Archive of Our Own

“So…”

Yeonjun tries to make small talk. He’s hovering around the threshold of the spare room, doing his best to be useful, but it’s difficult when his new roommate has spoken three words in the two hours he’s spent moving in.

“Is there anything you need?”

Eyes, large and round, turn to meet his. Yeonjun has to get used to them. He has six months. “I’m good, Yeonjun-ssi. Thank you.” He’s sitting on the bed with the suitcase open, legs tucked underneath him. He’d arrived like a whisper from Daegu, a favor called in from an old friend, who had a cousin who needed a place to stay in Seoul to work on some corporate family project.

“He’s really fun and nice, hyung,” Soobin had told him. “He won’t be a problem to you. Plus, he’s had a rough year, so I wanted to leave him in the hands of someone I trust.”

Yeonjun doesn’t know why he said yes, other than the fact that the offer included splitting the rent with him for half the year. He’s busy as it is, barely having time between his two jobs, so why he thinks he has the capacity to babysit his friend’s cousin for half a year, he’s not really sure. But he’s here now, so Yeonjun has to take care of him, when he can barely take care of himself.

It’s fine. He’ll deal with it. He’s been told he’s very easy going that way.

“Beomgyu-ssi?”

“Yes?” Again with the eyes.

Yeonjun scratches the back of his head. “There’s coffee in the kitchen. Help yourself.” He hugs himself, rubbing at his elbows. The heating in his apartment isn’t too wonky, but it’s still early January weather. He doesn’t know how cold it gets in Daegu, so he just hopes it’s not too much of an adjustment. “I’ll be heading out for work in a few hours, but if you need anything while I’m gone, just send me a message, yeah? I can stop by for it on my way back.”

“Oh,” Beomgyu says. His fingers fidget with the zipped edge of his open luggage, playing with it mindlessly. “You don’t have to do all that, Yeonjun-ssi. I can walk around after I unpack, familiarize myself with the area.” He blinks, slowly. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You won’t be, but suit yourself,” Yeonjun replies. He braces himself against the door frame. “I’ll be home by seven, and I can grab dinner for us.” He holds a hand up when he sees Beomgyu’s mouth open in protest. “Just for today. After that, we can just, you know, buy our own food. Feel free to use whatever is in the kitchen to make your own stuff, or just have things delivered.”

Beomgyu purses his lips. “Alright, but just for tonight.” He bows his head, and Yeonjun realizes he’s been dismissed. Funny how that is, when it’s his house, but he shuffles back into the living room anyway, a touch amused.

Six months. He can handle that. He just hopes that the stilted awkwardness between them falls away, and quickly. He doesn’t think he can handle keeping his shoulders hunched for too long.

—❁—

Soobin’d said that his cousin didn’t want to disturb his routine too much, but he’d never mentioned that, if Beomgyu had his way, Yeonjun would probably never see him.

The first week passes like a faint winter breeze, and Yeonjun can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he sees the other boy. If his schedule wasn’t obnoxiously irregular, Yeonjun would have taken it personally.

During the first couple of days, Yeonjun wakes up at around noon to Beomgyu already gone, the pot of coffee warming in the machine and the washed up bowl and chopsticks on the drying rack in the kitchen the only evidence that someone else was staying in the apartment with him. He’d down two cups of coffee to feel alive, paired with a hastily put together sandwich, and then he’d be out of the house by two to teach his first class of the day at the dance studio he worked at in Seongdong.

He’d shoot out a message to Beomgyu to remind him that he’ll be home late and to check on if he had dinner, before heading over to his second job at a bar just off the main street in Hongdae, finishing off the night crawling into bed by 3am. Sometimes he doesn’t even have time to check on his messages until the morning, only reading the next morning that Beomgyu had, indeed, had his dinner.

It’s not a very ideal schedule, he knows. Still, he manages to find pockets of time during the day, between classes or during breaks at his bartender gig, to do his own thing or to catch up with friends, so he hasn’t been driven to madness yet, but he knows that one day, one or the other has to give. It’s something that Yeonjun doesn’t want to think about, so he pushes it to the back of his mind, determined not to make any choices until he absolutely has to.

—❁—

He gets home early on Thursday.

Early for his occupational schedule is relative, though. He shuffles into his apartment just after midnight, toeing off his shoes at the front door, only cursing mildly under his breath when he almost trips over the umbrella stand in the corner.

The light is open in the living room and in the kitchen, and Yeonjun doesn’t think he’s seen this much brightness in his space in a long time. He’s out so often he’s forgotten the way the soft yellow showers the room in warmth, the overheads knocking cozy shadows around his mother’s homemade kimchi bowl, the quaint sculpture he and Kai found at a random garage sale, the small pile of stuff that Beomgyu’s started accumulating in the corner.

Speaking of the other boy, Yeonjun hears him before he sees him, the gasp he lets out before he drops the plastic cup of water nearly comical.

“Shit!”

In the entire week Beomgyu’s been here, Yeonjun doesn’t think he’s heard him raise his voice above a low whisper, so hearing him swear so effusively makes Yeonjun chuckle tiredly. “Sorry, did I scare you?”

“Yeonjun-ssi,” Beomgyu blurts out, before he realizes there’s water all over the floor. He sinks to his knees in a panic, grabbing the paper towels and mopping up the mess before Yeonjun can even answer him. “I didn’t expect you back so soon, I was—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Yeonjun assures him. His joints are aching after a sixteen hour day, but he still pulls out the mop from the tiny side cabinet he has housing his cleaning implements, and helps sop up the spillage. “You’re up late.”

There’s a muted, telltale sound of digital explosions emanating from his room, and Yeonjun nods towards it. “Good game?”

Beomgyu’s face lights up, all sparkle and interest. It’s the most engaged Yeonjun has seen him since they met. “Yeah! I play League. Do you play?”

“I prefer more solitary pursuits when I have the time. I’m like, this close to finishing Tears of the Kingdom for the first time,” Yeonjun says, with a satisfied nod. He stands again with a groan, reaching out to help pull Beomgyu up. “That should be fine. It’ll dry out by morning.” He leans against the counter, watching Beomgyu get another glass of water from the dispenser. “So… uh, how is work going?”

Despite his part time job as a bartender, Yeonjun finds that he’s awkward at small talk with virtual strangers.

Beomgyu frowns, considering his question. “It’s… fine, I guess. It’s going.” He takes a tiny sip from his cup, and Yeonjun wonders if everything he does is just teensy-coded. “How about you? How was the… bar?”

He cocks his head at Yeonjun, reminding him of a curious little puppy. It’s far too endearing at one in the morning. “It was okay. Nothing interesting happened, which is a blessing.”

“Oh. I’m glad, I guess?” Beomgyu’s sleeves have shifted off his elbows and fall to cover his fingers. It makes him look like he’s holding onto his glass with sweater paws, a sweet little sight. Yeonjun shakes his head.

“Hey, sorry I haven’t been around much since you moved in. I’ve just been busy.”

Beomgyu shakes his head, making his long-ish dark brown bangs swish around his eyes. “It’s fine, Yeonjun-ssi. You’ve been very kind, taking me in. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I…” Yeonjun can’t explain why the phrasing bothers him. “You’re not imposing. You’re splitting my rent, which means you have every right to do whatever you want. You live here, Beomgyu-yah.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen at the informal language. “Oh. I mean. You’re right, I guess, Yeonjun-ssi.”

Yeonjun scratches at the back of his neck. He should be taking a shower and taking advantage of the extra hours he has home, but there’s a feeling of unsettlement lingering underneath his skin. “Hyung. You should just… call me hyung.” He gives Beomgyu a wry smile. “We’re going to be around each other for a while, we might as well get more familiar.”

“Hyung…” Beomgyu trails off, like he’s still getting accustomed to how the reference sounds out loud. “Yeonjun-hyung.” He gives Yeonjun a small, pinched grin, and despite his fatigue, pleasure blooms in Yeonjun’s chest. “I’d like that. Becoming more familiar, I mean.”

Maybe it’s the late hour, maybe it’s the way Beomgyu’s eyelashes press against the highest part of his cheekbones, but the words come barreling out of Yeonjun’s mouth before he can even consider saying them. “Hey, can you send me your office’s location later? I can pick you up after you’re done, take you to dinner or something before work.”

“So that we can get to know each other,” he adds hastily, when he sees Beomgyu’s eyes widen at the sudden invitation. “We’re roommates after all, and I’m your hyung now. I should show you around. If you don’t already have plans, that is.”

Beomgyu’s lips twitch, like he’s trying to arrest the smile before it spreads across his face. “I don’t have plans yet.”

Yeonjun tilts his head, trying to gauge Beomgyu’s response. “So is that a yes?”

He watches Beomgyu toy with the glass in his hands, turning it around and around in his grip. “If it’s not too much of a bother, dinner sounds great.”

Relief drips through Yeonjun, bizarrely. “Great. I’m going to go to bed, but don’t forget to send me your location. You end at around five, right?” When Beomgyu nods, Yeonjun pats him on the shoulder before sauntering away. “Cool. See you, then. Don’t forget to turn the lights off. Good night.”

He’s halfway in the bathroom already when he hears Beomgyu’s faint response, so soft it feels imagined.

“Good night, hyung.”

—❁—

For twenty five years (the first year doesn’t count), Yeonjun thinks he’s lived a mostly ordinary life.

Maybe in an alternate reality, Yeonjun is some kind of model or actor, or working in fashion, or in some kind of band or idol group. However, in this reality, he’s just Yeonjun — an only child, a cousin, a friend, sometimes a boyfriend, but very rarely more than that.

However, Yeonjun is certain that no matter what universe he’s in, he is a dancer. It’s the kind of thing that he feels is so intrinsic to him, embedded so deeply into his DNA that it transcends the laws of reality. In any universe, no matter how ordinary or extraordinary, Yeonjun will dance.

And so he does in this one.

A bad fall in his formative years ensured that he wouldn’t be getting too far into the spotlight, but his fundamentals are strong enough to land himself steady income from his passion through teaching, even if it can’t stand as the only source of it.

It’s enough. He tells himself it is. Eventually Yeonjun believes it.

Sometimes he thinks he’s been unfairly shortchanged in this universe, because he can’t always hit the moves he sees in his head, has trouble with how slow his muscles react to the beats that he knows are there. His dreams have always been tempered by his constant instructions to listen to the limitations of his body, but he reminds himself to be kind to himself twice as often to make up for it.

As it is, in this universe, he doesn’t want much. He just wants to be surrounded by dance for as long as he can, for the rest of his life, if he can manage it.

Whatever else comes along, he’ll deal with it, as long as he has that.

—❁—

Beomgyu finds Yeonjun leaning against the bus stop nearest his office building, his eyes hidden behind a knockoff pair of shades and his black bangs ruffling in the early January breeze. Even from ten feet away, Yeonjun can see him hunching into his puffer jacket, practically swaddled in it.

“Yah, isn’t it cold in Daegu during winters? Why are you acting like it’s the first time you’ve seen snow or something,” Yeonjun chides him. He unwraps the hand knitted scarf around his neck, tying it securely around the other boy’s shoulders and ignoring the way his cheeks flare scarlet just above where the fabric sits snugly across his face.

“I didn’t expect it to be this cold when I left this morning,” Beomgyu sulks, his voice muffled from behind the wool. He sounds excited, though, and there’s a skip to his step when he tries to keep up with Yeonjun’s longer strides. “Where are we going?”

Yeonjun shoves his hands in his pockets. “The Han River.” He tries not to stiffen up when Beomgyu almost stumbles, knocked into him by the hurried stride of a couple of businessmen on their way into one of the skyscraping buildings littering the streets of Cheongdam. “You work in a pretty fancy area, Beomgyu-yah.” He couldn’t feel more out of place if he tried, a stranger to this sliver of the city he’d lived in most of his life.

“Yeah, it’s kind of hard to get used to. Everything is so… bougie,” Beomgyu says, finally settling on a satisfactory descriptor. It makes Yeonjun snicker. Bougie feels right. He can navigate the streets of Gangnam well enough, but it never stops hitting him how strange he feels whenever he’s surrounded by suits.

“Hyung, I just realized I never asked what it is you do, exactly.”

They’re clambering through the turnstiles, Beomgyu only hesitating a little when he looks up at the intricate labyrinth that is the Seoul train system festooning the walls of every subway station. Yeonjun waits until Beomgyu is satisfied, or has given up — he’s not sure which — before gesturing them towards the escalators. “You know I tend bar at a place near the apartment, but other than that, well, I teach. Dance.”

“Oh!” Beomgyu sounds surprised. Yeonjun tugs him towards one of the queues for the trains, waits for him to continue with his line of questioning. “Soobin-hyung mentioned that you were a dancer, but I didn’t know you taught it. That’s very cool.”

Yeonjun feels the weight of Beomgyu’s gaze steadied on him. It feels almost physical in its weighted curiosity. “You can ask more questions, you know. I don’t bite.” He grins at Beomgyu, noticing he’s unwound Yeonjun’s scarf from around his neck and is carrying it in his arms like a child. “Do you dance?”

“Oh. No. No, I don’t,” Beomgyu says, but his eyes go a bit distant, and Yeonjun wonders where he’s gone. “I’ve always wondered though.”

Yeonjun gets it. “I mean, you could tag along if you aren’t busy tomorrow. I can show you around the area after my classes. It’s a really trendy place right now.” He doesn’t know why he’s hard selling the Seoul Forest area to Beomgyu. “And there’s a Shinee pop-up store there too, if you’re interested in that.”

Does Beomgyu even listen to idols? The small insight Yeonjun has into his music taste is that he’s usually humming indecipherable melodies under his breath when he thinks Yeonjun isn’t in the room. It makes him oddly determined to find out. It hits Yeonjun, all of a sudden, that maybe he’s just a little more communication-starved than he thinks.

Beomgyu laughs, and is about to answer when there’s a discordant set of notes blaring overhead and their train is pulling into the station. For a late afternoon in the upscale part of the city, it’s oddly not as crowded as it could have been, or maybe they’ve just lucked out.

They hop onto the car and manage to find seats across from each other. Beomgyu’s eyes are trained on Yeonjun’s, and Yeonjun realizes it’s because he doesn’t know when to alight. “I’ll let you know when it’s our stop, Beomgyu-yah. Don’t worry about it.”

The other boy nods, almost solemnly. “Okay, hyung.” Yeonjun smiles at him, not unkindly. He gestures for him to relax, because it’s a good half hour yet, and it’s only when he does that Yeonjun pulls out his phone to check his messages.

—❁—

Later, when they’re stuck behind the floor to ceiling glass walls of a cafe overlooking the shores of the Han River, sipping their respective orders (“Hyung, how could you be drinking iced americano in this weather?”), Beomgyu turns to face him.

“Yeonjun-hyung, were you serious about me tagging along with you to watch you teach dance tomorrow?”

“Hmm?” Yeonjun is distracted. He’s been watching this group of kids running around the slopes of the riverbank, the end of his mouth quirking up when a dog joins their frivolities — a charming sight.

It’s been a minute since he’s had the time to just lean back, watch people and enjoy a cup of coffee without being worried about making it to work on time. Beomgyu sharing in half of his rent expenses freed up a considerable amount of his usual monthly take home, so he’s reduced his hours at the bar by a hair, allowing himself the indulgence of a free afternoon once in a while.

Anyway, back to the hanging question. Yeonjun turns his head, meets Beomgyu’s gaze. Man, he really needs to get used to how expressive they are. “Oh. Yeah, of course Beomgyu-yah. You’re welcome any time, if you’re not busy. But are you sure you want to spend your first weekend in Seoul cooped up in the dance studio?” He shifts to face Beomgyu completely. “Don’t you have any other friends here?”

Yeonjun thinks it’s probably a stupid question. If Beomgyu had any other friends in Seoul, he wouldn’t have to be rooming with someone he doesn’t know.

Beomgyu shakes his head, and Yeonjun should really keep his mouth shut. “No. It was just Soobin-hyung, and he’s not here right now.” He shrugs. “I’m the youngest person at work, and the person closest to me in age is in his thirties.”

“Hey,” Yeonjun warns him, pretending to glare. “I’m almost thirty, dude. You have something against your seniors?”

The deadpan look that Beomgyu sends him almost has him snorting americano up his nose. “You’re twenty six.”

“I’m twenty seven in September.” The thought of his mortality has Yeonjun groaning, and he leans on the table’s surface, defeated. “Hey, why are we talking about this anyway?”

“You’re the one derailing the conversation, hyung,” Beomgyu tells him, but the humor lacing his tone somehow winds its way around Yeonjun’s ribcage. He breathes, and feels feather-light. “Anyway, I don’t really feel like exploring by myself for now. I do enough walking around the office’s neighborhood when I’m looking for places to eat.”

“Well, you’re not going to find much around Cheongdam, that’s for sure,” Yeonjun says, dismissively. He swirls the drink around in his hand, listening to the ice clinking around the circumference of the plastic cup and trying to disguise his little side glances at the other. “Say. Is there anything off-limits for dinner?”

Beomgyu scrunches up his nose and shudders. “Seafood. And tomatoes.”

“Allergic?”

“No,” Beomgyu says, shaking his head. “I just don’t like the taste of it. It’s so… fishy.”

Yeonjun definitely chokes on his americano this time.

They end up eating at a hole-in-the-wall chicken place that serves the best kimchi jjigae that Yeonjun’s had outside of his grandmother’s kitchen. Beomgyu, who had barely spoken five words to him all week, turns pink in the face with delight, hardly able to control the flow of compliments spilling out of him when he regales Yeonjun with how much he likes the broth.

It’s nice, seeing Beomgyu open up. Yeonjun doesn’t even have to prompt him to say anything, just sits and lets his enthusiasm wash over him. He nods at the right times, agrees in all the right places, and when Beomgyu whines about him snagging the bill and tucking his debit card into it before he can offer to split it with him, he thinks it’s a pretty good first time out with his roommate, all in all.

They walk down to the main street together, before they have to split ways, Beomgyu towards his apartment and Yeonjun towards his part-time job.

“How often do you have to keep bar during the week?” Beomgyu asks. He’s shivering, slightly. Yeonjun wants to lean over to tug the zipper up, his scarf cushioning Beomgyu in its makeshift comfort. He doesn’t dare ask for it back, not when it’s doing such a good job.

“My schedule’s a little irregular, but at least five times a week. It’s only a few hours, and pays well enough,” Yeonjun supplies, even though Beomgyu doesn’t ask.

Beomgyu nods, somberly. “Okay, then. I won’t keep you.”

Yeonjun watches him take a gloved hand out of his pocket, and reach out. He looks like he’s fighting some kind of internal battle with himself, to Yeonjun’s amusement, ending up with a gesture that’s half a pat and half a clutch at Yeonjun’s wrist. “Take care, hyung. Thank you for today.”

If he and Yeonjun were closer, Yeonjun would tease him for his awkwardness, making faces until Beomgyu would fluster and push at him to cut it out. That’s how Yeonjun is with all his friends — annoying, familiar, jovial. Maybe in time, they can get there. For now, Yeonjun just nods, and tells him it’s nothing.

Still, he stands and waits at their midway point, watching until he sees Beomgyu’s figure, ensconced in his oversized puffy jacket, get swallowed up in the late winter crowd. Once he’s satisfied he’s well on his way, Yeonjun turns on his heel and makes the short walk to work, whistling a tune under his breath.

—❁—

When Yeonjun gets up in the morning, Beomgyu is already awake, sitting on the sofa scrolling through his phone and dressed for the day.

“Good morning, Yeonjun-hyung!” He greets chirpily. Yeonjun replies, or at least, he tries to. He doesn’t think the grunt Beomgyu gets out of him is considered an actual word in standard parlance.

Beomgyu isn’t the only thing that greets him. He lifts his nose up, sniffs.

“Coffee?”

“Brewing in the kitchen.”

“Fuck, you’re the best dongsaeng ever,” he groans out loud, trudging over to the counter and barely noticing the pleased little titter Beomgyu emits at the statement. He pours himself a mug and nearly scalds his tongue taking in his first gulp of caffeine for the day.

“I didn’t hear you come in last night,” Beomgyu wonders out loud, after Yeonjun finally manages to open both of his eyes. “And I went to bed at around three in the morning.”

“There was a shipment,” Yeonjun grumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the knuckles that weren’t wrapped around his mug, a bright pink monstrosity that had cartoonish yellow and blue cracks painted on it. “We finished late.”

It’s easy to see Beomgyu’s eyes widen, even all the way across the room. He’s too expressive for his own good, Yeonjun decides. “Maybe you should go get some more sleep, hyung. You really look…”

“Tired?” Yeonjun snorts, before polishing off the rest of his drink. “I get that a lot. Don’t worry about it, Beomgyu-yah.” He waves off Beomgyu’s concern, turns around before those large dark eyes convince him to spend the day under his covers. He’d rather operate on too much caffeine and three hours sleep than miss any of his classes. “It’s still too early to head over to the studio, but maybe we can get lunch somewhere nearby.”

“Okay, hyung, but let me treat you this time,” Beomgyu insists. Yeonjun wants to protest — he is the older one, after all — but there’s a stubborn set to Beomgyu’s mouth that tells him to just accept. If the kid wants to spend his money so bad, who is Yeonjun to stop him?

“Fine,” he says, finally. “Just let me shower and we can head out.” He heads down his tiny hallway towards the bathroom they’re both sharing, shutting the door behind him when he slips inside. Absurdly, Yeonjun realizes this is the first time he’s stepping into the shower just as Beomgyu’s used it. The tiny booth is usually dry when he gets up in the morning, long since used. It feels weirdly intimate, to feel the humidity, the heat of the water’s lingering temperature against his skin as he undresses.

Beomgyu runs the water hotter than he does. It’s a strange thing to know about him.

Yeonjun has had roommates before. He’d cycled through at least three or four during his university years, and a couple for the years after that. The only reason why he’d been able to offer Beomgyu a place to stay was because he and his previous roommate had been offered the two-room apartment at a steal for a long-term lease, and Yeonjun didn’t mind maintaining the rent even when Yunho got engaged and moved out last year. Sharing a living space, that’s never been new to him — a part of him thinks he’s overcompensating for growing up an only child, but he digresses — but he finds it perturbing, just a little, how much he’s overthinking every little interaction he’s having with Beomgyu.

He turns the water on, wincing as the temperature of the water that hits him is much warmer than he’s used to.

Stupid, Yeonjun chides himself. Stop being stupid.

He’ll just have to adjust. Simple as that.

—❁—

Yeonjun’s mood improves the second they step out into the chilly late morning air; he even snickers and tugs Beomgyu’s bucket hat down over his eyes while they’re walking up the quiet street near Hongik University, the stores and restaurants lining the roads empty and still in spite of it being quite close to lunchtime already.

They take the train, because it’s the most convenient way, even if they have to stand as they hit a patch of rush hour. Yeonjun looks over at Beomgyu, who is clutching the metal pole of the subway car like a lifeline.

“Do they not have trains in Daegu?” he teases, and it’s worth the near stumble he takes when the train chooses that exact moment to groan to a stop when Beomgyu sends him the absolute most adorable scowl he’s ever seen on a human.

“I’m just scared I’m going to miss the stop, hyung, I’m—oh my God, of course we have trains in Daegu!”

Yeonjun can’t stop cackling, even when Beomgyu steals the empty seat right in front of him. He gives Yeonjun a look, like it serves him right.

“Normally, I’d offer my seat to the elderly, but in this case…” Beomgyu snaps at him, but there’s mirth in his eyes, so pretty that Yeonjun doesn’t mind the jab.

The dance studio is a few blocks away from a really nice neighborhood that’s full of newly-opened brunch spots and coffee shops, so Yeonjun does a quick search through Naver and they end up at a highly-rated pancake place with really large windows, overlooking the nearby park from its spot on the fourth floor.

Yeonjun indulges in his second coffee of the day and a cold potato salad while Beomgyu dives into a pile of waffles lathered in butter and maple syrup almost as big as his head.

“Hyung, it’s really good. Don’t you want to take a bite?”

He wants to refuse, but Beomgyu is cutting up a forkful and directing it towards him before he can say a word, and to turn him down now would be rude, right? So he takes the bite, muffling an exaggerated sigh behind his teeth, savoring every crumb as it melts on his tongue.

“You’re right, it’s very good.”

Beomgyu looks pleased, shimmying in his seat a little before he returns to his plate.

They spend the meal in relative silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s even quite nice, and Yeonjun gives himself a metaphorical pat on the back. For what exactly, he’s not entirely sure, but whatever he’s doing, it’s making Beomgyu hum sweetly under his breath, seeming, for the most part and for now, happy. Sometimes, he thinks, he can be a good hyung.

Their reverie is interrupted by a series of beeps, and Beomgyu looks over at his notifications before he snorts, putting down his fork and picking up his phone. “It’s Soobin-hyung,” he announces, and Yeonjun looks up, a smile creasing his face.

“Oh yeah? What time is it even there now, dinner time?”

“Thereabouts, I guess,” Beomgyu says, somewhat vaguely. He’s typing away rapidfire, the clicking of the keys incessant, and the speed of the responses tells Yeonjun that Soobin is just as enthused about whatever they’re talking about. “He says hi, by the way. He’s asking me where I am, and I’m telling him about brunch.”

“Can you ask him to nag Kai about answering my email,” Yeonjun says, instead, while he takes another sip of coffee. “It’s very important.”

Beomgyu stares at him, deadpan, after reading Soobin’s response to Yeonjun’s query. “He says, and I quote, Kai is too busy having sex with his beautiful and loving boyfriend to progress through the Zelda game at the rate Yeonjun-hyung is going.” Another beep. “He also says you should turn your Switch off and get—”

“Choi Soobin, you are tens of thousands of miles away, you are the last person to tell me what to do,” Yeonjun interrupts hastily, before he continues to munch on his salad with much disquietude. “Tell him that.”

“I will not. You can do it yourself,” Beomgyu says, shaking his head and putting his phone away. He turns back to his little waffle mountain. “Soobin-hyung never mentioned how you two became friends. You don’t seem to be the type to be into the things he’s into.”

“Oh? What do you mean by that? Like what things?”

Beomgyu shrugs, chewing before he answers. “I don’t know. Marvel, anime, League? You don’t look like you’re into any of that. I think I would have noticed.”

“Okay, first of all, everyone’s into Marvel—”

“Not me.”

Yeonjun holds a hand to his heart. “I’m going to pretend, for the sake of our roommate-ship, you never said that. But anyway, eh, you’re right, more or less. Binnie and I don’t have a lot in common, but you don’t really need to, especially to be the kind of friends we are.” He hunches up his shoulders, purses his mouth. “You just are.”

Beomgyu looks at him for a millisecond longer than is strictly necessary, in Yeonjun’s opinion. “I think I understand.”

Yeonjun’s not sure he does, but he lets it go. The ice in his drink has almost completely melted by now; when Yeonjun takes another sip, it’s all watered down.

—❁—

They’re taking a shortcut through the tenements when Yeonjun brings it up again.

“We met through Kai,” Yeonjun says. He’s squinting up into the winter noon sun, although his eyes are masked behind the dark tints of his shades. “Kai and I were in dance club together, and when they got together, we became friends.”

Beomgyu had been staring at a random art fixture that they’d run into on the streets when he started talking. He tears his eyes away from the paper mache boulder sculpture and fixes them on Yeonjun. It makes him want to fidget the way Beomgyu likes to do.

“Good friends?”

“Good friends,” Yeonjun repeats, with a nod. He cracks a sardonic grin, shuffles his feet to scuff against the pavement. “Good enough that when Soobin asked me if I had a spare room for his favorite cousin for a few months, it was easy enough for me to say yes.”

Beomgyu ducks his head, a tiny v-shaped grin punctuating his face cutely. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you yet, did I? I really didn’t want to stay at some lonely Airbnb, or with one of my parents’ family friends.” He peeks up at Yeonjun through his chestnut brown fringe. “You’re cool, hyung. Cooler than I thought you’d be.”

Yeonjun refuses to be a caricature but he sure does feel like puffing his chest out, pleased. “Of course I am,” he says, shooting Beomgyu finger guns and a cheesy grin.

Beomgyu rolls his eyes, but he grins back. Yeonjun thinks it’s a pretty big deal, that he grins back.

—❁—

“What about you two?”

Beomgyu is kicking a rock, determined to get it to land on the unlined parts of the sidewalk with every swing of his foot. Yeonjun has to admit he’s invested. “Who two?”

“You and Soobin.”

“He’s my cousin,” Beomgyu replies, blunt as an old nail file. Yeonjun thinks about smacking him in the back of the head.

Beomgyu must have sensed Yeonjun’s displeasure at his responses because he looks over his shoulder and shoots a dazzling smile at him. It almost completely dispels his annoyance. “Sorry, I just meant what I meant. We’re cousins. We’re… well, we’re family.”

He walks slower, just a bit, enough for Yeonjun to catch up to him even with his ambling gait, waiting until they’re walking together before continuing. “My brother and I are close, but around the age when he thought it wasn’t very cool to hang out with his fussy, whiny little brother, he kept making Soobin watch me instead.” He chuckles, clear fondness seeping through. “Eventually, I wore Soobin down and we became inseparable all throughout high school. He’s my best friend. I was… I was really sad when he left for Seoul for college while I had to stay home.”

Beomgyu’s voice, chipper at the start, peters out towards something approaching melancholy.

Yeonjun’s eyes widen with alarm, though he tries not to let it show. Shy Beomgyu, he can handle. Chatterbox, enthusiastic, energetic Beomgyu, he can, well, tolerate. But sad Beomgyu? He does not have the faculties to deal with a sad Beomgyu. “You okay?”

At his question, Beomgyu startles, like he’d been on his way somewhere else in his head. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I was just… remembering.” He tugs at his sleeves, and they fall over his knuckles, covering them completely. “I hung out so much with Soobin until he left, and whenever he came home from university, I’d practically live with him and his family. And, well, Kai, whenever he brought him.”

Yeonjun feels like this isn’t the end of his little tale. He makes a little noise, hoping he continues.

When he doesn’t, Yeonjun does, instead. “I remember Soobin mentioning bringing Kai home the summer after they got together. He was so nervous, I had to talk him out of changing his mind like eight times.” He shoots a look at Beomgyu, walking in step with him. “I take it that your family didn’t mind too much when your cousin brought home a boy?”

“His family loved Kai. Love Kai,” Beomgyu corrects. It’s a pointed change. “Maybe they were surprised, at first, but they adapted pretty well.”

“Good. That’s good, that they supported Soobin. He’d said as much, but I guess it’s different, hearing it from someone who’s actually his family,” Yeonjun says, with a nod. He sticks his hands in his pockets. “I’m glad they were cool with him. I had a rougher time with mine, but we’re all past it now and my parents are fine.” He shrugs, clicks his tongue. “More or less, anyway.”

“What do you…”

The hesitation in Beomgyu’s voice stops Yeonjun in his stride. He tilts his head, turns slowly to see Beomgyu looking back at him with confused, curious eyes. Those eyes, again.

Oh Soobin, you dummy.

“Didn’t your cousin tell you?” Yeonjun asks, surprise weaved into his tone. He tuts when he sees the confused look on Beomgyu’s face, running a hand through his hair and nearly knocking his sunglasses off. “I’m gay, too.”

The inhale Beomgyu takes is sharp, and loud. Seconds beat between them, a bird’s wings in flight. Yeonjun doesn’t know if he’s amused or disappointed. Maybe a little of both? “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

Beomgyu jerks at the implied accusation, his expression shrouded underneath the curtain of his bangs. “Of course not,” he says, quietly. “I don’t—that doesn’t matter to me. It never has.”

Yeonjun’s shoulders, which had hunched up, relax a touch. “Okay, good.”

Beomgyu carries on. “Besides, you’re cool with me. Why wouldn’t I be cool with you?”

It’s Yeonjun’s turn now to be taken aback. Quirking an eyebrow, he crosses his arms over his chest, trying to wrack his brain about all the things Soobin had mentioned about his cousin in the days leading up to his move-in. “Huh?” is all he can offer.

Beomgyu exhales, like he’d been expecting it. “I guess Soobin didn’t tell you this, either.”

Soobin seems to have neglected telling them a lot of things, Yeonjun thinks. “Tell me what?”

“I… I’m divorced, hyung,” Beomgyu stammers, the shaking in his voice surely not even remotely attributable to the cold. “It was finalized a few months ago.”

“Divorced?” Yeonjun says, out loud.

Married? he says, internally.

When Yeonjun thinks about people being married, he thinks about his parents. He thinks about his much older cousins. He thinks about his high school teachers, his elderly neighbors, the guy who runs the studio he works at. He doesn’t think about people like Beomgyu, who barely looked old enough to not be carded at bars.

“Yeah, hyung. Divorced,” Beomgyu repeats.

Yeonjun doesn’t know why the concept rattles him like it does. “He-Soobin never mentioned that,” Yeonjun blurts out, still blinking in surprise. “You… aren’t you a little young for that?”

“Maybe in Seoul, but not where I’m from,” Beomgyu says, with a snort.

The silence stretches between them, weighted and heavy. Yeonjun doesn’t know what to say other than… “Sorry. I didn’t mean for you to have to bring that all up.” Is ‘sorry’ something he should be saying, at this point? He doesn’t know what he has to be sorry about, only that he regrets every single thing that leads to the way the ends of Beomgyu’s mouth tip downward and the way he has his head bent forward, his hair curtaining him away from the rest of the world. Away from Yeonjun. “Sorry if I overstepped, or anything.”

“You don’t have to apologize, hyung. I was actually a bit surprised at how you never mentioned anything. Like, even just out of curiosity. Turns out you didn’t know,” Beomgyu says, shaking his head. He sends Yeonjun a bracing smile. “Don’t worry about it, hyung. It’s in the past, it doesn’t matter.”

Because Beomgyu tells him to, Yeonjun tries.

He’s just not sure he succeeds.

—❁—

The rest of the walk to the dance studio is short, and taken quietly, and just a touch awkwardly. Yeonjun spends the remainder of the journey sneaking looks over at Beomgyu, worried that the other’s mood has been pulled down.

When they reach the unassuming white tenement, Yeonjun pulls open the large glass doors, ushering Beomgyu in out of the cold, and following suit. “We’ll take the stairs,” he says, catching the ‘under construction’ sign blocking the elevators that’s been there on and off since he started working at the place.

Beomgyu nods and Yeonjun fills up the silence by regaling him with stories about the Shooting Stars Studios, the classes he taught there, and famous people he’s seen and trained in the past three years.

It’s four flights up to reach the studio, which Yeonjun can manage most days, but for some reason, he’s extra winded by the time he reaches his destination, having spent so much time talking throughout it.

“Don’t-don’t start,” he warns Beomgyu, as he leans over the banister, practically heaving.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Beomgyu retorts, but there’s a ghost of a grin on his lips, and Yeonjun feels strength seeping back into his legs. “Old man.”

“Yah, Beomgyu-yah!” Yeonjun grouses, as he watches Beomgyu attempt to escape Yeonjun’s clutches by hiding away in the alcove where the bathroom is. “Get back here!”

When he hears Beomgyu’s cackling break the tranquility of the studio lobby, Yeonjun bites back the smile that threatens to spread across his face. He feels accomplished, like he’s passed a test that he’d only been half ready for.

It feels good. He’ll figure out why, later. For now, he has a class to get ready for.

—❁—

Yeonjun is not a self-conscious teacher.

Not ordinarily, anyway. Still, his eyes can’t help but sweep over every few set of steps he teaches for his hip-hop for beginners class, his eyes landing on Beomgyu, sitting in the corner of the room huddled over what looks like a sketch book. Where did he even get that? Yeonjun didn’t know he drew.

Then again, there are a lot of things Yeonjun doesn’t know about him.

Like the fact that he’s been married. And divorced.

Yeonjun shakes his head. He’s distracted again.

The class he has contains a mix of people of different ages, backgrounds and experience, so he has a good time, despite his distraction. It’s never been a hardship for him to match a student’s pace; it was always more fun to dance with someone rather than over them. The energy of his class is usually high, but for some reason, they are even more animated today, taking to every song he puts on with zeal.

It’s cute. Yeonjun loves it; it reminds him again why he’s tried to devote so much of his time to this endeavor.

At some point, Beomgyu stops sketching and just watches. Even from the front of the room, Yeonjun can see how his eyes rake in everything he sees, so careful and so focused. Every motion, every drill, every section — Beomgyu consumes it all, like he’s committing every move to memory.

Yeonjun cannot imagine why, but he takes note of it nonetheless.

After cool downs, while his class heads out of his room to make way for the next group, Beomgyu comes up to him, eyes warm and sweet. Yeonjun feels so sticky, dripping in sweat. “Hyung,” Beomgyu says. “I’m going to head back now, but I just wanted to say… thank you for letting me tag along with you for the day.”

He smiles, fully and wholly, none of the stilted self-consciousness earlier visible in the way he brightens up when he looks up at Yeonjun. It makes him feels like the sun. “No worries. Take care going home, Beomgyu-yah. I’ll be back late.”

Beomgyu leaves with a nod, and Yeonjun goes on with his day.

He wants to say that he manages to shove the events of the early afternoon out of his mind, but that would be a lie. Through his advanced jazz class and his private tutorial sessions, and while he’s riding the train to his other job, his conversation with Beomgyu swirls around in his head, always rising up from the depths of his subconscious even when he is deliberately trying not to think about it.

Yeonjun ends the day trudging home at three in the morning. His muscles ache after more than 12 hours of work on less than optimal amounts of sleep, but he finds the strength to drag his body to the kitchen to turn off the lights when he spies the overhead lamp still on.

There, underneath the dull yellow spotlight, sits a delicate-looking choux pastry, impeccable in its plastic square box even after what he presumes to be an uncomfortable number of hours. Yeonjun can’t help but smile at it. He’ll save it for tomorrow.

A note is tucked underneath the box, and even though he’s dead on his feet, he takes the time to read it quietly to himself.

“Thank you for today. I don’t know if you have a sweet tooth like I do, but I just wanted to get you a token for taking the time to share something that is special to you with me. Good night, hyung. Beomgyu.”

Warm. Despite the January breeze that seeps in through the tiny crack in his living room window, all Yeonjun feels is warm.

He goes to bed with a tiny smile on his face, feeling lighter despite the ache in his joints and his bones. Maybe the next six months won’t be too bad.

—❁—

After a couple of weeks of living together, Yeonjun finds that he looks forward to the unplanned jaunts he takes Beomgyu on every few days.

Whenever he ends up with a couple of hours free in the afternoon, he sends a quick message to Beomgyu to ask if he wants to meet up to grab a bite to eat or to get some coffee. On weekends, they’ve taken to planning excursions around the city — Yeonjun is pleased to see how much he enjoys the kitschy charm of places like Myeongdong and Dongdaemun, the sophisticated airs of streets like Garosugil, the quaint flair and artsy pavements of Insadong. Yeonjun laughs and takes pictures of Beomgyu marveling at all the sights, promising to send them to Beomgyu but mostly ending up keeping them for himself, little nuggets of their days he spends evenings poring over in bed.

Slowly, Beomgyu opens up, tells him more about himself: about his life in Guam-dong, his parrot Toto, his adventures growing up with his brother, what he studied in university, and what his hobbies were outside of school. Yeonjun learns, in time, that Beomgyu’s family is pretty wealthy — one of the bigger suppliers of the garment industry around Daegu — and that while his brother is in line to take on the mantle of the family business, Beomgyu is still expected to contribute in some way.

Strangely, they never talk about Beomgyu’s wife. Ex-wife. Yeonjun wonders if he should try to ask, but Beomgyu has been so open lately, that he convinces himself that if Beomgyu wanted to talk about it, he would have. And so, he leaves it alone, ignoring the niggling sensation of his curiosity murmuring underneath his skin, in favor of watching Beomgyu unfurl, a little like a flower shyly greeting spring.

During one afternoon they decide to just spend lazing around because of inclement weather, Beomgyu makes them both cups of tea and asks Yeonjun about his family.

“My family? There’s nothing much to say about them,” he says. He wants to end there, but Beomgyu has shuffled closer to him on the couch; their knees are so close they’re almost touching.

Yeonjun inhales. He’s not sure if it’s because of the proximity or the subject matter.

“I’m an only child, and my parents live an hour away,” he continues. He takes a sip of tea, hums. Ginger. “I see them when I have the time. Our relationship is… decent. Sometimes we talk on the phone.”

“Did they… are they okay with your occupational choices?”

Beomgyu’s voice, when he asks, is small. His fingers twitch along the rim of his mug, like he’s afraid he’s phrased the question wrong.

Yeonjun takes pity, and answers thoughtfully. “I think so. They’ve… they’ve never placed too much expectations on me.” He pauses. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s to my detriment.”

The silence that drifts between them is interrupted only by the gentle tapping of the rain against the window they’re sitting under. “What do you mean?”

He bites his lip, averts his eyes. “I think I used to have more dreams than I do now. It’s just that… life has a way of beating it out of you, I guess.” Yeonjun trails off and stares into space, lost in his own world, until he feels a hand trail along his sleeve, tentative but gentle. A tether, an anchor, tugging him steady.

“For what it’s worth, hyung, I think you’re doing well.”

Yeonjun is mortified to feel his eyes watering. He gets off the couch abruptly, bolting into the kitchen to loudly forage for biscuits, where he can surreptitiously wipe his eyes with his shirt with no one the wiser. When he comes back to the living room, chips in hand, Beomgyu’s drinking the rest of his tea. The look on his face is knowing, but he kindly keeps his words to himself.

On a different evening, Yeonjun takes Beomgyu to the bar he works at, serving him a couple of free cocktails on the side as he works the late shift. Right before Beomgyu tumbles into tipsy, during a brief twenty minute respite in customers, he beckons Yeonjun over, holding onto his shirt so Yeonjun has no choice but to lean across the bar and hear what Beomgyu has to say.

“Hyung, you look pretty today.”

Yeonjun thinks his lungs stop working, just then. “Beomgyu-yah, are you drunk?”

“No, no, not yet, hyung. I just think. You’re so cool, so pretty. Your clothes…” Beomgyu is staring at him shamelessly, his eyes taking in the long denim skirt swishing around Yeonjun’s ankles, the vintage shirt with the high lacy collar. “I wish I could… look at you all the time. Draw you.”

Crimson spreads across his face, the sudden heat of it making him fluster. He hopes nobody hears the way his heartbeat starts to thud against his chest. It sounds so loud, to his own ears. “You, you never told me you drew.”

“I know you can see me, hyung,” Beomgyu grouses, a scowl splitting his face. He is so pink; if Yeonjun were braver, he’d hold his face in his hands to feel the heat of him with his own palms. “I’m always drawing around you. Whenever I have the time.”

Yeonjun leans onto the counter, hugging the frame of his elbows. “Maybe I was waiting for you to offer to show me.”

“Maybe I was waiting for you to ask,” Beomgyu replies, and he hiccups. “Could I have some water, hyung?”

By the time Yeonjun gets back to him, Beomgyu’s already sleepy, and has seemingly forgotten all about the things they were in the middle of talking about, including the statement that placed Yeonjun in such immediate distress. Which is just as well, Yeonjun thinks, as Beomgyu settles his head in a nest of his arms. He still has half a shift to finish, and he can’t spend the rest of it fixating on the way Beomgyu sounded when he was telling Yeonjun his thoughts, all wondrous and wispy and wistful. It was a distraction.

Beomgyu is a distraction.

When he and Beomgyu walk home that night, after Yeonjun’s work day finally ends, Beomgyu has an arm entwined with his, and he’s singing an indistinct tune under his breath. He’s always singing, Yeonjun thinks. It’s such an endearing thing to know about him.

He doesn’t say anything else, not even when they get back to the apartment, until he stops Yeonjun from going into his room to sleep after his evening shower.

“Yeonjun-hyung?”

“Yeah?”

“One day, you should ask me,” Beomgyu says, voice so low it feels like a whisper skittering across Yeonjun’s skin. He shivers, involuntarily. “I really am just waiting for you to be curious enough to bother.”

He bites his lip, before turning away to head into his own room, shutting the door.

When Yeonjun sleeps that night, he dreams of dark brown eyes. You’re pretty too, Beomgyu-yah, Yeonjun tells him, in his dreams. Hyung thinks you’re so, so pretty too.

Rum-shiny lips tug up into a smile, and when he wakes up the next day, Yeonjun finds that he doesn’t remember what happened next.

—❁—

Deja vu hits Yeonjun hard when, a few days later, he turns around and finds Beomgyu sulking at his bar counter while he’s wiping down the newly washed beer mugs he’s to use for the evening.

“Beomgyu-yah? What are you doing here?” Yeonjun asks when he spots him, playing with a pile of napkins. They’ve just opened for the dinner crowd, but since it’s the middle of the week, there aren’t as many people crowding the tables or the bar, so Yeonjun figures he has some time to spare. “Are you okay?”

The expression on Beomgyu’s face is sour, the frown marring his lovely features so nasty that he looks like he consumed a whole lemon wedge. “It’s nothing, hyung. Can you make me one of those drinks from last Saturday? The one with the salt along the glass?”

Yeonjun quirks an eyebrow at him. “You want a margarita?”

“Correction, hyung,” Beomgyu says, raising a finger. “I want several margaritas.”

Something about the look on his face informs Yeonjun that he might end up regretting it, but he’d been taught that the customer was king, so he simply shrugs his shoulders and goes about doing as he was told.

It’s about seven and a half margaritas later (he’s frankly lost count) when Miyeon, the server he shares a shift with, taps him on the shoulder during clean-up and tells him, rather unceremoniously: “Your boy is out.”

Yeonjun’s automatic response is one of confusion, but then she gestures with her head over towards Beomgyu’s general direction; when he looks over her shoulder, he sees a pile of messy hair and flushed skin and just thinks — ah. His boy is out.

“No, hyung, just one more,” Beomgyu wails against his neck when Yeonjun tries to rouse him from the little nook he’s made of his winter jacket when they’re about to leave, and he ends up tucking his face into the crook of Yeonjun’s shoulder. “Pleaaaaaase.”

The last word is a long, drawn-out whine that makes Yeonjun laugh, even with Beomgyu’s dead weight leaning fully against him. “I think you’ve had enough, kid,” he teases, dragging Beomgyu’s left arm around his shoulder so that it’s easier to maneuver him into the cab he’d called. There’s no way he’ll be able to frogmarch Beomgyu through the rain-slick pavements of their neighborhood without risking a concussion, especially with Beomgyu in this state, so even though it’s a little hit to his budget, he splurges just this once.

Taking an inebriated roommate down the hallway and through the front door of their apartment is a feat that Yeonjun didn’t know he would be embarking on that day, but he congratulates himself on a passable job when he manages to get Beomgyu inside and awake enough to wash his face and brush his teeth.

“Hyung, listen to me,” Beomgyu continues to rasp out, even while Yeonjun is pulling on his sheets to tuck them under his chin. “Why is everything spinning…”

“I’ll leave you some water and aspirin by your bedside,” Yeonjun tells him, already well-versed in the ways of hangover prevention. Still, he thinks, grinning wryly to himself, taking care of a drunk Beomgyu feels like a novel encounter. He doesn’t think he’s dealt with a drunk this adorable ever, but he keeps this tidbit to himself.

When he comes back into the room, Beomgyu is pouting up at his ceiling, his bangs parted on either side of his forehead, damp. “Why did you let me drink this much, hyung?” The curtains, normally drawn shut, have a gap between them that hadn’t been there when Yeonjun left; it lets in a swathe of milky moonlight that crosses over Beomgyu’s sheets, over his head.

If Yeonjun had a more poetic soul, he’d be able to describe the way Beomgyu looked bathed in it, pearlescent and otherworldly. However, he didn’t — all he could think was that he looked beautiful in it, with his hazy stare and the pink of alcohol still pinching his cheeks.

“You were the one asking for the drinks, buddy,” he says, instead, chuckling weakly. He sets the glass of water on the side table next to the bed carefully, and he’s about to leave to go to bed himself when Beomgyu’s hand reaches out to wrap around his wrist, his grip oddly tight.

“Huh?”

Yeonjun nearby tumbles into the bed himself, managing to brace himself against the mattress before he falls on top of Beomgyu. “Beomgyu-yah, you—”

Quick, so quick that Yeonjun thinks that his mind is playing tricks on him, Beomgyu presses a fleeting kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, hyung,” he says, almost shyly. “I’m always thanking you.”

The light of the moon from behind Beomgyu makes him look like he’s glowing. Yeonjun’s heart swoops. Shit. Shit. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

Beomgyu gives him a dizzying smile. “You and I both know that’s not true.” He sighs, and leans back against his pillow. “See you in the morning, hyung. Good night.”

He’s asleep before Yeonjun says it back.

—❁—

Beomgyu learns the hard way that he does not have the stomach for margaritas.

“I warned you, you’re the one who insisted,” Yeonjun tells him with a soft laugh, pushing the mug of chamomile tea into Beomgyu’s clenched fists. He’s slumped over the kitchen table, pale and wan and looking worse for the wear. Despite the lingering unease in Yeonjun’s chest because of him, he has to grin. “You’re lucky you don’t have to go into work today, after drinking beyond your capacity.”

“It’s funny, all I hear is nag-nag-nag-nag-nag,” Beomgyu snaps back, but it’s muffled by the wood of the table and the mess of his hair. He groans, holding his head up with both hands. “Okay, for real, next time, you have to stop me at drink four.” He holds out a pinky, whining until Yeonjun rolls his eyes and takes it. “Swear by it.”

“Okay, Beomgyu-yah, I swear,” Yeonjun repeats after him, with a straight face. It breaks when Beomgyu wiggles their hands together. “What had you so bothered, anyway?”

“What makes you think I was bothered by anything?” Beomgyu counters, but Yeonjun gives him a look of disbelief, and he crumbles like sugar. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was bothered by something.”

While he waits, Yeonjun pours cereal for himself, and takes out another bowl to make eggs for Beomgyu’s hangover. Those usually do the trick for him. “I see.”

“Why are you bringing the stoic bartender act into our home, hyung?” Beomgyu complains, and Yeonjun has to shut his eyes and count to three at Beomgyu’s use of the word ‘our’. “Anyway, it was a work thing. My supervisor messed up giving me the details for the assignment we had to pass, and threw me under the bus in front of the other departments.”

Yeonjun’s chopsticks clatter against the ceramic. “What the hell? Isn’t there anyone you can talk to about the mix-up? People above your supervisor?”

Beomgyu pouts again. “No. And even if I did, why would they believe a lowly intern instead of someone who’s been there for years? Besides, I didn’t want to make a fuss and cause trouble for my uncle who got me the spot for the project.” He exhales, and takes a sip of tea. “Hyung, I want to ask you something.”

Yeonjun turns on the induction hob and waits for the pan to heat up before pouring the egg batter in and scrambling it with his chopsticks. “You can ask me anything, Beomgyu-yah,” he says. And he means it.

Beomgyu pushes away from the table and putters around Yeonjun without a word, getting his own utensils and setting his own place. Yeonjun thinks he’s gaming out how to word what he wants to ask, and gives him the time to figure stuff out.

The eggs are nearly cooked when Beomgyu speaks again. “What do you do when you’re super upset about something?”

It’s an easy question, with an easy answer. At least, for Yeonjun. “I dance.”

Beomgyu is silent, and it’s only when Yeonjun hands him the scrambled eggs, poured over a steaming bowl of rice, that he speaks. “Yeonjun-hyung, can I go with you to the studio again today?”

“I don’t see why not,” Yeonjun says back. He ducks his head and consumes his bowl of cereal noisily, trying to ignore the way his heart keeps hammering at the sight of Beomgyu’s large round eyes fixing on his. Even with touches of purple smudged underneath them, they remain every bit as compelling as the day they met.

Maybe even moreso.

No. He shakes his head, abruptly. We’re not going there. Yeonjun needs to get a grip on things before they spiral out of control and leave him in a mess of his own making.

“Hyung, are you okay?”

He nods, briskly, professionally, not suspiciously at all. “Yes, of course. If you’re coming with me, you have to hurry. Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”

Beomgyu juts his chin out, smug. “I can be ready in fifteen.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes, but hides his grin into the last spoonful of his cereal. “Since you have that much time, I’ll trust you to wash the dishes while I take a shower first.”

The indignant squawk that Beomgyu lets out follows Yeonjun down the hallway as he hightails it to grab dibs on the bathroom. He shuts the door with a cackle, leaning against it to catch his breath.

This, Yeonjun can handle. This, Yeonjun can do. It’s easy, behind closed doors, to tell himself not to get too messed up over Beomgyu’s stupidly round face, his stupidly pink lips. Here, behind closed doors, it’s easy to believe it.

He can’t stay here forever, but he’ll have at least fifteen minutes to try.

—❁—

To Yeonjun’s surprise, Beomgyu signs up for class.

Multiple classes, actually. He signs up for the spring sessions for Yeonjun’s hip hop for beginners, and also gets coaxed into a second sign-up for basic jazz and funk by his fellow teacher Chaeyeon.

“I think the music is fun,” he answers with a shrug when Yeonjun asks him later. “I’ll give it a try.”

Even though it’s a little early, both he and Chaeyeon let him join their classes sooner than what he’d enrolled for. Yeonjun treats him like any other student while he’s taking part in his lessons, but he sticks around when Chaeyeon’s class starts, pretending to loiter near the sound system while sneaking glances at where Beomgyu is stretching, surprisingly flexible when he lunges forward to loosen up his muscles. He’s even wearing shorts that ride up his thighs. His really, really strong-looking thighs.

Yeonjun feels himself redden, and tries to look casual as he stalks out of the room to take a shower in the staff lounge.

In truth, when Beomgyu had told him he was thinking about attending classes, Yeonjun hadn’t expected him to throw himself into it the way he has. He thought, mistakenly, that he was just being polite, trying out the classes being the natural extension of asking Yeonjun so much about them. Instead, he looks like he’s genuinely having a good time, with or without Yeonjun in the room.

When he asks him about it on the way home one day, Beomgyu’s shoulders stiffen, the way Yeonjun’s noticed they do when Beomgyu’s embarrassed about what he has to say. “Honestly, that first day when I saw you doing it, I thought it just looked… fun?” He chuckles under his breath, leaning his head against the metal pole of the subway car. “My parents would never have allowed me to do this back home, so I took advantage of the time I had here to do something… spontaneous.”

He looks up at Yeonjun. “For myself.”

Yeonjun swallows, and nods. That’s as good a reason as any. “I understand.”

Beomgyu sends him a crooked grin. “Why do you ask, hyung? Is it because I’m bad? You can be honest with me.”

And the thing is, Yeonjun can’t say that he is. Maybe it would have been easier if Beomgyu had two left feet, but whenever he watches him dance, he feels overwhelmed at how good he looks. Technique-wise, obviously, Beomgyu has a way to go. He tends to be overly particular with his movements to the extent of looking like he’s thinking about steps, and whenever a move includes his upper body, he tightens up like a screw.

Yeonjun’s class has never been about technique, though, and nobody embodies it as well as Beomgyu does — there’s an effervescence in his movement that Yeonjun finds uniquely compelling, and whenever Beomgyu collapses into an exhausted, giddy pile after he makes it through a routine without making any mistakes, Yeonjun feels his delight like it lives in his own bones.

Maybe it’s because he lives with him and knows him in a way he doesn’t know his other students, but Yeonjun can’t help but think how lucky he feels to be here with him, on this particular journey of discovery.

“You’re doing well, Beomgyu-yah,” Yeonjun answers him, voice soft. “Hyung thinks you’re doing very well.”

Beomgyu smiles at him, lovely and earnest; it dawns on Yeonjun that he is, for sure, fucked.

—❁—

Kang Taehyun is one of Yeonjun’s favorite people. He works at the same bar Yeonjun does, taking most of the same shifts Yeonjun does because he’s in his last year of his double major at Hongik and he’s a masochist. Taehyun has more front-of-house stuff and is a clear-headed presence good at diffusing tension between tipsy customers, but when he isn’t busy, he likes to hang around Yeonjun’s bar, chattering excitedly about his classes, his girlfriend, and whatever hobby he’s indulging in at the moment. It’s nice, and makes most of Yeonjun’s nights distinctly bearable.

Since Taehyun and Beomgyu are close in age, he introduces them one evening Beomgyu tags along after class, and just like he predicts, they get along swimmingly despite having what appears to be nearly opposite personalities based on their MBTIs.

Tonight, they seem to be engaged in a heated debate about production equipment, since it appears that Beomgyu used to be part of a cover band back home and Taehyun writes music on the side, and they both have spirited opinions about microphones or something. Yeonjun’s not entirely sure, but he enjoys the soundtrack of their lighthearted bickering more than the heavy, moody blues playing over their scratchy, decades-old sound system.

“Hyung,” Taehyun says, his face completely serious. “You don’t mean that. Take it back.”

“I mean it, Taehyun-ah,” Beomgyu argues back, his eyes wide in disbelief. “Marshall headphones are fine, but the speakers are totally overrated, and I suggest you spend your money on another brand if you’re building a half-decent production studio.”

“I’ve researched this model thoroughly, and none of the reviews mention this so-called malfunction,” Taehyun insists, and this continues until both of them are shouting at each other, although Yeonjun thinks this is more because of the growing din of the rest of the room than being actually upset at one another.

“Guys,” Yeonjun interrupts them, bursting into chuckles when they both whip their heads around to look at him at the same time. Cute. “Keep it down a little? Taehyun-ah, I think Table 8 is trying to bill out.”

“They can wait,” Taehyun mutters, but he gets off his seat with a grimace anyway, heading over to the table without even a backwards glance. “This isn’t over, Beomgyu-hyung. I need actual evidence to support your claims.”

Beomgyu rolls his eyes at him, a futile endeavor because it’s not like Taehyun can see, and he spins around on the bar stool for a bit while he sulks. “You’re a spoilsport,” he tells Yeonjun, who chortles as he tops off a shot of soju and hands it to Daesun, another server at the bar.

“I’m a regular meanie,” Yeonjun says, teasing. He watches Beomgyu push out his bottom lip, pouting adorably, but his eyes remain bright and shiny. It strikes him that Beomgyu’s progressively been looking lighter, sunnier since the start of his stay in Seoul. It’s towards the end of February, and he‘s very nearly radiant.

Still, the end of February marks the near halfway point of Beomgyu’s stay, and Yeonjun wonders when he’d started to dread looking at the calendar, why he’d begun to resent the dim that came with the evening and the passing of the days.

Theoretically, he could look forward to things that he’d had to give up when he got his temporary roommate — things like privacy, like leaving the bathroom door open when he used it, like sprawling on his couch in his underwear without a care in the world about anyone walking in. But all of those things seemed useless and insignificant compared to the moments he’d started to treasure, such as the sleepy snuffle that Beomgyu liked to make in the mornings, the little notes he left around the house for himself and for Yeonjun, the way he’d hum happily to himself when he’d wash the dishes he and Yeonjun used for dinner.

Sometime during his inner monologue, Taehyun wanders back to continue his back-and-forth with Beomgyu, and Yeonjun pretends he’s not glancing over at them while he’s cleaning the martini glasses for the third time that night.

He catches the tail end of Beomgyu staring at him, before he turned away to look back at Taehyun. The look in his eyes then was… sweet, almost dreamy. And it was directed right at him. Yeonjun doesn’t know why it makes his breath snag in his throat.

Coughing discreetly, he turns around on his heel and distracts himself by placing all the clean glasses on a shelf behind him, neat and all in a row.

If anyone asks, he’ll say he imagined the pretty blush dusting Beomgyu’s cheeks.

—❁—

“Hyung? Hyung! Can you hear me?”

Yeonjun holds his phone up in the air and moves around the apartment, as if that will somehow help him obtain better signal. On the other side of the call, Soobin’s image clears up; it’s scarily bright where he is, all the fluorescent lights in the kitchen he’s in turned up high and vivid. Yeonjun waves at him, and Soobin waves back, a sweet smile creasing his face, the dimples on his cheeks deepening.

“Yeonjun-hyung! Hi!”

“Bin-ah,” Yeonjun greets him, the sleep in his eyes clearing when he sees how upbeat and happy his friend is. “What time is it there now?”

“It’s almost dinner time here. Kai’s dad is cooking, so we’re just trying to help set up. Well, Kai is,” Soobin sheepishly admits. The Facetime view shifts, revealing a familiar tousled head of slight curls bent over the dining room table, putting down plates. Yeonjun’s chest expands, full of affection. “Kai-yah, Yeonjun-hyung’s on the phone. Say hi!”

Kai’s face tips up, and Yeonjun wants to clear his throat of the lump suddenly lodged in it. “Hi hyung!” Kai simpers, the cutesy aegyo he directs at the phone making Yeonjun feel warm despite the morning chill knocking against his windows. “Are you doing well? Have you eaten?”

Yeonjun raises the cup of coffee to the screen, which Soobin rolls his eyes at. “Coffee is not breakfast, hyung,” he chastises Yeonjun, and they devolve into some protracted bickering. Kai joins in at some point, and it feels like they’re right back in Yeonjun’s living room, convincing him to watch one of their favorite animes or trying to debate the pros and cons of time travelling in Animal Crossing. It’s familiar and welcome and Yeonjun misses them. He misses them a lot.

He’s so distracted reconnecting with his friends that he doesn’t realize that Beomgyu’s awake until he hears someone shuffling up behind him, until he feels someone hook their chin over his shoulder. He startles and nearly drops his phone; when he turns his head, he sees Beomgyu barely has his eyes open and he’s sniffling and wrinkling his cute puffy nose.

Yeonjun tries to tamp down the wave of fondness cresting through him, and sends Beomgyu an annoyed glance instead. “Yah, Beomgyu-yah, you nearly scared the shit out of me.”

The sleepy boy only grunts in response, ignoring him. “Hi, Soobin-hyung.”

“Oh, Beomgyu-yah!” Soobin’s eyes sparkle at the sight of his cousin. From behind him, Yeonjun watches Kai abandon his place setting to skip over to properly talk to them. “Did you just get up?”

“It’s nine in the morning, hyung,” Beomgyu reasons gruffly. “Do you not remember why I was up until four in the morning?”

“Please, don’t blame your sleep deprivation on me. You’re the one with the mediocre kill record from last night—”

Beomgyu bristles angrily, letting out a sound not unlike a parrot’s. “Shut up, you know I’ve been distracted recently.”

Kai interrupts before Beomgyu squawks even louder and before Yeonjun can ask him if anything’s been bothering him lately — what does he mean about being distracted? “It’s good to see you, hyung. How is work?”

Yeonjun tries to ignore the way Beomgyu leans his whole face into the crook of his neck in an effort to see Kai better. Clearing his throat discreetly, he angles the phone towards Beomgyu so he doesn’t have to push in too closely, to no avail.

He starts to worry if Beomgyu can feel the heat that he’s sure is thrumming under his skin through the press of his cheek against his bare throat. “Hey Beoms, do you want to—” Yeonjun offers the phone to him, and Beomgyu plucks it out of his hands neatly, ambling over to the couch and collapsing in it, his legs tucking themselves into his body.

Beomgyu looks so small like this, so sweet and tiny, like he’d fit in a teacup, as absurd as that sounded, and the image stays for much longer than Yeonjun appreciates. He is alerted to just how long he’s been staring when Beomgyu looks up from his conversation with Soobin to stare at him quizzically. “Is there anything on my face, hyung?”

Yeonjun almost chokes. “Nothing. There’s nothing. I’m going to go get more coffee.” He spins around to walk away just as Beomgyu calls out to him to get him a mug too, and he marches straight to the kitchen so he can splash some water onto his ruddy cheeks.

Can’t. He can’t. Beomgyu is literally Soobin’s cousin. He’s going through so much personal stuff, is most likely straight, and at the end of it all, he’s going to leave. All of those factors mean that Yeonjun should look away, except that as the days went on, he just kept looking closer, kept looking longer.

He exhales, before taking the yellow mug with little peace signs that he knew Beomgyu had started to think of as his, and pouring the rest of the coffee he’d made into it, squirting in a bit of the hazelnut syrup that he knew Beomgyu liked.

When he makes his way back to his couch, he budges up next to Beomgyu and hands him his coffee, trying not to pink when Beomgyu lets out a happy little wail. “Thank you, Yeonjunnie-hyung,” he crows, even though his voice is still a bit gritty from sleep. Yeonjun looks away before he does something silly like coo at the blissful face he’d just made at him. “Here, take your phone back. I’m going to go back to my room to get my sketchbook. Don’t order brunch without me.”

Yeonjun watches him untangle himself from the little nest he’s made of the couch pillows and the soft green throw his mother had made him. “You’re done talking to Soobin and Kai?”

“Mhmmm,” he hears Beomgyu hum out loud before he leaves to go back into his room. His pajama pants are so long, they drag along behind his feet. It’s far too cute for someone in his early twenties to be. Yeonjun groans internally before turning back to his phone, and he almost drops it when he sees Soobin’s raised eyebrow on his screen.

“Aish, Soobin-ah, what are you looking at me like that for?” He plays up his exasperation, but he grabs a pillow and hugs it to himself, hoping it will hide whatever expression his face is making. “Did I forget to give you anything?”

“I don’t know, hyung, you tell me,” Soobin says, eyes wide as he feigns innocence. “Am I missing anything? Like about my cousin?”

Fuck. Fuck. Soobin is too insightful for his own good, sometimes. Yeonjun picks at a non-existent thread on his shorts. “Um, not really I guess? I think the two of you talk more than we do.” He balances the phone on his thighs while he takes a long sip of his coffee.

“He told me he was taking dance classes at your studio,” Soobin tells him casually. There’s some clatter as background noise, so Yeonjun figures Kai’s dropped some silverware. Soobin barely blinks. “He said he’s been enjoying, learning a lot.”

Yeonjun’s eyes soften at that, a shy smile tugging up the corner of his lip. “Yeah? That’s good. I’m… I’m glad.”

“Are you stuttering?” Soobin asks bluntly.

Yeonjun chokes on a swallow. “I’m not,” he hisses, his eyes darting up to check if Beomgyu could have heard. “Bin-ah, what the heck are you trying to do?”

“Nothing, I’m just asking you a bunch of questions. You’re the one getting flustered.”

“I am not flustered,” Yeonjun replies, clearly flustered. “I’m confused. There’s a difference.”

“If you say so, hyung,” Soobin nods, placidly. He waits for Yeonjun to finish off his cup of coffee before he continues. “Seriously though, hyung. If there’s anything that you need to tell me, you will tell me, right? About you, or Beomgyu?”

There is no him and Beomgyu, Yeonjun wants to say, but he stops just before voicing it out. Kai has always told him he’s far too transparent for his own good. “Sure, Bin-ah. If anything comes up, I will let you know.”

Satisfied for now, Soobin gives him a grin that is a little too knowing for his liking still. “Okay, hyung. I trust you.” He waits a few beats before moving on. “But you think Beomgyu’s okay, right? That there’s nothing to worry about?”

Yeonjun puts his mug down, brings the phone closer so he doesn’t have to speak too loudly. “I mean, yeah, based on what I see.”

Soobin nods. “Okay, good. That’s good.” He sighs, and lowers his voice so that not even Kai can overhear him. “Between you and me, I’ve just been worried he’d hole up in your apartment for the whole six months. What happened to him… it’s got him shaken up a lot.”

“He seems pretty outgoing to me, but I don’t know what he gets up to all the time,” Yeonjun says. He hesitates, just a little. “Is there anything you need to tell me, Bin-ah? You missed out on a lot of pretty important details before Beomgyu came here. There might be something else you forgot.”

For the record, Soobin looks properly admonished. “It’s not my fault, I didn’t think that those things were necessary.”

“The part about him, maybe, but I think you should be telling your cousin the person he’s going to be living with is gay. He might find it, you know, awkward.” Yeonjun scratches his ear, trying not to fidget. He wasn’t born yesterday; he understands that not everyone is open-minded about people like him.

Soobin raises his eyebrow again at Yeonjun. “Why do you think that would have been an issue with Beomgyu?”

Something in Soobin’s tone sets Yeonjun off. “I know, I know, he’s cousins with you so obviously that wouldn’t be a concern for him in general, but living with someone gay is different from, you know, being related to them,” Yeonjun continues to ramble, neglecting to see the laugh that Soobin smothers underneath his overly large palm. “Whatever, it’s fine, I just think that was something he should be, I don’t know, warned about.”

“Everything Beomgyu needed to know about you before he came over, he knew. And vice-versa,” Soobin supplies, when he sees Yeonjun open his mouth to argue. “Anyway, I don’t know what’s going on there, but it seems like you two are getting along well.” Kai calls Soobin’s name, and Yeonjun ignores the absolutely besotted smile Soobin responds with. “I have to go. We’re going to have dinner soon.”

“Okay,” Yeonjun says, with a nod. He’d surmised as much.

“Before I go, hyung, if there’s something you want to know about Beomgyu, you could very well ask him yourself,” Soobin advises. He looks far too serious all of a sudden; it makes Yeonjun want to squirm. “I’m sure he’ll tell you, because it’s you who’s asking.”

“What’s that supposed to—”

“Gotta go, hyung! Dinner time!” Soobin gives him a cheeky little salute and the sound of his giggle is aborted by the drop of the call.

Yeonjun stares at his phone, absolutely mystified, until the screen goes dark.

—❁—

Beomgyu is picking at the burger he’d ordered, and Yeonjun can tell he’s waiting for the right time to say something by the way he hasn’t even attempted to steal Yeonjun’s fries.

“A thousand won for your thoughts?” Yeonjun asks him, cheeks stuffed with masticated meat.

“Only a thousand? I’m sure they’re worth more than that,” Beomgyu says with a snicker, but then he goes quiet and Yeonjun pokes him again to jolt him out of his reverie.

“Three thousand, then.”

“Wow, a 300% increase.”

“That’s all you’re getting from me,” Yeonjun says, but he pats Beomgyu’s forearm. “Things okay?”

“Oh yeah, yeah, of course hyung. Sorry, I’m a bit loopy still. M’gonna nap after this,” Beomgyu assures him with a nod. “No, I just wanted to tell you that… it’s my birthday this week.”

“It is?” Yeonjun sits up, suddenly alarmed. Shit. “How soon this week?”

“Don’t worry about it, hyung,” Beomgyu says, with a giggle and a dismissive wave of his hand. “I can already see the wheels in your brain turn. Really, don’t make a fuss about it. I just wanted to tell you because Taehyun and Hyeeun invited me to go out dancing with them for my birthday and I said yes.”

“That sounds like fun, Gyu-yah,” Yeonjun says, giving him a grin as he chews. He genuinely means it. “Have a good time!”

Beomgyu dips his head and starts to play with the tissues that came with their lunch. “We’re going this Friday, so that we can all be together when the clock strikes twelve and then it’ll be my birthday.” He raises his eyes to latch onto Yeonjun’s, and the look on his face is strangely nervous. “I was wondering… I mean, I think you should come, hyung! If you can.”

The thirteenth of March. Yeonjun tucks the information away, finding it easy enough to remember. He still has a little under a week to get him something nice. “Oh, Friday… I’m not too sure, Beomgyu-yah.” He shrugs, trying not to feel bad at how the excitement on Beomgyu’s face dims a smidge. “I have… you know, I have work.”

“Oh! Work. Right!” Beomgyu says; the smile on his face doesn’t reach his eyes. “I knew that. Well, it was worth a shot! Or, um, maybe we can go on your day off instead?”

“Beomgyu-yah, don’t-don’t do that. Don’t change your plans for me,” Yeonjun insists. He reaches out and clasps Beomgyu’s hand in his without thinking. He’ll worry about it later. “I’ll wait up for you and we can celebrate when you get home, okay?” He gives Beomgyu a bracing grin, shaking him a little. “Okay?”

“Okay hyung—geez, okay, hyung, I said okay, stop it already!” Beomgyu complains, but he’s laughing as Yeonjun continues to wring him back and forth, his rhythm getting more chaotic with every screech that exits Beomgyu’s mouth. “Okay, we can celebrate on Saturday! Now quit it!”

The soda on the table nearly tips over, and Yeonjun reaches out to steady it before it does. When he looks up, he catches Beomgyu looking at him with an unnameable expression.

“Anything the matter?”

Beomgyu shakes his head, the smile on his face a touch rueful. “No. At least, I don’t think so.” He shrugs. “I guess I’m looking forward to my birthday this year, for the first time in a long time.”

“Why is that?” Yeonjun asks, tilting his head curiously. He coughs, when he sees Beomgyu’s face go blank. “You don’t have to tell me anything, sorry. I just, I mean, I don’t mean to pry, I—”

“Hyung.” Beomgyu reaches out to clutch his fluttering hands. Fingers, long and cool, slide across his palm to enclose it in a strong grip. Yeonjun had never noticed the strength of them before, always so consumed at how lovely and pretty they looked from afar.

He tears his eyes away from their joined hands to peer up at Beomgyu. The smile on his face is so sweet, it makes his breath catch in his chest. “I don’t know if I ever told you this, but I appreciate how careful you are with me all the time. And how you always check on whether I’m okay with talking about myself.”

“I’d like to tell you more about that time,” Beomgyu continues, voice low and hushed. Yeonjun falls silent, not wanting to miss a word. “Maybe not today, but soon. In any case, I like that you’re asking.” He shrugs again, but it’s a touch more shy this time. Almost bashful. “It makes it easy for me, you know. Because you’re asking like you care.”

“I do care, Beomgyu-yah,” Yeonjun says, and he wishes there could be a more reasonable way for him to express how much he did other than tugging Beomgyu into his arms to hold for as long as he could. “I… when you’re ready to talk, I’m here for you.”

Beomgyu giggles, but there’s moisture in the corner of his eye that Yeonjun is aching to rub away. “Even if it takes a while?”

“Even if it takes forever.”

An exaggeration, Yeonjun knows, but in that moment, he realizes that he means it.

—❁—

Yeonjun discovered he liked boys in high school, when he and one of the other boys in his dance club — Minhyuk, his name was — had gotten too close during one of the moves they were practicing and Yeonjun felt his heart skip a beat. His heart continued to beat like that, in a rhythm more frantic than the choreography they were learning, even when they both pulled away and went home for the day.

Some days later, Yeonjun found out that Minhyuk couldn’t get it out of his mind either, and they both satisfied their curiosity in the privacy of Minhyuk’s room while his parents were away, learning to kiss under the covers with their knees locked and their fingers in each other’s hair.

They dated for a few months, secretly; no one knew they were going out, and because of that, no one knew when they broke up either, the whole thing just fizzling out. The two promised to be friends, but only keep in touch nowadays through random Instagram likes every few months.

Yeonjun went out on a few dates with a couple of boys and a handful of girls too, just so that he could confirm that he really didn’t go there. When he came to the conclusion that, yes, he liked boys, yes, he was gay, he sat his parents down and hoped for the best.

What he got wasn’t bad, relative to the responses other people his age got, but there’s no denying it could have been better. His mother still hasn’t stopped making incisive digs about never getting to have grandchildren, and his father only managed to start initiating conversations with him again a few years ago, after he graduated.

Sometimes, Yeonjun wonders if his relationship with his parents would have been better if he wasn’t the way he was, or if he kept it to himself until he found someone worth taking home to meet his family. Over time, he’s come to stand by his decision, but he can’t deny the times when he sits and wonders what might have been, wonders what he could have had.

The moment passes, sooner rather than later. But it keeps coming back around, a cycle that Yeonjun is terrified he will never break free from.

One day, he thinks.

He hopes.

—❁—

fr: taehyunie
hyung

taehyun-ah
what’s up?

fr: taehyunie
beomgyu-hyung told me you weren’t going to tonight

you realize i have work right?
in fact you should know
you work at the same place.

fr: taehyunie
i’ll ask jisoo-noona to cover for you. she owes me a favor.
you should come, hyung.

this is ridiculous. you don’t need to spend your favor to get me to come.
besides, beomgyu and i already talked about it and he’s okay that i’m not going tonight. i’ll wait for him to get home tonight and we’ll have our own thing.

fr: taehyunie
hyung.
i really think you should come.
don’t worry about it, we’ll just see you later, okay?
i’m texting jisoo-noona.

you’re so ridiculous, taehyun-ah.
taehyun-ah?
shit.

—❁—

When Yeonjun arrives at the location Taehyun sent to him earlier that evening, he’s fairly exhausted. Taehyun got Jisoo to take half of his shift, which meant he still had time to go to Beomgyu’s birthday, but it also meant that he’d be cutting it close if he wanted to take a shower first so he wouldn’t smell completely like beer before heading over to Itaewon.

The spot they’d picked for the night was big, flashy, and full of people. He gets there shy of 11pm, and it looked like the energy in the club was only just starting to pick up. The rhythm of the music is fast and insistent; beneath his feet, Yeonjun feels like the floor is quaking.

Yeonjun is a dancer, so people naturally think that his occupation should somehow translate to him enjoying and frequenting clubs. It’s not entirely untrue, but there’s a marked difference between performing as a dancer and going out. For Yeonjun, dancing on stage is an art form meant to be witnessed, but dancing at places like this makes him want to disappear like smoke, melding into the darkness of the floor, the mass of people gobbling him up until they all blend into one. It’s strangely liberating when he has no obligation to look good or be precise. He just has to go with the flow.

That’s what it used to be like for him, anyway. Now, he can’t help but be aware of how jarring everything is. There are so many lights, and so many moving bodies bumping into him, he feels slightly disoriented. It irks him. He used to do this, used to go out nearly every weekend. Now, it’s all he can do to get out of bed every day without feeling like his bones are creaking.

He lets out an aggressive sigh, trying to will his spirit into having a better disposition. It’s Beomgyu’s day, and he wants to have a good time, for Beomgyu’s sake. Keeping his elbows to his side, he moves quickly past the groups of strangers waylaying his path, including the ones staring consideringly at him, and makes his way to the back near the DJ’s booth, where Taehyun told him they were.

“Hyung! Yeonjun-hyung!”

Yeonjun inhales so sharply it makes his head spin.

Beomgyu bounds up to him, the smile on his face so wide and delighted that tiny whiskers appear on his cheeks, creasing the rounds of them dearly. “You made it!” he crows, loud enough to be heard over the din of the music. “I’m so happy!”

Yeonjun tries to answer him, but he’s not sure if he manages to, because his brain is too busy trying to comprehend what it’s seeing — Beomgyu, with his hair somehow longer than it had been when he’d bumped into him that morning, curling soft down the back of his neck. Beomgyu, wearing a sheer sleeveless iridescent shirt that shimmered under the strobes every time he so much as breathed. Beomgyu, with pinks and lavenders rubbed over his cheeks and eyelids and pastel-colored rhinestones dotted all over his nose bridge like a smattering of bejeweled freckles.

Beomgyu, looking like he was made of cotton candy, of butterfly wings, of misty rainbows, and every little thing that Yeonjun’s ever found pretty.

Yeonjun’s fingertips tremble; Beomgyu is gorgeous. He wants to touch him so badly.

He must have been staring for too long, because Beomgyu tilts his head at him and laughs, all breathy and soft. “Yeonjun-hyung,” he mouths, because even though Yeonjun can barely hear him, he’s already committed to memory the way Beomgyu’s mouth looks when it’s shaped around his name. “Come here.”

A new song begins. Yeonjun feels Beomgyu’s hands take him by the elbows and lead him forward. “Dance with me already.”

Their knuckles brush up against each other, and their fingers intertwine. Entranced, Yeonjun steps up to him, so close that Beomgyu has to tilt his chin up to look at him. There’s a friendly, mocking defiance on his face when their eyes meet, and that is what makes Yeonjun crack up. “Well, I can’t not give the birthday boy what he wants.”

Beomgyu’s eyes light up, and when Yeonjun pulls him out to the dance floor, yelling at Taehyun, Hyeeun and the rest of their group to catch up, he’s too busy laughing to even attempt to resist.

—❁—

They dance. They dance, and dance, and dance, by themselves, with each other, with other people, letting loose and having so much fun that they don’t even notice how much time is passing.

Beomgyu is… honestly, Yeonjun doesn’t think there are words for how Beomgyu looks tonight. He’s always been pretty, but like this, all dolled up — Hyeeun tells him later that she put the extensions on herself, at Beomgyu’s request — he just looks too lovely to be real, a vision of Yeonjun’s fever dreams brought to life.

Eventually, Yeonjun doesn’t even remember arriving exhausted in the first place, especially when Beomgyu’s arm is constantly looped around his waist, the warmth of him plastered against his side. He should want to sidestep away, extricate himself to get some air, but he finds that it’s the last thing he wants to do. He likes it, having Beomgyu close, having him look up at Yeonjun with eyes sparkling and full of joy, even as he’s egging Yeonjun on. He doesn’t think he steps away from him all evening.

When the clock strikes midnight, everyone descends on Beomgyu, wrapping him up in a sweaty, messy group hug that has him yelping and screeching about how sticky everyone is.

Beomgyu turns twenty five with his arms looped around Yeonjun’s neck, a mile-wide grin on his face, and well wishes raining down on him from all directions. Yeonjun pretends not to hear the way his voice warbles and simply holds him closer, hands criss-crossed against the small of Beomgyu’s back.

“Happy birthday, Beomgyu-yah,” Yeonjun says, low and soft and only for Beomgyu to hear. He knows Beomgyu’s heard him when he gets a tight squeeze in return.

He hopes he’s happy. He hopes this night is everything he’d wanted and more.

Later, when they stumble out of the club only half-inebriated at almost five in the morning, they make the decision to wait for the trains to open instead of taking an obnoxiously expensive taxi ride across town. They migrate to the nearby GS25, and while the rest of their friends are buying ramen and soda, Yeonjun chooses to keep Beomgyu company on the curb outside.

They’re sitting on the concrete with their legs stretched out, Beomgyu resting his head on Yeonjun’s shoulder as he complains sleepily about how much his feet hurt. He’s about to crankily tell Beomgyu that aching feet are usually the result of nonstop dancing for almost six fucking hours when Beomgyu threads his arm around Yeonjun’s and lets out a gusty sigh.

“You okay, birthday boy?” Yeonjun asks after a bit, the retort dying on his tongue.

“Mmmm,” Beomgyu says. He sounds worn out. “I was just thinking.”

Yeonjun listens to Beomgyu hum, the soft melody of it keeping him alert despite the fatigue rolling through him. “About?”

He watches as Beomgyu slowly turns his head, placing his chin on the slope of Yeonjun’s shoulder. He should be annoyed at the way the sharp of it digs into his skin, but in the early morning haze, nothing feels quite real. Their breaths come out in little puffs of fog, and Beomgyu huddles even closer for warmth.

“For the first time in a while, hyung,” Beomgyu tells him, all hushed, like he’s in confession. “I think I’m happy. I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a very long time.”

The smile that slowly stretches across Beomgyu’s face after he says what he says is syrupy sweet, and all Yeonjun wants to do is to give in to his impulse to lean down and kiss him, to taste the languid warmth of it on his tongue. But even in his semi-intoxicated, half-awake state, he knows that indulging in what he wants is the last thing he should be doing, so all he does is smile back. “Yeah? I’m glad, Beomgyu-yah.”

“Mhmm,” Beomgyu murmurs. “I had so much fun. Dancing is just… it’s so fun, and I wouldn’t have gotten the idea to try it if it wasn’t for you.”

Yeonjun doesn’t expect it. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu says with a tired little nod. “I like watching you dance. You get this look on your face when you move, like… like it’s an extension of how you talk, how you communicate, how you exist. You dance, and it makes sense that it’s how you navigate living in the world.” He sighs, all gushy and plaintive. “I like it so much.”

Yeonjun tries to swallow down the lump that gets lodged in his throat, but it’s difficult, and he doesn’t think he manages. Emotion makes him choke up, and he coughs wetly. “You-that’s… I don’t think anyone’s ever talked about my dancing in that way,” he says, after a few beats. “I don’t think anyone’s ever even thought about my dancing that way.”

“You know, I’ve always talked to you about figuring out what I want to do while I’m here,” Beomgyu muses. His gaze drops to where he’s started to play with Yeonjun’s palm, pulling it into his lap so he can pluck at each of his fingers, one by one. It’s driving Yeonjun a bit insane. “You’ve never really told me about what you want to do.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Beomgyu answers, shivering slightly. The shimmer on his face is practically gone by now, and he’s nearly swaddled by the leather jacket that Yeonjun lent him when they left the club earlier, after he’d nagged at him for attempting to go out into the nearly negative degree weather with only a thin cardigan. Still, Yeonjun thinks he looks just as lovely as he did at the beginning of the evening. “What do you want to do, Yeonjun-hyung?”

“I…” Yeonjun blanks, because it’s been so long since he’s even considered the possibility of something as whimsical and impractical as a dream. “I guess I just want to be able to teach dance, full time.”

“You’d be great at it,” Beomgyu says, encouraging even as he yawns widely. “You’d be able to have more time for yourself, too.”

Yeonjun yearns for that reality — not having to rush from one job to another, going to bed at a decent time, actually waking up and allowing himself a lazy morning in more than once a week. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Beomgyu giggles. “Maybe the next time I come to Seoul, you’ll already be well on your way to that.”

Yeonjun chuckles weakly. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Beomgyu tells him, so quietly confident that Yeonjun can do nothing but tug him close, squeeze him tight.

“It’s your birthday, why am I the one getting the pep talk?”

Beomgyu snuggles up to him even closer. Yeonjun feels like a furnace, even though it’s supposed to be winter’s last hurrah before spring rolls in. “Maybe this is for me too, hyung.”

They stay like that, huddling together for warmth and maybe something else, until Taehyun comes out to tell them that the trains have already started to run for the day.

—❁—

Because they wake up at the ungodly hour of three in the afternoon, they decide to spend the rest of Beomgyu's birthday lazing around the apartment instead of trying to find something productive or celebratory to do. Well, Beomgyu decides it. Yeonjun is just following his lead.

Yeonjun orders tteokbokki and splurges on a fancy meat set for them to share for dinner, and he takes out the small cake he'd stashed in the refrigerator yesterday before he'd left for his half shift at work.

"Make a wish," he tells Beomgyu. Beomgyu clasps his hands and closes his eyes, whispering unintelligibly under his breath. Yeonjun squirms when his wishes draw out for too long, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Yah, Beomgyu-yah, blow out your candles already," Yeonjun grouses. "This cake isn't light, you know."

The way the corner of Beomgyu's mouth quirks informs Yeonjun that he's been done with his wishing for awhile now; Yeonjun puts the cake down on the kitchen table so that he can chase Beomgyu around the apartment until they collapse, winded and wheezing, next to each other on the living room table.

"You're too easy," Beomgyu tells Yeonjun smugly, reaching over to cover Yeonjun's mouth with his hand when he threatens to retort. "None of that, it's my birthday today."

Yeonjun tries to glare at Beomgyu over his cupped palm, ignoring his proximity because the laugh that brays out of him is loud and obnoxious. He wants to be annoyed, because Beomgyu is being annoying, but he can't help the fond that blossoms in his chest when he sees how delighted Beomgyu is just because he thinks he's pulled one over Yeonjun.

Beomgyu's giggles peter out, and he leans away from Yeonjun, taking his hand with him. "I'm just kidding, hyung," he says, the grin he sends Yeonjun sheepish at the edges. "Really."

You're not wrong though, Yeonjun wants to blurt out.

"You better be," he grumbles, instead. Beomgyu coos at his pout, and they slap playfully at each other when Yeonjun tries to avoid Beomgyu's attempts to squeeze his cheeks together.

"Hyung, let go, it's my birthday!"

"You can't keep using that excuse," Yeonjun grunts. He maneuvers Beomgyu around, trying to get him to stop wiggling. Letting out a frustrated grunt, Yeonjun goes on his knees before he grabs Beomgyu around the waist. He moves fast, pinning a squawking Beomgyu underneath his knees and keeping him in place with arms bracketed on either side of Beomgyu's shoulders.

"Give up," Yeonjun insists, staring down into Beomgyu's flushed, panting face.

"I..." Beomgyu stutters, and he stills for a charged few seconds before rolling out from beneath Yeonjun, scrambling until he can get up and away. Yeonjun's barely recovered from the sight of him before he’s gone.

"Never!" Beomgyu calls out, laughing giddily until Yeonjun can hear the door to his bedroom slam shut.

With a groan, Yeonjun sits back down on the floor, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. How childish, he thinks, but he can't help but smile.

It's nice, seeing him so bright and vibrant. So full of joy. So different from how he was at the beginning.

A part of Yeonjun can't help but think about how the definition of what a typical day is for him has shifted to incorporate having this boy in every part of it -- running into Beomgyu in the kitchen on days he gets up early, meeting Beomgyu for an early dinner, finding him curled up on the sofa, dozing lightly because he'd ended up waiting for Yeonjun to come home from work. It's only been two and a half months, but he's there, sidling into every frame, tucking himself into every corner, showing up even when he doesn't expect him to, until Yeonjun finds that he's more used to his presence than otherwise.

Yeonjun wonders how this boy has managed to, in such a short amount of time, entwine himself so tightly in his life, so tight that Yeonjun knows that when he leaves, he knows he won't be able to ignore the Beomgyu-shaped indents in his life that he'll be leaving in his wake.

It feels mildly ludicrous, when he thinks about it, but it doesn't make it any less true.

—❁—

There's a boy in Yeonjun's dance class. His name is Lee Heeseung, and he likes Beomgyu.

Yeonjun hasn't heard him say so, but he can tell. He can tell by the way he's constantly hovering around Beomgyu whenever Yeonjun calls for a brief water break, by the way he's always volunteering to help him stretch, by the way he's constantly trying to make him laugh.

He doesn't think much of it -- Beomgyu is kind of take-you-out-by-the-knees pretty, regardless of which team you played for. It's his effect on people, and Yeonjun is used to it. Lee Heeseung is not the first person to have a crush on Beomgyu and he won't be the last.

Yeonjun ends their class after a slow cool down session, and he lets everyone know they've all done well. From the corner of his eye, he can see Beomgyu beam at him, and he pretends to look away so he can bite back the smile his face tries to make in response.

He's setting up for his next class when he hears Heeseung ask Beomgyu out for coffee, making it clear in no uncertain terms that it’s a date. It happens so fast Yeonjun hardly has time to feel sorry about his inevitable rejection, which is why he almost drops the phone he's using to connect to the speakers when he hears Beomgyu say yes.

Yeonjun moves on autopilot for the rest of his day. He thinks. He tries not to fixate on it, because it’s Beomgyu’s life and Beomgyu’s decision and if he wants to go out with Lee Heeseung, then he could and should. If there’s a voice at the back of his head persistently whining about why it wasn’t him, that’s for him and him alone to worry about, no one else.

The more he tries to forget about it, the longer he thinks about it, and by the time he opens the door to his apartment, dragging his feet after what seemed like the longest shift in the world, he feels like shit.

Beomgyu’s still in the living room when he gets in, lying down with his legs hanging off the couch arm. He lifts his head when he hears Yeonjun arrive, eyes tired but looking pleased to see him. “Hi hyung,” he croaks out in greeting.

Yeonjun frowns. “What are you doing still up? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Beomgyu shrugs; he swings his calves off the couch and sits up, adjusting his shirt where it’s ridden up his stomach. Yeonjun busies himself with putting away his winter jacket and his bag. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Shouldn’t you get some beauty rest for your date?” Yeonjun doesn’t mean to sound this harsh. He’s not sure where this sharp, abrasive tone is coming from, but when he sees Beomgyu’s eyes widen minutely in shock, he knows it’s too late to take it back.

“You…” Beomgyu starts, before shaking his head, as if in disbelief. “Hyung, do you have a problem with me going out with someone from your class?” He pushes himself up off the couch, stopping just in front of Yeonjun with his arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“No,” Yeonjun says, the lie slipping out easily. “You can go out with whoever you want. I’m not your guardian.”

“Could have fooled me,” Beomgyu mutters, loud enough for Yeonjun to hear. Loud enough for Yeonjun to know that Beomgyu wanted him to hear.

Something about the belligerent purse of his mouth sets Yeonjun off. Irritation sinks its claws into him. “It’s not fair to the kid, you know. Saying yes, leading him on like that.”

Beomgyu’s lips thin, and he’s very, very still. “Leading him on?”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun says, barreling on. “You shouldn’t lead the kid on if you don’t have any intentions of actually having feelings for him given that you’re… that you don’t like guys.” He pauses, and can’t meet Beomgyu’s gaze. “It’s not fair to the boy or to anyone.”

“Choi Yeonjun,” he hears Beomgyu spit out, sharp and angry. It cuts through the heavy air between them, slicing it into ribbons. “You don’t know everything about me. Don’t you dare make assumptions, about me or my life or what I want. Who I want.”

Yeonjun feels something white-hot and ugly surging inside him; it takes everything inside him to keep it tamped down. You don’t know everything about me keeps ringing in his ears. He barely manages. “So Lee Heeseung is who you want?”

“That’s none of your business,” Beomgyu snaps.

“Obviously,” Yeonjun snorts. He shakes his head, derisive. “You don’t get it, but I don’t expect you to. You’re just a boy playing make believe, pretending to be someone you’re not before you pack it all up and go back to where you came from without suffering the consequences. But the people you’re with, here? People like Heeseung? These are our realities. You can’t play with people’s emotions just because you don’t have to deal with the fallout, like what you’re doing to whoever you’re running from now.”

For a second, Yeonjun thinks he might have just thought those words rather than said them. He doesn’t think he’s ever uttered anything so petty, so atrociously vindictive in his life, and he didn’t think today was the day he would start. But he sees Beomgyu’s eyes go stormy, livid, before icing over into something completely unrecognizable, and he knows he’s said every word out loud.

Fuck.

“I’m going to stay with Taehyun tonight,” Beomgyu tells him, anger simmering underneath the cold of his tone. He turns around to pick up his phone from the table and goes back into his room, closing the door firmly behind him, an indication that he does not want Yeonjun to follow.

Yeonjun is in the bathroom, washing his face, when he hears a succession of openings and closings — Beomgyu’s bedroom, the kitchen cabinet, the small closet where they keep their coats, and finally, the front door. After that, utter silence.

His apartment hasn’t been this quiet in months.

After the things he said, he knows Beomgyu will be needing space — they both do. Still, he picks up his phone.

Taehyun lives about five minutes away by the cab that Yeonjun knows Beomgyu will be taking this late in the evening. Yeonjun doesn’t deserve it, but he sends a message to Taehyun asking him to let him know when Beomgyu gets there anyway.

He exhales, rubbing at his temples. He doesn’t expect to get much sleep tonight.

—❁—

Taehyun keeps looking over at him.

Yeonjun knows that he’s concerned, not necessarily about him, but about the situation. Beomgyu’s stayed with Taehyun for two nights now, and although they seem to have become very close friends in the two-ish months they’ve known each other, Yeonjun knows that it’s not Taehyun’s responsibility to house him for much longer. Still, Yeonjun finds it easier to pretend not to see Taehyun’s glances, and chooses instead to continue making drinks morosely.

During their common break, Taehyun finally sidles up to him, his mouth a determined little line. “Aren’t you going to ask about him, hyung?”

Yeonjun turns away to throw the napkins he has bunched in his hand into the trash. “Cheol-hyung wants us to take out the crates he set out by the back door,” he says to Taehyun, sidestepping his question, clumsy with it.

He can feel Taehyun’s consternation even with his back turned. “He’s going on a date today. After work.” Taehyun lifts the bin Yeonjun’s frozen in front of, nudging him out of the way. “Just so you know.”

And even though he has absolutely no right to do so, Yeonjun sulks for the rest of the evening anyway.

—❁—

Beomgyu is home when Yeonjun opens the door.

He’s a little surprised, but he doesn’t say a thing, just continues to put away his winter cover in an effort to stall a very uncomfortable conversation he’s not sure he’s ready to have yet.

Besides, he needs the time to think about the stuff he wants to say, and he can’t really manage that when his first sight of Beomgyu after what feels like ages is him in a soft, white blouse that cuts low and square, showing off his wide shoulders and the slant of his pretty, sharp collarbones.

“Hyung.”

Yeonjun bites his lip, and nods. “Beomgyu-yah.”

Beomgyu gets up from the kitchen table and walks over to him, slow and purposeful, and Yeonjun feels like a man crawling through the desert, his throat scratchy and parched. There’s glitter smeared over his cheekbones, and gloss glazed over his bottom lip. His hair is long enough now to have it swept away from his face in a half-ponytail.

Every step he takes towards Yeonjun feels like a kick to the shins. He still looks upset. He’s still extraordinarily beautiful. “I’m mad at you.”

“I know.”

“I’m really mad at you.”

“I know,” Yeonjun repeats. He shoves his hands in his pockets as a precaution, so that he doesn’t do anything stupid like reach out and pull Beomgyu into his arms. “I deserve it.”

Realistically, he knows that there are many ways this conversation can go, the many ways it can spiral down several different routes. He’s turned it over and over in his head, always splitting hairs between what was fair and what he wanted. They didn’t always equate to the same thing, but there was only one certainty. Regardless of how this night would end, and in all the ways this conversation went in his mind, it was imperative for Yeonjun to do just one thing.

So he does just that — he tucks it all away, all that yearning he’s become accustomed to over the past few months, and simply nods at Beomgyu. “I’m sorry.”

Beomgyu stares at him, the dark liner framing his eyes making them look more intense than Yeonjun is used to. “Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

“For making up all these notions in my head about you,” Yeonjun says, voice low. The windows are open, he notices, just a crack; it makes him wonder how Beomgyu can withstand the chill. He’s usually so quick to shiver. “For not just asking you in the first place. And for lashing out at you going on a date you wanted to go on.”

“Hyung, I didn’t know you thought all those things about me,” Beomgyu says. He crosses his arms, frowning. “I thought… I thought you’d become one of my closest friends. Almost as close as Soobin-hyung.” To Yeonjun’s alarm, he thinks he hears the beginning of a sniffle. “I guess I was wrong.”

This is not part of the scenarios Yeonjun had gamed out in his head. Beomgyu is supposed to be angry at him. He’s supposed to yell and shout at him, and Yeonjun is supposed to take it all, without question, because he’s in the wrong. He doesn’t even need to be forgiven, not right away, at least — he’s willing to work to earn it. At the end of the day, Yeonjun wants, more than anything, for Beomgyu to be okay.

Beomgyu crying is not part of the plan.

“Hey, Beomgyu-yah,” Yeonjun pleads, voice flicking high and plaintive. He reaches out and takes Beomgyu by the elbows. When he doesn’t flinch, he makes a tentative step closer. “Hey. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to say what I said, I was just confused and I was just…”

Yeonjun shakes off the anxiety of telling Beomgyu the truth, because he’d rather make a fool of himself confessing rather than see Beomgyu shed a tear on his account. “I was jealous, Gyu-yah. I was stupid and I was jealous and because of that, I hurt you.”

He thinks he hears the hitch in Beomgyu’s inhale. “You-you were jealous?”

Yeonjun sighs and lays down his hand. “I was,” he says, and the relief he feels at finally being able to say it out loud is so ludicrous, he’s almost dizzy. “I was, because… fuck, I’m kind of crazy about you, Beomgyu-yah.”

In his hands, he feels Beomgyu tremble.

He rambles on when Beomgyu doesn’t say anything, the only sounds he hears being his heavy, shuddered breaths. “And I’m sorry for everything, for reacting like a jerk about you going on a date with Heeseung when liking you is my problem, for shoving my feelings onto you like this, for having to deal with me like this. You don’t have to do anything, or explain anything to me, Gyu-yah. Hyung’s so sorry you feel like you have to do that.”

“You tell me what you want,” Yeonjun finishes, the earlier euphoria of his confession fading away with every beat of silence that hangs between them. “I’ll do it. If you want to move out, stay with Taehyun instead… if you don’t want to be around me anymore, I’ll understand.” He squeezes Beomgyu’s arms lightly, trying not to let the tears that have been threatening to spill out. “Just please—”

“I went on a date tonight,” Beomgyu interrupts him, his head bent low. Yeonjun can’t tell what he’s thinking, barely seeing him through the fringe of his bangs.

“I-I know,” Yeonjun answers quietly. “Taehyun told me.”

“I cut it short.”

Yeonjun makes a small sound of surprise. “You did?” A nod. “Why?”

“Because the whole time I was sitting with Heeseung, all I could think about was all the things I wanted to yell at you about,” Beomgyu says, his voice cracking at the end. Yeonjun would have laughed, incredulous, if his heart didn’t squeeze, didn’t ache so horribly at how miserable Beomgyu sounded. “All these things you’re harboring in your head about me… all the things I’ve stopped myself from telling you about because I thought you wouldn’t want to hear them from me.”

Every stolen glance, every shy smile, every accidental brush of their fingers… they all crowd into Yeonjun’s brain, flashing through his head like some kind of film montage he’d kept under lock and key, not allowing himself a moment to pore over them because he’d been too afraid of being crushed over what they meant to him alone.

“Beomgyu-yah,” Yeonjun says, swallowing thickly. His fingers crawl up Beomgyu’s biceps, clutch at his shoulders. “I… what do you mean?”

His hands move up Beomgyu’s neck to cup his face, to tilt his chin up so Yeonjun can look him in the eye when he listens to what Beomgyu has to say. His bottom lip is worried red and he gulps when their gazes lock; Yeonjun sees his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. Even on the brink of tears, he is so lovely. “Beomgyu-yah,” Yeonjun says, low and questing. “Please tell me what you mean.”

Beomgyu’s eyes are still watery; gentle hands encircle Yeonjun’s wrists, and for a split second, Yeonjun is afraid that Beomgyu is going to push himself out of his hold. “Hyung,” he tells Yeonjun, voice raspy. “There’s so many things we still need to talk about. So many. I have things to say, and so do you.” Beomgyu releases a broken-sounding noise when Yeonjun leans over to bump their foreheads together, the exhale he lets out pitching up into a whine. “But right now, please, I need you to kiss me before I lose my mind.”

Yeonjun’s surging forward before Beomgyu even finishes his sentence, body moving on auto-pilot. When he dips his head to taste Beomgyu’s pink, glossy lips, when he takes in Beomgyu’s sweet little sound of surrender, when he drags Beomgyu into the circle of his arms to bring him closer, closer, closer, all Yeonjun can think of is—finally.

Fucking finally.

—❁—

Yeonjun wakes up to the soft slide of Beomgyu’s mouth against the side of his throat. The sound that rumbles from deep in his chest when he stretches is one of muddled contentment, and he reaches a hand around Beomgyu’s bare waist to bring him closer to his side, sleep-warm and cozy. His eyes aren’t even open when he presses a kiss against the top of his head. “Hi.”

“Good morning,” Beomgyu replies, his voice still rusty from slumber. “I called in sick today.”

“Did you?” Yeonjun finally cracks an eye open; the sunlight streaming through his window is bright and lively, but not as welcome as the sight of Beomgyu leaning over him, a lazy, pleased smile on his face. Yeonjun lifts a hand to brush away the hair falling into Beomgyu’s face, to thumb at the corner of his eye, where sleep and the remnants of his eyeshadow mingle. “Are you sure they won’t miss you?”

“I have more important things to do,” Beomgyu says, just a touch groggy. He giggles sleepily, before dipping his head and biting at Yeonjun’s jaw; his tongue pushes out to lick against where his teeth had been. Even just awakened, Yeonjun can feel pleasure stirring deep in his gut.

Memories of the previous night flood his senses — Beomgyu underneath him, Beomgyu and his mouth slack with pleasure, Beomgyu’s mouth wrapped around the sound of his name as he peaked — and Yeonjun is helpless to the way they make his blood heat up, to the way his thoughts go base.

His hand snakes up to clutch at the back of Beomgyu’s head, and he rolls them both over until he’s the one braced over him, staring down into Beomgyu’s face — he takes it all in, the flush splotching his skin, the way he’s worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he gazes up at Yeonjun, the look in his eyes, half-lidded and wanting.

He’s struck with the knowledge that that’s what’s been in his eyes all this time. Want.

For him.

“I still can’t believe I get to do this,” Yeonjun tells him; the sound of his voice is reverent, even to his ears. “That you think of me this way.”

“Me too, hyung,” Beomgyu croons giddily, gasping when Yeonjun latches onto a spot behind his ear. His whole body jerks, his arms coming up around Yeonjun’s neck to pull him down onto him. “Don’t stop. Please, hyung.”

Yeonjun doesn’t stop. He doesn’t think he could stop if he tried.

Later, Yeonjun tells him he needs to leave the bed because he’s hungry and it’s almost noon. Beomgyu, wrapped around him like a vine, rolls his eyes and lets him climb out, diving deeper under the covers when he does. He looks over his shoulder to ask Beomgyu what he wants to have for lunch so he can order ahead, and catches a glimpse of Beomgyu peeking out from under his navy blue sheets, curling into the warm space he’d left behind.

He thinks it’s almost audible, the sound his heart makes as it tumbles helplessly, inevitably into the fall.

“What are you thinking about, hyung?”

Beomgyu’s lifted his head to look at Yeonjun, frozen in place at the foot of the bed. He raises a curious eyebrow at him, but it’s paired with a sweet, almost knowing grin.

“Ramen,” Yeonjun supplies, his tongue feeling heavy and useless in his mouth. “I want ramen for lunch.”

Beomgyu snorts, and waves a hand at him in dismissal. “Of course you do. Go on, then. I’ll meet you in the kitchen later.”

—❁—

After Yeonjun clears away the cartons of takeout and Beomgyu washes the utensils they used — disgustingly familial of them, Yeonjun thinks, but he tucks that thought away for another day — they boil a pot of water and take steaming mugs of tea (green) into the living room with them, deeming the day too far gone already for coffee. Yeonjun stares out the window, into the street, while he waits for Beomgyu to settle.

He's musing about passing by the corner bakery to buy some cream puffs that he thinks Beomgyu hasn't tried yet when his train of thought is interrupted by Beomgyu uttering a single word.

"Soohyun."

Yeonjun lifts his head, distracted. "Hmm? Did you say something?"

Beomgyu is sitting on the other side of the couch, a distant look on his face and legs crammed underneath Yeonjun's mother's throw. His fingers can't stop fidgeting, plucking at the thick yarn, digging deep into the threads until his hands are all muddled up in them. "The... girl I was married to. Soohyun is her name." Beomgyu swallows, lips going flat, like there's a sour taste in his mouth that he can't get rid of. "Jang Soohyun. She's the daughter of the vice president at our family's company. She's a year younger than me. She wanted to be a lawyer."

He exhales, and the sound of it is exhausted to Yeonjun’s ears. "Instead, she had to be my wife."

Yeonjun wraps his hands around his own mug, unsure about how to respond. There is a not insignificant part of him that yearns to reach out and still Beomgyu's restless hands with his own, but he's not sure if he'd appreciate the gesture. He looks a little lost in his own world right now, and Yeonjun wants to wait for him to ask for the assist before he imposes himself. "I... I see."

"Do you know, hyung," Beomgyu continues, after taking a sip from his rapidly cooling tea. "When I was growing up back home, I was... well, I was raised never to want for anything.” He shudders. “That sounds conceited, but it's true. I was comfortable growing up, so I had somehow deluded myself into thinking that I could do whatever I wanted."

Another sip. A wave of his hand. "Be whoever I wanted, without any care in the world."

"You had a happy childhood," Yeonjun murmurs, nodding. He pictures a much younger Beomgyu, filled with so much of the spirit he's learned to recognize is uniquely Beomgyu’s own — the nearly frenetic energy, the unexpected introspection, the depth of his character, the warmth of his affection.

The image makes his chest feel full and tight. How easy it must have been to adore him. "I’m glad."

Beomgyu shrugs, leaning his chin against the backrest. The look on his face is deeply contemplative. "When you put it that way, you're right. I did have a happy childhood. But I learned, in time, that that upbringing had a price. I could do whatever I wanted, be whoever I wanted — but only if it was something or someone my family approved of."

"What happened, Beomgyu-yah?" Yeonjun asks, softly. When Beomgyu takes a while to answer, Yeonjun ignores his earlier misgivings and moves closer to Beomgyu, close enough to reach out and delicately bracelet his wrists with his fingers, helping him extricate himself from the tangles of his mother's blanket. "Did they... did they make you get married because they found out about..."

The way Beomgyu jolts when Yeonjun's fingers link with his has Yeonjun murmuring at him, like he's handling a cornered, terrified cat. "Hey, don't worry about it. We don't have to talk about—"

"No, hyung, you—I need you to know about this. I want to be honest with you, because hiding away what happened led to us having that shitty argument," Beomgyu reasons, shaking his head. "And I... you've been so kind to me. You've done so much—you have." Yeonjun has his mouth open, ready to tell him that he hasn't really done anything, truly, but Beomgyu all but climbs into his lap, shaking his shoulders insistently. "Hyung, I can’t believe you don't, you don't know, all you've done for me."

It’s become like second nature by now, for Yeonjun's hands to journey up Beomgyu's thighs, to belt around the curves of his waist. "It's really nothing, Beomgyu-yah," Yeonjun rebuffs, lowering his head when he feels the tips of his ears start to heat. For all of his bravado, Yeonjun's one Achilles Heel has always been learning to take a genuine, heartfelt compliment. "All I did was take you around the city, give you a few dance lessons..."

"Hyung," Beomgyu whines, and Yeonjun grunts back when Beomgyu starts to shake him back and forth. "Listen to me, please. Aish, we really don't know how to communicate with each other, don't we? Not about the stuff that matters deep down." He puffs his cheeks out, almost mournfully. "Okay, let me continue so I can lead up to the point I want to make."

"Be my guest, Gyu-yah," Yeonjun acquiesces, reluctantly letting Beomgyu slip out of his grip and lean back against the other side of the couch.

“Around my age where I’m from, people start to look at you different if you didn't have a family or a career, and my parents thought that I wouldn’t have either without their intervention,” Beomgyu explains. “It’s just how it was. I was a fool to think I was an exception.”

“Did you… didn’t you talk about it, at all?” Yeonjun asks, curiously.

“No. We never did. I suppose they themselves thought that it went without saying, because my brother did the whole thing — university, a longtime girlfriend who eventually became my sister-in-law, a job in the sales department of the family business right after he graduated — without their needing to discuss it with him,” Beomgyu says, melancholy touching his tone. “I love my brother. Don’t get me wrong. None of this was his doing, and he didn’t contribute to the pressure in any way. It’s just that… I’m not my brother. I thought they knew that.”

Yeonjun purses his lips, wishing there was some way for him to go back and hold that lovely lonely boy. “You’re not. I’m sorry you thought you had to be.”

Beomgyu pauses to peer closely at him, before shaking his head, a wry grin on his face. “I’m sorry I thought so, too.”

“I never actually thought about settling down early,” he continues, after Yeonjun reaches out to pat him on the knee. “I, I told you before that I enlisted right after high school and then went to university. That path, it wasn't really anything groundbreaking. Plenty of my friends, that's what we did. It's just what was done. Except a bunch of them ended up getting engaged or just straight up got married right after graduation."

Yeonjun braces an elbow against the frame of the couch and leans on his balled-up fist. "Go on," he says, reassuring, when Beomgyu looks to have lost his train of thought. "I'm listening."

Beomgyu brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. Like this, he looks so small. So easily lost. "It's not that I... that I never thought about getting married, or having a family. But I'd always thought of them in distant, abstract terms. Like, yes, that might be something I want down the line, but I never really pictures anyone specific when I actually thought about being in a relationship, or even dating, until my grandparents started pressuring my parents, and they started pressuring me."

His heart twinges, and he makes a sympathetic face at Beomgyu. "You were focused on other things."

"Yeah, yeah I was," Beomgyu nods. The smile he gives Yeonjun then is sardonic. "I had school, I had my friends, I had music and art and my games and so many other things I enjoyed doing. Dating anyone was the last thing on my mind."

"So how did things turn out the way they did?" Yeonjun asks. His tea is getting cold.

Beomgyu runs a finger along the rim of his mug, before putting it back down on the coffee table. "My mother took me aside one day, just before I graduated. She told me that my grandparents were disappointed that I hadn’t looked like I had any intentions of dating, and so they had to take matters into their own hands. They employed the services of a matchmaker for my prospects."

He chuckled mirthlessly. "Disappointed. Even though my brother is the official heir apparent, they still needed me to do my part for both the business and the expansion of the clan.” Beomgyu shrugs his shoulders, cocking his head at Yeonjun curiously. “Did Soobin-hyung tell you that I’m part of the Gyeongju Chois?"

Yeonjun shakes his head. "No, but that makes sense, with your family being super invested in you."

“There wasn’t anything for me to do,” Beomgyu says. He places his chin on the top of his knees, the frames of his lashes casting long, dark shadows against his cheeks. “I used to think of my grandparents as the people who gave me my favorite toys and books growing up. I stayed with them for entire summers, raised the parrot they’d gifted me when I was fourteen. They gave me my first electric guitar, and paid for my driving lessons. I… I thought they loved me.” He shakes his head, somber. “But now I know… this whole time, I’d just been some kind of investment for them, and a failed one at that.”

Yeonjun is alarmed at the sheen of moisture that starts to cling at the corners of Beomgyu’s eyes. “Gyu-yah…”

He shakes his head, clears his throat. “I’m not going to cry, hyung. Don’t worry about it,” he says, trying to hide away the sniffle that sneaks out. Yeonjun finds the tissue hidden behind the lamp and hands it to him anyway. “I’m done being upset about it.”

Yeonjun nods in understanding. He knows what that feels like. “What did your parents say about the matchmaker?”

Beomgyu shrugs, before he pulls out a couple of sheets from the box, just in case. “They didn’t fight it. Probably because they felt the same. They were worried, you see, that I would be the progeny that would risk my grandparents’ wrath, and their inheritance.” He waves them around, flimsily. “Anyway, they found what they thought was a good match for our family, not too far from the company, in the form of Jang Soohyun.”

Yeonjun thinks about her, this faceless girl who used to be married to Beomgyu. It’s a strange feeling, to feel so much sympathy and envy for a person he’s never met before. “Did you know each other for long before you had to get married?”

Beomgyu lets his head fall back, mouth agape as he tries to recall. “Uh, probably about two months or so? We, uh, we weren’t married for very long.” He sits back up, the look on his face somber as he starts fiddling with the blanket again. “Almost four months. Less than a season, if you think about it.”

He gets lost in thought, caught up in his own memories. “How was it?” Yeonjun hums, trying to bring him around again. “Being married? If you’re willing to talk about it.”

“I don’t think my experience is any way indicative of what it’s like being married,” Beomgyu says, wincing. “It was nothing like what I saw of my parents’ marriage, which was happy enough, I guess.”

“Do you… do you want to start at the beginning?” Yeonjun offers; he drags Beomgyu’s legs over his lap, hoping he can provide even a modicum of comfort.

“I… It happened so fast,” Beomgyu starts off meekly, stuttering over his words. “I put my foot down at having a big wedding, so all we did was have this civil ceremony and a small reception with our families. It was so awkward between us. I think I talked to Soobin-hyung during the dinner more than the person I’d just married.”

“When we got married, that was only the third time we’d even met in person. When we moved into our house? That was even worse, because no one was around to be a buffer, and we had to suffer endless meals in so much awkward, excruciating silence.”

Yeonjun’s grip on his ankles tightens.

“We didn’t know each other, and we didn’t want to know each other. I could, I could barely look at her. We didn’t even…” He trails off, and scrunches up his face. Yeonjun would think him adorable if he wasn’t in so much visible distress. “You know…”

“Did you know? I mean, when you got married—?”

“I didn’t,” Beomgyu says, picking up right away on what Yeonjun’s trying to fumble around asking. “I mean, I probably did. I just…” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes; Yeonjun waits for him to find his own words. “I didn’t really think about my preferences, because I never really liked anyone enough to make myself think about it. I thought I had the luxury of time to figure it out, and not have it forced upon me because my ex-wife tried to initiate having sex with me and my response was to run away.”

Beomgyu is so, so red. “She was, we were both humiliated.” He worries his bottom lip until Yeonjun fears he’ll split it open. “After that, we barely stayed in the same room together. She was too embarrassed, and I was just so miserable. Eventually, the house my grandparents had rented for us to stay in felt far too small, like a cage. A trap, for both of us.”

He lifts the wad of tissues in his hand to his eyes, scrubbing like he’s trying to erase his features off his face. Yeonjun gently pulls at his wrist when his cheeks start to irritate. “Beomgyu-yah…”

“I wasn’t fair to her,” Beomgyu says, his voice sandpaper-gritty. “The more removed I am from that time in my life, the more I think about how much worse the situation was for her than it was for me.”

Yeonjun rubs careful circles into Beomgyu’s palms, trying to get him to calm, trying to bring him back from the edge. “What’s she like?”

“Soohyunnie?” Beomgyu asks; his eyes go foggy when he considers how to respond. “She’s… I don’t know. Quiet, but very determined. She liked to read and cook, and she kept a nice garden in her parents’ house. We didn’t talk much, beyond a lot of small conversations about food and the weather.” He sighs, morose. “In another universe, we probably would have been, well, I wouldn’t say friends, but we would have gotten along well enough.”

“Neither of us wanted this,” he continues, but his voice cracks at the end of his sentence. Yeonjun’s eyes widen with alarm. “I was selfish. I’ll admit it. I was only thinking of myself when I begged both our parents for a divorce. I didn’t—I didn’t even tell her about it before I went to them, and she never even complained, not a single word, even when she was signing the papers.”

“I’m so grateful to her, and so sorry too. I wouldn’t change a thing about it, and if I had the chance, I’d do it all over again, just so I could end up here.” Yeonjun nods, wordless. He can’t agree more. “But I can’t help but feel guilty about how I get to have this — have you — after everything I’ve done to her.” The ends of his mouth tug down, involuntary and telltale; a second later, his face crumples. “After everything I’ve done.”

Yeonjun can’t stand not being able to hold him anymore, not when Beomgyu looks this devastated. He shifts, tugging Beomgyu against his side so he can tuck his head under his chin. “Hey now, shhh. None of this was your fault,” he tells him, in a tone he hopes is comforting. He screws his eyes shut, trying his best for his speech not to waver. “It was a hard situation for everyone, and I’m sorry for you both. I’m so sorry.”

Beomgyu clutches at the arm Yeonjun has wrapped around him, burying his head into the curve of Yeonjun’s neck as he lets out loud, heart clenching, shuddering sobs. Yeonjun holds him tight through it all, not even caring about the large splotches of wetness that have started to stain his skin. He doesn’t care, doesn’t want Beomgyu to stop — he only hopes he’ll feel better once it’s over.

“Hyung… hyung,” Beomgyu says, the sound of his voice thick and muffled against the cotton of Yeonjun’s shirt. “You have to know, I have to tell you…” He pulls away, and even with his nose running and tears tracking silver down his cheeks, Yeonjun’s heart clenches at how much he adores him. “My parents told me to go here to figure out if I had what it took to be of use to the family, and instead I found you. I found you, I found dance, I found my art again, and I found joy in the new and in the things I used to love.”

Beomgyu reaches out to hold Yeonjun’s face; the smile on his face is gentle and dear. “And most importantly, I found me.”

Yeonjun is mercilessly undone. A sob erupts from his own throat, and he presses his lips to Beomgyu’s knuckles, worn tender in his grip.

“Hyung, you played such a big part in helping me find that again,” Beomgyu warbles, and Yeonjun would have teased him relentlessly if he wasn’t feeling so weak in the knees himself. “I’m glad I was finally able to tell you. It means the world to me, you know, that you know what you’ve done for me, what you’ve changed in m—”

Yeonjun curls his fingers around the back of Beomgyu’s nape, tugging until he can kiss him, soft and slow and deep. Beomgyu gasps in surprise, his tiny fist clutching at the collar of Yeonjun’s shirt as he pulls him closer, his palm laying flat against the small of his back. Like this, Yeonjun can feel the heat of his tongue, taste the salt of his tears, and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough. He wants to keep him enveloped here, in his arms, for as long as he can. For as long as he’s there.

“You’ve changed me too, Gyu-yah,” Yeonjun says, insistent, mouthing it against the curve of Beomgyu’s cheek. He scatters searching kisses along Beomgyu’s jaw until he finds purchase in his lovely, spit-slick pout. “You have to know that, too. You mean so much to me, so much.”

Beomgyu sobs, wordless, in response; Yeonjun swallows that down too.

Some time later, they transfer from the couch back into Yeonjun’s bed, and Beomgyu conks out for a twilight nap. Yeonjun knows he should start preparing to leave for his evening turn at the bar, but it’s the last thing he wants to do, not when he feels so content staring up at the ceiling, carding his fingers through Beomgyu’s hair as the sky outside his window darkens from a tepid blue into a deep murky black.

Beomgyu shifts in his sleep to cuddle even closer to Yeonjun, making a pillow of his chest. His eyes are creased with exhaustion, and dried up vestiges of his tears still remain, but for now, Yeonjun thinks he looks at peace. Relief, airy and buoyant, fills his lungs.

He leans forward and kisses the top of Beomgyu’s head, wondering if this was what it felt like to love.

—❁—

Spring arrives and brings with it gentle rains, cherry blossoms, and the whimsical lackadaisy of beginnings.

In truth, it feels a bit like a dream, this pattern that Yeonjun’s everyday has fallen into. He doesn’t want it to end. His routine doesn’t change much, no; he still gets home at ungodly hours, still takes on extra sessions to teach for fun at the studio, still wakes up too late for breakfast and too early for lunch. The only change is that, now, Beomgyu is there in a way that Yeonjun hasn’t gotten used to yet, but is pleased about, nonetheless.

If you asked him, aside from the shift in their physical dynamics, there wasn’t much difference between roommate-Beomgyu and roommate-that-I-have-sex-with-Beomgyu, other than the fact that Yeonjun doesn’t have to disguise his affection in sideway glances and carefully-timed arm strokes anymore. Beomgyu is still Beomgyu — considerate, lovely, occasionally bratty — except this time Yeonjun gets to kiss him whenever they both want to.

And boy do they want to.

“Hyung,” Beomgyu giggles into the pucker of Yeonjun’s pout. “I’m serious, I need to go right now or else I’m going to be late.” Yeonjun would believe he meant it more if he didn’t wind his arms around Yeonjun’s neck to pull him closer, if he didn’t slip his knee between Yeonjun’s legs to rub their ankles together, the heat kindling between them chasing away the leftover winter chill. “Hyung.”

Yeonjun usually hates waking up earlier than he has to, but when Beomgyu keeps toying at the cuts of his chest with his lazy fingers, keeps dropping feather-soft kisses along the dots of his spine, getting up is clearly the clever man’s choice.

“I’m not stopping you,” Yeonjun chuckles, dragging his teeth down Beomgyu’s throat and nosing at his nape. He smells so good, he always smells so good — Yeonjun doesn’t think he’ll ever get the scent of him out of his head, the unique blend of lemon and sweet florals that made its home in the warm of Beomgyu’s skin.

“Aren’t you?” Beomgyu retorts. The smile that slants across his face is charming, almost wolfish; it lays down a challenge that Yeonjun is eager to meet, over and over.

Neither of them talk about defining what they are, and at first it suits Yeonjun fine. He doesn’t need labels for what they have — it’s enough that he makes Beomgyu smile, that Beomgyu allows him to shower him with all the pent-up affection he’s stored for months, that Beomgyu lets him be the person to hold him in the mornings, the evenings and snatches of time in between. He tells himself this, tells himself so often that he thinks he really ends up believing it.

He’s dated before. He’s even been in relationships before. But this thing with Beomgyu, despite its lack of identity, of neatly lined parameters, feels much more significant than anything he’s ever been a part of. Maybe it’s the proximity, maybe it’s the fact that Yeonjun is hopelessly, terrifyingly in love with him. Who knows. It frightens him almost as much as it emboldens him, especially because he knows it’s bound to end.

The days continue to trickle past, like beads in a tilted hourglass. April swiftly moves on, and then it’s May. Beomgyu tells him that work is doing well, that the project he’d been brought on board for is in the final stages of development. He doesn’t need to tell Yeonjun that his time in the city is coming to a close. Yeonjun knows how to read between the lines.

He tries to fill the spaces of their remaining time with moments he hopes they will both remember with fondness down the line, either with friends or just the two of them. They Facetime with Soobin and Kai, they go to the movies with Taehyun and Hyeeun, and Beomgyu even learns how to mix a drink or two under the careful and teasing eye of Jeonghan, Yeonjun’s supervisor and one of the owners of the bar he works at. They hold hands during midnight walks around empty streets, and even share a kiss after re-enacting the scene from that American movie with Patrick Swayze in the middle of their pottery class, gunk on their hands and all.

“Hyung, you have something on your face,” Beomgyu had snickered, but he leaned over to slot his lips over Yeonjun’s anyway, the slide already second nature to them both.

Beomgyu finally shows him his sketches, and Yeonjun marvels at them. For a hobby he does on the side, Beomgyu is incredibly deft at them, and he tells Beomgyu as much. When he asks why he doesn’t do this instead of working at an office that clearly stifles him in every way, Beomgyu just shrugs and says vague things about promises made. Yeonjun doesn’t want to get him worked up, so he doesn’t press, but he does wonder.

Plenty drawings are of him, good ones, and Yeonjun hopes he gets to wheedle one out of Beomgyu eventually, to keep. Most, however, are studies of the human form, and clothing — all kinds. Yeonjun recognized some of the outfits as some he’s worn, but some aren’t as familiar. Beomgyu explains that he spends most of his lunch breaks in the second floor cafe in his office building, sitting by the large glass windows that overlook the busy street.

“Say what you will about Gangnam, hyung,” Beomgyu says with a shrug. “But the fashion is incredible, and so varied.” He fiddles with his pencil when he says this, spinning it around in his fingers in a way that captivates Yeonjun’s attention. “Hyung, are you still listening to me?”

On evenings Yeonjun gets home later than usual, he slips under his sheets next to an already conked out Beomgyu. Most nights, though, Beomgyu waits up for him, and he tells Yeonjun about his day, bubbly and endearing, as Yeonjun putters about getting ready for bed. Whenever he folds Beomgyu into his arms after he turns off the lights and Beomgyu presses a soft kiss against his cheek with a wish to sleep well, Yeonjun feels his heart twinge at the unerring domesticity.

“Is it better to know what you’re going to lose, Taehyun-ah?” he asks Taehyun one day, just before their usuals pop into the bar for the evening. “Sometimes I think I would have preferred the suffering.”

“You’re so sure that you’re going to end when the six months are up, hyung,” Taehyun answers back, in that measured way of his that Yeonjun finds both irritating and calming. “Why is that? You do realize that assuming things is what got you both in that fight back then, right?”

Yeonjun feels annoyance tickling his throat, and he turns away with a grunt before he can say something that he’ll regret. Taehyun doesn’t get it. It’s not the same thing. Beomgyu hasn’t said anything about wanting to stay, and Yeonjun doesn’t want to make it sound like he’s making him. He’ll go with whatever Beomgyu wants to do. Whatever he wants to do, wherever he wants to go, Yeonjun will be there for him.

It’s what a good hyung would do. It’s what someone who loves Beomgyu would do.

In the mornings after Beomgyu gets up for the day, Yeonjun spends a few minutes of lucidity rolling into the space he leaves behind, sticking his nose into his pillow and pulling the covers over his shoulder with him. When he breathes, he feels surrounded by Beomgyu, and he can’t help but wonder, just before he drifts back to sleep, how much time he has before he has to worry about the scent of him fading from his sheets.

—❁—

Beomgyu tells him that Yeonjun is his first.

“Your first time?”

“No, my first everything,” Beomgyu confesses. They’re lying on their sides, knees knocking against each other because it’s a tight fit on the couch. Yeonjun has an arm loosely draped over Beomgyu’s waist, the tips of his fingers tracing reckless patterns over the flare of his hip; in retribution, Beomgyu’s mapping a constellation of hickeys across his shoulders. “Well, most things. The first person I ever liked, the first person I ever wanted to do anything with. Obviously, my first time, and everything else.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu says, with a shrug. “I told you before, right? Like, sure, I had crushes before, and there were a couple of people I found sexy and attractive, but it always felt more like an observation. With you, it felt like being hit by a truck. I felt it, all the way down to my toes.”

Beomgyu’s revelation makes Yeonjun cease his little ministrations. “Are you serious?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, hyung,” Beomgyu grumbles, but he hides his face into Yeonjun’s neck. Only the tops of his ears peek out of the muss of his hair, the fairy tips of it blushing pink.

Yeonjun feels oddly humbled. “Is it true? Do you mean it?” When he only gets a weak-sounding grunt in response, he uses his hands to cup Beomgyu’s cheeks, rubbing tender circles on the rounds of them when he tilts Beomgyu’s face up, watching as Beomgyu’s eyes dart around to land everywhere except on him.

He’s so pink, and his bottom lip is pushed out in a fretful pout. Yeonjun thinks he’s never loved anyone more.

Beomgyu furrows his brow, caught. “Of course it’s true, hyung. Why would I lie?”

“Why?”

“Now you’re just fishing,” Beomgyu says with a snort, and he tries to wriggle out of Yeonjun’s grip, but he only holds him tighter. “Hyung…”

“Indulge me?” Yeonjun pushes his lips out, pulling the face that he knows makes Beomgyu melt like ice cream on a summer afternoon. He’s not the only one helpless to a pretty face.

“No fair,” Beomgyu growls, except he sounds like a little puppy when he does it. “Not the ducky face.” He sighs, long suffering, before relenting, like he always does. “I used to wonder if there was something wrong with me, because I never used to look at anyone and feel like I wanted them, until you opened the door. And then I knew that… maybe I was just waiting to meet you.”

Goosebumps prickle Yeonjun’s skin, and he tries to speak, even though his throat feels thick and sticky. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu says with a nod. He lifts his head, and the look in his eyes is so unbearably tender, Yeonjun wants to cower. “The more time we spent together, the more I realized that… everything that ever felt wrong before, feels right with you.”

“You—” Yeonjun chuckles, the sound of it damp even to his ears. “You have such a way with words, Beomgyu-yah,” he ends up mumbling, swallowing down the emotion threatening to spill over. “I don’t know if I deserve that.”

Beomgyu giggles, before he swings both arms around to criss-cross behind Yeonjun’s neck. “You asked, hyung,” he teases, but it’s light and it’s kind, and Yeonjun can’t help but laugh with him when he tightens his grip, pulling Yeonjun in so close that their foreheads kiss and their noses touch. “My Yeonjunnie-hyung,” he coos, but it’s dripping with affection. Yeonjun could drown in it happily.

Ignoring the jibe and the telltale tingling of his nose, Yeonjun breaches the tiny threshold of space between them and rains small pinprick kisses all over Beomgyu’s face while he whines. Their legs tangle even more together, and Yeonjun feels precious.

—❁—

“Wait, what? Say that again.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes, taking a bite of his yogurt before he squints down at his phone screen. “You’re making a bigger fuss about it than necessary.”

“Um, no, I don’t think that’s possible, hyung,” Soobin argues back. It’s early in the morning where he is, and Yeonjun has a rare evening home by himself. Beomgyu’s out shopping with Hyeeun and her girl friends while Taehyun is studying for his finals, and Yeonjun is waiting for him to get back. He’d been looking forward to watching a couple of episodes of the modern drama one of his old high school friends recommended to him on their group chat, and he was in the middle of setting up his laptop in the living room when Soobin suddenly called. “I’m pretty sure that this is the first time I’ve heard you bring a boy home to meet your parents.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Yeonjun explains through gritted teeth. “I didn’t—we’re not dating, Soobin-ah. I couldn’t, like, tell my parents he was something he’s not. I invited him over to mom’s birthday because I had to go home, and I didn’t want to leave him alone for the weekend.”

Truthfully, Yeonjun was sweating buckets the whole train ride to Bundang, but Beomgyu had simply held his hand coolly the entire time. They weren’t there for very long; Yeonjun explained Beomgyu’s presence as his roommate from Daegu, and his parents had welcomed him hospitably, if a little curiously.

“Okay, and what did they think of him?”

Yeonjun bites his lip, thinking about how Beomgyu flitted about his family kitchen helping his mother make dinner, how he settled in the living room with his father during dessert to talk about cars and professional racing — apparently an interest he’d used to share with his own father and brother when he was younger. Maybe it was because his parents, whose relationship with Yeonjun was lukewarm and a touch awkward at best, missed him, but they were nothing but gracious and accommodating towards Beomgyu, and Beomgyu took to their kindness like a bee to a flower in bloom.

“They liked him well enough, I think.”

Soobin nods knowingly. “Beomgyu’s really good with, like, parental figures. Except, well, his own right now.” He sighs, leaning his chin against the perch of his palm. “That’s a whole different can of worms, I guess.”

“I imagine so, Bin-ah,” Yeonjun says, drily. His eyes flick over to the open tab of his computer, still waiting for him to press play. “Is there any other reason why you called, in particular?”

“Can’t I just call to ask how you’re doing, hyung?” Soobin asks, all incredulous. He’s blinking innocently, but Yeonjun spies the ends of his heart-shaped lips curving upwards slyly. “How you’re both doing?”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes, but he hides the smile that spills out of him into the round of the plastic spoon. “It’s going.”

“Honestly, I should be given some kind of reward or something,” Soobin continues to crow. He looks so pleased with himself. “I didn’t mean to be the catalyst for either of you finding a boyfriend, but there’s no denying it’s all because of me, right?”

There’s a piece of berry lodged in his last yogurt bite; Yeonjun chews on it thoughtfully. “He’s not my boyfriend, Bin-ah,” Yeonjun tells him with a wan smile. “I don’t—We don’t talk about it because, you know, he’s leaving in less than a month and—”

Soobin stares at him through the screen like he’s lost his marbles. “Long-distance is a thing, hyung, hello,” Soobin informs him, prickly and pretentious about it. “Besides, it’s not like he’s moving across the planet. He’s literally a train ride away. You’re literally a train ride away back.”

“He’s never said anything,” Yeonjun mutters; he can’t meet Soobin’s gaze right now. “It’s no big deal, Bin-ah.”

“If it’s not a big deal, then why do you look so awful when you talk about it?”

Ouch. Bull’s eye. Soobin is irritatingly perceptive, even all the way in America. “Look, he’s told me how much he appreciates how much freedom he has here, so I just want him to enjoy every second he has left. I know when he goes home that he’ll still have to deal with a ton of shit, and I don’t want to add any fuel to whatever fires he has to put out.” He nibbles on the hard edge of the plastic. “And I think Beomgyu knows that, which is why we’re not talking about it.”

“But hyung—”

“Bin-ah,” Yeonjun says, in his best ‘don’t push it’ hyung voice. Soobin snaps his mouth shut instantly. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. And I’m asking you not to bring it up with Beomgyu either.” He shuts his eyes, rubbing at the crease in the middle of his forehead. When he looks back at Soobin, he’s feeling much calmer. “Thank you for worrying about us both, Bin-ah. But I just want to enjoy what time I have left with him, and deal with the fallout after.”

Soobin sighs, his shoulders slumping forward in defeat. His volume is staticy over Yeonjun’s speakers. “Will you—do you think you’ll be okay, though?”

Yeonjun polishes off the rest of his yogurt, the sharp taste coating his tongue so he doesn’t taste the tang of bitterness in his mouth. “I’ll deal with it when it comes, Bin-ah. I always do.”

They change the subject, with Yeonjun asking about Soobin’s new job and their apartment-hunting adventures. Soobin makes up for his inquiry by regaling him with stories about accompanying Kai to the gym, and almost dropping a pair of dumbbells on his toes. When Yeonjun ends the call with him, it’s with a smile on his face, but it fades away fast when he realizes it’s midnight; just like that, another day passes.

Time. You never really figure out how little you have of it until you’re close to the end.

Suddenly, he’s not in the mood to watch that drama anymore.

—❁—

Yeonjun’s been a tenant of his apartment building for going on three years now, which means he knows a lot of the regular staff members. He often takes time out of his day to chat with the older lady who cleans the hallways, the auntie who mans the front desk, and the head of maintenance who holes up in the office at the back unless there’s a problem with someone’s plumbing, among many many others. He likes to think he’s being amiable and pleasant; Beomgyu tells him that it’s likelier that they’re bored.

He smacks the back of his head for that.

Beomgyu is at work when he gets a call from the apartment intercom. It only ever rings whenever they have a package or one of his friends comes over, neither of which he’s expecting, so when it trills obnoxiously, Yeonjun jolts and nearly falls off the couch, banging his arm hard against the edge of the coffee table. “Fuck!”

“Hello?” Yeonjun answers when he picks up the receiver, rubbing the part of his elbow that had snagged. He’s only half paying attention, distracted at the thought of how annoying it would be to get a bruise in that spot when he hears the auntie at the front desk, Mrs. Park, tell him that someone’s in the lobby for Beomgyu.

“Oh? I wasn’t aware that he was expecting anyone,” Yeonjun says. He tucks the intercom into the crook of his shoulder, before he pulls his phone out of his pocket, checking on his messages to see if he’d missed out on anything from Beomgyu. Their Kakaotalk history is quiet, the last entry being his reply to a picture Beomgyu’d sent him of a cat he’d seen in one of the side streets he’d passed on the way to work, so he either Beomgyu had forgotten something or this wasn’t something he was aware of.

Or maybe this poor person in the lobby was mistaken. “Were you able to get a name, by any chance, ma’am?”

He pales, nearly drops the phone when he hears her response. “No, Mrs. Park, please,” he blurts out, hurriedly. “There’s no need. I’ll… I’ll go down myself, and meet her there. Thank you.”

Yeonjun locks the door behind him, striding purposefully towards the elevator, mind buzzing in an endless loop of what the lobby auntie told him.

“She says her name’s Jang Soohyun, and she says she wants to talk to your roommate.”

—❁—

For the first time in his whole stay at his apartment, he’s grateful that the elevator down takes forever. It buys him a brief reprieve to figure out what to do, what to say.

Shit. Shit. He has to tell Beomgyu.

It’s only when he’s pulled his phone out to text the other that he hesitates, thoughts racing a mile a minute, like one of those mind palace memes Taehyun always sends to him. He decides against it, knowing Beomgyu still has a lot of time left on the clock, and by the time the doors open on the ground floor, he’s concocted a makeshift plan of stalling their surprise visitor while he susses out her intentions, all as he waits for Beomgyu to get off from work.

The building he’s staying in isn’t fancy by any means, but it’s sturdy and secure and relatively not falling apart compared to other, similarly priced locations in their area. Sure, it could have used a major renovation or two, and Yeonjun’s definitely begged the head of maintenance to get a new scent for the air freshener vessel more than once, but all in all, it’s pretty serviceable. The floors are clean and regularly disinfected, the elevators work more often than not, and the furniture in the lobby is only one decade old. That’s what they informed him, anyway.

Beomgyu’s always told him it’s a charming little place, that he liked living there. Likes living there.

There’s only two people in the lobby when Yeonjun steps into it, and he’s certain she isn’t the harried-looking gentleman picking out newspapers by the temperature checker, so he takes a deep breath before coming up to the petite-looking girl wearing a navy blue blazer and jeans sitting on the couch nearest the door.

“Jang Soohyun-ssi?”

She startles at being addressed by him, clutching the purse on her lap tightly. “Do I know you?” Her voice is surprisingly melodic, and it takes everything of Yeonjun’s manners not to cough in astonishment. With her hair in a tight ponytail spilling down the center of her back and the no-nonsense crease of her blazer collar, Yeonjun almost feels like he has to apologize for not looking half as neat as she does.

Only the bright blue laces of her unblemished speakers and the little grooves that dot her cheeks when she speaks feels remotely approachable to him, which might be distinctly unfair of him, but then again, he supposes getting the chance to chat with the ex-wife of the boy he’s in love with is an extraordinarily unique experience.

He bends low, unsure why he’s endeavoring to make a good impression. “No, you don’t. I’m, uh, Choi Yeonjun. Beomgyu’s roommate while he’s here in Seoul.”

Soohyun gets to her feet, gives him a quick bow in response. “It’s nice to meet you, Choi Yeonjun-ssi.” The grip she has on her purse makes her knuckles glow white at the joints. “I was hoping to get to talk to Beomgyu, if he’s here. His mother told me his address ”

The language she uses is so formal, Yeonjun has to wrap his head around it before he can answer. “He’s still at work at this time,” he informs her, almost apologetically. He sticks his hands in his pockets, trying not to fidget. “Would you like to leave a message?”

“I…” She looks like she’s trying not to fuss with the hem of her blazer, the cuffs of her sleeves. “I would rather say what I have to say to him in person.”

“Do you want to wait for him? He usually gets home at about five thirty.”

Five-thirty is their sweet spot, the period of time between the end of Beomgyu’s work and the start of Yeonjun’s bar gig, when they usually text each other about being absolutely starving, where do you want to eat, that place near the cafe we tried two weeks ago? sure no worries i’ll see you in fifteen. It feels strange, telling Beomgyu’s ex-wife about five-thirty, even though technically he hasn’t said anything specific, and neither has she.

“Yeonjun-ssi—”

She looks so uncomfortable, standing in an unfamiliar place talking to a stranger, that something inside Yeonjun takes pity. “I know who you are, Soohyun-ssi,” he says softly, and the way her eyes widen and snap to his would appear comical, if she didn’t look so dismayed about it. “Beomgyu’s told me about… what happened between you two.”

Soohyun doesn’t respond to that, only swings her head around from side to side, as if expecting Beomgyu to jump out of a pot of plants or something. “Does he… Is Beomgyu-oppa…?”

“He’s really at work, like I said,” Yeonjun tells her. “I haven’t told him yet that you’re here. I don’t think he’ll be able to focus on whatever tasks he has at hand if I do.” He scratches the back of his neck, and breathes out, deciding on impulse what to do next. He only hopes his gut is in the right this time. “Hey, I have a suggestion, if you’re up for it.”

Soohyun lifts her head, face cautious and wary. “What is that?”

“I usually have coffee with Beomgyu at a place between here and his office. I could head over there with you, ask him to meet us there,” he says, careful with his words. He watches her blink as she takes his offer into consideration. “Is that okay with you?”

The handful of seconds that pass is uneasy, but eventually she nods. “Alright, Yeonjun-ssi.” She gives him a small, tight smile. “I’ll follow your lead.”

—❁—

Yeonjun picks a spot near Coex, approximately an eight minute bus ride from where Beomgyu's office is located. It's near enough for Beomgyu not to work himself into an anxious mess on his way over there when Yeonjun tells him who he's with, but not too close for him to accidentally walk in on them if he chooses to take the scenic route back.

Soohyun purchases a cappuccino, and Yeonjun selects an iced americano for himself. They sit quietly for a while, busying themselves with watching the barista call out for other people to pick up their food and beverage instead of making awkward small talk.

He's wiping away the condensation that's formed on his cup when he hears her speak. "Yeonjun-ssi," Soohyun says, breaking the cumbersome stillness between them. "I'm not sure how much of it you’re aware of, but I'd just like to know... Beomgyu-oppa. Is he okay?"

"Beomgyu? He's... fine," Yeonjun answers her, treading carefully because he's not sure how much of Beomgyu's well being Beomgyu wants revealed. For all intents and purposes, Soohyun could be here in an attempt from his grandparents to give their arranged marriage another try. "You should ask him that yourself, when he gets here."

"We haven't spoken much, not since the final court date," she says, after another beat of silence. Yeonjun doesn't know if he's ever been this uncomfortable in recent memory. "I've spoken to his parents more than him, to be frank, especially because our parents are friends. Well, they try to be, now."

"I see," is all Yeonjun can proffer. He takes another sip of coffee, trying his best to look less unnerved and taking a surreptitious glance at his phone. There's another thirty minutes he has to spend keeping Soohyun company, and Yeonjun wills himself to stop staring at the screen as the seconds tick by. "It shouldn't be long now."

"Alright," Soohyun says, nodding.

"Thank you for helping me meet with him, Yeonjun-ssi," she adds, after a few more minutes of them not speaking.

He shrugs. "It's nothing."

She tilts her head at him. "You two must have become very close, then, for Beomgyu-oppa to tell you about what happened." Soohyun fiddles with her drink, hands flexing against the paper cup. "I'm not sure what to say, knowing you know what you do."

"Beomgyu didn't tell me too much, just the circumstances of how your marriage came about," Yeonjun explains. “And also… that it ended.”

He watches her fingers flinch, nails digging into the carton of the cup sleeve, and winces internally. "It must have been very difficult for you," he begins, hoping that what he says gets her to calm. She looks just as skittish as Beomgyu had been when he was telling his side of the story. "I... I can't claim to know what it's like."

"You mean, being a woman and a divorcee in your early twenties?" Soohyun retorts, her tone edged with the slightest form of sarcasm. It catches Yeonjun off guard, and when she sees his reaction, she grins, wry and sardonic. "It wasn't... it certainly wasn't easy. Even in a society that claims to be as forward-thinking as this one is, stigmas persist among the most stubborn of us."

Shaking her head, Soohyun sips at her cup. "My mother used to lament it, you know. She kept telling me to convince Beomgyu-oppa not to go through with it, because it would be hard for her to deal with the consequences. Never mind that I had to bear it, or that it was ultimately my decision to agree."

Yeonjun's stomach twists, aching for the both of them. "If you don't mind me asking..."

"I wouldn't have brought it up if I minded your asking, Yeonjun-ssi," Soohyun says, her voice quiet and oddly determined. Just like Beomgyu described her. "Please go ahead."

"Why did you agree to get married?"

She stills, lifting her chin as she contemplates answering his question. "Because I'm a dutiful daughter. Because my father, who had never asked me for anything my whole life, asked me to consider it. And because I thought, well, I used to think that love could always grow, even when it wasn't there to begin with." She exhales, and her shoulders, which had been ramrod straight the whole time they'd been talking, slump forward, ever so slightly. "I had to learn the hard way that things don't always fall into place the way you want them to, and that seeds can't be planted where there is no intention for them to thrive."

Even though Yeonjun is inexplicably relieved at how everything turned out between Beomgyu and Soohyun, there is undeniably a part of him that feels sympathy for what Soohyun had gone through, what it looks like she's still going through. "I don't know if it sounds weird for me to keep saying this, but I really am sorry things happened the way they did." He shakes his head. "None of you deserved to go through that."

"You're right, Yeonjun-ssi, it is weird," she says, but she cracks a smile when she says it, the first genuine one she makes since he walked up to her in the lobby. "But I appreciate it. Thank you."

“Do you have any regrets about it?”

“No,” she answers, and Yeonjun is surprised how easily she says it. It’s probably something she’s given quite a lot of thought to. "I’ve always been taught to never regret things that make me, for lack of a better word, stronger as a person.”

“Besides, I learned a lot of things about myself aside from those erstwhile life lessons I had to pick up along the way," she continues. "I learned that I'm quite skilled at making my own kimchi, that I'm capable of maintaining a household all by myself, and that I'm getting better at filtering out nonsense I hear about my future prospects just because of my status." She nods, more to herself than for Yeonjun's benefit. "In a way, I suppose I'm glad things turned out this way, because I'm making my own decisions from now on, and trying to mend fences along the way."

"And is Beomgyu one of those fences you're trying to fix?"

Soohyun looks at him curiously, but gives him a nod nonetheless. "In a manner of speaking. But mostly, I'm trying to move forward, and I want to do that knowing that Beomgyu oppa is okay, that we're okay." She crosses her arms, leaning back against the stiff wooden backrest of the chair she's sitting in. There's remembrance on her face, and not a very pleasant one. "The last time I saw him, he’d looked shattered, a ghost of the boy whose pictures I saw in their family home. I hated knowing that I played a part in that."

"I don't think it was your fault," Yeonjun says.

"It didn't have to be completely mine for me to bear that burden," she says back, with a gusty sigh. "I wasn't in love with Beomgyu-oppa, and I don't know if I knew him well enough to say I even liked him that way at any point, but what we went through together... I think it was tougher for him than it was for me. It truly must have been. And I'm sorry that he had to go through it."

She looks at him now, and there's a gleam of knowledge in the stare that she fixes on him. Yeonjun swallows with difficulty, his throat having dried up.

Oh. Oh.

She knew. About him. Or at least, she suspected something. Panic starts to claw at his insides. Fuck. Was it his fault? Was it something he said?

Soohyun purses her lips when she sees the look on Yeonjun's face, shaking her head again. "I think I've said much more than I intended to say, Yeonjun-ssi. My apologies. Thank you for listening."

"I guess it's true, what they say huh?" Yeonjun says with a short laugh, trying to dispel the nervousness that suddenly clouds his face. "Strangers on a train. Or a coffee shop, in this case."

"Perhaps," Soohyun agrees, and the tiny smile on her face is not unkind. "I can see why Beomgyu-oppa confides in you. Why you seem to be so protective of him."

"Ah, well, I guess," Yeonjun ducks his head, embarrassed. "I’m his roommate. And hyung." He clears his throat, checks the time again. "I think I should... I should let him know where we are now, huh?"

"Oh," Soohyun says, before nodding. "Yes. That would be best, I think."

She takes a sip of her coffee, trying to hide the smile on her face into the rim of the cup. Yeonjun sees it anyway.

—❁—

When Beomgyu enters the cafe, he’s a mess.

Hair streaked with sweat like he ran all the way from the bus stop, complexion pale, eyes blown wide with anxiety... Yeonjun has to sit on his hands to stop himself from leaping to his feet and cradling his face in his palms. "Beomgyu-yah," he says instead, eyebrows matting together, concerned. "Hey, are you—"

"You—you're here," Beomgyu blurts out, and Yeonjun realizes, absurdly late, that he's talking to Soohyun. "You're really here."

"Oppa, I just—"

"Soohyun-ah," Beomgyu interrupts. He's stopped a polite distance away, his whole body rigid and uncomfortably held. Yeonjun can’t help but worry. "Will you please give me a second? I need to talk to Yeonjun-hyung very quickly. Over there."

Beomgyu takes Yeonjun by the arm before Soohyun can respond, marching him in his clutches until they make it all the way to the rear of the cafe, in an alcove where the bathroom is supposed to be. "Hyung," Beomgyu hisses at him, when they're safely out of hearing distance. "What's going on? What's happening? Where did she come from?"

"I think she just wants to talk to you, Beomgyu-yah. Hey…" Tucked away from the ruthless eyes of idle customers, Yeonjun indulges himself and reaches up to run his fingers through Beomgyu’s sweaty bangs, cupping clammy cheeks with his hands. “Shh, Gyu-yah, come on, stay with me here. Close your eyes. Breathe with me.”

Beomgyu’s eyes drift closed when Yeonjun leans forward to bump their foreheads together lightly. “That’s it, baby. Come on.” He follows Yeonjun’s lead, inhaling and exhaling when he does, until the pulse underneath Yeonjun’s fingertips settle into a rhythm that’s closer to normal. “You’re okay. You can do this.”

“What does she want? What is she here for?” Beomgyu lets out a little groan, hitting his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Oh crap, do you think my parents sent her?”

“I don’t know, Beomgyu-yah, I just sat here listening to her. She said she wanted to talk to you about something. It sounds important, and I think you should let her,” Yeonjun says, revealing all he knows. He steps back when Beomgyu gives him a little nod, affirming that he’s alright, letting his hand hang between them for Beomgyu’s fingers to find and lace through. “Also, I think—I think she might suspect something. About… me, and consequently, you.”

Beomgyu’s eyes lift up to meet his; the look in them is one of abject horror. “Hyung.”

“But I don’t think she’s necessarily against it. Maybe. I’m not sure. Beomgyu-yah,” Yeonjun follows up, hastily. He looks around, checking to see if the coast is clear before giving Beomgyu a quick peck on the lips. “Hey. Remember when you told me how sorry you were about how things happened the way they did? I think this is your chance to let her know how you feel.”

Beomgyu squeezes his hand, and it’s easy for Yeonjun to hold onto him back. “I… Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“As long as you’re up for it.”

He watches Beomgyu turn around to face the mirror, sighing as he fixes his hair. “I didn’t know today would be as exciting as it is,” he tells Yeonjun under his breath. Yeonjun rubs his back as he lets out another series of breaths, until he steps away to wipe his hands against his pants, briskly.

They look at each other in the mirror, and Beomgyu cracks a weak grin at him. “I guess it’s time I stop running, huh, hyung?”

Yeonjun steps closer to him and presses a kiss to his temple, not even bothering to see if anyone is staring. “You’re much braver than you give yourself credit for, you know?”

Beomgyu looks up at him, a knowing smile on his face. “I have a good role model.”

—❁—

They head back to the table. Soohyun sits there, her hands folded over neatly on her lap. She still hasn’t finished her coffee.

“Soohyun-ah?”

She looks up when Beomgyu calls her name, a controlled smile on her face. “Oppa,” she greets him, punctuating it with a small bow. “Thank you for coming.” Her eyes flit quickly to Yeonjun, marking the space between them, before they settle back on Beomgyu. “You look well.”

“You do too,” Beomgyu replies, a tad consciously. He hovers next to her chair, head bowed. “Hyung told me you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes, I do,” Soohyun confirms, with a nod. “I was hoping… could we take a walk?” She gestures with her thumb towards the outside of the cafe, where the early evening crowds are already gathering along the sidewalks for dinner.

“Oh,” Beomgyu says, blinking in surprise. “I…” He looks at Yeonjun, pleading. “Hyung, do you mind if we…?”

“Go ahead,” Yeonjun says, waving a hand at them as he sinks back into his empty chair. He gives Soohyun a polite smile. “We still have plenty of time before we have to head back, Gyu-yah.” He shoots Beomgyu a look, braced and reassuring. “Don’t worry about it. Go.”

Beomgyu grins back, before nodding at Soohyun. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

Yeonjun watches them walk together out the door, a respectable distance between them. He can’t help but think that any other person would imagine they’d look good together.

—❁—

Beomgyu circles back around to Yeonjun about half an hour later. He’s alone.

“Hi hyung,” Beomgyu says. He sounds absolutely worn out, practically dragging his feet behind him as he makes his way to Yeonjun’s side.

“Gyu-yah…”

“Later, hyung,” he interrupts, giving him a tired smile. “I’ll tell you all about it later. I promise.”

Yeonjun stands up, shoving his phone back into his pocket as Beomgyu links their arms together and leans his head on his shoulder.

“Take me home, please,” he murmurs; Yeonjun, ever obliging, does just that.

—❁—

A few days later, Beomgyu visits Yeonjun at the studio.

He’s got a whole weekend off from bartending duties; with Beomgyu deciding on spending some alone time for himself, he takes the opportunity to spend a few hours trying to figure out the sequence of choreography he’s teaching some of his advanced classes for the informal showcases they put on at the end of their sessions.

Yeonjun is picking through the paired dance for his advanced jazz class when his concentration is broken by the sound of a soft knock and the peek of a face through the glass.

“Hey.” Yeonjun lights up at the sight of him, waving him in. Sweat drips copiously off him, so Beomgyu wrinkles his nose and hands him his towel before deigning him with a small peck on the cheek in greeting. “What are you doing here?”

“Got bored hanging out in the park, so I wandered over here early. Is that okay?”

“More than,” Yeonjun tells him. He pretends he’s about to hug Beomgyu, snickering when it makes him wail and scramble backwards. Sometimes he marvels at the difference between the boy who showed up on his door just after the new year, and the one he has in his arms. He’s endlessly fond of both versions. “You’re too easy. Hey, could you hand me the water please?”

When Yeonjun realizes Beomgyu is simply looking up at him with wide, unblinking eyes, he knits his eyebrows together. “You okay?”

“I came here to tell you something,” Beomgyu says, continuing to stare. “But I forgot because you look far too sexy in this outfit.”

Yeonjun lets out a pleased little cackle, ducking his reddening cheeks into his hands. “Geez, baby, you’re trying to pick me up or something?” He drops to his knees on the floor in front of where Beomgyu is leaning against the mirror wall, crawling until he can climb into his lap. “Hey pretty, come here often?”

“You’re sooooooo corny, hyung,” Beomgyu whines, but he lets Yeonjun hold his face and tilt him up so he can kiss him. “And sticky,” he complains under his breath, giggling as Yeonjun eats up the rest of his protests, stealing his breath. Beomgyu’s hands are so warm as they inch up Yeonjun’s thighs to bracket around his hips, so familiar by now. Heat tickles Yeonjun’s stomach where Beomgyu’s touch finds him, around the lines of his croptop. “I really did come here to talk to you, you know.”

“Later,” Yeonjun interrupts him stubbornly, the routines in his head fading away from the forefront of his attention, too consumed he is by the feeling of Beomgyu wriggling weakly underneath him. If he wasn’t so concerned about anyone walking in, he’d have him flat on the ground already, eager and wanting. “Let hyung kiss you.”

“Mmm, okay,” Beomgyu acquiesces; he is easily convinced.

Yeonjun’s glad that his mood seems to have improved from Soohyun’s visit. The night they got back and for at least a day after that, Beomgyu had spiraled into a mood more contemplative than usual. Even after he’d roused from the fog he’d sunk into, he only told Yeonjun bits and pieces of what they’d spoken about.

“Were you able to say what you wanted to say?” Yeonjun asks, and Beomgyu, who was going through his skin care routine at the time, only shrugs.

“I tried. I said I was sorry, and she told me I didn’t have to be.” He pauses as he washes off the cleanser suds gathered on his cheeks. “She told me that standing up to my parents and hers gave her the courage to start looking into applying for law school.”

“Oh wow,” Yeonjun exclaims, genuinely excited. For some reason, he finds it easy to root for Soohyun to do well. “That’s really cool for her.”

“Yeah, it is,” Beomgyu agrees, with a nod. “I’m really glad for her.”

“Do you feel better?”

Beomgyu bends over to bring the faucet water up to his face, and Yeonjun ambles over to stand behind him, fingers sneaking under the hem of Beomgyu’s nightshirt to trickle lightly up and down his sides. “Hyung, stop,” Beomgyu squeals, splashing water around as he flails, trying to reach around to grab at him. Yeonjun smirks and avoids him easily, but he can’t stop the way his cheeks push up, enchanted at the sight of Beomgyu looking so giddy and free.

“If it’ll get you to stop acting like a teenager, yes, I do feel better,” Beomgyu grouses, but the tiny, grateful grin he sends over his shoulder at Yeonjun betrays his real sentiment. Yeonjun likes seeing it. He always does. “Lighter, somehow. About that, anyway.”

He pats his face dry, and Yeonjun is momentarily distracted by how cute he looks with his cloth headband pushing his hair every which way. “I was right though.”

“You were?” Yeonjun hums, eyes still on Beomgyu’s bangs. He wants to eat him.

“I was,” Beomgyu murmurs. He’s moved onto the lotion part of his regimen now, shooting a dull look over at Yeonjun when he remains distracted. “My parents did send her.”

Yeonjun gets pulled out of his trance by the ringing of his phone alarm. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, and with a significant amount of regret, he untangles himself from the bough of Beomgyu’s arms. “I only have, like, fifteen minutes left to use the room.”

Beomgyu pouts at him, but gives his butt a playful slap. “Go on, then. I’ll sit here and watch. Be your deejay or something.” He catches the phone that Yeonjun tosses at him, scrolling through his Melon app with the confidence of someone who knows his way around all of Yeonjun’s playlists. “Which class is this for?”

He polishes his last routine, despite Beomgyu’s many attempts to distract him by putting on random songs for him to perform to. “Come on, hyung, do this one!” Beomgyu says, jeering and cackling at him, but the delight in his eyes, the way he whoops and claps whenever Yeonjun manages to show off cool-looking, impromptu eight counts, all of it is real.

Yeonjun throws a couple of finger guns Beomgyu’s way. He pretends to clutch at his chest before collapsing on the floor in a pile of giggles. Yeonjun is so in love with him.

Beomgyu is helping him pack up all his stuff — “Seriously, hyung, how you managed to make this much of a mess in the two hours you’ve been here has to be studied” — when Yeonjun remembers why he’s there in the first place. “Hey, Beomgyu-yah, what did you want to tell me again?”

“Oh.” Beomgyu stops in the middle of shoving his sketchbook into his bag, an unreadable expression on his face. “It’s not that big a deal, hyung. I just… we finished the project I’ve been working on here a couple of days ago, and I got my supervisor’s evaluation of me today.” A blush sprouts all over his cheeks, and he ducks his head shyly. “He said I did really well, and that he’s going to give me a great recommendation that’ll help me when I get back to Daegu.”

“Hey, that’s awesome Gyu-yah!” Yeonjun crows happily, ignoring the frisson of dismay that slices through him when he hears the last part of Beomgyu’s words. He slings an arm around Beomgyu’s shoulders, holding him close and wringing his neck playfully. “Way to go! We should celebrate! Let’s go out for dinner today! How does grilled beef sound?”

The smile he plasters onto his face is so wide that it starts to hurt.

“Really?” Beomgyu says, a muffled squeak against Yeonjun’s sweatshirt. “Hyung’s treat?”

“Of course,” Yeonjun scoffs. He’s not an animal.

Beomgyu maneuvers out of his grip with a little cry, narrowly avoiding being caught after he steps away too late. “Hey!”

He crowds Beomgyu up against the mirror, holding his face with both hands. Beomgyu’s protests die down when he looks up into Yeonjun’s face, eyes curving gentle with something Yeonjun hopes is affection. He’s so beautiful; Yeonjun can’t stop wanting to look at him.

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” he says softly, the grin spreading across his face reserved only for the moments the two of them call their own. “Proud of you.”

Beomgyu’s fingers circle his wrists, keeping him in place. “Yeah?” His mouth goes lopsided, giving Yeonjun a look that’s both smug and endearingly bashful. “Gonna show me?”

Something surges up inside Yeonjun, a unnameable, bright-gold ball of warmth that makes his chest feel big and full to bursting. He’s happy. He is, hand over heart, genuinely, sincerely happy right now.

Closing his eyes, Yeonjun tips forward, knocks their noses together sweetly. “Yeah. Okay.”

Yeonjun has to pay for an extra few minutes of overuse time, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

—❁—

After Beomgyu’s last dance session in Seoul, the other students in Yeonjun’s class throw him a party at the nearby chicken restaurant.

Twenty of them, including Yeonjun, Chaewon and some of the other teachers, pile into the small hole-in-the-wall, preening under the reluctant attention of the old ladies running the place and shoving shots of soju and mugs of beer into empty hands. Beomgyu, the guest of honor, sits in the middle of it all; he gets the brunt of everyone’s generosity, although Yeonjun cuts him off when his speech starts to slur and he nearly falls on his face when he attempts to go to the rest room.

Everyone has fun, especially Beomgyu, and when Yeonjun announces they’re going home for the night, they only manage to depart after a flurry of hugs and promises to keep in touch. Heeseung even gives Beomgyu a parting gift, all while staring warily in Yeonjun’s direction.

“Hyung, don’t scare him off,” Beomgyu chides him. Yeonjun only grunts in response.

When Yeonjun and Beomgyu get home, Beomgyu immediately announces he’s going to take a shower first. “Go ahead,” Yeonjun tells him, snorting with amusement when Beomgyu almost trips over the threshold getting in through the door. “Can you manage?”

He gets a single finger gesture in response. Yeonjun snickers until he hears the water start running.

Since he’s relatively sober and restless about it, Yeonjun moves around the apartment, fixing things that have fallen out of place and tucking furniture back into alignment. After going through the kitchen and the living room, he bypasses his own bedroom and ends up wandering into Beomgyu’s room, curiosity evident in the moue on his face.

When Beomgyu arrived in January, all he had with him were two suitcases and a heavy-looking backpack on his shoulders. He still remembers what he looked like, standing on his welcome mat, his large dark eyes terrified and wary as they landed on his.

“You’re Beomgyu, right? Come on in.”

Yeonjun stands in the middle of the second bedroom of his apartment, looking around at a space which had long since become a place for Beomgyu to just store his stuff, owing to the fact that he spent most of his nights wrapped around Yeonjun in his bed. A lump lodges itself in Yeonjun’s throat, and no matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to will it away.

Beomgyu’s half packed already.

He’s sitting on the bed when Beomgyu comes in, hair wet and dripping all over his shoulders. His eyes look less glazed after the shower, and they widen when they find Yeonjun there. “Hyung, what are you doing here?”

Instead of answering him, Yeonjun looks down at the covers he’s perched on. He remembers having to go out and buy a second set of bedsheets for the room when he’d told Soobin it was okay for his cousin to stay for half the year. After combing through nearby department stores, he settled on buying this deep green set with a forest pattern. It looked pretty calming to him, he’d reasoned then, and since Soobin said his cousin was going through things, it might go a long way towards helping him find some kind of peace. He hoped, anyway.

His reasoning sounds dumber the second time around, but Yeonjun ignores his internal monologue in favor of shuffling backwards, almost until he hits the far side of the bedroom wall. The mattress is a double, so it’s a tight fit for two grown men, but Yeonjun lies down on his side to manage it.

“Come over here for a bit, Beomgyu-yah, would you?” Yeonjun asks, his tone hushed and low.

Beomgyu tilts his head at him, probably baffled by Yeonjun’s behavior, but he indulges Yeonjun, following after him. “Okay, hyung.” Crawling forward, he makes little snuffly noises until he budges up against Yeonjun, using his hands to cushion his cheeks as he relishes in the plush of his cool, largely unused pillow.

He looks so sweet, Yeonjun thinks, gazing down at Beomgyu as he mirrors his position on his side, hands tucked under his cheek. He is so, so sweet and so, so pretty.

A longing, deep and achy, reaches down into his gut, curls tight around it. Yeonjun is going to miss him so fucking much.

“Hyung,” Beomgyu murmurs, almost in a whisper. The tipsiness that swarmed his senses earlier looks like it’s ebbed, and the eyes that trail up and down Yeonjun’s face are relatively clear. “Are you crying?”

“I’m not,” Yeonjun says, voice thick; he shakes his head. “You’re… I just noticed, you’re almost done packing.”

The smile that stretches across Beomgyu’s face is lovely, and sad. There are mere inches between them, so it’s easy for him to move into Yeonjun’s space, easy for him to drag Yeonjun’s arms around his waist so Beomgyu can be held by him exactly the way he likes. “My hyung,” Beomgyu coos; he tries to go for something light and teasing, but it comes out tremulous and frail. Wetness clumps the impossible length of his eyelashes together. “Don’t cry.”

“Beomgyu-yah…” Yeonjun starts, and he allows the tears to spill over, too preoccupied trying to cradle Beomgyu’s face with his shaking hands. “Hyung hopes you’ll be happy.” He feels Beomgyu’s cheeks rise and crease under his fingertips, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to contain how much love he harbors for this boy in his hands. “That’s all I want. Love yourself, Beomgyu-yah, and be happy.”

“Hyung,” Beomgyu whimpers, his bottom lip trembling. By now, he’s crying too.

“You have such a beautiful heart, baby,” Yeonjun continues, trying to smile despite; he might be rambling by now, but he doesn’t want to stop without letting Beomgyu know even a fraction of how much he means to him, how he’s grafted himself into every facet of Yeonjun’s life and how he’ll never be able to turn around without seeing something that will remind him of how much he’ll miss him when he goes. “It’s what you deserve.”

Beomgyu leans forward clumsily, almost knocking their foreheads together in his haste to kiss Yeonjun, kiss kiss kiss him until they’re both a mess, wrapped up and in each other.

“It’s all you, you know, hyung. I keep telling you over and over, and you won’t believe me, but it’s true,” Beomgyu insists; he peppers kisses against whatever skin he manages to find under his lips. “I wouldn’t have been able to find my way back to myself without you showing me the way. And I will never be able to repay you for that.”

“No, Gyu-yah—”

“Shhh, hyung, it’s my turn now,” Beomgyu cuts him off with a finger pressed against Yeonjun’s bottom lip. Drawing back just far enough, he looks up into Yeonjun’s face, tracing every angle and curve, every bump, ridge and freckle, every single detail with his eyes, like he’s committing it all to memory.

Yeonjun hopes he is. He wants to think Beomgyu will hold him safe and dear, imprinted somewhere inside him, close to his chest.

“These past six months have been the best of my life,” Beomgyu tells him, his breath hitching with tears every other word. “I’ll never forget it.”

I’ll never forget you.

Yeonjun’s whole face shudders, like he’s physically restraining himself from dissolving into sobs, before he bites his lip and clears his throat, trying to dispel the abject misery he knows shows. “Hey, Gyu-yah,” he jokes, weakly. “What if I move to Daegu?”

Beomgyu lets out a watery chuckle, sniffling through it. “You? Move to Daegu?”

“Yeah, why not? Like, I heard it’s pretty nice there. Good food. Excellent train system,” Yeonjun continues, with a cheeky grin.

“Hyung!”

“People dance in Daegu too, right?” Yeonjun points out, finally, and he’s relieved to see Beomgyu tossing his head back and forth, laughing at his reasoning, tears momentarily arrested. He grins at himself, watching fondly as Beomgyu’s giggling peters out into wheezy little noises instead.

“You’ll hate it there, city boy,” Beomgyu muses, grinning up at him, eyes half-lidded. Inside him, the alcohol is remembering itself. “Besides, your heart is here, in this city. In Seoul.”

No, my heart is wherever you are, Yeonjun wants to say.

But Beomgyu’s eyes are already growing heavy, and he bites it back, gulps it down in favor of letting Beomgyu fall asleep in his arms.

—❁—

Two days later, Beomgyu leaves for Daegu.

He stands on the platform with three suitcases, one more than what he’d arrived with. The button-down he’s in is thin and breezy, a Yeonjun find from one of those back alley boutiques that Hongdae had in spades, and he’s fidgeting with the straps of the backpack hanging off his shoulders.

“Train’s coming,” he announces, and Yeonjun nods back, just as quiet. He knows. He’s known for a bit.

When the cars pull into the station platform, there are no more tears. Yeonjun thinks he’s cried enough for two lifetimes. “Text me when you get there, okay?”

“Okay, hyung,” Beomgyu nods. He steps back and stands there, hesitating with his arms half open, and fuck, maybe there’s just enough tears left inside Yeonjun to squeeze out after all.

They hug each other, tight and this close to desperate; the train lets out a warning that it’s about to leave without Beomgyu. For a crazy, ridiculous moment, Yeonjun wants it to.

“I’ll visit,” Beomgyu promises, voice hushed and heavy with emotion. “I’ll come see you again, hyung.”

Yeonjun doesn’t know if he believes him, but for his own sake, he chooses to. “I’ll be right here, Beomgyu-yah.”

Beomgyu leaves for Daegu on a train, and Yeonjun goes home alone.

—❁—

Two months pass, and Yeonjun’s birthday is just around the corner.

Yeonjun’s birthday has always fallen on a strange place on the calendar; Chuseok was always moving around it, so there were years when no one would be around for it, and there were years when he didn’t have enough space in the day for the number of people who wanted to celebrate his day with him.

This year, Chuseok is scheduled almost two whole weeks after it, so Yeonjun is a little relieved he doesn’t have to take that into account when he thinks about turning a whole year older. With the mood he’s in, he doesn’t think that having his birthday at home with his parents — alone — was the right way to spend it.

Instead, Yeonjun focuses on his birthday coinciding with the start of their dance studio’s fall sessions. He’d been booked for more classes this season, and despite his general listlessness since the end of June, he finds that he’s looking forward to it.

The first class he holds on his birthday is one of his hallmarks — basic hip-hop, naturally — and his students are energetic, easy-going, and ready for a good time. When they show up, eager and almost silly with enthusiasm, it makes him smile for the first time in a long while.

Truthfully, he does think Beomgyu tried to make an effort. In the beginning, they used to Facetime every few days, and sent each other KaTalk messages as often as they could. It wasn’t the same, but it was all he had, and Yeonjun made do.

Eventually, though, Beomgyu seemed to get busier, for reasons he doesn’t disclose. Too busy. The Facetime chats and KaTalk messages dwindle into haphazard texting twice or thrice a week, to once a week, to once a week if he’s lucky.

It’s something that Yeonjun had expected, but living through it — being right — didn’t make him feel any better.

Soobin told him that Beomgyu’s parents put him straight to work as soon as he got back, and that explained why they couldn’t talk as often as they used to. “Hyung, don’t—don’t look like that,” Soobin had pleaded, just a few nights ago. “He cares about you, he really does. I’m sure he’s working hard to come see you as soon as he can.”

He paused, before barreling on. “You believe in him, right? That he’ll come back to see you?”

And that’s the thing, wasn’t it? Yeonjun wants nothing more than to believe in Beomgyu, wants nothing more than to think that what they had meant something to him, meant at least as much to Beomgyu as it did to him. But just because he wanted it to be true, didn’t mean that he could be blind to the writing on the wall.

Yeonjun could wait for his calls and his messages, take whatever crumbs Beomgyu was willing to throw at him, but that didn’t mean he was delusional enough to think that it was something he could expect, that it was something he could believe in enough to count on.

“Sure, Bin-ah,” he’d answered. “Whatever. I guess.”

That night, he decides to let his heart break for the first time in his life. The sooner it broke, he reasons, the sooner it could start to mend.

Basic hip-hop ends with a bang, and all of his students gather after cool downs over their things on the far side of the room, near the door, slowly filing out of the dance studio one by one.

“Choi-seonsaengnim!”

A new student, he thinks her name is Ahra, bounds up to him cheerfully. He blinks to attention, surprised to see that he’s sitting in a nearly empty room already. He’d been going through his messages, swiping left on the myriad of notifications greeting him, ignoring the despondence slowly weighing down his shoulders when he realizes he hasn’t gotten one he’d been waiting for. “Ahra-ssi, right?”

He’d ended class ten minutes early, so he knows there’s still plenty of time before the early birds for Chaeyeon’s basic jazz class. He tucks his phone away, clearing his throat and trying to smile at the young girl, practically a teenager. “What can I do for you?”

She shakes her head. “I just wanted to say, happy birthday seonsaengnim! I really enjoyed class today, and I look forward to the next ones!” She gives him a deep bow, and Yeonjun flusters, patting her on the back and willing her to get back up.

“Ah, that’s really nice of you, Ahra-ssi, thank you,” he says, self-consciously. He scratches the back of his neck, wincing as his action knocks his beanie askew. Ahra probably thinks her new dance teacher is an awkward mess. “Is, uh, is that all?”

“Mhmm,” Ahra nods. She seems to have boundless depths of optimism, the way she smiles making Yeonjun want to grin himself. “The person outside told me it’s your birthday, and asked me to check if you were still here, but I couldn’t just check without greeting you. That’s just not polite, seonsaengnim.”

“I… I see,” Yeonjun says, blinking at the reasoning. He clocks the mysterious tattletale as Chaeyeon, knowing what he does of her mischievous nature and her general impatience to have the room to herself for a few minutes before her class starts. “You can tell the person outside that I’m still here, and that they should come in here to tell me off themselves.” He gives Ahra a smirk, feeling like himself for the first time in a while. “Okay?”

Ahra shoots him an ‘okay’ sign with her fingers, and skips out of the room, following his instruction.

He chuckles, shaking his head and turning back around to start fixing his things so he can leave Chaeyeon the room.

The door swings open again, and Yeonjun doesn’t bother looking up from the mess. “Give me two minutes, Chaeyeon-ah, then I’ll be out of here—”

“Am I late?”

Yeonjun freezes.

There, in the mirror, standing by the door, is Beomgyu.

He’s wearing a sweater that Yeonjun knows is his because he’s been looking for it for a while now, an iced americano in his hand and a nervous smile on his face. He looks exactly the same as the last time Yeonjun saw him, on a station platform headed home, and also not. Something about his eyes. Yeonjun’d thought that he’d already had them catalogued down, but it turns out that there are still things about them that can surprise him.

Yeonjun swallows and turns around; there are butterflies clustering around his chest, in his lungs. “You…” He closes his eyes, tries to get himself together. Breathes in and out. “Sorry. You just missed the class.”

“That’s a pity,” Beomgyu says, and he looks like he means it. He takes a tense step forward, eyes flicking up to check on Yeonjun’s reaction. When Yeonjun doesn’t do anything, he exhales and takes another step, and another, until he’s standing in front of Yeonjun, fingers fidgeting and tugging on the hem of his shirt.

It’s so predictably, typically Beomgyu — all the longing he’s been keeping at bay comes crashing back down on him, the ache terrifying in the way it squeezes his lungs tight, stealing his breath. “That’s my sweater.”

“I know. I took it,” Beomgyu confesses, biting his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“Is that the only thing you’re apologizing for?” Yeonjun says, clicking his tongue and folding his arms. “Being late and taking my sweater?”

“No, that’s not all,” Beomgyu shakes his head. Even though his shoulders hunch up at Yeonjun’s retort, he sets his jaw and stands his ground. “I’m sorry, hyung. For not keeping my promise to you as well as I should have.” He holds his hands out, helplessly. The water from the coffee cup drips down onto the wooden slats of the studio floor. “You don’t have to forgive me, or listen to my explanation, but I just wanted to say… that I’m sorry. And that I wouldn’t have missed your birthday for the world.”

Yeonjun averts his gaze, teeth gritted. “I see.”

Beomgyu squirms in place, restless. “Hyung—”

His resolve lasts for half a second before he’s pitching forward to snake his arms around Beomgyu, one hand clutching at his nape and one anchored against the small of his back. Yeonjun buries his head in the crook of Beomgyu’s shoulder, nosing up his throat and taking in the smell of his citrus shampoo, the scent of his sweet, floral perfume.

Yeonjun wants to stay angry, wants to be able to resist the way Beomgyu’s eyes go round and sad and watery when he apologizes. But he loves him. The simple matter is that he loves him, and it’s his birthday, and he’s missed Beomgyu so much that he wants nothing more than to hold him and relish in the fact that he’s there, with him, real and in his arms.

“I’m still mad at you,” he whispers; he hears Beomgyu’s breath hitch in his ear in recognition.

“I know.”

“I’m still really mad at you.”

“I deserve it, hyung.” The iced americano clinks against his hip, where Beomgyu’s holding it as he hugs him back.

“But I’m happy you’re here,” Yeonjun says, relief pulsing through him like a drug. He draws back, unable to stop himself from feathering a kiss against the underside of Beomgyu’s jaw and against the corner of his mouth. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, hyung,” Beomgyu says, and the way his voice tears up at the end weaves its way around the cracks around Yeonjun’s heart. “You have to believe me.”

Yeonjun’s been let down before, but it doesn’t stop him from taking the leap again and again. Maybe he’s more of a romantic than he thinks he is. “I think I do.”

—❁—

They’re leaning against the mirror wall, sitting next to each other and stealing glances when they think the other isn’t looking. Beomgyu’s pulled his hand into his lap to lace their fingers together. It’s so dizzyingly familiar, Yeonjun could be forgiven for thinking that the past two months never really happened.

“You want to tell me what you’re doing here for real? Before Chaeyeon comes running in and ruining our moment?”

“She isn’t, Gyuri noona let her have the bigger room so that I could do this,” Beomgyu pouts, wriggling around and looking far too adorable for someone who’s supposed to be repentant. “I really am sorry, you know.”

“I know, Gyu-yah. But you’ll have to tell me why, before I tell you I forgive you,” Yeonjun shoots back, but it’s not harsh at all. He’s halfway there, honestly.

Beomgyu leans his head on his shoulder, threads his arm through his. “You know how when I went back, I was too busy to even call you very often?”

“Somehow I remember that,” Yeonjun pretends to grumble. Beomgyu pokes him in the side, making a face at him.

“Well, it had to do with Soohyunnie’s visit.”

“Soohyun?” Yeonjun’s eyebrows furrow. It’s not what he expects. “What do you mean?”

The sigh Beomgyu lets out is gusty and aggrieved. “Well, when we were talking, she mentioned to my parents about wanting to see me for… proper closure. When she came around to my parents’ house, they told her that they were sorry about how things went down.” The arm he has around Yeonjun tightens, a smidge. “They also told her that seeing how I reacted had them re-evaluate a lot of things. They asked her to tell me that when I got home, they wanted to talk.”

Yeonjun nods slowly. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“It was. Good,” Beomgyu says. He shrugs. “There’s still a long way to go. I had to gather up some good will and work long nights and weekends at the company to prove to them that I was capable of making my own decisions about my life but… I think I got my point across, and eventually we’ll get there.” He smirks, just a little. “My dad especially liked the presentations I made to his marketing department about the fashion demographics in Seoul.”

Yeonjun’s eyebrows fly up. “No shit?”

“Yeah, shit,” Beomgyu says, laughing a little before he stops, worry marring the set of his mouth all of a sudden. “Hyung, the reason I didn’t tell you about that part of the conversation with Soohyun is because I didn’t… I didn’t know what to expect, and I didn’t want to promise anything more than I knew I could.”

Beomgyu nibbles on his bottom lip, like he’s still trying to figure out how to explain himself. “They’re still my family, you see,” he says softly, and Yeonjun just wants to hold him, closer and tighter. “And I can’t give them up without trying.”

“I understand, Beomgyu-yah,” Yeonjun assures him; he gives him a gentle smile, reaching out to rub his back. “Hey, you don’t have to feel guilty about that, or explain yourself to me.”

“But I do, hyung,” Beomgyu says, insistent. He moves until he’s facing Yeonjun, sitting on his haunches. “Because I hurt you. Not because I didn’t tell you, but because I had to leave to do it.” He clutches at Yeonjun’s elbows now, shaking them to get his point across. “You need to know that I wanted to stay, hyung. Because…”

He looks up at Yeonjun, eyes wide and round. Yeonjun will never stop being bowled over by those eyes. “Because I love you, hyung. I’m in love with you, and I wanted to stay with you.” He shakes his head. “Not wanted. Want. I want to stay here, with you, if you’ll still have me.”

Yeonjun’s heart stutters, the phenomenon that he thought only happened in his beloved dramas crashing through him as everything slowly faded into background noise; his whole world tilts, spins, then rights itself on its axis, and his eyes are filled with Beomgyu. Just Beomgyu.

“You…”

Beomgyu smiles up at him; it’s gentle and sweet and… loving.

He’s in love with me.

He’s in love with me, too.

—❁—

Whenever anyone asks Yeonjun why he continues to dance, his answer varies, depending on who’s asking, but every time he gives one, it’s always revolves around a very simple point, which is that: any time he moves to the music, any time he feels the rhythm slide into his muscles and simmer under his skin, everything else gets stripped away and all that’s left is this singular sensation that he thinks is the closest he’ll ever get to pure, unadulterated euphoria, that stunning moment of clarity that he approximates but never quite grasps.

Every day, he works to chase that high, always yearning to get close, hoping that one day he’ll manage it.

Today. Today, he gets it, and he doesn't even need to perfect a routine, stick a difficult move, or finish a song without any flaws.

Today, he gets it, and all it took was for the boy he loved to say he loved him back.

—❁—

“Do you know my lease is up soon?”

They’re wrapped around each other in Yeonjun’s bed, like so many nights in the past few months. Yeonjun’s birthday has come and gone, stolen away by the hours they spend reacquainting themselves with the way their bodies fit around and in each other. Beomgyu can’t stop telling him he’s in love with him, spilling it into his mouth whenever they kiss, and Yeonjun is eager to taste it every time.

“I think you mentioned it before,” Beomgyu murmurs; he’s toying with the ends of Yeonjun’s hair, fidgeting, always fidgeting. Yeonjun loves that about him. Yeonjun loves him. “Don’t you want to stay here?”

“Well, I thought that I didn’t need the extra room anymore, but now that you’re here, I’m rethinking it,” Yeonjun says, musing out loud. He reaches down to pull Beomgyu’s hand into his own, linking them together to stop his fussing — it’s starting to tickle. “I’ll work it out in the morning.”

“We’ll work it out, hyung,” Beomgyu tells him sleepily, punctuating his sentence with a yawn. “But later. Sleep first.”

There are still plenty of things they need to work out, really. Life doesn’t stop for people who decide they want to be together. There are plenty of roadblocks, and they all crowd into Yeonjun’s mind, one by one — convincing Beomgyu’s parents to let him move to Seoul indefinitely, finding him a job so he can actually sustain himself, fixing Yeonjun’s schedule so he can take on more classes, figuring out rent and chores and living arrangements and closet space and—

“Hyung, I can practically hear you thinking, it’s so loud up there.”

Yeonjun squeezes the hand he’s holding in his. “Beomgyu-yah, are you sure this is what you want?”

Beomgyu exhales, only mildly exasperated. “Hyung, it’s three in the morning. My train leaves early in the afternoon.”

“Indulge me. It’s my birthday, you know.”

“I didn’t know your birthday was a two-day affair,” Beomgyu retorts sarcastically, yelping just a little when Yeonjun tightens the grip he has around his waist. “Fine, I’ll bite. Just because it’s your birthday. And because I love you.”

In the dark, Yeonjun blushes red; he waits.

“Remember when I told you about how I was brought up not to want for anything, but that came with expectations, and led to what you know now as me being forced to get married for the sake of my family?”

“It rings a bell,” Yeonjun replies, deadpan.

“Hyung, I’m trying to make a point here,” Beomgyu grumbles. He rubs circles around the knuckle of Yeonjun’s index finger, the only thing he can reach. “I thought I was free to figure out who I was, but I had that taken away from me. I came here, and fought very hard to get that back.”

Yeonjun hums, letting Beomgyu know that he’s listening.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, or who I’m going to be. And that’s the thing I’m looking forward to the most, you know? The not knowing. The not planning,” Beomgyu says, and even though his voice is laced with sleep, there’s an underlying excitement that’s infectious. “The only thing I’m sure of is that I want to figure everything out right next to you.”

Yeonjun’s heart skips a beat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t need anything more. Even if it’s just like this, as long as you’re here, it’s enough,” Beomgyu murmurs; to Yeonjun’s ears, it sounds like a wish come true. “You’re enough. For me.”

Even if it’s just like this. Yeonjun swallows.

It sounds good enough for him, too.

The yawn Beomgyu lets out this time is even more jaw-cracking than the last. “Now, can we please go to sleep? We have plenty of time to figure it all out. If not tomorrow, then the day after that. Or the day after that. Or the… day after… that…”

He drifts off, falling asleep before he even finishes his sentence; his nose nuzzles against the space on Yeonjun’s chest where he thinks his heart is supposed to be. Yeonjun smiles, and presses a kiss onto the crown of his head, feeling nothing but warm. “Okay, Beomgyu-yah.”

Beomgyu’s right. They have plenty of time.