My Cute Boyfriend

Roksoo spent years building walls around his heart. Cale Henituse didn't break them down— he just walked around them, found the door Roksoo forgot to lock, and made himself at home.

Or,

Professor Kim Roksoo thought he had a problem. The problem's name was Cale Henituse, and he was the cutest thing Roksoo had ever seen.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Professor Kim Roksoo had a problem.

A very specific, very frustrating, very red problem.

The problem’s name was Cale Henituse, and he sat in the third row of Roksoo's Advanced Literature seminar every Tuesday and Thursday at 9 AM, looking like he had just rolled out of bed and into the nearest available chair.

Which, Roksoo suspected, was exactly what happened.

"Cale Henituse," Roksoo called out for attendance, pen poised over his tablet.

A mumbled sound emerged from the third row. Something between a grunt and a "here."

Roksoo looked up.

Cale Henituse had his head pillowed on his arms, red hair spilling across the desk like a grumpy puppy taking a nap. His sweater— clearly too big, sleeves pooling over his hands— had slipped off one shoulder, revealing a sliver of milky collarbone.

Roksoo's pen froze.

‘He looks... comfortable.’

Very comfortable.

Adorably comfortable.

Roksoo cleared his throat and moved on to the next name.

---

It got worse.

Over the next three weeks, Roksoo became painfully aware of every single thing Cale Henituse did.

• The way he yawned— not covering his mouth properly, just a tiny, cat-like opening of his jaw followed by a small mrrp sound that made Roksoo grip his lectern so hard his knuckles went white.

• The way he tapped his pen against his notebook when thinking, except half the time he forgot he was holding it and it would go flying across the room, at which point he'd blink slowly and say, "Ah," as if he had no idea how that happened.

• The way he ate his lunch in the courtyard— sandwiches that he took apart and reassembled in a different order each time, like he was running an experiment on optimal bread-to-filling ratios.

Roksoo watched this from his office window, coffee growing cold in his hand.

‘What is wrong with me?’ he thought.

His reflection offered no answers.

---

He almost lost it on a normal Thursday.

It had rained overnight. The sidewalks were slick, the air smelled like petrichor, and Cale Henituse walked into class with his red hair damp and curling at the ends, droplets clinging to his lashes like tiny crystals.

He was wearing a scarf today. A cream-colored, ridiculously soft-looking scarf that he kept tugging up over his nose.

Roksoo's brain short-circuited from the cuteness overload.

"Good morning, class," he said automatically, but his eyes were fixed on Cale, who was currently trying to wrestle his oversized backpack off his shoulder without unwrapping himself from the scarf.

The backpack strap caught on his elbow.

Cale made a small sound of frustration— a quiet hngh— and spun in a slow circle, as if the bag would somehow untangle itself through rotational force.

It did not.

Someone snickered.

Roksoo stepped down from the lectern without a second thought, reached out, and carefully slipped the strap free from Cale's elbow.

Cale looked up at him.

Fox-like reddish-brown eyes, still slightly glassy from sleep, blinked a few times.

"Ah," Cale finally said. "Thanks, Professor."

His voice was soft, but a little raspy from sleep.

Roksoo's heart did something illegal.

"You're welcome," he murmured, voice perfectly steady, while internally screaming into the void. "Please take your seat."

Cale nodded, tugged his scarf back up to his nose, and shuffled to his seat like a very cute caterpillar.

Roksoo returned to the front of the class.

He did not remember a single thing he taught that day.

---

The next incident occurred in Roksoo's office.

He hadn't expected anyone to show up. After all, it was Friday afternoon, and most students were already mentally checked out for the weekend. Roksoo sat grading papers, his glasses balanced on his nose and a cup of black tea growing cold at his side.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Come in," Roksoo said without looking up.

The door creaked open. A pause. Then—

"Professor Kim?"

Roksoo looked up.

Cale Henituse stood in the doorway, holding a crumpled piece of paper. His hair was messier than usual, like he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly. His sweater today was forest green, also too big, and he had a small bandage on his index finger.

"The assignment," Cale said, holding up the paper. "I don't understand question four."

Roksoo blinked in surprise, not expecting Cale to come for help related to homework. "Come in. Please have a seat."

Cale shuffled inside and sat in the chair across from Roksoo's desk. He immediately pulled his knees up to his chest— shoes off, just socks with little cats on them— and balanced the paper on his knees.

"I read the whole chapter," Cale said, frowning at the paper. "But the bit about narrative framing and unreliable narrators... I don't get how the same story can be both true and false at the same time."

Roksoo forced his brain to function. "Can you give me an example from the reading?"

Cale bit lower lip— Roksoo was going to die— and thought for a moment. "The part where the character says he didn't steal the money, but then later he says he 'borrowed' it without asking. Is that him lying, or is that him re-framing the same event?"

"That's a nice question," Roksoo said, and meant it. "It's both. He's not lying about the facts, he didn't take it with the intention of keeping it. But he's also not telling the truth, because borrowing implies permission, which he didn't have."

Cale's brow furrowed. "So the narrative is... flexible?"

"Exactly."

Cale nodded slowly, then looked up at Roksoo with an expression of genuine wonder. "That's really cool."

Roksoo's chest went warm.

"I like your glasses," Cale added, completely off-topic. "They make you look like a smart owl."

"…”

Roksoo removed his glasses, polished them slowly, and put them back on. "Thank you, Cale. That's... a unique compliment."

Cale shrugged, the too-big sweater slipping off his shoulder again. "My mom always said owls are good luck. So." He smiled softly, it made his already beautiful face even more beautiful.

Roksoo's heart liquefied.

"Do you want to go over the rest of the assignment?" He heard himself ask.

Cale's eyes lit up. "Can we?"

For the next hour, Roksoo explained narrative theory to a sleepy, sweater-clad, cat-sock-wearing student who nodded along and asked surprisingly insightful questions and kept tucking his hair behind his ear only for it to fall back down immediately.

By the end, Cale understood the assignment perfectly.

Roksoo, on the other hand, understood nothing except that he was in serious trouble.

---

It became a routine.

Every Friday at 3 PM, Cale Henituse knocked on Roksoo's office door. Every Friday, he had a new question. Every Friday, he wore a different oversized sweater (Roksoo started keeping a mental inventory: navy blue, dark green, mustard yellow, soft grey, and once, memorably, a lavender one that made his red hair look like autumn leaves).

And every Friday, Roksoo fell a little bit more.

He told himself it was fine. He was just being a good professor. Supporting a struggling student. That was all.

Then Cale fell asleep in his office.

It was the fourth week. Cale had come in looking more tired than usual— dark circles under his eyes, hair even messier, movements sluggish. He sat down, opened his mouth to ask a question, and then just... stopped.

His eyes fluttered closed.

His head dropped forward.

And then, very slowly, like a tree being felled in slow motion, Cale Henituse tipped sideways and landed with his head on Roksoo's desk, cheek pressed against a stack of ungraded essays.

He was out cold.

Roksoo stared.

And kept staring.

Cale's pink lips were slightly parted. His long lashes fanned against his cheeks. A tiny strand of red hair fell across his nose, and every few seconds, his nose twitched as if trying to sneeze it away.

Roksoo's hand moved before his brain could stop it.

He reached out, very gently, and brushed the hair off Cale's face.

Cale made a small, contented sound between a sigh and a hum, and nuzzled into Roksoo's palm.

He pulled his hand back as if burned.

Cale continued sleeping, oblivious to his suffering.

Roksoo sat there for the next forty-five minutes, absolutely motionless, afraid that any sound would wake the redhead. He graded exactly zero essays. He thought about exactly one person.

When Cale finally stirred, blinking awake with a confused "Wh'time'sit?" Roksoo simply said, "You fell asleep. It's fine. Go get some rest."

Cale rubbed his eyes, yawned (that same tiny mrrp sound), and said, "Sorry, Professor. I didn't sleep well last night."

"It's fine," Roksoo repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

Cale rose to his feet, stretched with catlike grace— arms reaching overhead, back arching smoothly, sweater lifting just enough to reveal a narrow strip of pale skin— then flashed a smile at Roksoo.

"See you Tuesday?"

"See you Tuesday," Roksoo managed.

After Cale left, Roksoo put his head in his hands and groaned.

‘I am in love with my student,’ he groaned even more, not able to deny it any longer, ‘What am I going to do now?!’

The universe did not respond.

Probably because it was too busy laughing at him.

---

The weeks between Cale falling asleep on Roksoo's desk and the end of the semester were a disaster.

Not for Cale. Cale was thriving. His grades were improving, his questions during office hours were becoming more sophisticated, and he had started bringing snacks to their Friday sessions. A bag of chips here, a shared chocolate bar there.

For Roksoo, however, it was a slow, agonizing descent into madness.

---

Week Five

Cale arrived at office hours wearing a grey sweater that had a small hole in the left cuff. He had his finger poked through the hole, and kept tugging on it absently while he talked.

Roksoo dragged his gaze away from Cale's finger. The finger that was poking through the hole. The hole that was getting bigger with every tug.

Noticing Roksoo’s gaze, Cale looked down at his cuff, at the growing hole, and said, "I should probably fix this."

"You should probably stop pulling on it first."

"But it's fun." Cale pulled again. The hole ripped another centimeter.

Roksoo watched helplessly as Cale destroyed his own sweater in real time. "I can sew it for you," he heard himself say.

Cale looked up in mild surprise. "You can sew?"

"I'm an under-paid professor. I can't afford to replace clothes every time they get damaged."

Cale's eyes were literally twinkling. "You'd sew my sweater?"

"It's a simple patch. It would take five minutes at most."

Cale stared at him for a long moment. Then he pulled the sweater off over his head.

Roksoo's brain short-circuited.

Underneath, Cale was wearing a thin white t-shirt. It was also too big for his slender build. The collar had slipped down to expose one collarbone. His hair was a mess from pulling the sweater off, sticking up in multiple directions.

"Here," Cale said, holding out the sweater. "Sorry for the trouble.”

Roksoo took the sweater, ignoring the fact that his hands were shaking slightly.

"I'll bring it back next week," he said, voice remarkably steady for a man who was internally screaming.

"Okay." Cale smiled, gathered his things, and left the office in his t-shirt.

Roksoo sat there for ten minutes, holding the grey sweater, breathing through his mouth like a man who had just run a marathon.

‘The sweater smells like Cale.’

Roksoo put the sweater in his bag and did not think about it for the rest of the weekend.

(Spoiler: He thought about it constantly.)

---

Week Six.

Roksoo returned the sweater on the next Friday. He had patched the hole with a small piece of matching grey fabric, stitching it so carefully that the repair was nearly invisible.

Cale put the sweater on immediately, right there in the office, pulling it over his head with no regard for his hair or his dignity.

"It's perfect," Cale exclaimed, running his fingers over the patch. "You can't even tell it was ripped."

Roksoo's chest swelled with an unreasonable amount of pride. "It was nothing."

"It’s not nothing. You worked hard on this." Cale looked up at him, and his eyes were warmer than usual. "Thank you, Professor Kim."

"Roksoo," Roksoo said.

Cale blinked cutely. "What?"

"You can call me Roksoo outside of class. If you want, that is."

Cale's face went through multiple reactions— surprise, then pleasure, then something that Roksoo couldn't name.

"Okay," Cale said quietly. "Roksoo."

The sound of his name in Cale's voice did something dangerous to Roksoo's heart.

They spent the next hour discussing important topics for the exam, but Roksoo couldn't tell you a single thing they talked about. All he could hear was Cale saying his name, over and over, like it belonged in Cale's mouth.

‘Roksoo. Roksoo. Roksoo.’

He was in so much trouble.

---

Week Seven.

Cale came again with a problem.

Not an academic problem this time, a different kind of problem.

"There's this person," Cale said, not looking at Roksoo, picking at the edge of his notebook. "And I think they might like me. But I'm not sure."

Roksoo's blood went cold.

"What makes you think that?" he asked, proud of how normal his voice sounded.

"They stare at me a lot," Cale said. "Like, all the time. I can feel them watching me."

Roksoo's breathing stopped.

"And they do nice things for me," Cale continued.

Roksoo's heart also stopped.

"I don't know if they like me or if they're just... nice," Cale said, finally looking up.

Reddish-brown eyes met another pair of reddish-brown

Roksoo's mouth was dry, his chest was clenching painfully. "Do you," he said carefully, "... do you like them?"

Cale tilted his head. "Umm… maybe?"

Roksoo could feel his fragile heart breaking into pieces.

---

Week Eight.

It had been raining for a while now, so much that umbrellas weren't enough anymore.

Roksoo arrived at his classroom twenty minutes earlier as always. He was setting up his lecture when the door creaked open.

Cale Henituse stood in the doorway, soaked to the bone.

His crimson hair was plastered to his face. His sweater (forest green, the one he'd worn during their first office meeting) was dark with water, clinging to his shoulders. His shoes were making squelching sounds on the floor.

"I forgot my umbrella," Cale said while shivering.

"Sit down," he advised. "Take off your sweater. You'll catch a cold."

Cale shuffled to his usual seat and peeled off the wet sweater with some difficulty. Underneath, he was wearing a thin long-sleeved shirt that was also wet. His teeth were chattering non-stop.

Roksoo walked to the closet at the back of the classroom, pulled out his spare jacket, and draped it over Cale's shoulders.

"You keep a spare jacket in your classroom?" Cale asked, pulling it on. It was even bigger than his usual oversized sweaters— the sleeves covered his hands, the hem fell past his hips.

"The heating in this building is unreliable," Roksoo said. "I come prepared."

Cale tugged the jacket tighter around himself and made a small, contented sound. "It's warm."

"It's been in the closet since last month. It should be a little warm."

"It smells like you," Cale said, and then immediately turned red. "I mean— it smells like— the fabric softener. That you use."

Roksoo's face was also slightly red. "Probably," he agreed like a robot.

They did not look at each other for the rest of the class. Cale kept the jacket on the entire time, sleeves pulled over his hands, chin tucked into the collar.

When the class ended, Cale tried to return the jacket.

"Keep it," Roksoo said. "It's supposed to rain all week."

"Are you sure?"

"I have others."

Cale clutched the jacket to his chest. "Thank you, Professor Kim. Roksoo. I mean— thank you."

He fled before Roksoo could respond.

Roksoo stood in the empty classroom, stared at the door Cale had disappeared through, and wondered how much longer he could hide this feelings.

---

Week Nine.

Roksoo hated social events. They were full of small talk, terrible wine, and professors who wanted to talk about their research. Roksoo wanted to talk about approximately none of those things.

But attendance was "strongly encouraged," which in academia meant mandatory, so he went.

He was standing in a corner, nursing a glass of tasteless white wine, when he saw him.

Cale Henituse.

He was in the hallway outside the event space. Talking to someone.

Roksoo couldn't see who— the person was blocked by a pillar— but he could see Cale. He was wearing Roksoo's jacket. And he was laughing at something the other person said.

Roksoo's grip on his wine glass tightened.

Then the other person stepped out from behind the pillar.

It was a student. Another student, around Cale's age, with grey hair and an easy smile. He touched Cale's arm— his arm— and said something that made Cale duck his head and laugh cheerfully.

Roksoo's vision went red.

He didn't do anything. He was an adult. He was not going to storm across the room and—

Cale looked up.

Their eyes met through the crowd.

His student's smile changed. It went from polite to natural, from easy to soft. He said something to the other student, who nodded and walked away, and then Cale was walking toward Roksoo.

"You came," The red-head greeted him, stopping in front of him.

"The event is mandatory. My seniors will nag me non-stop of I didn't."

"I thought you would still find an excuse to not come."

Roksoo didn't deny it.

Cale's eyes flicked down to Roksoo's wine glass. "You're holding that like you want to throw it at someone. Who made you mad?"

"No one."

Cale tilted his head, and his expression was knowing in a way that made Roksoo's skin prickle. "Was it the person I was talking to?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Why would I be angry at him?"

"His name is Eric, by the way. He's my sworn brother,not—" Cale paused, and that secret smile was back. "He's not the person who I like."

Roksoo never felt more relieved in his entire life.

---

Week Ten.

Cale didn't come this time.

It was the first Friday he had missed all semester. Roksoo sat in his office from 3 PM to 5 PM, staring at the door, pretending to work overtime.

At 4:51, his phone buzzed.

Cale: Sorry, can't make it today. Studying for finals. See you on Tuesday?

Roksoo stared at the message for a long time.

Roksoo: Good luck on your finals. See you Tuesday.

Cale: Thanks :)

The smiley face felt like a punch to the chest.

---

The end of the semester arrived faster than Roksoo wanted.

He had calculated the odds. He had weighed the consequences. He had written and deleted approximately fourteen emails to his therapist.

The logical answer: Do nothing. Maintain boundaries. Let the semester end and never see Cale Henituse again.

The emotional answer: But he's sooooo cute.

The final paper was due on a Tuesday. Roksoo collected them in a neat stack, thanked the class for their hard work, and watched as students filed out for the last time.

Cale lingered.

He stood by the door, backpack hanging off one shoulder, sweater today a soft cream color that matched the scarf from weeks ago. He was fidgeting with the strap.

"Professor Kim— Roksoo?"

Roksoo's heart rate spiked. "Yes, Cale?"

"I..." Cale looked down at his shoes (sneakers today, no cat socks, disappointingly). "I wanted to say thank you. For the extra lessons. You really helped me understand the material."

"You're a good student," Roksoo said. "You would have figured it out on your own eventually."

Cale shook his head. "No, I wouldn't have. I am too impatient and almost dropped this class multiple times." He looked up, eyes earnest. "You made it make sense. So... thank you."

Roksoo's throat tightened. "You're welcome."

Cale nodded, then turned to leave.

And Roksoo— the same Roksoo who had survived a decade of academic politics, three near-fatal pain-relief overdoses, and a department chair who apparently doesn't have a brain— opened his mouth and said:

"Wait."

Cale stopped and turned back with mild curiosity.

Roksoo stood up from his desk and walked over to his stu—, no, ex-student.

"I have something to tell you," Roksoo said with a hint of uncharacteristic nervousness. "And you don't have to respond. You don't have to do anything. I just need to say it."

Cale tilted his head, curiosity clear in those familiar reddish-brown eyes. "Okay?"

Roksoo took a deep breath to calm himself down, it didn't work.

"I think you're incredibly cute."

‘’...!’’

Cale's eyes went wide. He opened his mouth in shock, but no sound came out.

Roksoo ignored it for now, he needed to say everything he wanted to before Cale could interrupt. "The way you fall asleep in class. The way you wear sweaters that are too big for you. The way you say 'ah' when you drop your pen. The way you looked at me that first time in my office and said I looked like a smart owl." Roksoo's voice cracked slightly, but he pushed through. "I've spent this entire semester trying very hard to be a professional, and I have failed spectacularly. Because every time you walk into a room, I forget how to function."

Cale's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"You... think I'm cute?" he said, voice small.

"Ridiculously so," Roksoo confirmed with a sudden burst of courage. "It's a problem. You're a problem. An adorable, way too cute, red-haired problem, and I, I really—!"

Cale laughed.

Not a mocking laugh. A bright, startled, disbelieving laugh that lit up his whole face.

"Professor Kim," Cale said, stepping closer, "Roksoo, I literally come to your office every week because I think you're hot."

Roksoo's brain crashed.

"…… huh?"

"I said you're hot and I had my eyes on you for a while," Cale pointed a finger at Roksoo's chest with a childish huff, "And I am sure you think the same about me, I am not blind you know, I can see the way you stare at me. I was wondering when you'll finally ask me out.”

Roksoo was getting overwhelmed with the sudden bomb dropping, but Cale just kept going, ignoring the emotional whereabouts of his ex-professor.

"—that day, when you… brushed my hair off my face as I fell asleep on your desk. I wasn't fully asleep."

Roksoo felt his face go red. "You—"

"I thought you were going to kiss me," Cale admitted, and now it was him who was blushing, pink spreading across his cheeks like sunrise. "And I was really disappointed when you didn't."

They stood there, both of them red-faced and looking anywhere except at each-other.

"So," Roksoo said finally, "just to be clear. You're not... uncomfortable?"

Cale stared at him weirdly. "Professor. I just told you I think you're hot. What part of that sounds uncomfortable?"

"The part where I'm your professor."

"The semester is over," Cale pointed out. "You're not my professor anymore. Technically."

Roksoo gave up.

He closed the distance between them, reached out, and very gently tucked a strand of red hair behind Cale's ear.

Cale's breath hitched.

"You're sure?" Roksoo asked, one last time.

Cale Henituse— the cutest problem Roksoo had ever had— smiled up at him and said, "Professor, no, Roksoo. I've been sure since forever. You just took your sweet time to catch up."

And then, because Roksoo had spent an entire semester holding himself back, hugged the redhead with the intention of never letting go.

---

The first time Cale stayed over at Roksoo's apartment, it was an accident.

Or rather, it was a "we were planning about adopting a kid and it got late and you should just sleep here" situation, which was technically an accident but also the 2nd best accident of Roksoo's entire life.

The second time, it was intentional.

The third through fifteenth times were just... habit.

And now, three months into their relationship, Roksoo had a drawer in his dresser full of Cale's clothes.

He stared at it one morning, holding a soft grey sweater that smelled like Cale's laundry detergent (a floral and annoyingly pleasant smell), and wondered when exactly he had become this person.

"This person" being: a twenty-seven-year-old literature professor who made coffee for two every morning, who had learned to sleep on the edge of the bed because Cale sprawled like a starfish, and who could no longer imagine waking up without a mess of red hair on the pillow next to him.

"Roksoo," came a muffled voice from the bedroom. "Where's my blue sweater?"

Roksoo walked back to the bedroom, sweater in hand.

Cale was sitting up in bed, blankets pooled around his waist, hair a disaster, eyes half-closed. He was wearing one of Roksoo's old t-shirts— too big, slipping off both shoulders— and making grabby hands at the sweater.

"Here," Roksoo said, handing it over.

Cale pulled it on, then immediately flopped back onto the pillows.

Roksoo sat on the edge of the bed. Cale, without opening his eyes, reached out and latched onto his arm, pulling it around himself like a human seatbelt.

"Cale. You have class at ten."

"Cancel it."

"I can't cancel your class. I'm not your professor anymore, remember?"

Cale cracked one eye open. "Then come with me. Sit in the back. Make heart eyes at me."

"I already make heart eyes at you constantly. It's embarrassing."

"Good." Cale closed his eye again. "You’re cute when you’re embarrassed."

Roksoo sighed, but he didn't move his arm. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to Cale's temple. "Breakfast?"

"Mm. What will you make?"

"Pancakes."

Cale's eyes snapped open. "With the little chocolate chips?"

"If you get out of bed in the next thirty seconds."

Cale was out of bed in ten.

---

They ate breakfast at Roksoo's small kitchen table. Cale sat cross-legged on his chair, cutting his pancakes into tiny, precise squares before eating them one by one.

Roksoo watched him over his coffee mug.

"Whah?" Cale asked, mouth full.

"Nothing."

"You're starwing."

"Because you're cute."

Cale chewed, swallowed, and pointed his fork at Roksoo. "You can't just say things like that. I'll get a big head."

"Your head is already disproportionately large for your body."

Cale gasped. "Did you just call me big-headed?!"

"I called you cute. The big head is a separate observation."

Cale threw a piece of pancake at him.

It bounced off Roksoo's forehead and landed in his coffee.

They both stared at it.

"...Are you going to drink that?" Cale asked.

"No."

"Good. That would've been weird."

Roksoo fished the pancake bit out with his spoon and dropped it on Cale's plate. "Eat your weapons."

Cale giggled and Roksoo felt his heart do a backflip.

‘This is fine,’ he told himself. ‘I am fine. I am a functional adult who does not dissolve into a puddle of feelings every time his cute boyfriend laughs.’

He dissolved into a puddle of feelings.

---

Later that week, Roksoo had a faculty meeting.

It was every bit as boring as it sounded: budget allocations, curriculum changes, the ongoing debate about whether the English department should be allowed to use the east wing conference room or not.

Roksoo sat near the back, pretending to take notes. In reality, he was texting Cale.

Roksoo: Department chair is wearing the same tie as last week.

Cale: Maybe he only has one tie.

Roksoo: He's been here for thirty years. He has to have more than one tie.

Cale: Maybe he really likes that tie.

Roksoo: It's beige.

Cale: Some people like beige, Roksoo. Don't tie-shame.

Roksoo: You're making fun of me.

Cale: OF COURSE NOT! HOW COULD I?! I am VERY serious about my boyfriend’s distress related to someone ELSE’S choice of tie.

Roksoo: Cale.

Cale: It’s okay Roksoo, I will tell him to wear some other tie.

Roksoo: I'm putting my phone away.

Cale: Noooo come back! I'll be good!

Cale: okay, I won't be good but I'll be quieter about it!!!

Cale: Roksoo...

Cale: Roksooooo!

Cale: Fine. I'm going to take a nap. Wake me up when you're done being a responsible adult.

Roksoo smiled at his phone.

Professor Lee, sitting next to him, glanced over. "You're smiling. That's new."

"I smile often," Roksoo said flatly.

"Yeah, your infamous scammer smile. Who are you texting?"

"No one."

Professor Lee raised an eyebrow. "Is it that student? The redhead you had your eyes on?"

Roksoo's face went slightly hot. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." Lee turned back to the front, smirking. "Young love. So disgustingly sweet."

Roksoo ignored him and spent the rest of the meeting thinking about a redhead taking a nap in his apartment, probably sprawled across the entire couch, looking adorably cute like always.

He wanted to go home.

---

When he finally got back to the apartment, the lights were dim.

Cale had, in fact, taken a nap. He was curled up on the couch, wrapped in the blanket from Roksoo's bed, with one foot hanging off the edge. His phone was on the floor next to him, screen cracked (he'd dropped it three times this week alone), and his mouth was slightly open.

Roksoo stood in the doorway and just... looked.

The late afternoon sun came through the window, catching Cale's hair and turning it into something almost unreal— like copper and fire and autumn leaves. His lashes, long and dark, rested against his rosy cheeks. His breathing was slow and even.

Roksoo walked over quietly, picked up the fallen phone, set it on the coffee table, and pulled the blanket up to Cale's chin.

Cale stirred just a little. "Mm, Roksoo?"

"Go back to sleep."

"Meeting done?"

"Done."

"Was it awful?"

"Extremely."

Cale's hand emerged from the blanket, patting blindly until he found Roksoo's wrist. "Poor baby," he mumbled. "Come nap."

"I have grading to do."

"Grading can wait. Naps cannot."

Roksoo looked at the stack of essays on his desk. Then he looked at Cale, half-asleep, blanket-tangled, reaching for him.

The essays could wait.

He toed off his shoes, laid down on the narrow strip of couch that Cale had left him, and let Cale immediately attach himself to his side like a very warm, very sleepy octopus.

"This is nice," Cale murmured into Roksoo's shoulder. "You're so soft."

"I am not soft. I am lean and muscular."

"You're soft," Cale insisted, poking Roksoo's stomach. "Soft and warm and you smell good too."

Roksoo sighed. "You're impossible."

"You like me."

"I tolerate you."

"You like me," Cale sing-songed, barely awake. "You like me so much you will do anything for me."

Roksoo closed his eyes. "Go to sleep, Cale."

"Love you too, my grumpy boyfriend."

And then, because Cale was Cale and the universe had a sense of humor, he started purring.

He made this small, rhythmic humming sound when he was really comfortable, a contented little vibration that Roksoo could feel through his chest. He'd asked about it once, and Cale had just shrugged and said, "My mom said I've done it since I was a baby."

It was, Roksoo had decided, one of the single most adorable things he had ever encountered.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Cale's head, breathed in the floral scent of his shampoo, and let himself fall asleep to the sound of his boyfriend humming.

---

The next morning, Roksoo woke up to find that Cale had, at some point during the night, transformed himself into a blanket burrito.

He was completely wrapped up, only half of his face visible, and he was staring at Roksoo with sleepy, contented eyes.

"Good morning," Roksoo said.

"Morning," Cale whispered. "I had a dream about you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You were wearing those glasses. The ones you wear when you grade papers. And you were explaining something to a raccoon."

Roksoo blinked. "A raccoon."

"Hmm. It was very cute looking."

Roksoo stared at his boyfriend.

Cale stared back, utterly serious.

"...You are the strangest person I have ever met," Roksoo said finally.

"Thank you!"

"It wasn't a compliment."

"Everything is a compliment if you try hard enough."

Roksoo reached out and booped Cale's nose. "We need groceries. You ate the last of the pancake mix yesterday."

Cale's eyes went wide with horror. "The last of it?"

"You ate an entire box of pancake mix, Cale. By yourself. In one sitting."

"I was hungry!" He wiggled in his blanket cocoon. "Take me to the store. I need more pancakes."

Roksoo sighed, but he was already getting up. "Fine. But you're putting on some other clothes. No sweaters that are three sizes too big."

Cale gasped. "My sweaters are perfectly sized."

"They swallow you whole."

"That's the point."

Twenty minutes later, they walked into the grocery store. Cale was, predictably, wearing an oversized sweater (mustard yellow this time), and had insisted on holding Roksoo's hand the entire way there.

"You're going to make us look like a couple," Roksoo said as they walked through the automatic doors.

"We ARE a couple."

"People might stare."

"Let them stare. We're cute~."

They wandered through the aisles, Cale tossing things into the cart with reckless abandon: pancake mix (eight boxes), chocolate chips, strawberries, whipped cream ("for the pancakes," Cale insisted), a random bag of gummy bears, and a small cactus.

"What's the cactus for?" Roksoo asked.

"His name is Steve. He's coming home with us."

"We don't need a cactus."

"Steve needs us, Roksoo. Look at him. He's all alone in this big store. No one loves him."

Roksoo looked at the cactus. It looked back at him with silent judgment.

"Fine," he said. "But you're taking care of him."

"Yes! I'll take such good care of Steve. He's going to be the happiest cactus in the world."

They checked out, walked home, and made pancakes. Cale named the cactus Steve Jr. after accidentally knocking the first cactus off the counter (it survived, barely).

Roksoo watched him carefully repotting the slightly-scuffed cactus, tongue poking out in concentration, and thought:

‘I am going to marry this person someday.’

He didn't say it out loud.

---

Six Months Later—

Roksoo woke up to a weight on his chest.

Cale Henituse— his boyfriend, his red-haired menace, his beautiful problem— was sprawled across him like a very content cat, face buried in Roksoo's neck, hair tickling his chin.

It was another Saturday. There was nowhere to be.

Cale made a small sound— mrrp— and shifted, nose nudging against Roksoo's jaw.

"Morning," Roksoo murmured.

"Mmrf," Cale replied eloquently.

Roksoo smiled warmly, it has been happening a lot after knowing Cale. He thought about the first time he saw Cale walk into his classroom, sleepy and drowning in an oversized sweater. He thought about the way Cale had looked at him when he said ‘I think you're hot’.

He thought about how absolutely, ridiculously, unfairly adorable his boyfriend was.

"I love you," Roksoo said quietly.

Cale's eyes fluttered open. Sleepy reddish-brown met soft reddish-brown.

"Love you too," Cale mumbled. "Now go back to sleep. My warm pillow shouldn’t talk so much in this early morning."

He tucked himself closer.

Roksoo wrapped his arms around him and closed his eyes.

The problem, he decided, was not a problem at all.

It was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

---

Roksoo was going to die.

Not metaphorically. Not in the "I'm so embarrassed I could die" way. Actually, genuinely, literally die.

The cause of death: Cale Henituse, age twenty-three, currently standing in Roksoo's kitchen wearing an apron that was three sizes too big, flour on his nose, holding a whisk like a weapon.

"What are you doing?" Roksoo asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Baking," Cale said, as if this were obvious.

"You can’t bake."

"I'm learning to bake. How would I master it if I don't even try."

Roksoo looked at the state of his kitchen. Flour dusted every surface. A bowl of something lumpy and suspicious sat on the counter. Cale had a smear of what looked like chocolate on his cheek.

"For whom are you learning to bake?"

Cale's ears turned pink. "No one."

"Why is your face red?"

"It's from the heat."

"The oven isn't even on."

Cale pointed the whisk at him. "Stop asking useless questions. Either go away or help me."

Roksoo walked over, plucked the whisk from Cale's hand, and set it down. Then he wiped the flour off Cale's nose with his thumb. "You're a menace."

"Your menace," Cale corrected, tilting his chin up proudly with a cheeky smile.

"My menace," Roksoo agreed, and kissed the flour off his cheek.

The cookies, when they finally emerged from the oven, were burnt on the bottom and raw in the middle.

Cale looked at them with such profound disappointment that Roksoo had to turn away to hide his smile.

"We can try again," Roksoo offered.

"No," Cale said mournfully. "These are sacrifices to the baking gods. We must learn from our failures."

He then ate three of them anyway, burnt bottoms and all.

Roksoo watched him chew thoughtfully, crumbs on his sweater, and felt his soul leave his body.

---

The cuteness attacks came without warning.

Incident 1:

They were watching a movie— something Cale had picked, an animated film about anthropomorphic animals. Roksoo was only half-paying attention, more focused on the weight of Cale's head on his shoulder.

Then Cale sneezed.

It was not a normal sneeze. It was a tiny, high-pitched "choo!" that ended with a small squeak. And then, because the universe hated Roksoo specifically, Cale blinked his dazed reddish-brown eyes and said, "Bless me," as if no one else was there to say it.

Roksoo froze.

"Did you just bless yourself?" he asked, voice full with amusement.

"No," Cale said, but his ears were red. "That was... that was a cough."

"You also squeaked."

"I did not!"

"You squeaked like a baby."

Cale buried his face in Roksoo's shoulder while weakly punching his chest. "I hate you."

"You're adorable."

"I'm going to kill you."

Roksoo wrapped his arms around him and pressed a kiss to the top of his eyelids. "I'm putting that sound in my memory bank forever."

"I'm breaking up with you."

"No you're not."

"Don’t be so sure," Cale mumbled, and stayed exactly where he was.

---

Incident 2:

Winter arrived with a vengeance.

Roksoo was not a fan of cold weather. He was a fan of warm apartments, hot coffee, and staying indoors. Unfortunately, Cale had dragged him to a weekend market because "the hot chocolate stand has the tiny marshmallows, Roksoo, the tiny ones."

They were walking between stalls, Roksoo's hand in Cale's pocket (Cale's idea; "Your fingers are cold and I'm a generous boyfriend"), when Cale stopped in front of a hat vendor.

"Oh," Cale said.

Roksoo looked. The hat was hideous. It was bright orange, had ear flaps, and was shaped like a puppy's head. Complete with little embroidered eyes and a stitched-on nose.

"I'm not buying that," Roksoo said immediately.

"I wasn't going to ask you to."

"You were thinking about it."

Cale picked up the hat, put it on, then turned to face Roksoo.

The ear flaps dangled. The puppy eyes stared blankly ahead. And Cale— his beautiful, adorable, menace Cale grinned widely, his real eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Now I'm a puppy," Cale said. "Rawr."

"Puppy’s don't say rawr."

"This one does because I said so!" Cale strongly insisted with an angry pout, which instead of making him look intimidating, made him look extra cute.

Roksoo's heart stopped. Then restarted at twice the normal speed. He could feel his face heating up despite the freezing temperature.

"You look ridiculous," he managed.

"You mean adorable."

"I mean ridiculous."

Cale tilted his head. The ear flaps flopped. "Roksoo. Your nose is bleeding."

Roksoo touched his upper lip which came away with red.

‘Oh no’, he thought. ‘Oh no, I'm actually dying from cuteness overloud. It actually can happen. I wonder how I survived for so long.’

"It's the cold," Roksoo finally managed an excuse, tilting his head back.

Cale was already digging in his pocket for a tissue, still wearing the puppy hat, still grinning. "Sure it is. Definitely not because your boyfriend is irresistible."

"You're a menace."

"You keep saying that like it's an insult."

Roksoo took the tissue, dabbed at his nose, and bought the hat.

Cale wore it all the way home. Roksoo held his hand and refused to look directly at him because every glance made his chest do something complicated.

---

Incident 3:

This one was new.

Roksoo woke up at 2:37 AM to find his bed empty.

This was unusual. Cale was a notoriously heavy sleeper who had to be physically rolled out of bed in the mornings. He did not get up voluntarily in the middle of the night.

Roksoo sat up, heart rate spiking. "Cale?"

No answer.

He got up, padded barefoot through the apartment, and found Cale in the kitchen. He was standing in front of the refrigerator.

With his eyes closed.

"Cale," Roksoo said again, softer this time.

Cale didn't respond. But his hand reached out, patted the refrigerator door gently, and then he turned and walked straight into the wall.

Thankfully not hard. Just a soft thump as his forehead met the drywall.

Then he stood there. Face against the wall. Asleep.

Roksoo stared.

This was, without question, the most inexplicable thing he had ever witnessed.

"Sweetheart," Roksoo said, using the endearment that usually made Cale melt, "what are you doing?"

Cale mumbled something unintelligible. It sounded like "the ducks got lost."

"...The ducks?"

"Mm. Baby duck is crying for his mommy."

Roksoo took a deep breath. Then he walked over, gently turned Cale around, and guided him back toward the bedroom. Cale went willingly, eyes still closed, feet shuffling like a very tired zombie.

When they reached the bed, Cale collapsed onto it, immediately curled into a ball, and said, clearly and distinctly: "Steve Jr. says goodnight."

Then he started purring.

Roksoo stood there for a full minute, processing.

He took another deep breath then crawled back into bed, pulled Cale into his arms, and whispered into his hair: "You're going to be the death of me."

Cale purred louder.

---

Incident 4:

They were at a café. Roksoo had ordered a black coffee like a normal person. Cale had ordered something called a "Fairy's Delight" which arrived pink, whipped cream mountains tall, with rainbow sprinkles and a tiny umbrella.

Cale took one sip. His eyes widened. "Roksoo."

"What."

"Roksoo, this is the best thing I've ever tasted!"

"You say that about everything sweet."

"No, no, this is different." Cale clutched the cup with both hands and took another sip. Then he made a sound. A small, involuntary "mmMMmmm" that went up at the end like a satisfied kitten.

Roksoo looked away, then looked back. Cale had whipped cream on the tip of his nose and was completely unaware.

"You have something on your nose," Roksoo informed.

Cale tried to lick it off. Missed entirely. Got cream on his upper lip instead.

Roksoo reached across the table and wiped it off with his thumb. Cale blinked at him. And then— without breaking eye contact— licked the cream off Roksoo's thumb.

"Mm," Cale said again, smaller this time.

The café faded into background noise. Roksoo's brain made a dial-up noise.

"…Did you just—?!"

"You wiped it on your thumb. Waste not want not." Cale took another sip of his Fairy's Delight, utterly unbothered. "Why is your face red though?"

"It's… warm in here."

Cale tilted his head. The tiny umbrella in his drink bobbed. "Okay," he said, and smiled, and Roksoo knew he had lost this round entirely.

---

Incident 5:

Cale was having a terrible day.

Roksoo could tell the moment he walked through the door— the way his shoulders slumped, the way he didn't immediately kick off his shoes, the way he dropped his bag on the floor and just stood there.

"Bad one?" Roksoo asked from the couch.

"Everything went wrong," Cale said flatly. "My presentation froze. I spilled coffee on my shirt. Someone in the elevator told me I looked tired."

"You look fine."

"I look like I haven't slept in three days because I haven't." Cale shuffled over and, without a word, crawled into Roksoo's lap. He curled up sideways like a very large, very sad housecat, his head tucked under Roksoo's chin.

"Okay," Roksoo said, wrapping his arms around him.

"Am I too heavy?" Cale mumbled.

"You weigh nothing."

"I weigh 68 kilograms."

Roksoo kissed the top of his head. "I can handle 68 kilograms with a single handl."

Cale was quiet for a moment. Then, so softly Roksoo almost missed it: "I wanted to come home to you the whole time."

Roksoo tightened his arms. "You're home now."

"Yeah."

They stayed like that. At some point, Cale's hand found Roksoo's and started playing with his fingers— touching each knuckle, tracing the lines of his palm, linking their fingers together and then unlinking them.

Roksoo watched him for a long moment. Then he pressed another kiss to Cale's hair and let himself be mapped.

---

Incident 6:

Cale had a cold.

He was wrapped in a blanket on the couch, refusing soup, refusing medicine, refusing everything except for Roksoo's presence.

"You're going to get sick too," Cale warned, voice thick.

"You worry about yourself. I have an immune system made of iron."

"Famous last words."

Roksoo sat down anyway, pulling Cale against his side. Cale immediately burrowed into his chest like a mole seeking warmth. His nose was red. His hair was sticking up in six different directions. He looked absolutely pitiful.

"You look terrible," Roksoo said fondly.

"Meanie."

"I'm just being honest."

Cale sneezed into Roksoo's shirt. Then, without pulling back, he wiped his nose on the fabric.

"Did you just—"

"I'm sick," Cale said defensively. "You knew the risks."

Roksoo looked down at the damp spot on his shirt. Then at Cale's flushed cheeks and watery eyes. Then at the way Cale's hand was clutching his sleeve like a child afraid of being left.

“You're going to be the dead of me."

Cale smiled against his chest sleepyly, and Roksoo knew he'd already caught something much worse than a cold.

---

Incident 7:

They were grocery shopping.

Roksoo had a list. Cale had a cart and zero self-control.

“We don’t need dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets,” Roksoo said.

“You’re right,” Cale agreed. “We need the ones that are also shaped like stars.”

“That’s not what I—.”

“Don’t care.”

Cale dropped both boxes into the cart. Then he spotted the pasta aisle and gasped like he’d seen a celebrity.

“Roksoo. Roksoo. They have the purple butterfly pasta.”

“It’s dyed with vegetable extract.”

“I don’t care what it’s dyed with. It’s purple and it’s butterflies!” Cale grabbed a bag and hugged it to his chest. “I’m going to name every single one before I eat them.”

Roksoo stared at him. Cale was cradling the pasta like a baby animal. His cheeks were pink from the cold outside. His hair was sticking out from under his beanie.

“You should be in jail,” Roksoo said.

“Huh?! For what?”

“For being forty-nine percent cuter than legally allowed.”

Cale tilted his head with a cheeky smile. “What’s the legal limit?”

“Whatever you were at before we entered the pasta aisle.”

Cale grinned. Then he very carefully put the butterfly pasta in the cart, patted it twice, and said, “Sleep tight, little guys.”

A woman walking past laughed. Cale didn’t even notice. He was already moving toward the snack aisle, drawn by the siren call of something called “Unicorn Explosion popcorn.”

Roksoo pushed the cart and followed like a good husband.

---

Incident 8:

Cale was learning to cook.

This was, as expected, a disaster.

Roksoo stood in the kitchen doorway, watching his boyfriend glare at a frying pan like it had personally offended him. There was flour on the ceiling. An eggshell in the sink. Something was smoking slightly nearby.

“You’re supposed to stir it,” Roksoo said.

“I am stirring it.”

“You’re simply poking it.”

Cale turned around. He had a smear of tomato sauce on his cheek and a strip of onion peel stuck to his sweater. His expression was pure indignation.

“I am doing my best,” Cale said. “My best is valid.”

“Your best is on fire.”

Cale spun back around. The thing in the pan was, in fact, producing small flames.

“Oh,” Cale said. Then he picked up the kettle and poured water on it.

The flames got worse.

Roksoo calmly walked over, turned off the stove, and covered the pan with a lid. The fire went out, thankfully. Meanwhile, Cale stood there holding the empty kettle, looking betrayed by the laws of science.

“I tried to help,” Cale said weakly.

Roksoo looked at the flour-dusted counter, the eggshells, the mysterious puddle on the floor, and then at Cale’s sauce-stained, onion-peel-adorned, slightly-smoking face.

Cale’s lower lip trembled. “I just wanted to make you dinner.”

Something in Roksoo’s chest twisted painfully.

“Let’s order pizza,” Roksoo said, pulling Cale away from the disaster zone. “You can choose the toppings.”

“Anything?”

“Anything except pineapple.”

Cale leaned into him. “Can we get the one with the stuffed crust?”

“Obviously.”

“And the little pepperoni that curl into cups?”

“Cale.”

“Yes?”

“You can have whatever you want.”

Cale smiled, small and tired and happy, and Roksoo licked the tomato sauce off his cheek without even thinking about it.

---

Incident 9:

It was 6:31 AM.

Roksoo was making coffee. He hadn't slept well— some vague anxiety about work, nothing serious— and he'd gotten up early to let Cale keep sleeping.

The apartment was quiet, except the low humming of the coffee maker. Roksoo leaned against the counter, eyes half-closed, waiting for caffeine to fix him.

Then he heard it.

A soft sound from the bedroom doorway.

He turned. Cale was standing there in one of Roksoo's old t-shirts that fell past his thighs. His hair was a chaos of bedhead. His eyes were still puffy with sleep. And he was holding a pillow.

Not his pillow. The pillow from Roksoo's side of the bed.

"You left," Cale accused, voice gravelly and morning-thick.

"You were asleep."

"I woke up." Cale shuffled forward, pillow still clutched to his chest. "You weren't there. The bed was cold."

"I'm making coffee. I'll be back in five minutes."

Cale stopped in front of him. Held out the pillow.

"What's that for?" Roksoo asked.

"You need to hold this while you make coffee."

"Why?"

"Because," Cale said, like it was obvious, "then some of you is still with me while I wait."

Roksoo stared at him.

"Cale," he said carefully.

"Mm?"

"I'm going to die from heart problems."

"Don't. Then who would make the coffee?"

Roksoo took the pillow. Held it awkwardly under one arm. Cale nodded, clearly satisfied, and shuffled back toward the bedroom.

At the doorway, he paused. Looked over his shoulder. "You're hotter when you're tired," he said suddenly.

Then he disappeared.

Roksoo stood in the kitchen, holding the pillow, coffee dripping in the background, and seriously reconsidered every life choice that had led him to this exact moment.

---

Incident 10:

They were lying on the floor.

Not for any particular reason. The couch was right there. But Cale had said that "floor time is important for grounding your energies" which Roksoo was fairly sure was nonsense, but Cale had already sprawled out on the rug like a starfish, so Roksoo had joined him.

Now they were side by side, staring at the ceiling.

"There's a spider," Cale said.

"Where."

"Top left corner. His name is Gerald."

"You named him?"

"He's been there for three days. Gerald is my little spiderman."

Roksoo turned his head to look at Cale instead of the ceiling. Cale's profile was soft in the afternoon light. His eyelashes cast tiny shadows on his cheeks.

"You've been watching him for three whole days?"

"Mm. He works from home. Very dedicated."

"You're being ridiculous, again."

"And yet, you're still with me."

Roksoo couldn't argue with that.

Cale turned his head too. They were facing each other now, close enough that their breath mingled. Cale's reddish-brown eyes were half-lidded, relaxed.

"I like this," Cale said quietly.

"Lying on the floor?"

"Being horizontal with you."

"That's a weird way to say it."

Cale reached out and poked Roksoo's nose. Then his cheek. Then his chin. Each poke gentle, exploratory, like he was mapping terrain.

"What are you doing now?" Roksoo asked.

"Counting your freckles."

"I don't have freckles."

"You have three. Here, here, and here." Poke, poke, poke.

Roksoo caught his hand. Held it against his chest. "You're making those up."

"I'm not. They're very small. They only come out when you've been in the sun."

"You're lying."

"I'm never lying when it comes to you." Cale smiled sweetly. "I just notice things about you."

Roksoo squeezed his hand, bringing it to rest on his cheeks. "You're going to give me a heart attack one day."

Cale scooted closer, tucked his head against Roksoo's shoulder, and sighed contentedly.

"You ruined the moment."

Roksoo laughed and Cale beamed against his shoulder like he'd won something.

They stayed on the floor until the light turned orange. Gerald the spider kept watching them without moving an inch.

---

Roksoo was really going to die this time.

He knew he always kept saying that, but he meant it every single time.

His heart had a maximum capacity for cuteness, and Cale Henituse had been exceeding that capacity for approximately one year, four months, eleven days, and seven hours.

There would be an autopsy. The cause of death would read: Acute adorableness poisoning, suspect is 24 years old, red hair, cannot walk past a stray cat without crying.

"Roksoo," Cale said, tugging on his sleeve. "Roksoo, look."

They were walking through the campus courtyard. It was autumn, leaves crunching underfoot, the air crisp and cold. Cale was wearing a beanie that had little fox ears on it.

"What am I looking at?" Roksoo managed.

Cale pointed.

There was a squirrel. Just a normal squirrel, sitting on a bench, eating a nut.

But Cale was looking at it like it was the most precious thing he had ever seen. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly open, cheeks flushed pink from the cold.

"It's sooooo small," Cale whispered. "Look at its little hands. Its little hands, Roksoo."

Roksoo looked at the squirrel's hands. They were, objectively, small.

"I want to hold it," Cale said.

"You can't hold a wild squirrel."

"But it's sooooo~ cute."

"It will bite you."

"Worth it."

Roksoo grabbed Cale's arm and physically dragged him away before he could attempt to befriend a rodent. Cale went reluctantly, looking over his shoulder with genuine longing.

"You're impossible," Roksoo said.

"You're meanie."

"I'm just being careful."

Cale pouted cutely, bottom lip pushed out, eyebrows drawn together— and Roksoo felt his left ventricle give out.

‘This is it,’ he thought. ‘This is how I die. From my cute boyfriend’s cute pout.’

"Fine," Roksoo said finally, voice strangled. "I'll buy you a stuffed squirrel. Just stop looking at me like that."

Cale's face transformed instantly. The pout vanished, replaced by a brilliant, sunshine-bright smile which was enough to blind someone. "Really?"

"Really."

"You're the best boyfriend in the entire world!"

"I'm aware."

Cale grabbed his hand and practically skipped toward the campus bookstore. Skipped. A twenty-four-year-old university student, skipping. In public. Holding his hand.

Roksoo's soul briefly left his body from cuteness aggression.

---

The bookstore did not have a stuffed squirrel.

It had stuffed bears, stuffed foxes, stuffed cats, and an alarming number of stuffed octopuses, but no squirrels.

Cale stood in the middle of the plushie aisle, shoulders slumped, looking like someone had canceled Christmas.

"It's okay," Roksoo said. "We can look somewhere else."

"No," Cale said quietly. "It's fine. I don't need one."

But his eyes— those big, reddish-brown, impossibly expressive eyes— were devastated. Over a squirrel. A squirrel he had seen for approximately five minutes.

Roksoo's heart cracked.

"Wait here," he said.

He left Cale in the aisle and walked to the front counter, where a bored student employee was scrolling through her phone.

"Do you have any squirrels in the back?" Roksoo asked.

The employee looked up in confusion. "Squirrels?"

"Stuffed squirrels. My boyfriend saw one outside and now he's—" Roksoo gestured vaguely toward the plushie aisle. "He's sad. I need a squirrel to make him happy."

The employee blinked. Then she smiled— a real smile, not the customer-service type. "That's actually really sweet~. Hold on for a sec."

She disappeared into the back room and emerged two minutes later holding a small, slightly dusty plush squirrel. It was a little lopsided, one ear higher than the other, and its button eyes didn't quite match.

"It's been back there for like three years," she explained. "No one ever wanted it. You can have it for free."

Roksoo took the squirrel then bowed slightly. "Thank you."

He walked back to the plushie aisle.

Cale was sitting on the floor. Cross-legged, head bowed, poking at a stuffed bear with one finger.

"Cale."

Cale looked up.

Roksoo held out the squirrel.

For a moment, nothing happened. Cale just stared at the lopsided, mismatched-eyed, slightly dusty plush squirrel.

Then his face crumpled.

His eyes welled up, his lips trembled, and he made a small, choked sound that was either a laugh or a sob or both.

"You found one," Cale whispered.

"Someone found it in the back. It's free. But it's also ugly."

"It's not ugly." Cale snatched the squirrel and held it to his chest like a lifeline. "He's perfect. Look at his little face. He's so beautiful."

"His eyes are different sizes."

"He's unique."

Cale scrambled to his feet, squirrel clutched in both hands, and looked up at Roksoo with an expression of pure, unrestrained adoration.

"I'm naming him Roksoo Jr.," Cale announced.

"Absolutely not."

"He looks just like you."

"He has one ear higher than the other."

"So do you. When you raise one eyebrow. Which you're doing right now. See? Twins!"

Roksoo stared at the squirrel. The squirrel stared back with its mismatched button eyes.

"I hate you," Roksoo said.

Cale beamed. "I love you too!"

---

That night, Roksoo Jr. sat on the nightstand, propped against the lamp.

Cale had given him a tiny blanket (a washcloth) and positioned him so he could "see" the bed. Roksoo had watched this entire process with his face buried in a pillow, muffling his screams.

"He needs to be comfortable," Cale had explained, tucking the washcloth around the squirrel's non-existent legs.

"He's a stuffed animal."

"He's family now."

Roksoo had no response to that.

Now it was late. The lights were off. Cale was curled against Roksoo's side, his head on Roksoo's chest, one hand resting over his heart. Roksoo Jr. watched silently from the nightstand.

"Roksoo," Cale murmured.

"Mm?"

"I'm really happy."

Roksoo's hand, which had been absently stroking Cale's soft hair, paused. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Cale tilted his head up, chin digging into Roksoo's sternum. In the dim light from the window, his eyes looked like warm honey. "I know I'm a lot. I know I'm... messy. And I fall asleep everywhere. And I am too much sometimes.’’

Roksoo resumed stroking his hair. "You're not too much."

"Liar."

"You're exactly the right amount." Roksoo paused. "Maybe a little too much. But in a good way."

Cale laughed, it was a soft, breathy sound right against Roksoo's chest. "That doesn't make sense."

"Nothing about you makes sense. That's the point."

Cale was quiet for a moment. Then he pressed a kiss to Roksoo's collarbone— a tiny, almost shy kiss— and mumbled, "I love you. Even when you're mean about my squirrel."

"I love you too," Roksoo said. "Even when you name stuffed animals after me."

"Roksoo Jr. is a cherished member of this household."

"Go to sleep, Cale."

"Only if you promise to make pancakes tomorrow."

"I promise."

"And chocolate chips?"

"And chocolate chips."

Cale made a small, satisfied sound and nuzzled deeper into Roksoo's side. Within minutes, his breathing evened out. The soft, humming purr started up, that contented little vibration that Roksoo had come to associate with home and warmth and everything good.

He lay awake for a while longer, staring at the ceiling.

Roksoo Jr. stared back.

‘You're a terrible influence,’ Roksoo thought at the squirrel.

The squirrel said nothing. But if Roksoo wasn't mistaken, its mismatched eyes seemed to glint with amusement.

He closed his eyes, pulled Cale closer protectively, and let sleep take him.

---

The next morning, it was Cale who made him breakfast.

Roksoo woke up to the smell of something burning.

He sat up so fast he nearly fell out of bed. "CALE."

"Don't worry!" came a voice from the kitchen, followed by a crash. "EVERYTHING IS FINE."

Roksoo ran like his life depended on it.

The kitchen was... as expected, not fine. There was flour on the ceiling. The smoke alarm was beeping endlessly. A pan was smoking on the stove, and in the middle of it all stood Cale Henituse, wearing one of Roksoo's button-down shirts, covered in what appeared to be pancake batter, holding a spatula like a boom.

"I wanted to surprise you," Cale said sheepishly.

Roksoo took in the scene: the burned pancakes in the pan, the bowl of lumpy batter on the counter, the way Cale's hair was sticking up in seventeen different directions, and the small smear of batter on his nose.

Cale's cute nose. With batter on it.

Roksoo's heart stopped.

Then it restarted at thrice its normal speed.

"You have batter on your nose," Roksoo whispered with great difficulty.

Cale tried to wipe it off with the back of his hand, missed, and got batter in his hair instead.

"Better?" Cale asked.

‘No,’ Roksoo thought helplessly. ‘It's worse. It's so much worse. You are the cutest disaster I have ever seen, and I am going to perish.’

"Much better," Roksoo said.

He walked over, took the spatula from Cale's hand, turned off the stove, and pulled Cale into his arms— batter, flour, and all.

"I am supposed to be making you breakfast," Roksoo said into Cale's hair.

"I wanted to try."

"You're trying to give me a heart attack."

Cale laughed and wrapped his arms around Roksoo's waist. "I love you, you grumpy owl."

"I love you too, you adorable disaster."

They stood there in the ruined kitchen, flour settling around them like snow, smoke alarm still beeping in the background, and Roksoo thought:

‘If this is what dying feels like, I don't want to be saved.’

---

Later that day, in a group chat named "Literature Department Faculty (No Dean Allowed)"

Professor Lee: Saw Kim Roksoo at the grocery store today. He was buying pancake mix and a stuffed squirrel.

Professor Crossman: A stuffed squirrel???

Professor Lee: He was holding while his boyfriend was holding his hand.

Professor Choi 2: Kim Roksoo? Our Kim Roksoo?! The one who was apparently an aroace?

Professor Lee: He was even smiling and being overly sweet. It was so terrifying.

Professor Crossman: Love changes people.

Professor Choi: Love changes people from tsundere to a plushie-holding softie?

Professor Lee: Apparently yes.

Professor Kim (Roksoo): I can see this chat.

Professor Lee: We know.

Professor Kim: Stop talking about me.

Professor Crossman: No.

Professor Choi: No

Professor Choi 2: No.

Professor Lee: No. Also, tell your boyfriend I said his hat with the fox ears was adorable.

Professor Kim: I am leaving this chat.

*Professor Kim has left the chat.*

Professor Lee: He'll be back.

Professor Crossman: He always comes back.

Professor Choi: Love changes people, but it doesn't change Kim Roksoo-ssi's inability to stay out of this group chat.

Roksoo rejoined the chat six minutes later and did not respond to any messages. He did, however, send a single photo: Cale, asleep on the couch, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, with Roksoo Jr. tucked under his arm.

No caption.

Just the photo.

The chat exploded.

Roksoo smiled at his phone, put it down, and went back to watching his boyfriend nap.

---

Roksoo realized something after months of sharing a bed with Cale Henituse.

Cale Henituse was a furnace.

Literally. The man generated enough body heat to warm a small apartment, which was convenient in winter and absolutely miserable in summer.

"You're like a human space heater," Roksoo said one night, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, while Cale clung to his side like a very warm, very persistent koala.

"Mm," Cale agreed sleepily.

"It's thirty degrees outside."

"Mm."

"The air conditioning is broken."

"Mmm."

"I'm going to die of heatstroke."

Cale opened one eye. "You're being dramatic."

"I'm only saying the truth. You're cooking me alive. I will be fried before the sum rises".

Cale considered this for a moment. Then, instead of moving away like a reasonable person, he simply shifted so that only one leg was draped over Roksoo's thighs, and his head was tucked into Roksoo's shoulder instead of his chest.

"Better?" Cale asked.

"...."

Cale closed his eye. "Now stop complaining. I'm trying to sleep here."

Roksoo sighed. He adjusted the single sheet they were sharing— Cale had kicked off the rest of the bedding hours ago— and resigned himself to a night of sweaty, uncomfortable, completely worth it cuddling.

He fell asleep to the sound of Cale's breathing and the distant hum of a broken air conditioner.

---

The thing about dating Cale Henituse was that it came with unexpected perks.

For example: Cale was surprisingly good at fixing things.

Not intentionally, exactly. It was more that he would look at something broken, poke at it with vague curiosity, and somehow, through a process that appeared to involve no actual skill or knowledge, the thing would start working again.

"He's a witch," Roksoo told Professor Lee during a particularly dull meeting. "I'm sure of it."

Lee raised an eyebrow. "A witch?"

"Last week, the toaster stopped working. Cale looked at it. Just looked at it. And then he tapped it once, and it started working again."

"Maybe he fixed it."

"He didn't do anything. He just... looked at it. With his sleepy, mischievous, adorable eyes. And then the toaster was afraid and started working again."

Lee stared at him.

"... Does love also make a man an idiot?’’

---

The curse (or blessing) of living with Cale Henituse was that Roksoo never knew what he was going to come home to.

Sometimes it was a quiet apartment, Cale asleep on the couch, a takeout container on the coffee table.

Sometimes it was Cale attempting to cook, which always ended in disaster but was entertaining to watch.

Sometimes it was Cale sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by textbooks, muttering to himself about who knows what, hair a complete disaster, glasses (he needed them for reading, and Roksoo had nearly died for the nth time the first time he saw Cale put them on) sliding down his nose.

Today, it was the last one.

Roksoo unlocked the door, stepped inside, and stopped.

Cale was on the floor. In a nest.

There was no other word for it. He had taken every blanket and pillow in the apartment— including the ones from the bed, the couch, and the hall closet— and arranged them into a circular, nest-like structure on the living room rug. He was sitting in the center, surrounded by open books, wearing his reading glasses and one of Roksoo's sweaters.

"Hi," Cale said, not looking up from his notes.

Roksoo closed the door. "What is this?"

"My workspace."

Roksoo toed off his shoes, walked over to the nest, and sat down on the edge. The blankets were really soft.

"Have you eaten?" Roksoo asked.

"There are crackers somewhere."

"That's not proper food."

"Don't," Cale said warningly. "Don't start with me. I'm in a flow state."

Roksoo looked at his glass wearing boyfriend, and came to the same realization all over again that:

His boyfriend was adorable when he pouted angrily.

"Let me make you dinner," Roksoo said.

"I said I'm in the—"

"I'll make the pasta with cream sauce."

Cale's mouth snapped shut. His eyes, slightly magnified by the glasses, flickered toward Roksoo.

"...With mushrooms?"

"If you want to."

Cale's resolve crumbled instantly. "Fine."

Roksoo watched as Cale gathered an armful of blankets, pillows, and books, and shuffled into the kitchen. He arranged his nest in the corner, sat down, and resumed reading.

"You're impossible," Roksoo said fondly, pulling ingredients from the fridge. He started chopping mushrooms as Cale turned a page. The kitchen filled with the sounds of knife on cutting board, paper rustling, and the quiet hum of the refrigerator.

Roksoo had often made pasta with cream sauce and mushrooms— it was one of Cale's favorites— approximately fifty times since they started dating. He had the recipe memorized and could probably make it in his sleep.

Tonight was not one of those nights.

"Roksoo," Cale said from his blanket nest. "Why does it smell weird?"

Roksoo looked at the pan. The cream sauce was... bubbling. More than usual. And it had taken on a slightly grayish hue.

"I don't know," Roksoo said.

"Did you put in the wrong thing?"

"I put in exactly what I always put in."

Cale stood up, walked over to the stove, and peered into the pan. His glasses had fogged up from the steam. He pushed them up his nose to squint, "That's not cream."

"What do you mean it's not cream?"

"I mean, that's not cream. That's... something else."

Roksoo grabbed the container he had used. Read the label.

Frozen concentrated milk. Best by date: three years ago.

"...I'm going nuts," Roksoo massaged his forehead.

Cale laughed brightly, doubling over with his hands on his knees. "You— you used—haha! three-year-old frozen milk—"

"It was in the cream section!"

"It was probably in the back of the freezer, hence we never got to get rid of it. But how could anyone mix-up milk with cream?"

"It was frozen! Everything looks the same when it's frozen!"

Cale was crying now, tears streaming down his face. "You're— you're supposed to be—haha, the competent one—! Haha!"

"I AM competent. This was a one-time mistake!"

"You're a disaster," Cale wheezed. "You're a bigger disaster than me. I've been out-disastered."

Roksoo looked at the ruined sauce. Then at his laughing boyfriend. Then back at the sauce.

"Pancakes?" he offered helplessly.

Cale's laughter transformed into a brilliant smile. "With strawberries?"

"Mm."

"Then the milk wasn't wasted." Cale wiped his eyes, still grinning way too brightly. "It died so that pancakes might live."

"Your imaginations are weirder than kids"

"Shh, don't ruin this for me."

---

Roksoo had never considered himself a particularly patient person.

He was efficient, practical, and liked things done correctly and on time. He did not have time for nonsense, or for people who couldn't follow basic instructions.

And then he started dating Cale Henituse.

Cale, who took forty minutes to get ready in the morning because he kept getting distracted by his phone, the cat videos on his phone, and then the real cats outside the window.

Cale, who started three different hobbies— knitting, baking, and learning the harmonica— and abandoned all of them within a week, leaving behind half-finished scarves, burnt cookie sheets, and a harmonica that Roksoo found in the freezer.

Cale, who could not, for the life of him, remember where he put his keys, even though there was a specific hook by the door that existed solely for his keys.

"Have you seen my keys?" Cale asked for the fourth time that morning.

"They're on the hook."

"I looked there already, they're not."

Roksoo walked to the hook. The keys were not there.

"They were there yesterday."

"Yesterday was yesterday. Today is today. Where are my keys, Roksoo?"

Roksoo sighed. He checked the coffee table. The kitchen counter. The bathroom sink (don't ask). The freezer (Cale's harmonica was still there).

Finally, he found them in the refrigerator.

"Why," Roksoo said, holding up the keys, "are your keys in the fridge?"

Cale stared at them. "I was getting orange juice."

"And you put your keys in the fridge."

"I must have been thinking about something else."

"What could you possibly have been thinking about that required you to put your keys in the refrigerator?"

Cale's face went slightly pink. "…You."

‘’...!’’

‘’...’’

"...huh?"

Before Roksoo could say anything, Cale grinned, took his keys from his hand, and kissed him on the cheek. "Love you too. Thanks for finding my keys."

---

The thing was, Cale wasn't just cute, he was also terrifying, but it was still cute in Roksoo's opinion.

He discovered this on a normal day, when he came home to find Cale on the phone, speaking rapid-fire Korean, gesturing emphatically with his free hand. His face was flushed, his eyes were bright, and he looked— there was no other word for it— ferocious.

"—no, listen to me, you said you would handle it by Friday and it's Tuesday and nothing has been done, so either you fix it by tomorrow or I'm taking my business elsewhere, and I don't think your manager would be happy about losing a client who's been with you for eight years, do you?"

A pause.

"Good. I'll expect a call by noon tomorrow."

Cale hung up, tossed his phone on the couch, and noticed Roksoo standing in the doorway.

"What?" Cale asked.

Roksoo's mouth was dry. "Who was that?"

"Internet provider. They've been overcharging me for months and I finally had enough." Cale huffed angrily. "And I— Roksoo, why are you looking at me like that?"

"You were... hot."

Cale blinked in confusion. "…Huh? I was yelling at someone."

"Mm-hmm. It was attractive."

Cale's face went from ferocious to flustered in approximately half a second. "I— that's— don't say things like that!"

"Why not?"

"Because I'm trying to be mad about something and you're making it very difficult."

Roksoo walked over, took Cale's face in his hands, and nuzzled their nose together. "You're cute when you're yelling."

"I'm not cute. I'm intimidating."

"You're a kitten pretending to be a tiger."

Cale growled. It came out like a purr.

Roksoo laughed and pulled Cale into a hug.

"I love you," Roksoo said into Cale's hair.

"You're so weird," Cale mumbled into Roksoo's chest.

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"Everything is a compliment if you try hard enough."

Cale pulled back, eyes wide. "Did you just use my own words against me?"

"I learned from the best."

Cale stared at him for a long moment. Then he smiled unbearably fondly, "Fine. I love you too.’’

Roksoo wanted to coo from his boyfriend’s cuteness.

---

Some nights, Roksoo couldn't sleep.

It wasn't insomnia. It was just that, his brain would refuse to shut off, cycling through the same thoughts over and over— grading deadlines, upcoming lectures, the email from his department chair about next semester's course load, the small, persistent worry that he wasn't doing enough, wasn't being enough, wasn't—

"Roksoo."

Cale's voice was rough with sleep..

Roksoo turned his head. Cale was looking at him with one eye open, hair a mess on the pillow.

"You're thinking too loud," Cale murmured.

"Go back to sleep."

"Can't. You're being noisy."

"I'm not making any sound."

"Your brain is loud. I can hear it from here."

Roksoo sighed. "You’re speaking nonsense."

"Don't care." Cale shifted closer, pressing himself against Roksoo's side more firmly. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing important."

"Liar."

"Work."

Cale's hand found Roksoo's under the blanket. "Don't worry so much. I'm here," he said quietly. "You're not alone. You don't have to do everything by yourself."

Roksoo's throat tightened. "Who told you I feel like that?" he asked.

"You did. With your loud brain." Cale pressed a kiss to Roksoo's shoulder. "Now go to sleep. You still need to make breakfast for me in the morning."

Roksoo closed his eyes.

The thoughts didn't disappear. They never did. But with Cale's warmth against his side, Cale's hand in his, Cale's quiet breathing filling the silence—

They felt smaller.

Less important.

Easier to ignore.

"Thank you," Roksoo whispered.

"Mm," Cale replied, already half-asleep. "You're welcome. Now shut up."

Roksoo smiled into the darkness and let sleep take him.

---

The next morning, Cale made breakfast, again.

Not the breakfasts that Roksoo usually made. Something simpler: toast with butter and jam, cut into triangles, arranged on a plate like a flower.

It was the thought that counted.

Also, Cale had written "I ♥️ U" on the toast with the jam. It was slightly smeared and looked more like "I 🍅 U" but the intention was clear.

"You're childish," Roksoo said, looking at the toast.

"You're welcome," Cale said, already eating his own toast.

"I didn't say thank you."

"Your face said it."

Roksoo picked up a triangle of toast.

"It's good," he admitted.

"I know," Cale said. "I'm an excellent toast artist."

"You drew a tomato."

"It's a heart. The jam just... spread a little."

Roksoo ate the rest of his toast in silence, watching Cale hum to himself while he scrolled through his phone.

"Why are you staring?" Cale asked without looking up.

"I love you."

Cale's ears went pink. His phone slipped from his fingers and landed in his jam.

"...I love you too," Cale said, fishing his phone out of the strawberry preserves. "But you made me drop my phone."

"You dropped your own phone."

"You distracted me."

"I only said I love you. How is that distracting?"

Cale wiped jam off his phone case, ears still pink, refusing to make eye contact. "You're unfair. You can't just say things like that while I'm eating. I'm vulnerable when I'm eating."

"You're also round after eating."

Cale gasped. "Did you just call me fat?!"

"I called you soft. Don't twist my words."

Cale threw a piece of toast at him, this time, it hit the target perfectly.

---

The end of the semester arrived again, but this time it was different.

This time, Roksoo wasn't watching Cale leave his classroom for the last time. This time, he was watching Cale graduate.

The ceremony was very long. Roksoo sat in the audience, sandwiched between Professor Lee (who had invited himself) and a woman he didn't know who kept crying.

When Cale's name was called, Roksoo unconsciously smiled.

Cale walked across the stage in his cap and gown, red hair spilling out from under the mortarboard, looking slightly overwhelmed but determined. He shook the dean's hand, accepted his diploma, and—

Looked directly at Roksoo in the audience.

And winked.

Roksoo's soul left his body.

"He just winked at you," Lee whispered. "That's so cute I might vomit."

"You’re just jealous."

After the ceremony, Cale found him in the crowd. He was still wearing the cap and gown, diploma clutched to his chest, face flushed with happiness.

"I did it," Cale said.

"You did it," Roksoo agreed.

Cale launched himself at Roksoo, arms around his neck, laughing into his shoulder. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"You absolutely could have."

"No," Cale said, pulling back to look at him. "I couldn't. You helped me. You believed in me. You—" His voice cracked. "You made me want to try."

Roksoo's throat was very tight. "You make me want to be better," he said quietly.

Cale's eyes welled up. "Don't make me cry. I have pictures to take."

"Then don't cry."

"You're the one who's making me emotional."

"You started it."

"I'm ending it." Cale grabbed Roksoo's hand. "Come on. We're taking pictures.’’

Roksoo smiled as he held his boyfriend’s hand tightly.

Cale took approximately hundred photos. He posted three of them on social media. The caption read:

"Graduated. Kept the professor. Worth it."

Roksoo saw it later that night while lying in bed, Cale was asleep beside him, diploma propped on the nightstand next to Roksoo Jr.

He screenshot the post, saved it to a folder labeled "Evidence," and smiled at the ceiling.

---

Three Years Later—

Roksoo woke up to sunlight streaming through the window and a familiar weight on his chest.

Some things never changed.

Cale was sprawled across him like a very content cat, red hair spread across the pillow, mouth slightly open, making tiny sleeping sounds. His hand was curled around Roksoo Jr., who had survived three years of Cale's enthusiastic affection and looked slightly worse for wear.

Roksoo lay there, not moving, just watching.

They had a new apartment now, with their names on the lease, their furniture, their life.

There were books everywhere. Cale's half-finished knitting projects. A harmonica that had migrated from the freezer to the bookshelf. A small succulent garden on the windowsill that Cale had somehow kept alive for six whole months.

And in the bedroom, on the nightstand was a framed photo of Cale at graduation, arm around Roksoo as both of them were smiling.

Roksoo reached over very carefully, and traced a finger along Cale's cheek.

Cale stirred as he made a small mrrp sound.

"Morning," Roksoo murmured.

"Mmrf," Cale replied.

"I love you."

"Mm." Cale's eyes fluttered open. Sleepy reddish-brown met soft reddish-brown. "Love you too. Now go back to sleep. It's Saturday."

"We have plans. There are so much to do today, remember."

"Plans can wait. Sleep can't."

Roksoo smiled. "You said that to me a long ago."

"And I was right then. And I'm right now." Cale tucked himself closer, face pressed into Roksoo's neck. "Stop talking. Sleep."

Roksoo wrapped his arms around him, feeling Cale's heartbeat against his chest.

---

Roksoo made a mistake.

He had agreed to a beach vacation. Because Cale had looked at him with those big reddish-brown eyes and said, "I've never seen you in swim trunks," in a tone that suggested this was a personal failing on Roksoo's part.

Now they were here. On a beach. In December. With approximately seven thousand other people and one very excited redhead who had already applied sunscreen three times and was now bouncing on his heels like an over-caffeinated puppy.

"The ocean!" Cale breathed, staring at the water. "Roksoo, we’re at the ocean."

"I can see it."

"It's so big!!"

"All oceans are big, not only this one."

"Why are you so irritated? But it's okay though, you look adorable when you’re grumpy." Cale grabbed his hand. "Now come on, the water's not going to swim in itself."

---

The water was cold.

Roksoo had expected this. He had prepared for this. He had mentally steeled himself for the shock of cold water on warm skin.

What he had not prepared for was Cale Henituse, shrieking like a startled seagull, as a wave hit him in the chest.

"COLD," Cale yelped, jumping backward into Roksoo. "IT'S SO COLD."

"You're the one who ran in."

"I didn't think it would be THAT cold."

"It's the ocean, Cale. Not a heated pool. Not to mention it’s December."

Cale was still clinging to him, but now, his lips were trembling a little.

Roksoo sighed. Then, because he was weak, he wrapped an arm around Cale's waist and pulled him closer. "I’ll warm you up."

"Mm." Cale pressed against him, apparently unconcerned about the fact that they were in public. "You're warm."

"And you're like an ice cube, I’m freezing."

"Your fault for letting me go in first."

"You didn't give me a choice."

Cale ignored him and kept blaming him the whole time.

---

They built a sandcastle.

Or rather, Cale built a sandcastle while Roksoo sat on a towel, reading a book, occasionally looking up to make sure Cale hadn't been swept away by a rogue wave.

Cale was... not good at sandcastles.

His first attempt collapsed almost immediately. His second attempt looked less like a castle and more like a lumpy potato. His third attempt— he had announced confidently— would be a masterpiece.

It was nowhere near a masterpiece.

It was, however, a very earnest attempt. Cale was on his knees in the sand, tongue poking out in concentration, carefully patting wet sand into shape. His hair had dried in odd directions. There was sand on his nose. His swim shirt had ridden up, revealing a strip of pale stomach.

"Roksoo," Cale said, not looking up. "Come help."

"I'm reading."

"When did staring at me began to mean reading?’’

Roksoo closed his book. "Fine. Now get up and let me show you how to do it."

Roksoo knelt beside him, took the bucket of wet sand, and demonstrated the proper technique for packing and smoothing. Cale watched with intense focus, nodding along.

"Okay," Cale said. "I get it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Now give me the bucket."

Roksoo handed it over. Cale immediately dumped the sand in a heap and patted it into a shape that was, if possible, even more potato-like than before.

"It looks like a potato, and here I thought the previous ones were bad."

Cale didn’t talk with him for an hour after that, it took him begging in front of everyone to melt his boyfriend’s heart.

---

Lunch was sandwiches.

Cale had packed them that morning, which meant the sandwiches were slightly haphazard— the bread was squished, the fillings were unevenly distributed, and one of them had been assembled upside down.

Roksoo ate his without comment.

"This is nice," Cale said, mouth full, looking out at the water. "We should do this more often."

"We should."

"I mean it. Not just the beach. But... trips, adventures, visiting as many countries as we could."

"You want to travel that much?"

"I want to travel that much with you." Cale set down his sandwich, suddenly serious. "I want to see things with you. I want to make memories that aren't just... you know. The apartment. The university. The same streets every day."

Roksoo gave him a mischievous smile. "That sounds like a long-term plan."

"It is." Cale's ears went pink as he realized what he was saying. "I mean... If you want. We don't have to— I'm not saying we need to— it's just—"

"Cale."

Cale stopped rambling.

"I want that too," Roksoo said quietly. "All of it with you."

Cale's beautiful face went from nervousness to a bright smile. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Cale picked up his sandwich again, trying to look casual, but his smile was impossible to hide. "Okay. Good. That's... good."

They ate the rest of their lunch in comfortable silence, watching the waves, and Roksoo thought about all the places they could go. All the beaches they could visit. All the sandcastles Cale would build, ugly or not.

He couldn't wait.

---

Despite the cold weather, the afternoon sun was brutal in the beach.

Roksoo had retreated to the shade of a beach umbrella, while Cale was still out in the sun, lying on his stomach on a towel, apparently trying to absorb as much vitamin D as humanly possible.

"Come back under the umbrella," Roksoo called.

"No," Cale said, voice muffled by his arms.

"You're going to burn."

"I won't. I already applied lots of sunscreen."

"Your back is pink."

Cale lifted his head, twisted to look at his own shoulders, and frowned. "It's okay. It’s not that pink yet."

Roksoo walked over and crouched beside Cale. He touched Cale's shoulder blade gently. Warm. Too warm.

"You're burning," Roksoo said. "Come under the shade."

Cale grumbled but allowed himself to be guided back to the umbrella. He collapsed onto the towel there, sprawled out like a starfish, and immediately closed his eyes.

"Put this on." Roksoo handed him a bottle of aloe vera gel from the beach bag.

Cale looked at the bottle. Then at Roksoo. Then back at the bottle.

"You do it," Cale said, holding out the bottle.

"Excuse me?"

"My back. I can't reach. You do it."

Roksoo stared at him. Cale stared back, utterly shameless.

"...Fine."

He squeezed gel into his palms, rubbed them together, and began applying it to Cale's shoulders. Cale made a small, satisfied sound— like a cat being pet— and relaxed into the towel.

"You have nice hands," Cale murmured.

Roksoo's hands paused for just a moment. Then he continued, working the gel into Cale's pink shoulders, down his arms, across the back of his neck.

"Roksoo?"

"Mm?"

"This is the best day."

Roksoo leaned down and pressed a kiss to the back of Cale's head. "I thought you said everyday with me is the best of your life"

"You enjoy arguing with me, don't you?"

Maybe he does.

---

They walked back to their rental cottage after sunset.

Cale was barefoot, carrying his sandals in one hand, while his other hand intertwined with Roksoo's. The path was lit by sporadic street-lamps, and the air had cooled significantly.

When they reached the cottage, Cale went straight for the shower. Meanwhile, Roksoo unpacked the beach bag, hung up the towels, and made tea— chamomile, because Cale would complain about caffeine this late.

Cale emerged from the bathroom in one of Roksoo's old t-shirts, hair damp and curling at the end, face flushed from the warm bath. He looked very exhausted after all the running around.

"Tea?" Roksoo offered.

Cale took the mug and sat on the couch next to Roksoo.

They drank their tea in silence. The cottage was quiet except for the distant sound of waves and the soft hum of the refrigerator.

"Roksoo?"

"Mm?"

Cale took one of Roksoo's hand and kissed the palm. "Carry me to bed. I'm too tired to walk."

"You're only two feet from the bed."

"Carry me, Roksooooo. I'm a delicate flower."

Roksoo sighed but still lifted Cale into his arms. "You're not a delicate flower," he said as he walked toward the bedroom. "You're a menace. A very spoiled, very demanding menace."

He only got a sweet giggle in return.

After Roksoo put him on the bed, Cale immediately curled into a ball, pulling the blanket up to his chin, and tucked Roksoo Jr. under his arm.

"Goodnight, Roksoo," Cale murmured, eyes already closing.

"Goodnight, Cale."

Roksoo turned off the light, climbed into bed, and let Cale attach himself to his side like a clingy Kola.

---

Roksoo had made another mistake.

He had suggested over breakfast that Cale might need some new clothes. "For the winter," he had said. "You can't keep wearing my sweaters forever."

Cale had looked up from his toast, eyes wide in mock hurt. "Are you saying my clothes aren't good enough?"

"I'm saying you own exactly three sweaters that fit you, and the rest belong to me or are double your size."

Cale had gasped in offense, but still agreed to go shopping, but only if Roksoo bought him hot chocolate afterward.

Roksoo had agreed.

That was the mistake.

Because now he was standing in a clothing store, watching Cale hold up two nearly identical grey sweaters, one in each hand, tilting his head back and forth like he was defusing a bomb.

"This one has slightly longer sleeves," Cale said.

"They're the same brand. Same size. Same color."

"But the sleeves, Roksoo. Look, they're different."

Roksoo looked. The sleeves were identical too.

"They're different," Cale insisted.

"They're really not."

"You're not looking properly." Cale shoved the left sweater toward Roksoo's face. "See? This one has a tiny ribbing pattern here. And this one is smooth."

Roksoo blinked at the sweater approximately two centimeters from his nose.

"...I see," he lied.

"Which one is better?"

"The smooth one."

"Why?"

"Because you asked me to choose and I chose."

Cale squinted at him. "You're not taking this seriously."

"Trust me, I'm taking this very seriously.

Cale huffed, grabbed both sweaters, and threw them into the shopping basket. "Fine. I'm getting both."

"That's three sweaters in a row now. Why don't you pick some other clothes?"

"There are no better clothes than soft, comfy sweaters."

Roksoo sighed and followed Cale to the next section, which appeared to be dedicated entirely to socks.

"Why do you need more socks? You have two drawers full of socks."

"Those got old and have some holes."

"Then throw them away."

"I can't throw them away. They're my favorites."

Roksoo pinched the bridge of his nose. "Cale. We have been together for over three years. I have never once seen you throw away a single item of clothing. Are you really a hoarder?"

Instead of replying, Cale picked up a pair of socks with avocados on them. "These are cute. Do I need these?"

"No."

Cale put them in the basket.

"You asked if you needed them, and I said no, and you still put them in the basket anyway???!"

"I was being rhetorical."

Roksoo gave up and let Cale fill the basket with unnecessary socks, an alarming number of sweaters, and one hat that had cat ears on it.

"You already have a hat with fox ears," Roksoo pointed out.

"Now I'll have one with cat ears too. Different animals for different moods."

"What mood requires fox ears?"

"Mischievous mood."

"And cat ears?"

"Cuddly mood."

Roksoo looked at the hat. Then at Cale. Then back at the hat.

"Buy it," he said.

Cale beamed ten times brighter than the sun.

---

"It's cold." Cale complained as they walked around the park

"Here." Roksoo unwound his scarf and wrapped it around Cale's neck.

Cale tugged the scarf up over his nose, just like he had that first rainy day in Roksoo's classroom. His eyes crinkled above the fabric.

"Better?"

"Mmm!"

They walked in comfortable silence, their breath fogging in the air. Roksoo's hand found Cale's in his coat pocket. Cale's fingers were cold— they were always cold, despite the rest of him being a furnace— and Roksoo rubbed his thumb across them absently.

"Roksoo," Cale said suddenly.

"Mm?"

"Stop walking."

Roksoo stopped.

Cale was staring at something under a bench. A small, scraggly bush had grown up against the bench's legs, creating a tiny sheltered nook. And in that nook—

"Are those... kittens?" Roksoo asked.

Cale was already crouching down, pulling off his gloves, reaching toward the bush.

"Cale, don't— they could be feral—"

"It's fine," Cale said, and his voice had gone soft, almost reverent. "They're so small."

Roksoo crouched beside him and looked.

Three kittens. Huddled together for warmth in this cold morning. One was silver-grey, almost the exact color of the winter sky. One was a deep, warm red. And the third was black, so black it seemed to absorb light, with blue eyes that watched them warily.

"Roksoo." Cale turned to look at him, and his eyes were huge, and his lower lip was trembling, and he had never looked more like a kicked puppy in his entire life. "They're babies. They're alone in this cold."

Roksoo looked at the kittens.

The silver one was grooming the red one's ear. The black one was staring at Roksoo with an expression that somehow conveyed both intense judgment and desperate hope.

"We can't leave them here," Cale said.

"The shelter—"

"Will be full. It's winter, Roksoo. Everyone abandons kittens in winter."

Roksoo could literally see the invincible puppy ears laying flatly on Cale's head. His adorable boyfriend looked more pitiful than those kittens, and Roksoo was a jerk, but not THAT much of a jerk that he will say “no" to this precious creature.

"...Fine,"

Cale's face lit up. "Really?"

"Really. But you're taking care of them. All of them. Feeding, vet visits, litter boxes—"

"Yes, yes, absolutely, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Cale threw his arms around Roksoo's neck, nearly knocking them both over, and then immediately scrambled back to the kittens.

He reached out, slowly, and let the silver one sniff his finger.

"Oh my," Cale breathed. "It's soooooo cute~."

The red one, emboldened by its sibling's bravery, crawled onto Cale's knee and started kneading his jeans with tiny needle claws.

The black one hung back. When Cale offered his hand, it hissed loudly.

"That one's spicy," Cale observed.

"He's just scared. Give him some space, it will come willingly when it feels safe."

Cale nodded and focused on the other two, gently scooping them up one by one. The silver one settled into the crook of his arm like it belonged there. The red one immediately tried to climb up to his shoulder.

"We need a carrier," Roksoo said. "Or a box. Something to transport them."

Roksoo looked at the black kitten, still huddled under the bench, still watching them with wary blue eyes.

Seeing the black one still so cautious, Cale handed the silver and red kittens to Roksoo— who accepted them with the careful, resigned expression of a man who knew his life was about to become significantly more complicated— and crouched back down.

"Hey," Cale said softly. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

The black kitten stared.

"I know you're scared. I'd be scared too if I were that small and alone in this cold." Cale sat down on the freezing ground, and made himself as small as possible. "I'm just going to sit here for a bit. You don't have to do anything."

Roksoo watched, arms full of purring kittens, as Cale sat in the dirt and waited.

One minute passed. Two. Five.

The black kitten stopped hissing.

Ten minutes. The kitten took a single step forward.

Fifteen. It crept onto Cale's outstretched leg, sniffed his jeans, and then, very slowly, climbed into his lap and curled into a tiny black ball.

Cale didn't move, he didn't even breathe. But his smile could have powered the entire city.

Notes:

I was planning to ending the chapter on that scene where Roksoo sent Cale's photo in the group chat. But then, I unconsciously kept adding many small scenes. 😭

Series this work belongs to:

Part 1 of RokCale Fluff

Actions

Kudos

GR_GeraRain, AutumnBhrie, SomeoneToCherishYou, lovemeasmyself, Curellly, Syl_25, Reva273, LuciferGone, Mynkisded, I_love_lemons993, Stargirl_47, Marmarshie33, Vivi_sempai13, BloodyEclipse, songofstillness, AlexSolaris234, Staxxy, Omaysifa, taeddy_bae, Antanta27, Aendolphin, MiZuki9, bleunsang, SleepyArt03, SileinaF, minie_kuro, Yep_that_me, Copao_0, Haydennm_6, KuromiSimping, NeJao, Cashinx, PadreSalvi, lexsmind, Creatio_Lux, Shinosunshine, angsty_camalia, Iloveblondtwinks69, cievalsky, Ajx, Unknown_lolol, Clever_spring, ItzBread, NV_00028, Arabella_chan, Cintia123, Creid, Skender993, Space_Cooki, Just_I_Alyssa, and 97 more users as well as 21 guests left kudos on this work!

Archive of Our Own

Actions

Work Header