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"Hey, you noticed Jiung's been clingy recently?" Keeho asks one day over coffee. As always, the cafe they’re sitting in is abysmally crowded, but it's Keeho's favorite place to get red velvet lattes, so Taeyang lets himself get dragged here every Sunday. "When’d that start?"
Taeyang shrugs. Yes, he's noticed. But no, he doesn't know. He doesn’t know when Jiung started clinging to him, just that one day he looked back and Jiung was hovering behind his left shoulder, fingers tense like he wanted to grab the hem of Taeyang’s shirt and drag him back to their shared apartment because the streets of Seoul were getting too busy, too loud.
If Taeyang's being honest, "clinging" is putting it generously. Choi Jiung doesn't cling. He orbits around you, closer and closer, pretending he's not looking, until there's only two centimeters of air between you. Then, suddenly, you're hit by just how much shorter than you he's become over the past four years. Taeyang has never thought about it much, the differences in how they've grown since moving in together. In his eyes, they're just Taeyang and Jiung. Jiung and Taeyang. Two roommates turned friends who understand each other's need for a little peace.
Keeho laughs at Tayang's nonresponse but lets the topic go.
Taeyang takes a sip of his coffee. It's definitely burnt.
When Taeyang gets home from his weekly Keeho date, Jiung is hunched over the cutting board, mincing beef so small it may as well be dust.
"Yah," Taeyang scolds as he toes off his shoes. "Watch your neck."
"You're one to talk," Jiung shoots back, zero bite to his words.
"Just trying to save you from my past mistakes," Taeyang says. He ruffles Jiung's hair as he passes through their kitchen. Jiung flinches, but keeps chopping. It's one of the few gestures of physical affection that Jiung allows, a habit born from the days when Jiung still drank at parties and needed Taeyang to cradle him through bouts of vomiting at one in the morning. Sometimes Taeyang misses that version of Jiung, the one who was a little more free, a little less forgiving. But this new Jiung who would forgive the world also knows how to forgive himself, and that's something Taeyang will protect until the day he dies.
"You watching a game today?" Jiung asks once Taeyang is starfished belly up on their couch.
"Nope. Hanhwa lost again, so there's no point."
"I'm going to watch something on the big screen then, if that's okay."
Taeyang squints at Jiung. The other man still hasn't looked at Taeyang once since he got home. Instead, he keeps cooking with mechanical movements, filling their apartment with the smell of garlic and oil. There's nothing that strange about his behavior, per se. Jiung has always been a bit stoic in private. But Jiung’s recent obsession with watching videos of some British woman grooming strong willed ducks is no secret to Taeyang, and Jiung knows that. Just like Jiung knows he doesn't have to ask for permission to use the TV.
Taeyang squints at Jiung until the younger is done cooking.
Then, it begins. The Orbiting.
Sharing a loft style studio doesn't leave much space for a dining table so, when Jiung moved in and took over half the downstairs area, they'd given up having a designated eating space in favor of having a corner to store their instruments in. Today, Jiung sits at the far end of the couch to eat. He eats efficiently. When he's done, he places his bowl on their coffee table, scrolls on his phone for about five minutes, then brings his bowl to the sink. When he sits back down, he's ever so slightly closer to Taeyang.
Taeyang, for what it's worth, is still splayed on the couch like he's trying to air out every orifice of his body. In their current position, the tips of Taeyang’s fingers just barely brush Jiung's sleeve. Taeyang knows this striped shirt is one of Jiung’s least favorites. He always complains about how scratchy it is against his fingers while folding the wash. His bangs, Taeyang also notices, have grown long enough to hang over his eyes as he opens YouTube on the TV. That must be scratchy too.
The most recent duck grooming video is at the top of Jiung's recommended list. It’s easy pickings for teasing but, watching Jiung flick back and forth between the same two video options, Taeyang bites back the forming taunt.
As Unnamed British Lady gently wrestles Sam the Duck on screen, Jiung gradually droops in Taeyang's direction. By the time Sam makes it to the bath tub, Jiung is close enough that Taeyang could probably put his whole palm on his shoulder if he wanted. When Sam the Duck starts honking and squawking over being put back in his carrier, Jiung finally turns to Taeyang and asks, "Is the volume okay?"
Taeyang grunts in affirmation. That seems to be enough for Jiung, who turns back to the TV. Or maybe it's not enough because, as soon as the next video starts playing (featuring Florence Elizabeth Mary-Jane The Third The Duck), Jiung scoots a little closer so that he sits, ramrod straight, in front of the crook of Taeyang's elbow. With the two of them sitting like this, Taeyang feels a little like a teenage boy trying to be smooth on his first date, so he pulls his limbs back into his own bubble.
The motion makes Jiung turn to Taeyang again. His eyes are wide in that way that reminds Taeyang of a crying hamster, cute in a way that makes Taeyang want to eat him whole.
"Haven't you already watched this one?" Taeyang asks once Jiung's stared at him a little too long.
Jiung snaps back to his usual self. "You can change it if you want to watch something else."
Taeyang doesn't move.
Duck grooming videos autoplay until Jiung is sitting close enough for their thighs to brush.
---
When Taeyang first signed the lease for his apartment, he was twenty-one and naive to the realities of living on a tight budget. It only took three months for him to realize how out of his depth he was, cycling between stores to make lists of which ones had the cheapest prices for toilet paper, rice, dish soap and sponges, just so he could make rent. Which is where Keeho came in.
Keeho seemed to know everyone, but most importantly he knew Jiung. Jiung was the same age as them, fresh off a breakup with a guy he met while studying abroad in California, and desperately in need of somewhere to stay that wasn't with Keeho. They bonded over the struggles of cohabitating with other men. Within a week, his apartment became theirs.
Their friendship was forged more by proximity than anything else. Where Taeyang tended to go with the flow, Jiung had a strict set of standards he applied to everything in life and, while Taeyang had long since decided to do whatever made him happiest, Jiung had a habit of acting out only when he was angry with his own self-perceived failures. Somehow, though, their opposing personalities still produced a pair of matching tattoos, four impulse trips to the hair salon, and a joint custody electric guitar, all within a year. There's only so long you can live with someone without falling into step with them, Taeyang figures, and only so long you can live with Jiung before wondering what his lips taste like.
At some point in the summer, when Taeyang was freshly twenty-three and Jiung was, quite against his will, still twenty-two, they got drunk off beer. It was quite the feat, considering how much both of them could drink, but Jiung had decided he wanted to rank every brand of beer they could get their hands on, and Taeyang never was one to pass up the chance to see Jiung get a little silly.
Even after three bathroom trips and tripping over their air purifier on the way back, Jiung was still deadly serious about the endeavor. Sleepy from the alcohol, Taeyang had clocked out somewhere after beer number two, opting instead to drink while lying on the floor with his eyes closed. But he continued humoring Jiung with commentary regardless.
"I kinda like this one," Taeyang mumbled, passing Jiung his share of beer number twelve.
Jiung chugged the rest of it and hissed dramatically. He jotted down a pitiful 3/15 in his notebook, then slammed the can down at the end of the line. Dead last.
"I don see why we have to finish em all," Taeyang whined, waving his hand in Jiung's general direction. His thumb bumped can number seven.
Jiung pushed Taeyang away with his foot. "Stop it, you'll ruin the ranking."
Suddenly, briefly, possessed by the spirits of a thousand tiny toddlers, Taeyang tucked his arms in and rolled back towards Jiung, plowing over his precious line of empty cans.
Taeyang didn't know it was possible to screech and giggle at the same time, but somehow Jiung managed to do it while scrambling out of the way and spilling beer number thirteen all over Taeyang's sweater. "You look like a rat," Jiung wheezed, pointing and laughing like a school kid.
"You're the rat," Taeyang said, still prone on the floor with his eyes closed. The spilt beer didn’t take long to soak its way through his knit. The sweater was becoming uncomfortably warm and itchy, clinging to his skin in a way nothing ever should. Taeyang imagined what it'd be like to peel off his damp clothes, roll himself up the ladder to his loft bedroom and into the sweet embrace of his bed. It seemed like heaven. If only his limbs weren't so heavy, his eyes so glued shut. If only he hadn't agreed to drinking in the first place.
Still, the sound of Jiung's guffawing almost made it all worth it.
Then came the feeling of something pressing against his legs. The weight slid upwards, heavy and unsteady, before dropping on his chest - Jiung, laying his whole body on top of Taeyang's.
Even back then, Jiung was smaller than Taeyang both in height and build. Still, his body somehow became the blanket Taeyang so craved to be under, the weight of him making that beer puddle on the floor seem like the safest place on earth.
"You'll get wet," Taeyang mumbled.
"Don’t care."
Taeyang's fantasies of rolling up the ladder were replaced by fantasies of stroking Jiung's hair, running a hand up and down Jiung's side while kissing him softly on the crown of his head. In Taeyang's beer-addled mind, that was really heaven. If only it weren't so hard to move. Instead, he settled for falling asleep, lullabied by the earthy murmur of Jiung lamenting all the brands they hadn't gotten to try.
When Taeyang woke up, he was on the couch in a dry set of pajamas. The apartment was spotless. Jiung was nowhere to be seen.
---
So sue him. Taeyang has wanted to kiss Jiung for roughly three years now. He wants to hold his hand and bite his shoulder good morning and bring him lunch on the days when he's knee deep in practicals. But along with all of this comes Knowing Jiung, which means this is the one place where Taeyang won't just do whatever he wants. So he waits. Jiung deserves a little patience.
He's patient when Jiung forces him into the last seat while they ride the metro to their favorite tonkatsu restaurant. He's patient when Jiung patches the holes in Taeyang's shirts while Taeyang is on a grocery run. Taeyang's even patient when he catches a stomach bug and comes down with a fever and Jiung calls his mom for the first time in five years, promising to finally visit home as long as she'll talk him through how to nurse Taeyang back to health.
But then July first rolls around and, after one too many congratulatory pats on the back while Jiung floats beside him with oil slick lips, Taeyang feels like he's about to snap. It's his birthday for god sake. He should be allowed to be a little selfish, yet the perfectly flat line of contentment that is his life is starting to waver. He just won't stand for it.
They walk back from the restaurant arm in arm, swaying all the while. Jiung is singing something Taeyang thinks came out in 1992. He can't be too sure. His head is all buzzy and he's a little too focused on the way Jiung still smells like grilled pork, is warm against his side, still won't stop orbiting around him even now when Jiung’s flyaways brush against Taeyang's jaw every time Jiung sways in his direction.
When they get home, Taeyang pulls Jiung to face him before the younger can even take off his shoes. Jiung’s eyes are slightly unfocused, roaming around Taeyang’s face with that glint in them means he’s telling himself a joke he never plans to say out loud. Taeyang wonders, briefly, if there’s something he should be asking, if there’s anything he could say that would shake some sense into Jiung or make the whole situation slightly less annoying. But then Jiung looks directly into his eyes and pulls his bottom lip up in a bemused pout and Taeyang can’t take it anymore. He simply can’t.
Jiung squeaks when Taeyang presses his lips into his, backing into the wall before melting into Taeyang’s hold.
But the kiss is short lived. As Jiung sighs and his breath tickles Taeyang's cheek, the fact that he's been drinking, that Jiung has been drinking, that he just forced Jiung to kiss him, hits him like a truck. Taeyang pulls back. He loosens his grip. He searches Jiung’s face, opens his mouth, and really, truly, he’s set on getting some kind of verbal response from Jiung. He swears. He’ll spend years swearing up and down that he was, that he had a confession on his tongue, was at least going to ask Jiung if he was okay with being kissed and then go back in for another. Instead, what happens is Jiung’s gaze softens. His fingers unflex and grab onto the hem of Taeyang’s shirt. Taeyang finds his words stuck in his throat. And then, in the entryway to their shared studio apartment, they hold each other loosely for what seems to Taeyang like a whole nother five years.
A truck rumbles by their apartment.
Jiung leans up and plants a quick peck on Taeyang’s furrowed brow.
“You’re crazy,” Jiung says with a grin. He still smells like smoke and pork and soju.
“You’re telling me,” Taeyang says, slightly dazed.
“We need to talk about this in the morning.”
Taeyang nods.
“But first, bed.”
Taeyang nods again.
Jiung huffs, then pushes Taeyang into the bathroom, shutting the door for him. Taeyang, for his part, stands perfectly still in the dark until Jiung gets impatient, yelling through the door to see if he’s died.
Later, when they’re tangled under the covers in Jiung’s bed, Taeyang groans. "I can't believe our anniversary is gonna be on my birthday.”
Jiung laughs lightly. "Day one and you're already worrying about our anniversary?"
"If you're planning on going anywhere, you're dead meat," Taeyang says. He’s one hundred percent serious. Jiung would be an easy person to kill.
Jiung just shrugs. "You got me there."
Taeyang ruffles Jiung’s hair, then pinches his nose for good measure. Jiung punts Taeyang’s shin in retaliation. Then Jiung rolls to the far side of the bed, because he always has been sensitive about sleeping while touching other people.
"You better get me double gifts next year,” Taeyang says after a moment of silence. He gets no response, but he didn’t expect one. Somewhere to his right, he knows Jiung is wide awake and trying very hard not to smile.