Archive of Our Own

Martin could make a room full of strangers feel like a reunion. 

Seonghyeon had watched him do it a hundred times. The way he walked up to a cluster of people, finding the one thread that got someone to light up—wait, you lived in Busan? no way, which part?—and then just letting them run with it. He never seemed to be working at it. That was the thing. He asked the right question, caught the exact beat where someone wanted to say more but needed permission, and gave it with a tilt of his head and a no, keep going. People loved him for it. People always loved him for it.

Sometimes Seonghyeon thought he'd like to be like that too. To never be the person standing slightly outside the circle, calculating when to laugh. To walk into any crowd and not feel the small cold drop of being lost in it. Martin made it look like breathing.

But if you watched someone long enough, you’d notice that there were these rare times.

Times when Martin wasn't the one asking. When he was the one talking—actually talking, the words tumbling out, hands moving, carving shapes in the air to keep up with whatever he was trying to say. And it was always, Seonghyeon had clocked, one-on-one. Never in the big groups. Just Martin and one other person, close enough that the rest of the world blurred into something far away, and Martin's whole face would do this open, unguarded thing that Seonghyeon didn’t have a word for.

And then someone would yell across the noise, "Hey, Martin! You gotta hear this!"

In the split second before Martin turned, Seonghyeon saw it. A microscopic flicker. His smile dropped just a fraction of a millimeter, followed by a subtle release of air, like a balloon slowly losing its hold.

He would still get up. He always got up. He’d walk over, slide onto the couch or stand by the counter, and merge seamlessly back into the fold.

Except for the recalibrations.

Right after he joined, before the warmth re-entered his voice, there would be a stretch of silence—maybe three seconds, maybe five. Martin would sit perfectly still, a half-formed smile fixed on his lips, his almost-empty gaze on the middle distance. Like someone who had just been dropped into a completely different country with a language he barely understood. Searching for the script he was supposed to read.

Whenever Seonghyeon happened to be in that same group, he would clear his throat, glance at whoever had been talking, and step into the breach. Not the most eloquent, but he could do anything he set his mind to. He’d drop a casual comment, ask a simple, mundane question, or react to the story—anything to carry the weight of the air, giving Martin those few extra beats to finally step back onto the stage.

"You're weird, you know that?" 

James was a senior in Seonghyeon’s department. His unbothered attitude usually made him easy to talk to. But right now, he was staring at Seonghyeon like he’d just confessed to committing arson for fun.

"You need to be more specific about that, hyung."

"Keeping track of who Martin hangs out with?" James shook his head, slumping into the lab chair next to Seonghyeon and tossing a roll of electrical tape onto the desk. "The guy talks to literally everyone on campus, Seonghyeon."

Seonghyeon just kept his eyes on his circuit diagram, a soldering iron in his hand. He didn't bother correcting James. He didn't bother explaining the difference between Martin talking to someone and Martin talking with someone.

Because James was right about the first part and wrong about everything else. It wasn't keeping track. It was just that Seonghyeon noticed things, and the thing he'd been noticing lately was this: Martin became the one talking when he was with Keonho now. The poli-sci sophomore with the loud laugh and the habit of asking but why though like he actually wanted to know. Seonghyeon had watched Martin's hands come up, start carving the air into shapes, that open unguarded thing taking over his face while Keonho leaned in.

Before Keonho it was Juhoon. The charming econ junior. Same pattern—one-on-one, voice tumbling, hands going, the world blurring out around the two of them.

Seonghyeon could tell James all of that. He could also tell him the part he never said to anyone, that there was a version that went back further than Keonho, further than Juhoon, further than this campus.

It used to be him.

Long before Martin was an electrical engineering junior navigating university crowds, before he had the flawless social armor he wore now. Martin would sprawl across the floor of Seonghyeon's room at one in the morning, then two, hands slicing through the dark as he explained the difference between a turbofan and a ramjet like it was the most urgent thing in the world. Delta-v. Thrust vectoring. Why the SR-71 leaked fuel on the ground because the panels only sealed when the whole airframe got hot enough to expand. Martin talked and talked and Seonghyeon mostly listened. 

Seonghyeon knew the cadence of Martin’s voice—the fast, eager rhythm it took on when he was actually passionate about something, stripped clean of the charming questions he used to keep everyone else at arm's length.

He didn’t say any of that to James. There was no version of it that didn’t sound like the thing James already thought he was. 

All he said was, "So what if I am?"

Seonghyeon hadn't planned to stay long. He had two problem sets due and a lab report that wasn't going to write itself, and he kept telling himself that the only reason he was there was to take the temperature of the room—to look around at everyone else laughing and spilling drinks and running on four hours of sleep and confirm that he wasn't the only one coming apart at the seams. 

He was three sips into a drink he didn’t want when the couch dipped beside him.

Martin.

And Seonghyeon hated—actually hated—the way his chest went tight and watchful, because there was a time when being next to Martin was the easiest thing in the world. One in the morning, two in the morning, jet engines and the dark. He shouldn't have to brace for it now. He shouldn't be nervous. But he was.

"Where's James-hyung?" Martin asked, leaning back against the cushions. "You’re usually attached at the hip."

Seonghyeon let out a dry snort. "He dragged me here because he said I was turning into a lab ghost, but now he’s off having fun on his own." He tipped his head toward the far side of the room where James was, in fact, having a great time.

Martin frowned. "Why would he do that?"

"Why not?"

"He's your boyfriend," Martin said, as if explaining gravity. "He shouldn't just leave you here alone."

The surrounding noise of the party—the clanking red cups, the sudden bursts of laughter from the kitchen—seemed to mute. Seonghyeon blinked. Once. Twice. His brain stalled, waiting for the sentence to rearrange itself into something that made sense. 

"He's my... what?" The word tasted absurd on his tongue.

Martin looked at him like he was the one who'd lost it. "Your boyfriend."

Seonghyeon opened his mouth. Closed it. And in between, his brain was already running the data backward—reversing through all of it. The parties, the big groups, the slow drift, the point where Martin stopped sprawling on his floor and started talking to Juhoon, to Keonho, to anyone but him. One wrong reference value, and every reading after it had been off.

Somehow what came up wasn't hurt. "Where the fuck did you get the idea that James-hyung is my boyfriend?"

Martin flinched. "Be—because he's always with you. In the library, in the department. And I heard—"

"You heard what?"

Now, it was Martin who opened his mouth only to close it again.

Right on cue, from across the room, "Martin! Get over here, we need—"

Seonghyeon decided, very calmly, that he’d had enough of this bullshit. He knocked back the rest of his lukewarm drink, threw the plastic cup onto the side table, and reached out. His fingers locked firmly around Martin’s wrist.

"Sorry," he said to the room, to whoever was calling. "He can't. He's leaving."

He pulled Martin up off the couch and toward the door. For once he didn’t let go, didn't step back to the edge of the circle, didn't give Martin the handful of seconds to recalibrate into someone easier for everyone else.

And that was how Martin ended up in Seonghyeon's room. Kneeling on the carpet. Repenting.

"I'm sorry," he said, for roughly the ninth time. "I should've just asked you. I heard it from some people from your department and I just—believed it. I didn't ask. I should've asked. That was stupid."

"It was so stupid," Seonghyeon agreed. He was pacing the length of his own tiny room with his hands in his hair, and the worst part—the part he was trying very hard not to examine too closely—was that most of what was spilling out of him wasn't even about the James thing. It was the other thing. The thing underneath. "A whole year!" he snarled, mostly to the ceiling. "You thought I was dating James-hyung for a whole year and you just—I thought I was going fucking insane, Martin! Do you have any idea how much time I spent trying to figure out what went wrong? I’ve been cataloging everyone you’ve talked to for the past six months! Anyone you sat down with, just trying to figure out what the deal was! Why I got relegated to the background while you gave everyone else your full attention!"

Martin looked up. The remorse on his face flickered, replaced by a bewildered surprise. "You've been… keeping track of who I talk to?"

Seonghyeon stopped mid-stride, his glare sharp enough to split atoms. "That is not the fucking point!"

Martin pulled his shoulders in and ducked his head back down. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm really sorry. I won't do it again."

"You better—"

The door opened.

"Hey, man, everything alright? Heard you left early and—oh." James. Of course. Poking his head in, eyes traveling from Seonghyeon’s flushed, furious face down to Martin, who was literally on his knees. A slow, insufferable grin spread across James' face then. He let out a low, appreciative whistle while raising his hands. "Damn. Sorry to interrupt. Please, carry on with whatever... highly delicate dynamic you two have going here. Goodnight."

He stepped backward and snapped the door shut.

Seonghyeon hurled the nearest pillow at the door then buried his face in both hands, letting out a long, muffled scream of pure frustration.

"Wow," James said, watching Martin cross the quad with two coffees. "You're really walking him like a dog."

It had been a week since the Grand Revelation. Ever since, Martin had been on a relentless, self-imposed apology tour. Fetching coffee, holding library doors, and hovering with an almost frantic level of diligence.

And Seonghyeon, unfortunately for Martin, was not done being mad. He was a man of principle, and the principle was that you do not get to spend a year drifting away and misreading his entire life and then fix it in seven days with coffee. So mostly he just ignored him. 

The absurd part? Martin didn't even seem to mind the cold shoulder. In fact, he looked happy just to be allowed in Seonghyeon's orbit again. Following along. Half a step behind. Beaming at the back of Seonghyeon's head like a stray that had finally been let back into the house.

And Martin was Martin. He was physically incapable of looking out of place anywhere. He got along with everyone, including the people who didn't particularly get along with Seonghyeon—and there were plenty of them, because Seonghyeon’s zero-fluff, unfiltered honesty tended to rub fragile egos the wrong way. Martin smoothed all of it. Laughed with the exact people who side-eyed Seonghyeon in seminars. Turned the whole room warmer just by being in it.

The supposed punishment kept curdling into something that looked a lot like Martin doing Seonghyeon a favor instead.

James was really the only reason Seonghyeon had a steady social buffer in the department. James was just as blunt, but unlike Seonghyeon, he could smooth-talk his way out of any situation when he felt like it. More than that, James stuck around Seonghyeon because Seonghyeon was good. Ridiculously competent. And James respected efficiency above all else.

James watched Martin get waylaid by a group of people across the quad, laugh, catch James’ gaze for half a second, and immediately say his goodbyes.

"You know he kinda glares at me whenever I'm around you, right?" James added, swirling his cup. "Like, full-on laser-eyes. Maybe you should ask him why the idea of you having a boyfriend bothered him so much."

Seonghyeon was about to respond that it was nothing, positive that it was nothing, but Martin finally reached them, cheeks pink from the cold, holding out a cup to Seonghyeon like an offering. 

"They were out of the oat milk so I got you the regular. If you don’t like it, I can go find—"

Seonghyeon took the coffee, avoiding James’ knowing look. "It's fine." 

Martin lit up like it was a national holiday.

Seonghyeon couldn't stop thinking about what James had said.

Which was annoying, because he had a lab report due and no business spending his limited brain power on this. But it kept surfacing anyway, usually at the worst times—mid-equation, mid-shower, three seconds before sleep. Maybe you should ask him why the idea of you having a boyfriend bothered him so much.

So he did the thing he did with any problem that wouldn't leave him alone. He reverse-engineered it.

Looking back, he and Martin never really talked about people. Never about who liked who, never about dating, none of the usual background noise. What they talked about—what they always talked about, floor of his room, one in the morning, then two—was the other thing. What they’d build if money weren't an issue. How unfair it was that working at a top space agency required citizenship you weren't born with.

They talked about life, too, but only in blunt terms. How Seonghyeon could've studied abroad, maybe, if his parents hadn't divorced and fought so ugly over who got stuck with what that they'd ended up leaving him and his little sister with their grandparents like a problem to be filed away. Martin had listened to all of that. Had been, for a long time, the only person who did.

Seonghyeon didn't have time for crushes. He'd never had the margin for it. And Martin—Martin was too focused on making things move to be thinking about anyone that way. Rockets. Jets. Impulse and momentum. That had been true since he was sixteen.

Except Martin wasn’t sixteen anymore.

Martin was a head taller than him now. A striking Caucasian mix with strong features, broad shoulders, and dark eyes that made people do a double take whenever he walked down a corridor. He was, objectively speaking, gorgeous. It was probably half the reason people gravitated toward him so effortlessly at parties. People liked having something beautiful aimed at them.

None of which answered the actual question. Why would the concept of Seonghyeon having a boyfriend make Martin back away?

He turned it over for two more days and arrived at a hypothesis he didn't love.

So the next time Martin showed up with coffee, Seonghyeon didn’t even wait for him to set it down and asked, "Are you homophobic?"

Martin almost dropped the coffee. "I'm—what?"

Seonghyeon shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "You ghosted me the moment you thought James was my boyfriend. It's a reasonable hypothesis. So. Are you?"

"I—no! What? No! That's—" Martin was looking genuinely scandalized. "That is not at all the case—Seonghyeon, I'm not—how did you even get there?"

"Then what's the case?"

Martin clamped his mouth shut. The color drained from his face for one brief second, only to be replaced by a sudden, intense wave of crimson that started at his neck and flooded rapidly all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked down at the library floor, chest heaving. Seonghyeon watched it happen, watched the whole fluent, people-pleasing engine stall out in real time.

Then Martin tried to shove the coffee into Seonghyeon's hands and make a run for it.

He didn’t get far, though. Seonghyeon caught him by the arm before he could turn, grip tight enough that Martin stopped rather than dragged him.

"Am I not worth any explanation?" Seonghyeon's voice came out lower than he meant it to. "Or are you gonna avoid me again? You're so good at talking to everyone else, but why am I only ever getting scraps from you?"

Martin’s shoulders slumped. He stared down at his shoes, the deep flush still staining his ears. "I'm sorry."

"I don't need your apology."

"I'm sor—" Martin caught Seonghyeon’s glare. He swallowed hard, his hands twitching against the plastic cup. "I'm just… not ready to talk about it yet."

And that—Seonghyeon couldn't argue with that, as much as he wanted to. He knew how it felt to be not ready. He stared at Martin for three long seconds before letting go.

"Whatever. How's your paper?"

The relief that flooded Martin's face was almost embarrassing. It was like flipping a light switch. He launched into his professor's feedback, the revision he was planning, the part he was actually proud of, and Seonghyeon let him. Let him talk. Watched Martin’s hands move and tried not to think about how much he missed being the person in front of Martin when it happened.

The next afternoon, Seonghyeon bumped into James at the microfluidics station.

"Martin isn't homophobic," Seonghyeon stated, setting down a box of pipette tips.

James didn't even look up from his phone. "Obviously. Duh. Why are we talking about this?"

"Because you said I should figure out why he avoided me when he thought we were dating. So I asked him."

James went still, then looked up, blinking in utter disbelief for several beats of dead silence. A smirk crept onto his face, and he gave a single, slow nod to himself. "Yup. Okay. You’re hopeless."

"What do you mean?"

"He acted like that, and the very first place your brain went was homophobia?" James spread his hands. "Give yourself some credit, man. Come on."

"I genuinely do not have a single blip of an idea why else he'd avoid me over that."

"Maybe because he was jealous?" James suggested, leaning back against the counter. "The same way you kept track of every single person he talked to?"

"I wasn't jealous, I was—"

"That's what you told yourself." James snorted, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. "Look. Take it as a hypothesis. Test it. You love that. Go be a little scientist about it."

Seonghyeon frowned. The gears were visibly turning. "Test it… how?"

James shrugged and went back to his phone. "Not my circus, not my monkeys. Figure out your own methodology."

Later that night in his dorm, Seonghyeon sat in front of his laptop and typed "how to tell if a guy likes you" into the search bar, feeling profoundly ridiculous.

People had written articles about this. Signs someone likes you. Signs you like them. There were quizzes. There was an entire economy built around a question Seonghyeon had, until roughly ten days ago, considered beneath his cognitive attention.

He clicked on one titled "Is It Platonic or Romantic?" strictly with the intention of judging how stupid the questions were.

They weren't stupid.

Does he remember hyper-specific details about your preferences?
Does he prioritize your presence in crowded rooms?
Does he act differently around you compared to everyone else? 

The quiz didn't give him an answer so much as it forced him to recall everything Martin had done over the past five years.

Huh.

Seonghyeon stared at the glowing blue screen.

Huhhh.

At the next party, he came in braced. Prepared to observe. He'd framed it as data collection, which was a lie he was telling himself with his whole chest, but it was load-bearing, so he kept it.

He tried not to look at the entrance, tried not to notice when Martin walked in, tried not to be self-conscious when Martin spotted him and immediately changed course. People greeted Martin on the way, the usual gravity, but Martin didn’t stop. He cut clean through the party to where Seonghyeon was doing his level best to keep up with two film majors talking about a director he'd never heard of.

"Hey," Martin said, stepping right into Seonghyeon’s space. Without asking, he reached for the red cup in Seonghyeon’s hand and took a small sip. "Oh, that’s actually good." He offered it back, then effortlessly took over the conversation with the film majors, steering the flow so Seonghyeon didn't have to keep struggling to contribute.

A few minutes later, Seonghyeon intentionally turned his head to stare at the snack table across the room.

Martin caught the shift. "Want some food?"

Seonghyeon nodded once. And Martin was already moving toward the kitchen without asking what Seonghyeon wanted. Two minutes later, he returned with a small plate stacked with salty pretzel bites and the specific spicy cheese dip Seonghyeon always favored. 

Seonghyeon ate one and realized he was fucked.

As the noise in the room swelled, Seonghyeon felt his brain starting to check out. The sensory overload of the bass, the flashing lights, and the chatter was turning his thoughts into mud. He zoned out entirely, staring at a poster on the wall.

Suddenly, a warm weight draped over his shoulders. Martin slid an arm around him and turned to the film majors. "Hey, sorry, we’re gonna go catch up with some people over there."

"I don't want to mingle," Seonghyeon muttered under his breath as Martin steered him away.

"I know," Martin whispered back, his thumb lightly pressing into Seonghyeon’s shoulder blade. "Come on." He guided Seonghyeon toward a quiet, half-empty couch tucked in the corner of the living room. "Stay here. I'll grab us water."

Seonghyeon sank into the cushions, letting his head fall back with eyes closed.

Then the cushion next to him dipped. Not Martin, because the guy had just left for water. Not James either, because James had never once in recorded history sat down at a party.

He opened his eyes to find Keonho already beaming at him.

"Hi," Keonho said.

He was, Seonghyeon noted with mild clinical detachment, pretty. Seonghyeon gave a polite nod. "Hi." 

"I've seen you around a bunch. Campus, parties. Been wanting to talk to you, if that's okay." Keonho reached out a hand. "Keonho. Second year, poli-sci."

Seonghyeon shook his hand, pretending he hadn't had that line of data filed for months. He figured Keonho was probably approaching him to ask about Martin. It made sense. What didn't make sense was the sudden twist of annoyance in his own chest at the thought.

"Seonghyeon. I'm taking—"

"Biomedical engineering, same year as me. I know." Keonho snorted. "Martin-hyung wouldn't shut up about you."

Seonghyeon froze, dropping Keonho’s hand. "He what?"

"You heard me." Keonho shrugged, way too pleased with himself. "He never lets me get anywhere near you. Total gatekeeper. It's honestly kind of—"

"Why are you here?"

They both looked up.

Martin was standing over them with two cups. He was glaring down at Keonho with a dark expression Seonghyeon had literally never seen on his face before.

"Why not?" Keonho replied, entirely unfazed.

"Move."

"Mm. I don't want to."

"That's my seat." Martin’s voice sounded almost like a whine. It would be funny if Seonghyeon's heart weren't already doing something complicated.

"Is it?" Keonho tilted his head, a mischievous grin touching his lips. "Don't see your name on it."

Seonghyeon watched this exchange with the silent bafflement of a man who understood every word and none of the meaning.

Martin's eyes dropped to him. Pleading now, the hostility nowhere in sight. "Don't talk to him. Please."

"Why?" Keonho chimed in, his grin widening. "Worried I'll tell him your secrets?"

Martin’s face flushed a violent, brilliant red. He kept his eyes locked on Seonghyeon. "Can we please leave?"

Seonghyeon stared at the sheer desperation in Martin's face. "It's not even been an hour since you got here."

Martin shook his head vehemently. "It's fine. I don't care." He hastily shoved the water cups onto a nearby side table and reached out, his warm, long fingers wrapping firmly around Seonghyeon’s hand. "Let's go. Please."

Seonghyeon let himself be pulled up from the couch. He threw a quick, polite goodbye nod toward Keonho, who was looking thoroughly entertained, and let Martin drag him straight out the front door, into the cool night air.

They ended up at Martin's place, only because Martin refused to risk James barging in again like last time, and Seonghyeon couldn’t fault the logic.

It was cozy. Also a little messy, with books stacked on the floor and half-finished circuit boards cluttering every flat surface. And there, on the desk, were the prototypes. Little half-built machines, wires and brackets and a 3D-printed something clamped mid-assembly.

Seonghyeon crossed to them. He missed this too. "You're working on something?"

The tension in Martin’s posture evaporated. Like a child eager to showcase a prized possession, he launched into an explanation. He picked up one of the boards, his fingers moving carefully as he demonstrated the structural design for the paper he’d been revising. His eyes sparkled, his voice taking on that rapid cadence Seonghyeon knew by heart.

"See, this part's the feedback loop. It checks itself against where it's supposed to be, and if it drifts, it corrects. Recalibrates every few milliseconds. It never gets too far off."

One thing Seonghyeon loved about Martin was how unreserved he became about the things he cared about.

"And so—sorry?" Martin’s hands froze in the air.

Seonghyeon blinked. "Oh. Didn't mean to say that out loud." He cleared his throat. "Whenever I listen to you, I can't help but feel hopeful about my own dreams too."

Martin stared at him. "Okay... I'm glad."

Seonghyeon walked over to the couch, sat down, and looked up at Martin expectantly. "So? What was that exchange with Keonho about? What secrets were you so terrified he'd tell me?"

Martin set the board down before his knees hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

"No," Seonghyeon said, patting the cushion beside him. "Come here. You said it was your seat."

Martin stared at the empty space. "That was back at the party."

"You only want to sit beside me at parties?"

"No, that's not—"

"Come here then."

Martin scrambled up and shifted over, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the cushion, one leg under his weight, facing Seonghyeon. Watching the height and broad frame of the guy bend so easily to his instructions, James' voice rang loud and clear in Seonghyeon’s head: You're really walking him like a dog. Seonghyeon swallowed a sudden flare of giddiness. The knowledge that this guy would move mountains if asked was a strange, heady feeling.

Would he really?

"Take your time, hyung," Seonghyeon said, turning his body so he was also facing Martin.

Martin’s eyes went wide with sudden panic. "Why are you calling me hyung all of a sudden?"

"Because you're older?" Seonghyeon tilted his head. "And because you like it when I call you hyung."

"But it’s been some time since—"

"You kinda stopped talking to me, remember?"

"I know, I’m sorry—you don't have to call me—"

"You don't like me calling you hyung?"

"That's not—" Martin’s shoulders deflated. "I like it."

"You know," Seonghyeon sniffed, "James-hyung told me the reason you avoided me back then was that you were jealous. Is that true?"

Martin stared fixedly at his hands in his lap, giving a tiny, reluctant nod.

"I need to hear you say it, hyung."

Martin swallowed hard. "Yes. It's true."

"Do you like me, hyung? Romantically?"

Martin let out a long, shuddering exhale before forcing his gaze upward to meet Seonghyeon’s eyes. "Yes."

"How much?"

"So much that I'm going to explode right now."

"Do you want to kiss me?"

"Seonghyeon..." Martin pleaded, pulling back slightly.

"Not answering my question."

Martin hid his face with both hands, letting out a muffled groan. "I want to. God, I want to so much. But I don't—I don't kiss friends."

"I like you too, hyung," Seonghyeon said. "Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

Martin bolted upright so fast his knees knocked against the coffee table. He stared down at Seonghyeon in disbelief. Seonghyeon sat completely composed on the couch, waiting for a response.

"If you need time to think it over, it's fine too," Seonghyeon added evenly, starting to shift toward the edge of the seat. "I can leave."

"No!" Martin reached out, almost tripping over his own feet to block Seonghyeon’s path. "Don't leave. Yes."

"Yes to what, hyung?"

Martin took a deep breath, his ears burning red, but his eyes locked firmly onto Seonghyeon's. "I want to be your boyfriend."

Seonghyeon smiled, reached out, and caught the collar of Martin's grey hoodie, pulling him back down on the couch until they were eye to eye.

"Now kiss me."

Martin held Seonghyeon's hand on his hoodie, slightly trembling. "But, but Seonghyeon, it's—it's, uh, it's my first time, so—"

"It's mine too, hyung."

It was, undeniably, a mess.

Martin’s nose bumped awkwardly against Seonghyeon’s cheek while his hands hovered above Seonghyeon’s waist as if he were afraid of breaking something. Seonghyeon pulled back a few inches, catching his breath. He looked up into Martin’s wide-eyed panic and felt a sudden wave of affection wash over his chest.

"Hyung," Seonghyeon murmured, his hands sliding up to cup the sides of Martin’s neck. "Calm down."

Seonghyeon shifted his weight, leaning backward onto the plush cushions and dragging Martin down with him. Martin tipped forward, instinctively catching himself on his forearms to keep from crushing Seonghyeon, dropping right into the narrow space between Seonghyeon’s legs.

The heat between them was immediate. Seonghyeon reached up, tangling his fingers into the short hair at the back of Martin’s neck, and guided his mouth back down.

This time, the hesitation dissolved.

Without the fear of falling or ruining the moment, Martin yielded. He let out a low, shuddering breath against Seonghyeon’s mouth, one hand gripping Seonghyeon’s waist through his shirt, holding him firm, as if anchor points were finally falling into place. His earlier awkwardness was replaced by an eagerness as he parted Seonghyeon’s lips, tasting him properly for the first time. He shifted his weight closer, pressing Seonghyeon deeper into the couch, his shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. Every time Martin tried to pull back, Seonghyeon would tighten his grip on his hair, tilting his chin up to pull him right back down into another kiss.

"Is it good?" Martin rasped against the skin of Seonghyeon’s jaw. He shifted, looking up with earnest, dilated eyes. "Am I doing good, ba—baby?"

Seonghyeon hummed, his hands remaining tangled in the soft hair at the nape of Martin’s neck. "Very good, hyung."

A faint, contented smile touched Martin’s lips. He tried to press closer, attempting to snuggle his entire big frame into Seonghyeon, but the couch offered zero room for leverage. Frustrated by the tight space, Martin didn't hesitate. He hooked his arms securely beneath Seonghyeon’s thighs and back, lifting him in one smooth motion.

"Wait—" Seonghyeon yelped as his feet left the couch.

Martin ignored the protest, carrying him the few steps over to the unmade bed and dropping them both onto the mattress. He pulled Seonghyeon flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around him like a protective weighted blanket. Seonghyeon rested his chin on Martin’s collarbone, listening to the rhythm of the older boy's heartbeat.

"Was that the secret?" Seonghyeon asked, trailing a thumb along Martin’s jawline. "The thing you were terrified Keonho would tell me?"

"Yes," Martin mumbled, his voice thick with embarrassment.

"Tell me more?"

Martin sighed, his chest expanding beneath Seonghyeon’s weight. "The first time I heard that you and James were a thing... I kinda lost my mind. At first, I told myself I was just mad because we were best friends, and you didn't tell me." He tightened his grip around Seonghyeon’s shoulders and waist. "But then I started spiraling. I thought... What if you didn't tell me because I wasn’t important enough? What if I was just annoying? What if I'd spent years talking your ears off about jets and engines and you were just being polite?"

Seonghyeon looked up to catch Martin’s eyes. "Hyung..."

"And then avoiding you sucked," Martin went on anyway. "Talking to other people sucked. Juhoon and Keonho were nice, but they... they could read me like an open book within five minutes. Juhoon asked why I looked like a kicked puppy every time you walked past with James. And Keonho… Keonho literally called me a pathetic loser for hiding in groups instead of just asking you directly."

Seonghyeon didn't hesitate. "I agree with Keonho."

"I'm sorry..."

Seonghyeon leaned up, kissing the edge of Martin's cheekbone. "My loser boyfriend," he added softly, the corner of his mouth curving into a small, fond smile.

Martin’s head snapped back, his hands flying up to cover his face as a muffled sound of devastation escaped his throat. "Oh my god, I’m Seonghyeon's boyfriend now."

Seonghyeon chuckled at that before pulling Martin’s hands away and kissing him again.

Martin’s touch and kisses quickly became Seonghyeon’s favorite thing. Martin kissed the way he built things—with careful devotion and generous affection. When Martin’s large, warm palm slid beneath the hem of Seonghyeon’s shirt to press flat against the small of his back, Seonghyeon felt tethered. 

Martin, on the other hand, developed a whole different, dangerous addiction: a fiercely territorial Seonghyeon.

Before, Seonghyeon had been the observer, holding the line in silence while Martin navigated crowded rooms. But now, Seonghyeon laid claim with no intention of being subtle.

It started small. During a study session at the university library, a biomedical engineering freshman approached their table, lingering a little too long while asking Seonghyeon for help on superposition theorem. Seonghyeon answered the barrel of questions politely before reaching for Martin’s hand and pulling it onto his lap. The underclassman suddenly mumbled something about being needed somewhere else and scurried away. Martin, who had been reading a schematic, froze as he stared at their joined hands beneath the table.

Then came the mixer. James was leaning against the counter, nursing a drink and watching with a smirk as Seonghyeon stood beside Martin near the crowd. When an enthusiastic senior from materials science tried to pull Martin away to join a drinking game, Seonghyeon simply reached out, hooked two fingers firmly into the belt loop of Martin’s jeans, and pulled him an inch closer.

"Sorry, noona, he's staying here," Seonghyeon said with a genuine smile.

The senior blinked, stammered an apology, and backed off.

A goofy, dazed, hopelessly enamored smile broke across Martin’s face. He wound his arms around Seonghyeon's waist then leaned down, nosing the side of Seonghyeon’s head right there in front of half the engineering department, breathing him in like a man who had just survived a shipwreck. Around Seonghyeon, Martin never needed a second to recalibrate. 

Everyone else got two versions of him, Seonghyeon only ever got one.

"You're doing it again," Martin whispered to Seonghyeon's shoulder.

"Doing what?" Seonghyeon asked, tilting his head slightly to give Martin better access to his throat, his hand resting over Martin’s forearm.

"Being territorial," Martin murmured, his lips tracing a path up to Seonghyeon’s jawline, pressing a lingering kiss right beneath his ear. "Love it so much."

"You're a menace, hyung," Seonghyeon muttered, though his grip tightened. "Can we leave now, please?"

"Of course, baby."