!!!

ig our banter doesn’t translate well over text

only things i don’t like are vegetables or fish

Soobin next door

Got it.

(replied to your message) Yeah. I like it more when I can see your face

You

jfjfjfkfjf

Soobin next door

So tomorrow at noon in the nearby park?

You

sounds great!!

Beomgyu wakes up to rain. It’s raining so heavily that the windows are shaking. It’s the loudest storm he’s seen since he moved to this flat. And his mood withers into gloominess. The picnic will be cancelled. And he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to see Soobin that close again.

Excitement at the prospect of Soobin asking him out made it hard to fall asleep last night. He had to do a bunch of jumping jacks to calm the fuck down and enter a peaceful slumber.

And now his mood is plummeting because the universe decided to screw him over after being that giddy at the possibility of change.

He decides to make a coffee before he overthinks himself into bed-rotting the rest of the day.

Though, making coffee now reminds him of the time Soobin saved his day by giving him cookies. He settles on his table when his phone pings.

Soobin next door

U might have to come over after all

You

when??

Soobin next door

Whenever its suitable for u

U can come rn tho im still cooking

You

UR COOKIGN?

Soobin next door

YEAH?

It’s his first time meeting Soobin in person so he’s a little nervous, rightfully. Though it’s a bit silly to be nervous about meeting someone he’s been talking to face to face almost every day for months. He’s met him. He just wasn’t in his space, or had the ability to touch him, or even hand him something like a normal person.

Everything exchanged between them has been thrown in the air, words, things and even the glances.

That didn’t stop them from fostering intimacy, and yet…

He dropped by the cafe downstairs and got both of them coffee. Beomgyu will be more jittery than he already is, which is something he’ll regret, but he’s not planning on finishing. It’s fine.

Soobin opens the door right after Beomgyu rings the doorbell. It’s so fast that he feels he’s heard him coming out of the lift.

“Hi,” he says, giving him a sheepish smile.

“Hello,” Soobin says warmly. He’s wearing a blue cable-knit sweater that must be a family heirloom or something he thrifted. They just don’t make something of that quality anymore. “You look great.” His eyes rake over his form and Beomgyu feels hot all over.

The outfit is just simple black jeans and a black hoodie he wears too often. Though usually not at home. So it must be a new look for Soobin who’s used to seeing him in pajamas or a suit.

“Thank you. This is for you,” he says, handing him the coffee he bought. “You mentioned liking iced macchiato before.”

The second Beomgyu walks into Soobin’s space, he smells it. The unmistakable aroma of kimchi stew. The last time he’s had this dish is when he was at his parents’ house. “Oh my god.”

Soobin smiles, heading to the kitchen island. “You like it?”

“So fucking much you don’t even know.”

He looks around Soobin’s place. He can tell that he’s not the organised type by how he didn’t manage to clean up much before he invited Beomgyu over. Or maybe he did, but that was his best effort in cleaning up.

He likes it. The scattered items on his table and sofa make the place feel like a home. Not to mention the homecooked meal. He doesn’t feel as bummed out about the rain now when it makes for a perfectly cosy day inside.

Beomgyu sits in the kitchen after leaving his jacket on the sofa. There was no place to hang it so he thinks it’s fine if he leaves it there for now. Soobin doesn’t comment either.

“Do you like spicy food?” Soobin asks. It takes Beomgyu a while to reply because he’s been zoning out on the way his arms are flexing as he moves the knife skillfully, in a repeated motion. It’s so sharp. But Soobin does it with such ease that it doesn’t even occur to Beomgyu to worry about him injuring himself.

“Kimchi stew can’t not be spicy. Though maybe if you have rice and eggs with it or something. My brother has it like that because he’s stubborn about his inability to eat spicy food.”

He looks at Soobin and says, “Sorry, yeah, I like it.”

“You can say whatever you want and I’ll listen, Beomgyu. I usually listen to music while cooking, but you’re here, so you should keep me entertained, right?”

Beomgyu eyes him with suspicion and crosses his arms. “So that’s why you asked me to come in early. You’re gonna make me pay for my food.”

Soobin laughs. It’s the implication, probably. “What type of media are you into?”

“I watch a lot of Japanese movies. And some dramas sometimes. What do you watch? You seem like the otaku type.”

Soobin looks up from the pot he’s stirring. His eyebrows almost touch his hairline. “What even? Have you been stalking my TV?”

He giggles, his body bends backwards on the chair at Soobin’s surprised reaction. It’s so fun to get a rise out of him. “You have the whole Hunter x Hunter collection on your bookshelf.”

Soobin looks behind Beomgyu and sighs. “Right. You scared me for a second.”

“I’m not judging, by the way,” Beomgyu adds.

“I know. If you were, I'd roast you for it.”

“Wow, roasting your guest… No manners at all left in this generation. What’s next? Let me guess… eating your guest?”

“You’re my date, not my guest,” Soobin says, looking at him.

For a second, the smell and the lights and everything dims as these words settle on his skin. Screw you, Soobin, he thinks. But him not going along with his joke and clarifying his intentions doesn’t fail to impress him.

It’s romantic. This hangout. A date. A fucking date.

“Oh, right,” Soobin steps away from the stove and walks towards his room. “I got you this thing.”

Beomgyu takes the bubble blower and stares at the designs on it. It looks so sophisticated for a kid’s game. The hand is like a golden sword that you draw out. And the engravings on it look like the ones on the lighter he used to use. “Woah,” he says.

“You haven’t been blowing bubbles recently. I thought you lost it or something.”

He looks up at him. “No, I still have it. I just stopped getting the urge to smoke.”

Soobin smiles. “Congratulations. Consider this my gift.”

Did he hear anything he said?

Beomgyu takes the wand out and blows some bubbles over to Soobin’s direction. He yells at him that it’ll get in the food and that still doesn’t get him to stop.

He just blows the bubbles in another direction and watches it as they touch everything that belongs to Soobin. Like that book it landed on before.

He’s leaving his mark everywhere.

Except this time Soobin looks rather endeared by his annoying behaviour.

The food was too good to be real. Beomgyu isn’t the type to eat a lot, but he can feel the way the waistband is a little snug around his waist from swallowing all of his portion up. Also from laughing too much at their endlessly unrelated conversation topics. He knew he’d have a lot of fun with Soobin, but this has been going way smoother than he’s expected.

He’s sitting on Soobin’s bed right now. Soobin a shoulder apart from him with his back to the wall. “Sorry, the room’s arrangement didn’t allow for a sofa here.”

Beomgyu shakes his head. “This is perfect. I always watch movies in bed if I’m not in the cinema.”

He fiddles with the throw blanket on his lap as he watches the female lead kiss the other lead. Tears on her eyes from the unexpected reunion. He remembers Soobin crying and being worried about it.

He still wants to ask about it.

“Hey, that day…” he starts. Soobin looks at him and Beomgyu’s eyes fall to his lips. “On the fire escape. Are you okay now?”

Of all the things he expected, he didn’t think Soobin laughing would be the reaction to his question. But he can’t even find it in himself to be confused because Soobin is so beautiful when he’s laughing.

“Beomgyu, that was months ago. I’m fine now, of course.”

He squeezes the blanket in his hand. “Well, I just wanted to make sure.”

“And you’re nosy,” Soobin adds with a knowing gaze.

He sighs and relaxes his shoulders. “Yes, sorry.”

“It was my birthday. I always get sentimental on my birthday. I guess that’s why I was crying. I was waiting for something I didn’t get.”

“Oh my god,” Beomgyu gasps, turning his body around to face Soobin’s. “You didn’t tell me!”

“Why’d I tell you?” He says, but it’s not malicious. Just curious.

“It’s important. Birthdays are important.”

“Not really. I hate the emphasis the world puts on birthdays. Makes it pressuring.”

Beomgyu stretches his pinky. Soobin eyes it. He moves it to meet Soobin’s pinky so that their fingers are hugging. “Next birthday you’re spending it with me.”

Soobin laughs. “You’re insane.” But he doesn’t move his hand from Beomgyu’s and they decide to keep them attached.

Going back to just focusing on the movie is a little awkward and Soobin must feel it, so he decides to speak again. “When’s your birthday?”

“Tomorrow,” he says, eyes not quite moving from the projector on the wall.

Outside, the rain is pelting against the window and creating a vacuum where only the two of them exist, here and now.

“You’re kidding.” He’s the one facing him this time.

Beomgyu likes it when Soobin looks at him.

“No. It’s really tomorrow.”

“You’re a spring baby. That explains a lot.”

Beomgyu tries not to blush at the word baby associated with him coming out of Soobin’s mouth. But it’s inevitable. “I’m throwing a party at my house. You’re invited.”

“I’m not so good with people…”

He gives him a shoulder kick. “You have nothing to worry about. Only three of my friends are gonna be there. I think. And you’re the one who told me to just be myself. You’re very loveable, Choi Soobin.”

Soobin’s eyes linger on his face before he looks away and makes a little coughing sound. “You say things like that so casually.”

“I mean it.”

He gives his hand a squeeze and Beomgyu’s belly swirls with heat at the gesture.

“Do you now?” he says. His eyes look so sad.

Beomgyu focuses on the movie until he has to go, and somewhere along the way he decides to rest his head on Soobin’s shoulder.

He lets him.

Beomgyu puts on his jacket and takes his umbrella from beside the door after getting in his shoes. “I’d love it if you came tomorrow. You don’t have to bring anything. You already gave me a lovely present.” He shakes the bottle blower, but he also means everything today was.

Soobin smiles. His sweater sleeves are down now. His arms aren’t showing and he looks cosy like this, standing by the door with his arms squared, one shoulder touching the wall as he waits for Beomgyu to gather his things.

“You don’t have to leave, you know,” he says.

“Trying to get in my pants on the first date. Not chivalrous, Choi Soobin.”

He scoffs and looks to the side. “You know what I mean. You could stay.”

Beomgyu walks a few steps to give his hand a squeeze. “Or you could come over and I’ll let you stay.”

Soobin keeps the passive expression on his face, so Beomgyu turns around to open the door.

He’s suddenly whirled around when Soobin catches his wrist and has his back meeting the door to close it again. Beomgyu’s knees almost give out. Soobin has his hands on his waist, then one of hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ears and he leans in slowly. He could pull back if he wanted.

Beomgyu meets him halfway there. His lips are so soft and he inhales his breath in. Soobin kisses him the same way he looks at him. So full of yearning and tenderness similar to the heart of a fresh out of the oven dough. It renders his organs into liquid glitter.

He gasps when Soobin pulls away and holds the base of his neck to kiss him again. Soobin wedges one knee between his legs and Beomgyu whimpers. “I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I first saw you,” he says.

A giggle escapes him. “You can’t be serious,” Beomgyu says. “You hated my guts because of that cigarette smell. It made me feel like a nuisance to this hot neighbour guy.”

Soobin smiles against the corner of his lip. “You think I’m hot?”

Beomgyu punches his shoulder. “I have eyes. I kinda liked you patronising me, to be honest. Though it sucks to admit this.”

“Is that why you quit?”

He was right about Soobin being taller than him. When he isn't craning down to kiss him, he towers over his frame in a way that'd make him have to stand on his toes if he wanted to initiate another kiss.

He doesn’t know if Soobin was involved in his decision to quit cigarettes. It was probably a subconscious reason among the other reasons. But Soobin nudged him in that direction with his encouragement, undoubtedly.

Beomgyu's hands squeeze Soobin's arm, and Soobin starts trickling kisses down his throat. Sensitive, everywhere, is how he feels by the attention he's receiving. Soobin hums and it rakes goosebumps on his skin. His warm hands slipping under Beomgyu’s shirt causes him to let out a gasp.

“Do you still wanna leave?” Soobin is looking at him with determination. He can feel it everywhere. His hesitation to let him go.

He thinks of his own eagerness and the desire burgeoning within him. “Aren’t we going too fast?”

“And who gets to decide that but us?”

Beomgyu nods. Fair enough. He circles his arms around Soobin’s neck and jumps up and hugs his waist with his legs. “Lead the way, then.”

Soobin’s hands land on the small of his back and he doesn’t stop kissing his neck until they’re in the bed.

He learns a lot about Soobin that night. And about himself. Most of all, he realises that wants to spend his mundane days with him as his boyfriend and that he doesn’t care so much about going fast if it feels so good to be loved, and cherished in his warm embrace.