always the punchline

by koostiddy

Summary:

Campus heartthrob Choi Beomgyu accepts a bet worth 1 million KRW to get the shy, elusive Huening Kai to sleep with him, but as he gets to know Kai, Beomgyu realises there might be more at stake than just 1 million KRW.

Notes:

there's an alarming lack of beomkai fics yall... you guys are in a crisis, i'm on my way

Chapter 1

Summary:

Beomgyu plays it cool. “You don’t think I could do it?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Soobin says, quietly but firm. “He’s not like the others. Don’t drag him into this.”

Beomgyu turns to him, brow lifting. “Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t deserve to be someone’s bet,” Soobin says. “He keeps to himself. He’s not looking for this kind of shit.”

Beomgyu’s silent for a beat. The memory surfaces uninvited; Kai in class, bent over his notebook, headphones snug over his ears, like he’s building a wall around himself. Wide eyes that never quite meet anyone else’s. Someone small in a room full of noise. But then Doyoon smirks, and Minjun raises a brow, and the pressure creeps in like it always does. The golden boy. The one who doesn’t flinch. Beomgyu feels the weight of it pressing down, making it hard to tell where pride ends and something uglier begins.

“Fine,” he says, too quickly. “You’re on.”

🐧 

 

It’s early, too early for most students to be out. The sky has the pale clarity of a page newly turned, its soft blues just beginning to deepen with gold at the edges, sunlight sifting through the still air in a hush. The campus grounds are quiet save for the faint crunch of leaves underfoot and the rhythmic sweep of a groundskeeper’s broom somewhere off near the science hall. The air carries a slight chill, not quite biting, but enough that the warmth of a hot drink feels like a comfort, a shield.

Kai walks with his hands in the pockets of his coat, a charcoal-grey wool that hangs loose on his narrow frame. He doesn’t rush – he never does – but each step is certain, quiet, as though the world might stay still if only he’s careful enough not to disturb it. A breeze picks up and shivers through the trees, rustling the burnt-orange and ochre leaves still clinging to the branches. Some drift down slowly around him. He doesn’t look up. He’s used to them now, these small moments of beauty he lets pass without touching.

There’s a corner cafe just past the art building, the kind of place not many students know about. It opens early and closes before noon, owned by a retired couple who seem to have decided that slow mornings and gentle jazz are enough of a life now. Kai likes it for that. He likes the quiet, the lack of fluorescent lights and overstretched Wi-Fi. The coffee isn’t remarkable, but he doesn’t go for their coffee anyway. The man behind the counter, Mr. Nam, recognises him by now, and has since concocted a special drink just for him; hot chocolate with mint syrup, a hidden menu only he’s allowed to order. They don’t speak much, but they don’t have to, their bond transcending any conversation they could ever have.

This morning, like the ones before, Kai steps inside to the familiar chime of the doorbell. Warmth envelops him, and he closes the door gently behind him. Mr. Nam is already mixing up his drink, nodding to him without needing to ask. Kai gives the faintest of smiles, then reaches into his coat for his wallet. He places the exact change on the counter, adds a quiet ‘thank you’ and steps back into his usual corner seat to wait.

The cafe smells of roasted beans and toasted sugar. A small speaker hums with something soft and instrumental, filling the space without demanding attention. Kai stands near the window, watching the passersby. A student on a bicycle coasts by, scarf trailing in the breeze. A pair of joggers cross the plaza, their breath puffing in small clouds. A crow lands near the bench outside, hops twice, then takes off again.

When the cup is set down on his table, Kai collects it wordlessly with a smile, to which Mr. Nam responds with another polite nod. He cradles the warmth between his palms as he exits, letting the steam rise and touch his face. The wind tugs gently at his fringe, and he turns up his collar, eyes lowered.

The library isn’t far. It’s built in clean lines and old stone, wrapped in ivy that turns red and gold this time of year. The windows are tall and narrow, framing views of the campus in slices. Kai knows exactly where he wants to sit; second floor, east wing, the window seat near the corner where the light hits gently and there’s a view of the lake.

He walks slowly, unhurried, the hot chocolate still too hot to drink. A few other students pass him on the way – some hurrying with half-zipped backpacks, others in quiet pairs. A girl from his music theory class passes by and offers a brief wave. Kai meets her eyes for half a second, nods with a polite smile, and keeps walking. He can’t recall her name. She seems kind, but she talks a lot, and Kai never knows how to respond when the silence stretches awkwardly between her thoughts and his lack of them.

He steps into the library, greeted by the soft hush of turning pages and the low murmur of morning staff. He takes the stairs two at a time, not out of urgency, but habit. His seat is empty, as it always is this early, and he settles into it with a quiet breath.

The view is just as he left it yesterday, trees like brushstrokes, the lake with its mirror-still surface, a breeze skimming faint ripples across the water. He sets his hot chocolate down beside him, opens his notebook and begins to write. Not anything deliberate, just lines. A stanza, maybe. A verse, a chorus. His pencil moves lightly, absently, tracing thought without direction. The page is already full of half-formed songs; some complete with a music score, some without.

There’s a peace in being here, tucked away in this small square of quiet. Kai doesn’t need noise. Doesn’t need many people. He finds his rhythm in solitude, in the familiar pattern of his days, and classes don’t start for another hour. He’ll go eventually like he always does, always on time, always prepared, but for now, he just lets the silence settle. He watches as the sun climbs higher, the light spilling gold onto the floor beside him. The hot mint chocolate cools slightly, enough to drink. He takes a small sip, the warmth unfurling through his chest.

Someone else enters the library floor, shoes soft against the carpet, the sound distant. Kai doesn’t look up. He’s used to the presence of others as background, like music played low, not meant for words. Sometimes he wonders if people notice him. Not in the self-conscious way, but as a passing thought. A brief glance in a lecture hall, a nod in the corridor. He doesn’t mind being overlooked. He finds comfort in it, even. There’s no pressure there, no expectation.

Still, there are fleeting moments when he watches groups of students laughing together in the cafeteria, huddled around a phone or sharing notes with easy banter, and something stirs in his chest. Not quite longing, not quite envy, but something softer, more resigned. As if he’s pressing his palm to a window, watching something happen just beyond the glass, but those moments pass. He knows who he is, he doesn’t need the noise, he prefers the quiet.

A gust of wind rustles the trees outside, and more leaves fall, dancing briefly before settling. Kai doesn’t even notice the faint smile that touches his lips. His phone buzzes faintly on the table, startling him. He glances at the screen. A message from Yeonjun reads, are you skipping breakfast again? It’s followed by an obscene amount of eye-roll and angry emojis.

Kai exhales through his nose, something like amusement flickering through him at the thought of the elder knowing him so well. He types back a short reply, i got my trusty hot mintchoc with me ^w^ 

The reply is immediate, that’s not real breakfast, dummy!!! 

He puts the phone face-down and takes another sip of his hot mint chocolate. Yeonjun is one of the few people who never tries to pull too hard. He pushes, gently, sometimes annoyingly, but he never yanks Kai out of his rhythm. It’s something Kai appreciates in a quiet, unspoken way. 

Kai and Yeonjun’s friendship is the kind that stretches far beyond the bounds of language, rooted in a kind of knowing that doesn’t need explanation. They’ve been side by side since nappies and juice boxes, since scraped knees on schoolyard pavement and summers spent chasing fireflies along the Han River. Yeonjun has always taken the lead, the more confident of the two, the one who knew how to talk to adults and didn’t flinch at confrontation. Though, even as a child, he always turned back to make sure Kai was following. If Kai hung back at a birthday party, overwhelmed by the noise, Yeonjun would sit with him by the wall, two paper plates balanced on their knees, eating cake in a comfortable quiet. If a classmate teased Kai for his quietness, Yeonjun would appear out of nowhere, stepping in with a sharp glare and an arm thrown protectively across Kai’s shoulders, scaring all the younger kids. They grew up like that, with Yeonjun shielding, Kai grounding, the two of them fitting together like a lock and key.

Over the years, Yeonjun became the one Kai looked to first in everything. When school got hard, when his parents argued and eventually divorced, when Kai lost his grandmother and didn’t know how to put the grief into words, Yeonjun was there. He’d press his chin into Kai’s shoulder and whisper something dumb until Kai laughed through his tears. He was the first to hear Kai’s lyrics, scrawled into the margins of notebooks and napkins, the one who noticed when Kai hesitated before pressing play on a new demo. “You’re brilliant,” he’d say without blinking, like it was a fact, like it was the easiest thing in the world to believe, and because Yeonjun said it so simply, so certainly, sometimes Kai believed it too. In those moments, Yeonjun’s confidence felt like a shield Kai could borrow, just until he found his own voice.

Still, there were days when the closeness felt too heavy in Kai’s chest, guilt blooming in the spaces between Yeonjun’s kindnesses. He watched Yeonjun stride through the fashion department with swatches of fabric tucked under his arm, eyes gleaming with vision and confidence, and part of him wondered if his friend could’ve shone even brighter without him always in tow. Sometimes he’d sit alone in a practice room, writing verses that never left his lips, and feel a twinge of something sharp and aching. Maybe I’m holding him back, Kai would think, his voice catching in his throat whenever he imagined what life might be like if Yeonjun didn’t have to worry about him so much. He never said it aloud, of course. That would’ve made it real.

Yeonjun never saw him that way, though. To him, Kai was never a burden, never something to be tolerated or taken care of. He didn’t just support Kai because he needed support. He did it because Kai mattered, because Kai’s songs held truths that Yeonjun couldn’t articulate in sketches or fabrics, because when everything felt too loud or too fast, Kai’s presence grounded him. When Yeonjun’s own doubts crept in – about whether his designs were good enough, whether he was being taken seriously in an industry so competitive – Kai was the one who sat beside him and listened. No expectations, no judgement. Their bond wasn’t one-sided; it was built on years of leaning on each other without keeping score. Yeonjun might’ve led the way more often, but he never would’ve gotten as far without Kai’s quiet strength beside him.

Even now, at university, nothing’s really changed. They’re older, busier, their paths occasionally diverging with shows and recitals and deadlines, but they always find their way back to each other. Yeonjun still sends Kai good luck texts before performances and shows up with extra snacks during exam week. Kai still listens to Yeonjun’s late-night rants about critique panels that “clearly don’t get innovation” and reminds him to breathe when he gets too caught up in perfection. They still walk home together when they can, Yeonjun’s shoulder brushing against Kai’s as they fall into step like nothing’s changed, and maybe nothing has. Maybe, for all the ways they’ve grown, they’re still just two boys sharing a quiet corner of the world, refusing to let go of the thread that’s always tethered them together.

Outside, the sky is brighter now, the colours deepening. The campus is beginning to stir properly. More students cross the quad. The silence grows thinner, but it doesn’t break. Kai packs his things slowly, slipping the notebook into his bag. He folds his hands around the empty cup for a moment longer, then stands, tucking the chair in behind him. His movements are measured, quiet, as if reluctant to leave the calm behind.

The first class of the day is a theory lecture. He sits at the back – his usual seat near the middle being taken by someone else – near the window, where the light hits the desk in soft angles. He listens without speaking, takes notes in neat handwriting. When the professor asks a question, Kai knows the answer, but he doesn’t raise his hand. He never does. Others are faster to speak, and he’s content to listen.

After class, he walks to the main plaza, where the trees are denser and the wind picks up fallen leaves in brief, elegant flurries. Students gather in small knots, some still yawning, others scrolling their phones. The scent of warm bread drifts from the student centre cafe. Yeonjun finds him easily, he always does. Tall, confident, with a kind of chaotic charm that draws people in. He’s talking before he even reaches Kai, some story about a new design he had thought of, and a groupmate with an annoying lack of vision. Kai listens, eyes soft with his mouth quirking at the edges. He doesn’t say much. He doesn’t need to. Yeonjun fills the space, and Kai, in turn, gives it weight by simply being there.

They walk the campus path together, under the turning trees, steps in sync without trying. The breeze lifts Yeonjun’s fringe, and he huffs, pushing it back with a dramatic sigh.

“You need a haircut,” Kai says, voice quiet but amused.

Yeonjun turns, mock-affronted. “And you need to stop drinking only chocolate for breakfast.”

Kai shrugs. “It’s enough.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes but says nothing more. The conversation shifts again, back to trivialities; homework, weekend plans, a fashion show someone’s organising. Kai listens, sometimes he answers, but mostly, he’s content to let the words wash over him, grounding him in the moment. All around them, the autumn morning unfurls with patient grace. Leaves fall. Breezes sigh. The sun continues its slow climb across the sky, casting long, soft shadows. Kai walks through it, quiet, steady, small in the way water is as it moves across a pebble, gracing the world not through force, but through gentle, persistent presence.

The literature building stands tall and square, its facade weathered with age and layered in ivy, leaves curling into deep red veins across the stone. It has a kind of quiet dignity, tucked beside the main courtyard like an old scholar watching younger generations pass. A breeze winds through the nearby trees, stirring the air with the soft rustle of drying leaves. He has his songwriting class in this building, a class he dreads and anticipates at the same time.

Kai waits just outside the entrance, standing by the wide columns that flank the stairway. His empty cup is crumpled in one hand, his bag slung loosely over one shoulder. The day has warmed slightly, the chill of early morning giving way to a softer, golden warmth. He watches students come and go – some with books cradled in their arms, others speaking animatedly as they pass – but he doesn’t engage. He stands still, comfortable in his own silence, until a Yeonjun’s voice cuts through the breeze.

“By the way,”

Kai turns, just slightly, as Yeonjun digs through his totebag.

“Don’t give me that look,” Yeonjun says, catching Kai’s hesitant smile as he hands him two pastries in a paper bag. “That damn hot chocolate is nowhere near enough for breakfast.”

Kai takes the bag wordlessly, the warmth spreading through his fingers. He murmurs a soft “Thanks,” just barely audible, but Yeonjun hears it anyway. He always does.

“You know, normal people eat actual food before class,” Yeonjun mutters, mock-scolding as he falls into step beside him. “Something with nutrients. Protein. Chewing involved.”

Kai hums in response, taking a small bite. The pastry’s a little bigger than he usually chooses. Yeonjun’s doing, no doubt. He never lets Kai eat the smaller one out of the display rack, always giving him the biggest one.

They walk together toward Kai’s lecture hall. The path is scattered with students but not yet crowded, and Yeonjun makes a subtle habit of moving just slightly ahead, like a shield without drawing attention to it. It’s something Kai has grown used to, this protective orbit Yeonjun exists in. Yeonjun turns back towards Kai, pastry in one hand and two stacks of paper in the other instead of one.

“Let me guess,” Yeonjun says as they near the hall. “You did Jinah’s assignment again.”

Kai doesn’t answer, but the silence says enough.

Yeonjun sighs. “Hueningie, come on. You need to start telling people no.”

“She just needed help,” Kai says softly.

“She always just needs help,” Yeonjun groans exasperatedly. “And she doesn’t even ask! She just… assumes you’ll do them.”

Kai shrugs, eyes downcast.

“It’s not about being nice,” Yeonjun continues. “It’s about not letting people walk over you. You should only work hard for yourself. Let them fail.”

Kai doesn’t argue. He never does. He lets Yeonjun grumble, letting the irritation burn out like a short candle. It’s always like this; Yeonjun speaks, Kai listens, and somewhere in the space between, they understand each other.

The building’s wide glass doors open with a soft whoosh, and the murmur of students grows louder as they step inside. Fluorescent lights replace sunlight, casting a cooler glow over the pale walls. They pause near the staircase.

Yeonjun looks at him, expression softening. “Seriously though… if anyone’s bothering you, tell me.”

Kai meets his gaze, faint amusement in his eyes. “What would you do?”

“Beat them up. Obviously.”

Kai huffs a laugh. “Yeah, as if.”

Yeonjun grins, satisfied to have drawn that rare sound from him. “You’re lucky I like you, you know.”

“I know, see you later, hyung!”

Yeonjun waits until Kai disappears up the stairs before turning to leave.

After class, the sun is high overhead, casting sharp shadows across the campus paths. The sky is a clean, cloudless blue, and the air smells of fallen leaves and the faint sweetness of ginkgo fruit baking under the sun. They meet again without needing to text. There’s a patch of grass near the east courtyard, just far enough from the crowd, just close enough to hear the chapel bell echoing faintly in the distance. Kai’s seated with his knees drawn up, notebook in his lap. He’s writing again, pencil dancing lightly along the page, waiting for Yeonjun to finish his class.

By the time Yeonjun finally steps out of his last class, the sky is already steeped in pale amber, streaked with faint lavender clouds that bleed into the edges of the horizon. The air has cooled just enough for Kai to pull his sleeves down over his hands as he waits on the bench beneath the ginkgo tree, watching the shadows stretch across the courtyard. The last golden leaves flutter above him, catching in the folds of his hoodie.

His bag rests at his feet, and the paper pastry wrapper – now empty save for a smudge of chocolate filling – has been folded neatly into quarters. He presses his thumb against it absently, tracing the creases as he listens to the breeze and distant chatter of students passing through the courtyard. It’s always louder this time of day, full of tired laughter and careless footsteps, but Kai’s corner of the bench feels comfortably separate from it all. A small pocket of quiet.

Yeonjun spots him before Kai notices, boots scuffing the pavement as he jogs the last few steps across the courtyard. “You actually ate both?” he asks, dropping his bag beside Kai with a soft thump.

Kai looks up and blinks against the light. “You said I’d regret it if I didn’t.”

Yeonjun huffs out a half-laugh. “And was I right?”

Kai shrugs, the edges of his mouth curving slightly. “Maybe.”

The bench dips as Yeonjun flops down next to him, long legs stretching out in front. He smells faintly of fabric glue and detergent. Probably spent the last hour finishing some part of that coat project he wouldn’t stop muttering about all week.

“I have a feeling you purposely avoid buying breakfast just so I’ll buy it for you,” Yeonjun says offhandedly, nudging Kai’s ankle with the toe of his boot. “You just try to act like you don’t eat breakfast.”

Kai scoffs, breaking out into laughter. “Yeah, right. Whatever you say, hyung.”

“See?!” Yeonjun points out dramatically. “You’re not even denying it because you know I’m right!”

Kai cackles in place of a response, but Yeonjun doesn’t seem to mind it. They joke together for a little while, watching the slow migration of students heading out of the courtyard, backpacks slung low, phones held to ears, arms linked with friends. Then Yeonjun straightens and turns toward him, tapping his fingers against the wooden slats of the bench. “Wanna get Korean BBQ?”

Kai blinks, not expecting the sudden shift. “Now?”

“I’m starving. You’ve had, what, two pastries and air today? We need to fix that.” Yeonjun nudges him again. “Come on. My treat.” A short pause. “Again…”

Kai rolls his eyes and nudges Yeonjun’s shoulder. He should probably finish his demo track, or at least polish the lyrics he’s been quietly working on all week, but he knows he won’t, anyway. Not when the tempting offer of free grilled pork belly is being hung over his head right now.

“Let’s go,” he smiles.

Yeonjun grins, fond as always, and tugs lightly at Kai’s sleeve. “Look at you, milking me of all my money. You better thank me for filling you with pastries and grilled pork belly and helping you forget about whatever minor crisis you’ve been brooding over all day.”

Kai rolls his eyes, but he smiles anyway.

They walk in step down the paved path that curves toward the eastern gate. The leaves crunch underfoot, crisp and dry, the wind tugging at the loose threads on Kai’s hoodie. He keeps his hands tucked into his sleeves as they pass under the archway of trees that line the campus edge. Every so often, their shoulders brush, not by accident, but not intentional either. Just something natural that’s never needed acknowledging.

Up ahead, near the old gate, a group of students is clustered together on the steps, laughing too loudly, voices bouncing through the cool air. Kai recognises them, it’s hard not to when some of them are in the same major as he is. Beomgyu’s – the president of the student council – hair is unmistakable in the fading light, the dyed ends catching the last rays of sun as he throws his head back, laughing at something Soobin is saying. They’re surrounded by a few others from the music department, their energy loud and golden in a way Kai has never quite understood.

He doesn’t slow, doesn’t let himself look for more than a second. It’s not that he dislikes them, he just doesn’t know how to be around people like that. People who seem so naturally open, magnetic like gravity bends toward them. Kai looks away, gaze dropping to the pavement. His grip on Yeonjun’s sleeve tightens slightly. Yeonjun, beside him, keeps walking and doesn’t even glance their way. Beomgyu glances up and makes eye contact with him as they pass, but no one says anything. No one interrupts them. The noise behind them fades quickly, the way most things do when Yeonjun is around.

“You okay?” Yeonjun asks, his voice quieter now.

Kai nods once. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t say more, and Yeonjun doesn’t press. The world around them begins to glow as the sun dips lower, street lights flickering on one by one. Their reflections stretch long across the pavement. A breeze rustles through the trees, and Kai watches a single leaf drift down, twisting slowly before landing on Yeonjun’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, just reaches up and brushes it off gently.

“What’ve you been working on?” Yeonjun asks as they cross the street. “Music-wise.”

Kai exhales softly. “A new demo. It’s still rough. Just a verse and a chord progression.”

“Do I get to hear it?”

“…Eventually,” Kai says.

Yeonjun grins. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

They reach the restaurant not long after, a narrow spot tucked between a convenience store and a stationery shop. The glow from the windows spills out onto the street, warm and inviting. The smell of grilled meat and sesame oil floats in the air, sharp and familiar.

The ahjumma at the counter waves as they step in. “Ah, the quiet one and his fashion boyfriend,” she calls with a wink.

“He’s not my boyfriend, ahjumma…” Kai ducks his head, face warming, but Yeonjun only winks back.

They slide into their usual booth in the back. It’s a little cramped, but Kai likes the way the hum of the restaurant feels at this hour; busy, but not overwhelming. The sizzle of nearby grills blends with the chatter of tables full of friends and couples, the clink of metal chopsticks, the soft patter of K-indie playing from the overhead speakers.

Yeonjun reaches for the water jug and pours two cups, setting one in front of Kai. “We’re getting samgyeopsal and galbi,” he declares. “No arguments.”

Kai raises an eyebrow. “You always say that before I even say anything.”

“That’s because you’d sit here eating plain rice and kimchi if I didn’t intervene,” Yeonjun says, grinning.

He’s probably right.

Kai leans back as the first cuts of pork belly hit the grill, the sound of sizzling meat curling around them. The warmth seeps into his skin, and for the first time that day, the tightness in his chest begins to ease. Whatever had felt heavy or strange about Beomgyu’s group, or the awkward silence he’d carried through lecture, fades in the noise and comfort of grilled meat, barley tea, and Yeonjun’s steady presence.

Here – across from Yeonjun, in this little booth filled with steam and smoke and soft music – everything feels manageable and understandable. His world may be small, but it’s his. And in moments like this, it’s enough.

 

🧸 

 

The student council room is alive with noise.

It’s a mix of rustling papers, hurried footsteps, and laughter bouncing off the high ceiling. Sunlight streams in through the windows, catching on glossy flyers and half-empty coffee cups scattered across the long table. At the centre of it all stands Beomgyu, one foot propped on a chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, grinning like he owns the place.

He probably does, in a way.

"Okay, listen up. No one's going to the festival in mismatched shirts this year," he says, gesturing with the half-eaten pastry in his hand like it’s a gavel. “I’m not supervising another photo op that looks like a chaotic family reunion.”

Laughter ripples through the group. Someone throws a balled-up napkin at him. He catches it easily, bows dramatically, then drops it into the bin without looking. Cheers erupt from the table.

“Show-off,” someone mutters, and Beomgyu just winks.

Despite the laid-back performance, he's efficient; assigning booth duties, making sure the flyers are done, and confirming time slots with the audio-visual team. It’s the kind of chaos he thrives in. His voice threads through every corner of the room, confident, light, always a little teasing. Everyone listens when Beomgyu speaks. Not because he demands it, but because he makes it seem fun to do so.

Someone near the back raises a hand. “Beomgyu hyung, what about the band performance?”

Beomgyu tilts his head, brushing hair from his forehead. “We’re in. I’ve got something new I’m working on.”

That’s enough to earn another round of excitement, he always draws a crowd. Not just because he’s good, but because people like watching him and like being close to his spotlight. A few more minutes of discussion pass before the meeting starts to wind down. People begin standing, stretching, gathering their things. Beomgyu stays seated on the edge of the table, one leg swinging absently as he picks at the last of his pastry. That’s when Soobin slips in, quiet but confident as always, barely making a sound as he crosses the room. He appears beside Beomgyu and offers him a drink from the vending machine, cold condensation trickling down the bottle.

Beomgyu accepts it without needing to ask. “Knew I could count on you.”

Soobin shrugs, eyes soft. “You talk too much. You always forget to hydrate.”

“Someone’s gotta do it,” Beomgyu says, unscrewing the cap. “Imagine if I didn’t talk. This place would die of boredom.”

Soobin huffs a laugh but says nothing. They step out of the council room together, the air immediately cooler and fresher than inside. The buzz of campus life surrounds them again, with people spilling into the quad, booths being set up, music playing from someone’s Bluetooth speaker nearby. The sun’s low now, casting long shadows across the stone path. They walk side by side, unhurried. Beomgyu greets people as they pass; upperclassmen, juniors, people from different departments. His presence is magnetic, and he wears it well. His uniform shirt is half-untucked, collar loose, yet somehow he still looks polished, like a magazine ad come to life.

Near the edge of the quad, the sun is slipping lower, dyeing everything in warm gold and long shadows. There's a group gathered around the low table by the old gate, half-draped in fairy lights and half-lost in the shade of the tree above. It’s the usual crowd. Familiar faces, loud voices, the soft clink of takeaway cups and laughter that never quite sounds real. Beomgyu spots Doyoon first, then Minjun, and a couple of others from the music department sprawled across the benches like they own the place.

“Hey, Beomgyu!” someone calls out as he approaches. “Where’ve you been, pretty boy? Missed you at class.”

Beomgyu grins, tugging Soobin along beside him. “Trying to keep my beauty sleep sacred. You guys are hell on my skin.”

Minjun scoots over and wraps around him the moment he gets close. “You’re too pretty to be real, you know that? You sure you don’t wanna fuck a second time?”

Beomgyu lets the comment roll off like water. He leans one arm on the table, all lazy confidence, and shoots Minjun a smirk. “Complain to my parents. And no thank you, I don’t double dip.”

“You’re annoying,” Minjun pouts, but it’s a joke with teeth, and they both know it.

Beomgyu drops into the seat beside him, flashing a peace sign as if it’ll ward off the lingering tension. Soobin takes the spot beside him with a sigh. The conversation picks up fast; festival logistics, a rumour about midterms getting scrapped, someone’s Tinder horror story. Beomgyu slides back into the rhythm like it’s nothing. He knows how to keep a crowd laughing, how to play his role. He tells a story about some guy who accidentally sent a love letter instead of an assignment to a class group chat, and the table dissolves into cackles.

Then Doyoon speaks.

“Hey, speaking of unfair,” he says, and Beomgyu immediately feels the shift. The way Doyoon’s voice slides into that teasing register, the one that’s always a little too sharp to be harmless. “We were talking earlier. About who Beomgyu hasn’t pulled yet.”

Beomgyu huffs a laugh, slouching back in his seat. “What kind of cursed list am I on now?”

Minjun tilts his coffee toward him with a smug grin. “You might’ve hooked up with half the damn campus, me included, but there are still a few people you haven’t cracked.”

There it is. That flicker behind the flattery. That bite under the praise. Beomgyu’s learned to smile through it. “I’m flattered you guys keep track.”

“You should be,” Doyoon says. He’s leaning in now, elbows on the table, eyes sharp with mischief. “You know who’s always by himself? That kid, Kai. You’ve got a couple classes with him, right? The one who looks like he’s about to apologise for breathing.”

Beomgyu frowns, brow creasing. “Who?”

“Kai, Huening Kai,” Minjun says. “Halfie. Headphones on all the time. Tall. Big eyes. Kinda like a deer in headlights.”

Something clicks. Beomgyu snaps his fingers. “Oh. From Composition and Ensemble? Yeah. He’s... quiet.”

“Exactly,” Doyoon says, practically beaming. “Quiet. Shy. Probably untouched. The perfect challenge.”

Beomgyu snorts. “You want me to talk to him?”

“Not talk,” Doyoon grins. “Sleep with him. One million won says you can’t.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then the table erupts. Laughter, whistles, someone choking on their drink. Minjun watches him with narrowed eyes, like he already knows Beomgyu won’t walk away. Like he’s banking on it.

Beomgyu laughs along, hand waving dismissively. “You’re insane.”

“I’m generous,” Doyoon says. “Six months. No rules. Just make it happen. Unless you’re scared.”

It’s bait. Obvious, messy bait. But Beomgyu can feel everyone’s eyes on him now. Waiting. Soobin’s expression is tight beside him, like he wants to say something but doesn’t want to start a war.

Beomgyu plays it cool. “You don’t think I could do it?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Soobin says, quietly but firm. “He’s not like the others. Don’t drag him into this.”

Beomgyu turns to him, brow lifting. “Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t deserve to be someone’s bet,” Soobin says. “He keeps to himself. He’s not looking for this kind of shit.”

Beomgyu’s silent for a beat. The memory surfaces uninvited; Kai in class, bent over his notebook, headphones snug over his ears, like he’s building a wall around himself. Wide eyes that never quite meet anyone else’s. Someone small in a room full of noise. But then Doyoon smirks, and Minjun raises a brow, and the pressure creeps in like it always does. The golden boy. The one who doesn’t flinch. Beomgyu feels the weight of it pressing down, making it hard to tell where pride ends and something uglier begins.

“Fine,” he says, too quickly. “You’re on.”

The cheer that goes up is deafening. Doyoon slaps the table like it’s a game show win. Minjun whistles and smirks at him, pressing a kiss against his cheek that feels more like a form of mockery. Someone throws their napkin in the air. None of it settles the churn in Beomgyu’s chest. He’s just starting to force a grin when movement on the path nearby catches his eye.

Two boys walking past the edge of the quad. Beomgyu only vaguely registers Yeonjun, tall, sharp-featured, a bit of a rumour himself. But the other– Kai. He’s right there. Beomgyu’s breath catches, the rest of the table fading to a dull roar in his ears. He watches, frozen, as Kai walks beside Yeonjun, eyes fixed ahead until they’re not.

Their gazes meet.

Just for a second. Not long enough for anyone else to notice. But long enough for something to lodge itself deep in Beomgyu’s gut like a stone.

Kai’s eyes don’t narrow or flick away. He just… looks. Like he sees Beomgyu and doesn’t think much of what he finds. Beomgyu swallows hard, stomach twisting. He feels exposed, like the air’s shifted and someone’s pulled a curtain back. He tells himself it’s just shock, just the weird timing of it, but the truth is louder and meaner. It feels like guilt. Not guilt like when you lie to your mother or ghost a friend for a hookup. No. This is something raw and unfamiliar. Like he’s just signed a contract he didn’t read the fine print on, like he’s already done something wrong, even though nothing’s started yet.

Kai looks away first, and Yeonjun glances over too, briefly, before the pair disappear down the path. Beomgyu exhales slowly, but the ugly feeling stays. He turns back to the group with a smirk pasted on like a fresh coat of paint. The noise swells again around him; Doyoon laughing, Minjun egging him on, Soobin tense and silent. Beomgyu reaches for his drink, swirls it in his hand, and leans back like everything’s fine, but Kai’s eyes linger behind his own, dark and steady, and the feeling in Beomgyu’s chest won’t go away.

Soobin exhales sharply beside him, not quite a sigh, but close. Beomgyu doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t look at anyone, really, just lifts the bottle of juice Soobin gave him earlier, takes a long sip, and tries to ignore the strange twist in his stomach. He laughs along with the rest of them, but the sound feels a little too sharp in his own ears.

The walk back to their apartment isn’t long. On most nights, it feels like nothing; a smooth, familiar stretch of concrete between campus and luxury, but tonight, it drags. Every step feels deliberate, weighed down by something thick and unsaid. The street’s quieter than usual, the buzz of student life now reduced to the distant murmur of a city easing into dusk. Streetlamps hum softly overhead, casting pools of pale orange across the pavement. A breeze stirs through the trees lining the road, shaking loose the scent of spring flowers and exhaust fumes.

Beomgyu kicks a loose pebble down the path, watching it skitter ahead in short bursts. His hands stay stuffed in the pockets of his double-breasted blazer, expensive and crisp even this late. The chill in the air doesn’t quite reach him, but something else does. The memory of too many eyes on him, too many voices laughing, egging him on. It still clings to his skin, invisible and suffocating.

Beside him, Soobin walks in that infuriatingly even way he always does, shoulders squared, steps measured. Calm, like someone trying to keep from boiling over. Beomgyu can feel the tension radiating off him like static, can tell from the tight set of his jaw that he’s holding back.

“You’re really gonna do it?” Soobin asks, finally breaking the silence. His voice is low, cutting clean through the soft murmur of the city night.

Beomgyu sighs. “You’re starting this now?”

“You agreed to seduce someone for a million won, Gyu. I’m not letting you play it off like it’s a joke.”

Beomgyu slows his pace just enough to glance at him. Soobin doesn’t return the look. His gaze stays fixed ahead, sharp and unreadable, like he’s not just walking beside Beomgyu but walking away from him.

“It is a joke,” Beomgyu mutters, throwing on a shrug that feels more like armour than indifference. “They’re not actually expecting me to go through with it.”

“You said, ‘You’re on’!” Soobin snaps. “You literally agreed to it!”

Beomgyu’s mouth twists into a smile, but it feels fragile. “I don’t see the problem. I talk to Kai, maybe flirt a bit. No one’s getting hurt.”

Soobin stops walking. Just like that, he is two steps behind Beomgyu now. Beomgyu notices a second too late. He turns, blinking at the empty stretch of pavement between them. The streetlamp overhead flickers slightly, light dancing across Soobin’s cheekbones as he stands there, jaw tight and arms crossed. There’s something in the way Soobin plants his feet, like he’s bracing for impact.

“No one’s getting hurt?” Soobin repeats incredulously. “You’re not just flirting with Kai, Gyu. You’re going to sleep with him just to keep playing this game with Doyoon and Minjun.”

Beomgyu opens his mouth and closes it. His tongue feels too thick all of a sudden. “It’s not like that.”

Soobin lifts an eyebrow, expression flat. “Then what is it like?”

He’s used to Soobin being blunt. Used to the way he pulls no punches, the way he sees straight through Beomgyu’s charm and cocky swagger. But now? Now it feels like Soobin’s looking through him, like glass and Beomgyu hates it.

He exhales, slow and heavy, his breath curling faintly in the cool air. The wind’s picked up a little, tugging loose strands of hair into his eyes. He pushes them back with one hand and mutters, “Look. I’ve talked to Kai before. Not properly, but still. He’s chill. Keeps to himself. I’m not gonna hurt him.”

“You don’t even know him,” Soobin snaps, and there’s a sharpness in his tone that cuts through the quiet of the night. Beomgyu flinches, just slightly, but enough. “He’s not some challenge you can win and walk away from.”

The words hit harder than they should. Not because they’re loud – Soobin never needs to be loud – but because they’re right, and Beomgyu’s not sure he can lie his way around that. For a moment, there’s just the sound of their footsteps and the wind rustling the trees. A leaf skitters past Beomgyu’s ankle, brittle and orange and curling at the edges, like something that’s lived its whole life only to be stepped on and forgotten.

“Why do you care so much?” he asks finally, defensive without meaning to be. “You’ve never said two words to him either.”

Soobin doesn’t answer immediately. When he does, his voice is even but firm. “Because I care about you, dumbass.”

That lands heavier than anything else so far. It hits somewhere behind Beomgyu’s ribs, a quiet pressure he’s not used to feeling. Not when it’s sincere like this. Not when it’s coming from someone who actually knows him.

“And I’ve seen this pattern before,” Soobin goes on, jaw tight, eyes focused straight ahead like he’s trying not to watch Beomgyu crack under it. “You keep pulling this... Beomgyu thing. Getting dragged into something reckless because people expect you to be the guy who doesn’t care. The guy who always says yes. Who’s always game. Who always wins.”

Beomgyu looks away. The streetlamp casts their shadows long and distorted on the pavement, stretching them out like strangers. He wonders which one is his, where the performance ends and whatever’s left of him actually begins.

“I’m not dragging him into anything,” he mutters, almost too soft to hear. “It’s not like I’m gonna break his heart.”

Soobin lets out a breath through his nose, half exasperation, half disbelief. “Beomgyu. You’re literally agreeing to sleep with someone for money. You know how insane that sounds, right?”

Beomgyu bristles. “It’s not like that.”

“It is exactly like that,” Soobin presses. “You agreed to sleep with someone over a stupid bet. A million won, like that’s enough to justify it.”

Beomgyu clenches his jaw. “It’s not about the money.”

“Then what is it?” Soobin throws back, eyes flashing as he stops in his tracks. “We’re rich, Beomgyu. You don’t need a million won. We live in a penthouse. You order imported espresso pods and forget about them. Your parents send you money every month. You’ve got guitars more expensive than most people’s rent. What the hell are you trying to prove?”

“I don’t know!” Beomgyu snaps, louder than he means to. His voice echoes faintly down the quiet street. He scrubs a hand over his face, frustrated. “Maybe it’s about showing I can. Maybe it’s about not backing down when people expect me to be fun, or bold, or whatever the fuck I’m supposed to be.”

Soobin steps closer, his voice dropping but his gaze unwavering. “Or maybe it’s about the fact that you’re scared of being boring. Of being normal. Of being someone without a headline. So you keep chasing this version of yourself that’s cool and invincible and always wanted, even when it means crossing lines you shouldn’t.”

Beomgyu exhales slowly through his nose. His hands are clenched in his pockets now, tight enough his knuckles ache. He wants to argue, wants to tell Soobin he’s overreacting, that it’s not that serious, but deep down, under the sharp edges of ego and habit, something uncomfortable twists.

“Look,” he says finally, voice quieter, rougher. “I’ll be careful. I’m not gonna lead him on. I’ll talk to him, maybe flirt. If he’s not into it, I’ll back off.”

Soobin gives him a long look. “And if he is?”

Beomgyu doesn’t answer right away. His heart skips hard enough to notice.

He brushes it off with a breath. “Then we’ll see what happens.”

Soobin shakes his head, disappointed. Disappointed in a way that digs deep, like gravel under skin. He doesn’t say anything else. Just turns, starts walking again, each step heavy with something unsaid. Beomgyu watches him go for a second, that twisting feeling still lodged in his chest. He doesn’t follow right away. He stands there in the glow of the streetlight, watching Soobin’s back disappear into the distance, jaw tight. His palms are cold, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides like they’re trying to find something solid to hold on to.

Then, before he can stop himself, he calls out, “I’m doing this for you too, you know.”

Soobin halts mid-step.

Beomgyu catches up, voice quick now, almost tripping over itself. “Yeonjun hangs out with Kai all the time. If I get closer to Kai, you get a reason to talk to Yeonjun. Don’t pretend that hasn’t crossed your mind.”

Soobin turns around, eyebrows lifting in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

“I’m just saying–” Beomgyu starts, but Soobin cuts him off with a laugh. It’s not a kind one. It’s sharp around the edges, bitter in a way that makes Beomgyu flinch more than anything else tonight.

“You’re actually trying to spin this like it’s some kind of favour?” Soobin says, incredulous. “Like seducing someone over a dumb bet is some noble plan to help me get with Yeonjun?”

Beomgyu opens his mouth, but Soobin keeps going, his voice rising.

“Don’t use my crush as your excuse,” he snaps. “You think I’m that desperate? That I need you to manipulate someone just so I can have a chance with Yeonjun?”

“It’s not manipulation,” Beomgyu insists, defensive again, even though a part of him knows that’s exactly what it is. “It’s just... helping things along. Kai and Yeonjun are close. If I get in with Kai, you’ll naturally–”

“Oh my god,” Soobin groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You actually believe this, don’t you? You think this whole bet is some clever two-for-one! Seduce Kai, help Soobin, win a million won and everyone lives happily ever after.”

“I didn’t say that,” Beomgyu mutters, but the words sound flimsy even to him.

“You didn’t have to,” Soobin says, voice low now, cutting. “You’re not doing this for me. You’re doing this because you’re bored. Because people expect you to be that guy. Because you want to win. And now, when it starts sounding gross – even to you – you’re dragging me into it, hoping it’ll make you feel better.”

Beomgyu takes a step back, the sting of the words tightening in his chest. “That’s not fair.”

“No, Beomgyu. What’s not fair is using someone else’s feelings as leverage for your own bullshit,” Soobin says, arms folded now, every line in his body tense. “You don’t care about Kai. You don’t care about Yeonjun. You’re just trying to rewrite the narrative so you don’t have to feel bad about being exactly what Doyoon and Minjun think you are.”

Beomgyu swallows hard, but it’s like trying to breathe through sand. His thoughts scramble, defensive instincts flaring, but none of his usual lines fit. None of his easy comebacks land. There’s nothing slick or charming he can say to erase the look on Soobin’s face.

“Yeonjun’s never even looked at me like that,” Soobin says quietly after a beat, the edge in his voice dulled now, replaced with something more vulnerable. “You think I haven’t noticed? You think I haven’t already told myself it’s never gonna happen? You don’t need to play matchmaker, Beomgyu. Especially not like this.”

“I just thought–” Beomgyu begins, but Soobin shakes his head.

“No. You didn’t think. You never think. You just act and expect everyone else to clean it up after.”

That one cuts deep. Too deep. Beomgyu’s mouth opens, but no words come out.

Soobin takes a breath, steadies himself, and looks at Beomgyu, really looks at him. Not the version he plays in front of others. Not the image. Just him. And Beomgyu hates how naked that makes him feel.

“You want to go through with this? Fine,” Soobin says, voice flat now. “But don’t pretend you’re doing it for anyone but yourself.”

Then he turns again, walking off without waiting for a response. This time, Beomgyu doesn’t follow. He stands there in the hush of the street, watching the space Soobin leaves behind, the wind catching at his sleeves like it’s trying to tug him back into the world. But he stays still. He hates how quiet it is when Soobin’s not beside him. He hates the way his chest feels like it’s collapsing inward, like he’s hollowed himself out with his own excuses. And most of all, he hates that Soobin might be right.

 

🧸

 

Despite the gnawing in his gut – persistent and dull, like something he could ignore if he just distracted himself hard enough – despite Soobin’s warning still echoing in some corner of his conscience, Beomgyu decides he’s going to do it anyway. Maybe that makes him a bad person. Maybe not. He’s not really in the mood to psychoanalyse himself at seven in the morning.

He tells himself it’s just a bit of fun. A stupid dare, like the hundreds of others they’ve tossed around over drinks and late-night games. Nobody ever actually gets hurt. People flirt, people play around, it’s practically part of the university experience. A rite of passage. Besides, one million won for something so simple? It’s laughable how easy it sounds. If Kai is anything like the impression he gives off – quiet, soft-spoken, probably the kind of person who apologises when someone else bumps into him – this could be over in a week. Two, if he’s patient. And Beomgyu’s never really had a problem with patience when the reward’s worth it.

Still, that unease doesn’t go away.

It sits low in his stomach like something sour, something half-digested. He wakes up before his alarm, mind already spinning, and instead of rolling over and going back to sleep like a sane person, he’s pulling on a hoodie, shoving his hair under a cap, and heading out the door before the city’s properly awake. If he wants to pull this off, he needs to understand his target first. Observe. Learn the routine. Get ahead of the curve.

Not in a creepy way, obviously. Just… strategic. Tactical. Like research.

He only has one class with Kai today, a shared elective slotted into the late afternoon. It’s not ideal. So, he decides to get a head start, catch Kai somewhere before that, when he’s off-guard. People are more honest when they think no one’s watching.

By 7:45, Beomgyu is already posted up near the edge of campus, leaning against the worn brick wall across from a little cafe that barely anyone seems to notice. It’s tucked between a convenience store and a stationery shop, the kind of place you’d miss if you blinked while walking past. A single wooden sign swings gently above the door: J’s Coffee , painted by hand and faded by years of weather. He’s heard of it before, some older students mentioned it’s run by a retired couple who know their regulars by name. The vibe is more of a secret sanctuary than a trendy hangout place, and he can see why.

Headphones looped around his neck but playing nothing, Beomgyu scrolls aimlessly through his phone while keeping half an eye on the door. A breeze tugs at the edge of his sleeves. The city feels different this early; softer and less rushed. The kind of quiet that doesn’t last long.

At 8:06 sharp, Kai appears.

He doesn’t stride. He sort of… drifts. Small steps, head bowed slightly like he’s listening for something underground, hands buried deep in the sleeves of his jumper. Beomgyu straightens instinctively, pushing off the wall and adjusting his stance in that casual way he’s mastered, the “oh, fancy seeing you here” look. Not that Kai notices. He walks right past without a glance.

Kai slips inside the cafe. A few seconds later, Beomgyu crosses the street, hovering near the stationery store, hovering over a shelf selling an array of pens and pencils. From this angle, he can just barely see through the smudged window.

Inside, the scene unfolds with uncanny precision.

The old man behind the counter doesn’t even speak. He simply looks up, meets Kai’s gaze, and then turns to grab a cup already prepared. No greeting. No questions. He just places the drink on the counter, and Kai accepts it with a soft bow of his head and a quiet thank-you that’s more breath than sound, placing just the right amount of change on the counter. Then he turns and walks out the way he came, same small steps, same quiet presence, like he’s barely disturbed the air around him.

Beomgyu stares.

That’s it?

No order. No awkward wait. No decision-making. Just silent routine and unspoken understanding. Apparently, Kai is that much of a regular. Even the cafe owner knows how to read him.

Beomgyu exhales sharply, a soft curse slipping past his lips. So much for striking up conversation over his drink. He watches as Kai walks away, cradling the cup in both hands like it’s holding more than just warmth, like it’s his armour against the world. Beomgyu doesn’t follow immediately. He waits a beat, then starts moving at a distance, not close enough to be noticed, not far enough to lose him. Just floating somewhere behind him like he’s part of the background.

He spends the morning like that. He watches Kai move through the campus with the same quiet consistency. From the cafe to the library, always the same seat, tucked in the farthest corner by the window, where the light is soft and the air smells faintly of dust and old paper. Kai pulls out a worn spiral notebook and starts scribbling with a pencil. Not notes, exactly, or at least not the kind Beomgyu recognises. From this distance, he can’t read the page, but the movement is too fluid for anything academic. Maybe lyrics. Maybe poems. Maybe just shapes.

There’s no laptop. No music. No headphones this time. Just the faint scratch of pencil against paper and the slow rise and fall of Kai’s shoulders.

A classmate stops by at one point, waving. Kai looks up, offers a gentle smile and a small nod. The classmate chats for a bit and Kai listens, responding once or twice. Then they leave, and Kai doesn’t reach out or try to continue the interaction. He just returns to the page like the interruption never happened.

Beomgyu watches all of this unfold with a strange kind of stillness settling over him. He’s done this before; scoped people out, figured out how to slip into their lives with the right blend of confidence and charm. Usually, it’s easy. People like attention. They like to feel seen. With Kai, it’s different. There’s a quiet to him that feels purposeful, not fragile. Like he chooses to be overlooked.

It messes with Beomgyu’s rhythm.

By the time Kai leaves the library, Beomgyu checks the time and sees it’s barely noon. Hours to go until class, and he still has no plan. No conversation starter. No mutual friend to lean on. No social media trail to follow, or at least the last time he checked. Beomgyu sinks into a nearby armchair with his phone, thumbing it open on instinct. Out of curiosity, he searches Kai’s name again – he already tried once the night before and came up with nothing – and the results are no different. He decides to search for Yeonjun’s account instead, slapping himself in the forehead when he finds Kai’s account tagged within the first two posts. Why didn’t he think of this sooner?

Beomgyu clicks on his username, eversokaindly, and subconsciously smiles at how fitting his username had been. The posts are sparse but thoughtful. Moody photos of Seoul’s skyline at dusk. Warm coffee cups on rainy mornings. Glimpses of lyricbooks and bookstore shelves, a soft blur of city lights through the bus window. And selfies, some of himself but most with Yeonjun. Kai with flushed cheeks and his hair tied back in a loose bun, peace signs thrown lazily at the camera. Kai tucked under a blanket with a cat on his chest and a caption that reads, “aqua won’t let me move, help!! >﹏< ” Kai smiling sleepily into the lens, eyes crinkled, with a caption that just says “(∪ ｡∪)｡｡｡zzZ”

Beomgyu stares, because it’s not what he expected at all. He’s cute – really cute – and not just in the way he uses expressive emoticons unironically. There’s warmth in his smile, a kind of softness that doesn’t quite come through in person. Online, he seems more open and more playful. He uses emoticons, the kind with stars and squiggly eyes, the kind that make Beomgyu’s heart skip a beat, completely against his will.

He lingers on one post in particular – Kai at a cafe table with a messy pile of notes and a mystery drink in a chipped ceramic mug, captioned, “waiting for yeonjunnie hyung and it’s getting colder by the minute (๑•﹏•)⋆* ⁑⋆*”

Beomgyu bites the inside of his cheek, surprised at the way it makes something warm stir in his chest. It’s stupid. It’s just an Instagram account, but it feels like… more. Like a version of Kai he wasn’t supposed to see yet. One that’s a little sillier. A little softer. The kind of person who might laugh at bad puns and hide his face behind his hands when he’s embarrassed.

He locks his phone, suddenly too aware of the fluttering in his ribs.

What is he even doing?

He’s supposed to be strategising, planning, finding a way in, but the more he watches, the more he reads, the more it feels like trying to hold water in his hands. Beomgyu flops back against the library chair, hoodie pulled up around his ears. Outside, the trees shift in the breeze, gold and red leaves dancing across the pavement. It’s a beautiful day. He should be more excited. He should be planning his next move, but all he feels is that weight in his chest again. Not guilt. Not quite. Just… uncertainty. His phone buzzes.

 

Soobin hyung 

you’re really doing this?

 

Beomgyu stares at the message. Then locks his screen without replying.

He thinks about Kai. The Kai with a penchant for emoticons, Kai who frequents the cafe so much he doesn’t even have to order anymore, Kai who’s so utterly unaware… He ignores the nagging feeling deep inside his chest. 

Yeah, he’s doing this.

Notes:

how’s the first chapter? this chapter is basically just an introduction to the characters, and will start picking up pace in the next chapter! hopefully it wasn’t too boring hehe, please let me know what you think of this chapter!! i would loove to hear your thoughts! kudos and comments are highly appreciated, thank you so much for reading!

come talk to me about txt or anything else on twitter at @koostiddy!!!

Chapter 2

Summary:

Kai doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t look angry, either. Just cautious, like he’s trying to spot the angle. “Is this a bit?” he asks after a moment, tone deceptively calm. “Like, did someone dare you to be nice or something?”

That lands harder than Beomgyu expects, dread filling up the pit of his stomach. Has Kai always been this perceptive? He lets out a sharp breath, hands jammed in his pockets as he tries to recover, determined not to get found out.

“Wow. That’s a bit mean to someone who’s just trying to be nice, don’t you think?” Beomgyu knows it’s a shitty move, to borderline gaslight him and make him the villain in this conversation, but it’s the only move he knows how to do.

Kai shrugs, gaze fixed ahead. “Guys like you don’t usually talk to guys like me.”

Notes:

*also i forgot to add a disclaimer lol: i am not a music student at AWL but i did lots of research on what music majors study in their modules and coursework, so hopefully i'm not completely just writing out of my ass😭 to those of you who are actually music majors, if some of the conversations surrounding music sound like absolute gibberish... kindly look away i beg..... and i apologise 😭🙏

🧸

 

The class is dull. A blur of half-hearted slides and recycled commentary, background noise to the static in Beomgyu’s head. He already knows most of the material – it’s a filler elective he picked for easy grades and attendance flexibility – but he forces himself to stay put. He can’t skip this class when he is in it.

Beomgyu’s seat is calculated: two rows behind and a little to the left. Not close enough to be obvious. Just close enough to watch. Not that he’s watching, exactly. Not in any way that would draw attention. His chin rests on his hand, fingers curled loosely over his mouth in the classic posture of feigned interest, but his eyes drift, again and again, to the boy with the soft black hoodie stretched over broad shoulders.

Kai.

Beomgyu had always known who Kai was. He’d seen him in every class they shared together; his quiet, steady presence impossible to miss. Beomgyu had always envied that calm, that effortless composure, and if he’s being honest, it made him feel a little threatened at times. Kai was probably the most talented student in all their classes; he had this way of absorbing everything, making it look easy, and somehow, no matter how much Beomgyu tried to keep up, Kai always seemed one step ahead.

Beomgyu wonders what goes on in his head. He shifts in his seat, resisting the itch to scroll through his phone or lean back and zone out completely. He’s here for a reason, and even if that reason feels murky and a little gross now, he’d already said yes. The group knows, Doyoon knows, Minjun knows. He can’t back out, not without the ridicule, the smug jabs, the slow unraveling of a reputation he’s spent years building.

Still, there’s something about this that feels… different. Off-kilter in a way Beomgyu didn’t expect. He thought it would be easy. Just a bet, just another hookup like the others. Except Kai doesn’t feel like the others.

Halfway through class, the professor pauses and announces a short group discussion; five minutes, he says, just a warm-up, a taste of the upcoming project. The room buzzes with movement as students shift and pair up, chairs scraping, papers rustling.

Beomgyu sees his moment.

He moves before he can second-guess it, grabbing his notebook and weaving through the aisles until he’s at Kai’s desk. He waits until Kai glances up, his eyes wide. Fuck, they were right about him looking like bambi.

“Hey,” Beomgyu says, casual like it’s nothing, like he didn’t rehearse this exact greeting three times in his head. “Mind if I join you?”

Kai’s expression barely changes. Just a flicker of something – surprise, maybe? His fingers curl slightly around his pencil, and for a second Beomgyu thinks he’s about to say no, but then Kai gives a small nod and nudges his notebook a few inches toward the centre of the desk.

“Sure,” he says. His voice is soft, low, but there’s a steadiness to it that catches Beomgyu off guard.

He slides into the seat beside him, trying to match Kai’s calm. “I’m Beomgyu, by the way.”

“I know,” Kai replies, not looking up from his notes.

Beomgyu blinks. “You do?”

Kai shrugs, brushing a bit of eraser dust off the page. “You’re kind of hard to miss.”

That lands differently than Beomgyu expects. Not flirtatious. Not cutting. Just… honest, and it stirs something in his chest that he doesn’t quite have a name for. Something warm and off balance. They talk about the reading – barely. Just enough to avoid getting side-eyed by the professor. Kai’s answers are short, to the point, but never rude. He listens more than he speaks, nodding along, offering a quick word here or there. Beomgyu finds himself trying to tease reactions out of him, saying dumb things just to see if Kai will smile, making a joke about the professor’s obsession with footnotes. Nothing lands, exactly, but Kai doesn’t shut him down either. He just… looks at him. Unmoved, maybe, but not indifferent.

When the professor calls time, the buzz of chatter fades into a rustle of backpacks and notebooks closing. Beomgyu doesn’t move right away. He watches as Kai begins packing up, slow and methodical, like he has no reason to rush.

“Hey,” Beomgyu says again, this time quieter. More uncertain than he means to be. “You wanna– uh. I mean, do you usually hang out after class, or…?”

Kai tilts his head, his face unreadable. “Not really.”

“Oh,” Beomgyu says quickly, laughing like he meant it as a joke. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Kai blinks at him, eyes shining with something that looks suspiciously like amusement, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t ask for. Then he gives another soft nod, slings his bag over his shoulder, and walks past him with that same quiet calm.

“I’m… gonna go,” Kai passively comments, throwing him an awkward smile before walking out of the class.

Beomgyu watches him go, feeling oddly winded. Like something significant just happened, and he can’t quite name it. He leans back in his seat, still holding his notebook, heart beating a little faster than it should. He tells himself it’s just the rush of the challenge, the embarrassment of being turned down for probably the first time in his life. That’s all. He rushes to pack his things up, haphazardly throwing his belongings inside his bag before he runs after Kai.

“Wait, Kai!” Beomgyu calls out, panting slightly as he reaches Kai.

Kai stops at the foot of the stairs just outside the building, turning slightly as Beomgyu jogs to catch up. He raises an eyebrow, not unkindly, his fingers curled loosely around the strap of his bag. The late afternoon sun casts a warm glow on his cheekbones, and Beomgyu has the brief, disorienting thought that Kai is beautiful in a way he hadn’t registered until just now. It’s even worse that Kai is exactly the type of guy he’d go for in parties.

“You know my name?” Kai simply asks as Beomgyu stops to catch his breath.

Beomgyu blinks, caught a little off guard by the question because usually, that’s his cue. That’s when he leans in with a grin and says something smooth, something shameless, because that’s how it always works. People ask that, half-flattered, half-curious, and he teases them a little, flashes a compliment like it’s casual, like it doesn’t mean anything. He’s good at that, making it seem effortless, and for a second, he thinks maybe he can do the same with Kai. Maybe he can slip something in, just a bit of charm to loosen the tension, make Kai smile. That’s the move, right? Same game, different player. 

But then he looks at Kai and something about the way he’s watching Beomgyu, wary and still, makes him pause. This isn’t like the others. Kai isn’t fishing for attention. He’s not even sure he wants Beomgyu talking to him at all, and that makes the usual lines catch a little in his throat, like they’d land wrong, like they’d cheapen something that hasn’t even started yet. Despite his inner turmoil, Beomgyu flashes a grin, heart still thudding unreasonably hard in his chest. 

“Of course I do,” he says, brushing his hair out of his face like it’s nothing. Like he hasn’t spent the past week subtly shifting seats and conversations just to end up here. “You’re more noticeable than you think, even if you don’t try.”

Kai slows his pace slightly, expression unreadable. “Right,” he says flatly. There’s a flicker of something that looks like suspicion in his eyes, wariness, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s the punchline of a joke he hasn’t heard yet. Undeterred, Beomgyu keeps the smile on his face. 

“You’ve got that whole mysterious music prodigy thing going on,” he says, trying for charming. “Headphones, notebooks, never saying a word unless it’s smart… Very main character vibes.”

Kai glances at him sidelong. “You’ve never talked to me once and all of a sudden I’m the ‘main character’?”

Beomgyu’s grin falters just slightly. It’s not a harsh comment, not exactly, but there’s a coolness to it that prickles under his skin. “Hey, I talk to lots of people late,” he jokes, trying to sound unaffected and breezy. “I’m just… fashionably late to this conversation.”

Kai doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t look angry, either. Just cautious, like he’s trying to spot the angle. “Is this a bit?” he asks after a moment, tone deceptively calm. “Like, did someone dare you to be nice or something?”

That lands harder than Beomgyu expects, dread filling up the pit of his stomach. Has Kai always been this perceptive? He lets out a sharp breath, hands jammed in his pockets as he tries to recover, determined not to get found out. 

“Wow. That’s a bit mean to someone who’s just trying to be nice, don’t you think?” Beomgyu knows it’s a shitty move, to borderline gaslight him and make him the villain in this conversation, but it’s the only move he knows how to do.

Kai shrugs, gaze fixed ahead. “Guys like you don’t usually talk to guys like me.”

The words aren’t cruel, just factual, and they make something in Beomgyu twist. For a second, he doesn’t know what to say. Not because it’s untrue, but because it is. He’s never thought about how people like Kai might see him; loud, popular, surrounded by noise. He must look like the worst kind of cliche.

“Guess I’m full of surprises,” Beomgyu says at last, his voice a little softer, a little less smug.

Kai doesn’t reply, nor does he slow down or speed up. He just continues walking, his bag slung over one shoulder, his body angled slightly away. Beomgyu watches him for a moment longer, trying to read the silence between them, trying to figure out if he’s made a crack in that wall or if it’s just wishful thinking.

Still, he keeps pace beside him, refusing to fall back. Something in him insists on staying close. Not because of the bet – he tells himself that, even though it’s a lie – but because Kai is interesting in a way he didn’t expect. For the first time in a long time, Beomgyu doesn’t feel like the one in control, and something about this makes him feel uneasy. 

When Kai realises he’s still being followed, he finally glances at him, just for a second, and it’s not the kind of look Beomgyu is used to. It isn’t flustered or flattered or full of curiosity. It’s careful and measured, like Kai is weighing something behind those quiet eyes, trying to figure out if Beomgyu is playing a game, and if so, what the rules are. Beomgyu offers a crooked smile, trying to seem harmless, like all he’s doing is making conversation, but the look Kai gives him makes it clear: he’s not buying it. 

“So,” Beomgyu says, letting the word stretch as he searches for something less transparent than a flirtation. “Do you always walk this fast, or are you trying to lose me?”

Kai doesn’t answer right away. He keeps walking for another beat, then says flatly, “I’m just going where I’m going.”

It’s not unfriendly, but it’s not inviting either. Beomgyu nods to himself, mouth twitching. Okay. That’s fair. He’s been given softer brush-offs before, but there’s something kind of refreshing about it, too. No pretending, no small talk for the sake of politeness. Kai doesn’t bend to the rhythm of his charm, and it only makes Beomgyu more determined to figure him out.

They reach the end of the path behind the humanities building, the pavement narrowing until it spills out onto the main street. Kai stops just before the crosswalk, tugging his headphones off as he checks the pedestrian light, his expression unreadable. Beomgyu slows beside him, unsure if he’s overstaying his welcome but unwilling to walk away just yet. He jams his hands into his coat pockets, rocking back slightly on his heels as the silence stretches.

“Do you, uh… always take this route?” he asks, immediately regretting how weirdly eager that sounds. He tries to cover it with a casual shrug. “I don’t usually walk this way. Guess I picked the scenic route today.”

Kai doesn’t look at him, not really. Just gives the faintest tilt of his head, the kind that could be acknowledgement or dismissal. “It’s quieter,” he says, his voice low, almost lost in the sound of passing traffic.

Beomgyu nods. “Yeah. I noticed that. Kinda peaceful, huh? Especially with, like…” He gestures vaguely at Kai’s ears. “Music. Makes sense.”

Again, no real reaction, but Kai doesn’t walk away either. His gaze stays trained on the flashing red light, one foot already tilted toward the road like he’s ready to move the second it changes.

“Are you going to follow me all day or…?” Kai asks so suddenly as they cross the street that it almost stops Beomgyu in his tracks.

Beomgyu blinks, thrown off for a second; not by the words, but by the bluntness. Kai doesn’t even look at him when he says it, just keeps walking with the same quiet calm, as if the question isn’t really meant to be answered.

He recovers with a laugh, but it’s softer than usual, missing that usual cocky edge. “Okay, yeah, fair. I guess it does look like I’m following you.”

Kai doesn’t reply. The silence stretches, like Kai’s waiting to see what Beomgyu wants.

“I, um–” Beomgyu scratches the back of his neck, suddenly wishing he’d planned this part better. “I was actually gonna ask you something.”

That earns him a glance. Not much, just a flick of Kai’s eyes, but it’s enough to keep him going.

“In class. That thing Professor Noh said about adding inverted harmonics in our composition the other day?” he continues. “I kind of spaced out, and I’ve been trying to figure it out from the slides, but it’s just not clicking. You always seem like you get that stuff. So I thought maybe, if you’re not busy, you could help me out?”

It’s not a complete lie. The topic had come up, and Beomgyu had zoned out. He hadn’t cared until now, not until he realised it could give him a reason to talk to Kai – one that wasn’t built on bravado or flirting. He just needed an in.

Kai slows his steps slightly, gaze narrowing with something that looks like scepticism. “You’re asking me for help?”

Beomgyu nods, hands shoved into his pockets. “Yeah. I mean, you’re good at it, right? And I’m kind of failing.”

He’s not. Beomgyu has a feeling Kai knows he’s not failing too.

There’s a pause, long enough that Beomgyu starts to think he’s about to get shut down. Then Kai lets out a quiet breath, not quite a sigh, and says, “I guess.”

It’s not exactly enthusiastic, but it’s not a no.

Beomgyu perks up. “Yeah? Cool. Thanks. I mean, if you don’t mind.”

Kai shrugs. “Depends. You actually gonna try, or are you just hoping I’ll do it for you?”

Beomgyu lets out a playful grin. “Bit of both?”

Kai doesn’t laugh, and Beomgyu's face falls, his smile gone almost immediately. 

“I’m kidding, by the way,” Beomgyu hurriedly adds. “Just in case you thought I actually wanted you to do my work for me. I… I really wanna learn, and I think you’re the most talented person in Composition, I’m sure you’d be an even better teacher than Professor Noh ever could.”

Kai stops just before the stairs to the station, his shoulder angled slightly toward Beomgyu but his gaze fixed ahead. It’s not quite a confrontation, but it halts Beomgyu all the same.

“You don’t have to pretend,” Kai says, his voice even but low. “If you just want to copy my assignment, it’s fine. You wouldn’t be the first.”

Beomgyu blinks, taken aback by the way Kai says it; like he’s used to being approached like that, used to being used, not seen.

“I wasn’t pretending,” Beomgyu says after a beat. He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly awkward. “I mean, I get why you’d think that, but it’s not like that, I promise.”

Kai glances at him now, not convinced but willing to hear him out.

“I’ve been struggling with the last few lectures,” Beomgyu admits. Not entirely true, but not a lie either. “I guess I figured you wouldn’t mind helping someone out. And maybe I noticed your stuff’s always really… refined, or whatever. It’s good. Better than mine.”

There’s a flicker of something across Kai’s face – caution warring with curiosity – but it passes too quickly for Beomgyu to read.

"Do you remember that time Professor Noh picked your song to showcase during his presentation while he was abroad?” Beomgyu asks, trying to make the compliment sound as natural as possible, but his eyes are bright with an unspoken pride. “That was me. I recommended it because I honestly loved it so much, I wanted everyone to hear it. I wanted your music to be heard all over the world."

Kai's eyes widen in shock, before his gaze sharpens, and the air between them thickens with a tension Beomgyu wasn’t quite expecting. "So this is what this is," he says, his tone steady but laced with something like suspicion. "You think I owe you for recommending my song?"

“No, no, that’s not it at all!” Beomgyu says, his eyes going wide as his hands flail in exaggerated protest, desperate to deflect any misunderstanding. “I didn’t bring that up to take credit, I swear. It’s just– honestly, I really, really admire your work. I have for a while now, I think it’s incredible. That’s why I want you to help me, not anyone else. I want you to be the one to teach me. You’re the one I trust. I mean, I’ll even pay you if you want, seriously, no strings attached!”

His voice rushes out in a slightly-too-quick attempt to convince Kai, but there’s a sincerity in his words, an earnestness he doesn’t usually let slip. It’s an odd feeling, this vulnerability, and it catches Beomgyu off guard. He really does want Kai’s help – aside from the whole bet thing, of course. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

“Fine,” he says at last, voice clipped. “But I don’t need your money.”

Beomgyu nods, quick to agree. “Sure, whatever you want. No tricks, no bullshit.”

Kai doesn’t smile, doesn’t soften, but he starts down the stairs again, and this time, he doesn’t walk quite so fast. Beomgyu feels a rush of relief when Kai finally agrees to help him, but it’s not the triumphant high he expected. It’s a strange, hollow kind of gladness that sits heavy in his chest, almost like an aftertaste he didn’t want. There’s no smug satisfaction, no sense of winning. Instead, all he feels is the quiet thrum of defeat, a gnawing sensation that this isn’t really about him getting what he wanted.

Beomgyu’s throat feels dry when he calls out, “Hey, uh… see you next class?”

Kai doesn’t stop walking, but Beomgyu sees the slight nod, subtle but deliberate. That’s enough to keep him moving forward with what he’s doing, even as his stomach twists with something far more complicated than victory.

 

🐧

 

Kai unlocks the door to the apartment, pushing it open with a soft creak. The familiar scent of their place – yeonjun’s cologne mixed with the faint tang of takeaway containers – hits him immediately. He steps inside, toeing off his shoes by the door, and is met with the sight of Yeonjun sprawled on the sofa, lazily scrolling through his phone. The dim light from the lamp on the side table casts a warm glow over his figure, but it’s not enough to mask the quiet tension Kai feels in his chest.

He pauses for a moment, the door clicking shut behind him, his bag slipping from his shoulder as he exhales a deep breath. Something about today has been off, and he can’t quite shake the feeling. His mind keeps replaying his interaction with Beomgyu, the oddness of it, the way the words from earlier still hang in the air.

Yeonjun glances up from his phone, a knowing look crossing his face as he notices the distant frown on Kai’s. "Something really weird happened today," Kai mutters, his voice lower than usual, more hesitant than he means it to be.

Yeonjun’s eyebrow arches slightly, and he shifts on the couch, looking at Kai with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Weird? What happened?”

Kai hesitates for a beat before walking over and dropping onto the sofa beside him. “You know Beomgyu?” he asks, sounding almost annoyed to even say the name.

Yeonjun makes a thoughtful noise. “The student council guy? Always surrounded by people, wears expensive shoes, way too confident for someone our age?”

Kai gives a short nod, lips tugging into a faint frown. “Yeah. Him.”

“What about him?”

“He came up to me today,” Kai says, still sounding skeptical. “Out of nowhere. Like, completely out of the blue. I didn’t even know he knew I existed.”

Yeonjun shifts, lifting his legs and resting them comfortably across Kai’s lap like it’s second nature. “Did he say something rude?” he asks, eyes sharpening in that protectively casual way he always gets.

“No,” Kai says slowly, dragging the word out. “That’s the weird part. He… asked me to tutor him.”

Yeonjun straightens a little. “Wait, what?”

Kai nods. “He said he needed help with Composition, but I’ve seen his scores. He’s top of the class. There’s no way he needs tutoring.”

Yeonjun stares at him. “So, what? You think he’s messing with you?”

Kai shrugs, unsettled by how much the interaction has lingered in his head. “I don’t know. It felt off. Like he was trying too hard to seem casual. And he knew my name. I never told him.”

Yeonjun studies him for a long second. Then, with a slow smirk, he leans back into the cushions. “Well, well. Beomgyu’s taking an interest in our Hueningie.”

Kai rolls his eyes, but the unease doesn’t go away. He’s not used to being noticed, not like that, and definitely not by someone like Beomgyu. “Shut up, hyung.”

Yeonjun laughs, head tipping back against the sofa as he kicks his feet lightly where they’re still draped across Kai’s lap. “I’m just saying,” he drawls. “People don’t just start noticing you out of nowhere unless they want something. And Beomgyu doesn’t exactly strike me as the charitable type.”

Kai leans his head against the backrest, gaze fixed on a crack in the ceiling. “That’s what I’m saying. It didn’t feel normal. Like, he was trying too hard to be friendly. Flattering, even. And when I didn’t give him much, he still kept at it.”

“You’re not used to being pursued,” Yeonjun teases, nudging Kai’s side with his socked toe. “It’s throwing you off.”

“It’s not that,” he says after a beat. “It’s just… there’s something weird about it. He asked me to tutor him, and then he told me he was the one who got Professor Noh to choose my piece for his presentation abroad.”

That finally gives Yeonjun pause. His brows knit together as he sits up a little. “Wait, seriously?”

Kai nods. “I didn’t even know someone recommended it. He just said it like it was supposed to impress me or something.”

Yeonjun clicks his tongue. “Yeah, no. That’s not random kindness. That’s calculated.”

Kai exhales slowly. “It just makes me feel like I’m being set up for something. Like there’s a punchline I’m not seeing yet. But even so, why would he go through the trouble of recommending my song months ago? Or was he lying?”

Yeonjun leans closer, voice dropping. “Do you want me to say something to him?”

Kai shakes his head immediately. “No. It’s not that serious. I just… I don’t know, he probably only wants me to do his work, anyway.”

Yeonjun watches him for a moment, quieter now. “Well, whatever it is, don’t let him get in your head and don’t let him walk over you. People like Beomgyu–” he waves vaguely, “–they’re used to getting what they want. But that doesn’t mean you have to give it to him.”

Kai doesn’t respond, but something tightens in his jaw. He’s not sure what Beomgyu wants, but whatever game he’s playing, Kai’s determined not to let him win. Kai shuts the door to his room with a soft click, the distant sound of Yeonjun’s phone chatter fading behind him. He stands still for a moment, hand still on the doorknob, like stepping fully inside might make the day feel more real. The quiet wraps around him like a heavy blanket, and for a moment, he just lets himself breathe. He doesn’t usually get this caught up in one conversation – especially not ones with people like Beomgyu – but somehow the interaction has wedged itself deep under his skin, impossible to ignore.

He crosses the room and drops his bag beside his desk, then peels off his hoodie and collapses onto his bed, face-first into the pillow. The second he closes his eyes, it all comes back again – Beomgyu’s too-bright smile, his casual, charming tone, the way he looked almost earnest when he insisted he admired Kai’s work. Kai had expected arrogance or condescension, but it wasn’t quite either. It was… something else. Something trickier to name.

It’s not that he wants to believe Beomgyu’s being ingenuine, he just doesn’t understand why someone like that would seek him out. People like Beomgyu don’t give Kai the time of day. They have their own circles, their own hierarchy, their own perfectly groomed worlds to orbit. So when Beomgyu strolled up out of nowhere and acted like they were friends, like he’d always noticed him, it felt like stepping into a conversation halfway through. Like Beomgyu already knew how it was supposed to go, and Kai was just expected to fall into step.

He flips onto his back, staring at the ceiling, arms crossed over his chest. Maybe he’s overthinking it, maybe it was just a friendly gesture, or maybe Beomgyu just wants a boost to his grade and thinks Kai’s a safe choice. That doesn’t explain the compliments, or the offer to pay, or the fact that he knew Kai’s name. That’s the part that keeps echoing in his mind, like a loose thread he can’t help but tug at.

He’d been so sure Beomgyu didn’t even know he existed. Not in a self-pitying way, just in the simple, factual way people like Kai are overlooked. He’s quiet, keeps to himself, doesn’t mingle. He doesn’t wear designer labels or lead the student council or have half the university wrapped around his finger. So hearing his own name fall so easily from Beomgyu’s mouth had landed like a splash of cold water. It was too specific to be casual. Too targeted to be innocent.

Then there was the comment about Professor Noh’s presentation, something the department had been quietly buzzing about for weeks before it even happened. He remembers the brief mention in class, how Professor Noh, in his usual understated way, had mumbled something about being out of town for a few lectures. No big fanfare, no self-congratulations. Then the official university email went out, announcing him as a keynote speaker at an international musicology conference in Vienna, and suddenly the whole department was talking.

The presentation had focused on the evolution of Korean contemporary composition, specifically how traditional instrumentation was being reshaped in modern experimental forms. Kai had read the abstract out of curiosity, but what he hadn’t expected – what no one had warned him about – was that a recording of one of his own compositions had been chosen to be showcased as part of the presentation.

He only found out after the fact. Professor Noh mentioned it offhandedly during office hours, as if it were nothing. “Your piece fit the theme,” he’d said simply. “Clean work. Resonant.” It had stunned Kai into silence. He hadn’t even thought twice about how his piece got chosen. He assumed it was luck or maybe merit, not… a recommendation. Especially not from Beomgyu. Why would someone like him push for his work to be seen? That’s the part that unsettles him most of all, the part that doesn’t make sense no matter how he turns it over in his head.

He brings one arm over his eyes, sighing. There’s a pull in his chest he doesn’t like. He tells himself it’s caution, suspicion, but it feels too much like curiosity. Like a thread of interest he’s reluctant to acknowledge. He doesn’t want to be intrigued, he doesn’t want to care, but Beomgyu’s face keeps flickering in his mind anyway, the way his grin faltered for just a second when Kai didn’t play along, the way he scrambled to recover. It didn’t look rehearsed, it looked real.

That’s what’s messing with Kai most of all. If it’s real, then there’s a risk of getting tangled in something complicated. If it’s fake, then there’s the sting of being a punchline. Either way, he loses. So he tells himself to keep his guard up. To stay smart. Beomgyu’s not his friend. Beomgyu doesn’t want to be. Whatever this is, it’s not personal. It can’t be. Kai stares at the ceiling until his thoughts quiet down, but the unease doesn’t fade.

Kai’s halfway through staring at a crack on his ceiling when his phone buzzes quietly on the pillow beside him. He blinks, reaching for it, his fingers brushing over the familiar contact name before he presses answer and lifts it to his ear. “Hey, Dad.”

There’s a pause on the other end. A quiet rustle, the faint sound of background traffic, and then his father’s voice comes through, softer than usual. “Hey, kiddo. Are you busy?”

“No, I was just lying down,” Kai replies, shifting slightly so he’s curled around the phone. “You okay?”

Another pause. Just long enough for Kai to notice. His father lets out a breath, low and rough like he’s been holding it in all day. “Yeah. Just finished a shift. Heading to the other one now.”

Kai sits up a little, the edges of his blanket falling into his lap. He doesn’t say anything at first, just listens to the background noise on the other end. The silence between them feels heavier tonight, something thick and unspoken lacing through it. When Kai finally speaks, it’s quiet. “You know I can work, right? I mean… I don’t have to stay in uni. I could get a job, help out more.”

There’s immediate resistance, gentle but firm. “Kai.” His father’s tone is enough to make him fall silent. “You’re doing fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Kai swallows. “I’m not– It’s not that I think you can’t handle it. I just don’t want you to keep overworking yourself.” He picks at a thread on the edge of his blanket. “You always sound tired lately.”

A beat. Then his father says, in that same calm way he always does when he wants to end a subject, “I’m just getting older.”

Kai hums faintly, unconvinced, but doesn’t argue. He leans his head back against the wall, the phone still to his ear, listening to his dad talk about the weather, a customer who tried to pay in coins, and some minor repairs he needs to do around the apartment when he gets the time, but underneath the words, there’s something else. A tiredness he tries to mask, a weight he won’t name. Kai hears it anyway, and he doesn’t say it aloud, but it sits heavy on his chest for the rest of the call.

“Did you eat?” Kai asks quietly, his voice softer now. He already knows the answer. He can tell from the way his father’s voice sounds, thinner than usual, like it’s running empty.

There’s a pause on the line. Then, a chuckle, tired and familiar. “Not yet. I grabbed a coffee earlier, that’s enough for now.”

“Dad…” Kai leans his head against his knees, arms wrapped around them. “That’s not dinner.”

“I’ll get something after this shift, I promise.” His father tries to make it sound light, like he’s brushing it off, but it doesn’t work with Kai. Not when he can hear the roughness in his voice, the way the words drag behind them like they’re too heavy to carry.

Kai squeezes his eyes shut, letting the silence hang for a moment. “You always say that,” he mumbles. “And then the next day you tell me you forgot.”

“I don’t forget,” his father replies, a little too quick. Then, more gently, “I just don’t want you worrying about me when you’ve got your own stuff to handle.”

“But I am worrying about you.” It slips out before Kai can stop it, quiet and frustrated and full of everything he doesn’t know how to say. “You work so much, and you live all the way out there by yourself, and I barely see you unless I make the trip. And every time I call, you sound like this.”

“Like what?” his father asks, still gentle.

“Like you’re running on fumes.” Kai’s voice cracks just a little, and he immediately regrets letting it show. He swallows hard, tries to pull it back in. “I just… I don’t want it to be like this forever, I can help out, make things easier for you.”

On the other end of the line, his dad is quiet for a long while. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and warm, but it’s tinged with something heavier. “You don’t have to, I promise. I’m fine! This is just… a rough patch. We’ve had plenty of those before, haven’t we?”

Kai nods, even though his dad can’t see it. “Yeah. We always get through them.”

There’s a smile in his father’s voice now, even if it’s a tired one. “Because we’re a team. Just the two of us. That’s always been enough for me.”

And for a moment, Kai doesn’t feel like the kid who got left behind. He feels like a son who’s loved fiercely, even if the world hasn’t always been kind to them. Even if it still isn’t.

“Get some rest when you can, okay?” Kai says, quieter now, like the weight in his chest has settled somewhere softer.

“I will. And you, kiddo, keep doing what you’re doing. I’m proud of you.”

Kai freezes, staring up at the ceiling as the words sink in like a weight. His throat tightens before he can stop it. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it because I have to. I mean it.”

“But I haven’t done anything,” Kai says quickly, too sharply, like the words are trying to outrun the feeling curling in his chest. “I haven’t achieved anything yet. I’m just… going to class, wasting time. Living in an apartment I didn’t pay for, eating food someone else bought. I’m not–” He cuts himself off, jaw clenched. “I’m not doing anything worth being proud of.”

His dad’s voice is soft on the other end. “That’s not true.”

Kai presses the heel of his hand into his eye. “It feels true.”

“You’re trying your best. You’re kind. You care about people. That matters.”

But Kai can’t believe it, not when every part of him feels like he’s barely keeping up, like he’s standing on a life someone else built for him. “You’re the one doing everything,” he mutters. “I should be the one saying I’m proud of you.”

“I don’t need you to be proud of me,” his dad says. “I just need you to keep being you.”

Kai closes his eyes, trying to keep his tears at bay. “Even if I’m just… normal?”

“You’ve never been just normal to me,” his father says, and there’s a faint crack in his voice that Kai doesn’t miss. “You’re everything I’ve got, Kai. You’re bigger than the world.”

Kai bites the inside of his cheek, fighting the sting that burns behind his eyes. “You’ve got me, and I’ve got you. That’s more than enough.”

There’s a soft laugh from his dad, barely audible. “Yeah. It really is.”

For a moment, neither of them says anything. The silence isn’t uncomfortable; it’s full of the weight they both carry, the unspoken things between them, the way they love each other quietly, without needing to say the words out loud. Kai feels the heaviness of his father’s exhaustion, the way he glosses over it like it’s normal, the way Kai has learned not to push too hard, even when everything in him wants to fix it.

“I’ll come by soon,” Kai says finally, more of a promise than an offer.

“You don’t have to. Focus on your classes.”

“I want to,” Kai says. “I miss you.”

There’s a pause, and then his father exhales softly. “I miss you too, kiddo.”

And that’s what they leave it at. No big declarations, no drawn-out goodbyes. Just a quiet end to the call, like always; soft, steady, but lined with something heavier. Something Kai can’t quite name, but feels anyway.

 

🐧

 

Kai notices Beomgyu the second he walks into the library. He always does. It’s hard not to, with the way Beomgyu moves like he owns every room he enters, confident and easy in a way Kai never learned to be. He hopes, stupidly, that Beomgyu will keep walking, but of course he doesn’t. Instead, he veers toward Kai’s table with a casual smile that looks effortless, like this whole thing is coincidence. Maybe it is, but Kai has a feeling it’s something far from coincidence. He’s never once seen Beomgyu at the library, and all of a sudden he’s showing up every day? Yeah, right. He doesn’t say anything when Beomgyu drops into the chair across from him. Just pulls out one earbud and stares at him in silence. His pen stills mid-word in his notebook, the line trailing off awkwardly. Beomgyu gives him a grin, one Kai doesn’t return. 

“Hey,” Beomgyu says, too familiar. “I was just looking for a spot and saw you. Hope you don’t mind?” He’s already unpacking his things, not bothering to wait for a response.

Kai doesn’t respond right away. He wants to say yes, I do mind, but the words feel too sharp for the quiet hum of the library. So he just watches Beomgyu instead, waiting to see what he’s really here for. It doesn’t take long. “Actually, since I’ve got you here, can I ask you something about Professor Noh’s last lecture?”

He narrows his eyes. “You were taking notes,” he says, voice flat. “I saw you.”

Beomgyu shrugs, sheepish. “Yeah, but they didn’t make much sense when I read them back.” He laughs lightly, like he’s in on some joke Kai isn’t in on. “Thought I’d ask the expert.”

Kai sighs under his breath, unsure why he doesn’t just tell him to leave. Maybe it’s the fact that Beomgyu’s clearly lying, and Kai wants to know why. Or maybe it’s that strange flicker of interest behind the charm; like he’s trying, but doesn’t know how to say what he actually wants. He nods once, gestures toward Beomgyu’s notebook. “Show me.”

Kai watches Beomgyu settle back like he’s proud of himself, like worming his way into someone else’s day is the easiest thing in the world. And maybe it is, for him, but something tugs in Kai’s chest, unsettled and unsure. He eyes Beomgyu for a moment, the way his fingers fidget absently with the drawstring of his hoodie, the faint smirk still playing on his lips like he knows he's gotten away with something.

“You know,” Kai says slowly, tapping his pen against Beomgyu’s notebook as he looks through his notes, “You never actually needed help in Composition, did you?”

Beomgyu straightens slightly, caught but not flustered, like he’s been waiting for the question. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m not an idiot.” Kai’s voice stays even, calm. “You have one of the top grades in the class. You always finish your assignments early. Half the time, you’re the one correcting other people’s work. So if you don’t need tutoring… what is this, exactly?”

For a moment, Beomgyu doesn’t speak. He just blinks at him, that easy smile faltering into something quieter; less show, more real. He leans forward, resting his arms on the table, and when he answers, there’s no teasing in his voice, just something soft and startlingly sincere.

“I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

The words hit heavier than Kai expects. The way Beomgyu said it wasn’t dramatic, nor performative. Just… honest. They sit between them like a truth Beomgyu had been holding gently in his hands for a while now, waiting for the right moment to offer it. And Kai, who is so used to people keeping their distance or looking through him, doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

He swallows, averts his gaze. “Well… you could’ve just said hi.”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu breathes, smiling faintly, “But you didn’t even look at me the first time I talked to you, remember?”

Kai shakes his head, already flipping to the next page of his notes. This easy back and forth, the sincerity in Beomgyu’s voice… it lingers. It doesn’t feel like a line, or a setup for a joke. Beomgyu had said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like it didn’t need explanation or justification. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you, and maybe it really was that simple.

The idea feels strange. Not bad, exactly, just unexpected. Genuine interest, without some kind of catch? It’s not something Kai’s used to, not from someone like Beomgyu – bright and talkative and seemingly surrounded by people all the time. There’s no logical reason for him to want to talk to Kai, let alone go this far just to make it happen, but he doesn’t seem like he’s lying. If anything, he’d looked almost relieved when he finally said it.

Kai catches himself glancing up, just to see Beomgyu idly spinning a pencil between his fingers, attention fixed on him. There’s nothing smug in his expression, just that same quiet ease, like he’s content to sit there as long as Kai lets him. He looks back down quickly, trying to focus on the chord progression he’d started writing earlier, but his thoughts won’t quite settle. He doesn’t know why Beomgyu wants to talk to him, why he’s suddenly decided Kai is worth the effort, but the answer doesn’t feel pressing. He isn’t sure he wants to ask, not when Beomgyu might actually tell him the truth again, and Kai’s not sure he’s ready for that.

Because the truth, when it comes from Beomgyu, feels a little too easy to believe. A little too close to being something Kai wants. He presses his lips together, scribbles out a bar of notes and rewrites it slower. It’s easier to look down at the page than at the boy across from him. 

“Whatever,” But the words don’t bite. They’re almost amused. Almost fond. “Anyway… Professor Noh said something about modulating between keys in a way that doesn’t sound like a car crash. What do you think he meant by that?”

The conversation shifts quickly. Beomgyu talks about the lecture for less than a minute before steering them toward music. Kai senses it immediately, the way his tone changes, the subtle drop in volume. 

“You ever listen to Ryuichi Sakamoto?” Beomgyu asks, toying with his sleeve like he’s bored but still watching Kai carefully. “The ambient stuff with Alva Noto? Kind of weird but kind of genius.”

Kai doesn’t look up from his page. But something in his chest gives the faintest tug. “Yeah. I liked Summvs,” he murmurs after a beat. “The way the melodies keep trying to form, but never quite do.”

Beomgyu doesn’t reply, but Kai can feel him watching. Somehow, that doesn’t feel like pressure. It’s not trust, not yet, but it’s something. A moment held between them, quiet and fleeting, like the last note of a song that never quite finishes. 

Beomgyu’s voice cuts through the silence, soft but triumphant. “I knew I’d be able to talk about this with you!” It’s almost bashful, like he’s admitting something he hadn’t planned to say aloud. Kai glances up from his notebook, eyes narrowing slightly. There’s a warmth in Beomgyu’s expression he doesn’t quite know how to read; not mockery, not flattery. Just open and earnest in a way Kai hadn’t expected.

Kai doesn’t reply right away. He doesn’t know how to. It’s not a compliment, not really, but it lands in his chest like one. Most people don’t talk to him about the kind of music that’s stitched into the fabric of his world. Most don’t notice the things he loves, let alone meet him there. And certainly not people like Beomgyu, who come with reputations and fan clubs and smiles that turn heads when they walk into a room. Kai’s never been part of that world. Never wanted to be.

“People usually think it’s weird,” Kai says finally, and it comes out quieter than he means it to. He looks back down at the page, pretending to be preoccupied with the notes he was scribbling earlier. “Stuff without lyrics. Songs that don’t even feel like songs.”

Beomgyu leans forward, resting his chin in one hand, like Kai’s just said the most interesting thing he’s heard all week. “That’s the whole point, though,” he says. “The space between the sounds. The way it makes you feel without having to tell you anything directly. It’s kind of like…” He pauses, considering. “Kind of like when someone leaves you a note but only writes half of what they mean. You have to feel the rest yourself.”

That makes something tighten in Kai’s chest, an almost uncomfortable flicker of understanding. He isn’t used to being seen in this way, not even by the people closest to him. He keeps his thoughts tucked away like fragile paper cranes; delicate, personal, easily misunderstood. But Beomgyu doesn’t laugh, doesn’t fill the silence with something loud or dismissive. He just… stays there. Present.

Kai shifts in his seat, aware of how long they’ve been talking. It’s not what he expected when Beomgyu first sat down. He isn’t sure what he expected, really. Some careless joke, maybe, or a half-hearted attempt at small talk, but not this. Not the genuine way Beomgyu listens, or how easily he slips into Kai’s world like he belongs there. Kai isn’t sure if he likes it, and he isn’t sure if it’s safe to.

“You surprise me,” he says eventually, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

Beomgyu grins at that, easy and unbothered. “Good surprise or bad?”

Kai doesn’t answer. Just shrugs, faint and noncommittal, but he doesn’t look away either. And for now, that’s the closest thing to an invitation he’s willing to give. 

The third or fourth time Beomgyu turns up in the same corner of the campus library, Kai doesn’t sigh or immediately reach for the volume on his phone. There’s no roll of the eyes, no visible bristling. Instead, he glances up when Beomgyu slides into the seat beside him, gaze flicking briefly over his face before dropping back to his notebook. The movement is subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s a shift. A pause, not a dismissal. Beomgyu says something dumb about their professor’s handwriting looking like it was forged by a crow hopped up on coffee, and Kai – despite himself – lets out a soft snort.

It surprises him more than it should. He’s used to tuning people out, building walls from silence and rhythm, used to his own company like it’s second skin, but there’s something about the way Beomgyu just exists right next to him – loud in a quiet way, not pushing, not prying – that unsettles Kai less than he expects. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Beomgyu pulls out a notebook and mimics his posture, pretending to study. Kai doesn’t believe it for a second, but oddly, he doesn’t mind.

They’ve been sitting in silence for a while, long enough that the buzz of nearby conversations begins to fade into a dull, ignorable hum. The usual library ambience surrounds them: the occasional rustle of pages, the faint whirr of laptops, a cough in the distance. Kai pretends to stay focused on his score annotations, pencil hovering but unmoving. He hasn’t written anything in the last five minutes.

He doesn’t look at Beomgyu, but he sees the way his shoulder rises and falls with each quiet breath. The way he chews absentmindedly on the end of his pen, brows furrowed like he’s actually trying to concentrate. He always puts on that face when he’s being watched. Kai’s seen it enough to recognise the performance.

Eventually, Kai speaks. Just one question; low, offhanded, tossed into the air like it barely matters.

"That artist you mentioned last time," he says quietly, eyes still on his notebook. "Heo Hoy Kyung, right? What song did you say you liked?"

Beomgyu startles slightly, like he hadn’t expected him to talk. His pen slips from his fingers and rolls off the edge of the table. He catches it with a clumsy little motion, knocking his elbow into his textbook. “Oh– uh, yeah. It’s called Home.” His voice softens as he adds, “I didn’t think you were listening.”

Kai shrugs, feigning disinterest, even though he remembers the entire conversation word for word. “I wasn’t,” he says, but the lie is so transparent he doesn’t bother to sell it. His pencil finally moves again, drawing a half-note in the margin before smudging it out.

Beomgyu doesn’t tease him. Doesn’t grin or make a joke out of it like he usually would. He just nods, shifting a little in his seat as a small smile makes its way onto his face. “It’s really stripped down. Feels kind of… lonely, I guess. But warm, too. I think you’d like it.”

Kai hums. A soft, noncommittal sound. “I’ll check it out.”

And he will. Probably tonight.

Then there’s the earbud. Just one; left out, dangling against his shoulder, the white wire swaying gently whenever he shifts. It’s the kind of thing that wouldn’t normally matter, wouldn’t normally be noticed. He tells himself it’s nothing. Just a habit. He must’ve forgotten to put it in. Except… he didn’t, because he never forgets.

The truth is, it’s deliberate. A quiet offering. A wordless maybe.

He doesn’t know what it means yet, only that it feels oddly intimate. Like leaving the door open for someone, or letting a little bit of the world in. Even if that world happens to be Beomgyu, grinning and loud and leaning too close with eyes that make it feel like he’s being read in real time.

Beomgyu shifts in his seat beside him, pulling a pen from behind his ear. He doesn’t say anything at first, but Kai feels him glance over. Then he feels a soft nudge against his shoulder, looking over to see Beomgyu wearing a dumb smile on his face.

“Just the one earbud today?” Beomgyu says, voice light, teasing. “Trying to leave a little room in your life for me?”

Kai scoffs softly, eyes flitting back towards his notebook. “It’s not that deep.”

Beomgyu hums, clearly unconvinced. “You always wear both. You practically live in those things. Now suddenly it’s just one?” He leans in a little, grin evident in his voice. “I feel special.”

Kai rolls his eyes, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, reluctant but real as he softly shoves Beomgyu away from him. “You’re so annoying.”

“Sure,” Beomgyu says breezily, bumping Kai’s shoulder with his own. “But I’m your annoying. Right?”

“What does that even mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean,” Beomgyu teases, focusing back on his own notebook.

Kai doesn’t answer – can’t. His cheeks warm as he keeps his gaze firmly on the page in front of him, willing his face to stay neutral, but the smile’s still there, tugging quietly at his mouth like it wants to be more than just a flicker. It’s embarrassing, kind of, how well Beomgyu can read him. How easily he picks up on the things Kai tries not to show.

Then Beomgyu adds, casual like he’s just thinking aloud, “We should get one of those splitter things. You know, so we can listen to stuff together. Like a proper music nerd duo.”

Kai’s smile deepens, barely contained now. “We?”

Beomgyu nudges him again, grinning. “Yeah, obviously. I’ve got good taste, you could learn a thing or two.”

Kai glances sideways at him, a soft huff of laughter escaping before he can stop it. “Right. Because I’m the one who needs help with taste.”

“Exactly,” Beomgyu says with an exaggerated nod, clearly pleased with himself.

He doesn’t press any further. Just goes back to scribbling in his notebook, humming under his breath; something half-familiar, like one of the songs he’d mentioned before. Kai sits there with one earbud still dangling, feeling the quiet warmth of being noticed, and the even quieter one of being included.

Beomgyu, to his credit, quiets down after that. He matches Kai’s volume, respects the silence, doesn’t fill it with noise or nonsense. He leans back when Kai leans forward, speaks only when it feels natural. There’s no demand for attention, no expectation, just presence, and Kai finds himself not minding it. He doesn’t trust it, not fully yet, but he doesn’t resist it either.

Sometimes, Kai catches Beomgyu watching him. Not in the way others do – curious, distracted, quietly judging – but like he’s studying something delicate, something he doesn’t want to startle. His gaze isn’t heavy or invasive; it’s thoughtful, almost hesitant, like he’s trying to understand something without breaking it. Without breaking him. Kai notices it more often than he lets on. The way Beomgyu’s pencil stills mid-doodle, or how his smile fades just slightly when he thinks Kai isn’t looking. Maybe it's foolish, but sometimes it feels like Beomgyu is seeing right through him.

Once, during a lull in conversation, Kai meets his gaze and doesn’t look away. He holds it, just for a second, one heartbeat too long. It’s impulsive, stupid maybe, but there's something about the softness in Beomgyu’s expression that makes him forget to be afraid. He breaks eye contact first, glancing down at his notebook like it holds something important. His pulse is louder than it should be in his ears. He braces for a quip, a smirk, some easy comment that’ll make it all feel like a joke, but it doesn’t come. Beomgyu doesn’t say anything. He just shifts a little in his seat, like the moment caught him off guard, too.

And in that quiet, where no words are exchanged, Kai feels something settle in his chest. Not certainty – never that – but a flicker of something close. Like maybe, just maybe, he's starting to get used to Beomgyu’s quiet but persistent presence in his life.

By the third or fourth week of their little impromptu library sessions – not that Kai’s keeping count – Beomgyu slides into the seat across from him like usual, and Kai doesn’t bother pretending to be annoyed. He’s tried that already, and it clearly hasn’t worked. Besides, it’s harder to resent someone who actually seems to care what you’re working on.

“You know,” Beomgyu says, leaning back in his chair with his usual careless ease, “For someone who clearly wants to be left alone, you don’t look too upset I keep showing up.”

Kai glances up from his notebook, deadpan. “I figured if I ignore you long enough, you’ll get bored.”

Beomgyu grins like he’s won something. “See, that’s where you underestimate my commitment to being annoying.”

Kai lets out a soft exhale – could be a sigh, could be the hint of a laugh – and turns back to his page. “Unfortunately, I’m starting to believe that.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Beomgyu nods at his notebook. “So… what are you working on today?”

Kai taps his pen against the edge of the page, debating whether or not to answer. “Trying to fix this chord progression,” he says eventually. “It keeps resolving too early. Sounds predictable.”

Beomgyu tilts his head, interested in a way that doesn’t feel fake. “Wanna play it out loud?”

“Don’t have my keyboard,” Kai says, shrugging.

“Hum it, then. I’ve got perfect pitch.”

Kai looks up, brows raised. “You don’t have perfect pitch.”

“No,” Beomgyu admits, still grinning, “But I like when you talk music.”

That earns him a look – dry and unimpressed – but the edge of Kai’s mouth twitches, just slightly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet…” Beomgyu spreads his hands, shameless.

They fall quiet again, the rustle of nearby pages and the occasional keyboard clack filling the space between them. Kai goes back to scribbling a bar of music in the margin, but the sound of Beomgyu not-talking is oddly companionable now. It feels different from before. Less like an intrusion, more like a support.

After a few minutes, it’s Kai who speaks first. 

“You said last time you liked Pierre Barouh… right?”

Beomgyu looks up, surprised but quick to catch on. “Yeah. What, did you go all French cinema on me last night?”

Kai nods, still looking at his page. “Listened to ‘À L'Ombre De Nous’ and ‘Samba Saravah’. It was… strange. But the good kind.”

Beomgyu’s smile stretches wide, but not obnoxiously so. There’s something genuine in it, something warm. “Strange and kind of good is my favourite combination.”

Kai exhales a soft huff, not quite a laugh. “Figures. Pretty much sums you up.”

Beomgyu lights up, eyes widening in mock delight. He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm like he’s posing for a cheesy romcom poster. “Aww, I’m growing on you, aren’t I? You just called me good.”

Kai side-eyes him, expression flat but betrayed by the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “It was more of a strong emphasis on ‘strange’, if you were listening properly.”

Beomgyu gasps dramatically, clutching at his chest like he’s been wounded. “Harsh. And here I thought we were having a moment.”

Kai gives him a look – flat, unimpressed, but the flicker of amusement behind it betrays him. “You’re the only one who thought that.”

Beomgyu grins, undeterred. “I manifested it. That’s half the work, you know.”

“You sound ridiculous.”

“I sound like someone making history,” Beomgyu replies, lifting his chin with mock pride. “The reclusive Huening Kai willingly engages in casual banter. What’s next? A smile? Laughter? A secret handshake?”

Kai snorts before he can stop himself, immediately trying to smother it with a hand, but Beomgyu catches it, and he beams like he’s just been handed a trophy. “There it is!” he crows. “That was a laugh. I don’t care if it was half-choked and reluctant. It counts.”

Kai shakes his head, glancing down at his notebook again, but the corners of his mouth don’t quite return to their usual straight line. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know. It’s a gift.” Beomgyu leans back in his chair like he’s earned it, stretching his arms behind his head. “But lucky for you, I’ve decided to use my powers for good.”

Kai doesn’t answer this time, but the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It lingers, companionable in a way that surprises him; like the quiet in-between tracks on a good album, one you don’t skip.

The peaceful lull between them is short-lived.

A shadow falls over the table, and Kai looks up to find a figure approaching; lean, on the smaller side, perfectly styled, and wearing the kind of self-assured smile that makes Kai instinctively sit a little straighter. Minjun. He’s seen him around campus before, always surrounded, always laughing too loudly, with a confidence that feels like it’s meant to be seen.

“There you are, Gyu,” Minjun says, eyes fixed on Beomgyu like Kai isn’t even there. His hand lands lightly on Beomgyu’s shoulders, sliding down his back. Beomgyu doesn’t lean into it or brush it off. He just offers a tight smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t expect to find you here. Still working on that little… project?”

There’s something loaded in the way he says it. Kai doesn’t clock it, just frowns faintly and glances back down at his notes, but Beomgyu goes still, just for a breath. Kai doesn’t see the way Beomgyu’s jaw tenses, or how Minjun’s gaze flickers, testing. Minjun’s attention finally shifts to Kai as he plops down onto Beomgyu’s lap, and the smile he gives is more smirk than anything else. 

“Didn’t peg you as the diligent type, Gyu,” he says smoothly, still wearing that effortless, joking tone. “Or is this more of a long game? You always did love slow burns.”

Kai’s brow creases slightly, confused by the tone, but the words don’t quite land the way they’re meant to. He doesn’t understand the implication; just hears the usual bite of someone with too much pride and too little restraint.

But Beomgyu does. “Minjun,” he says, voice low and sharp. Just a name, but it cuts through the moment like glass. There’s no smile now, no humour. Just a quiet, pointed warning.

Minjun holds up his hands, smile strained. “Relax. Just teasing. You’re getting soft, Gyu.” He lingers for a moment longer, eyes dragging between the two of them, and then he tries to press a kiss onto Beomgyu’s lips to which the latter moves away from. Minjun sighs and gets up from Beomgyu’s lap. 

Kai makes the mistake of looking up, making direct eye contact with Minjun. There’s a slickness to Minjun’s smile that sets Kai on edge. His eyes skim over Kai with practised ease, lingering a second too long on his fraying laces, the scuffed toes of his shoes, the wired headphones plugged into an old phone with a cracked screen. It’s the kind of look Kai recognises instantly, the kind that catalogues your worth before you even speak.

Minjun hums under his breath, then says lightly, “Didn’t realise Beomgyu was the philanthropic type, or is this the look you’re going after?” Minjun reaches for Kai’s cracked phone, holding it between two fingers as if picking up a piece of trash. “Really committing to the whole early 2000s vibe, huh?” His tone is casual, but it’s a little too precise, too pointed. “You’ve always been a sucker for a good fixer-upper, Beomgyu. Guess some things don’t change.”

Kai hears it this time. Every word. He stays quiet, jaw tight, fingers curling loosely around his pen. There’s a pause, just enough for him to wonder if Beomgyu will let it slide.

He doesn’t.

“Minjun,” Beomgyu says sharply, all humour draining from his voice. “Don’t be a fucking dick.”

Minjun raises an eyebrow, still wearing that smile, but it’s strained now. “Oh, come on. It’s a joke.”

“No, it’s not,” Beomgyu snaps. “You’re not being funny, you’re being cruel. And I don’t care how long we’ve known each other, if you’re going to talk to him like that, don’t talk at all.”

That silences Minjun. His smile flickers, like something in it cracks for half a second. He recovers quickly, mouth twisting into a scoff, eyes flicking between them. “Damn,” he says, voice cool. “Didn’t know I was walking into a PSA.” 

“Apologise.”

“What?” Minjun sputters.

“I said,” Beomgyu stands up, and he’s nowhere near as tall as Kai is but he still towers over Minjun. “Apologise.”

Minjun scoffs and tosses Kai’s phone back onto the table. Not a gentle return, but a careless fling that sends it skidding across the wood with a sharp, echoing crack. Heads turn from all around the library as the noise cuts through the quiet of the library like a slap.

“Oops,” Minjun says, not even pretending to sound apologetic. “Sorry.”

Then he turns to Beomgyu, lips curled into something that might pass for a smile if it weren’t so laced with condescension. He claps a hand onto Beomgyu’s shoulder with exaggerated familiarity. “Have fun with your little charity project.”

With that, he saunters off without a backward glance, leaving the tension hanging in the air like smoke. Silence settles again, heavier now. Kai doesn’t move. He’s still staring at the edge of his notebook, pulse thrumming in his ears, but Beomgyu doesn’t look away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Beomgyu says quietly. “He was out of line. That’s not okay. You didn’t deserve that.”

Kai doesn’t know what to do with the quiet that follows. It isn’t tense exactly, but it’s not quite comfortable either. Beomgyu still hasn’t looked away from him, waiting with that same steady patience Kai has started to expect, but not fully understand. Maybe that’s the problem. Kai feels like he’s standing in the middle of something he doesn’t belong to, like a guest in someone else’s life. Someone richer, brighter, louder.

Beomgyu’s defense had meant something to him, he won’t pretend it didn’t. It had cut through the humiliation like a lifeline, sharp and clean. Though instead of gratitude, what settles in Kai now is something colder. A deeper awareness. That no matter how good it felt, it didn’t change the truth; they don’t fit. 

Being defended, being seen, in a way he hadn’t expected felt good, warm even, but it also felt wrong; like something borrowed, like wearing a jacket that doesn’t fit no matter how warm it is. Beomgyu meant what he said, Kai doesn’t doubt that, but that only makes the gap between them feel wider.

Beomgyu is easy in ways Kai isn’t. Bright in ways Kai never learned to be. He fits in crowded rooms and open conversations, while Kai slips through the background, trying not to be noticed. So when someone like Minjun sneers at Kai’s cracked phone or his frayed shoelaces, it just underlines what Kai already knows; he and Beomgyu come from two entirely different worlds.

People like Beomgyu don’t end up around people like him. Not unless it’s a joke, or a favour, or a fleeting curiosity. It’s not bitterness, it’s just fact, and maybe Beomgyu doesn’t see it now, but he will. Eventually. They always do. So no matter how much Kai wants to pretend otherwise, no matter how warm Beomgyu’s voice sounds, it’s easier to pull away now than to wait for that realisation to hit. Before things get harder. Before it can start to mean something.

He hates how exposed he feels, how easy it was for Minjun to find the cracks, and how Beomgyu’s kindness, genuine as it is, only highlights them more. They’re not the same. They’re not even close. No matter how much Beomgyu smiles or listens or waits for Kai to open up, there’s always gonna be a gap between them that feels unconquerable.

Kai stands up before he fully decides to. His hands gather his notebook and phone mechanically, the back of his neck prickling with unease. “I should go,” he says, avoiding Beomgyu’s eyes.

“What?” Beomgyu’s voice is immediate, concerned. “Kai– hey, wait. You don’t have to–”

But Kai is already shoving his things into his bag, movements sharp and fast. He can’t bear the thought of staying here, of sitting in this suddenly too-bright, too-still space while Beomgyu looks at him with concern he didn’t ask for. He slings the strap over his shoulder and shakes his head. “I just remembered something,” he lies, voice flat. “It’s nothing.”

“Kai, come on. Don’t let Minjun–”

“It’s not about him,” Kai cuts in, though he knows it’s only half true. It’s not just about Minjun. It’s about all of it.

He doesn’t look back as he walks off, but he hears Beomgyu say his name one last time, quieter, like he doesn’t know whether to follow or let him go. Maybe that’s the safest part of all, knowing Beomgyu won’t chase him, because if he did, Kai might not have the strength to keep walking.

Notes:

i'm not sure i'm happy with this chapter honestly... i wrote and rewrote it like 10 times already which is why this update took so long, i'm sorry for that btw. hopefully this fic will start picking up in the next few chapters, hope it wasn't too bad of an update!

as always, i absolutely love hearing your thoughts so please leave a comment! it gives me motivation to continue and lets me know if you guys are enjoying the fic or not <3

thank you so much for reading! kudos and comments are highly appreciated!!🫶🫶

feel free to come talk to me about this fic or anything txt over on my twitter at @koostiddy!!

Chapter 3

Summary:

Beomgyu swallows hard. “You really think that was because of me?”

“I know it was,” Mr. Nam says, his tone gentle now. “And I think he misses it. Misses you. He just doesn’t know how to ask for that without sounding like he cares…”

Beomgyu tries to laugh it off, some dumb quip forming in his mouth out of habit, but it dies before it can make it past his lips. Because the thing is, he knows Mr. Nam’s right. Somewhere deep down, beneath all the jokes and bravado, he's known it for a while. He’s seen it too. The way Kai started lingering a little longer after class. The way his shoulders dropped when he laughed. The way he didn’t flinch as much when people got close. If someone like Mr. Nam – who barely ever speaks unless he has something worth saying – noticed that shift, then it means it was real. That Kai’s trust, his comfort, his quiet smiles… none of that was fake. None of it was part of the game.

Which makes what Beomgyu’s doing unforgivable.

Notes:

*another disclaimer: i don't know shit about anime, so i had to dig through reddit threads and twitter to see what people are saying about gojo lmaooo, if any of you are jjk watchers, i'm sorry if i got anything wrong😬

🧸 

 

Over the next few days, Beomgyu notices it right away, the empty chair across from him. It’s not just the seat at the library, either. Kai hasn’t been in the cafe either, the one they always end up at when their schedules line up. Beomgyu goes through the motions of ordering his usual, his eyes scanning the usual spots for Kai, but the seat remains empty. It feels a little hollow, like something’s been shifted without permission. He tells himself it’s nothing, that Kai probably has other things going on, but that quiet little voice in the back of his head keeps nagging at him.

The absence lingers for days. Beomgyu tells himself it’s fine. Kai’s probably busy, or maybe it’s just one of those things. People drift in and out of routines, but by the end of the week, it starts bothering him. He can’t help but notice the way the space across from him feels too wide, how it just doesn’t feel right without Kai there, half-smiling at his bad jokes, responding in that reluctant way that always made Beomgyu want to tease him even more. He forces himself not to overthink it, but when he passes by Kai’s usual spot in the library, only to see someone else sitting there, it grates on his nerves more than it should.

Beomgyu gets to the cafe early. He knows Kai always stops by around this time, and a small, ridiculous part of him hopes today will be the day he will finally talk to him again. He picks the table by the window; close enough to catch the entrance, far enough not to look desperate. He orders something he doesn’t even want, fingers tapping against the cup as he waits. The minutes stretch longer than they should, each one a reminder that maybe Kai isn’t coming after all.

Then he sees him.

Kai rounds the corner outside, head ducked slightly beneath the rim of his hoodie, the telltale strap of his bag slung over one shoulder. Beomgyu sits up a little straighter, heart doing something stupid in his chest. Kai looks up, scans the interior absently then his eyes land on Beomgyu. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough. Beomgyu sees the flicker of recognition, followed by something like panic, and then, just like that, Kai turns and walks away. No hesitation, no second glance. Beomgyu doesn’t even get the chance to wave.

He slumps back in his seat, trying to swallow the sting. It’s stupid. He knew this wouldn’t be easy, but something about seeing Kai turn away like that knocks the breath out of him. He stares at the door for a long moment, then glances at the counter. Mr. Nam is too busy restocking pastries to notice him staring. That’s when the idea forms. Next time, he won’t be so easy to spot. Next time, he’ll wait behind the counter. If Kai doesn’t see him right away, maybe he won’t bolt. Maybe Beomgyu can catch him off guard, say something before he disappears again. It’s probably a terrible plan, but it’s the only one he’s got.

The next morning, Beomgyu shows up to the cafe earlier than ever, so early the lights are still half-dim and the chairs haven’t all been put down yet. Mr. Nam, wiping down the espresso machine behind the counter, looks up in surprise when the bell above the door jingles. “You’re keen today,” he says, quirking a brow.

Beomgyu doesn’t waste time. “Can I hide behind the counter?”

Mr. Nam pauses. “You what?”

“I just– okay, I know how that sounds,” Beomgyu says quickly, hands raised. “It’s not weird, I swear. I’m not being creepy. I just… I really need to talk to someone. To Kai. But he saw me yesterday and walked off, so I figured– if he doesn’t see me, maybe he won’t run.”

There’s a long silence. Mr. Nam crosses his arms, his brow furrowing in the way it does when he’s not quite convinced but too tired to argue. “You’re looking for Kai?” he asks, eyes narrowing a little.

Beomgyu nods, a bit sheepish. “I just want to talk to him. Not about anything weird or serious. I just want to explain myself.”

Mr. Nam stares at him for a moment longer, then sighs. “You kids,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Fine. But if he calls the campus security on you, you’re on your own.”

Beomgyu beams, nearly vaulting over the pastry case in gratitude. “You’re the best, Mr. Nam.”

“I swear to god, if you knock over a single mug back there–”

But Beomgyu’s already ducked behind the counter, crouching awkwardly between the extra syrup jugs and a stack of unused takeaway cups, heart thudding like a war drum in his chest. He waits. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.

Then the bell rings.

He hears the soft shuffle of shoes, the familiar jingle of Kai’s bag brushing the door. Kai steps inside with his usual quiet presence, walking toward the register, approaching Mr. Nam. Beomgyu gets a nudge from Mr. Nam, signalling Kai is here.

And before he can turn around and make his escape again–

Beomgyu springs up. “Kai!”

Kai actually jumps, startled so badly he nearly drops his phone. “What the–?”

Beomgyu winces a little at the reaction but forces a smile anyway, stepping out from behind the counter like it’s perfectly normal to be crouched next to syrup pumps before sunrise. “Sorry. Kind of. Not really. I just– please don’t leave yet.”

Kai blinks at him, still frozen by the register, looking like he’s not sure whether to laugh or bolt. “Were you hiding back there?”

Beomgyu shrugs, trying for a grin, but it feels off-kilter, unsure. “I figured if you saw me, you’d leave again.”

Kai’s mouth opens like he’s about to argue, but no words come out. His fingers tighten around the spine of his notebook. “So your solution was to ambush me?”

Beomgyu shrugs, trying to keep it casual, though his heart is beating stupidly fast. “I mean, yeah. I wasn’t sure you’d show up if you saw me first, so. I improvised.”

“You improvised,” Kai repeats flatly, but there’s something different in his voice now; less sharp, a little baffled, a little touched.

Beomgyu tries to read his expression which is hard to do, when Kai’s face is half-hidden by the notebook he’s now clutching to his chest like a shield, but there’s a flicker in his eyes that makes Beomgyu hold his breath. Something softer than disbelief. Something that makes all of this – waking up early, begging Mr. Nam, crouching behind a sticky counter – worth it.

Beomgyu’s grin falters. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, quieter now. “And I didn’t know how else to get you to talk to me.”

There’s a beat of silence. Kai looks down, like he doesn’t want to be caught holding eye contact. Beomgyu watches him, searching for something; maybe a crack, a sign, anything.

“I just don’t get it,” Beomgyu continues. “The past month… we were doing okay, weren’t we? You even laughed that one time! And I thought…” He trails off, biting the inside of his cheek. “I thought we were becoming friends, and– I liked it. Being around you. And I thought maybe you liked it too.”

Kai doesn’t deny it. That, somehow, makes it worse.

Beomgyu swallows. “Look, if this is about Minjun–”

Kai’s jaw tenses. That’s the only reaction Beomgyu gets, but it’s enough.

“He’s not my friend,” Beomgyu says quickly, firmly. “He’s just someone I’m stuck hanging out with because we share a bunch of classes, and he never shuts up. But I’m not like him. I swear I’m not.”

Kai doesn’t speak, but his silence isn’t blank; it’s bristling and a little wary.

Beomgyu presses on. “I would never talk to you the way he did. Or look at you like that. And if I ever see him – or anyone for that matter – do it again, I’ll… I’ll beat them up!” 

Beomgyu slams his fist on the counter with dramatic conviction, and despite himself, a small smile tugs at the corner of Kai’s lips. It’s gone almost as soon as it appears, but Beomgyu sees it, catches that fleeting softness like it was meant for him.

Kai’s eyes flick up, sharp and unreadable. “Why do you care?”

That catches Beomgyu off guard. He breathes in, slow. Steady.

“Because it’s you,” he says like it’s obvious – and it is, but he would never admit that. “And I told you I admired your work, didn’t I? I… I really wanna be your friend, Kai. Like, genuinely. No one has ever understood me the way you do when it comes to music, and you know you can’t deny it.”

There’s a crack in Kai’s expression now, small and subtle, but it’s there; his mouth twitching, his shoulders sinking half an inch, like maybe something in Beomgyu’s words found their mark, and Beomgyu should feel relieved. He should feel triumphant, even. He’d gotten Kai to stop running. That was the whole point of this ridiculous ambush, wasn’t it? To get a chance to talk, to explain?

Instead, guilt claws up his throat like it’s trying to choke him.

Even if everything he said was true – every word about admiring Kai, about wanting to be friends, about feeling seen in a way no one else ever bothered to see him – there’s still that thought, buried beneath the rest. The one he keeps shoving away, pretending it doesn’t matter.

The bet.

The stupid, awful, cocky bet he agreed to without thinking – without knowing Kai, before any of this meant anything. Before Kai’s eyes started lingering too long in his head, and before their library conversations started feeling like the best part of his week. Before he realised how different Kai was from everyone else in his life. Beomgyu shifts slightly, the back of his neck prickling. He’s still looking at Kai, but he feels like a fraud now. Like he’s playing at sincerity with cards already marked.

“I mean it,” he says, quieter this time, because if he says it again, maybe it’ll drown out the part of him that’s still holding onto that stupid promise to his friends. “I really mean it.”

Kai doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move away either. That silence stretches between them, not as sharp now; more hesitant, more fragile, and Beomgyu thinks, not for the first time, that he should just tell him. Blurt it all out right here in this tiny cafe and let the pieces fall where they may, but the words don’t come. Cowardice keeps them lodged behind his teeth.

So instead, he just stands there, guilt pressing against the back of his ribs like a weight he can’t shake, and wonders how long he has until Kai finds out everything. Wonders what will happen when he does, and wonders why, for the first time, it terrifies him. Still, he presses on.

“I don’t expect you to trust me right away, I know you think it’s weird that I popped upout of nowhere, asking– no, practically forcing you to be my friend,” Beomgyu adds, softer this time. “But I need you to know I meant everything I said. About liking our time together. About missing it.”

Another long pause. The cafe hums faintly around them; coffee machines, soft music, a low murmur of early customers.

Finally, Kai lets out a breath. “You’re ridiculous.”

Beomgyu smiles, a little realer this time. “Yeah, but I’m your kind of ridiculous, right?”

Kai doesn’t answer, but for the first time in days, he doesn’t walk away, and Beomgyu clings to that tiny victory like it might mean something. Beomgyu doesn’t push his luck. He stays quiet, letting the weight of Kai’s silence settle between them like steam curling off a cup of coffee; tense, but not unwelcoming. For the first time, he doesn’t feel like he’s talking to a wall or a version of Kai sealed off behind reinforced glass. He feels… close. Closer than he deserves.

Kai shifts his weight, clutching his notebook a little tighter. He doesn’t look at Beomgyu, not directly, but his voice comes quieter this time, less barbed. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

Beomgyu tilts his head. “Like what?”

“That you miss me,” Kai says, eyes still fixed on the floor. “That you like spending time with me.”

Beomgyu swallows. There’s a warning in those words, maybe. A challenge. A crack in the armour. “Why not? It’s true.”

Kai’s brow furrows, like he’s trying to solve an equation with too many variables. “It just… it makes things harder.”

Beomgyu feels that one land deep in his chest. He wants to ask harder how? but he already knows. He knows the hesitation in Kai’s voice, the way he closes up the second he starts to trust someone. It’s all over his body language, his guarded stance, the way his fingers curl in like he’s holding something fragile and dangerous all at once.

So Beomgyu softens again, takes a step closer but still keeps his distance. “Then let it be hard. I’m not going anywhere, we’ll go through it together.”

Kai’s eyes finally meet his. Not just a glance, really meet, and for a second, it’s all there in his expression; the war, the fear, the fragile hope trying to claw its way through. His jaw twitches. He opens his mouth like he might say something, then closes it again.

“I should go,” he says instead.

Beomgyu nods, his chest tight. “Okay.”

But as Kai turns and picks his usual hot mint chocolate from the counter, as he takes a step toward the door, Beomgyu adds, “I’ll be here. Whenever you’re ready. Even if you never are.”

Kai pauses.

He doesn’t look back, but the door doesn’t swing open right away either. He just stands there, quiet, still, like he’s trying to decide if he should stay or run, and when he finally leaves, soft chime above the door and the cool breeze rushing in, Beomgyu stays standing right where he is.

Beomgyu stays frozen at the counter long after the door swings shut, hands braced against the edge like it's the only thing keeping him upright. The echo of Kai’s voice lingers in the back of his mind– it just makes things harder. He wants to scream, or punch something, or maybe just rewind time and stop himself from ever agreeing to that stupid bet in the first place.

A whole month’s passed already. One down, five to go, and instead of getting easier, it’s only getting more complicated. Kai’s walls haven’t just stayed up; they’ve gotten higher, thornier, smarter. Beomgyu knows how this game is supposed to work. Charm, persistence, a well-timed compliment. Let them feel seen, get them laughing, then reel them in, but Kai’s not like that. He doesn’t fall for surface-level things. He notices sincerity like most people notice lies, and maybe that’s the most annoying part; Beomgyu’s actually trying now, actually caring, and he still can’t tell if it’s because he wants to win… or because he’s already lost. The guilt hits him mid-thought, crawling up the back of his throat like bile. 

Win.  

What does that even mean anymore? Some twisted prize for manipulating someone just gentle enough to deserve better? Beomgyu presses his fingers to his temples and exhales sharply, but it doesn’t chase the heaviness away. He told himself he’d play the long game, and that was fine; he’s patient, cocky, good at what he does, but now, all he can think about is the way Kai looked at him just now, like he wanted to believe him and couldn’t afford to. Like Beomgyu was offering something dangerous dressed up as kindness. 

And the worst part? Maybe he was.

Behind him, there’s a small, deliberate cough. Mr. Nam. Of course.

Beomgyu turns around slowly. Mr. Nam is watching him with that knowing expression he wears whenever someone makes a mess of their heart and expects the world to clean it up for them.

“Well?” he says.

Beomgyu blinks. “Well what?”

Mr. Nam gives a little huff, then jerks his chin toward the door. “You gonna go after him or not?”

Beomgyu frowns. “I mean… he walked out. I don’t think he wants me to.”

“He does,” Mr. Nam says without hesitation, reaching for a towel to wipe down the counter. “He’s just scared. And stubborn.”

Beomgyu’s mouth opens then shuts. “How do you know?”

“I’ve known that boy longer than you have,” Mr. Nam replies. “He’s been coming in here nearly every day for over a year. Doesn’t talk much, always keeps to himself, looks like the type who’s carrying a whole storm inside his head. But a few weeks ago – before he started looking like a kicked puppy again – I noticed something.”

Beomgyu leans in, heart caught in his throat.

Mr. Nam gives him a pointed look. “He smiled more. Nothing big. Barely there. But I’ve learned to pay attention. He looked lighter. Like maybe something, or someone, was making his days feel a little less heavy.”

Beomgyu’s throat goes dry.

“I figured he must’ve met someone,” Mr. Nam continues, folding the towel. “Someone who got through, even a little. And then you started showing up with him, complete opposites, all loud and ridiculous. And I thought, huh. Maybe this is it.”

Beomgyu swallows hard. “You really think that was because of me?”

“I know it was,” Mr. Nam says, his tone gentle now. “And I think he misses it. Misses you. He just doesn’t know how to ask for that without sounding like he cares…”

Beomgyu tries to laugh it off, some dumb quip forming in his mouth out of habit, but it dies before it can make it past his lips. Because the thing is, he knows Mr. Nam’s right. Somewhere deep down, beneath all the jokes and bravado, he's known it for a while. He’s seen it too. The way Kai started lingering a little longer after class. The way his shoulders dropped when he laughed. The way he didn’t flinch as much when people got close. If someone like Mr. Nam – who barely ever speaks unless he has something worth saying – noticed that shift, then it means it was real. That Kai’s trust, his comfort, his quiet smiles… none of that was fake. None of it was part of the game.

Which makes what Beomgyu’s doing unforgivable.

The bet had always felt harmless when it was just a joke among friends, something to pass the time. But now? Now it feels like theft, like he’s taken something honest and precious and pocketed it like loose change, because Kai doesn’t just tolerate him. Kai trusts him. Or at least, he was starting to, and Beomgyu’s been turning that trust into leverage.

Mr. Nam sets the folded towel aside and gives him one last look. “You really don’t realise the way he looks at you, do you?” he asks quietly, like he doesn’t even expect an answer from him.

Beomgyu blinks. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Mr. Nam says, voice a little softer now, “he looks at you like you’re a song he’s still trying to figure out the melody to. Like he can’t tell if you’re going to break his heart or save it.”

Beomgyu stares at him, the weight of those words settling heavy and warm across his chest. 

“Go,” Mr. Nam commands. “I’m not going to tell you a second time.”

And then something shifts – like a string inside him finally pulled taut – and before he can overthink it, before he can lose his nerve–

He bolts.

The door jingles violently as he throws it open and stumbles out into the morning light. The air is crisp, biting cold against his cheeks, but he doesn’t feel it. His eyes scan the street, frantic, and then–

There. Just ahead. Kai’s silhouette, hunched slightly under his hoodie, walking fast but not fast enough.

“Kai!” Beomgyu shouts, already jogging.

Kai stops.

He doesn’t turn right away. Just freezes mid-step, like debating whether to pretend he didn’t hear, but after a moment, his head turns, hoodie shadowing half his face.

Beomgyu slows, breath puffing visibly in the air. “You really weren’t gonna wait?”

Kai’s eyes flick down, then up again. He looks… stunned. Not angry. Not cold. Just quietly overwhelmed. “Why’d you follow me?”

Beomgyu shrugs, breathless. “Mr. Nam told me to. Blame him.”

That earns the ghost of a smile, quick and fleeting. “He did?”

“Said you missed me,” Beomgyu says, stepping closer. “Said you smiled more when I was around.”

Kai doesn’t answer right away. He shifts his notebook in his arms, eyes softening and face flushing despite himself.

“You didn’t have to,” he murmurs.

“I know,” Beomgyu replies, a little breathless, a little hoarse. “But I wanted to.”

There’s silence between them, just the sound of a city waking up; cars passing, someone calling to a friend across the street, the wind rustling the trees. Kai’s hoodie slips back just enough to reveal the pink tips of his ears, the way he’s not quite meeting Beomgyu’s gaze.

Beomgyu, feeling bolder than he probably should, asks gently, “So… can I walk with you?”

A beat. Then, softly, so soft Beomgyu almost doesn’t hear it.

“…If you keep up.”

And just like that, the weight in his chest lifts a little.

He grins and falls into step beside Kai, heart still racing for reasons he can’t quite name, but maybe, Kai’s racing too.

Beomgyu tells himself it’s not a big deal. Over and over, like a mantra. Like if he says it enough times, maybe it’ll start to feel true. Hiding behind counters and chasing a boy through the streets like he’s in a romcom? That’s just part of the charm, isn’t it? He’s always been a little dramatic, always liked being the centre of attention, so what if he leans into it now? A million won is on the line, more than enough to justify a bit of theatre. If anything, this should be fun. A harmless bit of chaos before he cashes in. He’s just playing the role he always plays, the flirty, fast-talking Beomgyu who never really gets caught up in anything too real. That’s all this is; a game, a performance, nothing more.

But even as he runs beside Kai, breath catching in his throat from laughter, his chest aching from the sprint and something else he won’t name, the lie sits heavy and metallic on his tongue. It’s not supposed to matter. That was the whole point. They hang out, he gets Kai to open up, and somewhere along the way, he wins. Except somewhere along the way is starting to blur with now, and now feels too warm, too alive, to be fake. He notices when Kai pulls back a little too fast, when his voice goes quiet and uncertain. He catches himself staring, lingering, hoping to draw him out again, and it stings, more than he expected, when Kai folds back into himself like a page turning shut. 

He keeps trying to justify it. Tells himself they’re all getting something out of this. Beomgyu gets the money, maybe even the satisfaction of a decent hookup, if things progress that far which, granted, still feels uncertain, but he can imagine it. Has imagined it. And Kai? Kai gets something too; a friend, at least for now, someone to talk to who isn’t Yeonjun. Someone who doesn’t ask him to be anything but himself, even if that self is quiet, guarded, occasionally sharp-edged. Maybe he’ll even enjoy getting to sleep with Beomgyu too. Beomgyu tells himself that’s more than enough. That he’s doing Kai a favour, in some backwards way; he’s filling a space, offering something. It's a give-and-take, and they're both walking away with something they didn’t have before. It's fair, logical, and completely mutual. Right?

Except Beomgyu’s not sure when he started thinking of it as more than a trade. Not when he started feeling proud of the way Kai’s smile started to come quicker, when his jokes began landing and Kai laughed with his whole face. Or when he started noticing how Kai looks when he’s focused, headphones on, brow furrowed, completely immersed in his world. Beomgyu finds himself storing those images, cataloguing them like secrets he doesn’t want to share. It’s not just about Kai opening up anymore, it’s about how it makes Beomgyu feel when he does. Like he’s been let into something sacred, and that feels like a problem, because it was never supposed to feel sacred.

That’s when the guilt begins to sink its teeth in yet again, slow and merciless. It shows up in the quiet moments and curls around him when he remembers Soobin’s voice, the way he looked at him that night. Disappointed but not angry, which was worse. “I didn’t think you’re the guy who’d do this,” Soobin had said after their argument, like he believed in some better version of Beomgyu that Beomgyu wasn’t sure existed anymore. He’d laughed it off, of course, because that’s what he does; deflect, distract, bury, but lately, the guilt is harder to bury. Lately, it’s been seeping up through the cracks, whispering that maybe Soobin’s right.

Still, he clings to the image he’s built of himself. Beomgyu, the guy who never falls too hard, never feels too much. The guy who knows how to read a room, to take what he wants and leave before anyone notices he was even there. He’s still that guy, right? The cocky, confident flirt who always gets what he wants, who knows how to play the game. Now the confidence feels brittle, more like armour than truth, and he hates that he’s thinking about Kai when he’s supposed to be thinking about the bet. Hates that he notices the little things, the meaningful silences, the look in Kai’s eyes when he’s trying not to be vulnerable. He wasn’t supposed to care, and yet here he is, caring.

Yet, he won’t stop – he can’t – not because the plan is still sound, not because the million won still calls to him like a siren song, but because he’s afraid. Afraid that if he admits this has gone too far, he’ll have to confront what he’s become in the process. That he’ll lose whatever this fragile thing with Kai is before it ever had the chance to be something real. So he tells himself to keep going, to push forward, that he can still walk the line, that Kai never has to know, that he’ll get his win and walk away clean. Deep down, under all the noise and charm and bravado, there’s a voice in him growing louder by the day. One that says he’s already lost.

Because the bet was never meant to feel like this.

 

🐧

 

They slip back into the library like nothing ever happened, though the air between them feels different now; thicker, more uncertain. Their usual table in the back corner is still there, tucked near the window with just enough distance from everyone else. Beomgyu drops his bag with a lazy sort of defiance, flopping into his chair like he’s trying to pretend everything’s normal. Kai takes his seat more carefully, setting his songbook down on the table with deliberate quiet, almost like the sound might break something fragile between them. Neither of them says a word at first. The silence stretches, lingers, but not in a way that feels hostile. Just heavy, like they’re both waiting for the other to say something first.

Kai opens his book and clicks his pen, though he doesn’t write anything. The pages are already half-filled with scrawled lyrics, fragmented chords, half-thought melodies scratched between the lines. Normally, the process calms him – it’s methodical, familiar, something he can retreat into – but today, his hand just hovers, the pen tip still against the page. Nothing comes. He sneaks a glance at Beomgyu, expecting to see him with his phone out or maybe leaning back with that usual overconfident grin. But instead, Beomgyu’s watching him, subtle, but not subtle enough. Their eyes meet for a beat too long before Beomgyu glances away and taps his fingers restlessly against the table.

Eventually, Beomgyu breaks the silence. “You write weird shit,” he mutters, eyebrows raised at Kai’s page. “One line’s about the moon and the next is about… regret? Are you secretly going through a breakup or something?”

Kai lifts his gaze, unimpressed. “It’s called depth. Look it up.”

Beomgyu snorts. “Wow. The poet speaks. Should I be honoured?” But there’s a flicker of warmth behind the teasing, and Kai feels it chip away at the tension just slightly. It’s strange how quickly they fall back into this. The rhythm, the banter, the quiet spaces between. Kai doesn’t even notice when his shoulders stop tensing.

A few more seconds pass before Kai says, almost too quietly, “I missed this.” 

The words fall out before he can stop them, before he can pretend he didn’t feel the empty space Beomgyu left behind. He doesn’t clarify, doesn’t need to. The books, the silence, the proximity… the way Beomgyu exists in his space without asking for permission and somehow makes it feel warmer, even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when Kai’s heart is caught between wanting more and knowing he shouldn’t want anything at all.

Beomgyu fidgets with the edge of a paper in front of him. “Yeah, well… you should’ve just said that instead of nearly outrunning me for a week,” he says, trying for lightness but glancing at Kai like he actually means it. “You looked ready to commit to a life of solitude.”

“I was considering it,” Kai deadpans, and Beomgyu lets out a low laugh that makes Kai’s chest tighten in ways he refuses to think too hard about.

Because this shouldn’t be happening. Beomgyu doesn’t belong here, in this small quiet world Kai built for himself out of old lyrics and folded corners of notebooks. He’s loud, unpredictable, from a place of popularity and privilege that Kai’s never touched. And Kai… Kai has spent his entire life learning how to be invisible. He doesn’t know how to fit someone like Beomgyu into the lines of his life without losing parts of himself. Letting Beomgyu back in like this is dangerous and stupid, he knows that, but still, he lets it happen.

Kai drops his pen. It clicks against the desk, rolls slightly, and bumps against the edge of his book. He doesn’t pick it back up. His hands are cold and his chest feels tight in a way he’s too used to hiding. He shouldn’t be letting this happen, he shouldn’t want Beomgyu here, but he does. He wants him here, wants the way he makes silence feel a little less lonely, wants the way he makes Kai feel like maybe he isn’t just background noise to someone else’s story, and that’s terrifying.

So Kai says nothing more. Doesn’t ask what Beomgyu’s thinking, or if this – whatever this is – means anything. He just stays seated at the table, listening to the quiet, letting it settle over them like a blanket that’s only half-warm. He doesn’t know what comes next and he’s not sure he wants to.

The moment the library door swings open, Kai feels it like a cold wind slipping through the cracks. His shoulders tense instinctively, fingers tightening around his pen. It’s ridiculous, he tells himself. Irrational the way his pulse jumps, heart skipping unevenly as he lifts his gaze toward the sound of footsteps approaching. He doesn’t even know who he’s expecting – Minjun, maybe, with that smug half-smile and empty eyes – but his body reacts before his mind can catch up. There’s a knot forming in his chest, a familiar heaviness that makes it harder to breathe.

Beomgyu notices immediately. He follows Kai’s line of sight, eyebrows lifting as he turns his head toward the entrance. For a second, he stiffens too, a flicker of worry crossing his face, but it’s gone just as quickly. He exhales in visible relief when he sees who it is. 

“Oh,” he murmurs, low enough that only Kai can hear, “it’s just Soobin.” His voice softens, gaze sliding back toward Kai. “Hey, you’re okay.”

Kai doesn’t answer. His hand stays clenched around his pen, ink smudging slightly against the page he’s no longer writing on. He’s still watching the tall figure weaving through the tables; pristine outfit, neat hair, that calm, unreadable look on his face. It’s too familiar, the kind of image that had once made Kai turn the other way in hallways. The kind that walks past you without a second glance unless it’s to laugh at the shoes you’re wearing or the music coming out of your headphones. Beomgyu shifts his chair closer, nudging Kai’s foot under the table. 

“Seriously,” he says, more firmly this time. “Soobin’s not like that. He’s not like Minjun. Not even a little bit. He’s one of the few people who actually gives a shit.” There’s a faint edge to his voice, a trace of something defensive.

“I wouldn’t bring anyone like that around you,” Beomgyu says after a pause, voice gentler now. “I swear. Soobin’s… good. You’ll see.” His tone is sincere, no teasing for once, no cocky grin to hide behind. Just honesty, and slowly, cautiously, Kai lets himself believe it, just enough to stay seated when Soobin finally reaches their table.

Soobin approaches with an easy smile, one hand shoved into his coat pocket while the other holds a takeaway iced coffee – despite the season – and he greets Beomgyu with a casual, “Yo,” before his gaze flicks to Kai. “Hey, you must be Kai. Beomgyu never shuts up about you.” There’s no edge to it, no teasing bite, just a warm and genuine tone that somehow catches Kai off guard more than any sharp remark would’ve.

Kai blinks, uncertain how to respond at first. He glances at Beomgyu, who’s already rolling his eyes with a groan. “I literally said, ‘We hang out sometimes’ one time. That’s not ‘never shutting up’.” But there’s no heat behind it, only fondness, and Beomgyu’s grin softens when he nudges Soobin to sit beside him, diagonally across from Kai.

Soobin settles into the chair with a comfortable kind of grace, like he belongs anywhere he goes. He sets his drink down and offers Kai a small, almost shy smile. “Sorry if I’m interrupting anything. Gyu said you usually hang here after class, and I figured I’d finally come meet the mystery musician.”

Kai lets out a quiet breath, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. There’s something about Soobin that feels… easy, and honest. Like the kind of person who means what he says and doesn’t have the energy to pretend otherwise. Kai risks a small smile. “You’re not interrupting.”

“Good,” Soobin replies, brightening. “Because I’ve been dying to ask–” he leans forward a little, eyes lighting up as they fall on Kai’s bag, “–is that a Gojo keychain?”

“Ugh, here we go again,” Beomgyu groans, rolling his eyes as he lets his head fall with a dull thud onto the table. 

Kai blinks, momentarily startled, then glances down at the little acrylic charm clipped to the zipper of his bag. “Uh… yeah,” he says slowly. “You like Jujutsu Kaisen?”

Soobin grins like Christmas came early. “Are you kidding? I’ve watched every episode twice and read the manga three times. Gojo’s the best character, no question.”

Kai’s face lights up in a way Beomgyu’s never quite seen before; soft, almost shy, but unmistakably excited. “Right? Everyone’s always going on about Sukuna or Geto or whatever, but Gojo’s just… different. He’s hilarious, but then he’s terrifying when it matters.”

Soobin nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! And that fight scene in Shibuya? When he pulls out the Hollow Purple? Literal chills. I had to pause and rewind like five times just to take it all in.”

Kai lets out a breathy laugh, eyes wide with the memory. “That animation? Unreal. MAPPA really said, ‘Let’s make everyone lose their minds.’ I still think about the choreography in that sequence. Like, the way he moves… it’s like a dance.”

“And don’t even get me started on the flashbacks,” Soobin says, already halfway leaning over the table. “His friendship with Geto? Tragic. Devastating. I didn’t think an anime could make me feel like that again after Banana Fish . ”

Kai lets out an audible gasp. “Banana Fish ruined me. I should’ve known you were the emotional type.”

Beomgyu, who’s been slowly sinking further down into his chair, eyebrows steadily rising with every anime title and emotional breakdown mentioned, finally lets out an exaggerated cough. Loud and pointed. Both Soobin and Kai glance at him, slightly startled.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your little fan club meeting,” Beomgyu drawls, arching a brow, “but just so we’re all clear, I am still here. Y’know, the guy who invited both of you.”

Kai bites back a smile, while Soobin just laughs and pats Beomgyu’s shoulder. “Sorry, Gyu. It’s just rare to meet someone who understands the pain of Gojo’s existence.”

“I don’t understand it,” Beomgyu deadpans. “And now I feel like I’ve lost custody of my own friend to an anime character.”

Kai tilts his head slightly, lips twitching with the beginnings of a smirk. “Beomgyu, honestly,” he says, looking between him and Soobin with mock disbelief. “Why have you never introduced me to him before? He’s literally so much better than you.”

Beomgyu’s mouth drops open, one hand dramatically clutching his chest like he’s been shot. “Excuse me?”

Soobin chuckles under his breath, clearly enjoying the show. “I mean, I’m not gonna argue.”

“You traitor,” Beomgyu accuses, narrowing his eyes at Soobin. “I bring you into this sacred circle of trust – which I built brick by brick – and you just saunter in and immediately click with him over fuckass cartoons?”

“Anime,” Both Kai and Soobin correct him in unison, shooting each other knowing smiles.

“Kai, do you know how unfair this is? It took me more than a month for you to say more than three words to me and Soobin hyung just gets to have this instantly?” Beomgyu whines petulantly, holding Kai’s wrist.

Kai shrugs with a teasing glint in his eye. “To be fair, I’ve known him like, five minutes and I already feel spiritually closer to him than I do to you.”

Beomgyu throws his hands up with an exaggerated scoff, leaning back in his chair like he’s the one who’s been wronged. “Unbelievable. This is what I get for trying to be a good friend? Betrayal? Disrespect? You know what?” He points between Soobin and Kai with mock drama. “Fine. I hope Gojo dies.”

The effect is immediate.

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough for his words to hang in the air like a curse.

Then both Soobin and Kai gasp, loudly, audibly, like he’s just said the most heinous thing imaginable. Soobin actually jolts in his seat, hand flying to his chest like he’s been shot, mouth falling open in betrayal. Kai’s eyes go wide, a scandalised expression taking over his whole face as he recoils like Beomgyu just spat on the sacred text.

“Too soon!” Soobin wheezes, voice strained with genuine hurt. “Oh my god, Beomgyu. What the fuck?”

Kai shakes his head slowly, like he can’t believe what he’s just heard. “What is wrong with you?” he says, voice flat with disbelief. His hand hovers protectively near the Gojo keychain on his bag, like Beomgyu might try to snatch it and stomp on it next.

Beomgyu blinks, momentarily thrown off. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait– he actually dies?! I was just being petty! I didn’t think he actually–”

Soobin and Kai exchange a glance, a deeply pained, wordless moment of mutual understanding between two wounded souls. Then they both turn slowly, in perfect sync, to glare at Beomgyu with the kind of disappointment usually reserved for people who spoil major plot twists in group chats.

“You’re a monster,” Kai mutters, eyes narrowing like Beomgyu has personally offended his ancestors.

“Unforgivable,” Soobin adds with a solemn nod, crossing his arms.

Beomgyu groans, dropping his head dramatically onto the table. “This is insane. You guys are insane. It’s a fictional character!”

“He’s family,” Kai says flatly.

“And you just wished death on him,” Soobin hisses.

“After he already died!” Kai adds, voice cracking with emotion.

Beomgyu groans louder, muffled against the table. “I hate you guys.”

“No, you don’t,” Kai teases, the corners of his lips twitching upward despite himself. He leans back in his chair, trying to hide the amused smile spreading across his face. It’s too easy to get under Beomgyu’s skin, and he enjoys the banter more than he’s willing to admit. It’s a nice distraction from the heavy thoughts that have been clouding his mind lately.

Beomgyu lifts his head slowly, a fond glint in his eyes as he straightens up, looking directly at Kai. “Yeah, I don’t.”

Kai’s face deepens in colour, and he quickly ducks his head, pretending to focus on his songbook again. He doesn’t want Beomgyu to notice the way his heart’s racing, how his breath caught just a little when Beomgyu’s eyes locked onto his. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his thoughts swirling.

From the corner of his eye, Soobin watches the two of them carefully, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. He’s not blind to the way Beomgyu’s teasing has shifted, the way his attention has focused more and more on Kai over the past few weeks. Soobin’s quiet observation is not lost on him; he’s seen how Beomgyu goes the extra mile now, how he’s less focused on the bet and more on the moments with Kai. The banter, the small smiles, the way his voice softens when he talks to him, it’s clear now that this is no longer just about the million won.

Kai’s bashfulness doesn’t escape Soobin’s notice either. The way he reacts to Beomgyu, his cheeks flushed, his gaze darting away whenever Beomgyu gets too close… it’s a look Soobin’s seen before. The same way someone might act when they’re trying to keep their feelings in check, trying not to acknowledge the growing warmth inside them. Soobin knows Kai’s not as immune to Beomgyu’s presence as he pretends to be.

As much as Soobin enjoys watching this play out, he can’t help but wonder where this will go. Beomgyu is clearly in too deep, and Kai… well, Kai’s still fighting it. But Soobin knows better than anyone, these things have a way of working themselves out, even if they don’t want to admit it yet.

 

🐧 

 

The days slip into a comfortable rhythm now, one that Kai doesn’t even question anymore. It’s almost automatic. In class, when he walks in and scans the room, his gaze always drifts toward the same spot next to Beomgyu. Without thinking, he finds his way to the desk beside him, and they settle into the silence like it’s the most natural thing in the world. No awkwardness, no forced conversations, just the quiet hum of the classroom and the familiar presence of Beomgyu next to him. The way Beomgyu leans back in his chair, a little too casual, tapping his pen against the desk in rhythm to some song only he can hear. The way he’s always scribbling something, half-focused on class, half-absorbed in his own thoughts.

Every time, Kai feels a small flicker in his chest when Beomgyu nudges him, just a little too close, to make some side comment or joke about the lecture. At first, he wasn’t sure how to respond, but now, without even thinking, he just hums in agreement, sharing a quiet laugh with him or shaking his head in mock exasperation. They’ve found their rhythm without even trying. Beomgyu is the most unpredictable person he knows, yet when it comes to class, they’re in sync in a way that feels easy, natural. The corners of Kai’s mouth lift, and sometimes, Beomgyu catches him glancing his way, eyebrow arched in that signature smirk. Kai doesn’t even have to explain why, he’s not sure why he’s laughing either, but Beomgyu’s energy is infectious, and it just... works.

After class, the pattern continues. Kai finds himself unconsciously waiting for Beomgyu. Some days, Beomgyu is already leaning against the wall outside the cafe, a steaming cup of hot mint chocolate in his hand, the faintest hint of warmth on his lips as he sips it while glancing up at the sky or checking his phone. Kai can’t help but smile a little, a soft, genuine thing that he doesn’t try to hide anymore. It’s a small gesture, but the fact that Beomgyu went out of his way to ask Mr. Nam for Kai’s secret order, feels oddly significant. Like it’s just one of those unspoken things they’ve come to understand about each other. No words are necessary; it’s just the unspoken exchange of comfort. Kai, still surprised by how easily it feels to fall into this routine, takes the cup with a quiet nod, the steam rising up, warming his hands as they make their way toward the library.

“Did you finish the assignment?” Beomgyu asks casually, as they walk side by side, their footsteps in sync.

“Barely,” Kai replies, a soft laugh escaping him as he takes a sip of the hot chocolate. It’s always exactly the way he likes it, sweet but not overwhelming, with just the right hint of mint. “But it’s fine. It’s always fine.” He glances at Beomgyu, who’s already smirking at him, probably thinking he’s being too nonchalant.

“Too cool for school,” Beomgyu teases, nudging him lightly with his shoulder, the playful gesture feeling almost automatic at this point. It doesn’t take much to get Kai to smile these days, and Beomgyu knows it.

They round the corner near campus, laughter still lingering in the air between them when Beomgyu suddenly stiffens. Kai notices the shift in his posture first, the way his smirk drops, the easy confidence pulling taut like a wire stretched too thin.

Doyoon and Minjun are leaning casually against the railing just ahead.

“Beomgyu! Glad things are going well for you,” Doyoon says, his voice light but laced with something pointed as his eyes flick briefly from Beomgyu to Kai and back again. The implication sits heavy in the air, thinly veiled beneath the mock warmth. His smirk doesn’t reach his eyes.

Kai doesn’t understand it, he’s not sure what they’re talking about, but something in the tone makes his shoulders tense. Instinctively, he shrinks slightly behind Beomgyu, almost without realising it, fingers curling tighter around the hot chocolate. Beomgyu doesn’t look back at him, but he shifts half a step forward like a shield.

“Didn’t expect to still see you two together,” Minjun adds, voice slick and insincere. “But I guess stranger things have happened.”

Beomgyu’s expression hardens. “What do you want?”

Doyoon shrugs, all faux nonchalance. “Just catching up. It's been what, a month? Thought I’d get a little update on how… things are going.”

Kai blinks, the cup in his hand suddenly feeling heavier, but Beomgyu’s already replying before the confusion can take root.

“It’s going fine,” he says flatly. 

There’s a moment where no one speaks, tension thick enough to cut through. 

“Well, aren’t you going to introduce us to your little friend?” Doyoon drawls, his smirk already stretched too wide as he steps forward. The air shifts, sharp with condescension. Kai instinctively retreats a half-step, fingers tightening around the paper cup in his hand. He doesn’t know who they are, but he knows their type, the kind that smiles like a blade.

Doyoon doesn’t wait for a response. He closes the distance with practiced arrogance and reaches out, tilting Kai’s chin up with a hand that’s far too familiar. “You’re a quiet one, huh?” he murmurs, voice low and mocking. “Shy looks good on you, pretty.”

Kai freezes. His jaw tenses, but he doesn’t pull away. Not fast enough.

“Don’t touch him.” Beomgyu’s voice slices through the moment like glass. He grabs Doyoon’s wrist and shoves him back, placing himself firmly between them.

Doyoon stumbles a step, blinking in amusement, before laughing, sharp and ugly. “Well, damn. Didn’t expect this to be how you played the game,” he says, eyes gleaming with implication. His words are soaked in something only they understand, but Kai feels the weight of it all the same.

“Told you,” Minjun chuckles under his breath, then leans in just enough to be heard. “Anyway, if you ever get bored of… that,” he says, flicking his gaze dismissively toward Kai, “My door’s still open.”

Beomgyu doesn’t miss a beat. “Not interested.”

His tone is cold. Final. So blunt that even Minjun flinches for a second before masking it with a shrug and a crooked smile.

“Suit yourself,” he says lightly, but there’s venom beneath it.

Doyoon eyes Beomgyu for a long moment, lips curling. “Five months left,” he says quietly, like a reminder, like a threat. Then he turns, Minjun falling into step beside him as they disappear down the street.

Beomgyu lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. His fists are still clenched. But Kai doesn’t move. He’s still staring at the spot where they stood, shoulders tight, like he’s trying to piece together a conversation in a language he doesn’t speak, but one he’s starting to understand might involve him more than he thought.

Beomgyu turns to him slowly, cautious like approaching a wounded animal, voice lowered into something gentler. “You okay?”

Kai blinks out of his daze, shoulders rising slightly with a breath he holds for a second too long. Then he nods. “Yeah. I’m fine.” His voice is quiet but steady, no tremble in it. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t shrink like before.

Beomgyu watches him for a beat, searching his face for something more, but Kai straightens his posture with quiet resolve. There’s steel in his tone now, quiet but certain. “I’m not running away again. Not because of them.”

He catches something flicker in Beomgyu’s eyes, something that looked a little like relief and pride. Kai wants to say more, but can’t find it himself to say it out loud, I want to stay. I want to stay with you.

Beomgyu nods, almost to himself, eyes softening. “Okay,” he says. “Good.”

They start walking again, side by side. Closer than before.

By the time they reach the library, there’s no hesitating. They walk straight to their usual spot; an old wooden table tucked away in a quiet corner, slightly hidden from the rest of the students, but with just enough sunlight coming through the windows to make it feel peaceful. It’s their spot now, a little sanctuary that’s felt like it’s always been theirs, even when they first stumbled upon it. They fall into their usual seats, Kai dropping his bag onto the floor with a soft thud, and Beomgyu already flipping open his notebook. Kai opens his own bag and pulls out his songbook, the one he’s been carrying around for as long as he can remember. The leather-bound book is well-worn, the edges of the pages frayed from frequent use, and as he flips it open, the familiar scent of paper and ink fills the air. Inside, the music notes, sheet music, and lyrics seem to dance across the pages, his thoughts captured in lines and staves.

Beomgyu glances over at Kai, eyeing the songbook with curiosity. “What’s that? Another one of your secret songs?”

Kai shrugs, tapping his pen against the page as he looks down at the notes he’s already written. “You could say that. I don’t always play them out loud,” he says with a quiet laugh, as if it’s something he knows Beomgyu doesn’t fully understand. “I don’t know. It just feels better this way.”

Beomgyu nods thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the desk, and Kai feels that comfortable silence settling between them again. It’s nice. There’s something about being here, in this spot, with Beomgyu across from him and the weight of his songbook in his hands, that makes everything feel just right. Like he doesn’t have to try so hard anymore. He can simply be, and that’s enough.

“Alright, I’m starting to think you actually don’t need to study,” Beomgyu jokes, looking over at Kai, who’s still scribbling some notes down. “You seem way too chill for someone who’s supposed to be grinding through assignments.”

Kai gives him a pointed look, half-shaking his head. “You say that every time,” he replies, settling into his chair with a sigh. “But you’re the one who spends half the time doodling around in your notebook anyway.”

Beomgyu shrugs with a smirk. “It’s practically studying,” he retorts, before his attention drifts back to his notebook, his fingers already starting to write something absentmindedly.

Kai watches him for a moment, his heart feeling unexpectedly light. There’s no tension anymore, no weight hanging in the air between them. It’s just easy. Just two people, finding their own pace, in sync without even trying. Although Kai won’t admit it out loud, it’s become one of the highlights of his day. The fact that Beomgyu, who used to feel like an unpredictable whirlwind in his life, has turned into this constant, this steady presence, feels like it’s both a surprise and something Kai has always wanted.

Sometimes Soobin joins them too, usually on days when his classes end early or when rehearsals get cancelled. He doesn’t come every time, but when he does, Kai finds himself genuinely happy to see him. It’s a different energy when Soobin’s around; more talkative, more open, and just easy in a way that doesn’t push Kai’s boundaries. Soobin always drops into the seat across from him with a bright smile, a quiet “hey, Kai,” like they’ve known each other much longer than they have. At first, Kai isn’t sure what to make of it, but over time, the casual familiarity starts to feel comforting rather than intrusive.

They fall into an unspoken pattern, the three of them. Beomgyu will still sit beside Kai, lounging like he owns the table, while Soobin takes the spot across from them. Kai always brings out his songbook first, flipping to a fresh page while sipping on whatever hot drink Beomgyu’s brought that day. Soobin sometimes brings snacks – small, thoughtful things like honey-butter chips or sweet rice cakes – which he shares without a second thought, plopping them on the table as if it's a tradition. The quiet companionship between the three of them begins to feel settled, like something he can rely on.

Kai still sees Beomgyu more often, of course. They share the same major, share classes, share study sessions, and more recently, share silence like it’s second nature. Beomgyu’s presence has become a constant in Kai’s life in a way he never expected. It’s not suffocating or overwhelming, it’s grounding. Soobin, being a performing arts major, has a different schedule entirely. Most days he’s running between dance studios and rehearsal halls, caught up in choreography or script readings, but when he does appear, it’s like a breath of fresh air, and Kai doesn’t mind the rhythm they’ve built around that. There’s something nice about the inconsistency, something that keeps things feeling light.

One afternoon, they’re settled into their usual nook in the library – tucked between the music section and a dusty shelf no one ever touches. Beomgyu’s lounging with his legs kicked out under the table, Kai’s notebook is open beside a half-finished iced mint chocolate, and Soobin’s tearing into a bag of honey-butter chips like it’s his last meal. It’s quiet in the way they’ve grown used to, filled only with the occasional rustle of pages or the soft tapping of Kai’s pen.

Beomgyu stretches his arms behind his head, chair tilted dangerously far back, and says offhandedly, “Hey Kai, you should invite Yeonjun sunbae over one of these days.”

Soobin immediately chokes on a chip.

He lets out a strangled cough, hand flying to his chest as he tries to breathe. Beomgyu straightens up, blinking in alarm before wordlessly sliding his water bottle across the table. Soobin takes it and gulps it down, eyes wide and watery.

“You okay?” Beomgyu asks, half-concerned, half-amused.

“I’m– fine,” Soobin rasps, voice cracking like a broken flute.

Kai looks between them, blinking slowly. “Yeonjun hyung? Oh, uh…” He checks the time on his phone. “I think he has like two hours until his next lecture. He usually takes the time to finish his projects, though. I’ll see if he’s willing to take a break.”

Beomgyu grins. “You go ahead and do that.”

Kai shrugs, already reaching for his phone. “I think he’ll want to, he’s been stressing over this one dress he’d been sewing for the past week or so.”

As he types, Soobin sinks lower into his chair like he’s trying to become one with the seat cushion, muttering something unintelligible into his sleeve. Beomgyu glances at him and smirks, then leans back again, hands behind his head like nothing is even remotely out of the ordinary.

Kai glances up from his phone a moment later, casual as ever. “Yup, he’s coming over. Said he’s on his way now.”

Soobin drops his chip bag.

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” Soobin says a little too fast, reaching for the fallen bag like it betrayed him. He fumbles with it, managing to scatter a few chips across the table in his rush to seem unaffected. Kai’s notebook nearly topples over, and Soobin grabs it mid-fall like his life depends on it.

Kai blinks, confused. “Did I say something weird?”

Beomgyu bites back a laugh. “What’s wrong, hyung?” he asks with exaggerated innocence. “You look like you had just seen a ghost.”

Soobin shoots him a glare. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says through gritted teeth, straightening his posture like that alone will restore order to the universe.

Beomgyu grins, lounging back in his chair as if he’s watching a drama unfold.

A few minutes later, the doors to the library wing creak open, and Yeonjun strides in like the hallway is his personal runway. He’s wearing a long checked coat draped over a layered knit ensemble, silver-rimmed glasses pushed up into his hair, and a sketchbook tucked under one arm. His face is locked in a frustrated scowl.

“I swear,” he announces the moment he sees them, “If this pattern keeps warping the drape like this, I’m throwing the whole thing out and pretending it was a performance piece.”

Kai perks up, waving him over. “You can spiral here. Safe zone.”

Yeonjun sighs and drops his bag with a huff, shrugging off his coat. “I spent four hours on this muslin and it still looks like a crumpled napkin. And don’t even get me started on my draping prof– he thinks I have ‘potential,’ which is code for ‘I’m not failing you but I’m deeply unimpressed.’”

Yeonjun flops into the seat next to Soobin with the kind of dramatic sigh that suggests the weight of an entire semester rests on his shoulders. “Anyway. Hi. I’m Yeonjun,” he says, dropping the introduction like a casual afterthought as he rakes a hand through his hair.

Soobin doesn’t move.

Not a blink. Not a breath. His shoulders lock up, spine stiffening like he’s been turned to stone mid-reach for his water bottle. He stares ahead with laser focus, at what, no one knows. The grain of the wooden table? An imaginary thesis on surface tension? A faint pink creeps up the side of his neck, blooming across his cheeks.

“Hi, Sunbae. I’m Beomgyu,” Beomgyu supplies helpfully, giving a small wave, far too entertained.

Yeonjun glances over. “Yeah, student council president. And you?” he asks, eyes flicking to Soobin, who still hasn’t recovered.

“I–” Soobin’s voice gives out halfway through the syllable. He immediately clears his throat, straightening like he’s been called on in class. “I’m Beom–” He stops, blinks hard, and shakes his head. “No, not Beomgyu. I’m Soobin. Choi Soobin.”

Beomgyu coughs into his fist to cover a laugh, failing spectacularly. Kai just blinks between them, utterly lost.

“Oh, right, vice president. Gotcha.” Yeonjun, already flipping open his sketchbook, doesn’t seem to notice Soobin basically short-circuiting next to him. “Tell me this doesn’t look like garbage,” he says, thrusting the page toward Soobin without ceremony.

Soobin blinks at the sketchbook.

It takes him a second to process what he’s even looking at; lines and shapes that should be abstract to anyone else, but to Soobin, it’s like watching code unravel into meaning. He sees it. He really sees it. His gaze flicks over the sharp angles of the collar, the way the fabric is meant to fall, the intentional asymmetry of the stitching. His mouth opens before he can stop himself.

“I– I don’t think it’s garbage,” Soobin starts, voice still shaky, but there’s something certain in the way his brows furrow. “It’s… actually, the way the pattern pulls across the shoulder– if you mirrored it with the seam on the opposite side, you’d create a directional contrast that would emphasise the silhouette. It’s almost like... like a push and pull between balance and imbalance. Tension as a focal point.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“I, uh…” Soobin adds urgently, like he’s scared of having said the wrong thing. “Sorry, I learned that in one of my classes, thought it could apply to fashion too.”

Yeonjun blinks. Then looks down at the page. Then back at Soobin.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, eyes wide. “You’re a genius, Choi Soobin!”

Before anyone can react, Yeonjun leans in and presses a kiss – quick, warm, and enthusiastic – against Soobin’s cheek.

“Fuck, I owe you my life, Choi Soobin! Why didn’t I think of that?” he exclaims, already scribbling over his design like a man reborn.

Soobin does not move.

He is, for all intents and purposes, frozen in time. One hand still hovering uselessly in the air, the other clenched around his water bottle like it’s the only thing tethering him to this plane of existence. His eyes are wide, fixed somewhere in the distance. His entire body is radiating silent panic.

Beomgyu makes a strangled sound that’s either a laugh or a wheeze. Kai just sips his drink, eyes darting between them, vaguely concerned but fully understanding the situation now. Kai shares a quiet giggle with Beomgyu, seeing Soobin’s frozen state.

Yeonjun, blissfully unaware of the destruction he’s caused, is still muttering under his breath as he adjusts his sketch. “God, Choi Soobin, I could literally make out with you right now. Where were you when I needed you all this time?”

“I…” Soobin dumbly responds. 

Yeonjun glances up and catches the stunned look on Soobin’s face; wide-eyed, lips parted like his brain has completely checked out. He bursts into laughter, warm and effortless. And to Soobin, it might as well be the celestial choir of heaven descending upon him, golden light streaming through stained glass as angels sing his name in perfect harmony.

“He’s really into Yeonjun hyung, huh?” Kai whispers to Beomgyu, barely holding back a giggle.

“Since orientation day,” Beomgyu murmurs back, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Kai gasps, scandalised. “You’re kidding. That long?”

Beomgyu smirks. “Dead serious.”

Kai leans in, eyes gleaming. “Okay, we have to start Operation: Get Yeonjun Hyung and Soobin Hyung Together.”

Beomgyu raises a brow, all too casual. “Then I’m gonna need your number for that.”

Kai blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone – and the way Beomgyu’s voice dips ever so slightly – but after a beat of flustered hesitation, he hands over his phone, cheeks flushed pink. Beomgyu takes it with a smug little smile, punching in his number like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

More and more, Kai notices the way his routines are subtly shifting. Things that used to be solo rituals – grabbing coffee before the library, sketching out melodies in his songbook, studying in silence – are now laced with traces of them. They start meeting more often, almost without planning to. What used to be just Kai and Beomgyu at their usual library spot slowly turns into a regular four-person gathering. Yeonjun begins dropping by between classes with his sketchbooks and fabric swatches, flopping down dramatically to rant about textiles or colour theory while Soobin listens like it’s gospel. Beomgyu always has something sarcastic to say, but he somehow still manages to offer surprisingly useful input. Kai mostly observes, sipping on his drink and scribbling new melodies in the margins of his songbook, quietly amused by the way the group fits together like mismatched puzzle pieces that somehow click.

It doesn’t take long before Kai can’t imagine his days without them. Soobin’s steady presence keeps him grounded, always ready with snacks or quiet encouragement, while Yeonjun’s chaotic energy brings colour to even the greyest study sessions. And Beomgyu… Beomgyu is still his constant, the centre of it all. They all fall into place so seamlessly that it startles Kai sometimes, how natural it feels to have them in his orbit. At some point, he realises he’s already adjusting to the way their lives are tangling into his, like ivy winding through an old fence, not disrupting anything, just… filling the space that was already there.

Some days, Kai still catches himself questioning it all; wondering how long this will last, what happens when the novelty fades or reality catches up to them, but for now, he lets himself lean into the familiarity. He lets himself enjoy the easy banter, the quiet company, the shared space. It’s not perfect, nothing ever is, but it’s warm, and steady, and slowly, almost without realising it, Kai finds himself no longer just tolerating their presence, but quietly looking forward to it.

 

🐧

 

When the weekend comes around, he decides to visit his dad. The train ride to the outskirts of Seoul is quiet, the window fogged with Kai’s breath as he leans his forehead against the cool glass. He watches the city fall away, buildings growing smaller, more sparse, until they’re replaced by low-rises and narrow alleyways, laundry lines strung like bunting between faded balconies. It’s not a long ride, but it’s long enough for Kai’s thoughts to drift. His songbook rests on his lap, but he doesn’t write. Instead, he thumbs the edge of the pages absentmindedly, eyes distant.

When he steps off the train and climbs the cracked stairs of the familiar old apartment building, it feels like stepping into a different life. Not a worse one, just quieter. Kai’s old childhood home sits on the quiet outskirts of Seoul, tucked between ageing apartment blocks and narrow alleyways that wind like veins through the neighbourhood. The building itself is worn but clean, its faded exterior a patchwork of peeling paint and sun-bleached signs. Inside, the flat is small – just two rooms and a kitchenette – but it always felt full in the way that matters. His dad keeps it tidy, everything in its place, though the furniture is old and mismatched, remnants of better days and kinder neighbourhoods, before everything fell apart. The floors creak, and the walls are thin enough to hear the neighbours arguing or laughing next door, but there’s a warmth to it, a lived-in quiet that feels safe. The kitchen smells faintly of instant coffee and fried eggs, and there’s always a radio playing in the background, soft and crackly. It’s not much, but it’s home, built on years of sacrifice, long hours, and quiet love.

There’s a warmth here that always hits him the second he walks through the creaky front door, even before he sees the man who raised him. The hallway still smells faintly of burnt oil and fabric softener. When he reaches the kitchen, his dad’s face lights up with that easy, tired smile he always saves just for Kai.

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” his dad says, voice rough from a long day, but his hand rests on Kai’s shoulder for a beat longer than necessary. “You must be tired.”

“I wanted to come bother you,” Kai says, slipping off his shoes and stepping inside, the warmth of the apartment settling over him like a familiar blanket.

His dad chuckles, already reaching for the rice cooker. “You picked a good day. I’ve got just enough to scrape something together. You hungry?”

“A little,” Kai lies. In truth, he’s starving. Not just for food, but for this, these rare pockets of peace between them.

They cook together like they’ve done a hundred times before, squeezed shoulder to shoulder in the cramped kitchen. Kai beats the eggs while his dad slices the last of the green onions with practised ease. He doesn’t complain about the flickering light overhead or the way the cupboard door hangs off one hinge. He never does. But Kai sees it, the slump in his shoulders, the heavy drag of fatigue behind every movement.

“You okay?” Kai asks, not looking up.

His dad hums like he hasn’t heard, then says, “Just a long day. Nothing new.”

Kai knows it’s not nothing, but he doesn’t push. What can he say? What can he do? His dad’s been working two jobs since Kai was in middle school. Always doing more than they could afford to, always tired. Kai bites the inside of his cheek, scoops rice into bowls without speaking.

They eat at the table, side by side with the TV murmuring something about the news. His dad nudges the remote volume lower, like he wants to make room for whatever Kai might say.

“I made some new friends,” Kai offers, the words feeling strange in his mouth. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to say something like that.

His dad glances at him, smiling softly. “Yeah?”

Kai nods, playing with his food. “Beomgyu’s in my major. Kind of annoying. Talks too much. Keeps showing up with mint chocolate.”

His dad chuckles. “You like mint chocolate.”

“I know. That’s the annoying part.”

“And the other one?”

“Soobin. Beomgyu’s best friend. He’s nice and he has the biggest crush on Yeonjun hyung. We… geeked out over anime for a bit.” 

His dad chuckles softly, the sound warm and familiar. “Sounds like my kind of people.”

“Yeah?” Kai snorts, an amused grin pulling at the corner of his lips. “And what exactly are your kind of people?” He raises an eyebrow, half-teasing, half-genuine curiosity in his tone.

His dad looks at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes, then casually points his spoon toward him. “People like you,” he says, his voice light but full of affection.

Kai blinks, then scoffs playfully, leaning back in his chair as he crosses his arms. “And what do you mean by that?”

His dad shrugs, a nonchalant smirk tugging at his lips. “You know, the kind who aren't afraid to be themselves,” There’s a softness in his voice that Kai isn’t used to, something unspoken but deep. “AKA gay losers.”

“Dad!” he protests, though a smile still dances on his face as he shoves him lightly.

“Oops, did I offend you?” his dad says, still grinning, but there’s a hint of genuine concern beneath the teasing.

Kai pouts, crossing his arms with exaggerated drama. “I’m not a gay loser, thank you very much!” he declares, his tone playful, letting his dad know he took no offense to the joke.

His dad watches him for a moment, eyes twinkling with affection. “Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he says, his voice teasing but warm, like he’s offering Kai the space to be whoever he wants to be.

Kai still remembers the night he came out to his dad, the fear gripping his chest like a vice. He was just a teenager, sitting on the edge of the couch, hands shaking as he stared at the floor, too scared to look up. The words stuck in his throat, but they came out eventually, broken and uneven, "Dad, I-I think I’m gay." His heart hammered in his chest as he waited for the silence that followed, afraid his dad might get angry or disappointed, maybe even kick him out, but then his dad had just sat there, looking at him with soft eyes, before pulling him into an unexpected hug. “Oh, kiddo. I’m proud of you for telling me that, must’ve been scary, huh?” he whispered, his voice warm and steady, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re my kid, and I love you no matter what.” 

Kai had cried that night; not out of fear, but out of relief, because his dad’s love had never wavered, even when the world seemed too big and scary. Since then, his dad had been the most supportive person in his life, never once making him feel like anything other than exactly who he was meant to be. Kai smiles faintly, then glances down at his plate.

“You should invite them over sometime,” his dad says after a pause. “I know we don’t have much, but…” He trails off before the sentence finishes, like he already regrets saying it.

Kai doesn’t need him to. He already knows how it ends, has known for years now. So he just nods, quiet but certain. His dad doesn’t say much to that. He just rests a hand briefly on Kai’s back, a simple, grounding touch. Kai leans into it before he can stop himself. It’s the kind of moment that fills the silence better than any words could.

Even with the warmth between them, Kai can’t ignore the way his dad sighs just a little too heavily when he stands to wash the dishes or how he rubs his lower back when he thinks Kai isn’t looking. Kai stares at his bowl, the last few grains of rice sticking to the sides, and feels that quiet guilt settle again like it always does. He wants to help, do more, be more, but he’s still just a student still trying to figure himself out, and so, all he can do tonight is dry the dishes while his dad washes them, shoulder to shoulder again in the silence, trying not to let the heaviness of it all tip the warmth into something else. Kai swallows around the lump in his throat. 

“Hey, Dad?” he says after a moment, voice gentler now. “Do you remember that little miyeokguk place near the old station? The one we used to go to before school sometimes?”

His dad pauses, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he rinses the soap from his hands. “‘Course I remember. You used to steal all the meat from my bowl when you thought I wasn’t looking.”

Kai huffs a soft laugh, warmth curling faintly in his chest. “I was thinking… maybe we could go there tomorrow morning. Just us. Feels like it’s been forever.”

There’s a pause, longer than it should be.

“I’d love to,” his dad says eventually, and Kai knows he means it, but the hesitation is there, settled between his words. “But I picked up an extra shift. Gotta be out early.”

Kai blinks, his smile fading. “Another shift? But… you’re already working two.”

His dad’s gaze softens, but it doesn’t waver. “Yeah. I know.” He shrugs, like it’s just another thing to carry. “Just for the weekend. They needed someone. Thought I might as well, you know, earn some extra. Though, that means I wouldn’t be able to keep you company while you’re here.”

Kai’s mouth opens, then closes again. He doesn’t know what to say that won’t sound like pleading. Instead, he lets his hands fall to the edge of the counter, his fingers brushing the grain of the wood. “Right,” he says quietly.

His dad turns, drying his hands on the hem of his shirt, and steps closer to him. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I really would’ve liked to.”

“I know,” Kai murmurs, his voice small.

A hand rests on the back of his neck, grounding and warm. “Another time. I promise.”

Kai nods, leaning into the touch, but the ache in his chest doesn’t ease. It just settles deeper. Because his dad shouldn’t have to pick up extra shifts. Shouldn’t have to keep going like this. Shouldn’t have to smile like it’s all fine when Kai can see, plainly, that it isn’t.

“I know you’re doing your best, Dad,” Kai starts quietly, his voice low, as if testing the waters. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to do it all on your own. I’m not a little kid anymore, I can help out more. I can do more around here. I don’t mind working–”

His dad cuts him off with a soft shake of his head. “I never said you weren’t doing your part, Kai. But there’s a difference between helping out and feeling like the whole world’s on your shoulders.”

Kai opens his mouth, ready to argue, but his dad speaks again, this time with more force, more intention.

“You don’t have to carry the burden of this family alone. I’m the one who’s supposed to do that. It’s my job. I chose this life for us when your mum left. I chose to keep going so you wouldn’t have to worry about anything. You should be focused on what you’re passionate about. On school. On your music.”

Kai feels a lump form in his throat, something hot pricking the back of his eyes. “But it’s not fair,” he says, his voice cracking just a little. “I see how much you’re struggling. You work two jobs, you barely sleep, and you still make sure we’re okay. You shouldn’t have to keep doing all this. I should be doing more, I should–”

Kai squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the tears away. The words feel too heavy in his chest, the knot that’s been there for so long tightening, twisting, and all of a sudden, he doesn’t know how to breathe past it. He hears the sound of his dad’s footsteps moving toward him, and before he can say another word, his dad wraps him in a firm, steady embrace.

“Hey, kiddo,” his dad’s voice softens, a little quieter now. “You don’t have to shed tears on my behalf.”

Kai doesn’t reply. He just lets his dad hold him, the familiar warmth of his father’s chest against him, grounding him in a way that only his dad could. The vulnerability that he doesn’t often show, the raw emotion that he’s been carrying for so long, floods him now. It feels like something inside him is cracking open, something he didn’t even realize was broken.

He inhales deeply, his dad’s presence the only thing anchoring him in this moment.

“I don’t want you to keep doing everything alone,” Kai whispers, his voice small. “I see how hard you work, and I can’t… I can’t just watch you wear yourself out. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you, Dad. You’re all I’ve got.”

His dad’s grip tightens for a moment before he pulls back slightly, holding Kai at arm’s length, his eyes soft, tired but filled with something unspoken. He looks at his son with a tenderness that makes Kai’s throat ache.

“You’re the most important thing in my life, Kai,” his dad says quietly. “I’m doing this for you. So that you can have what I didn’t. So that you can chase your dreams without worrying about where the next meal is coming from. You don’t have to carry everything I carry. You’re allowed to just be you. That’s enough. It always has been.”

Kai feels the weight of his dad’s words sink into him, something raw and genuine that both scares and comforts him at the same time. “I just wish I could do more for you,” He murmurs, almost to himself, voice thick with unshed tears.

His dad smiles softly, his expression worn but still full of warmth. “You’ve done more than enough just by being here, Kai. You’re already giving me everything I need.”

Kai bites his lip, his chest tightening. “But I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone. I can see it in the way you’re always so… so tired. You don’t have to pretend like everything’s fine, Dad. I’m here. I can help.” His voice shakes at the end, a mix of frustration and helplessness. He knows his dad is trying to protect him from this reality, but it feels like too much, too much of it is falling on his father’s shoulders, and Kai can’t carry the weight of not being able to do anything about it.

His dad looks at him for a long moment, his expression softening, the lines of exhaustion on his face deepening. He finally lets out a long breath, as if he’s been holding onto something for years.

“You’re right,” his dad admits quietly. “I am tired. But I’ve got my reasons. And maybe I don’t tell you this enough, but I’m proud of you. I’m proud of how hard you’re working. I’m proud of the person you’re becoming. And I’ll keep doing whatever it takes, because I want you to have everything you deserve. I want you to be free to live your life. Don’t carry what’s mine, Kai.”

Kai feels a rush of emotions; guilt, gratitude, love, but underneath it all, a deep sadness that he doesn’t know how to express. His dad’s words hit him like a punch, and yet, there’s something in them that settles the storm inside him. Kai looks down at the table, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Kai murmurs, his voice so quiet, as if saying it any louder might make it real.

His dad’s hand tightens on his shoulder, pulling him into a tight hug. “You won’t have to, son. You won’t have to.”

For a moment, there’s only silence between them; Kai, standing there, trying to calm his racing heart, and his dad, breathing slowly as if letting the words settle between them.

Kai’s dad lets out a long sigh, stepping back with a quiet weariness that lingers in the air. He runs a hand through his hair, the lines of fatigue etched on his face. "Why don’t you go ahead and get some rest, huh? I’ll do my best to make it back tomorrow between shifts."

Kai shakes his head, brushing his sleeve across his eyes, unwilling to let go of the moment of comfort his dad had given him. "You don’t have to. I don’t want you wearing yourself out, running back and forth to Seoul." His voice is softer now, more controlled, but the lump in his throat refuses to budge.

His dad pauses, considering it for a moment before offering a more practical solution. “Maybe I’ll swing by your apartment instead. It’s closer, anyway.” Kai nods absently, the exhaustion creeping up on him too quickly to argue.

His dad looks at him one last time, the weight of the world still in the air, but his words bring a quiet sense of relief. “Listen, kid, don’t worry about anything else. You focus on your music. You’ve got enough on your plate. I’ve got this covered, okay?” The reassurance is there, solid and unshakable, as it always is when his dad speaks.

Kai meets his dad’s gaze, the tiredness in his bones still heavy, but something in the steady comfort of his dad’s voice makes the burden feel just a little lighter. “I love you, Dad,” he murmurs, his words soft but full of the gratitude that swells in his chest.

“And I love you more than anything, kiddo,” his dad replies with a smile, pulling him into a tight hug before heading off to his room to rest.

But Kai lingers for a moment, his heart still a little too heavy with the weight of everything. He feels the space between them stretch, the silence in the house somehow louder than usual. Before his dad can take another step, Kai’s voice breaks through the quiet, softer than he expects it to be. “Dad... can I sleep with you tonight?”

His dad pauses, looking back over his shoulder. There’s a brief flicker of surprise, but it quickly fades into a warm, understanding smile. “Of course, kiddo. Come on, let’s get some rest.”

Kai nods, his chest easing just a little as he walks towards his dad’s room, the small comfort of that simple request giving him a fleeting sense of peace. As he lays in bed in his father’s arms, he feels like a kid again. Kai lays in the stillness, feeling the warmth of his dad’s love wrap around him, even as the weight of everything else remains.

Notes:

we've got the tiniest little glimpse of kai's background hehe, i love writing his bond with his dad even though writing it makes me cry sometimes lmao

but anw!! let me know what you think in the comments!! i hope you liked the quick update, idk why but i've been really motivated to write this fic. thank you so much for reading and as always, comments and kudos are highly appreciated!!

feel free to come talk to me about anything txt on twitter at @koostiddy <3

Chapter 4

Summary:

Beomgyu saunters toward the kitchen, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “I’m full of surprises, babe.”

The nickname slips out so naturally that Beomgyu almost doesn’t catch it – almost, but when he peeks back, Kai’s ears are burning red, and he’s covering it with a hand like he’s trying not to smile too wide.

And then, in a voice that’s just a little too casual, Kai says, “You better be. I don’t waste my time on boring guys.”

Beomgyu trips. Actually trips over the edge of the carpet with a graceless little stumble. He catches himself on the kitchen counter, heart thudding wildly against his ribs, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a second to recover. What the fuck? He’s supposed to be the one throwing people off, not the other way around. That’s how this game works. That’s how it’s always worked. He flirts, they fluster. Easy.

But Kai flirting back – Kai looking at him with that soft, mischievous glint in his eye – it knocks the breath clean out of him.

Notes:

haaaiiii welcome back!! enjoy the update hehe <3

🧸

 

The rain starts sometime in the early afternoon, just a gentle pattering against the tall windows of the university library. It’s the kind of rain that doesn’t demand umbrellas or dramatic sprints indoors; just a soft, steady drizzle that seems to hush the world and wrap everything in a quiet kind of calm.

Tucked into their usual spot near the far wall, shielded by tall shelves of music and art books, the four of them are gathered again, though this time their meeting feels less like a study session and more like a moment suspended in time. The table has grown familiar, marked by the subtle wear of long afternoons and shared snacks, the surface now scattered with notes, empty coffee cups, a forgotten highlighter, and an unopened packet of honey-butter crisps someone had brought but never got around to opening.

Beomgyu is slouched low in his chair, limbs arranged with the kind of effortless ease that makes him look like he’s melted into the furniture. One leg is draped carelessly over the other, his foot bouncing every now and then in a lazy rhythm as he twirls a pencil between his fingers. The movement is idle, absent-minded; less about thinking and more about fidgeting for the sake of it. His hoodie sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, revealing the bracelet Kai once complimented and the faint scribbles of pen ink along his wrist, like he’s been doodling on himself during a boring lecture. 

Beside him, Kai sits with his spine straighter, more composed but not stiff, the edge of his knee brushing Beomgyu’s every now and then. Their shoulders rest close, so close they almost touch, the space between them barely noticeable, filled with the kind of quiet that doesn’t need to be filled at all. There’s something unspoken about the way they sit together; not forced, not cautious, just easy. Familiar.

They’re both bent over the same music theory handout, pages worn at the corners, some of the margins filled with Kai’s tiny, precise handwriting. Amid the carefully penned notes are little distractions; melody lines he must’ve thought of mid-class, lyrical phrases crammed into the side of the page, and the occasional doodle of a cat or musical stave that curls off into something more abstract. Beomgyu has noticed a few of those sketches earlier and has added his own beside them in a different pen; a frog with a guitar, a poorly drawn sun wearing sunglasses, and one that’s supposed to be Kai (according to Beomgyu) but looks more like a confused jellybean with legs. Kai groans when he sees it but doesn’t erase it.

Every so often, Kai points something out – a chord progression that doesn’t quite sit right, a Roman numeral he’s unsure about – and murmurs a quiet thought, his voice low and unhurried. Beomgyu glances over, squinting at the page like it’s personally offended him, then either shrugs in a way that says who knows, music is fake anyway, or flashes a quick grin and makes some offhand joke that makes absolutely no sense but still somehow makes Kai laugh.

“You think Bach ever looks at his own work and goes, ‘actually this sucks’?” Beomgyu mutters once, nose scrunching as he taps the page.

Kai snorts. “He probably never doubts himself a day in his life.”

“What a cocky bastard,” Beomgyu says, shaking his head. “Couldn’t be me.”

Kai rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tugs up in a smile he tries and fails to suppress. “You’re so annoying,” he tuts, nudging Beomgyu’s leg with his knee.

“Yeah, but I make you laugh,” Beomgyu replies, tipping his head towards him with a mockingly sweet smile. “So really, I’m a national treasure.”

Kai doesn’t respond straight away, just shakes his head, cheeks slightly pink. He focuses back on the paper, pencil hovering over a chord analysis section, but he doesn’t move away. If anything, his arm inches a little closer.

Beomgyu feels it, and he doesn’t move either.

As Kai continues his work, Beomgyu notices – without really meaning to – that Kai has this habit of slipping into English when something gives him a hard time. It isn’t deliberate; not in the way someone tries to show off a second language–but more like muscle memory, a comfort zone he defaults to when the Korean just doesn’t cut it. A quiet “God, what is this” under his breath, or a muttered “this makes no sense” when their assignment asks for something particularly dense. The words are soft, barely audible, like he’s talking to himself. Beomgyu doesn’t always understand everything Kai says in those moments, but he likes the sound of it anyway.

He also notices that Kai likes to underline things. Not just in their notes, but in his textbooks, on handouts, even in library books when he thinks no one’s looking (which Beomgyu catches once, much to Kai’s horror). It’s not just random underlining, though, there’s a rhythm to it. Twice under a phrase that confuses him, a single underline beneath something he likes, a box around a lyric that comes to him mid-study. It’s like Kai is trying to make sense of the world by sectioning it off into manageable lines, like if he can just underline enough things, eventually it will all make sense.

He notices, too, how Kai’s handwriting gets neater when he’s anxious. It’s counterintuitive – Beomgyu’s own notes turn into illegible scrawls when he’s overwhelmed – but Kai does the opposite. He grips his pen a little tighter and writes with an eerie precision, as if controlling the size and slope of his letters will somehow help control the storm inside his head. Beomgyu starts recognising the signs; the overly tidy notes, the long pauses between writing, the deep inhales that are just shy of sighs.

Beomgyu also starts noticing Kai’s tendency to fidget with the edges of his papers, usually without even realising it. He twirls the corners between his fingers, rolls them into tiny tight spirals, or slowly rips them into little strips that he then balls up absentmindedly. It’s subtle at first, a soft tearing sound here and there, but by the end of a study session there’s a small graveyard of crumpled paper balls littered around Kai’s spot like a trail of stress. Even worse, sometimes he gets so distracted while doing it that he ends up tearing actual chunks out of the pages, occasionally ripping through parts of the textbook or a handout without noticing until Beomgyu points it out. It drives Yeonjun insane, he once spends five minutes dramatically scolding Kai for ruining a perfectly good packet while Soobin quietly scoops the shredded remnants into a neat pile, laughing the whole time. Kai only pouts through the whole thing, claiming he can’t help it, but Beomgyu can’t lie, he finds the habit weirdly endearing, even if it means constantly rescuing important notes from being turned into confetti.

What sticks with him most is how Kai listens. Really listens. Not just to him, but to everyone. When Beomgyu speaks, Kai doesn’t just wait for his turn to talk–he processes, nods, asks follow-up questions. Sometimes, Beomgyu says something half as a joke, half as a test, and Kai blinks slowly, then gives a thoughtful reply that makes Beomgyu rethink the joke entirely. There’s a stillness to Kai’s attention, like nothing else matters in that moment but the person speaking. It makes Beomgyu feel weirdly seen, like he’s interesting, like he isn’t just noise in the background.

Yet, despite noticing all these things, Beomgyu tells himself it isn’t anything serious. He’s not watching Kai, not really. He’s just… aware. It’s just what happens when you spend a lot of time with someone. You pick up on their quirks, the little things they don’t realise they do. That’s normal. That doesn’t mean anything.

So why, then, does he find himself glancing over at Kai every few minutes? Not to check on the assignment, but just to see what face he’s making? Why does it make his chest feel tight when Kai laughs softly at something in the notes, and why does it unsettle him, deeply, when Kai looks tired?

Beomgyu shifts in his seat, gaze flickering back to the handout between them. Maybe he’s just tired too. Maybe he’s reading too much into things. He leans his chin on his hand and peeks sideways at Kai, who’s currently chewing on the end of his pencil with a furrowed brow, eyes scanning the page like he’s trying to decode it through sheer willpower.

“…You know you’re going to bite that eraser clean off one day,” Beomgyu says lightly.

Kai startles slightly, blinking at him. “Huh?”

Beomgyu reaches over and plucks the pencil from Kai’s mouth, holding it up like evidence. “You’ve been gnawing on this for the past ten minutes.”

Kai flushes a little and snatches it back. “I didn’t realise.”

“Clearly,” Beomgyu smirks. “Your poor eraser.”

Kai mutters something that sounds like traitor and turns back to the paper, but Beomgyu doesn’t miss the way his lips curve up a second later.

Across from them, Yeonjun has Soobin effectively held hostage. He’s dragged his laptop over, spinning it towards Soobin and flipping rapidly through tabs filled with fabric swatches and runway inspiration.

“Okay, so this one is obviously more breathable,” Yeonjun is saying, gesturing at the screen. “But it doesn’t drape right for the silhouette I want. And this one has a gorgeous texture, but it reflects too much light under stage lighting. Thoughts?”

Soobin blinks at him, looking mildly overwhelmed but also secretly flattered to be asked. “Uh… what’s the fabric content on the second one again?”

Yeonjun grins. “Poly-viscose blend with a bit of stretch. Why, got a preference?”

“Not really, I just– um. It’s interesting, I guess,” Soobin says, adjusting his glasses. “The second one has more structure. I think that would complement a sharper design, maybe something with architectural lines. If you’re going for flow, though, the first one might read better on movement. But if you want it to catch light and hold shape, the second’s your guy.”

Yeonjun freezes mid-scroll and turns slowly to stare at him. “Okay, first of all, what? Second of all– what?”

Soobin blinks again. “What?”

“You can’t just say things like that and act like you’re not a secret fashion savant,” Yeonjun says, genuinely floored. “That’s the exact dilemma I’ve been having for two days and you solve it in, like, twenty seconds. Who are you?”

Soobin flushes bright red, ears practically glowing. “I’m just paying attention.”

Yeonjun stares at him a moment longer, like he’s genuinely trying to figure Soobin out, then lets out an incredulous laugh, full-bodied and warm; the kind that turns heads in the quiet library. “You’re insane. You’re actually insane. Do you know how many hours I’ve wasted staring at swatches trying to make that decision?”

Soobin shakes his head quickly, flustered. “It’s not– I didn’t mean to, I just thought it looked like something that needed… balance?”

Balance, Yeonjun echoes, like it’s a sacred word, and turns his laptop back towards Soobin, pointing excitedly at a different sketch. “Okay, okay, genius boy, then what about this one? This is meant to be part of the same collection, but I want it to contrast the first outfit. Should I pair it with something textured or keep it sleek?”

Soobin hesitates, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden attention, but his eyes flicker down to the screen, scanning the lines and shading. “Textured,” he says after a beat, more certain now. “Sleek would feel too safe next to the structure of the second one. But texture adds a bit of tension. Something tactile, with depth… like this one, maybe?”

Soobin points to a particular swatch Yeonjun had brought.

Yeonjun gasps and slaps a hand over his chest dramatically. “Oh my god. You’re hired. You’re my muse. You’re not allowed to leave me ever again.”

Across the table, Kai and Beomgyu look up at the sound of Yeonjun’s theatrical outburst. Kai grins quietly into his hand while Beomgyu leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “What’s going on over there? Did Soobin cure your creative block or something?”

“He did,” Yeonjun says, gesturing wildly at Soobin, who is now trying to shrink into his oversized hoodie. “He’s a genius. Like a quiet, fashion wizard genius. And you didn’t tell me.”

Beomgyu snorts when Yeonjun throws one of Kai’s balled up paper to him. “I’ve been telling you he’s scary smart.”

“Yeah, academically,” Yeonjun shoots back. “I didn’t realise he was out here solving design problems with his eyes closed.”

“I’m not–” Soobin starts, but Yeonjun waves a hand.

“No. No more false modesty. I’m literally dedicating this outfit to you now. It’s going to be called The Soobin Effect.”

Soobin blinks. “Please don’t.”

“Oh, it’s too late,” Yeonjun grins, clicking away on his laptop. “Choi Soobin, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Soobin blurts out, far too quickly.

There’s a beat of silence.

“…What?” Yeonjun asks, blinking up at him.

“Huh?” Soobin croaks, his face turning a violent shade of crimson, ears practically steaming.

Yeonjun just laughs, fond and effortless. “You’re cute, you know that?” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, squeezing Soobin’s cheeks before casually turning back to his screen.

Soobin makes a noise that can only be described as a squeak, eyes wide and mortified.

Across the table, Kai leans towards Beomgyu and whispers through a giggle, “He’s going to combust.”

Beomgyu chuckles under his breath, watching Soobin try – and fail – to escape Yeonjun’s praise. “Nah,” he says softly, with a fond twist to his smile. “I think he likes it.”

After a few more minutes of watching Soobin teeter on the edge of spontaneous combustion, Beomgyu finally pushes back from his seat with a soft groan, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m gonna hit the vending machine. Want anything?” he asks, leaning down to whisper it just for Kai.

Soobin squints suspiciously. “How come you’re only offering him and not us?”

Beomgyu doesn’t even flinch. “Because I’ve already treated you to enough snacks, hyung,” he shoots back with a dramatic eye-roll, before turning back to Kai.

Kai gives a small shake of his head, fringe falling over his lashes with a soft sweep that momentarily knocks the breath out of Beomgyu’s lungs. “I’m okay. But… thanks for asking,” he murmurs, voice quieter, warm.

Beomgyu’s lips curve into an easy smile; too easy, considering the way his heart is racing. “Don’t mention it,” he says, backing away before he can trip over his own tongue, and heads towards the vending machines, hoping the walk will clear his head.

The quiet buzz of the vending machine breaks the soft stillness of the library corridor, fluorescent light flickering just above Beomgyu’s head as he stands in front of the rows of snacks. He taps the glass absentmindedly, not really seeing anything, mostly just giving himself a break, a moment to stretch his legs and reset from the subtle chaos Yeonjun and Soobin have turned into. He reaches into his pocket, fishing out a couple of coins, when he hears footsteps behind him.

“Yo,” comes Yeonjun’s familiar voice, light but deliberate.

Beomgyu glances back. “Sunbae, want something?”

“Nope.” Yeonjun leans against the wall beside the machine, arms crossed. His smile is still there, but the easy humour he wears in front of the others has faded just slightly, like a veil pulled back. “Just thought I’d talk to you for a second. Away from the others.”

Beomgyu hesitates before returning his attention to the vending machine, punching in a number and letting the chips drop with a soft thunk. “What’s up?”

Yeonjun waits a beat. “What are you trying to do with Kai?”

Beomgyu’s fingers freeze around the bag of chips. He pulls it out slowly, the rustling suddenly much louder than it needs to be. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Yeonjun says, voice calm but firm, “what exactly are your intentions with him?”

Beomgyu looks over at him, surprised by how serious Yeonjun suddenly is. There isn’t a trace of his usual teasing in his face. Just a calm intensity that makes it clear this isn’t casual. It’s a warning.

“I’m not trying anything,” Beomgyu replies slowly. “I just– he’s talented. And I admire that. I like being around him. He’s cool. That’s it.”

Yeonjun doesn’t answer right away. His gaze stays fixed on Beomgyu, sharp and unreadable. “People like you,” he says at last, “are usually the ones who end up hurting people like Kai.”

Beomgyu’s stomach twists. “People like me?”

“You know,” Yeonjun says with a short laugh, humourless. “Popular. Charming. Fuckboys. The centre of attention. You get away with everything and think the world’s going to let you off the hook when you screw something up.”

Beomgyu clenches the bag tighter in his hands. “I’m not–”

“Look,” Yeonjun cuts in, “I’m not saying you’re a bad person. I just want you to understand something. Kai’s been through a lot. He doesn’t show it, but he’s not someone who bounces back easy. He’s not disposable.”

Beomgyu swallows hard. “I know.”

“Do you?” Yeonjun presses. “Because I’ve known him since we were kids, and I’ve watched people drift in and out of his life without thinking twice about the damage they leave behind. So I’m asking – no, I’m telling you – don’t be one of those people.”

The silence that follows feels heavy, like something pressing down on Beomgyu’s chest. He can feel his heart pounding in his ears. Yeonjun isn’t loud. He doesn’t need to be. His calm is scarier than if he’d raised his voice, and maybe that’s what makes the guilt rise in Beomgyu’s throat like bile, because Yeonjun’s right. Kai doesn’t deserve that; not from anyone, and definitely not from him.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Beomgyu says, voice quieter now. “I swear.”

Beomgyu’s chest feels tight, like he’s carrying an invisible weight that grows heavier every time he thinks about it. He tries to focus on the vending machine ahead, its flashing lights offering a momentary distraction, but all he can hear is the sound of his own voice repeating those words, I’m not going to hurt him. It feels hollow, like a promise made to someone else, not to himself. How can he be so sure? After all, he walked into this whole thing with a plan; a game, a bet that was supposed to be simple, fun. He never expected to actually like Kai. He never thought he’d end up spending days sitting beside him, laughing, talking, caring about what he had to say. The more he gets to know Kai, the harder it becomes to reconcile his actions with the growing warmth in his chest every time their shoulders brush, or when Kai flashes him that quiet, shy smile.

However, the truth is undeniable. He’s still here, isn’t he? Still spending time with him, still keeping up the ruse. His entire presence in Kai’s life has been built on a lie, and as much as he wants to tell himself he’s doing this for the right reasons now, he knows, deep down, that the bet was always the starting point. He manipulated his way into Kai’s world, using the idea of a challenge as a shield; something to protect himself from the guilt that had already started eating away at him, and now, as he watches Kai interact with Soobin, as he sees how kind he is, how sincere… Beomgyu can’t deny it. He’s already in too deep. He’s starting to care, and that’s dangerous. The bet still hangs over him like a dark cloud. What happens when he eventually has to cash in on it? Could he really do that to Kai? Could he really turn all of this into something cruel, just for the sake of a stupid dare?

The thought makes his stomach churn, his hands curling into fists as he approaches the machine. He feels like a fraud. A hypocrite. If anyone else knew what he was doing – if they knew what he was planning – the guilt would crush him. I’m not going to hurt him. The words sound like a lie now, but can he go through with it? Can he keep up the act long enough to walk away with his conscience intact? Kai deserves more than a joke. More than a game. And Beomgyu isn’t sure he can keep pretending he’s not part of that game anymore. Because the truth is – no matter how it started, even if it began with a bet, a stupid, childish challenge – somewhere along the way… He’s started to want more.

Yeonjun studies him a moment longer. Then, finally, he sighs, his shoulders loosening just a little. “Alright. I believe you.”

Beomgyu blinks. “You… do?”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun says with a faint smile. “You’re genuine. I can tell. It’s a relief, honestly.”

Beomgyu forces a small laugh, nodding along, but it feels hollow in his chest. Genuine. Again. First it was Mr. Nam, looking at him like he believed he was better than the act he was putting on, and now Yeonjun – Kai’s childhood friend, the person who knows him best, who’s been protecting him – telling him he looks genuine.

He wants to scream. Because is he?

How can someone like him look genuine, even when he knows he’s lying through his teeth?

No matter how real it feels now, the truth doesn’t change. He agreed to that stupid bet. He made a choice, and even if he didn’t know Kai then the way he knows him now – soft and sharp, awkward and brilliant – it doesn’t matter. The damage is already done.

Beomgyu walks back to the table, his mind still heavy, the conversation with Yeonjun echoing in his thoughts. He barely notices the low hum of the library or the faint drizzle of rain outside until he’s standing at the edge of their table again. The vending machine feels miles away now, like something disconnected from the moment. He’s still clutching the snack he grabbed, his hand tight around it, as if it’s anchoring him to reality in the midst of the turmoil inside his chest.

He sits down next to Kai, and Kai looks up at him almost immediately, his brows furrowing in a way that Beomgyu knows means he’s noticed something. That sharp, intuitive gaze that makes Beomgyu feel exposed, like Kai can see right through him. 

“Hey, you okay?” Kai’s voice is soft, his eyes searching Beomgyu’s face with that quiet concern that makes Beomgyu feel like he’s under a microscope.

Beomgyu blinks, swallowing the lump in his throat. The guilt is suffocating him now. How can he look at Kai and lie when all he wants to do is tell him the truth? But the words don’t come out. Instead, he smiles, a little too tightly, trying to shake the weight off his shoulders. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he says, his voice sounding more distant than he intends. He hopes it’s convincing. He hopes it’s enough.

Kai doesn’t seem to notice the hesitation. He smiles back, and Beomgyu’s chest tightens at the brightness of it. Kai’s smile, always brilliant and full of warmth, like nothing’s ever wrong in his world. It’s a smile that lights up the entire room, a smile that makes Beomgyu feel like he’s drowning. He doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of that smile. Not when all he’s done is lie and use Kai for his own selfish reasons.

“Alright, then,” Kai says with a small nod, his gaze softening as if he trusts Beomgyu completely. That trust, that belief in him, makes Beomgyu want to tear his hair out. He wants to tell Kai the truth, but the words won’t come. And the more Kai smiles at him, the harder it becomes to admit that the truth will only destroy it all.

The guilt that’s been coiling in his chest tightens even further. He should’ve never gotten close to Kai. He should’ve never let it go this far. But here they are, laughing together, studying together, and somewhere along the way, Beomgyu had started to feel something for him; maybe not anything romantic yet, but it’s definitely something real, something that wasn’t part of the bet. That scares him more than anything because if he lets this go on, if he lets himself care any more than he already does, then the eventual fallout is going to hurt so much more.

As Kai turns back to the table, Beomgyu’s gaze lingers on him for just a second longer. His heart pounds in his chest, the weight of it all feeling too much. How long can he keep pretending? How long before Kai starts to notice that the smile Beomgyu gives him isn’t as genuine as it should be?

Beomgyu swallows hard, his fingers curling around the edge of the table. He’s in too deep. And the deeper he goes, the more he knows that this can’t end well.

He is so, so fucked.

 

🐧

 

Kai wakes up to the soft buzz of his phone beside him on the bed. He blinks a few times, groggily reaching over to grab it, squinting at the screen in the half-light of his room. The clock reads 10:15 AM, and he groans softly, regretting staying up late to finish his assignment. The screen flashes with a message from an unfamiliar contact, and his brows furrow as he glances at the name.

president beomgyu🧸, the contact reads, and Kai blinks, his thumb hovering over the screen for a moment. It takes him a few seconds to process it, to understand why that name feels so... odd. He doesn’t remember saving anyone’s number like that. He swipes the message open, and his heart skips a beat when he sees the text.

 

president beomgyu🧸 

good morning sunshine😏
idk if you’re up already but
prof nam said our lecture today will be at the main auditorium

 

Kai blinks again, the words floating in front of him like they’re from someone he doesn’t quite recognize. A small knot forms in his stomach, his confusion turning into a curious mix of amusement and something else, something that tugs at his chest. Why would Beomgyu save his number like this? The "president" part feels playful, but the teddy bear emoji... it makes his chest tighten for a different reason entirely. Kai’s not sure if he should laugh or feel embarrassed. Or both.

 

president beomgyu🧸 

don’t leave me on read!!
i see you!!!

president beomgyu?? really?

what?
it suits me doesn’t it?

and the teddy bear?

people tell me i look like a teddy bear
don’t you agree?
and people say i give the best cuddles

i don’t believe that

oh really?
then maybe you’ll just have to come try it for yourself

 

Kai flushes, his heart thudding in his chest abnormally fast. Is Beomgyu... flirting with him? No, no, that can’t be right. He must be overthinking things, reading too much into it, right? He tries to shake the thought, but the flutter in his chest doesn’t go away, only grows stronger as his fingers hover over the screen. He stares at the message from Beomgyu, his mind racing.

Kai stares at the text, frozen for a moment. What? His stomach does a flip, and his heart skips a beat. Is this really happening? He rereads the message, trying to make sense of it. There’s no way Beomgyu is being serious, right? He’s just joking, right? Kai knows he can’t be this naive, Beomgyu’s just being Beomgyu; always playful, always teasing. But then again, there’s that flutter in his chest again, that little flicker of something more.

 

president beomgyu🧸

hey sorry if i made you uncomfy

haha dw
but i don’t need cuddles thanks

 

Kai hits send and instantly feels a little foolish. Why does that feel like such a lame response? He hopes Beomgyu doesn’t think he’s weird, or worse, uninterested. Maybe he should’ve just laughed it off.

He waits, staring at the screen, hoping for Beomgyu’s usual playful reply, the one that makes him roll his eyes or laugh, anything that might make this awkwardness go away. Instead, the dots appear, and he waits for Beomgyu’s next message, his nerves prickling, heart still thumping in his chest.

The text finally comes through.

 

president beomgyu🧸

suit yourself
but just know im a damn good cuddler
so when you change your mind…
im right here with open arms baby🫂 

don’t get ahead of yourself
but we’ll see

 

And before Kai can think about it, he sends out another text.

 

mr president🧸

 

Kai’s heart skips another beat, and he quickly shoves his phone face-down on the bed, as if the device itself might be able to hide his rapidly flushing face. He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, willing the warmth to fade, but it lingers, like the tingling after a soft touch.

Did that really just happen?

He tries to distract himself by pulling the covers up over his head, but his mind keeps replaying the words. When you change your mind… Not ‘if’, but ‘when’. He can’t shake the feeling that Beomgyu was not just joking around, but how could that be? How could Beomgyu be saying these things to him, flirting with him like this? He’s overthinking. He has to be.

Kai stares at his phone for a few more seconds before he shakes his head, putting it face down on his desk. His heart is still racing, but he tries to push the feeling away. He’s overthinking it, he tells himself. It’s just Beomgyu being Beomgyu, messing around. It's harmless. Right? 

As Kai runs his fingers through his hair, he tries to focus on the routine. Brush teeth, grab his bag, pull on his shoes, but his mind keeps slipping back to the way Beomgyu had texted him, the easy confidence in his words. Kai had never really been the type to think about things like this, not when it came to his friends, especially not someone like Beomgyu. Beomgyu was... different. Popular, confident, the kind of guy who never seemed to care about what anyone thought of him. And Kai? He’s always been the quiet, reserved type, comfortable in his own little world, his thoughts rarely straying far from his music or his studies. So what was it about this interaction that was making his pulse race?

Kai grabs his jacket, huffing out a frustrated breath as he tries to ignore the way his heart jumps every time he remembers Beomgyu’s teasing words. It’s nothing, he tells himself, but it feels like something. Something new. Something unexpected. He’s never considered the idea of Beomgyu in that way, not once. They’re from two different worlds; Kai, the quiet, awkward music student, and Beomgyu, the outgoing, charismatic guy who’s always surrounded by people. They don’t even exist in the same social circles. Kai knows it. He’s always known it. There’s no way someone like Beomgyu would be interested in someone like him.

Then why does his heart feel so tight in his chest, and why does his mind keep returning to that text? He thinks about Beomgyu’s face; how he always seems to have that easy, effortless smile, how the two of them always seem to laugh together. They’ve become friends over the past few weeks, hanging out in the library or grabbing snacks after class, but that doesn’t mean anything, right? That’s just what friends do. Friends joke around, tease each other. This doesn’t mean anything.

Still, as Kai heads to the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast, his mind won’t quiet. What is this feeling? It’s not like he’s attracted to Beomgyu, right? That’s ridiculous. He’s always just seen Beomgyu as his friend. He shakes his head, frustrated with himself. No. Stop. He forces himself to focus on the cereal in front of him, the clink of the spoon against the bowl, anything to ground himself. He has no time for this kind of thinking. He has to go to class. He can’t afford to get distracted by... whatever this is. You’re just flustered, Kai. Get yourself together, Kai tells himself, because it’s the first time anyone’s flirted with you in... well, ever.

But that doesn’t make sense either. Kai’s always been a bit shy when it comes to people, especially when it comes to romance. He’s never been good at picking up on signals, never thought much about it. So why is this text from Beomgyu making him feel like the world has just tilted on its axis? Why does it feel like he’s seeing everything differently now?

Kai grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder with a heavy sigh. His phone buzzes again, a new message from Beomgyu. His stomach does a little flip, but he ignores it, stuffing his phone into his pocket as he heads out the door. It’s ridiculous. He’s overthinking all of this. There’s no way he’s interested in Beomgyu that way, but for some reason, the idea of not thinking about it feels impossible.

Maybe I’m just confused, he thinks as he walks to class, trying to shake off the tightness in his chest. It’s not like I’ve been around people much. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel when someone... flirts with me. It’s new. That’s all. He tries to tell himself that, over and over, but a small voice at the back of his mind keeps asking, Is it really that simple?

Before he even realised, Kai had already reached the main auditorium. He pushes through the doors of the main auditorium, the noise of students chatting and settling into their seats filling the space. He’s still early, as usual, and his mind is still a bit tangled from the events of the morning. His heart is still fluttering a little, but he’s trying to push all of those thoughts aside. He heads to the back and picks a random seat, hoping for a few quiet moments to himself before class begins.

His eyes lock into the seat near the corner, but before he can walk towards it, a loud voice rings out across the room. 

“KAI! OVER HERE! I SAVED YOU A SEAT!” Beomgyu's voice echoes through the auditorium, sharp and playful, instantly drawing the attention of everyone nearby. Heads turn, whispers start to ripple, and Kai feels his face go hot as all eyes seem to focus on him.

Kai’s eyes widen in embarrassment, his stomach twisting into a knot. He looks over at Beomgyu, who’s sitting confidently in the middle of the row, waving like a maniac and grinning like he’s done nothing wrong. Beomgyu’s eyes are locked on him, his expression amused, and the smile on his face only makes Kai’s face flush an even deeper shade of red. It’s the kind of attention he doesn’t want, and he definitely doesn’t want to be the center of it in front of everyone.

Quickly, Kai hurries across the room, his steps quick and unsteady as he tries to get to Beomgyu as fast as possible. He finally reaches him, still feeling the heat in his cheeks, and without thinking, he hits Beomgyu’s arm. 

“You didn’t have to shout like that!” Kai scolds, his voice quieter than he’d like. His embarrassment is almost overwhelming, and he can’t stop his face from being as red as a tomato.

Beomgyu only looks up at him with a grin, completely unfazed by the stares of the other students. “What? I’m just making sure you don’t miss out on your seat,” he says, as though his loud shout was the most normal thing in the world. He slides a warm cup of hot mint chocolate across their table, offering it to Kai with a small, self-satisfied smile. “Your favourite. Here.”

Kai stands there for a moment, flustered, before taking the cup from Beomgyu, grateful for the gesture despite the embarrassing situation. “Thanks,” he mutters, avoiding Beomgyu’s eyes for a second as he feels the weight of the attention still on him from all around the room.

“No problem,” Beomgyu says, shrugging nonchalantly and taking a sip of his own drink, clearly enjoying the chaos he’s caused. He leans back in his seat with a relaxed posture, clearly at ease despite all the eyes on him. His grin is almost infectious, and as much as Kai wants to stay embarrassed, he finds himself smiling a little too.

They both settle into their seats, and Kai quietly takes a sip of the hot mint chocolate, the warmth immediately soothing him. It’s just the way Beomgyu always makes sure he has one, as if he knows exactly what he needs without asking. Kai feels a small sense of comfort in the familiarity of it, but at the same time, the earlier text still lingers in the back of his mind, and now this playful gesture only adds to the strange confusion he’s been feeling all day. Beomgyu is just being Beomgyu; fun, carefree, and always just a little too charming for his own good.

But why does it feel so different today? Kai can’t quite place it, but the more time he spends around Beomgyu, the harder it becomes to ignore the tug in his chest. Beomgyu has always been outgoing, always been this way, but now, with the words still fresh in his mind, Kai wonders if maybe there’s something else behind those playful grins and teasing comments.

As everyone begins to settle in, Kai tries to focus on anything else other than the warmth radiating from beside him, but his thoughts keep drifting back to Beomgyu’s teasing smile, the way he’d called across the room to him, the way he made sure to save him a seat. Now as they sit shoulder-to-shoulder, their arms and knees touching each other, he finds it hard to breathe. Maybe I am overthinking things, Kai tries to convince himself again. It’s just Beomgyu. He’s always like this. As the minutes pass, Kai can’t shake the feeling that this... whatever it is between them... is becoming something he doesn’t quite understand. Something that makes his heart skip a beat when Beomgyu’s eyes meet his across the room, and something that makes it harder to deny that maybe, just maybe, this might not be as simple as he thought.

Just as Kai finally starts to relax into his seat, trying to focus on setting his things up on his desk, the door to the auditorium opens again, followed by an unusual wave of movement and chatter. A small group of students walk in, but they don’t look like anyone from the music department. They're dressed differently, stylishly layered and confidently posed even while walking. There's a certain effortless flair to them; statement jewellery, wide-leg trousers, cropped knits, blazers with pins and custom stitching. These are fashion students, clearly.

Beomgyu leans over, brows furrowed. “Are we in the wrong room or something?”

Kai frowns. “No… this is the right time and code. Music Composition 203.”

“Then why do they look like they’re about to walk a runway instead of learn about diminished sevenths?” Beomgyu whispers, sipping his drink like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

Kai’s gaze lingers on the group for a moment longer–until his eyes catch on a familiar face. “Wait, is that Yeonjun hyung?”

Sure enough, Yeonjun appears at the back of the group, adjusting the strap of his oversized tote, looking vaguely bored until he scans the room. Kai immediately lifts a hand to wave him over, and Beomgyu adds a dramatic arm motion like he’s signalling a plane to land. Yeonjun spots them instantly and breaks into a smile, striding over without hesitation.

“Hey,” he says, dropping into the seat beside Kai with a casual thud. “Didn’t think I’d see you two in a class with textiles involved.”

“We could say the same thing,” Beomgyu says, eyeing Yeonjun’s fashionable entourage as they file into the seats behind them. “Are you lost, or is this some crossover episode no one told us about?”

Yeonjun shrugs, leaning back comfortably. “Honestly? No clue. Got an email saying we were required to attend something this week but didn’t say it was with music majors.”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. “Is this how the school tries to force inter-department bonding now? Drop us into each other’s lectures with zero warning?”

Kai chuckles quietly. “If so, they’re doing a great job of making it feel like we stumbled into the wrong lecture hall.”

Before Yeonjun can reply, the door clicks shut again, and Professor Noh enters with his usual swift pace, cardigan trailing behind him like a cape. He carries his laptop in one hand and gestures for the class to quiet down with the other.

“Alright, settle down,” he calls, and the noise gradually tapers off. “Yes, I see some new faces. No, you are not in the wrong room. Everyone take your seats. I’ll explain what this is about in just a moment.”

Professor Noh plugs in his laptop, the projector flickering to life behind him as the lights dim just slightly. The chatter in the auditorium softens to a low murmur, a hush settling in as the screen glows white and ready.

“As you’ve probably noticed,” Professor Noh begins, tone brisk but even, “Today’s class looks a little different.”

He glances meaningfully around the lecture hall, at the unusual mix of students filling the rows. Fashion majors in monochrome outfits and exaggerated silhouettes sit among music students in worn jumpers and oversized headphones, their bags clashing on the floor like two worlds awkwardly colliding.

“That’s because, starting next semester, the music and fashion departments will be working together on a semester-long project.”

Kai straightens in his seat, the words catching his attention immediately.

“The concept is simple. Each fashion student will be partnered with at least two music students. Your goal is to create an original composition – track, soundscape, whatever best suits the work – that will accompany your partner’s final fashion show presentation.”

A few gasps and whispers ripple through the room.

“This will count for a significant portion of your final grades, so take it seriously. You’ll need to collaborate across disciplines, communicate your artistic language, and find a shared creative vision.”

Beomgyu leans over toward Kai, eyes wide and shining. “Wait, this sounds kind of sick.”

Kai hums in response, already feeling the pressure press against his spine. A whole show? With their music playing live? In front of an audience?

Yeonjun writes both Kai’s and Beomgyu’s name on his document, his tablet already out.

“Okay, we’re teaming up,” he says firmly, like the matter was never up for discussion. “You two are mine.”

Beomgyu grins. “Dibs on the fashion prince.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes fondly, but turns to Kai with a bright, excited look. “Seriously though, I’m so glad I got you two. You’re both amazing, and this is gonna be so good! I can already see it.”

Kai blinks. “Are you sure?”

“Uh, yeah?” Yeonjun tilts his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Kai fiddles with the zipper on his jacket, throat a little tight. “It’s just… I mean, I don’t know if I can do your work justice. You’re insanely talented, and you are too,” Kai says, facing Beomgyu. “I just don’t want to mess anything up.”

Beomgyu’s grin fades just a little, eyebrows drawing together. “Hey, don’t say that. If anything, you’re more talented than me.”

Yeonjun leans forward, expression softening into something earnest. “Hueningie. Look at me.”

Kai does.

“There’s no one else in this room I’d rather work with,” Yeonjun says, voice steady. “You’re not just talented. You have something people can’t fake; your instinct, your sensitivity, the way you listen to the details. That’s exactly what this project needs.”

Beomgyu nods beside him. “You’ve got something special, Kai. Don’t let your brain talk you out of knowing it.”

Kai’s chest tightens, but in a different way now, like something warm is blooming behind his ribs. He manages a small smile, nodding. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do it.”

“You didn’t have a choice to begin with,” Yeonjun grins, already scribbling something onto his tablet. “This is going to be iconic.”

Beomgyu leans back in his chair, arms behind his head, gaze fixed on Kai with something quieter in it now. “We’re like, the holy trinity of talent here. We’re definitely getting the highest grades.”

Yeonjun snorts. “That’s not even a question.”

The rest of the lecture breezes by in a haze, Professor Noh’s voice fading in and out of focus as he outlines expectations, deadlines, and group responsibilities. Kai tries to stay sharp, scribbling notes in the margin of his notebook, but it’s harder than usual. His mind keeps drifting; partly to the sheer weight of the project ahead of them, but mostly to the way Yeonjun and Beomgyu’s words from earlier still linger at the forefront of his thoughts. The memory settles over him like a warm blanket, steady and grounding in a way he didn’t know he needed.

He shakes himself out of it every few minutes, forcing himself to refocus, but it’s no use. Every time Beomgyu shifts in the corner of his vision – stretching his legs out lazily under the desk, spinning his pen between his fingers – Kai feels that same strange flutter in his chest, that same quiet, nagging awareness he doesn’t know what to do with.

When the class finally dismisses, the room erupts into noisy movement. Chairs scrape loudly against the floor, zippers zip, laptops snap shut. Yeonjun stands and slings his massive tote bag over one shoulder with a groan of deep, dramatic suffering.

“I’ve got pattern drafting next,” he laments to no one in particular. “Kill me now.”

Beomgyu chuckles under his breath, bumping his elbow lightly against Yeonjun’s side. “Go be a genius, Sunbae.”

“Enough of that,” Yeonjun waves his hand mindlessly in the air. “You can call me Hyung, Beomgyu.”

“Oh,” Beomgyu dumbly responds. “Right, thanks Hyung.”

Yeonjun huffs but can’t seem to suppress the small, pleased smile that crosses his face. He blows them both a kiss – exaggerated and theatrical – and disappears into the growing crowd with a wave. Kai watches him go, feeling a weird cocktail of pride and nerves twist low in his stomach. It’s always like this when Yeonjun leaves; a sudden emptiness that makes the room feel a little colder.

He’s still adjusting the strap of his backpack when Beomgyu shifts closer, shuffling a little awkwardly, like he’s not sure how to start. Kai looks up at him, blinking, the noise of the room fading into a dull hum around them.

“Uh. So...” Beomgyu starts, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that’s far too endearing for Kai’s already fragile heart.

Kai tilts his head, silently prompting him to continue.

“You’re free now, right? No more elective classes today?” Beomgyu asks, his voice trying for casual but landing somewhere shy instead.

“Yeah,” Kai answers, tightening his grip on his bag, the leather biting softly into his palm. His stomach gives a tiny, traitorous flutter.

Beomgyu glances away for half a second, then back, the words tumbling out faster. “Well, um. If you want– we could maybe go to my place? Work on the project? Or something?”

Kai freezes for a beat, heart thudding uncomfortably against his ribs. Spending time together outside of campus – just the two of them – suddenly feels a lot more loaded than it should. It shouldn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. They’re just groupmates. Just friends.

Still, there’s something about the way Beomgyu is smiling – hopeful and bashful and earnest – that makes it very, very hard to say no.

“Okay,” Kai says finally, his voice coming out a little softer than he intended. He clears his throat awkwardly, willing the heat rising in his cheeks to go away. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

Beomgyu’s face lights up immediately, his whole expression relaxing into something open and warm. Relief flashes across his features so briefly that Kai almost misses it.

“Cool. Cool. Uh, it’s not far at all. We can walk, if you want,” Beomgyu says, scratching lightly at his temple.

Kai adjusts his bag again, mostly for something to do with his hands, and gives a small, shaky laugh. “Walking is good.”

They slip into step together easily, making their way through the thinning crowd of students and out into the crisp late afternoon air. The sidewalk buzzes with the quiet shuffle of footsteps and distant traffic, the cold biting pleasantly at Kai’s cheeks. Their shoulders brush every so often as they walk, and every time, Kai feels it like a jolt straight to his heart. For a moment, everything feels strangely quiet, as if the world has narrowed down to just the two of them. Every time Kai’s shoulder brushes against Beomgyu’s, it’s like his heart skips just a little; quick, quiet, but impossible to miss.

It’s just a project, Kai tells himself. Just two classmates working on something together, nothing more. Totally normal, absolutely normal, but when Beomgyu shoots him another one of those soft, unspoken smiles, the kind that seems to carry all the warmth and trust between them, Kai’s heart stutters once more, and he can’t quite convince himself that this is as simple as it seems.

He ducks his head quickly, hiding his smile behind his scarf, pretending it’s just the cold.

 

🧸 

 

Beomgyu keeps his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket as they walk, resisting the growing urge to fidget. The walk had been mercifully short but it had still felt like an eternity, crammed full of too much silence and too many thoughts rattling around inside his head. Now that they’re actually approaching the apartment he shares with Soobin, the nerves that he’s been trying so hard to ignore crawl higher and higher, sharp and relentless, clawing their way up his throat until he can barely swallow past them. His mind races with dumb questions. Should he have tidied up more? Should he have planned something to say? Should he have at least warned Soobin? It’s too late for all of that now. All he can do is walk beside Kai, trying to act like this is no big deal when it feels, somehow, like the biggest deal in the world.

He’s brought people over before. Loads of them, honestly. His apartment had always been a revolving door for drunken hookups, late-night flings, people he barely knew and barely cared to know. It had never mattered. They’d show up, they’d laugh, they’d crash somewhere, and Beomgyu would play the role he knew best; the charming, slightly aloof playboy who never let anything get too close. He had long since perfected the art of acting cool and effortless, flashing an easy grin, tossing out half-hearted jokes, always keeping things light enough that nobody expected anything real from him. It was simple, it was safe, and most of the time, he didn’t feel much of anything at all. Just a little boredom, a little restlessness. Nothing like the buzzing, anxious energy currently twisting his stomach into knots.

But this? Having Kai over, not for a hookup, not for a party, but just to hang out – just to spend time together, to actually work – feels completely different. Worse, it feels important. It feels like something that matters, something that could go wrong in ways he doesn’t even know how to prepare for. Beomgyu doesn’t know how to handle important. He’s used to knowing exactly who he’s supposed to be in every situation: the flirty one, the funny one, the one who never gets attached, but here, now, he feels like he’s walking into a situation he has no script for, no instructions, no mask to slip on and hide behind. Just him, stripped back and clumsy, hoping Kai won’t see how much he’s floundering underneath it all.

His fingers twitch with the impulse to pull out his phone, to make some stupid joke or send a dumb meme that’ll break the tension he’s sure is clinging to him like static electricity, but when he glances sideways, Kai is just walking quietly beside him, his expression soft and content, a peaceful sort of presence that somehow makes the silence feel less suffocating and more... grounding. It only makes Beomgyu more nervous because he doesn’t want to break this. He doesn’t want to ruin the easy, comfortable thing that seems to settle naturally between them, and the more he cares about that, the more he’s aware of every tiny movement, every accidental brush of their sleeves, every breathless second where Kai looks at him and Beomgyu has to look away before he does something dumb.

By the time they reach the apartment building, Beomgyu’s palms are sweating, which is absolutely, categorically stupid, because he’s not even trying to flirt with Kai. He’s not trying to charm him or seduce him or anything like that – or at least not yet, it’s still way too early in the game to even start pulling moves. This is supposed to be normal. Friendly. Productive. He tells himself that a hundred times as he pulls his keys from his pocket, but his fingers are clumsy, fumbling with the lock longer than necessary. His mind supplies about a dozen terrible jokes he could make about inviting Kai into his lair or seducing him with ramen, but for once, he keeps his mouth shut. Finally, with an awkward push, he swings the door open, stepping aside to let Kai enter first.

"Home sweet home," he says, aiming for casual, breezy, unaffected, but it comes out just a little too loud, a little too bright, like he’s overcompensating for how fast his heart is hammering against his ribs.

Kai steps inside, pausing to toe off his shoes politely. He looks around with quiet curiosity, taking in the slightly messy living room; Soobin’s textbooks sprawled across the coffee table, a forgotten hoodie draped over the back of the couch, and an empty ramen cup abandoned by the TV. Beomgyu's heart thuds stupidly hard. He wishes he’d cleaned more. He wishes he knew what he was doing.

"Sorry about the mess," Beomgyu mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s usually, uh... well, actually, no, it’s always like this."

Kai lets out a soft laugh, the sound light and easy. "It’s fine. Makes it feel more lived in."

Beomgyu stares at him for a second too long, caught off-guard by how genuine the comment sounds. Something warms low in his chest, and he has to snap himself out of it before he gets weird. He moves quickly toward the kitchen counter, grabbing a bottle of grape juice from the fridge and tossing it to Kai with only slightly clumsy hands.

"Here. Brain fuel," he jokes.

Kai catches it easily, flashing him a shy little smile that nearly knocks the air from Beomgyu’s lungs. “How’d you know I liked grape juice?”

“You mentioned it once, so I tried it to see what all the fuss is about,” Beomgyu shrugs, trying to act all nonchalant. “I ended up liking it so I have it stocked in my fridge now.”

“Huh, didn’t think you’d remember,” Kai murmurs lowly, a shy smile gracing his face. “Does that mean I’m welcome to steal some of your stock?”

“Whenever you want,” Beomgyu replies easily, and Kai bumps his shoulder bashfully.

“I was just kidding, you know,” Kai smiles, taking a sip from his grape juice. “I appreciate it, though.”

Beomgyu pretends to be very interested in clearing some space on the table instead of looking at him again.

He doesn’t know how to do this. Doesn’t know how to just be with someone without the layers of performance, without the distance that keeps everything easy and unimportant. Kai makes it feel like every little thing matters, and Beomgyu doesn’t know if that terrifies him or makes him want to lean in closer.

Maybe both.

Beomgyu then rushes around the living room in a mild panic, sweeping random junk into his arms like a man possessed. Soobin’s textbooks are scattered across the coffee table, half a packet of crisps spills from the couch cushions, and there’s a weird assortment of socks and other clothes, none of which Beomgyu even remembers wearing, clinging to the armchair like decoration.

"Make yourself at home!" Beomgyu calls over his shoulder, already bustling towards Soobin’s door. He doesn’t even bother sorting through the mess; he just dumps the entire armful into Soobin’s room, shoves the door closed with his foot, and offers a triumphant grin as if that fixes everything. It's a disaster of a cover-up, but at least the living room now looks... moderately less chaotic.

Kai, ever so polite, gently places his bag on the floor near the coffee table and walks around it towards the sofa. Beomgyu swallows thickly and rakes a hand through his hair, trying to pretend like he didn’t just shove a week’s worth of trash into his flatmate’s personal space. He flops down onto the now-clear couch, patting the space beside him with what he hopes is a casual, totally-not-desperate kind of gesture.

Kai huffs out a quiet laugh as he sinks onto the far end of the couch, perching there almost like he’s worried about taking up too much space. Beomgyu watches him out of the corner of his eye, trying to act normal, whatever that even means anymore. There’s this weird, thrumming tension curled tight in Beomgyu’s chest, a restless energy he doesn’t know what to do with. This is different. Kai’s not here to sleep with him (yet, a traitorous part of Beomgyu’s brain supplies, which makes guilt twinge sharp and sudden under his ribs). Kai’s here to hang out, to actually work with him, to do something real. And Beomgyu feels... out of his element. For once, the whole stupid playboy act doesn’t apply, and he’s just left sitting here, a little raw and a lot clueless, wishing he knew how to be normal around someone he actually cares about impressing. It’s a disaster. He’s a disaster.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Beomgyu yanks out his phone, desperate for something to anchor himself. He thumbs open the group chat Yeonjun had made that morning, tapping through to the moodboard he’d sent. It’s stunning, of course. Yeonjun’s work always is; this glossy, effortless mix of elegance and danger, like something torn straight from a dream. Beomgyu tilts his phone toward Kai, scooting a little closer until their shoulders almost brush, pretending it’s just because he wants him to see better.

“So...” he says, trying to sound casual and not like his heart is hammering against his ribs. “This is what we’re working with.”

Kai leans in, his hair brushing lightly against Beomgyu’s arm, and starts studying the images with this intense focus that makes something in Beomgyu’s stomach twist painfully. God. He’s never seen someone look that earnest just thinking about work before. It’s like Kai’s whole brain is lighting up, and Beomgyu has to tear his gaze away before he embarrasses himself by staring too obviously.

“We need to match the energy, right?” Kai comments after a second, his voice low and thoughtful, like he’s thinking aloud. “Something that feels... dramatic but still fresh. Like... dangerous, but inviting.”

Beomgyu lets out a low, genuine whistle before he can stop himself, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Damn, listen to you, genius. Yeah. Exactly. Dangerous but inviting. You get it.”

Kai’s ears immediately go pink at the compliment, and Beomgyu’s chest gives a stupid, helpless squeeze. He taps his phone again, scrolling through the photos even though he’s barely looking at them, his mind already racing with ideas. Not just about the music, although that, too. He’s practically buzzing with excitement now, because for once it’s not about impressing some random hookup or playing cool for the sake of it. It’s about showing Kai – proving to Kai – that he’s actually good at this. That he’s not just some idiot who floats through life flashing smiles and flirty texts.

Maybe it’s pathetic, but Beomgyu wants Kai’s validation more than he wants anything else right now. He wants to see Kai’s face light up because of something he made. He wants to be worthy of that earnest look Kai gives when he’s genuinely impressed. Right now? Right now he just wants Kai to think he’s talented and worthwhile.

Beomgyu shifts slightly on the couch, the distance between them shrinking almost without him realising it, and tosses Kai a lopsided grin to cover up the swirling mess of feelings inside him. “We should start jotting down ideas before I forget all the good ones. My brain’s basically a sieve.”

Kai smiles, a small, shy thing that makes Beomgyu’s stupid heart squeeze all over again, and reaches into his bag for a notebook. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

They fall into an easy, focused rhythm quicker than Beomgyu expects. Maybe it’s because Kai’s so serious about it, scribbling notes in his messy handwriting and murmuring ideas under his breath, brows furrowed like he’s solving some impossible puzzle. Or maybe it’s because for once Beomgyu feels like he’s allowed to slow down too; not chasing after a fleeting night or a half-hearted connection, but sitting here with someone who actually makes him want to try.

Beomgyu leans forward, elbows on his knees, phone balanced loosely in one hand as he scrolls through instrumental samples he’s saved over the past few months. He plays a few snippets out loud; some soft and atmospheric, some sharp and moody, some that immediately make Kai hum low in his throat in approval. Each time Kai makes a sound or a comment, Beomgyu feels this ridiculous bolt of satisfaction shoot through him, lighting up all the places that usually feel dulled.

“I think something like this,” Kai says after a moment, tapping at Beomgyu’s screen. “It’s got the right kind of edge. Feels a little reckless, but... not messy.”

Beomgyu smirks, flicking his gaze sideways. “Reckless but not messy, huh? Sounds like someone’s talking about me.”

Kai rolls his eyes fondly, but the tips of his ears are turning pink again, and Beomgyu has to bite down hard on the urge to grin like an idiot. He’s not used to this; this warmth building between them, this sense that maybe Kai likes him, even if it’s just as a friend right now. It’s terrifying in a way that hookups never were, because hookups didn’t matter. This does.

Without really thinking about it, Beomgyu shifts closer, so their knees almost bump. He keeps his gaze fixed on the phone, pretending he doesn’t notice the proximity even though every nerve in his body is screaming about it. “I could start building something off that vibe,” he says casually, opening one of his composition apps. “Like, layer some synths underneath to make it feel more electric. Give it that ‘I might ruin your life but you’ll thank me for it’ energy.”

Kai lets out a startled laugh, covering his mouth with his hand like he hadn’t meant to let it slip out so loud. It’s such an unguarded sound, so purely him, that Beomgyu forgets how to breathe for a second.

“You’re ridiculous,” Kai says, shaking his head, but he’s smiling. Really smiling, bright and loose in a way Beomgyu hasn’t seen before. “But that’s exactly Yeonjun hyung’s vibe, so I think you nailed it.”

God, Beomgyu thinks helplessly. He’s so screwed.

Still, he grins back, tapping a few things into the app and pulling a small MIDI keyboard closer from where it’s half-buried under a pile of tangled chargers. He messes around with a few chords, letting instinct guide him, not overthinking it the way he normally might, and when he glances up, Kai’s watching him; watching his hands move across the keys, his face lit up with this open, unfiltered awe that makes Beomgyu’s cheeks flush hot. He looks away fast, ears burning. Jesus. He’s not even doing anything that special. It’s just a few chords, just a basic synth line, not even a real song yet, but Kai’s looking at him like he’s done something amazing, and Beomgyu doesn’t know how to hold all that attention without feeling like he’s going to implode.

“That sounds–” Kai starts, then breaks off, like he’s trying to find the right words. His voice is soft when he finally says, “It sounds really good, Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu pretends to roll his eyes, fighting a losing battle against the stupid grin tugging at his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, tell me more about how I’m a genius. Go on. Don’t let me stop you.”

Kai laughs again, nudging Beomgyu lightly with his knee, and for a second, Beomgyu forgets how to be cool entirely. His heart stumbles over itself, thudding against his ribs so loudly he’s half convinced Kai must hear it too.

But Kai just keeps smiling, easy and real, and somehow that makes it worse, makes Beomgyu want more.

They keep working like that for a while, bouncing ideas off each other, piecing together fragments of melody and mood until something rough but exciting starts to take shape. Every so often, their hands brush when they both reach for the phone, or their knees bump under the small table, and each time Beomgyu feels it like a spark under his skin, grounding him in a way he doesn’t understand.

And the whole time, lurking underneath all the music and laughter and stolen glances, is this gnawing truth he can’t ignore: he’s not just trying to impress Kai because of some bet. He’s trying because he wants Kai to see him, and wants him to like what he sees. Wants, for once, to be worth more than just a night and a forgettable goodbye.

By the time the sky outside starts bleeding into dusky purples and golds, Beomgyu’s head is buzzing, his heart full in a way he hasn’t let himself feel in longer than he can remember. He doesn’t know where this is going, doesn’t even know if he’s brave enough to hope, but sitting here with Kai, the music spilling low and unfinished between them, it’s the first time in a long time that Beomgyu thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s allowed to want something more.

When  the first full demo is roughly stitched together, Beomgyu’s stomach growls loud enough to break their concentration. He slaps a hand over his midsection, grimacing in exaggerated horror. “Oh my god, tell me you heard that.”

Kai snickers, tossing his pencil onto the coffee table. “Hard not to, honestly. Was that your stomach or a dying animal?”

“Wow. Love the support.” Beomgyu presses a hand to his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. “And to think, here I was, baring my artistic soul to you.”

Kai leans back against the couch, grinning lazily. “You’ll survive. Barely.”

Beomgyu laughs, pushing himself up to his feet and stretching his arms overhead until his hoodie rides up a little, exposing a sliver of skin at his waist. He doesn’t miss the way Kai’s gaze flickers there and then immediately snaps away like he didn’t mean to look. Something warm and reckless flares low in Beomgyu’s gut. God, he’s tempted. Still, it’s different this time; less of a calculated move and more of an impulsive, giddy urge. He’s not trying to close a deal just yet. He’s just... teasing. Testing the waters a little.

He ruffles his hair and shoots Kai a loose, playful smile. “I’m gonna make some food. You’re staying, obviously. Can’t have my musical soulmate starving to death on my couch.”

Kai laughs, sitting up straighter. “Musical soulmate? That’s a new one.”

Beomgyu saunters toward the kitchen, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “I’m full of surprises, babe.”

The nickname slips out so naturally that Beomgyu almost doesn’t catch it – almost, but when he peeks back, Kai’s ears are burning red, and he’s covering it with a hand like he’s trying not to smile too wide.

And then, in a voice that’s just a little too casual, Kai says, “You better be. I don’t waste my time on boring guys.”

Beomgyu trips. Actually trips over the edge of the carpet with a graceless little stumble. He catches himself on the kitchen counter, heart thudding wildly against his ribs, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a second to recover. What the fuck? He’s supposed to be the one throwing people off, not the other way around. That’s how this game works. That’s how it’s always worked. He flirts, they fluster. Easy.

But Kai flirting back – Kai looking at him with that soft, mischievous glint in his eye – it knocks the breath clean out of him.

“Careful,” Kai teases lightly from the couch, propping his chin on his hand. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to impress me.”

Beomgyu makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and turns toward the fridge before Kai can see the way his face is burning. He yanks the door open and pretends to inspect the contents like his life depends on it.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, but there’s no heat behind it, only this helpless, fluttery feeling that refuses to settle.

He pulls out some instant tteokbokki packs and a few leftover side dishes, throwing them onto the counter with more force than necessary. “You’re lucky I’m nice. And talented. And devastatingly handsome,” he says, trying to claw back some ground.

Kai hums in mock consideration. “Two out of three’s not bad.”

Beomgyu turns to gape at him, hand pressed dramatically over his heart. “You wound me. Right here.”

“Want me to kiss it better?” Kai just grins, infuriatingly fond, and Beomgyu feels another wave of giddy, dizzy affection slam into him so hard he has to grab the edge of the counter again.

Beomgyu stands in the kitchen, preparing the dish with a bit more force than necessary, trying to distract himself from the way Kai is sitting on the couch, legs stretched out, flipping through their notes with that quiet intensity that Beomgyu has started to find both calming and... distracting. He tries not to think about it; how natural it feels to be here with Kai, to be making food for him like this. They’ve been working together for hours now, and somehow, the line between just being project partners and something else entirely has blurred in a way Beomgyu can’t quite put into words. He’s seen Kai laugh, seen him frown in concentration, watched him lose track of time as he dives into work. They’ve shared small moments of comfort, touches that started innocent but have become second nature, like when Kai rests his head against Beomgyu’s shoulder during class or leans into his space when they brainstorm. But none of it means anything, right?

It’s just part of the act. Beomgyu reminds himself again as he tosses the seasoning packet into the pan, the sizzle filling the silence between them. The bet was always the starting point. The plan was to get close, to get under Kai’s skin, to use the whole ‘flirt and see where it goes’ thing to mess with him, but somewhere along the way, Beomgyu’s gotten too good at the act. It feels too real now. He’s too comfortable around Kai; too comfortable touching him, too comfortable laughing with him, too comfortable with the way Kai looks at him sometimes like he’s more than just the guy from the bet. It’s all starting to feel too... natural. Like it’s slipping out of his control.

He distracts himself by bustling around the kitchen, heating up the food and pretending he’s not hyper-aware of every glance Kai throws his way. The small apartment fills with the familiar, spicy smell of simmering sauce, and somehow, that combined with Kai’s easy presence sprawled out on his couch makes everything feel too warm, too good.

When he plates the food onto two mismatched dishes and brings them over, Kai accepts his with a grateful, wide-eyed smile that makes Beomgyu’s stomach somersault all over again.

“This smells amazing,” Kai says, poking at the tteok with his chopsticks.

Beomgyu flops back onto the couch beside him, shoulder bumping Kai’s as he grins smugly. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

Kai shoots him a sidelong glance, all teasing and warmth. “Yeah. I’m starting to notice.”

And for once, Beomgyu doesn’t have a snarky comeback ready. He just sits there, eating spicy rice cakes side by side with Kai in the golden haze of the apartment’s dim lighting, feeling something unfamiliar and dangerous and good curling tight around his ribs. Maybe this is what normal feels like. Maybe this is what it feels like to actually want someone for more than just a quick fix.

The next two weeks pass in a blur of music and laughter, late nights and early mornings, the kind of steady, easy rhythm that only happens when two people fall into each other's orbits so naturally it feels inevitable.

At first, it’s all work. They meet up almost every day, either at Beomgyu’s apartment or on campus, sometimes dragging Yeonjun along if he’s free. Yeonjun, ever the self-proclaimed "artistic visionary," mostly spends those sessions sprawled dramatically across Beomgyu’s couch or slouched in a studio chair, making sweeping, vague gestures about “a vibe” and leaving Kai and Beomgyu to do the actual heavy lifting. Neither of them really mind.

They work well together, in that unspoken way that doesn’t need a lot of words. Beomgyu plays rough drafts of beats he’s been piecing together late at night; Kai listens carefully, head bobbing to the rhythm, giving thoughtful, precise feedback that makes Beomgyu’s heart full every time. Kai brings his guitar sometimes, sitting cross-legged on Beomgyu’s living room floor, plucking out melodies with a furrowed brow and soft hums under his breath. Beomgyu watches him more than he should, always caught somewhere between admiration and something sweeter, deeper.

Some days, Soobin joins them too, lounging around half-listening while scrolling on his phone or tossing commentary from the kitchen with a bowl of cereal in hand. Beomgyu makes endless fun of him, and Kai laughs so much his sides hurt. Somewhere along the way, between the endless cups of convenience store coffee and late-night ramen runs, the awkwardness that clung to those first few meetings melts away. It’s replaced by something warmer, something stitched together with shared jokes and lingering touches that neither of them bother to pull away from anymore.

It starts small. Beomgyu slinging an arm lazily around Kai’s shoulders when he’s explaining an idea, tugging him closer so he can point something out on his laptop. Kai tapping Beomgyu’s knee with his foot under the table when he’s zoning out, their ankles hooking together without thinking.

Then bigger things. Beomgyu leaning his full weight against Kai during lectures when he’s too tired to keep himself upright, head dropping onto Kai’s shoulder with a heavy sigh. Kai never protests, just tilts his head slightly so Beomgyu can get comfortable, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Winter bites sharper with each passing day, and Beomgyu learns pretty quickly that Kai’s ears are ridiculously sensitive to the cold. The first time he notices, Kai’s shivering slightly as they wait for the bus, tugging his beanie lower with a scowl. Without thinking, Beomgyu pulls off one glove and cups his hands around Kai’s ears, shielding them from the wind. Kai startles, cheeks flaring pink, but he doesn’t pull away. He just mumbles something under his breath about “being dramatic” while leaning a tiny bit closer anyway. After that, it becomes a thing, Beomgyu warming Kai’s ears with his hands anytime they’re outside too long, grinning to himself when Kai grumbles but doesn’t move.

And then there are the nights at Beomgyu’s apartment, when they’re both too tired to bother pretending they’re just hanging out for work. Kai curls up on the couch with his laptop, socks mismatched and a blanket half-falling off his lap. Beomgyu taps away at his MIDI keyboard for a while, but his attention always drifts back to Kai, to the way his eyes grow heavy-lidded as the hours drag on.

The first time it happens, Kai passes out mid-conversation, his head slowly sliding down until it lands, warm and heavy, in Beomgyu’s lap. Beomgyu freezes, fingers hovering in the air like he’s not sure whether he’s allowed to move. Then Kai sighs in his sleep, face peaceful and open in a way Beomgyu’s never really seen before, and something inside Beomgyu just... softens. He carefully shifts, settling in, one hand finding its way to Kai’s hair without thinking, carding through the soft strands with slow, absentminded strokes.

It keeps happening after that. Kai dozing off on Beomgyu’s lap, or against his shoulder, or even just curled up beside him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Beomgyu never wakes him. He just sits there quietly, feeling something tender and a little terrifying bloom bigger and bigger inside his chest.

They’re comfortable now, in ways Beomgyu didn’t even realise he craved. He doesn’t have to be "the charming one", doesn’t have to make a joke every five seconds or flirt until his throat’s dry. He can just be, and Kai is right there with him, steady and warm and real in a way Beomgyu doesn’t think he’s ever had before. Sometimes, when Kai laughs too hard at one of Beomgyu’s dumb jokes and presses his face into Beomgyu’s shoulder to stifle it, or when their fingers brush across the same sheet of music and linger a second too long, Beomgyu feels it; this fragile, shimmering thing growing between them, delicate and real and terrifyingly precious.

He doesn’t know what it means yet, doesn’t know what to call it.

All he knows is that when he looks at Kai now, he doesn’t see a project partner, or a fling, or even just a friend.

He sees comfort personified, and it scares him more than anything else in the world. 

One evening, a few days before winter break officially starts, they’re back at Beomgyu’s apartment, half-heartedly working on a beat that keeps veering off into chaotic laughter instead of anything actually usable. The heater hums softly in the background, the windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside against the sharp cold outside. Kai’s stretched out on the floor, propped up on his elbows, squinting at his laptop, while Beomgyu lounges sideways across the couch, strumming absentmindedly on Kai’s abandoned guitar.

It’s late enough that the conversation drifts easily between work and nonsense, lazy and aimless in the way only really comfortable people can manage. Somewhere in the middle of a lull, as Beomgyu plucks a random chord, Kai glances up at him, an almost hesitant look passing over his face.

“Hey,” Kai says, voice casual but a little softer than usual. “Are you... going home for break?”

Beomgyu’s fingers still over the strings. He keeps his face blank, shrugs one shoulder, pretending like the question doesn’t tighten something low in his chest. “Dunno,” he says lightly. “Haven’t really thought about it.”

It’s a lie, obviously. He thinks about it all the time. About how going home feels like walking into a house that doesn’t really have space for him anymore, how it’s easier sometimes not to go at all, but he doesn’t want to dump that on Kai. He can’t risk dragging the mood down when everything between them has been so easy, so light.

Kai studies him for a second longer than feels normal, like he can sense the avoidance even if Beomgyu’s trying to act casual. Beomgyu picks at a string absently, keeping his eyes down.

“What about you?” he asks, trying to deflect it back, voice pitched bright and teasing. “You heading home?”

“Yeah,” Kai says, his mouth tugging into a small, shy smile. “I’m visiting my dad. Just for a few days.”

Beomgyu nods, already feeling the conversation slipping safely away from him, but then– after a tiny pause, Kai shifts, sitting up a little straighter, fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie like he’s working up the courage to say something.

“You can, um–” Kai clears his throat, not meeting Beomgyu’s eyes. “You can come with me if you want.”

The words hit harder than Beomgyu expects, knocking the air right out of him for a second. He blinks, looking over at Kai properly now. Kai’s cheeks are pink, his hands tugging nervously at the hem of his hoodie, like he’s half-expecting Beomgyu to laugh it off.

But Beomgyu doesn’t laugh – he can’t. Not when something is aching so sharply inside his chest he doesn’t even have a name for it.

Kai invited him. Just like that. Without thinking too hard about it, without asking for anything back. Just... offering, like it was the most normal thing in the world to want Beomgyu around. Like Beomgyu being with him, being part of his life, wasn’t something strange or inconvenient.

It shakes Beomgyu more than he’s ready for.

“You don’t have to,” Kai adds quickly, voice a little rushed, a little embarrassed. “It’s just, you know, if you’re not going home, and if you don’t have plans or anything, I thought maybe...” He trails off, ducking his head.

Beomgyu swallows around the lump forming in his throat, forcing a laugh, trying to cover up the fact that his heart feels like it’s breaking open inside his ribs.

“Yeah,” he says, quieter than he means to. He clears his throat, tries again, aiming for casual. “Yeah, I mean. If you’re sure.”

Kai lifts his head, finally meeting Beomgyu’s eyes, and smiles; small, a little shy, but real. It’s the kind of smile that feels like sunlight on skin, warm and too much all at once.

“I’m sure,” Kai says simply.

Beomgyu can’t find it in himself to listen to the nagging voice deep in his brain, telling him to stop taking this further than he already has.

Notes:

oop🫨 the next 1-2 chapters will be beomkai at kai's childhood home so it's going to be super fun watching gyu's interactions with kai's dad🙂‍↕️ i have a lot of activities planned for them so it's going to be really fun watching them get even closer hehe (while completely ignoring the looming dread of the whole bet thing lol)

hope you liked the update and as always, let me know your thoughts in the comment section! your comments really give me motivation to continue bc it lets me know that you guys are still interested!!

thank you so much for reading, hope you liked the update!! feel free to come talk about anything txt over on my twitter at @koostiddy <3

Chapter 5

Summary:

“So, wait–” Soobin’s voice is tight now, his disbelief growing. “You followed Kai home for winter break? All because you thought this would work in your favour when it comes to the bet?”

Beomgyu’s heart pounds louder in his chest as the realisation sinks in, the weight of Soobin’s words making everything feel even more real. “Yeah. I did.”

A heavy silence stretches between them, and Beomgyu can feel Soobin processing everything, the pieces falling into place. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and neither does Beomgyu. He just stares out into the dark, trying to put his thoughts together, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened.

Notes:

i decided to break this update up into different chapters because it's way too long lol, so expect the next few chapters to all be about their winter break!! enjoy the update hehe <3

🧸

 

Beomgyu arrives first, miraculously, for once in his life early and actually a little proud of it. The station is busy but not overcrowded, the sky a pale silver stretched over the city like thin paper, and the wind nips at his cheeks as he waits by the entrance. He shuffles his feet a little, scarf pulled high over his mouth, eyes scanning the footpath every few seconds even though their bus isn’t due for another half hour. His hands are stuffed into his coat pockets, gloves on but still a little cold, and despite the chill, he can feel the warmth building in his chest the moment he spots Kai emerging from the subway exit, big overnight bag slung over one shoulder and his jacket zipped all the way up like he’s trying to become one with it.

“Look who’s late,” Beomgyu calls out, smirking under his scarf as Kai approaches.

Kai scoffs, lifting a mittened hand in mock offence. “It’s literally 5:07. I said 5:30.”

“You said to arrive ‘around five’ which, if you knew anything about language, implies you should arrive at five,” Beomgyu shoots back, already turning to walk in the direction of the convenience store. Kai falls into step beside him without needing to be asked.

“That doesn’t make any sense and you being early is actually terrifying,” Kai mutters, glancing at him with a teasing side-eye. “Are you dying? Are you sick? Blink twice if you need help.”

Beomgyu elbows him lightly. “I’m just responsible and punctual now. Growth.”

Kai snorts. “Right. That’s definitely it.”

The convenience store isn’t far – just across the street from the station – but somehow the walk stretches in that comfortable way it does when you’re in no rush and with the right person. The cold nips at them as they cross the road, and Beomgyu doesn’t miss the way Kai shivers subtly, rubbing his gloved hands together.

“You didn’t bring a scarf?” Beomgyu says, appalled. “Do you want to freeze to death?”

“I forgot,” Kai admits, sounding almost sheepish. “I was rushing. And I didn’t think it’d be this cold.”

Beomgyu heaves a dramatic sigh as they step under the warmth of the convenience store’s awning. “You’re hopeless.”

Kai grins, nudging him lightly. “And yet, here you are. Choosing to hang out with me during your precious winter break.”

“You basically begged me to come,” Beomgyu says, reaching for the door. “I’m just being charitable.”

Kai scoffs in mock offense, his hand on his chest. “You wound me.”

Inside, it’s warm and brightly lit, the smell of instant ramen and grilled fish cakes filling the small space. They fan out in opposite directions for snacks, calling suggestions over the aisles.

“Do you want chips or something sweet?” Kai asks, already reaching for a familiar yellow bag of honey butter crisps.

“Both,” Beomgyu replies immediately. “Also, we need the hot canned coffee. It’s like, a must at this point.”

Kai makes a face. “You only like it because the heat feels good on your fingers.”

“I like it because it’s convenient and makes me look cool when I crack it open like a K-drama lead,” Beomgyu says, sauntering over to grab two cans from the heated display. “Here. For your dramatic bus station aesthetic.”

Kai accepts the can with a small smile, brushing their fingers together for a second too long. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

They step outside again and linger just to the side, where the wind isn’t quite as biting. Beomgyu opens the crisps and tilts the bag in Kai’s direction. Kai, predictably, takes a handful without hesitation.

And that’s when Beomgyu notices it; Kai’s ears, already going a little pink at the tips, vulnerable to the cold.

“You’re actually unbelievable,” Beomgyu mutters, rolling his eyes. He tugs off his scarf and, without any grace, loops it around both of their necks, crowding closer as he tucks it neatly beneath Kai’s chin.

The moment Beomgyu secures the scarf around both their necks, it brings them inescapably close; close enough that he can feel Kai’s breath warm against his cheek, can see the faint mist of it curling between them in the cold air. Kai’s taller, and it’s never really mattered before, but now Beomgyu is achingly aware of it. For once, he feels small in the space they share, not in a way that makes him feel lesser, but in a way that makes him feel... held. Like he could stay right here, tucked into this sliver of warmth between them, and not have to keep performing whatever version of himself he usually projects into the world.

He keeps his hands busy with the scarf, pretending he’s focused on the placement, but his eyes betray him. They flit upward, and suddenly he’s counting Kai’s lashes – long, dark, ridiculous. He notices the mole just under his left brow, the one on his nose, and another on his cheek, soft freckles dotting skin he hadn’t realised he’d memorised. It’s stupid, how close and intimate it all feels, how easy it would be to let it get to him, so he doesn't let it. He clears his throat, forces his gaze away, because the alternative is letting Kai see the way his pulse is thudding loud in his throat, betraying everything he's trying to deny.

Kai blinks, surprised and bashful. “What are you doing?”

“Saving your life,” Beomgyu deadpans. “And mine, because if your ears fall off from frostbite, I’ll be emotionally scarred.”

Kai laughs, his breath misting between them. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

But Beomgyu’s not done. “Wait.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the earmuffs he’s been carrying all morning – plain black, slightly fuzzy. “Bought these. You always get cold and whiny about your ears. I figured I’d save myself the suffering.”

Kai stares at him, almost bewildered. “You bought earmuffs. For me.”

“Shut up and take them,” Beomgyu says quickly, looking anywhere but at Kai’s face. “It’s not a big deal.”

Kai slips them on, adjusting them with a smile. Then, teasingly, “I still think I prefer your hands.”

The words make his heart thud harder than it should. Beomgyu stiffens just slightly, his laugh coming a little forced. “Well, they’re booked up. Very exclusive.”

“Shame,” Kai murmurs, quiet and genuine. “Thanks, though. Really.”

Beomgyu nods, eyes fixed on a spot over Kai’s shoulder. His heart is doing something stupid in his chest again, racing like he’s just sprinted here from home instead of standing still in the cold. He doesn’t know what to say, so he takes a sip of his coffee instead, letting the warmth buzz through him and trying – failing – not to smile. The smallness of the moment, the domesticity of it, hits Beomgyu a little harder than he expects. He doesn’t know why. They’ve spent hours together before, late into the night at his flat, the two of them flopped over each other on the sofa half the time, heads bent over Yeonjun’s moodboard or Beomgyu’s synth pad, but something about this is different. Maybe because it’s not school. Maybe because this isn’t about a project anymore. This is Kai’s world, and for some reason, he’s been invited in.

The bus is already idling by the curb when they finally make their way back to the station, a low mechanical hum blending with the occasional hiss of exhaust in the crisp winter air. It’s 5:20, the sky bruised with the last colours of daylight, tinged orange and deepening blue. Beomgyu glances at the time on his phone, then up at the digital sign flickering above the windshield. “This one’s ours,” he says, nudging Kai lightly with his shoulder. His voice sounds light, playful – like it always is – but there's a strange sort of pressure building behind his ribs, tight and unfamiliar. They board, show their tickets to the conductor, and the moment the doors shut behind them with a mechanical thud, that pressure shifts, anchoring itself deep in his chest.

They settle into a pair of seats toward the middle, their bags tucked securely in the boot of the bus. The windows are already beginning to fog at the edges from the collective breath of passengers, their reflections smeared against the glass in passing streetlights. Beomgyu leans his temple to the cold pane, but he’s not really looking outside. His mind’s too loud and too full. Each time Kai shifts beside him, even slightly, Beomgyu feels it like a static jolt down his spine. He can’t remember the last time he was this aware of someone’s presence without it being part of the act. That was what this was supposed to be, right? An act. Something shallow and simple, all surface. Nothing that would sink its teeth into him like this.

Because this isn’t the plan. This isn’t just flirtation anymore. It’s not about teasing smiles and brushing fingers and seeing how far he can push things before Kai breaks. This is him sitting on a warm bus at dusk, on his way to meet Kai’s dad. His dad. Beomgyu’s never been invited into someone’s life like this before, not for real, not without an ulterior motive on both sides, and Kai, trusting and soft around the edges, is letting him in so easily. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything. Beomgyu swallows around the lump rising in his throat, blinking hard at the streaks of light flickering past the window. He hadn’t meant to get this deep. He’d never meant to make this real.

But maybe it already is.

Maybe it’s been real since Kai fell asleep on his lap that one afternoon, soft hair brushing against Beomgyu’s fingers as he scrolled absently through his notes. Maybe it was real when he bought those stupid earmuffs. Maybe it’s real now, in the way his heart keeps lurching at every tiny sign of trust Kai throws his way, unknowing and undeserved, and now he’s here, riding this bus like some twisted parody of a boyfriend, scarf still wrapped loosely around them both, the faint smell of Kai’s shampoo embedded into the wool. This wasn’t in the script. This wasn’t part of the game. This isn’t about the million won anymore, no matter how much he tries to pretend it is. What scares Beomgyu most isn’t the blurring lines or the guilt blooming in his chest; it’s the fact that, for the first time, he doesn’t want to pull away, and he doesn’t want to stop.

He glances sideways at Kai, who’s fiddling with his sleeves, his gaze flicking across the bus as if lost in his own thoughts. Beomgyu wonders what he’s thinking. Wonders what he’ll feel if – when – he finds out that Beomgyu hadn’t come into this clean, that there was a motive, that there was a dare. The weight of it makes Beomgyu’s stomach twist, but still, he doesn’t say anything.

He just leans his head back against the glass and lets the bus carry him forward, deeper into Kai’s world. The bus hums steadily beneath them, the soft vibration of tyres against asphalt offering a strange kind of comfort. The quiet between them is warm, stretched over the shared scarf and the gentle weight of expectation that neither of them dares to speak aloud. Beomgyu lets himself soak in the quiet; Kai’s presence, the muted blur of headlights flickering through the window, the faint scent of soap and fabric softener clinging to Kai’s coat. He’s just about to let himself drift into that soft, suspended space when Kai shifts, turning slightly towards him.

His voice is soft, hesitant, barely louder than the hum of the heater. “You know, I’ve never brought anyone home before.”

Beomgyu’s head turns slowly. Kai’s eyes are still fixed on the glass, watching the scenery blur past, his chin resting on the bundled scarf looped between them. He sounds like he’s saying it to the window, like if he doesn’t look directly at Beomgyu, it won’t sound as vulnerable. “Except Yeonjun hyung, of course,” Kai adds after a pause, with a small, self-conscious laugh. “He’s basically my dad’s second son.”

The knot in Beomgyu’s chest tightens so suddenly it steals his breath. He doesn’t know what to say at first, can’t think through the white noise rushing in his ears. “Oh,” he manages eventually, voice quieter than he intends. It’s a stupid response, hollow and small, but it’s all he can muster because all at once, the weight of what he’s doing hits him again. This was never meant to matter, but now it does. Now it really does.

Kai scratches at the back of his neck, the movement a little awkward, like he’s trying to fill the silence. “Yeah. So, um. Sorry if it’s a bit underwhelming. My house isn’t really... anything special. It’s not that big, and I don’t have a lot, so just, like– don’t expect anything fancy, yeah?”

Beomgyu turns to him fully now, legs shifting so his knee knocks gently against Kai’s. “Yah,” he says, sharper than he means to, but his grin softens it. “Stop that.”

Kai blinks, startled, and finally meets his eyes.

Beomgyu shrugs, forcing levity into his tone even as something swells painfully tight in his chest. “It’s already a massive deal that you’re letting me in. You think I care about the size of your house?” He nudges Kai again, this time with purpose. “I’m basically living out a once-in-a-lifetime fantasy here, being invited into the ever so mysterious world of Huening Kai. It’s like seeing a unicorn. Don’t ruin the magic.”

Kai lets out a surprised laugh, bright and brief, but his eyes are soft. He looks down, a little bashful now, fiddling with the frayed end of the scarf between them. And Beomgyu? He laughs too, but it feels hollow in his own ears because all the while, underneath the humour, underneath the easy banter and warmth, something sharp and cold carves into his ribs: guilt. Deep and gnawing and impossible to ignore.

Kai trusts him. He’s never brought anyone home before.

So why him?

Why, when this was never supposed to be real?

Beomgyu looks away, heart hammering behind his ribs. He wants to deserve this. God, he wants to deserve this so badly, but the truth – that ugly, nagging truth – won’t stop hissing in the back of his mind.

You’re only here because of a bet.

At exactly 5:30, the bus gives a low groan and rumbles to life beneath them. The brakes sigh, releasing a sharp hiss into the winter air, and with a juddering lurch forward, the vehicle begins its crawl out of the station. Through the slightly fogged windows, the streetlamps glow soft and gold, smearing against the glass like watercolour. The city outside starts to peel away – brick buildings, neon signs, shopfronts already shutting for the night – all slipping quietly into the distance. It’s not a long trip, just a little over an hour according to the timetable, but as the lights dim overhead and the heater begins to fill the cabin with a low, steady warmth, Beomgyu feels like they’ve stepped into a space outside of time. The world slows and shrinks and narrows down to this tiny, moving cocoon.

He shifts slightly in his seat, the vinyl cool beneath his hands, and glances at Kai from the corner of his eye. The other boy is slouched low, legs stretched out and head tilted gently. His lashes flutter with the effort of staying awake, but his posture is gradually sinking, spine slackening, breath slower. His hand rests palm-up on his thigh, fingers slightly curled, and there’s something so innocently unguarded about the way he sits, shoulders brushing Beomgyu’s now and then as the bus weaves through traffic. It tugs at something in Beomgyu’s chest; an odd, quiet ache he doesn’t have a name for.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches. The rise and fall of Kai’s chest, the way the city lights flash soft gold across his cheekbone, the curl of hair brushing his forehead. There’s no performance here. No teasing smirk, no camera-ready expression. Just Kai, exactly as he is. Tired, trusting, and warm. Beomgyu’s fingers twitch in his lap before he realises what he’s doing, then, without thinking much at all, he leans closer and gently tugs at Kai’s sleeve.

Kai blinks open his eyes, bleary and unfocused. “Hm?”

Beomgyu offers a lopsided smile, one corner of his mouth pulling up without his permission. “Come here,” he says, voice low, coaxing. He shifts in his seat to make room, patting his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Kai hesitates for half a second – just half – and then lets out a soft breath and leans in. The weight of his head lands against Beomgyu’s shoulder with startling ease. Familiar like it’s happened before, like it’s always been this way. Beomgyu stills completely, the warmth of Kai’s cheek seeping through his jacket, the tickle of his hair brushing Beomgyu’s jaw.

“Sleep,” Beomgyu murmurs, barely above a whisper. The word slips out before he can filter it, gentle and certain, as if Kai belongs here.

Kai doesn’t fight it. He exhales slowly, breath brushing the side of Beomgyu’s neck, and lets himself go. His body goes heavy with sleep, head nestling in deeper. Within minutes, his breathing evens out, the slow rhythm of it syncing with the movement of the bus and the low hum of tyres on asphalt.

Beomgyu doesn’t move.

He stays like that, hands limp in his lap, back a little too straight, like the moment he shifts even slightly, it’ll all vanish; Kai’s warmth, the closeness, the quiet permission of it all. His gaze hovers above Kai’s head at first, staring vacantly out the opposite window at the blurred lights and skeletal trees slipping past in the early winter dusk, but eventually, inevitably, his eyes drift down.

He studies Kai’s face – really studies it – and something in his chest tightens painfully. He takes in the length of Kai’s lashes, the soft downturn of his mouth, the little mole beneath his left brow. He’s seen it before, of course, but never like this. Never up close, never in a moment this still, this vulnerable. The shadows shift across Kai’s face as they pass beneath the orange haze of a streetlamp, and for a fleeting second, Beomgyu thinks he might drown in it; this quiet intimacy he wasn’t meant to be part of.

It feels too raw. Too real.

Because there’s no audience here. No Yeonjun watching, no Soobin frowning in the background. No classmates whispering about how charming Beomgyu is, how easy he makes it all look, how weird it is that Beomgyu’s friends with the quiet kid. There’s only the two of them, side by side, breathing in sync in the hush of a half-full bus. For once, the performance doesn’t exist, and that scares him because it feels good – too good – and worse… it feels right.

His jaw clenches, throat thick. He tries to focus on anything else. The rhythmic sway of the bus. The condensation on the window. The crumpled snack wrapper in the aisle. Anything but Kai’s warmth soaking into his side. Anything but the way his heart beats stupidly hard for no reason at all, because this isn’t supposed to mean anything.

It was just a stupid bet. A joke. Something cocky and careless said in the middle of a lazy afternoon when the stakes felt low and Kai felt like a safe target. He’s supposed to flirt and tease, laugh when it gets too serious. Not sit on a quiet bus with Kai curled against him like a secret, like a promise. Not feel his chest crack open every time Kai trusts him a little more.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

He doesn’t check it immediately. Just closes his eyes for a second and breathes, trying to shake the guilt coiling low in his stomach. Then, reluctantly, he pulls it out.

 

Soobin hyung

hey i came back to the dorm to get something and you weren't there
are you in daegu already?

 

Beomgyu stares at the screen. His thumb hovers. He doesn’t type anything.

He can already hear Soobin’s voice in his head; wary, disappointed. Telling him again that he’s playing with fire. That he’s messing with someone who doesn’t deserve it. That this is wrong, and it is, but Beomgyu doesn’t want to hear it. Not right now. Not when Kai is asleep beside him, trusting him without question. Not when the guilt is already gnawing its way through his chest like rust through metal. He turns the phone face-down in his lap and leans his head back against the seat.

Outside, the world keeps moving, but in here, in this fragile quiet, everything feels like it’s slowing down. Everything feels like it’s changing, and Beomgyu doesn’t know how to stop it.

An hour later, the bus gives a tired groan as it slows to a halt, a final wheeze of air hissing from its brakes. The lights of the station cast a dull yellow glow across the pavement outside, shadows stretching beneath the glow of nearby street lamps. Beomgyu shifts in his seat, lifting his head from where it had tilted slightly during the ride. Beside him, Kai is still slumped against his shoulder, breathing slow and even, face softened in sleep. He hates to ruin the moment but they’ve arrived.

Beomgyu nudges him gently with a knuckle against his arm. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice low, almost reluctant. “We’re here.”

Kai stirs with a faint sound – somewhere between a groan and a sigh – and blinks up at him with sleep-bleary eyes. There’s a beat where he doesn’t seem to recognise where he is, gaze darting to the fogged window, then back to Beomgyu like he’s trying to piece it together.

“Oh,” Kai breathes, rubbing at one eye. “Already?”

“Yeah. Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” Beomgyu says, keeping his voice light, though he can’t help the way his heart feels a little heavy as Kai lifts his head. The shared warmth between them disappears, and it leaves a faint chill in its place.

They gather their things quietly and shuffle off the bus – not forgetting to fetch their overnight bags from the boot – met instantly by the bite of winter air. The scarf still looped around both their necks flutters slightly in the wind, and Beomgyu reaches up instinctively, tightening it around Kai’s neck with a small tug. His fingers brush against Kai’s collar as he adjusts it, and it feels stupidly intimate, something small and ordinary that somehow sends a ripple through his chest. The cold is sharp enough to sting his cheeks, turning his breath visible but the scarf is warm. Kai is warm.

Kai zips up his bag, slinging it over one shoulder. “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk,” he says, voice muffled slightly by the wool. He puts his earmuffs back on, having fell off while he was sleeping, covering his ears. “Not too bad. Sorry, I know it’s freezing.”

“I’ll live,” Beomgyu says, shoving his gloved hands into his coat pockets. “Besides, I’ve got a scarf. A very fashionable one, if I may add.”

Kai rolls his eyes, nudging him with an elbow. “Shut up. That’s my scarf too now, remember?”

“I’m letting you borrow it out of pity.”

“Please,” Kai scoffs, grinning. “You practically begged to share it.”

They fall into step together, shoulders bumping every now and again. The street around them is quieter than the city they’ve left behind; wider roads, fewer lights, fewer people. The shops lining the pavement are mostly closed for the evening, shutters down and windows darkened, but they give the area a lived-in feeling.

As they pass a narrow shop with faded pink signage and fogged-up windows, Kai gestures at it with his chin. “That place? Used to stop by every day after school for tteokbokki. Always burnt my tongue ‘cause I couldn’t wait for it to cool. The owner has this tiny dog that barks at literally everyone except me.”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, half-impressed. “Of course it doesn’t bark at you. Even dogs are charmed by Huening Kai.”

Kai smirks. “Obviously.”

They walk a little further before Kai points out another spot. “See that PC bang over there? I used to sneak in after cram school. Stayed way too long most nights. Dad thought I was studying at a friend’s place.”

Beomgyu gives him a look. “So you were a little rebel.”

“Only a bit.” He shrugs, not quite sheepish. “Didn’t get caught until I failed a maths test.”

“And the punishment?”

Kai winces. “No computer for a month. It was torture.”

Beomgyu snorts. “Truly tragic.”

As they continue on, Kai’s stories come one after the other; memories tied to corners and buildings Beomgyu would’ve walked past without a second thought. A now-closed bakery where the owner used to give him extra egg tarts on rainy days. The cracked footpath near the park where he once tripped and split his lip open. The old vending machine behind a convenience store that used to swallow his coins and never give him his drink. Each story is a glimpse into something deeper. Not the polished version of Kai everyone else sees at school – the shy yet talented boy who seems to always keep to himself – but the quiet details that make up his world. There’s a fondness in his voice as he speaks, like he’s brushing dust off old photos only he knows how to interpret.

Beomgyu listens quietly, not interrupting much, offering the occasional joke or reaction, but mostly just... absorbing, and etting it settle in him, and that’s what makes it dangerous; how easily he wants to know more, how he wants to stay in this walk, in this conversation, in this closeness that feels too comfortable, too natural, too far removed from the ridiculous reason he’s here in the first place despite the biting cold.

They turn a final corner, and Kai falls silent. His steps slow. Beomgyu glances at him, following his gaze to the small apartment building at the end of the block. It’s modest; three storeys tall, the kind of off-white paint that’s faded to grey over the years. The entrance is narrow, the stair railing rusted in places, but there’s a light on in the window of the second floor that glows faintly, soft against the dark sky. Kai’s shoulders inch upward, almost imperceptibly. His grip on the strap of his bag tightens.

Beomgyu knows that look. The tension creeping in. The quiet bracing of oneself. He doesn’t say anything right away, just exhales softly through his nose and lets the moment pass. Then, with an ease he doesn’t entirely feel, he says, “You weren’t lying when you said it’s a homey neighbourhood. I feel at home already.”

It’s not much, just a throwaway comment, but it’s enough.

Kai huffs out a laugh – relieved, a little breathless – and shoots him a quick glance, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, it definitely is.”

Just like that, the wall drops again. Not all the way, but enough. He leads Beomgyu through the entrance, up two flights of stairs that creak a little underfoot. The hallway smells faintly of old wood and something vaguely citrus – laundry detergent, maybe. Familiar in a way Beomgyu hadn’t expected.

At the end of the corridor, Kai stops in front of a weathered door, reaching into his pocket for a key. He hesitates again, but only for a moment. Then the key turns, and the moment the door swings open, a soft wash of light spills across the narrow hallway. It smells faintly of something homey – kimchi, and cooked rice – and Beomgyu barely has time to register the warmth of it before Kai is already stepping inside, toeing off his shoes in a way that suggests years of practiced muscle memory.

“I’m home,” Kai calls out, voice light but clear, echoing into the small apartment.

There’s a brief pause. Then–

“Kai?” A voice, warm and unmistakably familiar, filters from around the corner. A second later, a man’s head pokes out from the kitchen doorway, dark hair slightly mussed, an apron tied loosely around his waist. His eyes land on Kai and immediately, they light up.

There’s no other way to describe it. They light up. Kai’s dad is tall, taller than Kai, which feels almost unfair given how long-legged Kai already is. He has the same broad build and the same disarmingly soft features: big, expressive eyes that crinkle when he smiles, and a lopsided grin that Kai mirrors almost exactly. His hair is a little greyer at the temples, and his laugh lines are deeper, but it’s uncanny how alike they are. If Beomgyu didn’t know better, he might’ve thought he was looking at a glimpse of Kai ten or twenty years from now. Despite his height and broad shoulders, there’s nothing imposing about him. Instead, he gives off the air of a gentle giant, someone who’d rather hug than scold, who holds Kai like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever been entrusted with, and when he speaks – fluent Korean, effortlessly local despite his clearly Caucasian features – there’s no hesitation, no stiffness. Just warmth. All warmth.

“Oh, there you are, I was wondering when you’d arrive,” Kai's dad beams, his face lighting up with a wide, relieved grin as he pulls Kai into a tight hug, the kind only a father can give; full of warmth, security, and unconditional love. “Hey, kiddo. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, dad,” Kai replies, voice dripping with fondness. “I’m so glad you got time off from work.”

His dad hums, but his attention is already drifting as he steps away from Kai, eyes scanning his son from head to toe like he’s checking for frostbite. He immediately closes the short distance between them, reaching up to cup Kai’s face in his hands. “You’re freezing,” he scolds gently. “Look at your nose. Red as a tomato. Did you not wear enough layers? Your ears feel like ice!”

“I wore layers,” Kai insists, muffled slightly by the way his dad’s hands are squishing his cheeks. “We shared a scarf.”

Beomgyu stands awkwardly in the entryway, watching the whole scene unfold like an intruder peeking in through someone’s window. He doesn’t mean to stare, but something about the way Kai leans into his dad’s touch like it’s the most natural thing in the world feels like it pins him in place.

Because his chest aches.

It’s a dull thing at first, barely noticeable, but then it sharpens; this tiny, unfair pang that blooms quietly beneath his ribs. Not jealousy, exactly. Just a slow, inevitable ache that creeps in through the cracks when he realises his father has never looked at him like that. Has never lit up just at the sight of him walking through the door. Has never fussed over how cold his cheeks are, or whether he’s been eating well, or whether he’s warm enough on the ride home. He waves the thought away before it can settle. Shoves it down, buries it deep. Now’s not the time.

Kai’s dad finally seems to notice the extra pair of shoes by the door, and his gaze lifts with a flicker of surprise. “Oh! Sorry,” he says, eyes settling on Beomgyu. “Didn’t even see you there.”

Kai shifts aside, reaching back to gently tug Beomgyu forward by the sleeve. “Dad, this is Beomgyu. The friend I told you about.”

Beomgyu offers a polite bow, one hand still clutching the strap of his bag. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

But instead of responding with the usual nod or handshake, Kai’s dad’s face brightens even more. “So you’re Beomgyu!” he exclaims, like he’s just found something he’d been looking forward to all week. “I feel like I already know you. Kai never shuts up about you.”

“Dad,” Kai groans, but there’s no real bite to it.

Beomgyu’s smile is small, polite, a little tight around the edges, but before he can say anything else, Kai’s dad steps forward and without hesitation, pulls him into a hug.

It’s warm and strong. The kind of hug you fall into without having to think. No half-hearted pats or awkward stiffness. Just full, open-armed sincerity, the kind Beomgyu has never been on the receiving end of from someone else’s parent – let alone his own.

For a second, he freezes, caught off guard by the sheer familiarity of it. Then, slowly, without meaning to, he relaxes. Lets himself sink into the embrace just for a moment. Just long enough to imagine what it might be like to be held like this all the time; welcomed without reservation, expected and wanted – a feeling he’s very much a stranger to.

He feels his throat go a little tight.

Kai’s dad pulls back after a second, hands resting briefly on Beomgyu’s shoulders. “Come in, come in. You must be freezing. I’ve got the heater on, and I was just cooking some food. You boys must be hungry.”

“A bit,” Kai says as he kicks off his shoes. “Thanks, Dad.”

As they move inside, Kai shrugs off his coat and hangs it by the door. It’s clearly routine; the way Kai helps clear space by the low shoe rack, how he instinctively flicks on the hallway light, how he doesn’t even need to be told where things go. They move around each other with the ease of people who’ve shared years under the same roof.

Beomgyu trails behind, slower, watching it all with something like awe tugging at the edges of his chest. There’s a wordless kind of love in the way they exist together; effortless, unspoken, and quiet. It sits heavily in the space between them, warm and whole and complete. He doesn’t say much. Just stands there for a beat longer, like maybe if he breathes deep enough, he can keep some of it with him; the smell of food, the sound of slippers scuffing against linoleum, the soft murmur of Kai’s voice followed by his father’s laugh.

“You boys go ahead and settle down, I just have to finish waiting for this to cook,” Kai’s dad calls from the kitchen, voice light and easy over the gentle sizzle of something on the stove.

Kai nods, then turns to Beomgyu with a small, almost shy smile. “Come on,” he says, motioning with a tilt of his head. “I’ll show you my room.”

Beomgyu follows him down the short hallway, the walls lined with a few family photos and a slightly crooked mirror. There’s a familiarity in the way Kai walks here; no hesitation in his steps, no caution. This is his world, his space, and Beomgyu finds himself strangely honoured to be invited into it. Kai pushes open a door and steps aside to let Beomgyu in first. It’s a small room, plainly furnished; a desk cluttered with pens and half-read books, a corkboard speckled with photos and concert tickets, shelves full of plushies and folded jumpers. There’s barely enough space for the two of them to stand without brushing shoulders, but the real problem becomes apparent the second Kai steps in after him and goes very, very still.

Beomgyu hears it first; the quiet, breathless, “Shit.”

He blinks. Then turns. “Did you just curse?”

Kai’s eyes are wide, panicked, as he stares at the bed.

The single bed.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I– shit, I didn’t even think. I forgot we don’t have a guest bed. I mean, we used to, but Dad moved it out after my– oh my god.”

Beomgyu stares at the mattress in question. It’s small, barely wide enough for one person to stretch out comfortably, never mind two grown boys. Then he looks at Kai, who’s now pacing a slow, agitated circle in the tiny space between the bed and the desk.

“I can’t believe I forgot,” Kai mutters, clearly mortified. “You can’t sleep on the couch, it’s too short, and the springs are awful and– and you shouldn’t have to anyway. I should’ve thought. I didn’t even– ugh.”

Beomgyu watches him spiral, then lifts a hand and cuts in, voice calm. “Hey. It’s okay.”

Kai looks at him like he’s just been offered a life raft. “What?”

Beomgyu shrugs, casually tossing his bag onto the floor. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t mind sharing.”

“Are you sure?” Kai asks quickly, eyes searching his face for even the smallest sign of discomfort. “Like, really sure? It’s tiny. You’ll probably have like, half an inch of space. I roll around a lot. I might kick you.”

“I’ve survived worse,” Beomgyu says easily, shooting him a crooked grin. “Plus, this is clearly just an elaborate scheme to lure me into your bed. Bold move, Huening Kai. Very subtle.”

Kai chokes on a laugh, his horror giving way to indignation. “Oh my god– shut up,” he groans, grabbing the nearest pillow and launching it at Beomgyu’s face.

It hits him with a satisfying thump, muffling his laugh as he tosses it right back. “I knew it. Classic seduction strategy. Bet Yeonjun hyung taught you this one.”

Kai snorts, catching the pillow mid-air before shaking his head. “You’re the worst,” he mutters, though the flush on his cheeks says otherwise.

They begin to unpack with Beomgyu spreading out his charger and change of clothes in the corner Kai offers him, while Kai tries to make space on the cramped desk without knocking over half a dozen plushies in the process.

“I seriously didn’t mean to–” Kai starts again, sheepish, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Stop it,” Beomgyu says, pointing at him. “If you apologise one more time, I’m sleeping on you, not just next to you.”

Kai sputters, half laughing, half scandalised. “That’s not allowed!”

“I’m not hearing a no,” Beomgyu sing-songs.

Kai grabs the pillow again. “I swear to god–”

“Violence. Wow. You lure me here under false pretences, trap me in a tiny bed, and threaten me?”

Kai grins despite himself, throwing the pillow half-heartedly at Beomgyu’s hip. “You’re unbelievable.”

Beomgyu tosses it back onto the bed, finally sitting down beside it with a heavy, satisfied sigh. “And yet here I am. Willingly sharing a mattress with the guy who owns way too many Molang plushies.”

“They’re not all Molang, I’ve got penguins and other animals too.”

He looks over at Kai, who’s standing awkwardly by the doorway now, eyes flicking to the bed like it’s still a point of guilt, and something in Beomgyu softens.

“Seriously,” he says, tone gentler now, sincere. “It’s okay, Kai. Really.”

Kai’s shoulders ease at last, the tension in them fading like breath on glass. “Okay,” he murmurs, and this time, he lets himself believe it. “Okay.”

Just as Beomgyu’s starting to adjust to the idea of sharing a too-small bed with Kai – and trying very hard not to think about it too much – a voice calls out from the kitchen.

“Food’s ready, boys!”

Kai perks up immediately. “Coming!” he calls back, already halfway to the door. He glances over his shoulder at Beomgyu. “C’mon. You’re not gonna want to miss this.”

Beomgyu trails after him into the softly lit dining area. It’s small – just a low wooden table surrounded by a few worn cushions on the floor – but the scent alone makes it feel like a banquet. The rich, tangy heat of kimchi stew wafts through the room, mixing with the smoky aroma of grilled pork belly. Beside them sit bowls of rice, a handful of banchan dishes; simple pickled things, a small stack of lettuce and perilla leaves, a dish of ssamjang. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s the kind of meal made with care, and that alone makes it feel rare.

They sit cross-legged around the table, and Beomgyu wastes no time digging in. He tries not to appear too enthusiastic, but it’s no use; the first bite of stew has him closing his eyes with a quiet exhale. It’s spicy, rich, and comforting in a way that hits deeper than just taste.

Kai notices and nudges him under the table. “You good?”

Beomgyu swallows, a little sheepish. “This is amazing. Seriously.”

Kai’s dad beams, pleased. “Glad you like it. Kai always says I make things too spicy.”

“I like spicy!” Kai protests, already reaching for another piece of pork belly. “I just don’t want to sweat while I eat.”

“He once cried over tteokbokki,” his dad says conversationally, turning to Beomgyu.

Beomgyu nearly chokes on his food laughing. “No way.”

Kai’s already red in the face, burying it in his hands. “It was really spicy!”

“I warned you!” his dad says, chuckling as he takes a bite of pork belly. “But no, he had to impress the older kids. Took one bite and started tearing up like he was in a drama.”

“Okay, we’re done here,” Kai mutters into his rice bowl, but there’s no real heat to his embarrassment. Beomgyu can tell he’s used to this; used to being lovingly teased, used to this dynamic that wraps around them like a worn-in blanket.

Beomgyu listens more than he talks. He soaks it in; the way Kai and his dad banter, how they move around each other with practiced ease, passing plates and chopsticks and jokes. It’s like watching a dance he’s never learned the steps to, but no one’s asking him to. No one’s making him feel like he doesn’t belong. If anything, Kai’s dad includes him in the conversation like it’s second nature.

“So, Beomgyu,” he says between bites, “what do your parents do?”

Beomgyu freezes for a split second – but only a second. He swallows, pokes at his rice. “They’re both lawyers,” he says, polite and practiced, keeping his tone even. “Pretty busy people.”

The answer lands lightly on the table. It’s the kind of response that sounds ordinary enough on its own – but something about the way he says it, the slight pause before pretty busy, the smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes… it lingers. Kai glances at him, not saying anything, but he catches the faint crease between Beomgyu’s brows. His dad, too, gives a small, knowing nod – subtle, but thoughtful.

“Well,” Kai’s father says warmly, filling the space without pressing, “Whenever you’re feeling lonely, you’re welcome here anytime. Especially if you keep eating like that, at least someone’s appreciating my cooking.”

Beomgyu smiles, and this one’s a little more real. “Thank you, sir. It’s honestly incredible.”

“And polite, too,” Kai’s dad adds with a pointed look at his son. “You could learn a thing or two, Kamal.”

Kai groans. “Are you seriously siding with him now?”

“Of course,” his dad replies with a grin. “He complimented my stew. Loyalty earned.” 

But Beomgyu’s attention is momentarily caught by something else. “Kamal?” he blurts out before realising it.

Kai looks up from his bowl of kimchi stew, shrugging. “Yeah, that’s my middle name. Kai Kamal Huening.” He slurps a bit more stew, clearly unbothered.

Beomgyu doesn’t hide his surprise. “Wow,” he says without thinking. Kai raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Wow? Is that all you’ve got?” Kai laughs, teasing him. “What’s so ‘wow’ about it?”

Beomgyu quickly recovers, shaking his head. “Nothing, it’s just… pretty.”

Kai’s dad grins, clearly proud. “I know. I named him.” He takes a bite of pork belly, looking between the two of them with a satisfied smirk.

The teasing continues, light and familiar, and Beomgyu lets himself laugh along with them. He watches the way Kai and his dad move together; how easily they fall into rhythm, the shared shorthand in their glances and smiles. It's nothing grand, nothing dramatic, but it’s home, and as they talk and eat and pass dishes back and forth, that quiet warmth wraps around him like a blanket he hadn’t realised he needed. He doesn’t say anything else about his own family, he doesn’t want to, but in the soft clatter of chopsticks and the warmth of stew still lingering on his tongue, he lets himself feel – just for a moment – what it’s like to sit at a table where laughter comes easy and dinner tastes like love.

The conversation flows easily now, warmth settling into Beomgyu’s bones in a way that has nothing to do with the food. Whatever hesitation or self-consciousness had followed him through the front door has long since melted under the hum of shared laughter and the steady rhythm of chopsticks scraping against emptying bowls.

Kai leans over to steal the last slice of grilled pork belly and gets smacked lightly on the wrist by his dad’s chopsticks.

“Yah! Don’t be greedy! What kind of example are you setting for our guest?”

“I’m setting the example of survival,” Kai argues, mouth already full. “If I waited, he would’ve gotten it.”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Beomgyu says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Though, for the record, I was eyeing it.”

Kai’s dad chuckles, clearly entertained. “He’s quick, this one. You’ll have to step up your game, Kai.”

Beomgyu grins, tossing a smug look in Kai’s direction. “I’m winning you over already, huh?”

“Oh, you’re already part of the family,” Kai’s dad says easily, reaching to refill Beomgyu’s bowl without asking. “Honestly, it’s been a while since we’ve had someone else at the table. It’s… nice.”

He says it casually, but there’s something softer beneath the words, something unspoken. His hand stills over the rice cooker for a beat too long. “It gets quiet sometimes. Especially ever since…”

There’s a hitch. A pause. Kai’s father doesn’t finish the sentence, and Kai, who had been halfway through refilling the water glasses, stiffens just slightly. His hand falters for a fraction of a second, like someone had tugged a string inside him.

Beomgyu catches it all in the corner of his eye. He doesn’t press or ask. Instead, with the same ease he used to slide into their banter earlier, he lifts his bowl and says with exaggerated reverence, “Well, I volunteer as tribute to keep this table lively from now on. Especially if this stew is part of the deal.”

Kai exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing as he lets out a grateful laugh. His dad, too, seems to appreciate the pivot, letting the silence pass without comment.

“Oh, is that so?” Kai’s dad raises an eyebrow, amused. “Then I hope you’re ready to do the dishes too, family member.”

Beomgyu points at Kai without hesitation. “That’s his job. I’m just here for emotional support.”

Kai lets out a mock-offended scoff. “Unbelievable. You charm your way into the house and leave me with the chores?”

“What can I say? I’m adaptable,” Beomgyu replies, leaning back on his palms with a lazy grin.

They laugh again – genuinely this time – and just like that, the air lightens again. Whatever moment had threatened to settle like a shadow at the edge of the room is gently pushed aside, tucked between the dishes and the conversation and the soft, flickering overhead light. For Beomgyu, it’s surreal. Not just the meal or the warmth of the room, but the way it all feels natural. Like he’s been sitting at this table for years, like he belongs here, and if a part of him aches at how foreign that feeling still is, he doesn’t let it show. Not tonight.

As the plates are gradually cleared and the last of the rice scraped from the bottom of the pot, the conversation drifts into more relaxed territory. Kai slouches deeper onto the table, lazily tracing a finger around the rim of his glass, while Beomgyu leans back, full and content in a way he hadn’t realised he was missing.

That’s when it happens.

Kai’s dad, while stacking the used bowls with surprising grace, casually mentions something about a limited-edition train model release that’s coming out next month, one he’s been waiting years for. Beomgyu perks up instantly, eyebrows lifting with a spark of recognition.

“Wait,” Beomgyu says, sitting forward. “Are you into model trains?”

Kai groans preemptively, already burying his face in one hand. “Don’t do this.”

Kai’s dad’s eyes light up with childlike excitement. “You know them?”

Beomgyu nods. “My uncle used to collect them. He had this whole setup in his garage. Every weekend I’d help him clean the tracks and wire up the little streetlamps and stuff.”

Kai’s dad practically beams, setting the bowls down with a clatter he doesn’t even notice. “You’re kidding! Not many people care about the detailing anymore. They just collect for value, not for the craft.”

Beomgyu grins, matching his energy. “Right? But the wiring’s the best part. And don’t get me started on the sound systems in the newer models, they’ve gotten ridiculous. Like, full surround-sound in a train the size of your palm.”

Kai groans again, louder this time, slumping in his seat with an exaggerated sigh. “I can’t believe this is happening. I live here. I can’t escape it.”

Beomgyu shoots him a playful look. “Sorry, Kai. It’s called culture. You wouldn’t understand.”

Kai’s dad laughs, delighted. “Finally, someone gets it. You should see the layout I’ve got going in the storage room. Nothing fancy, but I’ve got my eye on the 1996 KTX replica that just came out. It’s got the original decal print.”

Beomgyu gasps like he’s just been told a state secret. “Shut up. You’re kidding.”

“I’ve got the catalogue in my drawer.”

“Can I see?”

“You want to see?”

“I need to see.”

Kai gives them both a long, dramatic look before flopping forward onto the table, chin resting on his folded arms. “This is it. This is how I lose him.”

Beomgyu only laughs, watching as Kai’s dad practically scurries off to retrieve the catalogue. There’s something strangely endearing about how excited he gets, flipping through the laminated pages like a kid with a comic book. The way he points out details with his finger, referencing dates and manufacturers like he’s giving a tour at a museum. Beomgyu listens with genuine interest, nodding along, throwing in comments of his own now and then. It’s so easy to get caught up in it, in the warm glow of the kitchen light, in the quiet joy of sharing something deeply personal and niche and just a little bit silly.

The catalogue opens with a satisfying crack, and Kai’s dad smooths out the first glossy page like he’s revealing a treasure map. The cover features a gleaming silver KTX model, photographed from a dramatic angle. Beomgyu whistles low under his breath, genuinely impressed.

“That’s the ‘96 KTX, right?” he asks, already leaning forward, elbow propped against the table.

Kai’s dad’s eyes sparkle. “You know it. Look at that level of detail. They even included the yellow door lines from the early prototypes. Most models skip that.”

Beomgyu peers closer. “No way. They did not– holy crap, they did. That’s insane.”

“Right? And look– see this here?” Kai’s dad points to a close-up. “The windows are beveled like the originals. They used to be flat before the safety standard upgrades.”

“God,” Beomgyu mutters, grinning like he’s just been shown a cheat code. “This is actually so cool.”

Kai, still slumped dramatically in his seat, lifts his head just enough to cut a deadpan glance their way. “Wow. Riveting stuff. Truly edge-of-your-seat entertainment.”

Beomgyu doesn’t even look at him. “Let the adults talk.”

Kai gasps in mock outrage. “ Adults? We’re the same age!”

“And yet somehow I’m wiser in the ways of miniature trains,” Beomgyu replies, smirking. “Sad, really.”

Kai’s dad chuckles, clearly entertained by the bickering. “He gets it from me,” he says proudly, flipping to another page. “Now this one– this is the Saemaeul from ‘82. Retired line, so this model’s limited edition. I had to enter a raffle just to preorder it.”

Beomgyu whistles again. “This hobby’s cutthroat, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Kai’s dad says, visibly delighted. “Once, I got outbid by a twelve-year-old on an online auction. Nearly ruined my week.”

Kai groans and tips his head back with a theatrical sigh. “And now you’ve corrupted him too.”

Beomgyu glances over with a grin. “Too late, I’m in. He’s speaking my language.”

Kai fake snores loudly, dragging his chair a few inches back with an exaggerated scrape. “Wake me up when the trains stop chugging.”

His dad doesn’t miss a beat. “Don’t be rude just because you don’t have taste.”

Kai sits up with mock offense. “Excuse me, I happen to have excellent taste.”

“In what, grape juice and tragic playlists?”

Beomgyu chokes on a laugh. Kai glares at both of them, affronted. “ Wow. Betrayed in my own home.”

“You started it,” his dad says with a smug grin, arms crossed.

“And I’m gonna finish it,” Kai retorts, grabbing the nearest cushion and flinging it with zero force. It bounces harmlessly off his dad’s shoulder.

Beomgyu laughs so hard he nearly tips over, watching the dynamic unfold like a sitcom he’s just been written into. It’s effortless; the teasing, the way they snap back and forth without a second thought. There’s real love under every jab, familiarity woven into every word.

Somehow, Beomgyu finds himself right in the middle of it.

Kai’s dad grins as he passes the catalogue over, letting Beomgyu turn the next page himself. “You’re welcome over any time, Beomgyu. Especially if you bring that good train energy.”

“Don’t say that,” Kai groans, “Or he will move in.”

Beomgyu just smirks and flips to the next page. “No promises.”

When Beomgyu sneaks a glance at Kai, he finds him staring back, deadpan, with the most tragically betrayed look on his face.

Beomgyu snorts. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Kai groans into his arm. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

“I am your friend,” Beomgyu says, still grinning. “Which is why I’m bonding with your dad. It’s what good guests do.”

Kai just makes a noise of pure suffering, while his dad flips the page with the fervour of someone who’s finally found a kindred spirit. Amidst all the laughter and teasing, Beomgyu feels it again; that strange, tender pang. That warmth that wraps itself around his ribs like something dangerous and gentle all at once.

Family. Or something like it.

 

🧸

 

It’s late by the time Beomgyu finishes his shower. The small bathroom is still hazy with steam as he steps out, the cool air of the apartment nipping at his skin. His hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends, and a towel hangs loosely around his neck as he pads barefoot back toward Kai’s room, the hallway dim and quiet, lit only by the warm glow of the overhead light near the kitchen. He nudges Kai’s door open with his shoulder, towel still in hand, fingers working absently through his hair as he steps inside only to freeze in the doorway.

Kai’s already in bed, half-curled beneath the covers, a ridiculously oversized Superman hoodie swallowed around his frame. His legs are tucked close, one arm pillowed beneath his cheek, the other loosely hugging a plush penguin Beomgyu doesn’t remember seeing earlier. The hood’s half-up, casting a shadow over Kai’s eyes, but the soft blue of the fleece and the childish cartoon “S” on his chest makes Beomgyu’s heart clench painfully tight.

There’s something painfully endearing about the sight of him like this. Soft and small. Tucked away in the safety of his childhood bedroom like nothing in the world could ever touch him here.

Beomgyu hovers uncertainly by the doorway, suddenly very aware of how tall he feels, how grown-up and awkward and out of place. He’s still in the borrowed sweats Kai had lent him earlier when he realised he forgot to pack pajama bottoms, his own clothes stuffed in the corner, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands.

Kai looks up, blinking sleepily, his voice a soft rasp. “You gonna stand there all night?”

Beomgyu swallows, lifting the towel to rub at his damp hair again. “Just… wasn’t sure where to go. Y’know, since the room’s already taken by a caped crusader, Superman.”

Kai snorts and scoots to the far edge of the bed, lifting the blanket with one hand in invitation. “Come on, before you catch a cold or start monologuing about justice.”

Beomgyu hesitates only a second longer, then crosses the room and carefully slips beneath the blanket, the bed dipping with his weight. It’s narrow, barely enough room for the both of them, and their arms brush when he settles in. Warmth radiates off Kai’s side like a little furnace.

“Wow,” Beomgyu murmurs, stretching his legs out and shifting to get comfortable. “You weren’t kidding about the bed being tiny.”

Kai grins, tugging the blanket higher up his shoulders. “Told you. I’m generous for letting you in my fortress of solitude.”

Beomgyu huffs a laugh, propping himself up on one elbow just long enough to meet Kai’s gaze. “You look ridiculous, by the way.”

Kai narrows his eyes. “Excuse you. This hoodie is iconic.”

“It’s also older than dinosaurs.”

“And yet,” Kai says, turning onto his side to face him, “You’re still sharing a bed with me while I wear it. So who’s the real loser here?”

Beomgyu lets out a soft laugh, sinking back onto his pillow, his chest strangely light and full all at once. He doesn’t answer right away; not with words. Just lies there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the day slowly melting away under the quiet hum of the heater and the soft sound of Kai breathing beside him.

This – whatever this is – feels dangerously close to something real.

The silence between them is comfortable, the kind that only comes from spending time with someone you trust, when words are no longer needed to fill the space. Kai breaks it first, his voice barely above a whisper.

"So, when’s your birthday?" he asks, his eyes still closed as he lies on his side, facing Beomgyu.

Beomgyu’s lips curl into a small smile at the unexpected question. "13th of March, 2001," he answers without hesitation, rolling his shoulders into the pillow and turning to glance at Kai. "Why? You wanna send me a present?"

Kai snorts, his breath warm against the cool night air. "I’ll take that as a no." He pauses for a beat before adding, almost casually, “Mine’s August 14th, 2002.”

Beomgyu blinks, his mind briefly stuttering as the words process. "Wait, hold on," he says, his voice incredulous. "Did you just say 2002? As in, you're younger than me?"

Kai doesn’t answer immediately. He just rolls his eyes, clearly amused by Beomgyu's shock. "What? Did you think I was older or something?"

"Well– no! But I thought you were, like, a few months younger than me or something. But 2002? That makes you–" Beomgyu’s words trail off as his brain catches up. "Wait, hold on. You’re in the same year as me at uni, though. How is that even possible?"

Kai shrugs, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "I got into university on a scholarship, and my academic record was good enough that they bumped me up a year. It’s not that impressive."

Beomgyu’s mouth falls open. "Not impressive?" he repeats incredulously. "Are you kidding me? That’s amazing. You skipped a year because you’re that good at what you do?"

Kai shrugs again, but there’s a subtle pride in his eyes now, even if he’s trying to downplay it. "I guess. My dad’s pretty proud of me. I don’t really talk about it much though."

Beomgyu’s eyes widen, a sense of awe settling in. "Wow, Kai. I had no idea." He pauses, trying to wrap his head around the idea. "I knew you were stupidly talented but you’re way smarter than I thought."

Kai gives him a mock glare, though it’s light-hearted. "Well, thanks for the compliment, but don’t go thinking I’m some kind of genius or something."

Beomgyu grins, shaking his head. "You should be calling me hyung, you know. You’re younger than me. I’m supposed to be the one giving advice and stuff." He lets the words linger in the air, teasing.

Kai's lips curl into a smirk, and his voice drops into a tone that's playful but tinged with mischief. "Yeah? Okay, hyung."

The word hits Beomgyu like a soft punch to the chest. He’s not prepared for the way his heart skips a beat at the sound of it, at the way Kai says it so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s a small thing, really – just a word – but it feels like it holds so much more.

Beomgyu’s breath catches, but he doesn’t want Kai to notice how much that simple word affects him. He quickly clears his throat and tries to brush it off. “Don’t actually start calling me hyung,” he says quickly, his voice a little rougher than he intended. "Sounds weird now."

Kai chuckles, clearly enjoying the effect his words have on Beomgyu. "Weird? You’re the one who started it. I’m just following orders, hyung."

Beomgyu feels a stir inside him at the way the word feels on Kai’s lips, the soft, playful tone somehow making the space between them feel charged. It’s silly. It’s just a word, right? And yet, hearing Kai call him “hyung” feels... different. Uncomfortably intimate, in a way he can’t fully explain.

“No, just– just call me Beomgyu. It sounds way more normal,” Beomgyu says, his voice sounding a little more forced than he would like. “Hyung” feels like it’s tipping something in him he’s not ready to examine.

Kai raises an eyebrow, teasing the moment further. “Sure, sure. Beomgyu hyung. Whatever works.”

Beomgyu feels the heat rise in his cheeks, but he doesn’t let it show. He just lets out a short laugh, trying to deflect from the weird flutter in his chest. "You’re insufferable, you know that?"

“Me? Nah.” Kai’s tone is light, easy, but there’s something different in the way he says Beomgyu’s name now, something softer, almost affectionate. It feels like an unspoken understanding between them, a subtle shift in how they see each other.

The conversation drifts between them like a soft current, meandering through everything and nothing all at once. They talk about silly things – favorite movies, childhood memories, random facts about the world – and somehow it feels like the most natural thing in the world. As they speak, their bodies shift closer without thinking. Kai’s head finds its way to Beomgyu’s shoulder, resting there with an easy familiarity, his breath warm against Beomgyu’s skin. Beomgyu’s hand moves absently, fingers lightly brushing against Kai’s, then resting over them, the warmth of Kai’s touch grounding him in a way he doesn’t fully understand. Their ankles hook together beneath the blankets, the closeness feeling almost effortless, as though they’ve always been this way, side by side. There’s no rush, no pressure, just the quiet comfort of being near someone who, for once, isn’t expecting anything. The quiet rhythm of their breathing blends into the silence of the room, the soft, shared space between them deepening in ways words can’t quite touch.

The room is almost too quiet now, the hum of the heater the only sound in the dim light. Kai's breathing has slowed, and Beomgyu can feel the warmth of his side, their bodies nearly pressed together, like the space between them is too small for the things unsaid. Beomgyu’s eyelids are heavy, the day finally catching up with him. His mind is starting to slip into the haze of sleep, but just as he feels the edges of consciousness start to blur, Kai’s voice cuts through the stillness.

“Hey, Beomgyu hyung?”

Beomgyu shifts slightly, blinking in the dark, not giving much thought to the fact that Kai had actually started calling him ‘hyung’. “Mm?”

Kai’s voice is softer than usual, almost fragile in the quiet. “I just wanted to… say thanks.”

Beomgyu frowns, not sure if he heard that right. He turns his head slightly, still not quite meeting Kai’s eyes in the dark. “For what?”

There’s a long pause, so long that Beomgyu wonders if maybe Kai’s fallen asleep mid-sentence, but then, Kai speaks again, his words almost hesitant but genuine.

“Thanks for being a friend. For being… so nice to me. I know you don’t have to, but you still… you treat me like a person, y’know? Not like those other guys.” He lets out a soft sigh, almost a little embarrassed, but it’s there; his gratitude, raw and unfiltered. “I’m just… thankful. You’re the only one who’s ever really treated me with respect.”

Beomgyu’s breath catches in his throat. The words land heavy, but not in a way that’s easy to process. He blinks, trying to piece together the weight of what Kai just said. He knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of fake friendships, the shallow, surface-level connections that people like him are so used to offering. But Kai… Kai’s different. His words feel like a confession, like a piece of trust that Beomgyu isn’t sure he deserves.

“Other guys?” Beomgyu repeats, unsure if he even wants to hear the rest. "What do you mean?"

Kai’s voice falters just slightly, and when he speaks again, it’s laced with a quiet sadness. “You know… the popular kids. The ones that act all nice to you, like they want to be your friend. But really, they just want something. They always want something, and when they don’t get it, they just turn their backs on you. I’ve been through it with a lot of them.”

Beomgyu’s stomach turns at the words. He feels a weight settle into his chest, heavy and suffocating. He wants to say something – anything – but the words feel lodged in his throat. His mind starts racing, and the truth of what Kai’s saying hits him like a cold slap.

Beomgyu’s been one of them. He is one of them. He’s the popular kid. He’s the one who knows exactly how to smile at the right moment, to play the role of the charming guy who’s always a little out of reach. He’s always had people fawning over him, seeking his approval, and yet he’s been treating Kai the same way. He’s been doing it all for a million won, and he’s so close to winning that bet.

But now, as Kai speaks, as his voice trembles with sincerity and gratitude, Beomgyu feels sick. He feels disgusting.

Kai, trusting him like this. Kai, telling him that he’s the one person who’s treated him like a real human being. Kai, who’s opened up, who’s let him into his life – his childhood home, for god’s sake. Beomgyu’s been here, in Kai’s room, in his space, not because he wanted to be his friend, not because he cared, but because he had a damn bet to win, and that thought makes Beomgyu’s stomach twist, makes him want to tear his skin off. He’s been playing a game, and Kai has been the only one who’s been sincere this whole time.

He swallows hard, his mouth dry, as if the words are trying to claw their way out. “Kai…” He doesn’t even know where to start, what to say.

Kai’s voice is so quiet now, as if he’s scared to even finish his thought. “I just… I don’t know how to explain it, but you’re different. You don’t treat me like I’m some… some project or some joke. You’re just, well, you’re you. And that’s enough. I can’t really say that about anyone else.”

Beomgyu feels like the world is closing in on him. He can feel the weight of Kai’s words pressing on his chest, and the truth of them lands so hard that it makes him ache, but he can’t even respond. Not when the guilt is so sharp in his gut, when he knows exactly what he’s done. He’s the popular fuckboy who promised he could get Kai into bed, who’s here to win that stupid bet, and all this time, Kai’s been opening up to him, trusting him more than anyone ever has.

“Fuck,” Beomgyu mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible, but he can’t stop the words from coming out. He knows this is a mess he can’t clean up, and the worst part is that, deep down, he doesn’t even know if he wants to anymore.

Kai shifts slightly, his voice still quiet but worried now. “Hm?”

Beomgyu can’t look at him. He just turns his head into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as a wave of shame washes over him. “Nothing. Just– forget it.”

Kai’s voice softens again, and Beomgyu can hear the faintest hint of concern in it. “Beomgyu hyung, you okay?”

Beomgyu presses his palm to his forehead, trying to shove down the rising panic. "Yeah. I’m fine. Just... go to sleep, okay?" He doesn’t even want to think about what’s happening in his chest.

Kai doesn’t respond right away. For a long moment, Beomgyu just lies there, the silence between them now thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the sound of their breathing. Nothing will ever be enough to erase what Beomgyu knows he’s done. But, at least, for tonight, Kai doesn’t know everything.

Beomgyu lies still in the dark, the weight of Kai’s words pressing down on him, sinking deep into his chest. His mind races, replaying every second of the conversation, every laugh, every moment of ease between them, but then the bomb Kai dropped on him echoes in the silence, thank you for being a friend... for being the one person who treated him with respect. The sincerity in Kai’s voice hits Beomgyu harder than he ever expected, and now he can’t shake it. His chest feels tight, suffocating, as if the room is shrinking with each passing second.

He tries to force his body to relax, to sink into the pillow and let sleep claim him, but his mind refuses to cooperate. He shifts again, the blanket tangling around his legs, and finally, he can’t stand it any longer. He can feel the panic rising in his throat, the guilt twisting in his stomach like a knife.

When he’s sure Kai is deep asleep – his breathing steady and even – Beomgyu quietly slips out of the bed, careful not to wake him. His feet hit the cool floor with a soft thud as he stands, stretching his stiff body, the tension in his shoulders still tight as a wire. He grabs the jacket he left hanging by the door – nothing more than a thin layer against the biting cold of the night – and silently makes his way out the apartment.

He doesn’t know why he’s doing it. He doesn’t know why he’s leaving at all, in the dead of night, with nothing but his pajamas and a jacket. He just knows that he feels like he’s drowning. The guilt is suffocating, and the feeling that he’s been lying to Kai for months… it burns. He feels like he’s betraying everything that Kai believes in, everything that Kai sees in him.

He slips out of the apartment, the cold air hitting him like a slap to the face, but it doesn’t stop him. It doesn’t matter how freezing it is. The cold helps clear his head, or at least, that’s what he tells himself. He pulls the collar of his jacket tighter around his neck, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and walks without purpose. His feet take him down the street, away from the warmth of the apartment, away from Kai, away from everything.

Everything feels wrong now, like he’s on the edge of something he can’t pull back from. He feels like he’s going to throw up, like the weight of the lie is too much to carry. His chest hurts. His stomach is in knots. He feels sick – sick of himself, sick of everything.

Without thinking, his fingers are already pulling out his phone, dialing the only number he knows he can reach out to in moments like this. Soobin. The only one who knows how to talk him down, how to make him stop spiraling.

The call rings twice, then Soobin picks up, his voice a sleepy drawl. “Beomgyu? It’s 2 AM, what’s going on?”

Beomgyu doesn’t answer right away. He just stands there in the cold, the wind biting at his skin, feeling the emptiness gnawing at his insides. His mind is a mess of guilt, confusion, and something he can’t quite name, but it’s pressing down on him so hard that it’s hard to breathe. Finally, he mutters, his voice trembling, “Soobin hyung… I fucked up. I don’t know what to do.”

Soobin’s tone immediately shifts, sharp with concern. “Hey, hey. What happened? Are you okay?”

Beomgyu’s chest tightens, and he swallows hard, but it doesn’t ease the choking feeling in his throat. He feels like he’s drowning in everything he’s messed up; the bet, the lies, and now, the way Kai’s presence is starting to change something inside him. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I–” He cuts off, the words stuck in his throat, heavy and impossible to say out loud. Admitting it feels like admitting failure.

On the other end of the line, Soobin is quiet for a moment, the sound of rustling sheets reaching Beomgyu’s ear as he hears Soobin sit up, fully awake now. “Where are you? Are you at your parents’? Want me to come get you?”

Beomgyu shakes his head even though Soobin can’t see it. He sinks down onto the pavement, the cold concrete seeping through his pajama pants, and presses his forehead against the cool wall of some random building. “No… I’m in Chuncheon.”

“Chuncheon?” Soobin repeats, his voice tinged with confusion. “What the hell are you doing all the way out there?”

Beomgyu can’t find the right words to explain what’s happening, can’t fully wrap his mind around it himself. “I’m at Kai’s place.”

There’s a long pause, and for a moment, Beomgyu wonders if Soobin is going to hang up, too stunned to process. When Soobin finally speaks again, his voice is slow, careful. “What do you mean? You’re at Kai’s place?”

Beomgyu rubs a hand over his face, the exhaustion of the night weighing him down. 

“I didn’t want to go home for winter break. I was supposed to go back to Daegu, but when Kai found out I was staying in Seoul, he invited me to come with him. Said I could stay here, and he can keep me company.” He lets out a dry, humorless laugh, but it catches in his throat. “I thought it was gonna be just… an opportunity to get closer to him for the…” He swallows hard, and the words get stuck before he can say it. For the bet. He can’t make himself say it out loud. “But now everything’s... it’s all fucked up.”

“So, wait–” Soobin’s voice is tight now, his disbelief growing. “You followed Kai home for winter break? All because you thought this would work in your favour when it comes to the bet?”

Beomgyu’s heart pounds louder in his chest as the realisation sinks in, the weight of Soobin’s words making everything feel even more real. “Yeah. I did.”

A heavy silence stretches between them, and Beomgyu can feel Soobin processing everything, the pieces falling into place. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and neither does Beomgyu. He just stares out into the dark, trying to put his thoughts together, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened.

Finally, Soobin’s voice breaks through the quiet, and it’s filled with a quiet tension. “Gyu…”

Beomgyu lets out a slow breath, his grip tightening on the phone as if it could hold all the chaos inside him. “I know what I’ve done, hyung. I’ve... I’ve fucked up. I’ve been lying to him this whole time. I didn’t want it to get like this. But I can’t just walk away from him now. I don’t know how to fix it.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. Then Soobin’s voice, soft but steady, comes through. “Beomgyu… you’ve got to tell him.”

The words hit Beomgyu like a punch to the gut, and he takes a step back, his pulse pounding in his ears. “I can’t. I can’t do that to him.”

“So you’re just going to keep up the act? Sweep it under the rug like it doesn’t exist?” Soobin’s voice sharpens, cutting through the haze of guilt clouding Beomgyu’s mind. “I told you this would happen. You’ve got to face it, Beomgyu. What do you think you’re going to do when Minjun and Doyoon ask about this, huh?”

Beomgyu’s heart thuds painfully in his chest. “I’ll just say I failed.”

Soobin’s exhale is a heavy, defeated sound. “And if Kai finds out? What then?”

Beomgyu stares out at the empty street, his breath coming in sharp bursts. The words are like a slap to the face, and they make the gnawing feeling in his gut grow even more intense. He knows Soobin’s right, but the truth is, he’s terrified. Terrified of what he’s starting to feel for Kai. Terrified of what it means for him if he really cares.

He takes a shaky breath, his hands trembling slightly as he holds the phone to his ear. “He won’t.”

“Do you really think that, Gyu?” Soobin’s voice softens, but the edge is still there. “You know better than that. Kai’s not stupid. He’s going to figure it out eventually.”

Beomgyu swallows hard, his gaze lost in the shadows of the night, trying to hold himself together. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t have any answers. Just an overwhelming pressure weighing down on him. Amidst the confusion, one thing is crystal clear: he can’t keep pretending this isn’t real. Not anymore. Beomgyu’s heart thuds in his chest, the darkness of the street only amplifying the darkness swirling inside him. He’s never felt so lost, so helpless. The words from Soobin hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to escape the mess he’s made.

“Hyung... I don’t know what I’m doing,” Beomgyu says quietly, his voice breaking under the weight of it all. “I don’t know how I got here.”

“You know exactly how you got here, and now what? You’re just going to let this thing with Kai spiral out of control?” Soobin’s voice is stern but full of concern, a little exasperated but with a touch of tenderness. “You think you can keep living like this, Gyu? Pretending it’s all part of some game, when it’s clearly... something more?”

Beomgyu exhales sharply, leaning his head back against the wall, his mind racing. He’s so consumed with guilt and confusion that it’s hard to focus on anything, but the fear that keeps gnawing at him – the fear of admitting the truth, even to himself – only gets worse the longer he avoids it.

“Don’t you get it, hyung?” Beomgyu whispers, his voice trembling with the weight of his inner turmoil. “I’ve already gone too far. I’ve lied to him. I’ve manipulated him. And now I... I can’t undo it. I can’t...”

There’s another pause on the other end, and Beomgyu wonders if Soobin is thinking the same thing, whether he’s questioning why Beomgyu even bothered to get this close to Kai in the first place. Then, Soobin speaks again, his voice quieter, more careful this time.

“Gyu... where do you stand with him? Right now, where do you really stand with Kai?”

The question is simple, but it hits Beomgyu like a ton of bricks. His mind freezes. He doesn’t answer immediately. His hands shake as he holds the phone to his ear, his breath coming faster now, like he’s been caught in something he can’t escape. His heart feels like it’s thrumming out of his chest, the answer right on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t bring himself to say it.

Soobin seems to sense the hesitation. “Do you... do you have feelings for him, Gyu?”

The question lingers in the cold night air, and Beomgyu’s chest tightens. His stomach churns. His brain screams at him to just say something, anything at all, but the silence between them is enough of an answer. Soobin doesn’t need Beomgyu to speak for the truth to settle.

“…Gyu?” Soobin says softly after a long beat. “You do, don’t you?”

Beomgyu’s breath catches in his throat. His heart pounds harder in his chest, and for a second, he feels like the world’s closing in on him. The weight of Soobin’s question presses down on him, suffocating him. He knows what the truth is, but he can’t say it. He can’t. Not out loud.

“No,” Beomgyu says quickly, his voice a little too sharp. He shakes his head as if trying to shake the thought loose. “No, hyung, it’s not... I don’t... Kai doesn’t mean anything to me. I just... pity the guy, that’s all. He’s always been so fucking alone. And he’s been through enough already.”

The words taste bitter on his tongue. He knows he’s lying. He knows Soobin knows he’s lying. But if he says it out loud, if he admits it, then it’ll be real, and he’s not ready for that. Not ready for the consequences of his feelings. There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. Soobin’s voice comes through, tight with disbelief, and there's a sharp edge to it now.

“Pity?” Soobin says, his voice rising with frustration. “Pity, Gyu? Seriously? That’s what you’re going with? You pity him? You don’t even believe that yourself.”

Beomgyu’s heart stutters, and his throat tightens. He knows Soobin’s right, but he can’t back down now. 

Soobin lets out a frustrated exhale. “There you go again, playing a character you know you aren’t. This ‘player’, nonchalant facade you’re putting on doesn’t work on me, Gyu. You fucking know that.”

Beomgyu flinches, like he’s been slapped. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Soobin’s words hang heavy in the air, piercing through the layers of bullshit he’s been telling himself. He does know it doesn’t work, but it’s the only defense he has left. It’s the only way he can keep from acknowledging what’s really going on inside him.

“Don’t feed me that shit, Gyu,” Soobin continues, his voice harsh now, cutting through the mess of Beomgyu’s emotions. “You’re not fooling me. You’ve been lying to him this whole time, and you’re lying to yourself now. I’ve watched you, you know? I’ve watched the way you look at him. The way you’re treating him like he matters, even when you’re telling yourself that he doesn’t. The way you’re making excuses for him. And I’m not about to sit here and watch you destroy this just because you’re too scared to face it.”

Beomgyu stands there, feeling his hands tremble in his pockets. He can’t breathe properly, like the weight of everything is crushing him from all sides. He knows Soobin’s right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to face the truth.

“Look, I’m not some fucking hero, hyung,” Beomgyu mutters, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I didn’t mean for this to get out of hand. But I can’t... I can’t do that to him. I can’t tell him the truth.”

“You have to tell him, Gyu,” Soobin says, his voice now calm but still carrying the weight of urgency. “Before it’s too late. Before you ruin everything. I know you don’t want to face it, but you have to be honest with him, or else this whole thing will eat you alive. Do you really want to keep lying? Or are you going to finally stop pretending?”

Beomgyu’s chest tightens, and he leans back against the cool brick of the wall, his mind racing in circles. “I don’t know how, hyung. I don’t know how to do it.”

“You start by telling him the truth,” Soobin says quietly. “You start by telling him what’s really going on, no more lies. You tell him you’ve been lying. You tell him you’re scared, and you tell him what you really feel. Don’t keep hiding from it. He deserves to know. You deserve to be honest.”

Beomgyu can’t answer. His head is spinning too fast. He’s running out of time.

“Hyung, I...” Beomgyu falters, his heart hammering as if it wants to break free from his chest. “What if he hates me?”

Soobin’s tone softens, but it’s still laced with urgency. “Then you’ll have to live with that, Gyu. You’re going to have to own up to what you’ve done and hold yourself accountable for what you did. You dug this grave, Gyu. Even when I told you not to.”

Beomgyu doesn’t reply right away. His throat feels tight, and the weight of everything pressing down on him is almost unbearable. He leans his head against the cool wall, staring at the empty streets, the silence of the night only amplifying the turmoil inside him.

Soobin’s voice cuts through again, sharp but gentle. “And you’ve got to end the bet with Minjun and Doyoon. You need to cut ties with that shit, Gyu. It’s toxic. You don’t want to be holding onto a lie that big while you’re trying to figure this out. You’re already in too deep, and you can’t play both sides anymore.”

The words hit Beomgyu like a punch to the gut. He can feel his stomach twist. "I can’t just... back out of it, hyung. They’ll think I’m weak if I just drop the whole thing. And besides, I have to win. I–”

“No,” Soobin interrupts firmly. “You don’t have to win, Gyu. What the hell are you even talking about? You can’t keep pretending like you don’t care. If you really care about Kai – like I know you do – then you need to pull out of that bet and stop treating him like some kind of game. He’s not your fucking challenge, Beomgyu. He’s a person, and he deserves more than that. He deserves the truth.”

Beomgyu’s chest aches at the thought of telling Kai the truth. His hands start shaking, and he rubs them against his jacket, trying to push away the feeling of dread building inside him, but Soobin is right; this whole mess – everything he’s been doing – it’s just been one lie after another, and it’s too much to keep carrying. Beomgyu stands there, his phone pressed to his ear, the cold biting at his skin as his mind spins in every direction. His chest aches, the weight of Soobin's words sinking deeper and deeper with every passing second. He closes his eyes, taking in a slow, shaky breath, trying to steady the storm in his chest.

“Fine,” he finally mutters, his voice barely audible, but heavy with the weight of resignation. “I’ll figure something out. I’ll talk to him, I’ll–”

“Good,” Soobin cuts in, his tone still firm but with an underlying urgency. “But you need to hurry the fuck up, Gyu. You’re running out of time. You know that, right? The longer you wait, the worse it’s going to get. Don’t let this drag on any longer.”

Beomgyu nods, though Soobin can’t see it, his fingers already numb from the cold. He pulls his jacket tighter around his shoulders, though the chill feels like it’s gnawing at him from the inside out. The fear, the guilt, it all swirls in his chest, making it hard to breathe. Every second he delays is a second wasted, a second Kai deserves better than to spend being lied to, but telling him the truth, ripping off that mask he’s been wearing… that is what terrifies him.

“I’ll figure it out,” Beomgyu says again, his voice a little steadier, though the lie feels too obvious even to himself.

Soobin sighs on the other end of the line, but there’s no softness in it. “You better. And, Gyu?” His voice softens just a fraction, but it’s enough. “Don’t hurt him anymore.”

The line goes quiet for a second before Beomgyu responds with a low, “Yeah. I won’t. I promise.”

Without waiting for Soobin’s response, Beomgyu ends the call. The world around him feels too still, too empty, as he stands there alone on the sidewalk, shivering not just from the cold but from everything weighing him down. His fingers are numb from the chill, but it’s nothing compared to the coldness gnawing at his chest. It feels like there’s a void inside of him, one he’s been trying to fill with distractions, with lies, but it’s never enough.

Finally, with a sigh that feels too heavy for him to bear, Beomgyu turns and heads back toward the apartment. His steps are slow, like he’s walking through molasses, and the further he gets from the street, the heavier his heart feels. When he finally reaches the building, his legs are aching from the cold, but it’s nothing compared to the weight that presses against his chest. His hands tremble as he pushes open the door to the apartment, the warmth of the inside doing little to calm the storm inside his chest.

The familiar scent of Kai’s apartment hits him, but it doesn’t bring the comfort it once did. He stands by the door for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to steel himself for what’s to come. He knows he can’t put this off any longer. He has to tell Kai. He has to stop pretending this is all some game, but as he steps further into the apartment, he realises how much he’s afraid to lose. Everything with Kai had started so innocently, so harmlessly, but now, it’s tangled up in lies, in half-truths, in this mess he’s made of everything, and it’s his fault. His eyes fall on the darkened hallway leading to Kai’s room. He knows he should go in, should talk to him now while there’s still time, but every step feels like it might be his last chance to undo the damage.

He stands frozen for a moment longer, the silence pressing in on him, and then he moves. His feet feel heavy as he walks down the hall, the door to Kai’s room in front of him, the truth still caught in his throat. Beomgyu slips into the bed as quietly as he can, the cold of the night still clinging to him like a shadow. His fingers are stiff from the chill, but as soon as he pulls the covers up, the warmth of the bed settles around him, and he can finally breathe a little easier. But as he shifts, trying to get comfortable, he feels Kai stir beside him, shifting slightly in his sleep.

“Why are you so cold?” Kai mumbles, his voice thick with sleep, and Beomgyu feels a strange sense of guilt twist in his chest. He hadn’t meant to wake him.

Beomgyu lets out a quiet exhale, his voice soft and nonchalant. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, brushing it off with the same nonchalance he’s always used when things get too real. He doesn’t want Kai to know the weight of the things swirling inside him. Not now, not when everything feels like it might fall apart at any second.

Just then, Kai shifts closer, his warmth radiating towards Beomgyu like a beacon. Before Beomgyu can protest, Kai is already nuzzling into him, his head resting on Beomgyu's chest as if seeking comfort from the same space that feels like it’s breaking apart. Beomgyu hesitates for a moment, his heart racing, but then he allows himself to be selfish just for a little while. He wraps his arms around Kai, pulling him closer, his hands finding their place against Kai’s back as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The coldness that had seeped into his bones melts away as Kai settles into him, and for a moment, the world feels quieter, softer, like nothing else matters.

Kai’s breath is steady against his chest, the rhythm of it grounding Beomgyu, making him forget about everything outside of this small space. Beomgyu exhales slowly, feeling the warmth seep into his chest, the weight of the day – of the guilt, of the fear, of the mess he’s made – seeming to lift just a little. He lets his head fall back against the pillow, his eyes closing for a moment, relishing the rare feeling of being here, in this space, with Kai in his arms. Kai shifts again, nuzzling deeper into the crook of Beomgyu’s neck, his body now completely locked against Beomgyu’s, the embrace unspoken but understood, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Beomgyu allows himself to just feel. Not the guilt, not the lies, not the confusion. Just the warmth of Kai’s presence, the softness of his body against his own.

In that moment, nothing else matters. Nothing else exists. It’s just the two of them, in the quiet of the night, locked tight in an embrace that Beomgyu wishes he could keep forever.

Although the weight of what he has to do looms over him, and even as his heart swells with something he can’t name, he knows the truth is still waiting, just beyond the edge of everything.

However, for now… he holds onto Kai, and that’s all that matters. Just for a little while longer.

Notes:

so... that happened 😬 also, i had a lot of fun writing the part where they were talking about model trains because my dad used to collect them!! he had a whole setup with railways and everything, but he gave them all away🥲

anyway, i hope gyu's inner turmoil between the bet and his growing feelings isn't too repetitive, i think it's natural that every time he thinks about how much he's grown to like kai that the bet rears its ugly head in his mind... please as always let me know your thoughts in the comment section!! i've already started part of the next chapter too so expect another update really soon bc i really love writing about this winter break section hehe

kudos and comments are highly appreciated and give me motivation🥹🫶 and please feel free to reach out and hmu on twitter to talk about anything txt at @koostiddy! <3

Chapter 6: special chapter 🐰🦊

Summary:

“Sunbaenim,” Soobin says, stopping just in front of him, cheeks flushed from the cold or maybe the nerves, “I got you these. Thought they’d go with the whole winter thing.”

Yeonjun stares at the flowers, then at Soobin. “You came?”

“Of course I did,” Soobin says, lifting the bouquet a little as if to prove he’s not a hallucination. “Kai’s away, so... I thought I could show up for him. You know, in his place. Didn’t seem right, you being here on your own.”

“But... I thought you were all the way in Ansan?” Yeonjun asks, his voice barely above a whisper, roughened by disbelief. “That’s, like... a really long drive, no?”

Soobin scratches the back of his neck, clearly trying to downplay it. “Yeah, well,” he says with a small, crooked smile, “It was worth the drive.”

Notes:

hope you enjoy this yeonbin bonus chapter hehe!!

🦊

 

Yeonjun stands in the centre of the exhibit space, a converted studio lit with soft, golden overheads and the shimmer of white spotlights that bounce off frost-toned fabrics and shimmering textures. He’s spent months on this; sketching, sourcing, sewing, unpicking, starting again. It’s all come together somehow, in spite of sleepless nights and creative blocks and fingers pricked with pins. The theme is Winter Reverie, and the room does look like a dream; sheer layers like snowfall, wool coats structured like frost-bitten trees, icy silvers and glacial blues stitched into elegant life. He should feel proud and excited – he tries to – but instead, he’s caught in the hollow space where Kai should be.

Kai had apologised over the phone a dozen times, soft voice laced with regret, calling from his childhood bedroom with posters Yeonjun helped him hang five summers ago. “I’m so sorry I can’t be there, hyung,” Kai had said, “I really wanted to see it. You’ve worked so hard.” And Yeonjun had said it was fine. Of course it’s fine. It’s just a uni project, nothing serious, but even then, the words hadn’t tasted true because Kai is the one who sat beside him when he was burning his eyes out over thread tension. The one who brought him food when he forgot to eat, who insisted on modelling half-finished pieces with crooked hems and pinned sleeves. Kai is the one who gets it – who gets him – and now that the moment’s here, his absence lands like a stone in Yeonjun’s stomach.

The doors open, and people begin to drift in. Fellow students, tutors, industry guests. Friends. Laughter rings across the room, easy and familiar. Some are already taking photos, posing beside their mates’ installations, gesturing animatedly, sharing drinks. The air smells like fresh print and perfume. Yeonjun keeps his posture straight, offers polite smiles, answers questions. A couple of classmates stop by, tell him they love the layering, that his stitching is immaculate, ask him where the inspiration came from. He answers and thanks them when they move onto another student. His gaze flickers towards the entrance every few minutes. He knows Kai isn’t coming – he’s an hour away in another city, sending him supportive texts and emojis – but it doesn’t stop the tiny, foolish hope from blooming every time someone new walks in.

Everyone seems to have someone. Little clusters, groups of two or three, heads bent together in excitement, and Yeonjun... stands alone, hands clasped behind his back, trying not to let the loneliness bleed too visibly into his expression. He thinks, what a shame my best friend can’t see this. Not just the clothes, but me, here, now, at this moment I’ve worked so hard for. It isn’t bitterness, of course, just a quiet ache. The kind that sits under your ribs, like cold air you can't quite warm up from. He tells himself it’s alright. That he’ll call Kai later, send him photos, maybe even a video walkthrough, but none of that replaces presence. None of it replaces the weight of a friend’s arm slung over your shoulders, saying, “You did amazing, hyung!”

The tutors come around with notepads and clipped observations. They linger by his installation longer than expected, nodding, murmuring amongst themselves. One of them smiles and tells him it’s one of the most cohesive collections they’ve seen this year. Another asks if he’s considered applying to that mentorship programme in Milan. Yeonjun bows slightly, says thank you. The praise warms him a little – he's not immune to it – but it also highlights the absence even more. These are the moments he would’ve replayed to Kai later that night over instant noodles in their shared flat, both of them still in pyjamas at 2AM.

He stands near the display, watching as someone carefully fingers the hem of one of his jackets, marvelling at the fine topstitching. Yeonjun is proud; he remembers how difficult it was to get that line clean, the number of times he had to unpick it. His hands ache just thinking about it. but when he turns to say something, to share the memory, there’s no one beside him. The thought slips silently back into his chest, unspoken. He doesn’t want to sound pathetic. Or worse, dramatic. Everyone’s scattered during break, that’s normal, but still – everyone else seems to have someone who showed up.

He steps back from the crowd for a moment, retreating to a corner of the room where he can breathe. He watches the scene unfold like a movie playing in front of him. His garments catch the light perfectly, casting delicate shadows across the white floor. People are talking about his work. Someone’s taken a photo and posted it on their story which should feel like a win, and yet, all Yeonjun can think is how quiet it feels without Kai’s laugh echoing in his ear, without his stupid commentary or his badly whispered guesses at what the professors are writing in their notebooks.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. A message from Kai 

 

ningningie👶 

hows it going????
is it amazing???!?!?!!
i bet it’s amazing ^3^
i wish i could be there to see it all finished and displayed
(˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥)  

 

Attached is a grainy photo of Kai holding a mug that says “World’s Okayest Best Friend” with a guilty little smile on his face. Yeonjun exhales through his nose, something like a laugh, something like a sigh. He replies quickly. 

 

it’s going well!!
it looks like winter magic in here
but it’s not the same without you :< 

 

He stares at the screen for a second longer, then locks it and slips it back into his coat. Eventually, the crowd thins. The noise dies down. He receives a few more compliments, a couple of lingering conversations about internships and future plans. When he finally steps out into the cold night air, he exhales a cloud of white breath and tilts his head to the sky. The stars are out. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, and even though he’s alone, even though the ache hasn’t left him, there’s a certain peace in knowing he made it through. Kai would’ve been proud, he thinks. He is proud.

Yeonjun walks back in and starts packing his things as the exhibit comes to a close, but just as he’s about to turn away and begin the slow walk back to his flat, out of the corner of his eye he spots a tall, broad-shouldered figure weaving through the thinning crowd near the studio entrance. The guy is looking around in mild confusion, scanning faces with an awkward sort of urgency, like he’s walked into the wrong party and is trying to find his bearings. Yeonjun blinks once, twice. The oversized scarf. The long coat. The absurd height. Then the guy’s eyes land on him and soften instantly.

Soobin.

The nervous, bashful smile that pulls at Soobin’s lips hits Yeonjun right in the chest. His heart starts to race, sudden and uninvited, as if his body recognises something before his mind can catch up. Soobin crosses the room in long strides, clutching a huge bouquet wrapped in soft paper; blue and white flowers, delicate and frosted-looking, like they’ve been pulled straight out of his exhibit’s theme. Yeonjun swallows hard. He doesn’t know why this is happening, why Soobin of all people is here, but the sight of him – earnest and slightly out of breath – chips something warm and strange into his chest.

“Sunbaenim,” Soobin says, stopping just in front of him, cheeks flushed from the cold or maybe the nerves, “I got you these. Thought they’d go with the whole winter thing.”

Yeonjun stares at the flowers, then at Soobin. “You came?”

“Of course I did,” Soobin says, lifting the bouquet a little as if to prove he’s not a hallucination. “Kai’s away, so... I thought I could show up for him. You know, in his place. Didn’t seem right, you being here on your own.”

“But... I thought you were all the way in Ansan?” Yeonjun asks, his voice barely above a whisper, roughened by disbelief. “That’s, like... a really long drive, no?”

Soobin scratches the back of his neck, clearly trying to downplay it. “Yeah, well,” he says with a small, crooked smile, “it was worth the drive.”

Yeonjun just stares at him for a moment. Not in that dramatic, wide-eyed romcom kind of way, but quietly. Like he’s trying to figure out what to do with the warmth blooming in his chest, sudden and soft and dangerous.

Something in Yeonjun tightens; not painfully, but sharply, like the moment before tears well. His hands hover uncertainly before he finally reaches out and takes the bouquet, fingertips brushing against Soobin’s. “Soobin…” he says again, and this time his voice is lower, touched with something soft and unsure. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know.” Soobin shrugs one shoulder, trying for casual but failing spectacularly. “I wanted to. I’ve been seeing your work all over Kai’s stories. He talks about you constantly, by the way. It's borderline romantic. Figured it was time I saw it for myself.”

Yeonjun lets out a laugh; surprised and uneven, the tension in his chest loosening just a bit. “So you came to spy on my work because Kai wouldn’t shut up about me?”

Yeonjun watches, amused, as Soobin’s expression begins to shift from cheeky confidence to full-blown panic in real time.

“Well,” Soobin says, his grin blooming before he realises – too late – that his mouth is moving faster than his brain. “That, and because I wanted to see you. I mean– your clothes. Well. You too, of course, sunbaenim. But not just you, like, I wanted to see the clothes too, obviously, because they’re– amazing. And I’ve seen pictures. But I also really wanted to see you– but not like really really– I mean, not that I didn’t want to–” He cuts himself off with a mortified half-laugh, eyes wide like a deer about to sprint for cover. “I’m... going to shut up now.”

Yeonjun’s eyebrows rise slowly, an incredulous smile spreading across his face. He watches Soobin struggle, completely wrecked by his own good intentions, the poor guy visibly combusting under the weight of his own words. There’s a kind of adorable earnestness to it; this big, broad-shouldered boy with his oversized scarf and carefully chosen flowers, falling to pieces because he said “you” too many times in one sentence.

“You’re really bad at this,” Yeonjun says, tone caught somewhere between teasing and affectionate. “Like impressively bad.”

Soobin groans, tipping his head back with a helpless grin. “I swear I rehearsed this in my head on the drive here. It sounded normal there. Cool, even.”

Yeonjun’s smile widens, slow and disbelieving. “Wait– you rehearsed?”

Soobin’s eyes go comically wide as he realises his own betrayal. “Uh– no. I didn’t. Obviously not.”

“Yeah, you did,” Yeonjun says, trying and failing to hide the laughter bubbling up in his throat. “You just said it.”

“No, that was... metaphorical rehearsing. Like, thinking. Thinking really hard. Not rehearsing rehearsing. Definitely not out loud.”

“You totally did it out loud,” Yeonjun grins, eyes gleaming with delight. “You sat in your car and practiced a speech. Probably in front of the rearview mirror like some romcom lead.”

Soobin groans again, dragging a hand down his face. “You weren’t supposed to pick that up. It was supposed to be, like– casual. Mysterious. Smooth.”

“Well,” Yeonjun says, clearly enjoying every second, “Mysterious went out the window at ‘not like really really’, and smooth died somewhere around ‘sunbaenim, I got you flowers’.”

Soobin looks genuinely pained now, squinting at the ground like he’s wishing for it to swallow him. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Yeonjun replies, fondness coating every word. “It’s the highlight of my night. And I just had a stranger compare one of my jackets to Mugler, so that’s saying something.”

Soobin glances up at him, a little sheepish, but his smile is genuine. “I just wanted to say something that would make you feel good. You looked kind of... alone. And I didn’t want you to be.”

Yeonjun falters, caught off-guard by the quiet honesty in Soobin’s voice. The teasing still lingers in the air, but something softer settles underneath it. He looks at Soobin and his heart folds in on itself a little.

“Thanks,” he says, voice low now, more real. “That means more than you probably know.”

Soobin ducks his head, scratching at the back of his neck. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t totally blow it.”

“You didn’t,” Yeonjun says, stepping just a little closer. “You really didn’t.”

Yeonjun looks at the bouquet from Soobin with a tenderness that even surprises him, fingers brushing against paper and petal, movements unusually gentle for someone who’s been running on adrenaline for hours. The bouquet is beautiful; delicate white ranunculus, pale blue hydrangeas, soft anemones that almost look frosted at the edges. It’s not just pretty, it’s cohesive and styled. It fits the theme of his exhibit so well it almost feels surreal. These aren’t gas station flowers or a last-minute convenience store grab – Soobin thought about this. He saw Yeonjun’s work and wanted to match it. He noticed. He knows him.

Yeonjun swallows thickly, lips pressing together as the weight of that realisation lands. There’s something so disarmingly sincere about Soobin’s presence; tall and slightly awkward, clearly out of his element, but showing up anyway. The ache Yeonjun had been nursing quietly all evening, that dull pulse of absence where Kai should’ve been, softens under the warmth of it.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t trust his voice to not tremble. Instead, he closes the space between them in a single step and wraps his arms around Soobin; tight, purposeful, real.

Soobin freezes.

For a breathless second, it’s like his brain has short-circuited. His shoulders stiffen, arms hovering in the air like he's unsure what to do with them. Then, slowly, they come down around Yeonjun’s back. Hesitantly at first, like he’s worried he might be reading it wrong, but Yeonjun doesn’t pull away, he leans in, and just like that, Soobin relaxes. Fully. He hugs back just as tightly, grounding them both in a way neither of them knew they needed.

He smells clean, like fabric softener and the faintest trace of cologne, mingling with that crisp scent of cold weather. His heart is thudding; Yeonjun can feel it against his chest, feel it thrum beneath layers of wool and cotton. The city buzzes faintly in the background – car horns, chatter, the murmur of guests still leaving the exhibit – but here, wrapped in the quiet between their two bodies, it all fades to nothing.

Yeonjun’s voice is soft when it comes, barely more than a whisper against Soobin’s coat. “Thank you. Seriously. For being here.”

Soobin exhales, like he’s been holding his breath the entire time. His hands tighten slightly at Yeonjun’s back, as though he wants to say more but has to settle for what he can manage. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, a touch hoarse. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

And he means it. Every syllable. Yeonjun can hear it in the way he says it, like showing up here tonight wasn’t just about supporting a friend, it was about showing up for him. Not just as a stand-in for Kai, not out of obligation, but because he wanted to, and because he chose to.

Yeonjun’s throat tightens, emotion catching like a hook. He’s been so composed all night, smiling politely, keeping himself upright on sheer will, but Soobin’s arms – solid and steady – feel like the first safe thing he’s allowed himself to fall into.

“I thought I’d feel fine,” Yeonjun admits, voice small. “That I could get through it on my own. But... when I saw everyone else with their people, I–” He trails off, embarrassed, as if he’s revealed too much.

“You’re not alone now,” Soobin says, and it’s not performative or pitiful. It’s just true.

Yeonjun doesn’t realise he’s still holding onto Soobin until a familiar voice, high and utterly inescapable, cuts through the air like a blade dipped in glitter.

“Jjunnie!”

He freezes mid-hug, body stiffening in instinctive horror.

No. No. She did not just–

Yeonjun jerks back, shoving Soobin’s arms off him in a panic. The bouquet is still clutched awkwardly between them.

“Eomma?!” he squawks.

His mother, radiant and dramatic in a cream cashmere coat and high-heeled boots, strides toward them like a woman on a mission. Her sunglasses are still perched dramatically atop her head, even though it’s dark out, and her perfectly coiffed hair bounces with each step.

“You think we’d just let you have your big exhibit alone?” she says with an exaggerated gasp. “What kind of parents do you think we are?”

“I thought you were in Busan for an event,” Yeonjun says, still reeling. “You said you were in Busan–”

“We were,” she waves dismissively, “But your Appa insisted we make time to come visit. I couldn’t not be here for my son’s fashion moment. You’re the next Robert Wun!”

“And who’s this?” his father says, appearing just behind her, voice low and firm, eyes trained on Soobin with suspicion.

Yeonjun opens his mouth to respond, but his mother’s gasp steals the moment.

“Is this your boyfriend?!” she squeals, eyes sparkling. “Jjunnie! He’s adorable!”

“No, Eomma–”

“You’ve got excellent taste, honey! Tall, symmetrical, soft features… he’s got leading man energy! Chef’s kiss!”

“Eomma, that’s not–”

“What’s your name, darling?” she coos, stepping into Soobin’s space like they’re already family.

“Uh… Choi Soobin, ma’am,” he says, blinking rapidly, clearly overwhelmed but too polite to resist.

“Oh, listen to those manners! Look at you! The perfect match for our son. Look at these proportions! You two are a dream pairing.”

“Eomma, please–”

“Come have dinner with us,” she declares, linking her arm with Soobin’s before Yeonjun can stop her. “We’re not taking no for an answer.”

“Eomma, listen–”

“Yeonho! Call the driver,” she commands, and Yeonjun’s father nods dutifully, already pulling out his phone.

“Eomma, he’s not–”

“Oh shut up, Jjunnie,” she says without missing a beat. “You don’t have to be all shy about it. You look amazing together. Amazing! Your proportions are absolutely otherworldly. Perfect model for my next designs! In fact, do you want to model for my next collection?”

Yeonjun straightens, squinting. “Hey, he’s my model!”

His mum throws him a pointed look. “Fine. Share.”

Yeonjun’s dad, who had been checking his phone with an increasingly furrowed brow, finally looks up with a sigh. “Ah… just got off the line with the driver,” he announces, slipping the phone back into his coat pocket. “He was trying to find a parking spot, took a wrong turn, and managed to hit a bit of sharp curb. Tyre’s completely done for. He’s already taken the car to a repair shop nearby.”

Yeonjun blinks. “Wait– so you came all this way and now you’ve got no car?”

His dad shrugs, hands stuffed into the pockets of his wool coat. “I guess so. I wanted to take the train but your mother insisted we take the driver, said she wanted to take the more scenic route.”

“And you let her?” Yeonjun asks, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“I’ve been married to her for twenty five years,” his dad deadpans. “Do I look like I win these things?”

Before Yeonjun can respond, Soobin steps forward, words tumbling out a little too quickly, clearly trying to be helpful but tripping over his own eagerness. “I brought my car. I can drive you wherever you need to go. Really. It’s no trouble at all. I’ll just drop you off and head home after.”

Yeonjun’s mum, who had been distracted flipping through her phone, perks up at once as if he’s just offered to chauffeur them to Paris. She clutches her coat dramatically at the collar. “Nonsense! Absolutely not. I told you already, you’re coming to dinner with us! There’s no ‘just dropping us off’.”

Soobin blinks, visibly startled by the enthusiasm. “Ah… really, ma’am, I don’t want to impose or–”

“You’re not imposing,” she cuts in, already reaching for his arm like he’s family. “You saved us, darling. You’re part of this celebration now.”

Yeonjun sees the panic flicker briefly across Soobin’s face and steps in, gently pulling him aside, away from the full force of his mother’s relentless charm. His voice lowers, gentler, the weight of the evening catching up to him. “Soobin... are you sure?” he asks, eyes searching his. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. My family can be... a lot.”

Soobin hesitates, then offers a small, sheepish smile. “Yeah, sunbaenim. I’d love to.”

Yeonjun softens at that, his voice turning light, teasing. “I thought I told you to call me hyung.”

Soobin laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly flustered. “Right– hyung, sorry. Still getting used to it.”

Yeonjun narrows his eyes playfully, nudging his elbow. “Only if you’re super sure about this. No take-backs once we’re in the car.”

“I’m sure,” Soobin says, more firmly this time. “I mean, come on. Not many people get the chance to have dinner with the Choi Eunji. That’s fashion royalty.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes, already bracing himself. “God, don’t inflate her ego. She’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

But Soobin’s grin only widens, warming with something gentler now. “Honestly, I had no idea your mum was the Choi Eunji. The woman who basically reinvented the Korean fashion industry in the mid-90s? Why didn’t you ever mention that?”

Yeonjun shrugs, pretending it’s nothing, though his ears are already burning. “I don’t know. It just... never came up, I guess.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Never came up?” he repeats with a playful scoff. “That’s kind of like forgetting to mention your mum’s Beyonce.”

Yeonjun groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Please don’t say that. She’ll love the comparison. She’s probably trademarking ‘K-Fashion Queen’ as we speak.”

Soobin chuckles under his breath. “Too late. I can already picture the press release.” Then, softer – almost like he doesn’t mean for it to slip out – he adds, “Well, no shade to your mum, but... I personally prefer the designer Choi Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun freezes for a beat. It’s not the words themselves, it’s how earnestly Soobin says them, like it’s the simple fact, like it’s obvious.

Yeonjun’s breath catches for half a second before he scoffs, trying to cover up the way his heart trips over itself. “You’re such a kiss ass,” he mutters, but the heat blooming in his cheeks betrays his embarrassment. He glances away, pretending to study a crack in the floor, but the corners of his mouth are already pulling up in a smile he can’t quite suppress.

Soobin, emboldened by Yeonjun’s reaction, grins wider, his nerves easing slightly. “I mean it, though,” he says, voice softer now. “Your collection is... incredible. The details, the textures, the way it all flows… it’s so you, but more. Like watching someone dream out loud.” His hand lifts like he’s about to gesture to the exhibit, but then he just lets it drop. “I may not understand a lot about fashion, butI’m really glad I got to see it.”

Yeonjun’s eyes flicker back to him, briefly stunned by the sincerity. For all of Soobin’s flustered moments and awkward stumbles, he has this unnerving way of saying exactly the right thing when it matters. Yeonjun looks at him a little longer than he means to; takes in the way his lashes fan against his cheek when he looks down, the way his fingers fiddle with the hem of his coat, the quiet earnestness that seems to settle around him like snowfall.

“Thanks,” Yeonjun says finally, voice quiet. “That... really means a lot.”

Their moment is interrupted – predictably – by the sound of his mother’s heels clacking against the gallery floor as she charges back over. “Alright, lovebirds, are you done whispering sweet nothings?” she announces, dramatic as ever. “The driver says the repair might take hours, so unless one of you is planning to hotwire a Bentley, we’re relying on Soobin.”

Soobin straightens like he’s just been called to military service. “Yes, ma’am! I mean, happy to help!”

Yeonjun winces. “Please don’t ‘ma’am’ her. She’ll put you in her next collection.”

His mother waves him off. “Don’t tempt me. I already have ten looks in my head for him. Those shoulders! That bone structure! Tell me, Soobin, have you ever modelled professionally?”

Soobin blinks. “Um... no?”

“Well, you’re going to. Starting tonight. I’ll bring sketches to the restaurant.”

Yeonjun groans. “Eomma, please. Can we have one dinner without turning it into a casting call?”

She ignores him entirely, linking her arm with Soobin’s like they’re old friends. “Come along, darling. Let’s go somewhere cozy. You must be starving after carrying that beautiful bouquet all evening.”

Soobin stares at Yeonjun over his shoulder, slightly overwhelmed, but clearly trying not to laugh. Yeonjun just shakes his head and gestures for him to go with it.

“This is your fault,” Soobin says under his breath, grinning as they walk.

Yeonjun snorts. “You showed up. That’s on you.”

“Well,” Soobin murmurs as they make their way out of the exhibit space, “I guess I’d still rather be here with you than anywhere else.”

Yeonjun’s heart does that annoying flutter again. He ducks his head, but not before Soobin sees the smile tugging at his lips.

“Shut up,” he says quietly, voice thick with affection.

Soobin grins. “Never.”

Outside, as the cold winter air greets them and his parents continue bickering about restaurants, Yeonjun feels the tension of the evening begin to melt – just a little – like snow under a soft light. The ride to the restaurant feels like the beginning of something strange and warm and slightly unreal. Soobin’s behind the wheel of his sleek black Genesis G80, the interior all smooth leather and subtle ambient lighting. It smells faintly of citrus and clean cologne, like expensive car wash and too many careful hands. The engine hums with quiet power, and Yeonjun rides shotgun with the winter bouquet still in his lap.

His parents are settled into the back seat, visibly impressed. His mum runs her hand along the door’s trim like she’s appraising it. “Wow, Soobin. This is lovely. What year is this?”

“Oh, uh– just last year’s model,” Soobin says, glancing at her through the rearview mirror, smile shy. “I don't really drive much in the city, but it comes in handy when I visit home.”

Yeonjun snorts under his breath. “Right. Comes in handy for spontaneous cross-province visits to uni exhibits too.”

Soobin grins, eyes flicking toward him briefly. “Some things are worth the drive.”

Behind them, Yeonjun’s mum lets out a chuckle. “He’s smoother than you ever were, Jjun.”

“Eomma,” Yeonjun says flatly, slumping further into the seat as he tries to melt into the upholstery.

“Oh, honey,” his mum says, all too pleased. “We’re just excited to finally see you with someone charming for once.”

Yeonjun groans. “Can we not?”

But Soobin laughs; genuinely, cheeks flushed but delighted. “It’s okay, hyung. I don’t mind. It’s nice.”

Yeonjun side-eyes him. “You should mind.”

“I don’t,” Soobin says, glancing at him again, and this time it’s softer. “I like hearing about you.”

That shuts Yeonjun up for a moment. He looks down at the bouquet in his lap again, as if it might say something on his behalf.

“Soobinie,” his mum continues, ever relentless, “You must let me design something for you. Your proportions are amazing, broad but elegant. You’d look incredible in structured pieces.”

“Eomma,” Yeonjun hisses, mortified.

But Soobin just nods, still smiling. “I’d be honoured. Really. I’ve never worn anything custom before.”

“I’ll fix that,” she says, already scheming. “How do you feel about velvet?”

Yeonjun puts his head in his hands.

The car rolls on smoothly through the evening city, streetlights sliding across the windscreen like golden thread, and despite the teasing, the embarrassment, and his mother’s unstoppable ambition, Yeonjun can feel something shift; Soobin laughing in the driver’s seat, his dad relaxed, his mum already talking about fabric swatches. It feels warm and real, like this strange little group just fits.

Soobin glances at him again – just briefly – and Yeonjun catches it this time, that quiet, private smile. The kind that says, I’m glad I came. Despite himself, Yeonjun can’t help smiling back.

The restaurant is a masterpiece of understated luxury. Soft golden lighting bathes the room, casting a warm glow over white marble floors and plush velvet chairs. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, their facets catching the light and scattering it like stars. Each table is set with precision: gleaming silverware, fine china, and crystal glassware that catches the light with every movement. The air is filled with the gentle hum of conversation and the clink of glasses, creating an atmosphere of refined elegance.

As they settle into their seats, Yeonjun notices that Soobin seems completely at ease here. He greets the staff with a friendly nod, and the staff addresses him by name, guiding them to a private corner table with a view of the city skyline. It's clear that Soobin is no stranger to this establishment.

Yeonjun's parents exchange impressed glances. His mother leans in, whispering, "This place... it's one of the best in Seoul, isn't it?" His father nods, his expression thoughtful.

The waiter arrives promptly, presenting the menu with a flourish. The choices are exquisite: delicate appetizers, succulent mains, and decadent desserts. Yeonjun's mother wastes no time, selecting a lobster bisque to start, followed by a filet mignon, and finishing with a rich chocolate souffle. His father opts for the foie gras, followed by the wagyu beef, and a classic creme brulee. Yeonjun, feeling slightly out of his depth, chooses the seared scallops, duck confit, and a lemon meringue tart. Soobin, with a knowing smile, orders the tasting menu, which includes a selection of the chef's specialties.

As the evening progresses, the conversation flows effortlessly. Yeonjun's mother shares stories of her early days in the fashion industry, her eyes lighting up as she recounts the challenges and triumphs. Soobin listens intently, asking thoughtful questions and offering genuine compliments. Yeonjun's father, though quieter, contributes with anecdotes of his own, and even Yeonjun finds himself laughing at some of the tales from his childhood.

Despite the warmth of the evening, Yeonjun senses a subtle tension from his father. His protective instincts are evident, and Yeonjun knows that his father is carefully observing Soobin, assessing his character. Just as the main courses are being cleared away, Yeonjun's father sets down his wine glass with a deliberate motion. The room seems to quiet around them as he fixes Soobin with a steady gaze.

"Soobin-ssi," he begins, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable weight, "What are your intentions with my son?"

Yeonjun's eyes widen in shock, and he nearly chokes on his wine. "Appa!" he exclaims, his face flushing with embarrassment.

His mother, equally taken aback, places a hand on his father's arm. "Oh, come on, honey, not now, please," she implores, her tone a mixture of exasperation and concern.

But his father remains unmoved, his gaze unwavering. "I just want to know if you're serious about my son. He is, after all, my only son."

Yeonjun opens his mouth to protest, but before he can speak, Soobin cuts in, his voice steady and sincere.

"I've liked your son ever since I laid eyes on him during orientation day," Soobin says, his expression earnest. 

Yeonjun's heart skips a beat as Soobin's words hang in the air. His parents are frozen in surprise, their eyes wide as if they hadn’t quite processed what Soobin had just said. Yeonjun himself is still trying to catch his breath, and his face flushes deep crimson. He opens his mouth, but no words come out at first.

Yeonjun’s dad is the first to recover, though it’s clear that he's still taken aback by Soobin’s directness. He narrows his eyes, his protective instincts kicking in. "You’re serious about him?" he asks, his voice low but firm. “My son isn’t just some passing interest. He’s important to us.”

Soobin’s gaze remains steady, unwavering, and with a quiet breath, he nods. “The moment I met Yeonjun hyung, I knew there was something special about him. I mean, you can see it, right?” He gestures between Yeonjun and himself. “He’s got this thing, this magnetic pull. He’s not just talented, he’s got this kindness, this depth that makes him stand out from the rest. I couldn’t ignore it, not when I felt it from the first day I saw him.”

Yeonjun’s mother glances between her husband and Soobin, her eyes flicking between shock and curiosity. “But... you really like him that much?” she asks, her voice softening slightly, though she’s still processing this new layer of the conversation.

Soobin smiles, his eyes softening as he looks at Yeonjun, who’s now staring at the table in embarrassment, not quite knowing where to look. “Yeah, I do. A lot. I know it’s sudden, but... I don’t think I could have let this opportunity pass me by. I’ve thought about it a lot.” He takes a deep breath, his words tumbling out faster now, the nervousness blending with a sense of resolve. “He’s not just the guy I met during orientation, though. He’s so much more. Every time we talk, I see more of who he really is, and every time we spend time together, I get more sure of it. Sure of him. I like the way he thinks, the way he carries himself. He’s not just handsome too; he’s thoughtful, passionate about his work, and he cares so deeply about the things that matter. I like how he makes me feel like I’m worth it when I’m around him.”

Yeonjun’s face has gone from pink to almost red at this point, his fingers fiddling with the napkin in his lap as he avoids making eye contact with anyone. His dad is still quiet, but there’s a faint, almost imperceptible shift in his posture as he listens.

Soobin continues, his words growing more confident as he speaks from the heart. “I know I may not be perfect, but I want to get to know him better. I want to be there for him, support him, whether that’s as a friend or something more, I don’t know yet. But I do know this: I’m not just in this for a passing crush. I’d really like the chance to pursue him, to see where this goes. I’m willing to put in the time and effort if he is.”

There’s a long pause after Soobin finishes speaking, the table quiet except for the soft clink of silverware being put down as the waiter checks on them. Yeonjun’s heart is still racing, but now he’s feeling a strange sense of warmth, of admiration for Soobin’s unfiltered honesty. He’s not sure whether to laugh or to run for the hills, but a part of him feels... touched.

His father, who had been watching Soobin with a critical eye, finally shifts in his seat. He clears his throat, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Yeonjun’s heart leaps to his throat; he’s not sure whether to be terrified or hopeful, but then, to his surprise, his father lets out a small grunt of approval.

“Well, I’ll give you this, Soobin-ssi,” his father says, his voice still calm but now carrying an air of respect. “You’re brave. I can see you’ve put some thought into this. You’ve got my attention.” He leans back in his chair slightly, folding his arms. “And I appreciate that you’re being direct about your intentions. A lot of young men would dance around that, wouldn’t even have the guts to come out and say it.”

Yeonjun blinks, unsure if his dad is about to give his approval or shoot him down completely. His mother looks at his father in shock, but his dad just waves it off, looking at Soobin now with a more measured gaze.

“You know,” his dad adds, his tone less guarded than before, “I’ve always wanted someone who would be straight with our Jjunnie. If you truly care about him – if you’re not here for just a fleeting moment – then I can respect that.” He pauses, his eyes softening slightly. “Just be good to him. Treat him right. He’s been through a lot, and I want to make sure he’s with someone who will appreciate him for all he is, not just for the things he can do.”

Yeonjun’s heart is beating so fast it feels like it might explode out of his chest. He looks up at Soobin, who seems a bit stunned himself by the sudden turn of events, but there’s something in his eyes – something warm and reassuring – that makes Yeonjun feel like maybe, just maybe, this is going to work out. Soobin nods, his voice earnest.

“I promise, sir,” Soobin says quietly, “I’ll do my best.”

Yeonjun, who had been holding his breath the entire time, lets it out in a rush. His face flushes even harder, but the atmosphere around the table feels lighter now. Soobin’s sincerity, his willingness to put himself out there, seems to have finally earned his father’s approval.

His mother, who had been observing quietly, finally leans in with a sly smile. “Well,” she says with a wink, “I suppose we’ll see how this all unfolds, won’t we?”

Yeonjun groans, hiding his face behind his hands, though a small, fond smile tugs at his lips. Soobin chuckles softly, his gaze softening as he glances over at Yeonjun, who is clearly struggling with the sudden weight of everything.

“So,” Soobin says, breaking the tension with a lighter tone, “What do you say we get some dessert?”

Then after dinner, the driver pulls up outside the restaurant, headlights sweeping across the pavement in wide arcs, adorning a brand new tyre. It’s the same familiar car Yeonjun’s parents always take when they’re in Seoul; sleek, polished, and silent as it rolls to a gentle stop. His mother checks her phone with the faintest frown, already halfway back into her world of tight itineraries and immaculate appearances. She has an event to attend in Busan early tomorrow morning; something art-related, though Yeonjun didn’t quite catch the details. 

She kisses Yeonjun lightly on both cheeks, smoothing down a flyaway strand of his hair with her gloved hand. “Don’t stay up too late, darling. You look tired.”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, though he leans into the touch more than he means to.

Her gaze slides to Soobin, and she smiles, slow and amused, the kind of expression that always makes Yeonjun brace himself. “You’ve made a good impression tonight,” she says, almost in passing. “Not easy to do with my husband.”

Soobin straightens, unsure if it’s a compliment or a challenge. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh, none of that ‘ma’am’ nonsense,” she says with a wave of her hand, then fixes her scarf in the mirror of the car. “Just look after my son. That’ll do.”

Yeonjun watches, startled but quietly pleased, as Soobin nods with that familiar seriousness of his. Then his father steps forward. For a second, it looks like he’s going to say something else, but instead, he simply offers Soobin his hand. Not just a polite handshake; this one is firmer, warmer, and somehow… final. As if an unspoken trial has ended. Then his father wraps Yeonjun in a tight hug, pressing a soft kiss on the top of his head, and just like that, they’re gone, the door clicking shut behind them. The car slides away from the curb, taillights glowing red as it disappears down the road.

For a moment, Yeonjun just stands there, blinking at the empty street. It feels like something significant just happened, though he can’t quite put words to it. The absence of his parents leaves a strange kind of hush behind, like a curtain falling on the end of a play.

Next to him, Soobin exhales. “That was… intense.”

Yeonjun lets out a laugh, more breath than sound. “Yeah. Welcome to meeting the Choi parents.”

“Come on,” Soobin says gently. “Let’s get you home.”

The car is warm and quiet when they climb in. Soobin starts the engine, letting soft music drift from the speakers; some mellow R&B playlist that neither of them comments on but both find oddly comforting. The streetlights streak past the windows, blurring gold and silver against the dark glass.

Yeonjun stares out in silence for a while, his thoughts turning over too many things at once. His dad’s words. His mum’s sly little wink. The fact that Soobin, who is only supposed to be a new something in his life, is already becoming so much more than that. The whole thing replays in his mind in loops; his father’s piercing gaze, his mother’s coy smile, and then Soobin, suddenly and bewilderingly, saying, I’ve liked your son ever since I laid eyes on him during orientation day.

It hadn’t sounded like a joke. It hadn’t even sounded nervous. Just... honest.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Soobin says suddenly. His voice cuts through the quiet, not abrupt, but close. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

Yeonjun turns to look at him. Soobin keeps his eyes on the road, but his grip on the wheel is too tight, knuckles pale in the dashboard light.

“I’m not weirded out,” Yeonjun says eventually. “Just... a bit caught off guard.”

“That’s fair.” Soobin sighs. “Honestly, I didn’t even think it was a big deal until your dad started drilling into me like I was applying for a security clearance. And then it just came out.”

Yeonjun huffs a laugh. “Yeah, he does that. Interrogation’s his love language.”

Soobin gives a weak smile. “Well, good to know. But still… I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”

Yeonjun shakes his head slowly. “You didn’t. I just… I didn’t know.”

They fall into silence again. But it’s different now; more open somehow, like something has shifted between them, even if neither of them knows quite what to do with it. When they pull up in front of Yeonjun’s building, the car idles for a moment. Soobin looks over, uncertain.

“You want me to walk you up?” he asks, cautious now, like he’s afraid even that might be too much.

Yeonjun hesitates for a second, not because he’s unsure, but because the moment feels tender enough to shatter. Then he nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”

Soobin smiles again, and this time, it’s not playful or teasing. It’s real. The kind that settles low in Yeonjun’s chest and makes him feel, despite everything, like he might actually be safe.

They take the stairs instead of the lift, their footsteps echoing softly up the narrow stairwell. Yeonjun doesn’t say much, he isn’t sure what he could say that wouldn’t come out clumsy or too revealing. His thoughts are still turning over themselves like laundry in a spin cycle, and none of them seem to settle long enough to make sense. Soobin doesn’t press. He just follows behind, close but not too close, hands in his coat pockets, eyes on the steps. The air between them isn’t tense, exactly. It’s more like a string pulled tight between two places, waiting to see which direction it’ll snap.

When they reach his door – the one with the chipped sticker half-peeled off the letter slot, the faint scuff mark Kai refuses to clean off – they stop. Yeonjun pulls his keys out of his pocket but doesn’t unlock the door. He stares at the wood grain for a second too long.

“Soobin?” he says, not looking up.

“Yeah?”

Yeonjun turns the keys in his hand, fidgeting with the metal edge. “Back there. What you said to my dad.” His voice is quiet but steady. “Did you mean it? Or did it just… slip out because of the pressure?”

It’s a reasonable question, he thinks. People say stupid things under stress. Especially when confronted by stern, suit-wearing fathers and the threat of high expectations.

However, Soobin doesn’t hesitate.

“I meant it,” he says simply.

Yeonjun’s head tilts slightly, not in disbelief, just… processing. He glances over.

Soobin shifts, letting out a small breath. “I didn’t plan on saying anything tonight, obviously. But it’s not just some random thing I pulled out of nowhere.”

Yeonjun leans against the door, arms loosely folded, gaze cautious but curious. “So it’s not just because I saved you from tripping into a vending machine on orientation day?”

Soobin snorts. “Honestly? That is kind of where it started.”

Yeonjun blinks. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was,” Soobin says, eyes crinkling slightly. “You were the only person who didn’t just walk past me when I was obviously lost and trying to act like I wasn’t about to have a breakdown. You pointed me in the right direction and then offered me half your coffee. I thought, ‘Huh. He’s kind.’ And then I kept running into you around campus, and you were always... you. Funny. Sharp. The way you talk with your hands when you’re explaining something. How you always wear three rings but never the same three. You remember people’s names even if you’ve only met them once.”

Yeonjun stares at him, throat tightening around words he hasn’t even thought of yet.

Soobin shrugs, hands back in his pockets now, voice quieter. “So yeah. It’s not new. You’re just so out of my league I didn’t think I had a chance of it being... reciprocated or whatever. Still don’t, honestly. But when your dad asked me what I wanted from you, I didn’t want to lie.” He laughs under his breath, sheepish. “Didn’t expect to blow up your night in the process, though.”

Yeonjun’s heart is doing that uneven thing again, like it can’t decide whether to sprint or freeze altogether. He looks at Soobin, really looks at him, and realises that for all of Soobin’s nerves, he’s being honest. Not dramatic. Not trying to charm him. Just quietly, awkwardly sincere.

“I didn’t know,” Yeonjun says, after a long pause. “About your crush.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly make it obvious either,” Soobin says, offering a crooked, sheepish smile. “I used to get so nervous whenever I saw you around campus, I’d either walk the other way or pretend I hadn’t seen you.”

Yeonjun stares at him. “Seriously?”

Soobin gives a weak laugh. “Yeah. Once I literally turned around and walked straight into a lamppost.”

Yeonjun blinks. “You hid from me?”

“Not on purpose,” Soobin groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, maybe on purpose. But only because I didn’t want to say something dumb and make it worse. Guess I did that anyway, huh.”

“Soobin…” Yeonjun’s voice softens, surprise giving way to something else. Something warmer, more fragile. He doesn’t know what he’s meant to say, but he feels a pull in his chest, like he’s standing on the edge of something he hasn’t dared to name.

“Was that really lame?” Soobin asks suddenly, eyes wide and earnest. “That was lame, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t have said that.”

Yeonjun huffs a breath; half sigh, half reluctant laugh. “It was a little lame.”

Soobin groans, tipping his head back against the hallway wall in defeat. “Oh my god.”

“But…” Yeonjun pauses. “Also kind of sweet. In a weird, anxiety-ridden, secondhand embarrassment sort of way.”

Soobin lifts his head to look at him, a hopeful tilt to his brows. “Yeah?”

Yeonjun nods slowly. “Yeah.”

They stand there in the dim corridor for a beat too long, suspended in a kind of silence that isn’t uncomfortable, just uncertain. The air between them feels different now; stripped of its earlier awkwardness, but no less charged. It’s quiet, but not empty. Something is beginning to settle.

Yeonjun shifts his weight, thumb brushing the edge of his key. “You know, I didn’t think you even liked me at first. You always looked kind of…” He hesitates. “Panicked. Like I’d done something to offend you.”

Soobin winces. “God. I probably did. I just thought if I kept my head down, the crush would go away.”

“And did it?”

“Obviously not,” Soobin says, smiling despite himself. “Kind of hard to ignore you.”

Yeonjun doesn’t know what to do with that. His heart gives an uncomfortable flutter, sharp-edged and unfamiliar. He’s not used to this kind of attention, the soft, clumsy kind that comes with no expectations or clever lines. Soobin isn’t trying to impress him. He’s just being honest. Maybe a little mortified, but real. It makes something in Yeonjun ache, in a way he doesn’t entirely understand. He looks at Soobin, properly now; the slope of his shoulders, the nervous set of his mouth, the way he keeps fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve like he’s waiting for Yeonjun to tell him he’s crossed a line, but he hasn’t. 

Yeonjun can’t help the way his mouth curves into a smirk. He steps in, closing the gap between them just enough to watch Soobin flinch in real time. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Soobin’s eyes dart up, startled. “What?”

Yeonjun tilts his head, tone sliding into that low, lazy drawl he knows gets under people’s skin. “Aren’t you going to ask me on a date?”

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

“What?” Soobin blurts again, expression crumpling like he’s just been accused of a crime.

Yeonjun sighs, dramatic and exaggerated, as if Soobin is trying his last ounce of patience. “You say ‘what’ one more time,” he says, voice flat, “and I’m gonna kiss you stupid.”

That shuts him up. Like a switch’s been flipped, Soobin freezes mid-breath, eyes flicking down to Yeonjun’s mouth and then scrambling back up again. The colour drains from his face, then floods back in twice as fast.

“Oh,” he says faintly, as if his brain’s buffering.

Yeonjun clicks his tongue and leans back just slightly, enough to create a sliver of distance. Just enough to let the tension stretch thin and taut. “Hmph. Guess you’re not that into me, then.”

“NO– PLEASE.” Soobin lurches forward with zero grace, arms half-raised like he’s trying to catch something already falling. “Please go on a date with me. Please. I’m begging you.”

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, folding his arms as he leans against the wall with a little theatrical flair. “Wow. Begging now?” He draws the words out, savouring them. “You wanna date me that bad?”

“Yes,” Soobin says without even blinking. His voice wobbles a bit, desperate and sincere in a way that makes Yeonjun’s chest flutter, though he doesn’t show it. “More than you think.”

Yeonjun taps a finger against his lip, pretending to weigh the idea like it’s a complicated decision. “Hmm. Convince me.”

Soobin stares at him for a beat, visibly short-circuiting. Then he seems to grasp for something in his mental archives, and ends up clasping his hands in front of him in a pleading gesture that would be pathetic if it weren’t so tragically earnest.

“Yeonjun hyung,” he says, voice full of sincerity and rising panic. “Please. I’ll take you anywhere you want. I’ll bring flowers. Pull your chair out. Compliment your outfit. Laugh at your jokes – even the ones that aren’t funny. I’ll even pretend to like avocado toast if you’re into that sort of thing–”

Yeonjun lets out an inelegant snort, unable to hold back. Then, without warning, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Soobin’s mouth. It’s not deep or serious. It’s not meant to be. Just a brief, warm touch, a barely-there graze of lips that lingers more in meaning than in motion, but it lands like a grenade.

Soobin goes completely still, lips parted, eyes wide like someone just unplugged him mid-sentence.

Yeonjun pulls back, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Maybe you’ll get a real kiss after our first date.”

Soobin doesn’t reply. He stands there, dazed, as if someone just hit him upside the head with a velvet pillow.

Yeonjun watches him for a beat longer, smug and fond all at once, before turning on his heel with a casual flick of his hand. “Plan it,” he tosses over his shoulder, unlocking the door. “And call me when you’re ready.”

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving Soobin frozen in place in the middle of the hallway, staring at nothing, lips still slightly parted, cheeks flushed to the tips of his ears. Then slowly, almost stupidly, a grin breaks across his face. Wide, dopey, and impossible to suppress. 

He’s completely and utterly doomed.

 

🐰

 

Soobin stands in front of Yeonjun’s apartment door, feeling like he’s about to face a firing squad instead of a first date. His weight shifts restlessly from one foot to the other, sneakers scuffing lightly against the welcome mat that reads Home is where the coffee is . He’s holding a bouquet again because apparently he’s committed to being that guy. This time, it’s a careful arrangement of cream-coloured roses, soft lavender, and sprigs of eucalyptus, wrapped in rustic brown paper and tied with twine in a loose bow that he redid three times before leaving his flat. It took him half an hour to choose at the flower shop. Forty minutes, if he counts the time spent googling “flowers that say I like you but not in a creepy way.”

Now, in the cold corridor light, he stares down at the bundle like it’s a ticking bomb. His mind spins through every possible reaction Yeonjun might have; corny , try-hard , old school , weirdly formal. What if Yeonjun hates flowers? What if it’s too much? He swallows, rethinking everything for the fifth time, then considers hiding the bouquet behind his back like some cliché cartoon character and pretending he just showed up empty-handed. Maybe that would be less embarrassing. Maybe–

The door swings open.

Soobin goes still, breath catching stupidly in his throat.

Yeonjun stands there, barefoot, haloed in the soft golden light of the apartment behind him, and looks like he stepped straight off the pages of an editorial shoot. He’s wearing a dark, oversized button-up in a silky material that catches the light when he moves, the top two buttons left open just enough to hint at collarbone. It's tucked into a pair of wide-leg, high-waisted cream trousers that fall perfectly over the tops of his polished black loafers waiting by the door. A thin belt cinches his waist, subtle and elegant, and his only visible jewellery is a single silver hoop in one ear and a delicate chain that disappears beneath his shirt. His hair is styled in soft waves, just damp enough at the ends to suggest he’d blow-dried it moments before Soobin arrived, and the faint scent of something fresh and musky – probably expensive – lingers in the air.

He looks like the kind of person who belongs in fashion show front rows, not standing in a hallway receiving flowers from a guy who nearly forgot to put on deodorant this morning.

Yeonjun’s eyes drift down to the bouquet in Soobin’s hands. There's a flicker of surprise – just a breath of it – but then he glances back up with a small, unreadable smile that makes Soobin want to crawl out of his own skin. 

“Oh,” Yeonjun says, voice light, “You brought more?”

Soobin’s mouth opens, then immediately fumbles. “I– yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it a thing or anything. I just thought… maybe, I don’t know, they’d make you smile? If that’s not weird. Or too much. I can take them back, if–”

Yeonjun, already reaching for the flowers, lets their fingers brush as he takes the bouquet, and something about the ease of it, the way he accepts the gesture without mockery or discomfort, settles Soobin’s spiralling nerves just a little.

“They’re beautiful,” Yeonjun says simply. Not performative, not teasing. Just honest. Like it really is that easy to please him, and then he’s turning away, disappearing into the apartment with the flowers in hand, calling back, “Give me a minute. I’m going to find a vase.”

Soobin stands in the doorway, stunned. He glances down at his shoes, suddenly aware of how aggressively clean they are from all the nervous polishing he did before leaving. The apartment smells faintly of incense and something citrusy and warm, like orange peel and bergamot, and it’s so Yeonjun he almost laughs. His eyes drift over the space: the carefully curated coffee table books, the poster wall arranged like an art gallery, the fashion sketches pinned above the small desk. Everything is tidy without feeling staged. Lived-in, but with style.

Yeonjun returns a moment later with a tall glass vase already half-filled with water. He sets it down on the kitchen counter, gently adjusting the flowers until they sit just right, like he’s styling a shoot, not arranging a bouquet. “They’ll be fine overnight,” he murmurs, giving them one last glance of approval before turning back to Soobin. “Unless you’re planning to give me more tomorrow?”

Soobin laughs, startled and flustered in equal measure. “I mean, maybe? Depends how tonight goes.”

Yeonjun grins, tugging a coat over his shoulders, the tailored cut of it immediately elevating the entire look from editorial to runway-ready. “Alright then, mystery man,” he says, sliding past him to the door with a smirk, “Lead the way.”

They’re barely a few steps out the door when Yeonjun slips on his sunglasses over his hair – sleek, angular, almost certainly designer – with the smooth, practiced ease of someone born to be seen. He falls into step beside Soobin like it’s second nature, turning his head just slightly, one brow lifted in casual curiosity. “So,” he drawls, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat, “Where are we going?”

Soobin fights the urge to immediately blurt it out. He’s not great at surprises. He likes control, certainty, knowing what to expect, so keeping this a secret, especially from someone like Yeonjun, whose presence tends to short-circuit his brain, feels like standing on a tightrope with his eyes closed.

“You’ll see,” he manages, tossing a lopsided smile over his shoulder as they make their way to the car.

Yeonjun groans, dramatic but clearly amused. “Seriously? No clues? Not even a vague direction?”

“Nope,” Soobin replies, popping the lock on his car. “It’s a surprise.”

Yeonjun levels him with a look over the rim of his sunglasses as they both slide into their seats. The interior still smells faintly like the air freshener Soobin changed that morning, pine and something citrusy, chosen on impulse because it seemed like the kind of thing Yeonjun might like. “You know,” Yeonjun muses as he buckles in, “You’re surprisingly good at being mysterious.”

Soobin lets out a small, awkward laugh, fiddling with the volume knob like it’s something that needs urgent adjusting. “I’m clumsy and nervous,” he says, eyes on the road, “Not incapable of planning.”

Yeonjun hums, noncommittal but clearly entertained. “Fair.”

The city drifts by in a blur of soft golds and cooling blues. It’s that brief, cinematic window between day and night; long shadows stretching over storefronts, headlights flickering on, and neon signs starting to pulse against the glass of quiet cafes and buzzing restaurants. The music in the car is low, instrumental lo-fi that doesn’t compete with conversation but fills the silence enough to make Soobin feel like he can breathe.

Every few blocks, Soobin steals glances at Yeonjun. Not subtle ones – he’s never been good at that – but quick flickers of his gaze, like he’s trying to memorise him in the in-between moments. Yeonjun is reclined just slightly, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, his legs crossed at the knee and one hand curled near his mouth in thought. He looks completely at ease. Like this is normal, like this isn’t the first time they’ve done something like this, and Soobin, despite all the frantic rehearsing and internal panic, feels a tiny bit calmer just watching him exist.

But then his mind circles back – like it always does – to how they got here. To the spark that lit this fuse, and now he’s planning an entire dates based on that one conversation.

It was something stupid, small. Insignificant, probably, to Yeonjun himself.

Orientation week, back when Soobin had barely managed to say a full sentence without stumbling over his own name. He’d been standing off to the side in the student lounge, nursing a free drink and pretending not to stare at the upperclassman with the perfect bone structure and devastating fashion sense. Yeonjun had been talking to someone about music – Soobin can’t remember who, only that it wasn’t him – and he’d picked up one of the bland, overly sugary drinks on the refreshments table, wrinkled his nose, and said, almost offhandedly, “Music on vinyl is way better. Digital always sounds so flat.”

That was it. Just a throwaway comment, but it lodged itself in Soobin’s brain like a splinter, something he kept returning to without realising why.

So now here they are, a few years later, Yeonjun in his passenger seat, the smell of flowers still faint on his coat, and Soobin trying not to drive like he’s auditioning for a car commercial. His hands are a little too tight on the steering wheel. His heart’s beating a little too fast for something that’s supposed to be casual, but he’s planned this, he’s thought it through, and he found the perfect place: a listening bar. Half restaurant, half record lover’s dream. Dim lighting, warm wood interiors, vintage speakers lining the walls, and a curated vinyl selection that plays through a sound system so rich you can feel it in your chest. They serve great food, even better drinks, and the whole atmosphere is a soft cocoon of nostalgia and intention.

It’s quiet, intimate. Just enough charm to impress without trying too hard. The kind of place where someone like Yeonjun – someone who always seems too cool for things to be real – might actually let his guard down. Soobin swallows, eyes flicking between the road and the glowing navigation on his dashboard. The GPS voice tells him to turn in three hundred metres. He risks another glance at Yeonjun, who’s now watching the city roll by, sunglasses sitting atop a thick crown of perfectly styled hair, a soft little smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Soobin smiles too; nervous, hopeful, maybe just a little awestruck.

He hopes Yeonjun will like it.

Soobin pulls into the small, dimly lit parking lot just off the main street. The glow of streetlights casts long shadows over the cars, and the faint hum of the city’s nightlife echoes from a few blocks away. The place looks almost hidden, tucked into the corner of an old building, with a small, understated sign above the door reading The Spin. It doesn’t scream trendy or exclusive. It doesn’t need to. It’s one of those spots you only find if you know exactly what you’re looking for.

Soobin parks and cuts the engine, suddenly aware of how the silence between them feels heavier now. His palms are clammy again, but he pushes down the wave of nerves, trying to act casual.

He glances over at Yeonjun, whose gaze is already fixed on the door in front of them, looking like he just walked out of a fashion magazine editorial. “So, uh,” Soobin begins, fumbling for something to say. “Welcome to... The Spin.”

Yeonjun turns his head slowly, eyebrow raised. “The Spin?” he repeats, voice dripping with amused curiosity. He pushes open his door and steps out, glancing up at the small sign above them, then back at Soobin with a quirked smile. “What exactly is this?”

Soobin hesitates, feeling a little self-conscious as he steps out of the car and joins Yeonjun on the sidewalk. “It’s a listening bar,” he says, trying to sound casual, “Half bar and resto, half record shop. They play vinyl records, not digital music. I know you’re into that. You just... choose a record, listen, and talk. It’s lowkey, you know?”

Yeonjun looks at him, a flicker of something like surprise crossing his face before he slides his sunglasses off his head and tucks them into the front of his shirt. “Huh,” he murmurs, nodding. “Sounds cool. But how do you know I’m into vinyl?”

Soobin feels his chest tighten slightly, his breath catching as he tries to sound confident. “You mentioned it, back during orientation week,” he says, his voice a little too rushed. “You were talking about music with someone, and you said... something about how digital music always sounds flat. You said you preferred vinyl because it was... better? Something like that.”

Yeonjun blinks, his expression shifting to one of genuine surprise. He steps closer, studying Soobin with an intensity that makes his heart skip. “You remember that?”

Soobin feels a rush of warmth flooding his face. “I mean... yeah. I don’t know why. It just stuck with me,” he admits, shrugging awkwardly. “I remember thinking it was cool, actually. Like, it’s the kind of thing you don’t hear often, you know? Everyone talks about streaming, but not about... actual records.”

For a moment, Yeonjun just stares at him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Then he shakes his head, like he’s genuinely amazed. “Wow. I didn’t think anyone was actually paying attention that day.”

“I– well, I was, I guess.” Soobin scratches the back of his neck, suddenly feeling like a nervous mess. “I guess I just... noticed you saying it, and I thought, hey, this might be something you’d enjoy.”

Yeonjun chuckles softly, his smile deepening into something fond and knowing. “You really do pay attention, don’t you?” he says, voice lighter now. “That’s... actually really flattering.”

Soobin’s heart flutters, and he laughs nervously, rubbing his temple. “I don’t know if I’d call it flattering... more like weird and obsessive.”

“No,” Yeonjun insists, eyes glinting with something playful. “It’s sweet. And maybe... a little bit obsessive.”

Soobin can feel his stomach do a flip at the way Yeonjun’s eyes linger on him for just a moment longer than necessary. He looks away quickly, clearing his throat. “Well, uh, shall we? We’ve got music to listen to, food to eat...”

Yeonjun shoots him one last, bemused glance before stepping toward the door, holding it open with a casual grace. “We shall.”

Soobin grins, more relaxed now that they’re inside. The warmth of the space wraps around them instantly; dim lighting, the soft glow of antique lamps casting shadows over the wood-and-leather interior. It’s a cozy, intimate atmosphere that feels like a secret waiting to be shared.

The hostess greets them with a nod and leads them to a small booth near the back. The walls are lined with records, the covers proudly displayed like pieces of art. The speakers, black and gleaming, are mounted on the walls like they belong in a music lover’s dream.

Soobin waits until they’re settled before saying, “I figured you might like it here. You know, just the right vibe for someone who has a thing for vinyl records.”

Yeonjun looks around with an impressed nod, glancing up at the vinyl collection that surrounds them. “This place... it’s perfect. You were right, Soobin. I like it.”

Soobin can’t help but beam at the compliment, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. Maybe this date won’t be a disaster after all.

The waitress comes by to take their order, and Soobin, eager to make this right, quickly scans the menu. He’s not sure what Yeonjun would like, so he opts for the “safe” choice: a classic beef burger, fries on the side, though he orders it with a twist, adding a fried egg and a bit of spicy mayo. Yeonjun, with his usual air of nonchalance, picks something more unusual: a gourmet bacon-blue cheese burger, drizzled with a rich truffle sauce. They both agree to split their orders, the promise of sharing a meal feeling oddly intimate, like they’re already settled into some comfortable rhythm.

As they wait for their food, Yeonjun leans back against the booth, eyes drifting over the vinyl records on the walls. “You know,” he starts, tapping his fingers absently on the table, “I’ve always loved the sound of vinyl. There’s something about it, like... it’s alive, you know? It’s not just music, it’s an experience. You can feel the bass in your bones, the warmth of the sound, the crackling when it starts… it’s all in the grooves. Digital just doesn’t do it justice.”

Soobin nods, glad that Yeonjun’s taking the lead with the conversation. He’s a little shy when it comes to talking about himself, so it’s easy to fall into the role of being a listener. With Yeonjun, it’s not like he has to force the words out. Yeonjun has this way of speaking; animated, passionate, a kind of effortless energy that makes every word feel like it matters. His hands move as he talks, gesturing with enthusiasm about everything from the way certain albums make him feel to the way he believes certain genres of music represent something deeper than just sound.

“So, do you listen to hip hop much?” Yeonjun continues, clearly warming to the topic. His eyes light up with genuine excitement. “Because I’m telling you, Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly? Absolute masterpiece. It’s like a whole damn symphony on vinyl. You can hear every layer in his voice. Every single word. It’s wild. And SZA, don’t even get me started on SZA. Her voice? Heaven. Her lyrics? Ugh. Ctrl is a masterpiece.”

Soobin sits back, folding his arms casually, letting Yeonjun talk as the waiter arrives with their food. The greasy, delicious scent of burgers and fries fills the air, but it doesn’t distract him. Instead, his focus stays on Yeonjun, on the way he speaks with such conviction, his eyes animated as he recounts the details of his favourite tracks, the artists who inspire him, the way he feels when a new album drops. There’s a palpable joy in Yeonjun’s voice, a rhythm in the way he speaks that mirrors the music he’s describing.

“You know what? You should pick a record,” Soobin offers, his voice a little softer than usual. "I don’t really know what to pick, so... surprise me."

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased by the opportunity. “Surprise you, huh? Alright, then.” He grins, getting to his feet to peruse the record collection behind the counter.

Soobin watches as Yeonjun scans the rows of vinyls with an expertise that surprises him. There’s no hesitance in the way he moves, no fumbling. Yeonjun looks so comfortable, so at home in this space. It’s a side of him Soobin hasn’t seen before, and it makes him smile.

After a moment of thought, Yeonjun pulls out a record with a small flourish and slides it onto the player. "You’re in for a treat," he says, his grin widening. "This one’s a game changer."

Soobin watches with curiosity as Yeonjun sets up the vinyl, placing the needle carefully on the groove. A warm hum fills the air, and then the deep, jazzy beats of To Pimp a Butterfly start to pour through the headphones.

“Here, put these on,” Yeonjun says, offering Soobin one of the headphones, before putting his own on.

Soobin adjusts the headphone over his ear, feeling the weight of the music as it begins to play. The soft crackle of the vinyl is a comforting presence, almost as if the sound is coming from another time. The first track starts, and Soobin closes his eyes for a moment, letting the music envelop him.

Yeonjun looks at him out of the corner of his eye, a small, pleased smile on his face as he watches Soobin listen. There’s something about the way Soobin’s face softens when he hears something new that makes Yeonjun feel even more connected to the moment.

Soobin doesn’t need to say much. He just lets the music sink in; the weight of the rhythm, the smoothness of Kendrick’s voice, the subtle intricacies that come with listening to vinyl. He’s quiet, but not uncomfortable. Yeonjun is used to people talking over music, but with Soobin, it feels like they don’t need to say a word. They’re just sharing this moment, soaking in the experience together.

“You can really hear the layers in this one, right?” Yeonjun says softly after a while, his voice barely audible over the sound of the track. “The way the horns fade in and out, and how the bass gets so deep you can almost feel it in your chest. It’s like... the whole album is a story, a conversation between the instruments and Kendrick.”

Soobin nods slowly, unable to take his eyes off Yeonjun. He’s been listening intently, but now, he’s entirely caught up in the way Yeonjun talks about the music. His words are passionate, alive with a kind of energy that Soobin can’t quite put into words. Yeonjun is like the music itself; expressive, vibrant, and completely immersed in whatever he loves.

“So, you’re saying I’m missing out if I don’t listen to it on vinyl?” Soobin asks with a small grin, his gaze still on Yeonjun.

Yeonjun rolls his eyes playfully. “Well, yeah. But you’ll never really know what you’re missing until you try it. I mean, the whole experience; sitting down with the record, watching it spin... It’s just different. You have to give it a shot.”

Soobin chuckles under his breath, adjusting the headphones once more, letting the beats of the next song take over. He’s not an expert in hip hop, but he’s learning something new, and he finds that he doesn’t mind at all. What’s more, he finds himself genuinely enjoying it; the rhythm, the depth of Kendrick’s lyrics, the way the sound fills the air, almost like a conversation between the two of them without words.

Soobin listens to every word, even though he doesn’t have much to add to the conversation. He’s not a huge hip hop fan himself, but he doesn’t mind. Yeonjun’s enthusiasm is contagious, and Soobin finds himself genuinely curious about all these artists he’s never really paid much attention to before. He watches Yeonjun’s hands as they gesture, his fingers tapping the surface of the table as if they can’t contain the excitement that’s bubbling just below the surface.

Yeonjun doesn’t seem to notice how much Soobin’s staring. He’s lost in his thoughts now, eyes glowing with a kind of passion that makes him look even more beautiful than usual, like a person completely in tune with their own joy, effortlessly sharing it with the world. To Soobin, it’s intoxicating. He can’t help but think that this – Yeonjun in his element, talking freely about the things that make him happy – might be the most stunning he’s ever seen him.

“Soobin, you ever listened to good kid, m.A.A.d city ? If you’re into storytelling, Kendrick’s got it all. The way he paints a picture, it’s like you’re living the story. You have to hear it on vinyl! There’s just no comparison.” Yeonjun pauses to take a bite of his burger, his eyes still sparkling as he chews, clearly lost in the music again. “It’s like... every record is a portal. The sound, the experience… it’s just different.”

Soobin smiles softly to himself, his gaze steady on Yeonjun. He’s not sure if Yeonjun can tell, but he’s so mesmerised by the other boy’s energy that he forgets to eat for a moment. He doesn’t mind, though. He’s in no rush. There’s something intimate about this; listening to someone talk so passionately, seeing the way they come alive when they speak. It makes Soobin feel like he’s learning something about Yeonjun that no one else gets to see. Like this moment, tucked into the quiet corners of a cozy listening bar, is a little slice of Yeonjun that he gets to keep for himself.

They eat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being the soft crunch of fries and the deep bass of Kendrick’s voice filling the headphones. Yeonjun continues to talk about his favourite artists, about how each of them influences his own style, his own life. Soobin listens, watching him carefully, amused and fascinated by the way Yeonjun’s eyes light up when he talks about something he loves.

Yeonjun takes another bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully. “You know, I never really thought about how much music can shape the way you see the world. I mean, with hip hop, it’s all about storytelling. It’s raw, it’s real. I mean, yeah, there are other rappers, but… I don’t know, Kendrick tells you things you wouldn’t hear anywhere else.”

Soobin lets him talk, not feeling the need to interrupt. It’s easy, just listening. He doesn’t mind one bit, because as much as he likes hearing about Yeonjun’s favourite albums, what really fascinates him is the way Yeonjun becomes so alive when he talks about something that matters to him, and for Soobin, in that moment, as they share their meal and listen to the music that’s clearly so important to Yeonjun, everything feels like it’s falling into place.

Yeonjun catches him staring and raises an eyebrow, clearly catching the soft, fond smile Soobin’s trying to hide. “What? You’re looking at me like I’ve got something stuck in my teeth,” he teases, laughing lightly.

Soobin blushes, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “No, no. You’re just... really into this,” he says, his voice a little softer than he intended.

Yeonjun shrugs, the playful smile never leaving his lips. “Yeah, guess I am. Music’s always been like that for me. It's not just something to listen to. It’s how I live. If it weren’t for fashion I think I would have taken music with Kai.” He looks over at Soobin after a while, catching his gaze with a small, knowing smile. “You’re still with me, right?” he asks, the teasing tone back in his voice. “Not zoning out on me?”

Soobin grins, feeling a little embarrassed but mostly relieved. “No, I’m here,” he says, and for once, he means it in more ways than one.

Yeonjun laughs softly, and Soobin watches him, his heart quiet but full.

Once they’ve finished their burgers and fries, the remnants of their meal now little more than crumbs scattered across their plates, Soobin stands up first and grabs the bill. Yeonjun is about to protest, but Soobin’s already handing over the cash with a smile, not giving him a chance to argue.

“Are you sure you’re okay with paying for everything?” Yeonjun asks as they step out into the soft, golden light of the late afternoon. His voice still has that teasing edge, but there’s a hint of something softer behind it, like maybe he’s trying to figure out this whole date thing.

Soobin waves him off, glancing up at the sunlight filtering through the trees. “Of course I am.”

Yeonjun smirks, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “You’re really taking care of me, huh?”

Soobin grins back at him, feeling the tension in his chest ease just a little. “Yup. And I’m not about to stop any time soon.”

Once they’re settled into the car and the engine hums to life, Yeonjun leans back against the seat, adjusting his hair with that effortless cool of his. “So,” he starts, looking over at Soobin with a grin, “now that we’re done with lunch, where are we headed next?”

Soobin glances at him for a moment, then looks away quickly to hide the mischievous spark in his eyes. He’s still keeping it under wraps. “You’ll see.”

Yeonjun sighs dramatically, throwing his head back against the headrest. “You know, I’ve asked you that like three times now. I’m beginning to think you’re really enjoying torturing me.”

Soobin chuckles under his breath, his hands steady on the wheel as he makes a turn. “I’m just trying to keep the mystery alive,” he says lightly, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the road.

“You’re doing a great job,” Yeonjun grins, clearly amused but also resigned to the mystery.

The sun is beginning its descent as they drive through the quiet streets, the city around them still buzzing but with a softer, almost tranquil vibe. Soobin catches himself glancing at Yeonjun again, whose relaxed posture and easy demeanour make him seem completely at home, scrolling through his phone with the windows down just enough for the warm breeze to drift in. It’s a casual moment, nothing like what Soobin had imagined the night before, but somehow, it feels even better than he expected.

Eventually, they pull into a parking space near the Han River. Soobin parks the car and looks over at Yeonjun, who’s still trying to puzzle out where they are.

“So, uh, where are we going?” Yeonjun asks, his curiosity clearly piqued but without the usual impatience.

Soobin flashes a quick grin and shrugs. “You’ll see. Trust me.”

Yeonjun groans, but it’s playful. “Alright, alright. I’m not gonna beg.”

Soobin smirks and steps out of the car, walking toward the steps leading down toward a small, unassuming bookstore by the riverbank. Yeonjun hesitates for just a moment before following, his steps slow, clearly uncertain but intrigued. As they near the entrance, Yeonjun’s gaze shifts from the small, quaint storefront to Soobin, and his eyes widen in recognition.

“This... this is where we’re going?” Yeonjun asks, his voice filled with disbelief and a hint of excitement.

Soobin nods, enjoying the moment of surprise. “Yeah. It’s the bookstore you talked about.”

Yeonjun looks at the place for a few more moments, his expression softening as the realisation hits him. “This place... it’s got all those old fashion books, right? The ones I’ve been talking about wanting to check out? I’ve been saying that to Kai for ages…”

Soobin smiles at his reaction, his heart doing a little flip. “I remember you mentioning it. Thought I’d bring you here.”

Yeonjun stares at the store, his eyes flicking from the small sign to the windows lined with books. There’s something in the way he’s looking at it, like he can’t quite believe he’s here. He glances back at Soobin, his smile a little tentative but genuine. “I didn’t think anyone remembered that. I really have been wanting to come here. It’s just... always been too out of the way.”

Soobin just grins. “Well, now you’ve got the chance.”

Yeonjun stands there for a moment, clearly processing the kindness in the gesture. Then, without a word, he heads toward the bookstore, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he moves ahead. Soobin watches him go, a warmth spreading through him as the sun dips lower, casting the world in golden hues.

Yeonjun turns back just before stepping inside, his gaze meeting Soobin’s with something like wonder in his eyes. “You’re really attentive…”

Soobin just nods, his smile soft but steady. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

As they step into the bookstore together, the warm late afternoon light follows them, wrapping around them like a quiet promise of something new, something simple, and something worth exploring. Yeonjun lights up like someone’s flicked a switch inside him. The air is filled with the familiar scent of paper and old wood, quiet and warm under the slanting late afternoon light that filters in through the tall windows, but Soobin’s attention isn’t on the room; it’s on Yeonjun, who’s already halfway across the floor, pulled in like gravity by the rows of fashion books displayed in the corner.

Yeonjun drops to a crouch almost immediately, fingers grazing the spines, eyes wide with reverence. “Oh my god,” he breathes, “They actually have the vintage Dior archives! I thought this one was out of print.”

Soobin trails after him, slow and quiet, more than content to let Yeonjun take the lead. He watches the way Yeonjun shifts his weight from foot to foot, pulling books out and flipping through them like he’s afraid to blink and miss a page. Every once in a while, Yeonjun glances back to comment, voice full of excitement, about the cut of a jacket, the history of a certain silhouette, the way one particular collection changed the trajectory of a designer’s whole career.

Soobin doesn’t understand all of it, but he doesn’t need to, because the way Yeonjun talks about fashion… it’s not just knowledge. It’s love. Pure, unfiltered passion, and watching him like this, in his element, surrounded by things he adores, makes something warm settle deep in Soobin’s chest.

Soobin stays close but lets him roam, nodding, listening, genuinely interested even if he doesn’t say much, and when Yeonjun lingers too long over a few specific titles, quietly setting them aside in a small stack near one of the benches, Soobin makes a mental note. Later, when Yeonjun wanders toward the back to browse something else, Soobin slips over to the counter and buys them in secret, tucking the books into a sleek paper bag the clerk hands him with a conspiratorial smile.

By the time they leave the bookstore, the sky is painted in the soft golds and blush pinks of early evening. The air is cooler now, gentle against their skin as they begin walking down the Han River path, the city slowly quieting around them.

Yeonjun’s talking again, about the book he’s reading for class, a professor he adores, the colours he’s been obsessed with lately. He doesn’t seem to notice that Soobin is carrying the bag of books behind his back with one hand and pulling out a camera with the other.

“Wait– turn a bit,” Soobin says, pausing as Yeonjun looks at him in surprise.

“Huh?”

Soobin lifts his film camera, adjusting the strap around his wrist. “The light’s good. Your outfit looks insane right now.”

Yeonjun blinks, then laughs. “Oh my god. Are you seriously doing a shoot right now?”

“You’ll thank me when you post these later,” Soobin says, smiling as he brings the viewfinder to his eye. “Just… stay like that for a second.”

Yeonjun indulges him, striking a casual pose, adjusting his sunglasses, letting his coat fall just right around his shoulders. The golden light catches on the angles of his face, makes his earrings glint, and Soobin captures it all: click after click, the soft sound of the shutter catching Yeonjun mid-smile, mid-eye-roll, mid-laugh.

They keep walking, stopping now and then for more photos. Yeonjun teases him at one point. “You’re basically my personal photographer at this point,” he giggles, but Soobin doesn’t mind. If anything, he treasures it. Every little detail Yeonjun shares, every moment he trusts him with, feels like a piece of something bigger building between them.

And as the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the water, Soobin watches Yeonjun from the corner of his eye, holding onto the image like one of his prints: golden, fleeting, and impossibly beautiful.

He’s pretty sure this is what falling feels like.

The sun is just starting to dip below the skyline, the sky now a mellow blend of peach and lilac, when Soobin glances at Yeonjun and asks, “Hungry again?”

Yeonjun turns to him with a sheepish grin. “Always.”

Soobin laughs under his breath and nods toward a convenience store just down the path. “Come on. I have one more thing planned.”

The two of them head toward the small convenience store tucked just off the walking path. It’s one of those classic Korean marts by the Han River, fluorescent lights flickering gently above handwritten discount signs and shelves bursting with instant noodles, snacks, and bottled drinks. The doors slide open with a soft hiss, and the familiar cool air hits them as they step inside.

Yeonjun hums under his breath, scanning the place like a man on a very serious mission. “Okay. Stay close. You’re about to witness greatness.”

Soobin chuckles, grabbing a small basket. “Should I be taking notes?”

Yeonjun flashes him a smug grin. “You’ll be taking a vow of loyalty by the time I’m done.”

He leads them straight to the ramyeon aisle with practiced ease, crouching dramatically in front of the wall of instant noodles. His fingers ghost over the shelves with deliberation, pausing only when he finds the right one. “This specific brand. Nothing else will do,” he announces, grabbing two packs.

Soobin watches as he continues, entirely in his element now. Yeonjun tosses in plastic-wrapped slices of cheese, a small tray of pre-cooked sausage slices, two eggs from the refrigerated section, a single packet of kimchi, and even a handful of chopped green onion from the tiny fresh produce corner most people overlook.

“All right, here’s the deal,” Yeonjun says, straightening up and ticking off items on his fingers. “First, you boil just enough water, but don’t drown it, just enough to let the noodles swim. Next, you throw in the noodles and sausage slices. When they’re half done, you crack in the egg but don’t stir. You let it poach. Got it?”

Soobin nods, mildly in awe. “I think I’m learning more here than I did in my intro chem class.”

Yeonjun grins, clearly enjoying himself. “And then you stir in the seasoning. Add cheese. Let it melt. Then, sprinkle in the spring onion, top it with kimchi, and bam! Culinary excellence in a foam bowl.”

With their basket full of Yeonjun’s signature ingredients and a couple of banana milks to wash it down, they head to the checkout. Soobin pays, brushing Yeonjun’s hand aside when he tries to pull out his card. “I asked you out,” Soobin says simply. “My treat.”

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow but says nothing, just gives Soobin a look that somehow says both thank you and okay, smooth guy, all at once.

Outside, they settle near the convenience store’s open-air ramyeon cookers, where a set of electric kettles and microwaves wait for anyone with a craving. Yeonjun rolls up the sleeves of his coat, his long fingers expertly assembling the noodles and toppings like he’s done it a hundred times before which, Soobin suspects, he has. He even produces a sleek black hair clip from his pocket and ties back the front of his hair with practiced ease, lips pursed in concentration.

“You carry a hair clip in your coat?” Soobin asks, amused.

Yeonjun glances up. “Obviously. I’m not about to let steam ruin the volume.”

Soobin snorts. “Of course.”

Yeonjun handles both bowls with a surprising tenderness, crouched over them like he’s nurturing some precious piece of art. Soobin’s tempted to snap a photo, but he doesn’t. Not yet. It feels too nice to interrupt. When they finally settle on the steps by the river, foam bowls in hand and steam curling into the late afternoon air, Yeonjun practically sparkles with anticipation. “Moment of truth,” he declares, holding out a pair of disposable chopsticks. “Prepare for your worldview to shift.”

Soobin takes a bite.

And– he can’t deny it. The broth is creamy from the cheese, savoury with the sausage, the egg perfectly poached so that the yolk runs into the noodles when poked. The spice is just right, cut by the tang of kimchi and the slight bite of green onion. It’s warm and messy and oddly balanced.

“…Okay,” he manages. “This is actually… kind of amazing.”

Yeonjun smirks like he’s just won a prize. “Told you. I should open a restaurant. ‘Yeonjun’s Ramyeon Bar.’ Exclusive entry only.”

Soobin hums, spooning up some broth. “Can I be your first customer?”

“You already are,” Yeonjun shoots back, clearly pleased. “Actually, you would be second. Kai’s my first, sorry.”

They sit like that for a while, shoulder to shoulder on the concrete ledge, the Han River glittering lazily beside them as people stroll past with dogs and rented bikes. Somewhere behind them, someone plays soft acoustic music from a speaker. The golden hour light stretches across the water, brushing Yeonjun’s cheekbones with honey. His hair is windswept, the strands around his face curling just slightly with the humidity from the food. His coat drapes neatly over his crossed legs, the sunlight catching on the subtle hardware of his rings. Soobin takes it all in, barely remembering to keep eating. It’s not just the food warming him anymore. It’s this moment; quiet and messy and completely, ridiculously perfect.

They stay there long after the ramyeon is gone, the empty foam bowls stacked neatly beside them, chopsticks tucked inside, the last traces of steam long vanished into the air. The sun has finished its descent now, but neither of them make a move to leave. The Han River glows under the soft haze of city light, lampposts flickering to life along the path like stars drawing constellations through the park.

Soobin sits cross-legged, arms wrapped loosely around his knees, eyes trained not on the water or the sky, but on Yeonjun, who’s leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out, ankles crossed, face turned toward the breeze. The wind lifts the ends of his coat, the strands of his hair. He looks effortlessly picturesque, like he belongs on the cover of a magazine and also nowhere else but right here.

They talk.

About nothing at first; stupid things, like the latest campus gossip, the weirdest things they’ve seen in their classes, how Beomgyu once accidentally walked into a girls' restroom during finals week and somehow made three friends out of it.

“You know, he texted me like an hour later,” Soobin says between quiet chuckles. “Said, ‘Hyung, don’t be shocked, but I think I made some new besties in the women’s restroom. Also, they invited me to karaoke.’ Like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

Yeonjun laughs, tilting his head back. “He’s like… the human embodiment of a fever dream. How does stuff like that always happen to him?”

“Honestly? I think he just radiates chaotic friendliness. The universe gives up trying to make him follow the rules.”

They lapse into soft laughter again, and then the conversation shifts naturally, like a lazy current redirecting itself. They start talking about music, about the first concerts they ever went to.

“Mine was Epik High,” Yeonjun says, eyes gleaming at the memory. “High school. Indoor venue, small stage, big energy. I cried during ‘Fan’. Not just, like, a tear or two. Full-on sobbing. Embarrassing, but also? Life changing.”

Soobin blinks. “You cried?”

Yeonjun nods solemnly. “I was like sixteen. Hormones. Emotions. Tablo was speaking to my soul. Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” Soobin says, trying and failing to hide the twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, I am, but just a little. That’s kind of sweet.”

Yeonjun elbows him lightly. “What about you?”

“Mine was some local indie thing in my hometown,” Soobin admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “A bunch of high school seniors in a coffee shop. They did a Bon Iver cover and I was too scared to move, so I just kind of... stood in the corner with my soda.”

Yeonjun gives him a look. “You were just frozen?”

“I thought if I swayed or something, I’d look like I was trying too hard.”

“That is the most Soobin thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Thanks,” Soobin deadpans, but there’s a fondness behind it. “I’m glad I’ve cemented my awkward legacy.”

Yeonjun smiles at him, soft and wide and unguarded, and for a moment, the air feels thicker with something unnamed.

There’s a beat of silence. The river keeps moving. Soobin feels Yeonjun’s eyes on him before he hears his voice.

“You’re different when it’s just us.”

Soobin blinks. “Different how?”

“Quieter. But not in a bad way,” Yeonjun says. “It’s like… you listen really hard. Like you’re saving everything.”

Soobin doesn’t answer right away. He’s not sure how to explain that that’s exactly what he’s doing. That when Yeonjun talks – about music, about school, about his dumb run-ins with Beomgyu or how he’s been dying to find a vintage leather jacket for months now – Soobin’s brain catalogs it all like it’s gospel. Every word Yeonjun says is a page he wants to bookmark.

So he shrugs. “I just like hearing you talk.”

Yeonjun’s eyes flicker, surprise softening into something warmer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Another pause. This one stretches longer, but not uncomfortably so. The kind of silence that sits easily between two people who are no longer strangers to each other’s presence.

“I like this,” Yeonjun murmurs eventually.

“This?” Soobin glances around; the park, the leftover ramyeon, the night air curling around them.

Yeonjun nods. “Talking. This day.” Then he pauses, turning so he’s looking straight at Soobin. “...And you.”

Soobin blushes before he can stop it, choking on absolutely nothing. He coughs and sputters, making Yeonjun giggle at his clumsiness as he pats Soobin in the back. The conversation shifts with the breeze – slower now, more languid. The kind of quiet that doesn’t demand to be filled, only gently invites you to sit within it. The Han River glows beneath the haze of evening, city lights fully stitching the skyline together like constellations on the water. The lampposts along the riverbank have long since blinked awake one by one, forming a soft, golden path beside them. People pass now and then – couples strolling hand in hand, bikers coasting by with headphones in, friends laughing in bursts behind them, but here, in their little pocket of stillness, Soobin can almost pretend the rest of the world has blurred away.

He tugs his knees closer, chin resting on them, voice quiet. “I grew up in a small town. Like, really small. The kind where people leave their doors unlocked and everyone knows whose dog pooped on whose lawn.”

Yeonjun chuckles under his breath, eyes warm as he listens.

“I used to read under the covers at night,” Soobin continues, smile small. “Had this tiny flashlight I kept hidden under my pillow. My mum would turn the lights off by nine and yell if I was still up. So I’d make a little tent out of my blanket and read until the batteries gave out.”

“What were you reading?” Yeonjun asks, the question gentle, curious.

“Mostly fantasy. Stuff with dragons or magic academies,” Soobin says. “I liked the idea that there was more out there. Something bigger than… I don’t know, quiet streets and overcooked dinners.”

Yeonjun doesn’t say anything right away. Just nods, like he understands in a way that doesn’t need words. Soobin takes a breath and adds, “I always thought Seoul would be that ‘more’, you know? But sometimes it just feels louder. Not always better.”

Yeonjun shifts a little closer, elbow to knee, chin in palm. “It is loud,” he says after a pause. “I’m from here, and it still overwhelms me sometimes.”

He looks out toward the river for a moment before turning back to Soobin. “Everyone here’s always in a rush. Not just walking fast but living fast. And I think… when your family’s part of that spotlight, it feels like you have to live even faster.”

Soobin watches him, quiet. He doesn’t push, but he replies anyway, voice softer now. “You always seem like you’re meant for it, though. You’re made for the limelight.”

Yeonjun huffs a laugh, but then nods. “It’s not all that glamorous. It’s loud, yeah. But not always in a good way.”

He shifts a little, drawing one knee up and looping his arms around it. “You already know about my parents. Everyone does. My mom’s a legend in the design world, my dad’s a big-name photographer. I grew up in backstages and studios. The house was always full; fabrics, lights, strangers. It never stopped.”

Soobin says nothing, just watches him gently.

Yeonjun’s voice softens. “They love me. I know that. But sometimes it felt like there was no room to breathe. I always had to be polished. On. Presentable. Like… if I wasn’t impressive, I wasn’t worth seeing.” There’s a beat of silence before he clarifies, “Of course, my parents have never made me feel that way. I think it was just me overthinking, trying to make sure I live up to the world’s expectation of what Choi Eunji and Choi Yeonho’s son should be like.”

Soobin’s heart clenches, the words sinking into his chest like pebbles into water.

“I remember,” Yeonjun continues, “they met at a shoot. My dad was new, super nervous. My mum was already established, confident, sharp. She walked right up to him and asked him out. He thought she was kidding. Still does, probably.”

Soobin chuckles quietly. “That sounds like them.”

Yeonjun nods. “It does. They’re so different. My mom’s this unstoppable force, and my dad’s soft, gentle in ways you don’t always notice right away. But they make it work. Somehow.”

Soobin exhales slowly. “They did a pretty good job with you.”

That earns him a small, sheepish grin, the kind Yeonjun rarely lets people see. “Thanks,” he says, and then after a beat, “I think I just want something that feels… easy. Not because it lacks effort, but because it’s real.”

Soobin wants to tell him that this – right now, here – feels real, but he doesn’t say it. 

Instead, his fingers twitch slightly on the grass, close to Yeonjun’s.

Yeonjun’s hand inches toward his. Their knuckles brush. Once. Twice. A third time– and Soobin finally, finally turns his hand palm up, open.

Yeonjun slips his hand into his, warm and sure.

They sit like that, fingers intertwined, legs brushing side by side. The hum of the city fades into the background, replaced by the whisper of wind across the river and the occasional ripple of water below.

“I’m glad you brought me here,” Yeonjun murmurs after a while.

Soobin glances over. “Yeah?”

Yeonjun nods, turning to meet his eyes. “You didn’t just plan a date. You listened. You always do.”

Soobin’s voice is low, but certain. “I just want you to feel seen.”

Yeonjun gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “With you, I do.”

And for a long, quiet stretch, they just sit; hands entwined, hearts settled, the city glowing around them, like the universe itself is giving them permission to stay.

Eventually, the cold becomes impossible to ignore.

It’s subtle at first,just the kind of creeping chill that clings to their legs and slides up their spines, but the sun has fully dipped beneath the skyline now, and even the thickest coats can only hold out so long. A breeze sweeps off the Han River, sharper than before, slicing through layers with icy teeth. Soobin notices it when Yeonjun shifts closer, his knees drawing up slightly toward his chest as he hugs himself, a visible shiver raking down his frame.

“Too cold?” Soobin asks, already reaching into the side pocket of his coat. His fingers wrap around the scarf he’d tucked there before leaving the car; a thick, soft knit in a gentle ash-grey. He wasn’t sure he’d need it, but he brought it anyway – just in case.

Yeonjun huffs out a laugh, breath fogging the air. “A bit. I didn’t think we’d be out this long.”

“Here,” Soobin says quietly, standing and shaking the scarf loose. He steps behind Yeonjun and gently loops it around his neck, careful not to startle him. His fingers are cold, but the scarf is warm, and Yeonjun stills under the touch, lips parting in surprise.

“You didn’t have to–”

Soobin’s hands linger for a moment, adjusting the ends over Yeonjun’s chest, like he’s wrapping a present. “You’ll freeze if I don’t.”

Yeonjun tips his head back to look at him, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Prepared,” Yeonjun smiles sweetly. “You’re like, Doraemon. What else do you have in that magic pocket of yours?”

Soobin shrugs, suddenly a little shy despite himself. “Just when I care.”

The smile that blooms on Yeonjun’s face then is soft and quiet and somehow brighter than any city light. He doesn’t say thank you, but Soobin doesn’t need him to. It’s there in the look he gives him, in the way he lingers close as they gather up their trash and begin the walk back to the car. It’s fully winter now, the kind of cold that settles in your lungs when you breathe too deeply. Their footsteps crunch against the frosted path, matching rhythm as they walk side by side. Their hands are still intertwined, but gloved – too cold for bare skin – and every now and then, their arms bump, gentle and familiar, like punctuation in the comfortable silence.

When Yeonjun exhales another shiver and tucks his chin into the scarf, Soobin wordlessly removes one of his gloves and offers it over.

Yeonjun stares at it like it’s a rare gem. “You’ll freeze.”

“I’ve got another hand,” Soobin replies with a faint smile, sliding the glove onto Yeonjun’s already-gloved left hand himself.

Yeonjun’s voice drops, just above a whisper. “You’re unreal, you know that?”

Soobin doesn’t answer. He just nudges their shoulders together as they continue walking.

By the time they reach the car, the world feels hushed and distant, like they’ve slipped into a pocket of time all their own. The windows of Soobin’s car are slightly fogged with the cold, the interior chilled from hours of idleness. He unlocks the doors and starts the engine, the soft purr of the heater humming to life. Yeonjun slips into the passenger seat, sighing contentedly as the warmth begins to spread. He rubs his hands together before settling them in his lap, the scarf still wrapped snug around his neck, Soobin’s glove a bit tight from having been put on over another set of gloves, but endearingly warm over his hands.

“Where are we going now?” he asks, voice muffled slightly as he leans into the seat, eyes fluttering half-shut.

Soobin glances over as he shifts into drive. “Home,” he says, then adds, “Unless you want to go somewhere else?”

Yeonjun shakes his head with a sleepy smile. “No. This was perfect.”

The drive is quiet. The kind of soft, shared silence that only comes after hours of talking, where nothing else needs to be said for a while. The heater blows gently through the vents, fog slowly clearing from the windshield. The city outside glimmers in patches, streetlights flickering to life as they pass, their reflections streaking across the windshield like brushstrokes.

Yeonjun eventually breaks the silence.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Soobin glances at him. “For what?”

Yeonjun’s head tilts against the window, scarf tucked high around his chin. “For today. The listening bar, the bookstore, the ramen, the river. For paying attention.”

Soobin’s grip tightens on the steering wheel, not nervously, but just to ground himself, because Yeonjun says it so sincerely it leaves a weight in the air.

“I like listening to you,” he says after a moment, keeping his voice steady. “It’s easy.”

Yeonjun turns to look at him then. The streetlight catches his face in soft gold as they pull to a red light. His eyes shine in the dark, not just with reflected light but something warm and unspoken, something settled in his chest that he’s not ready to say out loud yet, but it’s there, and it’s alpable.

The light turns green.

Soobin drives.

The cool winter air bites at them as they step out of the car when they reach Yeonjun’s apartment building, and Soobin pulls his jacket tighter around himself, glancing at Yeonjun. The streets are quieter now, the city lights casting long shadows over the pavement, and for a moment, the two of them walk side by side in comfortable silence. They reach the front of Yeonjun’s apartment, the warmth of the hallway waiting just inside. Soobin stops, unsure how to stretch out the moment or if it’s even possible. He glances at Yeonjun, his hands still jammed in his pockets, his heart pounding a little too loudly.

“Well, I guess this is it,” Soobin says, his voice betraying how uncertain he feels, even though he’s already walked Yeonjun to his door countless times. He doesn’t know why this time feels different, but it does. Every step he takes seems to stretch time.

Yeonjun stops too, tilting his head as he looks at Soobin. His expression softens, that ever-present spark in his eyes gleaming just a little brighter in the hallway’s dim light. “Yeah... guess so,” he murmurs, his voice almost wistful.

Soobin swallows, then clears his throat. “Oh– uh, before I forget,” he says, holding out the paper bag with both hands. “I got you something.”

Yeonjun blinks, surprised. He peeks inside and freezes. “Soobin,” he breathes, reaching in to pull out one of the fashion books. His eyes go wide as they scan the cover. “Are you kidding me? Are these the first-print archive editions I was looking at earlier?”

Soobin shrugs, clearly flustered. “I saw how excited you got when you were flipping through them. Thought you might want to have them. You know… for inspiration or whatever.”

Yeonjun looks up, stunned into silence. Then he clutches the bag to his chest, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with the emotion pooling in his throat. “You’re unbelievable,” he says, laughing softly, touched in a way words can’t quite express. “Thank you, Soobin. Seriously, but you don’t need to be spending this much money on me.”

Soobin ducks his head, cheeks burning. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you like them.”

Soobin stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot, eyes bouncing around like he's looking for an escape. He opens his mouth to say something but then he shuts it, unsure of what else to add. He knows he should just say goodbye, but the words stick, caught in his throat. “I should go.”

There’s a long beat of silence before Yeonjun, ever perceptive, watches him for a second before letting a slow smile form. “So… you’re just gonna say goodbye?” he asks, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Soobin blinks at him, his expression a mix of confusion and surprise. He clears his throat, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Uh… yeah? I mean, I guess so,” he answers, though his voice trails off as though he's still figuring out what to do next.

Yeonjun doesn’t give him much time to recover before his lips curl up into a playful grin. “Well, aren’t you going to kiss me?”

Soobin freezes, his mouth parting in stunned silence. He stares at Yeonjun, unsure if he’s serious. “What…?”

Yeonjun chuckles, that familiar, mischievous glint never leaving his gaze. “I’m waiting, Soobin.”

The words take a second to register, and when they do, Soobin’s heart skips a beat. His mind goes completely blank, and all he can muster is a quiet, “Uh…?”

Yeonjun laughs softly, his eyes bright with amusement. He steps a little closer, closing the space between them. Without another word, he tilts his head, leaning in gently, and pulls Soobin in for a kiss.

It’s soft at first, tentative, like they’re both waiting for some sign, some kind of confirmation. The kiss deepens after a few seconds, but it’s not urgent. There’s no rush, just a quiet moment where everything else disappears. Yeonjun’s fingers brush the side of Soobin’s face, and Soobin’s heart races at the sensation, his hand instinctively reaching for Yeonjun’s waist.

When Yeonjun finally pulls back, their foreheads are nearly touching, and Soobin is left breathless, trying to process everything. The night, the kiss, the warmth of Yeonjun's hand still resting against his cheek.

“That’s better than just saying goodbye, don’t you think?” Yeonjun murmurs, his breath warm on Soobin’s skin, a content smile curling on his lips.

Soobin can only nod, his face flushed with the memory of the kiss. “Yeah, much better.”

There’s another beat of silence, but this time it’s more comfortable. Yeonjun stands there, watching him, eyes soft, and Soobin, still a little dazed, smiles awkwardly as he steps back, his gaze dropping to the floor briefly.

“Guess I’ll see you soon?” Soobin says quietly, his voice a little unsure but with the faintest hint of hope.

Yeonjun grins, his smile stretching across his face. “Of course. I’ll be waiting.”

Soobin’s heart skips a beat at the way Yeonjun says it, like it's not just a casual promise, but something more; something he’s looking forward to, too. He gives a final smile, turning to head back toward the exit.

“Goodnight, Soobin,” Yeonjun calls softly after him.

Soobin turns back, offering one last look before heading out of the building. The night feels different now; lighter somehow, like something has shifted and everything is just a little bit better than it was before.

As Soobin steps outside into the cold air, the warmth of the kiss lingers on his lips, and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. For the first time in a long while, he feels like something inside him – something he didn’t even realise was aching – has finally settled, as if all the years of yearning, of quietly loving from a distance, had led to this exact moment. He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but for tonight, with the memory of Yeonjun’s smile and the promise of more to come, everything feels right, and for the first time, Soobin is certain; he has him. 

Notes:

grrrrrrr yeonbin's too fucking cute i need to gnaw on their ankles!!

but anw, hope you didn't mind the quick little side chapter focusing on yeonbin, i promise we'll get into beomkai again in the next chapter! and sorry for the long wait, i went to hope on the stage this saturday and couldn't move the next day lmaoo i felt like i had broken every bone in my body from all the jumping i did😭 next chapter coming real soon!

as always, please let me know your thoughts in the comment section! thank you so much for reading <3 hmu on twitter to talk about anything txt @koostiddy <3

Chapter 7

Summary:

Kai’s dad slows to match Beomgyu’s steps again, casting him a thoughtful glance. “You know, Beomgyu-yah,” he says gently, voice low, like he’s afraid of startling him, “if you ever feel like the world’s too heavy, if you’re tired or lonely or need someone to talk to... you can always come to me.”

Beomgyu blinks, startled. He turns his head slightly, searching Kai’s dad’s face for any sign of insincerity, but there’s none. Just kindness.

“I know I’m not your real dad,” he continues, smiling softly, “but I’m Kai’s dad, and you’re important to him. That’s enough for me. Our place may be small, and we may not have much, but whatever we do have… we’re happy to share it with you. You’ll always have a space in our home. Always.”

Beomgyu stops walking.

Notes:

enjoy the double update <3

🧸 

 

Beomgyu wakes slowly, the dull ache in his arm the first thing he registers, numb from being pinned under the weight of Kai all night, but he doesn’t move. He’s too warm, too comfortable, too at peace. Kai is still curled into him, back pressed to Beomgyu’s chest, their legs tangled beneath the thin blanket that barely covers them both. The cramped single bed creaks faintly as Beomgyu shifts just enough to breathe a little deeper, but not so much that he disturbs the boy in his arms.

He tightens his hold instead, just slightly, like he's afraid this small pocket of safety might dissolve if he lets go. His nose brushes against the back of Kai’s neck, and he closes his eyes again, letting the familiar scent – laundry powder and something faintly like vanilla – ground him. For a moment, he allows himself to forget the bet, forget Soobin’s voice on the phone last night telling him to come clean. It's easy to pretend here, wrapped around Kai in the soft, silent morning, that none of it exists. That he's just a boy falling for another boy. That he's allowed to feel like this.

Then, as if summoned by the very thought, Kai stirs. Shifting slightly in his sleep, he lets out a small sigh and turns over in Beomgyu’s arms, slow and languid. Beomgyu freezes for a beat, watching the way Kai’s brow crinkles faintly, the way his lashes flutter but don’t open. Still half-asleep, Kai shifts closer until every part of him is pressed against Beomgyu, chest to chest, legs tangled tight. He buries his face into the crook of Beomgyu’s neck with a faint, content exhale, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Beomgyu’s heart nearly gives out.

Kai’s breath ghosts warmly against his skin, soft and even, and Beomgyu doesn’t dare move. His nose ends up nestled into Kai’s hair, soft and a little messy, smelling faintly of cheap shampoo that probably came from a corner shop sale bin, but it’s so Kai. Comforting, endearing, and familiar in a way that claws at something deep inside him. He breathes him in like he’s trying to memorise it.

The bed is too small, the blanket barely covers them, and his limbs are still tingling from the awkward position, but none of that matters. Kai is right here, pressed up against him like they fit – like they’re meant to, two pieces of a puzzle – and Beomgyu can't help himself. He wraps his arms tighter around Kai’s waist and holds him close, anchoring them together like maybe if he tries hard enough, the world outside this bed will just stop existing. He knows it won’t. Knows the lie is still there, thick and heavy beneath his skin, but for now, with Kai breathing soft against his neck and their bodies impossibly close, he lets himself have this. Just for a little longer.

After what could be half an hour – or maybe longer, time feels strange like this – Beomgyu lies there with Kai tucked into his arms, gently tracing slow, aimless patterns along the curve of Kai’s back beneath the hem of his shirt. His fingertips barely graze skin, but each touch feels electric, grounding him in a way he doesn’t fully understand. He can feel Kai’s steady breathing against his chest, warm and even, and it almost lulls him back to sleep too, but he doesn’t want to miss a second of this; the weight of Kai against him, the soft brush of Kai’s hair against his jaw, the warmth cocooning them in the cold of the winter morning.

Then, slowly, Kai shifts.

It’s subtle at first, a twitch of his fingers, a little sigh. Then a soft, barely-there murmur; something half-formed and slurred by sleep. Beomgyu feels it immediately, the moment Kai starts to wake. There's a slight tension in his body, a hesitation like he’s still hovering on the edge of a dream, but then it melts away just as fast when he registers the arms around him, the chest he's pressed against, the familiar scent that surrounds him.

Kai blinks his eyes open blearily, unfocused and soft. His voice comes out in a sleepy rasp, muffled slightly by the way he’s still half-tucked into Beomgyu’s neck. “Morning.”

Beomgyu’s heart skips a beat.

“Morning,” he murmurs back, quieter than he intends. It comes out almost timidly, like a secret he's scared to speak too loudly in case it disappears.

They stay like that for a while, neither moving, caught in the stillness of early light filtering through the frosted windowpane. The city outside hasn't quite woken yet, and the cold hasn’t made it past the thin walls of the flat, but here under the blanket, pressed together in this impossibly small bed, everything feels… suspended. Eventually, Kai shifts again, untangling his limbs just enough to roll onto his back, rubbing at one eye with the sleeve of his hoodie. Beomgyu props himself up on one elbow, watching him through half-lidded eyes. Kai’s hair is a disaster, fluffed up in every direction from sleep, one side stubbornly sticking out like static. His cheeks are tinged pink from warmth and the press of the pillow, and his eyes are still puffy, blinking against the morning light.

Beomgyu swallows hard. He’s so beautiful it actually hurts.

“You sleep okay?” Kai asks after a moment, his voice still thick with sleep, soft around the edges.

Beomgyu nods, then shrugs a shoulder like it’s no big deal. “Bit cramped. But not bad.”

Kai lets out a low hum, turning his head slightly to look at him. “Warm,” he says simply. “You’re like a radiator.”

Beomgyu laughs under his breath, a quiet puff of amusement. “You complaining?”

Kai’s lips curl faintly, not quite a smile but close. “No,” he says, and this time his eyes meet Beomgyu’s, gaze steady and just a little too honest. “Not complaining.”

The moment stretches. Their eyes lock, and it’s fleeting, maybe, but it feels heavier than it should. Like there's something unspoken being passed between them in the silence. Beomgyu feels it settle thick in his chest, his pulse jumping stupidly just from the way Kai is looking at him, like they’ve done this a hundred times before, like it’s not the first morning they’ve woken up like this.

He wants to kiss him.

God, he wants to kiss him so badly it aches. Wants to lean in and press his lips to Kai’s sleep-warmed skin, taste the quiet affection he’s kept buried for too long, but he doesn’t. He can’t. Not when the truth still hangs over them like a blade, waiting to fall. So instead, Beomgyu flops back onto his back, staring up at the stained ceiling, their shoulders still brushing.

“Your bed’s noisy, by the way,” he says, breaking the silence with a weak smirk.

Kai snorts, rubbing a hand over his face. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

And just like that, the tension eases, replaced by something lighter and easier, but Beomgyu can still feel the echo of that look, lingering behind his ribs like a bruise. They lapse into easy silence again, punctuated only by the distant hum of traffic outside and the occasional creak of the floorboards from somewhere else in the flat. Beomgyu listens to the soft rhythm of Kai’s breathing, feels the warmth of him beside him, and wonders, how the hell is he supposed to give this up? He can’t tell Kai. At least, not yet, not like this.

The spell breaks slowly, like mist burning away under weak winter sunlight. The warmth between them lingers even as the stillness gives way to the mundane tug of morning; dry mouths, stiff limbs, the ache of having slept in the same position too long. Beomgyu sits up with a quiet groan, running a hand through his hair as Kai pushes the covers off and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

The air in the room is cold, dry in the way only Seoul winters can be; parched and sharp, making their throats feel like sandpaper. Beomgyu reaches for the half-full water bottle on the cluttered desk and takes a sip before handing it over wordlessly. Kai mumbles a quiet thanks and drinks, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand before passing it back. There’s something stupidly intimate about the way they share it, like they’ve done this for years instead of once.

Kai stretches with a quiet yawn, hoodie riding up slightly to expose a sliver of pale skin above his waistband, and Beomgyu looks away too quickly, biting down on the impulse to stare. Kai doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he does and doesn’t care. He pads toward the door, socked feet making no sound on the worn floorboards.

“I’m gonna wash up,” he murmurs, voice still sleep-heavy.

Beomgyu nods. “Yeah. I’ll wait.”

Kai opens the door, the hallway just outside colder than the room itself. A soft gust of winter air sneaks in before the door swings shut behind him, and suddenly Beomgyu is alone. The warmth Kai left behind seeps slowly out of the mattress, and just like that, the weight returns. He exhales, slumping forward, elbows on knees, hands scrubbing over his face like he can rub the truth out of himself, but it’s no use. He’s fucked. Completely, irreversibly fucked – because he’s falling. Not slowly. Not in that cautious, toe-dipping way he used to convince himself was safer. He’s three months in and already far too deep. Every second with Kai – every laugh, every sleepy smile, every time he looks at Beomgyu like that – just drags him further down, and he’s powerless to stop it. He doesn’t even want to stop it, but the timeline won’t let him pretend it’s not real. 

It’s been three months.

Which means he has three months left.

Three months until the bet is over. Three months until Doyoon and Minjun expect an answer. Until they expect proof, and the thought of that – of reducing everything he feels for Kai into a smug punchline for someone else's joke – makes him feel sick.

He can’t do it.

He won’t.

He has to call it off. He’ll text them, or call them, or whatever – he doesn’t care. He’ll tell them the bet’s off, that it was a stupid idea to begin with. That he’s out. That he’s done, and then – then – he’ll tell Kai.

He promises himself that much. He’ll be honest. He owes Kai that. Maybe it’ll ruin everything, maybe it’ll blow everything apart, but he can’t keep lying, not like this, but even as he tells himself that, he knows. He knows he won’t tell Kai. Not unless he absolutely has to, because he’s too afraid, because things feel good right now; warm, and real, and fragile in a way that terrifies him, and the truth, when it comes, will shatter that. So he tells himself he’ll wait. Just a little longer, until he’s sure, until it’s the right time, but deep down, Beomgyu knows there’s never going to be a right time, and still – he doesn’t move. He just sits there in the quiet, clutching that truth like it might fall out of him if he breathes too hard, staring at the door Kai just walked through and thinking, god, I’m in so much trouble.

The door creaks open a few minutes later, and Kai steps back into the room, looking only marginally more awake than before. His face is still puffy from sleep, eyes heavy-lidded and blinking slow like he’s still shaking off the dream world. His hair, now damp in places, sticks to his forehead in soft clumps, clearly the result of a half-hearted splash of water rather than any real attempt at taming it. There’s a sleepy slouch to his shoulders, his hoodie sleeves tugged down over his hands like he’s trying to retreat into them.

Beomgyu doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches him, chest tightening with something that feels far too tender for this early in the day. It’s the toothpaste that gets him – still clinging stubbornly to the corner of Kai’s mouth, white and obvious.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, standing and crossing the room without thinking. “You’ve got–” he gestures vaguely to his own mouth, “A little something. Just there.”

Kai furrows his brows in confusion, licking the wrong corner instinctively, missing it entirely. Beomgyu laughs again, this time softer, fonder, and reaches out.

“Here, let me.”

His thumb brushes just below the corner of Kai’s mouth, gentle and careful. Kai freezes under the touch, lips parting slightly, eyes wide and unblinking as Beomgyu wipes the speck of toothpaste away. The moment stretches; not long, but enough to feel it. Beomgyu’s hand lingers for half a second too long, thumb hovering near Kai’s jaw, and when their eyes meet, Kai’s cheeks flush instantly, turning a soft, unmistakable pink.

“There,” Beomgyu says quietly, barely trusting his voice. “All clean.”

Kai mumbles something like a thanks, but it comes out too quiet, almost like his throat’s caught on the proximity. He looks away quickly, ducking his head in that way he does when he gets embarrassed, hair falling into his eyes again.

Beomgyu clears his throat, retreating towards the door with a shaky smile. “My turn,” he says, trying for casual and almost pulling it off. “Try not to fall asleep without me.”

Kai’s laugh is soft, barely there. “No promises.”

Beomgyu steps into the hallway, heart pounding a little harder than it should, that blush on Kai’s cheeks burned into his brain like a brand.

The bathroom mirror is fogged slightly from the warm water, the cracked edge catching a flicker of his reflection as Beomgyu runs damp fingers through his hair, trying to tame the sleep-mussed strands. His face feels clearer now, mint still fresh on his tongue, but his mind’s far from settled. He takes a deep breath, pats his cheeks dry, and opens the bathroom door. The muffled sound of voices reaches him from down the hall; soft, low, familiar. He recognises Kai’s immediately, laced with sleep but warm, followed by another deeper voice, tinged with weariness but kind. Kai’s dad.

As Beomgyu walks back into the main part of the apartment, he finds them at the narrow kitchen counter, hunched close over mismatched mugs of tea. Steam curls gently in the air, making the small kitchen look almost cosy despite the chipped tile and worn cabinets. The weak morning light through the window glints off the edges of their cups, painting everything in soft greys and golds.

Kai’s dad spots him first, lifting his head with a faint, tired smile. “Ah, Beomgyu,” he says, voice roughened by early hours. “You sleep alright?”

Beomgyu nods, stepping in fully, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I did. Thanks for letting me stay.”

There’s a pause, something hesitant in the way Kai’s dad shifts, fingers tightening slightly around his mug. “I hope it wasn’t too uncomfortable,” he says, almost sheepishly. “I know the place is small. And Kai’s bed– well, it’s not exactly made for two. I’ve been trying to put some money aside to get him something bigger, but… you know how it is. I’m sorry it’s not more–”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Beomgyu says, cutting in gently before the man can spiral any further. His tone is soft but firm, and the sincerity in his voice is unmistakable. “Really. It was fine. More than fine, actually. I didn’t mind at all.”

Kai glances over at him then, something unspoken passing through his gaze – grateful, maybe.

Beomgyu offers a small smile. “I don’t think I’ve slept better. Got me thinking it’s because I had good company.”

That earns a short, huffed laugh from Kai’s dad, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “Well,” he says, shaking his head fondly, “You’re polite. That’s rare these days.”

Beomgyu shrugs, trying to keep it casual, but there’s a quiet pride in his chest, knowing he’s said the right thing – not out of obligation, but because he means it.

Kai’s dad claps his hands together once, the sound sharp in the sleepy stillness. “Alright, boys. Go get yourselves sorted. We've got a long day ahead. Don’t want to be late.”

Beomgyu nods, and Kai stands, the legs of his stool scraping softly against the floor. Their mugs are nearly empty now, tea cooling in the dregs, the scent of it – earthy and herbal – lingering in the air as they head back down the hall. They get ready mostly in silence, the kind that’s not uncomfortable, but not quite peaceful either. Just a quiet lull where thoughts have too much room to breathe. Beomgyu tugs his jumper over his head and glances sideways across the room where Kai is fumbling absently with the sleeves of his hoodie, movements sluggish, unfocused. He’s definitely in his head.

Kai’s brows are drawn together faintly, lip caught between his teeth in that way he probably doesn’t realise he does. His shoulders are hunched like he’s trying to fold in on himself, chin dipped down, gaze fixed somewhere near the floor. He’s quiet. Too quiet. Beomgyu stares for a beat longer, then slowly creeps toward him on socked feet. He crouches slightly, leans in close, and–

“Boo!”

Kai doesn’t even flinch. He blinks, deadpan, and turns his head to look at Beomgyu like he’s just committed the most pitiful attempt at a jump scare known to man.

Beomgyu stands back up, pouting. “Wow. Tough crowd.”

Kai raises a brow, unimpressed. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Fine, but it worked on Soobin once,” Beomgyu pauses, squints at him. “What’s up with you? You’ve been weird since we left the kitchen.”

“It’s nothing.”

Beomgyu crosses his arms. “That’s a lie.”

Kai sighs, turning slightly away like he might avoid the conversation entirely, but Beomgyu doesn’t let him. He bumps his shoulder into Kai’s, gently but insistently. “Hey. C’mon. Talk to me.”

There’s a pause – long, drawn-out – before Kai finally mutters, “It’s stupid.”

“I don’t care,” Beomgyu says. “Tell me anyway.”

Kai fiddles with the hem of his hoodie sleeve. “I just… I feel a bit bad. About asking you to stay over.”

Beomgyu’s brow furrows. “What? Why?”

Kai shifts uncomfortably, gaze fixed on the wall. “I know our place isn’t much. It’s small. Cold. The bed’s terrible. The bathroom door doesn’t close properly, and we barely have space for two people to sit in the kitchen without knocking elbows. And I thought… maybe you’d mind. You’re probably not used to it. It’s different from what you’re used to.”

Beomgyu’s heart clenches. Without thinking, he takes a step forward and nudges Kai again; not hard, just enough to get him to look up. “Hey,” he says, voice firmer now. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

Kai glances down at him, unsure.

“I don’t care what your place looks like,” Beomgyu says, tone steady, unwavering. “I don’t care that the bed’s small or that there’s barely any space or that the bathroom door creaks. I’m here because you’re here. And your dad? He’s amazing. This place? It’s warm. It’s safe. That’s more than a lot of people have.”

Kai opens his mouth like he wants to protest, but Beomgyu cuts him off again, softer this time. “I wanted to come here. Not just because I didn’t want to go home, but because I wanted to be with you. So stop thinking you have to apologise for anything. You don’t.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Kai exhales slowly, shoulders sagging. He looks at Beomgyu and for a second, Beomgyu thinks he might cry, but he doesn’t. Instead, he dips his head, just slightly, so their foreheads nearly touch. Beomgyu has to tilt his chin up to meet his gaze, and it makes his chest ache. Kai’s taller, broader, always has been. But in moments like this, when he folds inward just enough to match Beomgyu’s height, to meet him where he is, it makes something melt inside Beomgyu. Like he’s being trusted with something fragile.

“Thanks,” Kai says quietly.

Beomgyu smiles, barely a curve of his lips, but it’s real. “Anytime.”

They stand there for a moment longer, the room still around them, the world narrowed to just the two of them. And though the weight in Beomgyu’s chest doesn’t disappear, it softens – if only for now.

They layer up before heading out; scarves wrapped securely, thick jumpers tugged over thermals, jackets zipped all the way up. It’s still winter, but today the cold feels softer, less biting. The sun is out, casting a muted golden glow over the streets, and the sky is clear, the kind of blue that makes you feel like anything might be possible. It’s the perfect kind of winter day for being outside. Beomgyu exhales slowly, watching his breath mist in the air, and feels something loosen in his chest. Beside him, Kai walks close, their arms brushing now and then, like gravity is gently tugging them toward each other. Kai’s dad leads the way, hands in his coat pockets, a quiet hum in his throat as they head toward the corner of the block.

The restaurant they stop at is small, nestled between two older buildings, its fogged-up windows hiding the inside from view. There’s a handwritten menu taped askew on the glass and the smell of broth already leaking into the air as the door swings open. The owner, a small older woman with greying hair twisted into a loose bun, spots them before they’re even fully through the door.

“Aigoo, Kai-yah,” she exclaims, bustling toward him, her apron dusted with flour. “Look at you! You're all bones, aren’t you? Have you been eating properly? I bet your appa’s been too busy to feed you anything decent.”

Kai grins, ducking his head a little in embarrassment. “I’m eating fine, halmeoni.”

She doesn’t look convinced. She swats gently at his arm before cupping his face with both hands, tutting under her breath.

Then her eyes land on Beomgyu, and she straightens slightly. “And who’s this, hm?”

Kai glances over with a shy smile. “This is Beomgyu. He’s my friend. He’s staying with us for a bit.”

Beomgyu bows politely, hands at his sides. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The woman softens instantly. “Oho, polite and handsome,” she says, giving Beomgyu’s cheek a gentle pat. “You’re a lucky one, Kai. Come in, both of you, you’ll catch cold standing out there.”

The inside of the place is warmer than Beomgyu expects; cozy, with steam curling from the open kitchen and condensation dripping slowly down the windows. The restaurant only has a handful of tables, all wood, their surfaces worn and familiar-looking. A radio hums somewhere in the background, playing an old ballad low and crackling. She brings out bowls of miyeokguk – seaweed soup rich with sesame oil and depth – alongside steaming white rice and a few simple side dishes. It’s nothing extravagant, but it smells incredible. Beomgyu’s stomach growls as soon as the bowls hit the table.

Kai’s face softens as he picks up his spoon, eyes distant for a moment as he takes the first sip. He looks like a kid again, and Beomgyu feels that same quiet ache in his chest he always does when Kai’s guard is down like this. He takes a bite himself and lets out a soft hum of surprise. It’s simple, yeah, but comforting in a way no fancy bistro or gourmet nonsense could ever replicate. There’s history in this soup, made with love and warmth

Kai nudges his leg under the table. “Good, right?”

Beomgyu nods, still chewing. “More than good.”

The halmeoni preens at the compliment, her cheeks flushing with delight. “You’re too kind, Beomgyu-yah,” she says, her voice light and warm. She straightens up, clearly enjoying the attention. “I’m just doing my best to take care of these boys.” She gives Kai’s dad a pointed look, her hands on her hips as if to say, don’t think I’ve forgotten you, either.

Kai’s dad chuckles softly, shaking his head as he leans back in his seat. “Be careful now, halmeoni,” he warns, teasing. “Keep this up, and your shoulders are going to rise all the way up to the sky.”

The halmeoni, not missing a beat, reaches for the handkerchief tucked in the pocket of her apron and waves it playfully in his direction. “If you’re not careful, I’ll give you smaller portions next time you come around, David. Maybe you’ll have to bring your own rice!”

Kai’s dad laughs heartily, hands lifted in mock surrender. “I’ll bring my own lunch then! Can’t let you get too generous, or I’ll end up looking like that one again,” he jokes, pointing at Kai with a knowing glance.

“Dad,” Kai mutters, his cheeks going pink, but he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He shrugs it off, clearly used to the teasing. Beomgyu watches them both, amused by the ease of their relationship. There’s something effortlessly warm about the way Kai’s dad and the halmeoni interact – like this isn’t just a meal, but a small ritual, a shared history.

Kai’s dad grins, then turns to Beomgyu, clearly in the mood to share. “When Kai was younger,” he begins, his voice softening a little as he recalls the past, “he used to sit right here in this spot, right where he is now. He’d always ask for extra seaweed in his soup, and we’d have to beg halmeoni for more. Even then, he couldn’t get enough of it.”

Kai looks embarrassed, sinking a little lower in his seat, but he doesn’t stop his father. The older man continues, his eyes crinkling with fondness.

“One time,” he goes on, “Kai insisted on eating his soup before the rice even arrived, which made such a mess, I thought he’d spill everything all over the place. But he didn’t care. He just looked at me, all serious, and said, ‘Dad, I need the seaweed now. The rice will wait’.”

Beomgyu laughs, a light sound that escapes him before he can stop it. “That sounds like something Kai would do,” he teases.

Kai scowls at him but can’t suppress the small smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I wasn’t that bad,” he mutters, but it’s clear he’s enjoying the story more than he’s letting on.

Beomgyu smiles to himself, feeling the softness of the moment, the easy affection between them. He can’t help but feel lucky to be here, a part of this small, quiet world, even if just for a little while, and as he glances over at Kai, he realises just how much he’s starting to care about him, more than he ever thought possible.

Kai's dad leans back in his seat with a smirk, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share another of his favourite stories. “Oh, you want to hear about the time Kai really went overboard?” he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “What happened?”

Kai’s dad chuckles to himself, looking between Beomgyu and Kai, clearly relishing the moment. “Well, when he was about six, we came here for breakfast, just like today. Halmeoni made his usual miyeokguk, but that day…” He trails off for dramatic effect. “That day, Kai insisted on eating not one, but two portions. Said he was ‘extra hungry’ and needed the extra boost to get through the day.”

Kai groans, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. “Dad, stop.”

But Kai’s dad is unstoppable, clearly enjoying the way his son is squirming in his seat. “So, of course, being the generous halmeoni she is, she gave him the second portion. Kai ate every last bite, grinning the whole time like a little piglet. But then–” He pauses, eyes wide with mock surprise. “He fell into a food coma.”

Beomgyu’s lips twitch, and he tries not to laugh as Kai looks at his dad with exasperation. “A food coma?” Beomgyu echoes. “How does that even happen?”

Kai’s dad nods sagely, as if he’s recounting a great tragedy. “Oh, it’s real, alright. After that second bowl, Kai couldn’t even stand up. He had to be carried out of here because he was so full, he could barely move.” He laughs, the sound deep and full of affection. “He missed school that day because he couldn’t function. Just lay in bed, completely useless. All that miyeokguk was too much for him.”

Kai buries his face in his hands, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Dad, seriously.”

Beomgyu laughs outright now, finding it impossible to hold it in. “I can’t believe you ate that much. How’d you even manage to walk?”

Kai’s dad grins, clearly proud of the tale. “He didn’t. He was waddling like a little penguin the whole way home, which is how I started calling him Peng sometimes. I’ve never seen anyone so full in my life.”

Beomgyu can’t help but laugh even harder at the mental image, and for a moment, Kai seems like a completely different person; a kid with big eyes and an insatiable appetite for everything around him.

Kai, meanwhile, is now sinking lower in his seat, looking thoroughly embarrassed but also trying not to smile. “Okay, okay, you’ve made your point,” he mutters, though there’s no real heat in his voice. He glances up at Beomgyu, and despite the embarrassment, there’s something tender in his gaze, like he’s okay with this story being told, even if it’s making him turn red.

Kai’s dad, sensing the end of his anecdote, ruffles Kai’s hair one last time. “You were six,” he says fondly, as if that makes it all better. “I had to let you enjoy it. But now, look at you. Growing up so fast,” he adds with a soft chuckle.

Beomgyu can see the affection in the way Kai’s dad looks at him, and for a moment, it feels like an unspoken reminder of just how deeply they care for one another. Kai might act tough, but these little stories paint a different picture; a picture of a boy who’s always been loved, who’s always had people to take care of him, even when he was a little too eager to finish his miyeokguk.

“You know,” Beomgyu says with a grin, leaning back in his chair, “I think I might start taking notes on all these Kai stories. There’s plenty more to tease him about now.”

Kai shoots him a look, half annoyed and half amused, but there’s a softness in his eyes that Beomgyu can’t quite place. He knows, without needing to say it, that these moments matter. They’re more than just teasing or stories from the past. They’re pieces of who Kai is, and in this quiet little restaurant with warm soup and even warmer memories, Beomgyu feels like he’s getting to know that person more and more with every passing minute.

The halmeoni comes around, her face glowing with pride as she watches Beomgyu spooning the soup into his mouth, eyes closed in contentment. “So,” she says, her voice light and teasing, “What do you think of my miyeokguk? Is it good?”

Beomgyu looks up at her, beaming. “This is honestly the best soup I’ve had in years,” he says, his voice full of sincerity. “I don’t even think anything could come close to it.”

At that, the halmeoni’s face lights up with a radiant smile, and she waves her hand dismissively, as if it were nothing. “Oh, stop it, you’re too kind,” she says, but Beomgyu can tell she’s pleased. Then, without missing a beat, she scurries off to the kitchen, returning moments later with a whole plate of mandu, piping hot and steaming. “For service,” she says with a wink, placing the plate in front of them. “Eat more, eat more.”

Beomgyu feels his stomach rumble at the sight of the mandu; they’re golden brown, perfectly crispy on the outside with a soft, steaming filling. He immediately reaches for one, his mouth watering. As he takes a bite, he can’t help but let out a satisfied sigh, eyes wide. “These are amazing,” he says, voice muffled by the food. “Seriously, I could eat these all day.”

Just then, Kai’s dad, David, pipes up, his tone light but with a mischievous edge. “Wow, so all those compliments you gave me for dinner last night were nothing, huh?”

Beomgyu chokes on his bite, sputtering and laughing as he quickly tries to clarify himself. “No, no, that’s not what I meant! The dinner last night was– was great! I just– this is… different! It’s– uh, it’s just the best soup I’ve had in a while,” he stammers, trying to backtrack.

“I literally cooked you soup last night!” Kai’s dad scoffs, dramatically shaking his head in disappointment.

“Wait, no, I meant–!” Beomgyu tries to clarify over his fits of laughter.

The halmeoni, ever the tease, jumps in, a twinkle in her eye as she leans toward David. “David, you hear that? He’s saying my cooking is better than yours!” she says, her voice full of playful mischief.

David dramatically throws his hands up in the air, wailing in mock despair. “I can’t compete with this!” he exclaims, falling back into his chair. “My cooking is nothing compared to this!”

Kai, who had been silently enjoying the banter, bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach as he nearly doubles over in his seat. The sound is light and carefree, and Beomgyu can’t help but grin at how contagious Kai’s laughter is. He laughs so hard that tears form at the corners of his eyes, and for a split second, Beomgyu thinks he might actually cry from laughing too much.

“Are you serious?” Kai gasps between laughs. “You’re both insane.”

David, not missing a beat, straightens up, waving off any apology Beomgyu tries to offer. “No, no, don’t bother,” he says dramatically, “There’s no coming back from this. Halmeoni has claimed victory.”

The lighthearted teasing continues, and the sound of their laughter fills the small restaurant. Beomgyu watches Kai, his smile growing as he sees how much fun his friend is having – how natural this feels. It’s nothing extravagant, just a warm, quiet morning with the people who mean the most to Kai. And somehow, in this little moment, it feels like he’s part of it. Like he belongs here, with them.

The miyeokguk is still comforting, still the best soup he’s ever had, but what makes the warmth in his chest grow isn’t just the heat from the food. It’s the way he feels, surrounded by these people, sharing laughter, teasing, and comfort. The way Kai’s laughter sounds like home, even when it’s just the three of them in a small restaurant with nothing but warmth and the sound of clinking bowls. 

When they’re finished eating and start gathering their things, Kai's dad reaches into his coat pocket for his wallet, but the halmeoni waves him off before he can even unzip it. “Yah, put that away,” she says sternly, though there’s a fond smile tugging at her lips, already anticipating the protest. “You think I’d let you pay after seeing Kai's face again after so long? It’s fun having you around again, Kai-yah.”

Kai’s dad chuckles under his breath, still trying to reach for his wallet out of habit. “At least let me pay for the mandu,” he says, trying to sound casual about it, but the halmeoni catches his wrist with surprising speed and swats him with her soft handkerchief.

“Aigoo, don’t be silly. Next time, maybe. If I let you,” she adds with a wink, eyes crinkling as she looks between him and Kai like they’re still her mischievous boys from years ago. “Besides, this one,” she gestures at Beomgyu, “He made me feel young again with all those compliments.”

Kai’s dad laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. But you keep feeding us like this, and I’ll start stopping by every morning.”

“Then I’ll start giving you smaller portions, David-ssi,” she threatens, raising an eyebrow in mock warning. “You need to watch that belly.”

Kai snorts, nearly choking on a last sip of water, while Beomgyu tries to hide his grin behind the back of his hand. The light, teasing energy circles around the table like sunlight through open blinds; soft, familiar, safe.

“She’s always been like this,” Kai tells Beomgyu under his breath, still laughing. “She used to threaten me with burnt rice if I didn’t finish my homework.”

“And he believed me,” halmeoni quips, hearing it anyway. “Too easy to trick, this one.”

“Hey!” Kai yelps, but he’s still smiling, still glowing.

Beomgyu watches all of it unfold, heart warm in a way that feels strange and unfamiliar, like he’s stumbled into something private and precious; but instead of being pushed out, he’s being welcomed in, handed a seat at the table and a bowl of soup and a lifetime of old jokes. He doesn’t know how to carry it all. He only knows it feels like home. They bow deeply in thanks as they leave, the wind nipping gently at their cheeks the moment they step outside. The sun’s higher now, warming the concrete, the clouds thin and scattered. The streets are quiet except for the occasional car humming past, and Beomgyu tilts his head toward the light, breathing it in. 

Just as he’s about to follow after Kai and his dad, footsteps crunching softly ahead of him, the halmeoni catches his wrist. Her grip is light, but firm enough to stop him in place.

Beomgyu turns, surprised. “Yes?”

She looks up at him with kind, weathered eyes that seem to see right through him. The wrinkles that frame her face deepen as she smiles, warm and slow. “Come around more often, hmm?” she says, squeezing his wrist like a mother might. “It’s good for Kai to have someone like you.”

Beomgyu’s mouth parts slightly, caught off guard by the tenderness in her voice. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if he deserves words like that when he’s still hiding something so ugly underneath all of this.

“I’ve never seen him smile so big before,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Not since he was a little boy with seaweed in his teeth, sitting in that same seat, slurping soup like it was the best thing in the world. But when he looks at you… he shines.”

It hits him low in the stomach, that ache he’s been trying to ignore. It pulses deep, insistent. Shame curling in the corners of his ribcage. He opens his mouth to say something, anything – a thank you, a deflection, a lie – but nothing comes out. He just nods, his throat too tight.

The halmeoni pats his hand, her touch gentle. “Take care of him,” she says simply, her voice steady but soft.

“Yeah,” Beomgyu manages to say, barely above a whisper. 

He steps out into the light, blinking hard as he catches up to Kai and his father. The ache in his chest is heavier now, but it’s not the unbearable kind. It’s the kind that roots itself quietly, the kind that grows in the places where love and guilt twist together. It’s just enough to remind him of what he stands to lose – and what he wants so desperately to protect.

As Beomgyu steps back into the light, Kai turns at the sound of his footsteps catching up. His eyes squint slightly against the morning sun, still soft around the edges from laughter and the heat of the soup, but curious now.

“What’d halmeoni say to you?” he asks, nudging Beomgyu’s elbow lightly with his own. “You were talking for a while.”

Beomgyu hesitates – just for a second – but that’s all it takes for something to flicker in his chest; shame, guilt, something too tangled to name. He can still feel the warmth of her hand on his wrist, still hear her voice telling him Kai shines when he looks at him. It’s too much. Too honest. Too real.

So he laughs, easy and light, falling back on the thing he’s always been good at: deflection.

“She told me I need to eat more,” he says, grinning as he tugs at the waistband of his jeans. “Apparently I’m too skinny. Tragic, really.”

Kai gives him a look. Not suspicious, exactly, but amused. “You are too skinny,” he says, bumping their shoulders together as they walk. “You eat like a bird.”

“And yet I’ve got the stronger personality,” Beomgyu replies, lifting his chin dramatically. “Balance, baby.”

Kai snorts. “Delusional.”

“Confident,” Beomgyu corrects, placing a hand over his heart. “There’s a difference.”

Kai just shakes his head with a small, quiet smile, but he doesn’t push further. Beomgyu knows he could’ve. Kai’s good like that; he picks up on things, but he lets it go, and Beomgyu is grateful for it. Grateful and aching all at once.

As they fall into step behind Kai’s dad, Beomgyu steals a glance at Kai’s profile, the way the light hits the tips of his hair, still slightly damp from earlier. And he tries not to think about what he’s just done; about the lie, about the truth buried beneath it.

The ache stays. It always does.

Kai’s dad leads them down the narrow side streets of the neighbourhood, the kind that twist and slope, lined with old convenience stores and faded signs hanging above cracked doorframes. The kind of street where everything feels suspended in time. Beomgyu doesn’t know where they’re going, but he doesn’t mind; there’s something nice about just following, watching Kai fall into step beside his dad like it’s second nature. After a few more minutes, Kai’s dad turns a corner, and they arrive at a quiet, worn-down park. There’s nothing particularly special about it; just an old bench, a small stretch of gravel, and a rusted swing set off to the side, but across from it, against the brick wall of a long-closed bakery, is a mural.

Not a fancy, commissioned one, but the kind neighbourhood kids used to paint with leftover tins of wall paint and brushes donated from a local art teacher. Faded now, chipped in places, but still vibrant with mismatched shapes and figures: sunflowers, smiley faces, a rocket ship with crooked wings, and, off to one side, a crooked height chart scrawled in black paint against the bricks.

Kai stops dead in his tracks.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, blinking. “It’s still here?”

His dad laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course it is. You think someone was gonna bother scrubbing that mess off?” He gestures toward the height chart. “You made me mark your height on that wall every year until you were ten. Even when we were running late for school, you’d whine until I stopped to do it.”

Kai hurries over, his steps quick and eager, tracing his fingers over the black lines and scribbled numbers. Beomgyu follows slowly, watching as Kai crouches to examine the first line near the bottom – barely higher than the first row of bricks – and then stands to see the last one. His name’s there too, written in messy Hangul beside each mark, one of the "i" strokes has a wonky little heart next to it.

Beomgyu can't help but smile.

“You used to make me take a picture every time,” Kai’s dad says, pulling out his phone like he’s thinking of snapping one now. “Even when I had that awful flip phone with the broken screen.”

“I thought this was the coolest thing in the world,” Kai mutters, almost to himself. “I wanted to be taller than the rocket ship by the time I turned ten.”

“And you were,” his dad says proudly. “With hair like that, how could you not be?”

Kai shoots him a deadpan look, but he’s smiling. Beomgyu watches the way his face softens, the awe in his eyes, the way his fingers linger on the paint like it’s sacred.

“What is this place?” Beomgyu asks, stepping closer.

“It’s nothing really,” Kai says, turning to him. “Just a wall. But it was free. And fun. Dad used to bring me here all the time. We’d play rock-paper-scissors, take photos, make up stories about the drawings. Sometimes he’d bring leftover bread from the bakery next door, and we’d eat it on that bench over there.”

“There was a time I thought this wall was more magical than Lotte World or Everland,” his dad says with a small laugh, fond. “Because you believed it was.”

Beomgyu doesn't say anything for a moment, just takes it all in. The chipped paint, the old stories soaked into the bricks, the way Kai looks like a kid again, standing in front of it all. There’s nothing flashy here. No flashing lights or arcade games, no rollercoasters or queues, but Kai's smiling like it's the best place in the world.

Kai’s dad claps his hands together, the sound sharp in the quiet morning. “Right,” he says, grinning. “We’re not leaving without making new marks. Can’t come all the way here and not update the chart.”

Kai lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, glancing back at the wall. “You’re serious?”

“I’m always serious,” his dad says, already rummaging through his bag for a marker. “Well, about this, anyway.”

Beomgyu raises a brow. “You just carry a marker around?”

Kai’s dad looks up, unfazed. “You never know when history needs updating.”

That makes Kai laugh properly, warm and rich. He takes the marker when it’s offered to him and steps up to the wall, standing with his back against it like he did when he was small. His hair brushes just past the rocket ship now, and Beomgyu can see the pride flicker on his face before he tries to mask it.

“Still growing, huh?” Beomgyu teases.

Kai huffs, handing the marker to his dad. “Alright, go on. Make it official.”

With a precision born of years of doing this exact thing, Kai’s dad draws a straight line just above his son’s head and writes today’s date next to it. Then, beside it, in messy block letters, he scribbles: KAI – 2025 . The letters sit above the old ones now, a timeline of boyhood turned almost-man.

Beomgyu watches the marker drag across the brick as Kai’s name is etched into the wall, the letters bold and uneven, the date sitting like a quiet stamp of memory. It’s strangely moving, this small act of permanence, the kind that sneaks up on you and stays.

Then Kai turns to him with a crooked smile. “Alright. Your turn.”

Beomgyu hesitates for half a second before stepping up to the wall, his back pressing lightly against the cool brick. There’s a flutter in his chest, faint but persistent. He tries to laugh it off, shaking his head at himself. It’s just some wall and a silly tradition. Nothing to get sentimental over, but then Kai moves in to line him up, and he moves in close.

Too close.

One hand lightly touches Beomgyu’s shoulder, steadying him, while the other hovers near his jaw to tilt his head just so. Kai stands between Beomgyu and the open space, body angled in a way that feels… almost like he’s pinning him there. His breath is warm where it ghosts along Beomgyu’s cheek, and there’s a heartbeat of silence, too loud, too still. Beomgyu’s gaze flickers down to Kai’s mouth before he can stop himself. There’s a dot of dried toothpaste still clinging to the corner, missed from earlier; stupid, intimate, familiar.

Kai doesn’t move.

Neither of them do.

And then, abruptly, Kai clears his throat, stepping back like the tension didn’t just tighten the air between them. Like he didn’t feel it at all.

“Okay, hold still,” he says, voice a little lower than before, a little rough around the edges.

Beomgyu doesn’t say anything. He just nods, eyes flicking away as Kai marks the top of his head with a quick stroke of the marker. There’s the sound of the cap clicking shut, then the scrawl of his name joining Kai’s on the wall.

BEOMGYU – 2025.

Right beneath it, Kai draws a tiny heart. Quiet, almost hidden. He doesn’t say anything about it, and neither does Beomgyu. But it’s there.

Kai’s dad is already pulling out his phone. “Hold on– don’t move, I need a picture. This is history, boys.”

Kai rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t step away. He just leans in close again, shoulders brushing Beomgyu’s as the camera clicks. One, two, three times. Then a video.

“Say something for future you,” his dad calls out, laughing behind the lens.

Beomgyu, feeling bold in the warmth of Kai’s closeness, looks straight at the camera. “Kai and Beomgyu were here,” he says simply, and Kai grins beside him.

They don’t stop at the height marks. With the leftover paint markers from his dad’s bag – some of them half-dried but still usable – they start decorating the wall with little drawings and doodles. Beomgyu draws a crooked guitar. Kai adds a shooting star. There’s a sun in the corner, a half-finished dinosaur from who-knows-when that Beomgyu insists on adding sunglasses to. They write their names again, smaller this time, tucked into a corner like a secret.

It’s silly, and maybe it’s meaningless, but Beomgyu’s never felt more like he belonged anywhere.

Kai’s dad keeps filming, narrating in a dramatic tone like they’re explorers leaving their mark on a forgotten land. “In the year 2025, two brave souls ventured forth and claimed this wall for the kingdom of friendship– and maybe even for the kingdom of something more romanti–”

“Dad!” Kai groans, face burning.

Beomgyu just laughs, but there’s something caught in his throat, something he can’t quite swallow down. He looks at the wall again, their names etched in ink, surrounded by stars and nonsense, and thinks, this is the most fun he’s ever had. He steps back, letting the moment sink in like sunlight on skin. The old bricks stretch before him, layered with time; faded paint from years long gone, childish doodles barely clinging to the surface, names stacked atop names like a timeline of growing up, and now, there at the center, fresh and bright, are their names: KAI – 2025, BEOMGYU – 2025. Side by side. A mark made in passing that somehow feels permanent.

He tilts his head up, watching the way the morning light slants through the tangle of bare branches above, scattering golden patches onto the ground and the wall. A breeze cuts through the clearing, but it isn’t cold, just crisp enough to make him feel awake and present. Kai is standing beside him, shoulders slightly hunched like he always does when he’s at ease. There’s a faint curve to his mouth, a smile not meant for show, but one that rests there naturally, unconsciously.

Beomgyu’s eyes linger on him. On the way his breath curls in the cool air. On the scuff of dirt on his jeans. On the way he hums back at his dad without really realizing it, caught in his own thoughts. There’s something so real about all of it. Nothing curated. Nothing posed. Just a boy and his dad and a wall that holds their memories.

It’s so simple .

It’s just a wall, for fuck’s sake.

And yet, it feels like the most alive Beomgyu’s ever been.

He’s played to screaming crowds, been bathed in stage lights and drenched in sweat and noise. He’s felt the vibration of his guitar in his bones, heard the university crowd chant his name like a spell, but those memories feel far away right now, because this… this is different. This is real. This is laughter peeling out from the belly, unguarded and whole. This is dried paint under his fingernails. This is the way Kai looked at him when their shoulders brushed and he didn’t pull away. This is Kai’s dad singing some trot song he’s probably been humming since the ‘80s. This is a moment that has no audience, no crowd, no pressure to be anything other than what it is.

It’s just warmth.

It settles into Beomgyu’s chest and spreads slow, like honey, and as he looks at the wall again, he knows – without a doubt, without a single fragment of irony or detachment – that he’s never going to forget this. Not in a week. Not in ten years. Not even when he’s old and the paint on that wall has all but faded away. He’s going to remember the feel of the marker in his hand, the sound of Kai’s laughter, the steady beat of something unnamed blooming between them.

God, he thinks, throat tight.

He’s falling hard.  

After leaving the old wall behind, Kai's dad insists they go for a short hike. “Not leaving without the trail, it’s tradition,” he says firmly, already leading the way like it’s non-negotiable. Kai groans but doesn’t protest, just pulls his hoodie tighter around his ears and trudges along. Beomgyu follows, slightly amused, only to realize within ten minutes that “short” apparently meant “steep incline and questionable footing.”

“Come on,” Kai’s dad calls from up ahead, waving a hand over his shoulder. “We used to do this all the time, even when Kai was little.”

“In summer,” Kai mutters under his breath, shooting Beomgyu a look. “He’s conveniently forgetting that part.”

Beomgyu laughs and stumbles over a patch of rocks, catching himself before he falls. “I’ve never hiked before,” he says without thinking.

Kai and his dad stop in their tracks.

There’s a beat of silence, followed by twin gasps that are so comically dramatic Beomgyu actually doubles over laughing.

“Never?” Kai says, like Beomgyu just confessed to never having eaten rice. “You’ve lived in Korea your whole life and never once hiked a mountain?”

Kai's dad looks personally offended. “Never? Not even with school?”

Beomgyu shakes his head, still laughing. “Not even a little one. I grew up in the city, okay? I had rooftop views and overpriced cafes. Nature was a tree outside the convenience store.”

Kai stares at him like he’s trying to decide whether to pity him or revoke his Korean card. “This is a crime. This is actually a crime.”

“You’re lucky,” his dad says with mock severity. “You get your first time here. Not a bad place to start.”

And he’s right. Despite the chill in the air and the slippery patches of frost still clinging to the earth, the trail winds through a world so quiet and untouched it feels like they’ve stepped out of time. The bare trees reach high into a cloudless sky, sunlight glittering off the remaining patches of snow. Their breath fogs in the cold, but there’s a rhythm to the steps, a warmth in the movement that fights off the chill.

Away from Seoul’s sharp corners and noise, from the honks and flashing lights and eyes that always seem to be watching – here, in the hush of the hills and the creak of old trees swaying – there’s something that feels like freedom. They continue up the trail, the three of them falling into a rhythm. It’s not as cold as it had been that morning – just brisk enough to keep them moving. The sun, now high in the sky, filters through bare branches, casting long shadows across the frost-speckled ground. Somewhere in the distance, a bird calls, its voice high and clear in the silence.

It’s different here. Peaceful.

Kai walks ahead with his hands in his pockets, occasionally glancing back to check if Beomgyu’s still with them. His dad points out different spots along the path; the stone Kai once tripped over and cried about, the little bend where they used to stop for water, the log that used to be much bigger when Kai was small.

“It looks the same,” Kai murmurs at one point, pausing near a break in the trees where the view opens up to rolling hills dusted with frost. “I thought it’d feel smaller.”

His dad smiles. “You just got taller.”

Beomgyu lingers behind them, watching the two of them share this moment. It’s such a simple thing – a walk on an old trail – but there’s something sacred about it. Something grounding. In Seoul, everything moves too fast. Too loud. Here, everything is still, and maybe it’s the fresh air or the way the cold bites just enough to make his skin feel alive, but Beomgyu suddenly understands why Kai loves it here, why his dad insisted on coming, why they keep returning, because it’s not about the hike. It’s about remembering where you came from, where you’ve been. Who you were, and who you still are. Beomgyu kicks at a small stone and lets out a breath, watching it swirl in the air before fading.

“Still with us?” Kai calls teasingly from up ahead.

“Barely,” Beomgyu replies, grinning. “If I pass out, you better carry me down.”

Kai laughs, walking back just enough to fall into step beside him. “I’d drag you, at most.”

“You’re a sweetheart.” Beomgyu responds sarcastically.

Kai shrugs, but he’s smiling, and for a second, Beomgyu feels it again; that quiet joy he’s only started recognizing when he’s around Kai. It’s not loud or showy or demands attention. It just exists. Soft and steady, like the trail beneath their feet.

They’d been walking for a while now, long enough that the path had narrowed, sloped steeper, and the novelty had well worn off for Beomgyu. His thighs were burning. His lungs felt like they were lined with ice. Every breath came out as a visible puff, and every step felt heavier than the last.

He tries to keep up the banter, the smiles, but after a particularly slippery patch where he nearly eats it face-first into a bush, he groans and leans over his knees dramatically. “Okay. Okay, this is it. This is where I die.”

Kai glances back from where he’s a few steps ahead, immediately doubling back. “You good?”

“No,” Beomgyu whines, dragging one foot after the other. “You guys grew up doing this, my legs are made for city sidewalks and band practice. There’s a difference.”

Kai huffs a laugh but then offers something without a word – his hand. It’s not a big deal, not really. But the way he holds it out, gentle and sure, like it’s instinct, makes Beomgyu pause. He stares at it, then, wordlessly, he slips his fingers through Kai’s, and like magic – actual magic – his legs stop burning. His heart still races, but not from exhaustion. It’s something else entirely now, something molten and warm that makes him feel like he could climb a whole damn mountain if it meant he could keep holding Kai’s hand like this. They keep walking, step after step. The ground doesn’t feel quite as treacherous anymore. Behind them, a soft chuckle breaks the quiet.

Kai’s dad, a few paces back, is smiling like he’s seen this movie before. “So,” he says casually, “You were just pretending to struggle so you could hold hands with my son, huh?”

Immediately, Kai and Beomgyu spring apart like someone lit a fire under their feet.

“What?!” Beomgyu sputters.

“No– what are you– Dad!” Kai groans, face going red all the way to the tips of his ears. “Oh my god.”

“I wasn’t pretending!” Beomgyu adds, equally flustered, voice cracking on the last syllable.

Kai’s dad just laughs, hands in his pockets, looking far too pleased with himself. “Hey, don’t mind me. I’m just a tree. Not here. Invisible. Pretend I’m not even tagging along.”

Kai hides his face in his jacket, mumbling, “We were literally just walking.”

Beomgyu glares at a leaf like it personally betrayed him. “I hate it here.”

But the thing is, neither of them move far from each other. Their hands don’t touch again – not yet – but the space between them stays just small enough. Just close enough to feel something humming in the air, soft and unsaid, and even though the trail keeps winding, keeps testing his untrained legs, Beomgyu doesn’t complain again. 

When they finally reach the top, Beomgyu feels like he’s earned it. The sweat clings to the back of his neck, his legs ache in places he didn’t know could hurt, but when he looks out over the landscape spread before him, he knows it was worth it.

The view is nothing like he’s ever seen before. It’s like the world opens up, wide and endless. The mountains stretch into the distance, their peaks dusted with the softest layer of snow. The city, far below, looks like a mere blur, the noise of it muted by the vast expanse of nature. The sunlight, pale but warm, cuts through the winter chill and casts a glow over everything. It’s tranquil, serene in a way that nothing in his busy life could ever compare to.

“Worth it?” Kai asks, his voice quiet beside him.

Beomgyu nods, his eyes still fixed on the view. “Yeah. I’ll admit, this is beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Kai smiles softly, a fond, almost nostalgic look crossing his face. “This was one of our spots,” he says, his voice distant, like he’s remembering something old. “Dad used to bring me here all the time. It hasn’t changed at all.” He turns to his dad with a grin. “Not even the hike’s gotten easier.”

Kai’s dad chuckles, a warm, low sound that fills the air around them. “Some things are better when they stay the same,” he says, clapping a hand on Kai’s shoulder. “Even if it’s still a pain in the ass to get to the top.”

Beomgyu watches them, a small smile tugging at his lips. The bond between them is so effortless, so clear. It’s like an unspoken understanding that runs deeper than words. He feels like an outsider in the best possible way, like he’s gotten a rare glimpse into something precious. He’s glad to be here with them, even in this simple moment.

Kai’s dad pulls out his phone with a grin, clearly in his element. “Alright, let’s capture this moment,” he says, angling the camera at them.

Kai groans, but it’s a good-natured sound. “Oh, come on. You’re really going to make us do this?”

“You bet I am,” Kai’s dad says, holding up the phone. “Come on, get close. Smile.”

The three of them huddle together for the first shot, a bit stiff at first, awkward smiles stretching across their faces. Kai’s dad, of course, is the first to break into a full grin, a look of pure joy that Beomgyu can’t help but admire.

“Alright,” Kai’s dad says, lowering the phone for a moment. “Now just the two of you. Go on, take a picture with Beomgyu.” He waves a hand, impatient but amused. 

Beomgyu’s stomach drops a little, and he glances at Kai, who is already stepping closer, his expression unreadable for a moment before a slight smile tugs at his lips. Beomgyu follows suit, moving closer too, though he’s not sure what to do with his hands. The space between them feels electric all of a sudden. Kai hesitates, then places a hand on Beomgyu’s shoulder, his fingers gentle, but the touch sends a small spark through Beomgyu’s chest. It’s nothing too intimate, nothing that should make Beomgyu’s heart skip a beat, but the weight of it lingers in the air, making everything feel a little bit sharper, more vivid.

Kai’s dad sees the awkwardness in their stance and laughs, the sound warm and teasing. “Come on, you’re supposed to be friends,” he says, grinning like he knows exactly how uncomfortable they both are. “Hug each other! Pose like you actually like each other.”

Kai’s cheeks flare a bright pink, and Beomgyu feels his own face heat up. But they both slowly close the gap between them, hands shifting just slightly; Kai’s hand sliding to the middle of Beomgyu’s back, Beomgyu’s arm gently coming around Kai’s waist. They both try to smile for the camera, though it’s still a little stiff.

Beomgyu’s eyes linger on Kai for a moment, and for just a second, everything around them seems to quiet. Kai looks different in the winter sunlight. His features are softer, more vulnerable somehow. The sunlight makes his hair glow, and the flush on his cheeks only adds to the warmth around him. Beomgyu feels a flutter in his chest; something that’s been building, something he doesn’t know how to name yet.

Suddenly, Kai’s dad interrupts, calling out with a teasing smirk. “Beomgyu-yah, the camera is right here, not on my son’s face,” he says, his voice light but filled with that signature mischief.

Beomgyu snaps back to reality, his face instantly burning as he scrambles to focus on the camera instead of the person standing right next to him. He looks at the lens with a nervous laugh, Kai’s arm still resting lightly around his back. “Right,” he says quickly, feeling awkward but trying not to show it. “Sorry.”

Kai whines, pulling his hand away quickly, face still bright red. “Dad, seriously!”

Kai’s dad laughs, his eyes twinkling with affection as he snaps the photo. “Alright, alright. You two are a little too shy for my liking, but I’ll let it slide.”

Beomgyu can’t help but chuckle at the exchange, the tension between him and Kai slowly dissipating, though the warmth still lingers. The moment, once awkward, turns into something lighter, easier. Just a boy and his friend, just a boy and his Kai, and as Beomgyu looks at the picture on Kai’s dad’s phone afterward, with both of them standing there, just slightly closer than before, he feels like this moment will be something he’ll hold onto for a long time. Something he doesn’t ever want to forget.

Up at the peak, the wind bites sharply against Beomgyu's skin, a sting that makes his breath catch in the air. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself, but it’s no use; the chill from the mountaintop seeps through everything, and soon enough, his fingers are numb. Kai’s dad, ever prepared, is quick to notice.

He glances over at Beomgyu and Kai, both of them hunched slightly against the cold. “Aigoo,” he murmurs with a sigh, clearly feeling a little guilty. “I forgot how chilly it gets up here. Sorry, boys.”

Before either of them can protest, he moves toward them, wrapping an arm around each of them. His hands are warm, the heat a welcome relief against the cold air. Beomgyu blinks, a little surprised by the gesture, but doesn’t pull away. Kai does the same, his cheeks flushed red from the cold, his body leaning instinctively into the warmth his dad provides.

“Hey,” Kai teases, though his voice is tinged with affection and a little amusement. “You’re just trying to put your weight on us.”

Kai’s dad gives him an exaggerated look of innocence. “What are you talking about, Kai? I’m just trying to keep you warm. You don’t think you’d survive up here without a little extra protection, do you?”

Beomgyu can feel Kai’s shoulder bump against his as Kai gives his dad a playful shove, though it’s more of a mock protest than anything serious. “I’m fine,” Kai insists. “You’re just clingy.”

Despite the teasing, Beomgyu feels a warmth in the way they act; there’s something comforting in it, something that makes the cold bearable. The three of them walk down the narrow, winding trail together, Kai and Beomgyu with their arms still held close by Kai’s dad. There’s a certain closeness to it, a familiarity that feels almost natural. Even though the path is steep and difficult, with loose rocks that threaten to slip underfoot, Beomgyu feels strangely at ease.

It’s a little awkward at first, navigating with Kai’s dad’s arm wrapped around both of them. Beomgyu is careful, making sure he doesn’t trip, trying to avoid stepping on rocks while still staying close enough to the warmth of Kai’s dad. But somehow, with every step, it feels less uncomfortable and more… right.

Kai’s dad, as if noticing Beomgyu’s slight discomfort, chuckles softly. “I might be a bit too old to be this clingy, huh?”

“You think?” Kai teases back, glancing sideways at Beomgyu, his lips curling into a grin. “You’re putting your weight on us. It’s no wonder we’re struggling.”

Beomgyu can’t help but laugh lightly, even as he’s trying to maintain his balance on the narrow, uneven path. Despite the light teasing, he’s not bothered. There’s something oddly sweet about the whole situation; the way Kai’s dad just wraps them both up in warmth without hesitation.

“It’s fine,” Beomgyu says, his voice light. “I don’t mind.”

The moment passes, and they continue their descent in an easy, unhurried rhythm. Beomgyu notices how Kai’s hand brushes against his once or twice, almost without thinking. Every time, Beomgyu feels a small shiver run through him, though it’s not the cold that causes it this time. It’s something else, something warm that seems to radiate from the way their bodies fit together as they move down the mountain side by side.

Despite the aches in his legs, despite the soreness creeping in with every step, Beomgyu finds himself enjoying the experience. The pain of the hike feels distant – almost nonexistent as he’s wrapped in the warmth of Kai and his dad’s presence. The exhaustion melts into the background, leaving behind just the simplicity of the moment: Kai and his dad, and the quiet stillness of the mountain around them.

The wind continues to howl, but it feels like nothing can touch them now, not while they’re together.

“You sure you’re okay?” Kai asks, his voice soft now, eyes flickering to Beomgyu for a brief moment.

Beomgyu nods, a small, reassuring smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Yeah. I’m good.”

The wind cuts through the trees around them, but it’s all just background noise now. The world feels as though it’s shifted into a new, quieter space; a space where the cold doesn’t matter, where the steep drop doesn’t matter, and all that matters is that they’re here, together. Everything – the cold, the exhaustion, the weight of their footsteps on the loose gravel – feels far away, lost in the warmth of the moment, and as they make their way back down, Beomgyu finds himself wishing that this feeling could last forever.

 

🧸 

 

They make it back home just as the sun begins its slow descent, casting golden light across the apartment walls. The second the door shuts behind them, Beomgyu all but collapses onto the floor with a dramatic groan, sprawling out like he’s just returned from war. Kai follows suit a moment later, flopping onto the floor beside him with a loud exhale, his limbs splayed out and unmoving.

“Don’t talk to me,” Kai mumbles into the floorboards. “I’m dead.”

Beomgyu grunts in agreement, not even lifting his head. “Same. Leave me here. Let the floor take me.”

Kai’s dad steps over them with exaggerated care, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “Yah,” he says, kicking lightly at Kai’s foot. “Why am I the oldest one here and somehow still the most fit?”

Beomgyu cracks an eye open and groans louder. “Because you’re secretly a robot, abeonim.”

Kai turns his head to glare weakly up at his dad. “You’ve cursed us. You and your nostalgia hike.”

Kai’s dad snorts, unbothered, and makes his way to the tiny kitchen, muttering something about weak youth these days and pouring water into the kettle for tea. “Next time, I’ll make you carry me up the mountain. See how you like that.”

Beomgyu can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of him, even though it hurts. His entire body feels like jelly, every muscle trembling from exhaustion, but somehow it’s the best he’s felt in months. He lets his head roll toward Kai, who’s already looking at him with the barest hint of a smile on his lips, his cheek pressed into the floor.

“This was a mistake,” Beomgyu mutters.

Kai grins. “Best mistake ever.”

They lay there in silence for a beat, the kettle beginning to hiss behind them, the room warm despite the chill still clinging to their skin from outside. Kai’s dad returns with three mugs of tea, nudging them with his feet until they sit up, groaning like old men.

“You’ll survive,” he says, handing over the cups. “Barely.”

Kai takes his with a grateful sigh. Beomgyu does the same, the warmth of the mug seeping into his fingers, into his chest. The tea’s a bit too hot, a bit too bitter, but perfect in the way only something made for you can be. The living room is small, barely enough space for the three of them, but it feels full; of laughter, of aching limbs, of warmth settling in deep. As they sip their tea, the room settles into a comfortable hush, broken only by the occasional stretch of tired limbs and the quiet hum of the heater. Beomgyu and Kai lie sprawled across the narrow living room floor, their limbs too sore to move, the ache from the hike finally settling deep into their bones. Kai’s dad chuckles at the sight of them from the kitchen, shaking his head.

“You two look like you’ve been hit by a truck,” he says, setting his mug down. “This goes to show just how fit I am.”

Beomgyu groans into the floor. “You say that like you're not hiding the fact that your knees cracked like firewood when you stood up earlier.”

Kai snorts into his tea, and his dad gasps in mock betrayal. “Yah, don’t expose me like that in my own home.”

They laugh, easy and warm, but after a beat, Kai’s dad shifts on his feet, glancing at Beomgyu with something shy behind his eyes. He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actually… I did have one more thing planned for today. But, uh– well, it’s more for you, Beomgyu-yah.”

Beomgyu lifts his head, blinking. “For me?”

Kai’s dad nods sheepishly. “Yeah. I remembered when we talked yesterday– about model trains?”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. “Yeah?”

“Well,” Kai’s dad says simply. “There’s this place. Not far from here. It’s small, but they’ve got this whole setup. Intricate tracks, huge miniature cities, even working crossings and tunnels. I thought… well, I thought you might like it. But you’re all sore now, so it can wait.”

Beomgyu sits up, ignoring the way his muscles scream. “Wait– no. Are you kidding? That sounds incredible. I’m totally fine.”

Kai looks at him skeptically. “You couldn’t even lift your mug five minutes ago.”

Beomgyu waves him off. “That was an act. I was playing dead for sympathy.”

Kai smirks. “Uh huh.”

Beomgyu turns back to Kai’s dad, still stunned. “You seriously planned a whole thing for me?”

Kai’s dad shrugs, but his smile is pleased. “You seemed excited about it yesterday. And… I like seeing someone get excited about stuff like that. It reminds me of when Kai was little.”

Kai groans from the floor. “Here we go.”

“Anyway,” his dad continues, ignoring him, “I thought we could stop by. But it’s up to you.”

“Absolutely yes,” Beomgyu says, already reaching for his jacket. “No way I’m missing out on that. That’s, like, peak dreamland.”

Kai chuckles, pushing himself to his feet. “You two go. I’ll stay back and start dinner, if I don’t, you’ll be eating ramyeon and pickled radish again.”

“Not a complaint,” Beomgyu says, hopping up despite the pain.

Kai follows them to the door, arms crossed, watching the two of them like he’s seeing something only he understands. Beomgyu glances back before stepping outside, and Kai gives him a little nod – an unspoken go ahead, have this, that tells Beomgyu he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, and he leaves with Kai’s dad, his heart lighter than it’s been in a long time.

The late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky as they walk, casting long shadows along the quiet street. There’s a soft chill in the air, the kind that nestles into your coat collar and reminds you winter’s not done yet, but Beomgyu barely notices. The soreness in his legs has dulled to something manageable, and the anticipation of seeing the model trains pulls at him like a string, but more than that, there’s something easy about walking beside Kai’s dad.

They chat casually at first, about the weather, about the hike, about how Beomgyu's stamina was clearly a work in progress, which earns a dramatic eye roll from Beomgyu and a bark of laughter from Kai’s dad.

Then, the conversation dips, softens, as Kai’s dad glances at him and asks, “So, Beomgyu-yah… what about you? What’s your story?”

Beomgyu slows a little at the question, gaze drifting down to the pavement beneath their feet. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, fingers curled tightly. He usually finds a way to dodge these kinds of conversations; wrap them up in jokes, redirect the attention, act unbothered, but something about Kai’s dad makes it hard to lie. Maybe it’s the way he listens, gentle and quiet, like he actually cares about the answer.

“My parents are lawyers,” Beomgyu says after a moment, his voice quieter now. “Big firm. Seoul-based. Always working, even when they’re not supposed to be.”

Kai’s dad hums, a prompting sound that says I’m listening.

“They weren’t exactly thrilled when I told them I wanted to study music,” Beomgyu goes on, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They think it’s a waste of time. That I should be doing something ‘real’ with my life.”

He shrugs, trying to play it off, but it doesn’t work. “My hyung – he’s a lawyer too. Top of his class, model son, all that. They... talk to him. About real things. Important things. When I’m home, it’s like I’m just there to fill space.”

There’s a pause. It stretches long between them, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Just quiet. Just true.

“I think I used to be okay with it,” Beomgyu says finally. “Like, I told myself it was fine. That I didn’t need their approval. But lately... I don’t know. It’s harder to pretend. Sometimes it feels like choosing music was just setting myself up to lose them. Like every song I write, every time I pick up my guitar, I’m pushing them further away.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “And the worst part is, I love it. I really do. I love music. But when they ignore me, when they act like I’m just wasting time while my brother builds a real future – it makes me wonder if I’m just kidding myself. Like maybe this is all just... stupid.”

They walk in silence for a moment longer, the cold biting at their cheeks, the sky above them blooming soft with evening light. Beomgyu doesn’t look at Kai’s dad, he can’t. The air in his lungs feels too tight, like he’s said too much.

But then he hears it, gentle and firm.

“It’s not stupid, Beomgyu.”

He blinks, glancing over.

Kai’s dad gives him a look that’s steady and warm, like it was carved out of solid earth. “What you love… that’s not stupid. Wanting to build your life around something that makes you feel alive? That’s brave. And anyone who can’t see that... that’s their mistake, not yours.”

Beomgyu swallows hard. His eyes sting a little, but he nods.

Kai’s dad bumps his shoulder lightly, smiling. “For what it’s worth, I think your music is going to matter to a lot of people. It already does.”

Beomgyu breathes out, slow and shaky. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything without his voice cracking, so he just nods again.

Kai’s dad slows to match Beomgyu’s steps again, casting him a thoughtful glance. “You know, Beomgyu-yah,” he says gently, voice low, like he’s afraid of startling him, “if you ever feel like the world’s too heavy, if you’re tired or lonely or need someone to talk to... you can always come to me.”

Beomgyu blinks, startled. He turns his head slightly, searching Kai’s dad’s face for any sign of insincerity, but there’s none. Just kindness. 

“I know I’m not your real dad,” he continues, smiling softly, “but I’m Kai’s dad, and you’re important to him. That’s enough for me. Our place may be small, and we may not have much, but whatever we do have… we’re happy to share it with you. You’ll always have a space in our home. Always.”

Beomgyu stops walking.

Something in him just... stills. Like the words settle directly into the hollowness he’s been carrying, where his parents’ approval should’ve been. His breath catches in his throat, and his eyes sting before he can blink the feeling away.

He wants to say thank you, to tell him how much that means, but all that comes is silence, raw and sharp, because he doesn’t know how to carry something this warm and this painful at the same time, because the guilt is back, heavy and gnawing. Because although he’s not pretending with Kai’s dad – has never worn any kind of mask around him – this thing between him and Kai, the bet, the secret still tucked like poison behind his ribs, feels more rotten than ever.

He looks down, heart thudding. He doesn’t deserve this. Not the warmth. Not the kindness. Not this quiet, fierce love.

Then Kai’s dad steps in and wraps him in a hug. Beomgyu stiffens at first – he’s not used to this, but then the warmth seeps in, soft and steady, and he sinks into it before he can stop himself, letting his eyes close as the world hushes for just a moment. It feels like safety. It feels like being seen.

Kai’s dad gives him a firm pat on the back. “Alright,” he says brightly, pulling away with a grin that breaks the heaviness like sunlight through fog. “No more serious talk. Let’s have some fun.”

He nods toward the glowing entrance just ahead – the model train place alive with tiny tracks and flickering streetlamps in little cardboard towns, like a whole universe packed into four walls. Beomgyu breathes out slowly, the ache still blooming in his chest, but softer now, and as they step inside together, he lets himself smile. The moment they step inside, the air shifts; quiet and warm, filled with the soft hum of motors and the occasional cheerful whistle of a passing model train. The room glows with gentle lighting, but the real magic is in the intricate world that stretches out in front of them.

Rows upon rows of miniature cities sprawl across the space: tiny shops with glowing signs, little people frozen mid-step on crosswalks, trees dusted with faux snow, even a park with minuscule swings. Tracks crisscross like veins, winding around buildings and ducking through tunnels, and weaving through it all, the trains – sleek, humming with life – dart in and out of view, moving so smoothly it’s almost hypnotic.

Beomgyu gasps audibly, stepping forward like he’s forgotten to breathe. “Oh my god,” he whispers, wide-eyed. “This is insane.”

Kai’s dad chuckles, already grinning ear to ear. “Right? It’s like a whole other world in here. I haven’t been back in years… feels even more magical now.”

They wander from display to display, pointing things out to each other like excited kids. Beomgyu leans in close to a setup that looks like a replica of Seoul’s city center, eyes darting as he tracks a bright blue train weaving between skyscrapers. “Look at that apartment building! It’s got laundry hanging out the windows.”

“Oh!” Kai’s dad calls from another side of the room. “Come here, this one’s got a full countryside village. They’ve even got chickens!”

They burst into laughter, giddy and free. Beomgyu darts over, pressing his hands to the edge of the display and staring like he wants to climb inside. “This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

They fanboy over the tiny details; perfectly scaled vending machines, a little wedding happening outside a model church, even a fisherman on a fake lake with a nearly invisible fishing line. It’s so impossibly detailed that it feels alive. Beomgyu swears he can hear the quiet rustle of city life if he listens closely enough.

Kai’s dad watches him with a fond smile, nudging him as another train zips by. “Not bad for something planned last minute, huh?”

Beomgyu doesn’t even try to play it cool. “No,” he says, awe in every syllable. “This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

They take turns guessing which trains would win in a race, placing pretend bets and narrating like sportscasters. At one point, Beomgyu crouches down to peer into a tunnel entrance and whispers, “I feel like I’m twelve again.”

Kai’s dad nods, quiet for a moment, like he’s savoring that too. “Yeah. Me too.”

By the time they make their way back home, the sky has dipped into a deep violet, streetlights flickering on as they walk beneath them. There’s a lingering chill in the air, but it doesn’t bite the way it did earlier. Maybe it’s the walk, maybe it’s the laughter that’s still sitting between them, but Beomgyu feels warmer than he has in a long time.

As they round the corner to Kai’s building and step into the stairwell, the smell hits them; rich, savoury, with just enough spice to tingle the nose. Beomgyu’s stomach growls instantly.

“Oh my god,” he mutters. “Is that–?”

Kai’s dad inhales deeply, eyes lighting up. “Spicy pork. I’d know that smell anywhere.”

They rush up the last few steps, flinging the door open like a pair of kids arriving home from summer camp. The heat of the apartment envelopes them, and there in the kitchen, Kai stands at the stove, sleeves rolled up, setting down the last plate on the small table.

“You guys done geeking out?” Kai calls without turning, his voice light and teasing.

“We are not geeks,” Beomgyu protests immediately, dropping his coat by the door. “We’re connoisseurs of finely engineered miniature transportation systems.”

Kai snorts. “That’s literally the definition of a geek.”

Kai’s dad tosses his scarf onto the couch and pats his stomach. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t understand the sophistication of it all.”

“Oh, I understand just fine,” Kai says, grinning now as he turns around. “But are you ready to understand this?”

He steps aside dramatically, revealing the spread on the table; steaming bowls of rice, a platter of bright red spicy pork stir fry glistening with sesame seeds and green onions, and a small dish of kimchi.

Beomgyu nearly drops to his knees. “Kai. You cooked this?”

Kai shrugs, trying to play it cool, but there’s a proud little smirk tugging at his lips. “I did.”

Kai’s dad claps him on the shoulder with pride. “You really grew up, huh?”

They gather around the table again, squeezing into the small space like they had the night before, knees knocking, laughter already bubbling before the first bite. The food is incredible, rich and spicy and perfectly balanced, and they eat with the kind of abandon that only comes after a long day outside.

Beomgyu sits back in his chair for a moment, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion as he surveys the plate in front of him. The spicy pork stir-fry is laid out beautifully, slices of glistening meat arranged in a near-perfect spiral, a sprinkle of sesame seeds artfully scattered like snow, a neat row of green onions sliced diagonally across the top. The rice is molded into perfect little mounds beside it, and even the kimchi looks like it was placed with intention.

Beomgyu points an accusing chopstick across the table. “Okay. You are showing off.”

Kai blinks innocently. “What are you talking about?”

Beomgyu gestures wildly at the food. “This isn’t just cooking. This is, like– plating. You’re such a show off!”

Kai nearly chokes on his water, ears immediately going pink. “I am not!”

“You totally are!” Beomgyu says, triumphant. “Look at this presentation! Who slices green onions like this unless they’re trying to impress someone?”

Kai’s dad lets out a cackling laugh, slapping the table. “He’s got a point, you know.”

Kai covers his face with both hands, groaning. “I literally just wanted it to look nice!”

Beomgyu leans in with a grin. “Exactly. Show off behavior.”

Kai’s dad wipes tears of laughter from his eyes, then suddenly sits up straighter, a mock-serious expression settling over his features. “Alright. That settles it. Next time, I’m cooking.”

Both boys pause and look at him.

Kai raises a brow. “Yeah? Gonna show us how it’s really done?”

Kai’s dad nods firmly. “That’s right. You kids are getting too bold. I need to remind you who the real master is in this house.”

Beomgyu gasps theatrically. “A cooking showdown?”

Kai hums thoughtfully, eyes glinting. “I’d pay to join that.”

Kai’s dad points at both of them with his chopsticks. “You don’t have to pay. You just have to admit defeat when I blow your minds with my tofu stew.”

Kai makes a face. “Is that the one with the secret ingredient that turned out to be too much fish sauce?”

“That was one time!” Kai’s dad protests, scandalized.

Beomgyu laughs so hard he nearly falls out of his chair. “Oh, I’m definitely staying for that.”

Kai’s dad leans back, satisfied. “You better. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

Just like that, the warmth returns, filling every corner of the tiny apartment; the kind of warmth that comes not just from food, but from comfort, from company, from the love threaded through every teasing word. Then Kai’s dad uses his chopsticks to swipe the biggest piece of pork from the platter.

“Yah!” Kai cries. “That was mine!”

“I’m older,” his dad replies simply, chewing happily.

“That’s not how this works!” Kai says, exasperated. “We’re supposed to share equally!”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. “It is kind of suspicious how he keeps ending up with the biggest pieces.”

Kai’s dad looks smug. “You two are too distracted with your little stares. I’m just being efficient.”

Kai and Beomgyu freeze mid-bite.

Kai glares. “What stares?”

Beomgyu chokes slightly on his rice. “I wasn’t– there were no staress–”

Kai’s dad just grins and sips his soup, looking far too pleased with himself. “Sure. Anyway, who wants more pork?”

Beomgyu groans, leaning back in his chair. “This is dangerous. You’re gonna spoil me. I’m never leaving.”

Kai leans over to nudge him, voice low and teasing. “Good. I’d rather you stay.”

The words are casual, but the softness in Kai’s voice, the way his eyes linger for a beat too long… it makes Beomgyu’s heart skip. He looks down at his bowl, hiding the smile threatening to break across his face.

Kai’s dad eyes them both with a raised brow but says nothing else, just refills their bowls and pretends not to notice the quiet tension humming between them. It’s loud and warm and messy, chopsticks clicking and voices overlapping, and Beomgyu feels it again; this quiet joy, this found-family kind of love. He watches Kai laugh, mouth curled, eyes squinting, and then Kai’s dad reach to refill his bowl like it’s second nature. It’s not perfect, it’s not fancy, but it’s real, and Beomgyu thinks – not for the first time – that he would trade a thousand polished dinners for just one more night like this.

Kai’s dad stretches his arms overhead, then glances at the clock. It’s late; too late for an easy night, but there’s still that spark in his eyes, like he’s got more adventures waiting to unfold.

“Alright, you two,” he says, a playful edge to his voice. “Hurry up and sleep, because I’ve got way more planned for tomorrow. I’m not letting you sleep in just because we’re exhausted.”

Beomgyu blinks, eyes widening. “More than today?” He glances at Kai. “Can we survive more than today?”

Kai, leaning back on the couch, chuckles. “Apparently, we don’t have a choice.”

“Exactly,” Kai’s dad adds with a grin. “Tomorrow’s all about fun, and you’re both gonna need your rest if you want to keep up.”

Beomgyu groans dramatically, pretending to collapse in exhaustion. “I think my legs are going to die, but I’ll do it. You only live once, right?”

Kai’s dad laughs, patting him on the back. “That’s the spirit. Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

Kai stands up from the couch and stretches his arms high, looking at Beomgyu. “You heard the man. Time for bed.”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow at him. “You really think I can sleep with all this excitement? I’ll be up all night thinking about what insane thing we’re going to do tomorrow.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Kai teases, throwing a playful smirk his way. “It’s not like you’ll get any quieter.”

Beomgyu nudges him with his elbow. “You’re impossible.”

Kai shrugs with a grin. “I know. It’s part of the charm.”

As they move to their separate rooms, Kai’s dad follows them down the hallway, calling over his shoulder. “Sleep tight, okay? And don’t stay up too late making plans in your heads! Tomorrow’s gonna be a blast!”

Beomgyu smiles to himself as he heads into the guest room. The light from the hallway flickers for a second as he shuts the door behind him. For the first time in a long time, he feels... content. Maybe even a little excited.

Beomgyu stretches, finally stepping out of the shower with damp hair, feeling the heat of the water still lingering on his skin. He towel-dried his hair as best as he could, but it’s not quite enough. He stands in front of the mirror, brushing a hand through his wet strands, when he hears a knock at the door.

“Beomgyu hyung, you need the dryer?” Kai’s voice comes from the other side, light and casual but with that familiar warmth that makes Beomgyu’s heart skip.

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Beomgyu opens the door to find Kai standing there, freshly showered too, his hair a mess of damp curls clinging to his forehead. They exchange a quiet smile, and Kai steps inside without a word.

The room is cozy, warm from the radiator humming softly in the corner. The glow from the bedside lamp creates a golden halo around the space, making everything feel intimate in a way that makes Beomgyu’s chest tighten.

Without a word, Kai sits on the bed, pats the space beside him. “You can sit here. I’ll dry your hair first,” he says, his tone easy but somehow gentle.

Beomgyu sits beside him, still slightly damp from the shower, his stomach fluttering with something that’s been growing steadily since they started spending time together. He’s never quite felt like this, so close to someone yet so unsure of how to navigate it.

Kai picks up the hairdryer and starts drying Beomgyu’s hair, the warmth of it almost comforting as it blows against Beomgyu’s scalp. It’s an oddly intimate moment, but it doesn’t feel forced. There’s an easy silence between them, broken only by the sound of the dryer and their occasional comments about how much longer it’ll take.

When Beomgyu’s hair is mostly dry, it’s his turn to take the dryer. He reaches for it, and Kai leans forward, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Don’t burn my hair off, alright, hyung?” he teases, but there’s something in his voice that makes it sound like a quiet dare.

“I can’t make any promises,” Beomgyu says with a smirk, the dryer in his hand. He gently starts drying Kai’s hair, taking care to work the dryer in soft motions, trying to mimic the gentleness Kai showed him.

With their hair now dry, they begin their skincare regimen. They finish with practiced ease – Kai’s minimal approach and Beomgyu’s more elaborate one – and they both slip back into bed. The room is dim now, only the soft light from the lamp glowing gently. They’re facing each other, both lying on their sides, quiet for a moment, the stillness almost suffocating in its softness.

Beomgyu stares at Kai, watching the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, his eyes tracing the familiar shape of Kai’s face in the low light. There’s something so perfect about this moment, and Kai looks at him with the kind of expression that makes him feel like everything will be okay. Their hands, without thinking, find each other, fingers brushing before settling together, a quiet, unspoken connection forming between them. Beomgyu wants to kiss Kai so badly. He can feel the urge building, like the weight of everything he’s been keeping back, but something stops him. The fear of crossing a line that’s still too unclear, too dangerous.

Instead, Beomgyu just stares at Kai, heart racing, thoughts swirling. He can feel the warmth of Kai’s hand in his, the softness of the moment, and it feels too precious to ruin with the rush of impulse. He inhales sharply, closing his eyes for a moment, and then opens them again, but he keeps his gaze steady on Kai’s. Kai, too, doesn’t move. The space between them, so small, feels like the edge of something new. Beomgyu almost leans in, but then he holds himself back, the weight of his thoughts still clouding his actions. He sighs quietly, fingers tightening around Kai’s hand, not ready yet, but wishing he could be.

The room is quiet except for the faint hum of the streetlights outside, the only light a soft, golden glow from the lamp by the bed. It’s late, but neither of them has moved much, still lying on their sides facing each other. The weight of the silence between them feels comforting, familiar, like it’s holding them together.

Beomgyu shifts slightly, his fingers still tangled with Kai’s. The warmth of Kai’s hand is grounding, steady. He’s not sure why, but the feeling makes his chest ache in the best way. They’ve been together all day, laughing, sharing, almost forgetting the world outside. It was the kind of day that had been easy, almost effortless, and that, more than anything, was what made it feel so special.

“I…” Beomgyu begins, his voice soft, like he’s testing the air. “Today was… nice.” He swallows, glancing up at Kai. “Like, really nice.”

Kai’s lips twitch up into a small smile. He shifts too, his body moving just a fraction closer to Beomgyu’s. His hand moves to rest on the pillow beside Beomgyu’s head, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of Beomgyu’s hand.

“I’m glad,” Kai says, his voice low and warm. “It was good… just spending time with you.”

Beomgyu smiles back, the feeling in his chest warming at the honesty in Kai’s words. There’s something about the simplicity of it all, how easy it is to just be with him. But the weight that he’d been carrying all day – the tension of something unspoken – lingers just beneath the surface.

“I’m… scared,” Kai admits, his voice low, but steady. “I think… I think I’m starting to feel things for you. And I don’t know what that means. I’ve never felt like this before.” He looks at Beomgyu, his eyes searching, a quiet fear behind them. “And I don’t know what to do with it.”

Beomgyu’s chest tightens. His heart pounds in his ears, and for a second, he feels like the air has been knocked out of him. Kai – his Kai – feels the same way. He’s afraid, too. And suddenly, all the uncertainty Beomgyu’s been holding onto, all the fears of stepping into something unknown, don’t feel quite so alone anymore.

“You’re not the only one,” Beomgyu says, the words slipping out before he can stop them. He looks at Kai, his eyes soft. “I’m scared too. But… I want to figure it out. I want to see where this goes.”

Kai’s breath catches in his throat, a faint tremor passing through him as he takes in Beomgyu’s words. There’s a long moment of silence between them, where neither of them knows exactly what to say. It’s as though the world outside has faded into nothing, and all that exists is this space they’ve created together, this fragile thing between them.

“I just…” Kai starts again, his voice breaking the silence. “I’ve never been good with this kind of thing. I don’t know if I’ll mess it up.” There’s a slight catch in his voice, like he’s testing the weight of his words, seeing if they’ll break him.

Beomgyu shifts closer, their faces just inches apart now. His gaze softens, the weight of everything they’ve shared in these few days settling in his chest. “You’re not alone, Kai,” Beomgyu says quietly, his voice steady, certain. “We’ll figure it out. Together. I’m not going anywhere.”

Kai looks at him for a long, searching moment, his eyes full of that quiet fear mixed with something else, something softer, like hope. “I want to try, Beomgyu hyung. Even if it’s scary. Even if I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Beomgyu smiles, a small, gentle smile, and his thumb moves across Kai’s knuckles, soothing, reassuring. “We’ll figure it out, step by step. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Kai lets out a slow, almost relieved breath, a quiet laugh escaping him as he shifts closer, their foreheads touching briefly. “I guess that makes two of us then.”

For a long moment, they just stay there, not saying anything more, letting the silence fill the space between them, soft and comfortable. The tension that was there before – those fears, those uncertainties – don’t completely fade away, but they feel more manageable now, like they’re not carrying it alone anymore. Beomgyu lets out a soft breath, feeling the warmth of Kai’s presence beside him. He doesn’t know what the future holds, and maybe that’s the scariest part of all, but right here, right now, with Kai’s hand in his and that quiet promise between them, it doesn’t seem so overwhelming.

“Whatever happens,” Beomgyu whispers, his voice barely audible, “I’m with you.”

Kai’s eyes soften at the words, and he reaches up to tuck a strand of Beomgyu’s hair behind his ear. “Yeah,” he says, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. “Me too.”

Kai shifts closer with the kind of instinctive ease that feels like second nature now. No hesitation, no pretense, just quiet trust as he curls into Beomgyu’s chest, forehead brushing against the slope of Beomgyu’s collarbone, breath warm against his skin. His hand lingers near Beomgyu’s heart, resting there like it belongs.

And Beomgyu – god, he wraps himself around Kai like a shield, like a promise. One arm drapes firmly across Kai’s back, the other slipping beneath him to pull him in even closer, like if he could fold Kai into the space behind his ribs, he would. He buries his nose in Kai’s hair, breathing in the faint scent of Kai’s shampoo, clean and soft, something mundane and comforting. The kind of smell that says home.

The hush between them stretches on, tender and easy. The world feels far away. There's no noise, no lights, no pressure waiting to collapse in on him. Just this, just them, and in that stillness, Beomgyu lets himself have it.

No bet.

No dread.

No voices in his head calling him a liar or a fraud.

For once, it doesn’t matter what started any of this. Doesn’t matter how it began, or what he’s afraid of. The only thing that feels real is the weight of Kai breathing softly against him, the slow rise and fall of their chests in sync, and the silence that holds them both like the gentlest lullaby.

Beomgyu closes his eyes and lets himself believe in this moment – just this one – a night with nothing to prove, and nowhere else to be. Just the warmth of Kai in his arms, and the terrifying, beautiful ache of wanting it to last.

Notes:

oop a confession? kind of? and gyu bonding with kai's dad... there's too much happening!! and we're just getting started 😋

as always, please let me know your thoughts in the comment section, and kudos are highly appreciated!

hmu on twitter at @koostiddy to talk about anything txt or for updates about this fic!! <3

Chapter 8

Summary:

They look at each other for a moment, then burst into helpless laughter, quiet and breathless, muffled by pillows and thick with leftover embarrassment, but underneath it all, there’s still something soft there. Something blooming. Eventually, they drag themselves out of bed, shoulders bumping as they move around the room, still red in the face, still laughing under their breath, but lighter. Like something good is just beginning, and as they pad down the hallway together – bare feet, rumpled pajamas, shoulders bumping every few steps – Beomgyu thinks maybe this is what falling in love looks like.

Like two puppies circling each other in cautious delight, tails wagging, afraid to scare the feeling away.

Notes:

enjoy the ride everyone <3

🧸 

 

They wake slowly, as if the morning itself is reluctant to disturb them; sunlight creeping in through the window in gentle strokes, the air hushed and still, the world outside muffled in a blanket of soft, winter-blue quiet. Beomgyu stirs first, roused not by the cold or by any sound, but by a sense of awareness; of the weight beside him, the steady warmth radiating from the boy curled into the same bed. His eyes flutter open, vision still slightly blurry with sleep, and for a moment, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even shift the blankets or shift his breathing, afraid that any sudden motion might shatter the fragile serenity of this moment. Instead, he just watches.

Kai is still fast asleep, curled on his side, body angled slightly toward Beomgyu. His cheek is squished gently into the pillow they must’ve both gravitated toward during the night, his lips parted just barely, breath puffing out in slow, steady intervals. His hair is a soft mess, ruffled from sleep, a few strands resting on his forehead in a way that makes Beomgyu’s fingers ache to brush them aside. His lashes – long, dark, impossibly delicate – fan out across his cheeks like something out of a dream. There’s a faint line pressed into his skin from the pillowcase, and Beomgyu memorizes it, as if it belongs to a map he never wants to forget.

He takes in everything – the faint curve of Kai’s nose, the softness of his jaw, the slight downturn of his lips when he exhales – and he feels himself falling all over again. Not in the dizzy, reckless way that love is often painted, but slowly and carefully. Devotion blooming like something sacred. Like tracing each line and feature with his eyes and filing it away somewhere deep, somewhere safe, and Beomgyu’s heart… aches. Not the way it used to. Not with dread or the gnawing weight of guilt – though that still simmers somewhere, quiet and coiled, but right now, that’s not what he feels. What he feels now is something impossibly tender and raw. A kind of ache that feels like holding the most delicate thing in the world in his hands, knowing it could break, but also knowing he’d do anything to keep it whole. 

Last night’s conversation loops through his chest in quiet echoes; Kai’s voice admitting he didn’t know what he was doing, that he was scared, that these feelings were new and uncharted and real, and Beomgyu had said he felt the same. He hadn’t flinched or run. He’d looked Kai in the eyes and told him the truth, and he’d meant it. Every goddamn word. He watches as Kai breathes, slow and steady, and the corners of his mouth twitch just slightly in what looks like a dream-smile. It’s too much, too soft, too beautiful. Beomgyu lets his gaze trace from Kai’s temples down to the curve of his collarbone where it disappears beneath the blankets, lets his eyes linger, tries to capture it all to memorise this exact image burned into the back of his eyelids, like a photograph taken by heart.

Just for a moment, he lets himself imagine this as his every day; waking up like this, not just once, not just for a night, but always. Limbs tangled in warmth, hearts cracked open and laid bare between them, morning light catching the tips of Kai’s hair like gold spun from something divine. No lies or games, just this; just a boy, and another boy, and something blooming between them too big to name. It terrifies him. It makes his throat tighten. His fingers curl into the sheets to ground himself, and still, it makes him want to smile until his face breaks.

Kai shifts then, face scrunching up just slightly as he peeks one eye open. “You’re staring,” he croaks, voice thick with sleep, barely above a whisper. “I could feel it in my sleep.”

Beomgyu huffs a soft laugh, caught but unbothered. “You drool,” he counters, voice equally hushed, a little hoarse, but playful.

Kai squints at him with a frown, his cheeks already warming. “Do not.”

“You do,” Beomgyu insists with mock seriousness, propping himself up slightly on one elbow so he can look at Kai better. “Like a baby. A very cute, drooly, floppy little baby.”

Kai groans, dragging the comforter up over his face in protest. “Why are you like this,” he mutters into the blanket, his voice muffled but unmistakably embarrassed.

Beomgyu chuckles, tugging the blanket down to reveal Kai’s pink-tinted ears. “And yet,” he teases. “You’re still here.”

Kai glares weakly at him, then sighs in defeat and flops closer, throwing a lazy arm over Beomgyu’s waist and burying his face into Beomgyu’s chest like a human burrito. “You’re warm,” he mumbles.

Beomgyu’s heart absolutely betrays him, racing like it’s trying to leap out of his ribcage. He holds Kai closer instinctively, hand settling between his shoulder blades, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. This is too much. Too intimate. Too easy. There’s something new between them now, something barely spoken but undeniably there. It hums beneath every brush of fingers, every sleepy nudge of knees under the covers. Like the space between them is charged, humming softly with potential. 

Kai eventually shifts again, letting out a long, suffering sigh as he rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. “I forgot my dad’s home,” he whispers like it’s a grand, personal tragedy.

Beomgyu snorts. “We didn’t do anything, Romeo.”

Kai doesn’t even look at him. “Not yet,” he says, barely audible but very much intentional.

Beomgyu’s entire brain blue-screens. “What,” he croaks.

Kai turns his head slowly, grinning now, the most mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hmm?”

Beomgyu gapes at him. “Ohhh,” he says, pointing dramatically. “So you wanna do things with me, huh? Scandalous!”

Kai goes red instantly, smacking Beomgyu’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “That’s not– I didn’t mean– I just meant–!” he splutters, words falling over themselves in a tangle of horror and laughter.

Beomgyu cackles, pleased beyond measure. “You’re thinking about it,” he sing-songs, leaning in like a menace. “Huening Kai wants to do things with me~”

“I swear to god, shut up,” Kai groans, covering his face with both hands. “Why are you the worst in the morning?”

Beomgyu wiggles closer, clearly having the time of his life. “You started it! I was just admiring your drooly baby face in peace.”

Kai peeks out from between his fingers, squinting. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re easy to fluster,” Beomgyu shoots back, smug.

Kai smirks slowly. “Are you sure you wanna go there?”

Beomgyu pauses. Blinks. “…Why?”

“Because,” Kai says, turning on his side now, face close, voice low and syrupy sweet. “You were the one who nearly kissed me last night, weren’t you?”

Beomgyu freezes like someone hit him with a tranquilizer dart.

Kai’s grin widens. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“I hate you,” Beomgyu says weakly, voice high and mortified.

“No you don’t,” Kai says, victorious. “You like me. You wanna do things with me.”

Beomgyu groans and faceplants into the mattress. “I take back everything. I hope you drool a waterfall next time.”

Kai laughs, full and bright and unfiltered, and Beomgyu – despite wanting to crawl into a hole – smiles too, because god, he could listen to that sound forever. They fall back into each other without meaning to, like two pieces of a puzzle sliding back into place. There’s no grand gesture, no conscious decision. Just Beomgyu shifting slightly, Kai adjusting beside him, and then their bodies nestling close again like gravity itself wanted them this way. Arms tangled, legs brushed together beneath the blanket, Beomgyu’s hand splaying lightly across the soft dip of Kai’s waist as Kai buried his nose into Beomgyu’s collarbone with a sleepy sigh. It’s the kind of closeness that doesn’t ask questions. It just is. Quiet and warm and so full of something that doesn’t have a name yet. Something that lives in the silence between their breaths, in the way their fingers find each other again, resting lightly, like they’re afraid of breaking whatever spell the morning has woven around them.

Beomgyu feels it like a heartbeat in his chest; this fragile, beautiful something between them, and for once, he doesn’t want to overthink it. He just wants to feel it.

And then– 

The door slams open with the dramatic flair of a musical number.

“NO KISSING IN MY HOUSE!” Kai’s dad bellows, one hand still on the doorknob, the other raised like he’s wielding a sword of justice.

Beomgyu and Kai both yelp. They spring apart like the bed was suddenly on fire, blankets flying, limbs flailing. Beomgyu ends up half-hanging off the side of the mattress with a pillow clutched to his chest like a shield, and Kai is upright in an instant, eyes wide, hair sticking up in every direction like a startled cat.

“Dad!” Kai shrieks, voice cracking in pure embarrassment.

“I knocked!” his dad declares, utterly unfazed. “I even gave you a full three-second grace period! And what do I walk into? Spooning! Intimate forehead nuzzling! Hand-holding under the covers!”

Beomgyu wants to die. Right there. Spontaneous combustion feels like the merciful option.

“We weren’t doing anything!” he sputters.

Kai’s dad raises a single, judgmental brow. “Tell that to the romance novel happening in here. I thought I walked into the final scene of a K-drama. Where were the falling cherry blossoms, huh?”

Kai grabs the nearest pillow and hurls it at his dad’s face with mortified precision. “Get out!”

David catches it effortlessly, still grinning. “Look, I’m just saying, if you’re going to sneak around, maybe try not looking like you just confessed your undying love in a slow-motion montage.”

“Daaaaad!” Kai groans, burying his face in his hands as his ears turn a brilliant, glowing red.

Beomgyu has sunk back into the bed, half-covered by the blanket, peeking out like a frightened woodland creature. “I think my soul just left my body.”

David only laughs, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “Alright, alright, enough teasing. But seriously, kiddos. Get dressed, wash your faces, eat something, because I’ve got a packed schedule for us today. You’re not gonna want to waste your energy on morning cuddle fests.”

“W-We weren’t–” Kai starts.

“Sure, sure. I’ll pretend I believe you.” He backs out into the hallway dramatically, pausing just before the door closes behind him. “But if I see any heart eyes at breakfast, I’m confiscating all the pillows.”

The door clicks shut.

A stunned silence stretches between them.

Kai groans and flops backward onto the bed like his bones gave out. “I can’t believe this is my actual life.”

Beomgyu snorts weakly, still half-hiding under the covers. “I think I just met my worst fear. And he’s your father.”

Kai turns his head, eyes still pink with mortification, but his lips tug up at the corners. “We really need to invest in a lock.”

“Or at least a security alarm,” Beomgyu mumbles.

They look at each other for a moment, then burst into helpless laughter, quiet and breathless, muffled by pillows and thick with leftover embarrassment, but underneath it all, there’s still something soft there. Something blooming. Eventually, they drag themselves out of bed, shoulders bumping as they move around the room, still red in the face, still laughing under their breath, but lighter. Like something good is just beginning, and as they pad down the hallway together – bare feet, rumpled pajamas, shoulders bumping every few steps – Beomgyu thinks maybe this is what falling in love looks like.

Like two puppies circling each other in cautious delight, tails wagging, afraid to scare the feeling away.

By the time they finish getting ready – Beomgyu’s curls half-dried and Kai still grumbling under his breath about door locks – they make their way to the kitchen where the scent of miyeokguk fills the small apartment like a warm embrace. The same seaweed soup they’d had the morning before, but this time Kai’s dad grins proudly and says, “Tried to recreate it myself last night. Just had to reheat. Efficiency!”

“Efficiency tastes amazing,” Beomgyu says around a mouthful of soup, already halfway through his bowl.

Kai stares at him in mock horror. “Did you even chew that?”

“No time,” Beomgyu says dramatically. “Mystery plans await.”

The sun barely creeps over the horizon when they sit down to breakfast, the warm steam of the miyeokguk filling the kitchen. Kai spoons the soup into his bowl, still half-awake but already feeling the pleasant buzz of yesterday's adventures lingering in the back of his mind. The familiar clink of metal spoons and the soft murmur of conversation fills the room as his dad and Beomgyu chat lightly.

As they dig in, Kai’s phone buzzes on the table, a familiar ringtone echoing through the air. He reaches for it absently, expecting it to be a message from Yeonjun, but when he sees the name on the screen, his eyes widen.

“Yeonjun hyung! What’s up?”

On the other end, Yeonjun’s voice is light and teasing. “Guess who got asked out on a proper date?” His tone carries the unmistakable lilt of someone who can’t keep a grin off their face. “Soobin officially asked me to be his boyfriend, Ningie.”

Kai’s jaw nearly drops. His heart practically races with excitement for his friend.

“No way!” Kai almost squeals, already pushing away from the table as he stands up to pace, his voice rising with joy. “That’s amazing, hyung! I’m so happy for you! I knew it would happen eventually, but… wow, I didn’t think Soobin hyung would move so quickly!”

At the table, his dad glances up, catching the infectious excitement in Kai’s voice. Beomgyu leans in, genuinely curious about what’s going on after hearing him mention Soobin’s name. Kai doesn’t even wait to explain before he turns to his dad and Beomgyu, almost bouncing with excitement.

“Yeonjun hyung and Soobin hyung are officially together now! Can you believe it?” Kai can’t contain his smile, and his dad’s face lights up immediately with a knowing grin.

“Well, it’s about time, isn’t it?” Kai’s dad chuckles, clearly amused by the news. “Our fashionista’s finally settled down, huh?”

Kai laughs, shaking his head, still in disbelief that it’s happened. Yeonjun has never been one for relationships, but hearing that Soobin has taken that leap and asked him makes everything seem a little more… real.

On the other end of the line, Yeonjun laughs too. “Yeah, well, Soobin’s nothing if not persistent. But I’m happy, Ningie. Really happy.”

Kai beams, leaning against the kitchen counter, the warmth from the food in front of him now replaced with a sense of pure joy for his friend. “You deserve it, hyung. I’m so happy for you.”

Then, with a quick glance back to Beomgyu and his dad, Kai holds the phone up a little higher. “Dad, Beomgyu hyung, say congrats to Yeonjun hyung.”

Kai’s dad stands up from the table, raising his hand in mock salute. “Congratulations, kiddo! It’s good to see you finally get your act together. I’ve heard this Soobin kid’s a good catch. Even better than Beomgyu,” he says jokingly, earning a scoff from Beomgyu.

Yeonjun’s chuckle is soft but genuine. “Thanks, Appa. I’ll do my best to keep up with Soobin’s standards,” he jokes, a small hint of vulnerability in his voice, though it doesn’t hide the joy there.

Beomgyu also gives his congratulations with a wide grin. “Congrats, Yeonjun hyung! I’m happy for you.”

There’s a brief pause on the line, and Yeonjun’s voice softens just a little. “Thanks, guys. Really. I’ll have to fill you in on everything when I get the chance. But for now, I’m just enjoying this moment.”

Kai, still practically glowing with happiness, sinks back into his seat at the table, feeling like he’s a part of something bigger than just his own world. The warmth of the moment, combined with the fresh news, makes everything feel brighter, just like the adventure-filled day they had yesterday. The world, it seems, is finally turning just the way it was meant to, and Kai feels like he’s right where he’s supposed to be.

“Alright, alright,” Yeonjun continues, his voice shifting back to teasing, “I gotta go now. But tell Beomgyu I said hi, and let’s all get together soon, okay?”

“Will do!” Kai replies, his voice full of excitement. “Talk soon, hyung. Congrats again!”

After the call ends, Kai sits back, a contented smile tugging at his lips. His dad and Beomgyu are still watching him, waiting for him to process the news, and Kai can only shake his head in disbelief, his heart still full of joy.

They polish off the breakfast in record time, the three of them bantering between spoonfuls; Kai teasing his dad for over-seasoning, his dad dramatically clutching his chest, Beomgyu agreeing with both just to stir the pot. Then, with their coats on and scarves hastily wrapped around their necks, they step out into the chilly morning. Beomgyu’s breath puffs visibly in front of him, and he tugs his beanie down over his ears. That’s when they see it. A sleek, compact car parked by the curb, clearly not Kai’s dad’s usual ride.

“Wait,” Kai says slowly, eyebrows furrowing. “Is this...?”

“Rental,” Kai’s dad replies casually, tossing up the keys with a grin. “For the day. I figured we could use the wheels.”

Beomgyu’s eyes go wide. “You rented a car?”

“For us?” Kai echoes, visibly impressed.

Kai’s dad only shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Can’t walk everywhere, can we? Besides, we’ve got some ground to cover.”

“Like what?” Kai narrows his eyes. “What ground?”

“Ah-ah,” his dad says, waggling a finger. “No spoilers.”

Beomgyu laughs, bouncing slightly on his toes from both the cold and the excitement. “You’re not gonna give us even one hint?”

“Nope. You two just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.”

Kai looks at Beomgyu, who’s grinning from ear to ear, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes bright with curiosity. Then he sighs in surrender and gets into the passenger seat. “If we end up at a knitting class, I’m blaming you.”

“You say that like I wouldn’t rock at knitting,” Beomgyu replies, sliding into the back seat with mock offense.

Kai’s dad chuckles as he starts the engine, the heater clicking on with a gentle hum. “Alright, team. Buckle up. Adventure awaits.”

And with that, they pull away from the curb, wrapped in the kind of warmth only mystery plans and people you care about can give you.

The drive is quiet, soft. Frost veils the edges of the windows, and the heater hums low in the background as the sun creeps higher in the sky, casting pale gold across the hills. Beomgyu watches the landscape shift – grey apartment buildings melting into quiet, tree-lined roads, then into gentle hills and the sleepy sprawl of Chuncheon’s outskirts. The roads are emptier out here, and the silence feels fuller, more deliberate. Beomgyu doesn’t mind it. Not when Kai’s warm in the front seat, legs bouncing with quiet, uncontainable energy.

Kai’s been guessing their destination for the past ten minutes, throwing out every possibility from the lake to a random sheep farm, only for his dad to shoot him down with a maddeningly vague “You’ll see.”

“Come on,” Kai groans now, head tilting back dramatically against the headrest. “Just one clue.”

Kai’s dad chuckles from the driver’s seat. “You’re not a detective, son.”

“I could be,” Kai insists. “I’d be an excellent one.”

“Too bad you’re terrible at guessing.”

Beomgyu smothers a laugh behind his hand as Kai huffs in front of him. “You’re both evil,” he mutters, before twisting around to squint at the signs outside. “Seriously though, how far are we going?”

But then, they take a gentle turn, and a familiar archway appears ahead – rust red against the pale sky, nestled amongst low trees. The moment Beomgyu spots the words Gangchon Rail Park , recognition hits, but it’s Kai’s reaction that really makes his chest squeeze.

Kai jolts upright in his seat, eyes flying wide. “Wait– wait, is this–?”

His dad pulls into the car park with a pleased grin. “Mmhm.”

Kai stares, mouth open. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“We’re at Gangchon Rail Park?” His voice is barely above a whisper now, disbelief blooming into wonder. “I– I’ve always wanted to come here. We just never...” He trails off, the sentence hanging between them, unfinished.

Beomgyu doesn’t need him to finish it. The momentary falter in Kai’s voice, the tight way he swallows… it says enough, and when Kai’s dad glances at his son with a quiet, understanding nod, it’s clear he knows too.

Kai clears his throat, turning slightly to blink down at his lap. “Is this really okay?” he asks, softer this time. “I mean, it must’ve been a bit...”

His dad shrugs, unbothered. “I saved for this. And I got a little raise last month. Figured it was time I spent it on something that makes you smile, eh?” He leans over to ruffle Kai’s hair. “Call it winter magic.”

Kai ducks his head, his smile threatening to break his whole face. “You’re ridiculous.”

Beomgyu watches him, unable to look away. There’s something impossibly pure about the way Kai lights up; his grin wide and unchecked, his eyes bright and boyish with joy. He looks like the sun cracking through morning frost. He looks like he could make flowers grow in the snow.

“You look like a puppy,” Beomgyu blurts, caught in the moment.

Kai turns to him, indignant. “What?”

Beomgyu grins. “You do. Like a golden retriever who’s just been told we’re going for a walk.”

Kai swats at his arm. “Shut up.”

“It’s true!” Beomgyu laughs, dodging the half-hearted smack. “All waggy tail and happy eyes.”

“You’re the one who’s been staring at me the whole ride,” Kai fires back, cheeks pink. “Like a squirrel who’s just found a shiny nut.”

Kai’s dad groans from the driver’s seat. “Please stop comparing yourselves to forest animals. You’re giving me a headache.”

Beomgyu snorts. “We’re a very diverse ecosystem.”

“And a loud one,” Kai’s dad mutters. Then he turns off the ignition and opens the door. “Right, you two lovebirds can flirt later. Time to pedal.”

Kai groans loudly. “Dad–”

“What? I’m just saying,” he teases, already walking ahead. “Just keep your hands on the handlebars and your tongues in your mouths, yeah?”

Kai chokes. “Dad!”

Beomgyu nearly collapses laughing as he watches Kai’s ears turn crimson.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Kai mutters, eyes wide with horror.

“Not before we ride the rail bikes,” Beomgyu says, linking their gloved fingers together and squeezing gently.

Kai looks at him then, and something quiet passes between them, warm and weightless. Like snow caught in sunlight. They follow Kai’s dad to the bikes, their hands still intertwined, laughter still lingering in the cold morning air.

They choose the four-seater rail bike, and Kai insists on sitting in the front – “So we get the best view,” he says with a grin – and Beomgyu doesn’t argue, sliding into the seat beside him while Kai’s dad climbs into the back with a small amused shake of his head. The bike creaks into motion with the soft whir of pedals and chain, and as they begin to roll forward, the cold wind kisses their cheeks instantly. Beomgyu tugs his scarf up higher, but the sting of winter is almost pleasant, like a brisk reminder that they’re alive and moving. He steals a glance at Kai beside him, who’s already craning his neck to take in everything, and there’s a lot to take in.

The path cuts through a quiet stretch of the countryside, where the trees stand bare and elegant, their branches laced with frost. A thin blanket of snow lies across the hills and rooftops, softening the world into something still and enchanted. Fairy lights twinkle from little cabins and tunnels along the route, and holiday decorations peek through every corner; paper lanterns, glowing snowmen, strings of tinsel caught in the trees. The whole place looks like it was plucked from a snow globe.

Kai gasps beside him, twisting in his seat to look at something behind them. “Beomgyu hyung, Dad, look! Look at that little train model in the snow!”

Beomgyu turns and squints, spotting a miniature train setup nestled beside the track, complete with tracks and a snow-covered town. “Is that– oh my god. They do themed setups.”

Kai leans forward as far as the seatbelt will allow, pointing excitedly. “That’s Chuncheon station! But tiny!”

His cheeks are flushed bright pink from the cold, and his nose is red, eyes wide and glowing with joy. He looks like he’s just been handed Christmas morning in its entirety. Beomgyu doesn’t even try to hide his fond smile as he watches him, warmth curling in his chest despite the cold air.

“You’re gonna freeze your face off,” Beomgyu murmurs, nudging him lightly.

“It’s worth it,” Kai says breathlessly, turning back with wind-swept hair and a beam that’s brighter than the sun on snow. “This is amazing. How have I lived in Chuncheon my whole life and never come here?”

“Because your dad was saving the best for when you had good company,” Beomgyu teases.

From the back, Kai’s dad calls out, “Exactly! You think I was gonna waste this view on someone who wouldn’t appreciate it?”

Kai turns around with a laugh. “You mean yourself?”

His dad laughs. “I’m old, not blind!”

They ride on, the rail bike clattering gently over the tracks, and for a long while, there’s just the sound of the wheels spinning and Kai’s voice pointing out every sight like he’s narrating a nature documentary. Beomgyu listens, soaking in the way Kai's voice lifts and lilts with excitement, the way he keeps turning back to include his dad, the way his glove occasionally bumps against Beomgyu’s like they’re orbiting closer and closer without even thinking about it. Every now and then, Beomgyu answers with a soft “yeah?” or “that’s so cool,” but mostly he just watches. Watches the way the world lights up around Kai, like it’s responding to his joy. Watches the way his breath clouds in front of his face and disappears into the air. Watches him with a quiet, aching kind of affection that lodges itself in his chest and refuses to leave.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when Kai turns to him again, cheeks rosy and eyes shining.

“Isn’t this the best?” he whispers, like he’s afraid speaking too loud will break the magic.

Beomgyu nods, eyes never leaving him. “Yeah,” he breathes. “It really is.”

Beomgyu doesn’t realise he’s gone quiet until Kai nudges him gently with a gloved hand. “You okay?” Kai murmurs, still smiling, though his eyes flicker with concern.

“Yeah,” Beomgyu says, voice softer than he means for it to be. He clears his throat. “Just thinking.”

Kai nods, content with that, already turning back to point out another snow-covered display up ahead, but Beomgyu lingers in his own thoughts, watching the tracks blur beneath them.

He remembers, distantly, being here before. Years ago. One of those mandatory family outings that his grandparents used to insist on; back when they all lived closer, back when his parents still had the time to show up at things, back when he hadn’t disappointed his parents. He remembers being bored out of his mind. Complaining about how long it was. How cold. Saying things like “This is for little kids,” or “Can’t we just go home already?” And now here he is, grown and cold and with someone he cares about beside him, and it all feels… different. No, not different – precious. 

He glances at Kai again, at the way he’s absolutely beaming, so delighted by every detail. As if the snow-dusted trees and twinkling lights were hand-delivered just for him, and Beomgyu’s chest tightens with something deep and humbling, because he sees it now; how something so simple, so quiet and easy and kind, could mean everything to someone. Could feel like magic, just for being shared. He presses his gloved hands together in his lap, feeling the ache crawl up his arms. He’s taken so much for granted.

All those memories he threw away because they weren’t exciting enough. All those quiet moments he didn’t even bother to hold onto. Meanwhile, here Kai was – eyes wide, cheeks pink, mouth slightly agape with wonder – treating this little winter ride like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Beomgyu swallows around the lump in his throat and lets his gaze soften. Maybe it is. Maybe it is the most beautiful thing, and maybe next time, he’ll try to see things the way Kai does. Maybe he’ll start paying attention, because if he doesn’t – if he blinks, if he shrugs it off – he might miss something like this; something important, something like this moment, like him.

As the ride slowly rumbles down the tracks, the soft sound of the winter breeze is the only thing breaking the peaceful stillness. The scenery outside is a blur of white; snow-covered hills, frosted pine trees, and sparkling icicles hanging from the occasional wooden structure. Beomgyu and Kai are lost in each other’s presence, their hands finding each other on the pedal, fingers lightly intertwined as they share smiles and quiet laughter. The world around them feels far away, leaving only the gentle rhythm of pedalling and the warmth between them. Beomgyu can’t help himself. He steals a glance at Kai, whose cheeks are still pink from the cold, his lips curved into that soft, shy smile Beomgyu’s come to adore. For a moment, he’s convinced that nothing could be more perfect than this: just Kai, just him, the stillness of the world around them.

Kai glances over, catching Beomgyu’s gaze. “What?” he asks, his voice laced with a quiet curiosity.

Beomgyu smiles, a little more mischievous now. “Nothing,” he says softly, giving Kai’s hand a small squeeze. “Just… enjoying the moment.”

Kai’s smile widens, and he leans in, his shoulder brushing lightly against Beomgyu’s as they continue pedalling. There’s something about the simplicity of the moment that makes Beomgyu feel as though this could last forever, but before he can get too lost in it, a voice cuts through the moment like a warm breeze.

"Hey, I’m still here, you know," Kai’s dad calls out from the back, his voice playful but tinged with mock exasperation.

Beomgyu looks back at him, amused, his cheeks flushing slightly. “We’re just enjoying the scenery,” he says with a wink, not even bothering to hide how much he enjoys being this close to Kai.

Kai’s dad chuckles. “I’m just saying, you two might want to keep it PG. You’re both still under my roof.”

Beomgyu snorts lightly, then shoots Kai a teasing grin. “Better keep your hands to yourself, Kai,” he teases, his tone light. “Wouldn’t want to give your dad any more reason to think we’re more than just ‘enjoying the moment’.”

Kai groans dramatically. “Beomgyu hyung, don’t make it worse,” he mutters, but there’s laughter in his voice, and his hand instinctively moves to rest on Beomgyu’s thigh.

“Oh, and Beomgyu,” Kai’s dad adds, his tone suddenly turning more serious but still teasing, “If your band ever debuts, you better hope Dispatch doesn’t hack into my phone. Because the second they see these pictures of you and Kai, it’s over for you.”

Kai freezes for a moment, eyes wide in surprise. “Wait– what?!” he exclaims, leaning forward a bit, trying to peer over the seat at his dad. “You’ve been taking pictures?!”

Kai’s dad is practically snickering to himself at the front. “I can’t help it. You guys look too cute. How could I resist?”

Beomgyu’s face flushes a deep shade of red. “Oh my god,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re really doing this?”

Kai’s face mirrors his own embarrassment as he drops his head into his hands. “Dad, I swear, you’re worse than the paparazzi,” he groans, his voice muffled from his hands.

Kai’s dad just laughs, clearly enjoying their discomfort. “It’s just a little something to remember this sweet moment,” he says, a teasing note in his voice. “You know, just in case I need some leverage later.”

Beomgyu can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. “Well, if those pictures ever get out, I’ll definitely be blaming you,” he says, but the teasing edge in his voice softens as he turns back to Kai. "But, honestly… I don’t think I’d mind.”

Kai’s face softens at the words, his fingers squeezing Beomgyu’s hand. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he says quietly, his smile shy but sincere.

The train winds its way through the picturesque countryside, the trees now dusted with a fresh layer of snow. As they continue to pedal, the wind picks up a little, brushing across their cheeks with a sharp, cold bite. Beomgyu notices immediately how Kai’s nose flushes a little more, his eyes squinting against the chill. He knows that look, Kai’s ears are turning pink again.

“Kai,” Beomgyu starts with an exaggerated sigh, his voice laced with mock exasperation. “I told you to bring your earmuffs. You know how sensitive your ears are.”

Kai gives him a sheepish glance, biting his lip as if he’s trying to avoid getting scolded. “I forgot,” he admits quietly, his breath puffing in little clouds of white against the cold.

Beomgyu sighs dramatically, clearly not impressed. “I swear, sometimes I think you like torturing yourself.”

But there’s no real heat behind his words. His eyes soften as he looks at Kai, noting the slight shiver in his shoulders as the wind picks up. Beomgyu glances around at the wintery landscape, feeling the cool sting of the air creeping into his own skin, before his gaze returns to Kai’s flushed cheeks and the pinkness creeping down to his ears. Without a word, Beomgyu takes Kai’s hands in his own and gently rubs them together to warm them up before reaching up to cup Kai’s face. Kai's breath catches in his throat as Beomgyu’s hands settle on his ears, warm against the cold, and the warmth from Beomgyu’s touch spreads through him like a calming wave.

“Hold still,” Beomgyu murmurs softly, his voice a quiet reassurance. He presses his hands against the delicate skin of Kai’s ears, rubbing gently to soothe away the cold. Kai’s eyes flutter closed at the sensation, the warmth of Beomgyu’s hands soothing the chill that had started to bite at his skin.

“You always do this,” Kai mutters under his breath, his voice softer now, with a touch of fondness. “You act like I’m incapable of taking care of myself.”

Beomgyu gives a small, teasing smile. “Well, it’s because you are sometimes,” he teases lightly, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate motions, pressing his warmth into Kai’s ears until the pinkness begins to fade, replaced by a more natural warmth.

Kai doesn’t protest, allowing himself to relax into Beomgyu’s touch. There’s something so gentle and unspoken in the way Beomgyu cares for him; something so familiar and yet, so new.

“I swear, if you keep treating me like this, I’m going to start thinking you’re my dad,” Kai jokes, his voice warm with affection, but there’s a hint of vulnerability hidden in his words.

Beomgyu chuckles softly, his thumbs brushing the soft skin just below Kai’s ears. “If I were your dad, I’d be nagging you more than I am now,” he says with a playful grin. “But I’m not, so… just enjoy it while you can.”

A voice interrupts from behind them – Kai’s dad, who must’ve overheard their exchange. “Hey! I can hear you, you know,” he says, his tone full of mock outrage, though there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Kai and Beomgyu both spring apart in an instant, the air around them suddenly feeling much colder without the warmth of their proximity. Their faces heat up almost immediately, the blush creeping up their necks as they both scramble to adjust. Kai whines softly, hoping he had a pillow to throw at his dad with an exaggerated pout. “Dad, can you not interrupt at the worst times?”

“Then don’t gossip about me!” Kai’s dad scoffs, already pulling out his phone to take more pictures.

Kai rolls his eyes and looks back at Beomgyu, who now has his hands back over Kai’s ears, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “You’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?”

“I’m just being thoughtful,” Beomgyu says with a wink, pulling his hands away and giving Kai’s cold nose a little poke. “Besides, I like making sure you’re okay. Even if you don’t always appreciate it.”

Kai laughs quietly, shaking his head. “I do,” he says, the smile on his lips softening. “I do appreciate it.”

Their eyes meet, and for a second, the world feels like it’s shrinking just around the two of them, the landscape and everything else fading into the background. There’s a quiet, unspoken promise in the way they look at each other; like maybe they’ll be okay, despite everything, despite how complicated things might get.

Kai shifts slightly, his breath warm against Beomgyu’s cheek as he leans in a little closer, his hand brushing gently against Beomgyu’s. “Thanks,” he murmurs quietly, his voice soft.

Beomgyu smiles, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “Anytime, Kai.”

And just like that, everything feels warm again; like the cold doesn’t matter, like they could stay in this little bubble forever.

 

🐧 

 

Kai leans back against the headrest, his smile still wide from the rush of the Gangchon Rail Park. The crisp winter air and the feeling of the pedals beneath his feet, he never imagined a day could be this perfect. His dad’s contagious excitement only made it better, and the way Beomgyu kept stealing glances at him, like he couldn’t believe how happy Kai was, had his heart swelling. He feels like he's floating on a cloud, and it’s a strange, euphoric thing.

“That was really fun, Dad. Thank you so much,” Kai says, turning to his dad with the softest smile he can muster, his chest warm from the whole experience.

His dad grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Don’t thank me yet, kiddo. I still have another thing planned for today.”

Kai’s brows furrow in confusion, a laugh escaping him. “What? What else could possibly top this? This is already the best day ever!”

His dad chuckles, shaking his head, eyes dancing with that familiar playful gleam. “Oh, just you wait.”

Kai gapes at him, wondering what could possibly be in store. How could it get better than this? But knowing his dad, anything was possible. He wonders if it’ll be something like a surprise trip or even more time at a place that’s been on Kai’s bucket list for ages. Whatever it is, it’s bound to be special. 

They walk back to the car, the sounds of the city and the crunch of the snow beneath their boots following them, until they’re all inside. His dad glances at him from the driver’s seat, nodding toward the back. “Kai, why don’t you sit with Beomgyu in the back for this leg? It’s going to be quite a long drive, and I want you to rest.”

Kai blinks, momentarily unsure. “Are you sure, Dad?” he asks, his voice hesitant. He doesn’t want to make his dad uncomfortable or leave him all alone at the front, but the thought of resting a little more sounds nice.

“Of course, I’m sure. Go on. I’ll be fine up here,” his dad says with a reassuring grin, his hand patting the wheel. “Go ahead, get comfortable.”

Kai nods, smiling gratefully, and moves to the backseat, where Beomgyu is already waiting, his seatbelt on and his eyes bright from the last leg of their adventure. They share an amused look as Kai slides into the seat next to him.

“You good?” Beomgyu asks softly, his voice light, and Kai can see a trace of warmth in his gaze as he watches Kai settle in.

“Yeah,” Kai answers with a small smile, leaning back a bit more, feeling the last traces of exhaustion from the rail park start to catch up to him. He’s still on a high, but he can feel the fatigue now, soft and gentle, like a cloud wrapping around him. It’s different from the kind of tired he’s used to. It’s more… peaceful. Beomgyu shifts slightly to make space for Kai, their knees brushing as they settle in together. Kai notices how warm the car is, how the heater hums gently, and he feels his body start to relax into the comfort of the seat. His fingers rest lightly by his side, just a hair’s breadth away from Beomgyu’s. It’s almost like a soft invitation, but they don’t do anything about it yet.

Kai leans back against the cool window and watches as the landscape changes through the glass, the buildings slowly morphing into open fields covered with snow. It’s a beautiful, surreal thing to be driving through, and even though it’s quiet in the backseat, the silence between him and Beomgyu feels like the most natural thing.

“You really have no idea what else is coming, do you?” Beomgyu asks after a pause, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he’s aware of the soft magic in the air between them.

Kai grins, his gaze flicking toward him. “Nope. But knowing my dad, it’s going to be something wild.” He exhales, resting his head against the window, content for a moment in the stillness of the drive. “Honestly, today’s been perfect as it is.”

Beomgyu smiles, his lips curving up at the corners. “Yeah, it has.” His voice carries an unspoken depth, an easy kind of understanding that warms Kai’s chest. It’s not a loud declaration, but it feels like it belongs, like the words carry meaning just between the two of them.

Kai is about to say something else, when he feels his eyelids growing heavier, the rhythm of the car, the soft hum of conversation in the front seat, all adding to the lulling comfort. He yawns, turning slightly to face Beomgyu, his voice soft as he mumbles, “I think I might actually fall asleep, don’t let me drool on you, alright?”

Beomgyu laughs quietly, nudging him slightly with his shoulder. “No promises.”

Kai chuckles tiredly, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. As they continue driving, the minutes slipping away in an easy silence, Kai realises just how much he’s looking forward to whatever his dad has planned next, and even though he’s unsure of the day ahead, the one thing he’s certain of is that, for the first time in a while, he’s not dreading tomorrow. He lets his eyes close, the peaceful lull of the car and the warmth of the space around him gently pulling him into sleep. With Beomgyu beside him, Kai feels like he might finally have something steady in his life, something real, and it feels good.

Kai’s eyelids flutter open slowly, the world around him still blurry. He blinks a few times, trying to adjust, but his senses are still half-dreaming. He can hear the soft hum of the car, the tires gently crunching on the snow-covered road, and the distant murmur of voices in front. Beomgyu and his dad are talking, the conversation light and relaxed, but the soothing cadence of their words makes Kai feel like he’s drifting in and out of the most peaceful sleep.

He turns his head slightly, realising his cheek is pressed against Beomgyu’s shoulder. The warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, is comforting; grounding in a way Kai didn’t realise he needed. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to break the perfect little bubble they’ve settled into. Beomgyu’s hand rests gently on his head, his fingers brushing through his hair in soft, rhythmic strokes, the sensation making Kai’s heart flutter lightly. A small smile tugs at the corners of Kai’s mouth as he snuggles closer, the sound of Beomgyu’s voice sending waves of comfort over him. It’s low and calm, laced with affection, and Kai can’t help but feel content and completely at peace, like this is where he’s meant to be.

“I’ve got to admit,” Kai’s dad says, his voice light but sincere, “I didn’t expect you to be so hands-on.”

Beomgyu gives a soft laugh. “I didn’t think I did either. It just kind of… happened.”

“Does he let you fuss over him like that often?” his dad asks, a smile in his voice.

Beomgyu chuckles, the sound quiet and fond. “Not really. He pretends to hate it. Rolls his eyes, acts like I’m being dramatic. But he never actually stops me.”

Kai’s dad laughs. “That sounds about right.”

There’s a pause, the sound of tires humming under them filling the space.

“I’ve known a lot of people in my life,” Beomgyu says after a moment, “But Kai… he’s different. I don’t even think he realises it.”

Kai, half-lulled by Beomgyu’s steady voice and the warmth seeping through his hoodie, feels his chest squeeze gently at the words. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t want them to stop.

“He’s a good kid, the best,” his dad says quietly, as if the words are sacred. “Always has been. He’s had to grow up a little faster than he should’ve, but… he’s never lost that softness in him. He’s stubborn, though. Doesn’t like being taken care of.”

Beomgyu gives a breathy laugh. “Tell me about it. I’ve been trying to get him to wear proper gloves all week.”

“Well,” his dad says, humour edging his voice, “from the looks of it, you’re doing a pretty decent job.”

There’s another lull. 

“Thanks for… being here. I don’t know what this is between you two, but I can tell it means something to him. And that’s enough for me.”

Beomgyu doesn’t respond right away. His hand slides once more through Kai’s hair, slow and thoughtful.

“It means something to me too,” he says softly.

The words linger in the air, and Kai, still half-asleep, feels a quiet swell of something deep inside. It’s hard to describe, but it’s like the warmth of the car, Beomgyu’s presence, and the gentle care from his dad are all wrapped up together, making him feel like everything is slowly falling into place. He burrows his head deeper into Beomgyu’s shoulder, the rhythmic pat of Beomgyu’s hand in his hair sending him back into a peaceful slumber, the quiet assurance of his dad’s words lingering in the background, wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. For now, all he needs is this: Beomgyu, his dad, the warmth, and the feeling that everything – despite the world’s chaos – might just be okay.

Kai is gently stirred awake by warm fingers brushing the hair from his forehead, a low voice murmuring, “Hey. Kai. We’re here.”

He blinks slowly, the world coming back into focus in pieces; the dull click of the car indicator, the engine’s low hum, the weight of his body still half-draped against Beomgyu’s side. His neck aches a little from the angle, but Beomgyu hasn’t moved away the whole ride. Kai can still feel the softness of Beomgyu’s hoodie against his cheek, the familiar smell of him, clean laundry and something warm, like sunlight. He sits up, rubbing his eyes as the car rolls gently into a parking space. The world outside is bright now, the sun high and casting a crisp golden glow on everything it touches. The snow on the ground glitters like sugar, but the chill is softened by the daylight. It’s that rare kind of weather that sits perfectly between cold and warm, where breath fogs in the air but his coat doesn’t feel suffocating.

“Where are we?” Kai mumbles, his voice still sticky with sleep as he glances at Beomgyu, then forward at his dad, who is grinning like he’s been waiting all morning for this.

“You’ll see,” Beomgyu says, and Kai catches the glint in his eyes.

They step out of the car, Kai stretching his arms over his head, his bones clicking back into place after the nap. The moment his feet hit the ground, a rush of noise reaches him; distant screams, delighted laughter, the thrum of music riding on the wind. He turns, heart beginning to race. It takes only a second to register the towering entrance gate, the colorfully dressed characters roaming near the front, the flash of roller coasters in the distance, high and fast against the clear winter sky.

Kai’s breath hitches.

“No way,” he whispers.

Everland.

They’re at Everland.

He turns sharply to his dad, eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

His dad just chuckles, locking the car. “Surprise.”

Kai’s mouth opens and closes, but no words come out at first. He looks back at the entrance, overwhelmed, like his body can’t quite decide if it wants to run straight for the gates or just stand there frozen in disbelief.

Before Kai can even fully register the joy swelling in his chest, before the wonder has time to bloom into something untainted and bright, something else creeps in behind it, quiet and unwelcome.

Guilt.

It curls at the edges of his excitement, dulling it like fog on glass. He thinks of the long shifts his dad pulls week after week. The nights he comes home exhausted but still asks about Kai’s day. The careful way they always choose groceries; needs over wants. The way birthdays are always marked with more love than presents, and now… this.

Everland.

Not just a small treat or a nice meal, but something big. Something he’s dreamed about for years but never dared to ask for, because there’s always something more important: rent, uitilities, tuition, food, and now– His throat tightens. His heart aches. His gaze drops to the snow-dusted ground as his chest fills with the sharp sting of not knowing how to be grateful enough, but before he can say anything, before he can apologise or protest or let the guilt spill over, his dad’s voice cuts gently through the stillness.

“Hey, hey,” his dad says, his tone soft but firm. “None of that. I see that look on your face, Kamal. Don’t even start.”

Kai blinks up at him, startled.

“You don’t have to carry that weight around all the time,” his dad continues, walking over and nudging Kai lightly with his elbow. “I did this because I wanted to. Because I could. And yeah, it took a little saving. But I got that raise, remember? Things are looking up. Let me spoil you a little, will you?”

Kai opens his mouth, but the words get stuck. His dad’s eyes crinkle with fondness.

“You’ve been looking after me since you were a kid,” he says, quieter now. “Always worrying. Always trying to make things easier for me, even when I never asked you to. So now it’s my turn. Let me do this for you.”

A beat passes. Kai bites down hard on his bottom lip.

Then, before he can stop himself, he wraps his arms tightly around his dad, burying his face in his shoulder like he used to when he was younger. “Thank you,” he mumbles. “I mean it. Thank you.”

His dad ruffles his hair, the same way he always has. “You’re welcome, kiddo.”

Beomgyu, who has been standing a few steps behind, watching quietly, blinks away the sudden sting in his eyes and turns his head, pretending to examine the crowd, but his heart is thudding loud and warm. He isn’t used to witnessing something this personal, this quietly profound. Kai eventually pulls back, cheeks flushed, but this time not just from the cold.

Beomgyu gives him a lopsided smile. “Ready to go in?”

Kai sniffs once, nodding quickly. “Yeah.”

Then he grabs Beomgyu’s hand, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and tugs him forward through the snow, toward the gates and the colours and the music and the laughter, and this time, there’s no guilt left to hold him back.

The second they pass through the turnstiles, Kai feels like he’s stepped into another world entirely. Everland in winter isn’t just an amusement park; it’s a living, breathing fairytale. Snow dusts the cobblestones and rooftops like icing sugar, lights twinkle from lampposts strung with garlands and ribbons, and every corner hums with music; soft carols, gentle bells, bursts of laughter from every direction. It’s all so much. Too much, almost. The kind of much that fills his chest until he feels like he can’t hold it all in.

He turns in place slowly, eyes wide and drinking in every detail. There are candy-striped stalls selling roasted chestnuts and hotteok, children waddling around in oversized earmuffs with chocolate-stained cheeks, and couples holding mittened hands, cheeks flushed pink from the cold. Every inch of the park has been transformed. Even the trees wear winter coats of frost and fairy lights, casting shimmering reflections on the damp stone beneath. Somewhere in the distance, a parade is beginning. Kai catches a flash of dancers in snowflake costumes, their arms outstretched like petals.

He’s never been anywhere like this. The sheer scale of it makes his knees feel a little weak. For so long, Everland has only existed to him in passing glimpses; on TV commercials, on friends’ social media, in stories he pretended not to care about when classmates talked about their family trips. It’s been a place for other people. People with time, with money, with space in their lives for magic. Now, standing in the middle of it with the cold biting at his cheeks and the smell of candied almonds in the air, it doesn’t feel real.

“Kai,” Beomgyu’s voice comes gently from beside him. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he says, breathless. “Yeah, I just… give me a second.”

Because how could he explain it? That this place, with its stupidly perfect snow-dusted rooftops and costumed characters waving in the distance, feels like the kind of thing he used to dream about when he was little. When his dad would work late and he’d sit on the floor with his homework, flipping channels until he landed on a variety show or drama where someone, always, ended up here.

He blinks quickly, pushing back the sudden sting in his eyes, then turns with renewed purpose. “Panda World. We have to go to Panda World first,” he declares, voice urgent. “Where is it? Where’s the map?”

Beomgyu laughs at the sudden change in energy, holding out the park brochure his dad picked up at the entrance. “You’ve been here thirty seconds and you’re already dragging us around.”

Kai barely hears him. He’s already scanning the cartoon map, finger jabbing at the panda icon. “There. Let’s go, now. I want to see them before they go to sleep or something.”

And with that, he takes off at a fast walk, not quite running but close, the gravel crunching beneath his boots as he tugs Beomgyu and his dad along behind him. His cheeks sting from the wind and his nose is red, but he doesn’t care. This isn’t just a park; it’s a portal, and somewhere inside it are real, living pandas, and for once, he isn’t seeing them through a screen. He’s here. He’s really here.

The air inside Panda World is warmer than outside, rich with that clean, earthy scent that comes with animal enclosures, and Kai feels his breath steady as the warmth envelops him. It’s quieter in here, somehow. Not silent – there are still murmurs of excitement from the families and couples weaving through the exhibits – but the volume feels hushed, like the building itself understands what it means to witness something rare, and then they’re there.

Through the glass, nestled among bamboo stalks and enrichment toys, lies a sleeping panda, curled up like an overgrown plushie, breathing slow and deep. Kai doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until it escapes him in the form of a soft laugh, small and stunned.

“I’ve never seen one in real life before,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his hand brushing against the glass like it’ll bring him closer. “They’re so... gentle-looking.”

Beomgyu comes to stand beside him, close enough that Kai can feel the faint brush of his coat against his arm. “You kind of look alike,” Beomgyu says under his breath, trying not to grin.

Kai shoots him a look. “Excuse me?”

“You know. Big eyes, soft face, clumsy charm–”

“Clumsy–!”

“Lovable,” Beomgyu amends quickly, lifting both hands in mock surrender. “Adorable. Practically endangered.”

Kai tries to look annoyed, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He turns back to the glass, watching the panda slowly stir, stretch, then flop back down in a way that’s utterly unbothered by the world. His chest aches with something gentle. His dad is a few steps behind them, taking pictures with his phone. Kai catches a glimpse of him smiling through the reflection on the glass; this soft, proud kind of smile that makes something in Kai go quiet inside. A little boy part of him, one he doesn’t always know what to do with.

“I don’t even know how to thank him for today,” Kai says softly, not turning his head.

Beomgyu follows his gaze. “You already are,” he says. “You’re happy.”

And he is. Quietly and deeply. The kind of happiness that creeps up on you like sunlight warming through a window. He doesn’t say anything more, just leans into Beomgyu’s side until their shoulders touch, and stays there. He doesn’t need anything big or loud. Then, just around a bend, there are more pandas. Massive, impossibly fluffy, lounging in slow-motion on logs and munching lazily on bamboo. Kai nearly squeals.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, grabbing the sleeve of Beomgyu’s coat and squeezing it tightly. “They’re even cuter in real life. Look at that one’s face! He doesn’t even care about anything.”

His dad chuckles behind them. “Alright, alright, slow down. Come here, let me take a picture. Stand in front of the window, that one’s sitting up. Quick, before it flops back down.”

Kai practically trips over himself getting to the glass, striking a goofy pose with his hands under his chin. His cheeks are still flushed from the cold, hair slightly mussed from his hood, but his eyes are glowing, wide with wonder. His dad snaps the picture and then waves Beomgyu over. “You too, come on. This is a historic moment! Hyuka finally meets his people.”

Beomgyu laughs, stepping beside Kai, who elbows him lightly but doesn’t protest. They both face the camera, the panda behind them conveniently looking in their direction as if posing too. Beomgyu leans in slightly, their shoulders pressed close, and Kai can feel his heart thumping stupidly at the proximity.

“One more, smile like you’re not freezing!” Kai’s dad says, snapping another. “Alright, now one with the both of you being cute. Don’t be shy, I know how you are.”

“Dad!” Kai groans, covering his face. “You’re so embarrassing.”

“That’s my job,” his dad says proudly. “Now come on, selfie time. Beomgyu, get in here, we need the whole squad.”

They squish together, Kai in the middle, his dad holding the phone out with a practiced arm. Behind them, the panda is still lazily chewing its bamboo, wholly uninterested in their antics, but perfect in the background nonetheless. As the shutter clicks, Kai feels a weightless kind of joy settle over him, like he’s pressing this moment into the fabric of his memory, saving it for a rainy day. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get to relive something like this, but right now, he doesn’t need to. This – his dad's laughter, Beomgyu’s warm presence beside him, the pandas, the winter magic of it all – is enough. More than enough.

They leave Panda World with reluctant steps, Kai casting one last glance over his shoulder at the sleepy pandas as they disappear around the bend. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and his phone is already full of blurry photos, mostly of panda bums and Beomgyu’s laugh captured mid-motion. His dad, naturally, has taken better ones, but that doesn’t stop Kai from insisting his are just as “artsy”.

After a while of walking and taking everything in – the decorations, the street performers, the clusters of families wrapped in scarves – they finally agree to stop and grab something to eat. Kai’s stomach rumbles as they step into one of the park cafes, the warm air inside a sharp contrast to the winter chill still clinging to their coats. The menu is full of fast food: greasy burgers, curly fries, and bright yellow plastic trays. The prices, of course, are absurd.

Kai stares at the receipt after they order, whistling under his breath. “We could’ve bought three packs of ramyeon and a chicken with this.”

Beomgyu leans over to look and snorts. “Three? Try five.”

His dad just shrugs as he carries the tray to a table by the window. “It’s all part of the experience,” he says, settling down and unwrapping his burger. “We’re eating memories, not food.”

“Pretty sure my memories would taste better,” Kai mumbles, though he can’t stop the grin pulling at his lips.

The food is average at best – lukewarm fries and a burger that looks a little too enthusiastic in the photo – but none of them really care. Beomgyu keeps stealing Kai’s fries when he isn’t looking, and Kai retaliates by smearing ketchup on the back of Beomgyu’s hand. His dad watches it all with an amused, content smile, sipping his drink slowly like he wants to make the moment last. Outside the window, snowflakes start drifting down again in soft, gentle spirals. Kai pauses mid-bite, just to take it in; the people walking past in thick scarves and silly earmuffs, the distant sound of laughter, the blur of lights starting to flicker on around the park. His dad, still chewing thoughtfully on a burger. Beomgyu, his nose pink from the cold, pretending to be offended that Kai won’t share his drink. The food isn’t the highlight. It doesn’t need to be.

This – this silly, overpriced lunch in the middle of a dream – is already one of the best meals of Kai’s life.

After lunch, with their stomachs full and spirits high, they make their way to the next attraction. Kai’s dad leads the way, laughing about how he’ll leave them all in the dust, but Kai and Beomgyu don’t buy it. As they get closer, Kai’s heart skips a beat; it’s Snow Buster, the sledding hill that’s been calling to him ever since he was little, but they never had the money to spare for something like this. The snow here is packed down tightly, a smooth, glistening sheet of white stretching out before them. At the base of the hill, the sleds are lined up in rows, a perfect contrast to the fluffy, untouched snow on the sides. The air is colder here, biting at their cheeks, but it only adds to the thrill.

“Last one to the top’s a rotten egg!” Kai grins, nudging Beomgyu with his shoulder as they rush toward the sleds.

Beomgyu snorts, easily matching his pace. “You’re on.”

They grab their sleds, the plastic cool under their fingers, and Kai’s dad laughs behind them, picking up his own sled. “You kids better not forget about me when I beat you to the bottom.”

Kai rolls his eyes, practically bouncing on his feet with excitement. He can already imagine the rush of wind through his hair, the way his heart will race when they fly down the hill. They’re practically vibrating with energy as they climb the snowy steps to the top, laughing and pushing each other lightly. Beomgyu gives him a playful shove, sending Kai stumbling a few steps before catching himself, his heart light.

At the top, they line up, their sleds poised in front of them like race cars. Kai glances over at Beomgyu, who’s grinning just as wildly. “Ready?” Kai asks, barely able to contain himself.

“Born ready,” Beomgyu says, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

They all launch themselves down the hill at the same time, the cold air whipping against their faces. Kai’s heart soars as they zoom forward, the world blurring around him in a mix of snow and laughter. Beomgyu is right next to him, their sleds almost touching, their bodies leaning into the turns. Every twist, every bump feels like a burst of joy, and Kai can’t stop grinning, his face flushed with the cold and adrenaline. Behind them, Kai’s dad shouts something that’s lost in the wind, but it doesn’t matter. The hill ends far too quickly, and before Kai knows it, he’s rolling to a stop, still laughing uncontrollably, the sled tipping over on its side. He looks over at Beomgyu, who’s sprawled out next to him, both of them breathless and giddy.

“That was amazing!” Kai exclaims, sitting up and brushing the snow off his jacket.

Beomgyu sits up too, his hair wild from the wind, cheeks bright red. “Best ride of my life,” he says, his voice still shaking with laughter.

Kai looks over at his dad, who’s just catching up with them, a wide grin plastered on his face. “See, I told you I’d leave you both behind,” he teases, although he’s slightly out of breath.

Kai laughs, pulling himself to his feet. “Not a chance, Dad,” he says. “We’re coming for you.”

They gather their sleds again, ready for another round. This time, they race even faster, each run more thrilling than the last, the cold forgotten as they revel in the joy of simple, pure fun.

As the afternoon stretches lazily toward evening, the sun begins its slow descent behind the hills, casting everything in a warm, golden haze. The sharp white of the snow softens beneath the amber glow, and a new kind of magic begins to seep into the air. The excitement from Snow Buster lingers in Kai’s limbs, his cheeks still rosy from the cold and laughter, but his heartbeat slows to a quieter rhythm now, a content hum beneath his ribs. They wander through the park hand-in-hand, the three of them weaving through crowds that have grown thicker now, everyone waiting for the same thing. Lights begin to flicker on slowly, one by one, as if the whole park is inhaling before it exhales into wonder.

Kai’s fingers tighten around Beomgyu’s gloved hand as the first archway of lights comes into view; twinkling blues, whites, and purples forming a glowing tunnel overhead. He pauses beneath it, stunned by the sight. The air feels crisp and still, as if even the wind is holding its breath. When he glances up, it’s like standing inside a dream. Fairy lights drape from trees like cascading stars, and entire pathways are wrapped in glowing vines. The buildings of Everland’s Global Fair shimmer like gingerbread houses come to life, dusted with snow and sugar and magic. Somewhere in the distance, soft orchestral music plays, harmonising with the hushed gasps of visitors all around them.

“Oh my god,” Kai breathes, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like a fairytale.”

Beomgyu smiles beside him, tugging him gently forward. “Come on. We haven’t even seen the best part yet.”

His dad leads them further in, pausing every so often to snap pictures – even more now than earlier, unable to resist the glowing backdrops. “Alright, stand under that tree. Yep, right there,” he says, already raising his phone.

Kai and Beomgyu pose with laughter in their eyes, faces flushed, light bouncing off their cheeks. At one point, Kai’s dad grabs a park worker and asks them to take a photo of all three together, pulling both boys into his sides like they’ve always been his. Then, as they make their way to the heart of the park, the lights dim for just a moment, long enough to make the crowd quiet in anticipation, and then it begins: The Moonlight Parade.

The first float rolls past in a wave of colour and sound, and Kai forgets to breathe.

It’s a glowing phoenix, wings outstretched, feathers ablaze with lights that flicker and pulse like real fire. Music surges from hidden speakers – grand, orchestral, and just a little bit whimsical – and the crowd around them lets out a collective gasp. The float soars slowly by, flames trailing behind it in elegant ribbons of red, gold, and orange lights, like a myth come alive in the middle of a winter night. Kai’s eyes widen, and his heart swells, as if it’s rising along with the mythical bird. He doesn’t even notice the cold anymore. The snow beneath his boots, the bite in the air… none of it matters. All he can feel is this light, this warmth blooming in his chest, too big to contain. Another float follows, an enormous ship of stars, with performers dressed like astronauts and constellations. They wave from above, tossing glitter into the crowd that shimmers like falling stardust. The float glides slowly, glowing blue and silver, leaving behind a trail of dreamy music.

Beside him, Beomgyu’s hand squeezes his gently. Kai glances over and finds Beomgyu already watching him, not the parade. His cheeks are pink from the cold, but his expression is soft, fond. When Kai smiles back, it feels like his heart could break. Not from sadness, just from how full it is. He leans ever so slightly into Beomgyu, their shoulders touching, and Beomgyu doesn’t pull away. Instead, he tilts his head closer, letting their cheeks brush as the lights dance around them.

A new float appears, shaped like a castle dripping in icicles, with dancers dressed as princes and princesses spinning gracefully to the music. Their gowns shimmer like freshly fallen snow, and Kai swears it’s like something out of a dream. He hears the familiar click of his dad’s phone again, and without even looking, he knows his dad is filming, capturing every bit of this. Usually, the idea of being caught in photos would make him shy, but right now, he doesn’t mind. If anything, he wants this moment to be remembered forever. He lets his head rest lightly on Beomgyu’s shoulder, lets himself exist in the warmth of it all.

Somewhere to their left, kids scream in joy as another float passes, this one a carousel of animals made entirely of glowing lights. Tigers, horses, rabbits, and even a tiny elephant, all spinning in slow circles to a sweet, music box melody. Kai watches them with a soft ache in his chest. He never got to come here as a kid. They never had the time, or the money, but somehow, standing here now with Beomgyu and his dad – watching light and music swirl around him – he doesn’t feel like he missed out.

He feels like he’s finally caught up.

A parade performer waves right at him, and Kai finds himself grinning, jumping up and down while lifting a mittened hand to wave back. His dad laughs somewhere behind him, and Kai hears him mutter, “He’s never going to stop talking about this,” into his phone as he records. It should make him flustered, but it doesn’t. It makes him feel loved, seen, like he’s being held in the arms of something big and soft and safe.

The final float approaches; a grand peacock with a tail that fans out in brilliant light, feathers moving in time with the music. It fills the entire walkway with light, casting colours onto every face in the crowd. Kai watches it with wide, awestruck eyes, and feels Beomgyu’s fingers thread through his again. As the final float of the light parade disappears in a shimmer of colour and sound, the last notes of music lingering like fairy dust in the air, Kai exhales slowly, his breath misting in front of him. His face aches from grinning, and his hands are cold, tucked deep into his coat pockets, but his heart feels impossibly full.

“Alright,” his dad says, rubbing his hands together with determined energy. “Next stop: Magic Garden. We’re not leaving without at least fifty more photos.”

Kai groans, but it’s half-hearted at best. “Dad…”

“No use complaining,” his dad cuts in cheerfully. “You’ll thank me when you’re old and boring and need something to look back on.”

Beomgyu nudges Kai’s arm. “Come on, you know he’s right.”

“I hate that you’re both ganging up on me,” Kai mutters, but he’s already moving, letting his dad lead them through the glowing walkways towards the garden.

The Magic Garden is exactly what it promises; an open expanse of winding paths, light sculptures, and softly glowing trees, all bathed in a dreamlike hue. Thousands of fairy lights drip from archways and tree branches, tangled in shapes that shimmer like constellations. There are glowing mushrooms, giant roses lit from within, and tunnels made entirely of lights that shift colour as they walk through.

“Okay, stand under that heart-shaped arch,” his dad says, already raising his phone.

Kai sighs and grabs Beomgyu’s wrist, dragging him beneath it. “Let’s get this over with.”

Beomgyu only laughs, positioning himself beside Kai. “Smile like you’re not being held hostage.”

His dad takes his time with each photo, sometimes crouching down for a better angle, sometimes backing up so far Kai’s sure he’s going to fall into a flower bed. Other families drift past, doing the same thing; posing, laughing, trying to capture the impossible beauty of it all, and somehow, even with all the posing, the grumbling, the play-fighting over who has the better side, it doesn’t feel forced. It just feels warm.

At one point, his dad gets distracted taking a panoramic shot, and Beomgyu pulls Kai aside, away from the crowd, into a quieter part of the garden where the lights cast everything in soft violet and gold. “You alright?” he asks, bumping their shoulders together gently.

Kai nods, gazing up at the tree branches lit like stars. “Yeah. It’s just… I didn’t think today would feel like this.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like I’m allowed to have this. All of it.” He gestures vaguely around them; the lights, the music still floating from distant speakers, the easy comfort of the people beside him. “It’s just… good. Really good.”

Beomgyu doesn’t say anything right away. He just looks at him and then quietly says, “You are allowed, you know. You always were.”

Kai swallows, throat tight, and before he can say anything back, his dad calls out from behind them, waving his phone. “Boys! Come on, there’s a flower tunnel over here with your names on it!”

Beomgyu grins. “Back to work.”

Kai lets out a breath and smiles. “Yeah. Let’s go make him take a hundred more.”

They race to catch up, their footsteps crunching softly on the gravel, laughter echoing under the trees, and somewhere in that glowing garden, Kai starts to believe it; that maybe, just maybe, he really is allowed to have all this light.

They spend a long time in the Magic Garden, drifting from one glowing display to the next, their cheeks pink from the cold and their camera rolls filling by the minute. Beomgyu insists on posing dramatically in front of the light-up peacocks, while Kai strikes exaggerated heart poses under a glowing tunnel of roses. His dad snaps away with tireless enthusiasm, calling out prompts like a seasoned director – “Hold hands! Act natural! Beomgyu, don’t blink this time!” – until Kai’s laughing so hard he nearly drops his phone, but eventually, the cold settles in deeper. The kind that seeps through layers, turning breath into fog and fingertips numb. Kai rubs his gloved hands together as they near the edge of the garden, the sound of gentle music from the main square now softened by distance.

Then his dad claps his hands together, eyes twinkling. “Alright, one last stop. Can’t end the night without it.”

Kai raises an eyebrow, already suspicious. “Where?”

His dad points, and there it is, the ferris wheel. Towering over the park, lit in slow pulses of pastel light, it spins slowly against the inky winter sky.

Kai stares. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. Come on.” His dad starts walking ahead of them, humming something tuneless, and the two of them trail behind.

At the gate, a staff member ushers them forward, and Kai’s dad hands over three tickets. But when the gondola door opens with a mechanical hiss and closes back up, Kai realises his dad is still outside.

“What– Dad?” Kai turns, confused.

His dad gives an exaggerated shrug, patting his coat. “Oops. Forgot something. You two go on without me.”

Kai frowns. “Seriously?”

“Mhm. I’ll just wait for you down here.”

Kai doesn’t buy it. Neither does Beomgyu, who gives the older man a look that’s more amused than surprised, but they both understand that this isn’t forgetfulness. It’s deliberate and gentle. It’s his dad giving them space; quietly, kindly, without pushing.

Below, the park glows like a scattered constellation, all colour and motion and distant music. The garden, the parade route, the cafes and lanterns… it all looks tiny from up here. Like a memory already being folded into the past. Kai sits back against the bench, quiet for a while, just breathing in the silence. The gondola sways gently, and the cold presses in a little sharper now that they’re higher, away from the body heat of crowds.

“He totally planned this,” he says eventually, glancing at Beomgyu.

Beomgyu smiles. “Obviously.”

Kai laughs under his breath. “He’s so embarrassing.”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu says, bumping their knees together. “But in a good way.”

They fall into an easy quiet again. Outside, the wheel turns. The lights below flicker like fireflies caught in snow. Inside, it’s just the two of them; close, warm, a little breathless with something neither of them wants to name yet.

Kai watches the world turn slowly beneath them, then turns to Beomgyu, his voice softer now. “I’m really glad you came with me this winter break.”

Beomgyu looks at him, eyes gentle. “Me too.”

They sit in the gondola with a quiet sort of nervousness, the kind that bubbles up when there’s nothing left to distract you. Just the hum of the ferris wheel and the slow, steady rise of the city lights below. Neither of them says much at first. Their knees still touch where they sit, coats brushing lightly, breath fogging the glass. The air feels heavier in here, not in a bad way, just… charged. Expectant.

Kai shifts a little, glancing sideways. Beomgyu catches the glance and meets it with a small, knowing smile. Then, without a word, he inches closer – barely a shuffle – but enough to close the space between them. His gloved hand finds Kai’s under the bench between them, fingers nudging, then curling gently around.

Kai startles. “Wait–”

But Beomgyu doesn’t pull away. He just gives his hand a little squeeze.

Kai’s voice jumps an octave. “Don’t shake the gondola!”

Beomgyu grins, wide and shameless. “I didn’t!”

“You did! You just moved– what if we tip over?”

“It’s literally bolted to steel, Kai. You’re more likely to fall out of bed than fall from this thing.” But there’s mischief in his tone now, unmistakable, and then – just to be annoying – he rocks very slightly from side to side.

Kai yelps and instinctively grabs Beomgyu’s arm with both hands. “Stop! Stop it, I swear–”

Beomgyu starts laughing, not even trying to hide it. “Oh no, look at that, you’re clinging to me. What a coincidence.”

Kai stares at him, deadpan. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Is this how I die? Warm and loved? I could get used to this.”

Kai groans, burying his red face in Beomgyu’s shoulder. “Ugh. You just wanted me to cling to you, didn’t you.”

Beomgyu hums, victorious. “Maybe. Can you blame me?”

Kai doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t let go either.

Outside, the wheel keeps turning. Inside, so does something else; something slow and cautious and impossibly soft. The gondola shudders gently as it reaches the top, then comes to a full stop. For a moment, all they can hear is the hush of the wind outside, the faint hum of the city far below, and the sound of their own breathing.

Kai peeks out the window, eyes wide. “Wow…”

They’re above everything now. The park spreads out beneath them like a glowing snow globe; paths lined in fairy lights, rooftops dusted in frost, the soft blur of music and movement far, far below. From up here, the world feels quieter and smaller, like it’s holding its breath just for them.

Beomgyu shifts beside him, knees bumping. “Kinda feels like we’re in our own little snow globe.”

Kai laughs softly, still not looking at him. “Cheesy.”

“You love it.”

“…Maybe.”

Beomgyu nudges him gently with his shoulder. “Hey.”

Kai finally turns his head and finds Beomgyu already looking at him, all soft eyes and flushed cheeks and that tiny, crooked smile he always gets when he’s feeling brave but nervous. It makes Kai’s heart lurch a little, and he forgets how to sit still.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Kai mumbles, pretending to fix his scarf.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to say something stupid and romantic.”

Beomgyu grins. “You know me too well.”

Kai’s ears turn pink. “Please don’t. I’ll melt. I’m literally one sweet word away from spontaneously combusting.”

Beomgyu hums thoughtfully. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“Hyung–”

“You look really pretty in this light,” Beomgyu says softly.

Kai’s brain short-circuits. “Oh my god,” he mutters, half hiding his face in his hands. “You’re the worst. I hate you.”

“You don’t,” Beomgyu teases.

“I do.”

“Then why are you smiling like that?”

“I’m not smiling–”

“You’re literally glowing, Kai, I swear you’re gonna float away.”

Kai shoves his shoulder, laughing despite himself. “Shut up, I swear–”

But he doesn’t move away. Not even a little. If anything, he leans closer, until their noses are almost brushing. The moment hangs between them, wrapped in breathless tension and shy grins, like the whole world has pressed pause just for this.

Beomgyu’s voice drops to a murmur. “You’re really not cold?”

Kai blinks. “Huh?”

“Because if you were, I could, you know…” He tugs his coat open slightly, a mock-serious look on his face. “Offer myself as a personal heater.”

Kai wheezes. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Beomgyu says, all dimples and daring now. “I’m just full of love and body heat.”

Kai claps a hand over his own mouth, laughing helplessly. “I’m actually going to die. They’re going to find my body up here and be like, ‘Wow, he died from embarrassment. So tragic.’”

Beomgyu chuckles, and this time he doesn’t try anything slick. He just lets the moment stretch, quiet and glowing, his thumb tracing slow circles over Kai’s hand.

They sit there, still and breathless, the hush of the world settling gently around them.

Kai’s laughter fades into something quieter, something softer, as his eyes find Beomgyu’s, and for a second, neither of them says a word. They just look at each other, and it’s like the air changes. Like something invisible shifts in the space between them, something tender and charged and impossible to ignore. Kai feels it first in his chest, the sudden quickening of his heartbeat, and then in the way Beomgyu’s gaze flickers – barely, but unmistakably – to his lips.

Oh.

It’s not the first time Kai’s imagined this, but it’s the first time it’s real.

Beomgyu’s fingers tighten slightly around his, and then slowly – carefully – he slides their hands together, interlacing them like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Kai’s heart leaps so hard it feels like it might just launch itself into orbit. He swallows. He doesn’t breathe. Beomgyu is still watching him, eyes soft but unreadable, like he’s waiting for something; permission, maybe, or a sign that this isn’t just in his head.

Kai gives it to him without a word, tilting his head just slightly, leaning in, not much, just enough to say I’m here. I’m ready, if you are.

And Beomgyu meets him halfway.

Their lips brush in the lightest, most hesitant kiss imaginable; just a soft, feathered press of mouth to mouth, like they’re both too afraid to break the spell. It lasts only a moment, and then they’re pulling back, eyes still locked, breathing hard, as if they both need to check: Was that okay? Did that really just happen?

Beomgyu’s hand doesn’t move from his. He’s staring at Kai now, something wide and open in his expression, and then he gives the smallest nod, more question than statement. Kai exhales, barely a whisper, and nods back. Then Beomgyu leans in again.

The second kiss is warmer. Deeper. Still gentle, still shy, but steadier now, like they’ve stepped into something that belongs to them, something that’s been waiting for them to reach it. Kai melts into it, his free hand coming up to lightly grip Beomgyu’s coat as if to anchor himself. Beomgyu’s lips are soft, a little cold from the air, but the way he kisses is warm and steady, like this matters. Like he matters.

Then – just as their lips brush, warm and tentative – there’s a crack of sound, sudden and thunderous, as the first firework erupts outside.

They both flinch instinctively, startled, breaking apart just in time to catch a golden bloom of light spilling across the sky. It’s followed by another, a flash of deep indigo that scatters into silver sparks, then a brilliant burst of red that paints the gondola’s glass in soft hues. The two of them sit there, wide-eyed, blinking like they’ve been pulled out of a dream only to realise they’ve stepped into another.

Beomgyu starts to laugh first, a breathy, disbelieving sound that pulls a startled grin out of Kai. “Are you kidding me?” Kai says, laughing in that dazed, airy way that happens when you don’t quite believe your life is real.

Beomgyu leans back against the cushioned seat, throwing an arm dramatically over the backrest behind Kai. “What is this, a K-drama finale? Is a snow machine about to go off next?”

Kai wipes his eyes, still laughing, cheeks aching. “This is so cliche it physically hurts. I think I’m getting secondhand cringe from my own life.”

But even as he says it, his smile doesn’t fade. It lingers, soft and genuine, something tender curling in his chest as he turns to look at Beomgyu again. The flickering light from the fireworks outside dances along the line of Beomgyu’s jaw, outlining him in bursts of color. There’s something cinematic about it all; their tiny gondola suspended above the world, hearts racing, lips tingling, with the whole sky erupting behind them like the universe itself decided to bless the moment.

Kai’s voice softens. “Still,” he says, almost to himself, “I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

Beomgyu’s teasing expression falters. His gaze lingers on Kai, a beat too long, the corners of his smile slowly smoothing into something quieter. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “Me neither.”

And then he leans in again.

The second kiss is slower but surer. There’s no questioning now, no pause or retreat. It deepens naturally, like a tide drawing them closer, like they’ve been circling this moment for a long time and finally found their way to shore. Kai melts into it, a soft hum escaping him as his fingers curl into Beomgyu’s coat for balance. Beomgyu tilts his head slightly, his palm rising to cradle Kai’s jaw with careful admiration, thumb brushing gently over the apple of his cheek.

Kai can barely think. He can barely breathe. All he knows is warmth; Beomgyu’s mouth on his, the weight of his touch, the pounding of his own heart trying to match the rhythm of the fireworks bursting in brilliant succession outside. There’s something consuming in it, something honest and wide open. This isn’t just a kiss, it’s a confession. A promise. A quiet, urgent finally.

When they pull apart, their foreheads rest against each other’s, noses brushing, eyes fluttering open in unison. The gondola shifts slightly, beginning its slow, creaking descent. The world is returning to them, but not all at once. Kai’s gaze lingers on Beomgyu’s face, trying to take in everything; the flushed cheeks, the faint rise and fall of his chest, the dazed softness in his eyes. He swallows thickly, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’m so happy,” he says. “I don’t know what made you talk to me that day in class… but I’m glad you did.”

There’s a pause – just a breath – but in it, something flickers in Beomgyu’s eyes. Something Kai can’t quite read. A moment too long. A thought too heavy.

But then Beomgyu smiles again, gentle and real, and nods. “Me too,” he says, his voice quiet but unwavering. “I’m glad, too.”

Kai doesn’t press. Whatever that flicker was, he lets it pass for now, because in this moment, it’s enough. Their hands are still clasped, their legs brushing as the gondola descends. The fireworks still burst in the background, trailing sparks like constellations rearranging themselves across the sky. Kai leans his head on Beomgyu’s shoulder, letting his eyes slip closed. Beomgyu leans back into him, their fingers never letting go. The moment feels stitched into the night, quiet and golden, like something they’ll both carry for years to come.

When the gondola finally reaches the bottom and the door swings open with a soft mechanical hiss, the night air rushes in, cooler than before, laced with the faint scent of popcorn and the echo of distant music. Kai’s still a little breathless, cheeks warm and hand snug in Beomgyu’s, when they step out onto the platform.

His dad is already there, waiting just a few steps away with his arms crossed, a suspicious glint in his eye and… his phone flashlight on?

“Dad?” Kai blinks. “What are you–”

Before he can finish, his dad flicks the flashlight on dramatically, shining it right at their faces like he’s a security guard on patrol.

“Just checking for any signs of bruised lips,” he says with a completely straight face.

“Dad!” Kai practically yelps, throwing his hands up as Beomgyu bursts into laughter beside him. “You are so embarrassing!”

His dad isn’t done. He turns the flashlight toward Beomgyu next, scanning him slowly like he’s at customs.

“Beomgyu,” he says, mock-serious, “Your clothes seem intact. Fly’s done. No buttons missing, nothing… inappropriate?”

“Abeonim, please,” Beomgyu wheezes, clutching his stomach as he doubles over laughing. “You’re killing me.”

Kai groans, burying his face in both hands. “I’m going to climb the ferris wheel and jump off. Don’t try to stop me.”

“Aw, come on, I’m just messing with you, kiddo!” his dad says cheerfully, slinging an arm around Kai’s shoulder as they start walking toward the car. “You’re too easy to fluster. It’s a father’s responsibility to abuse that power.”

Kai grumbles incoherently but doesn’t shake off the arm. Beomgyu is still laughing as he trails beside them, rubbing at his eyes.

“I’m gonna have to recover emotionally from this,” Kai mutters.

His dad just squeezes his shoulder affectionately. “You’ll live. Probably.”

Despite the mortification clawing at him, Kai can’t help but smile. The night is freezing, and his dad is insufferable, and Beomgyu’s knuckles keep brushing against his, and somehow, he wouldn’t change a single thing. Above all, despite the teasing, despite the embarrassment still warming his ears, Kai slows as they near the car. His dad moves to unlock it, but before he can, Kai steps forward and wraps his arms around him. Tight. Tighter than he ever has. The kind of hug that speaks all the words he never quite manages to say. His dad freezes for half a second, surprised, then returns it, strong and steady, a hand settling on the back of Kai’s head in that way that always makes him feel five years old again. 

“Thank you, Dad,” Kai says quietly, voice muffled into his dad’s jacket. “Really. For today. For everything.”

He feels the burn in his throat, the way his eyes sting despite his best efforts to keep it together, but his dad just exhales, a soft huff of air above him, and waves the words off like they’re nothing. “No need to thank me. We’re family, kid. You don’t need a reason to do whatever it takes to make each other happy. That’s just what we do.”

Kai swallows hard, arms tightening for a second.

“I haven’t been able to do anything,” he whispers. “Not really. Not for you. Not like this. I… I haven’t made you happy.”

There’s a pause. A long one.

Then his dad pulls back just enough to look him in the eye, one hand still resting firm and warm on his shoulder.

“You’re alive,” he says softly. “And you’re my son.”

His voice is steady. Sure.

“That’s enough to make me the happiest man in the world.”

The tears come then – just a few, just enough to make Kai blink rapidly and turn his head so Beomgyu won’t see – but they don’t fall heavy. Just warm and quiet. The kind that remind him he’s loved, deeply and without condition, and for a moment, standing under the starlit winter sky with his dad and Beomgyu beside him, Kai lets himself believe it too.

Notes:

AAAAAAAAAAAA SO HOW WAS IT HEHE things are going so well for them 🥹 (almost… too well…)

as always, let me know what you think about this chapter in the comments and kudos are highly appreciated hehe <3

feel free to come talk to me on twitter about this fic or all things txt (or literally anything at all) at @koostiddy <3

Chapter 9

Summary:

Kai sneaks a glance at him. Beomgyu's focused on the view for now, lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks, his free hand cradling a paper cup that’s long gone cold. The fact that this boy – this too-charming, too-golden boy – is sitting across from him, holding his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, kissing him like it's inevitable... Kai doesn't know how it happened. Somewhere between classes, everything flipped. Or maybe it was always there, this thread between them, just waiting to be tugged. Either way, it’s hard not to marvel at the sheer surrealness of it all. It feels like a dream snuck into reality and made itself comfortable.

Kai watches the way the light catches on Beomgyu’s lashes. “Did you ever think we’d end up like this?”

Beomgyu tilts his head. “Like... us?”

Kai nods.

Beomgyu considers. “I hoped. Even before I admitted it to myself.”

Kai’s eyes soften, thumb gently rubbing over Beomgyu’s knuckle. “I used to look at you in class and wonder if you even knew I existed.”

Notes:

this chapter's kind of a short one, sorry about that, hope you enjoy it regardless!! <3

🐧 

 

"Hyung! Don't do that!"

Kai’s voice comes out a little shriller than he means it to, and he instantly regrets it when Beomgyu doubles over laughing, hands on his knees, practically wheezing from how ridiculous Kai must look right now: frozen mid-step on the transparent glass of the Chuncheon Skywalk, arms out like he’s balancing on a tightrope instead of standing on a structurally sound, government-approved tourist attraction.

The Chuncheon Skywalk stretches out like a glimmering ribbon over the lake, its transparent glass panels gleaming beneath winter sunlight. Suspended above the calm, slate-grey waters of Uiamho Lake, the walkway offers a panoramic view of the city’s quiet charm; snow-dusted rooftops in the distance, tree-covered hills curling softly along the shoreline, and the distant outline of Soyang River Dam to the east. Below, the lake reflects the muted sky, broken only by the occasional ripple or drifting leaf. The crisp mountain air carries the scent of pine and faint echoes of laughter from tourists nervously stepping onto the glass, while steel railings line the edges, cold to the touch but reassuring against the vast drop beneath. 

“I barely moved!” Beomgyu grins, completely unbothered, taking another casual step forward and bouncing slightly on his heels just to watch Kai flinch. “It’s not going to crack, you baby.”

Kai glares at him, but the effect is ruined by the way he’s clinging to the railing for dear life. “I don’t care. It feels wrong. This isn’t natural. Humans were not meant to walk on glass over open water, okay?”

“You’re being so dramatic,” Beomgyu says, not unkindly, eyes dancing with amusement. “There are literal kids running around here like it’s a playground.”

Kai spares a glance ahead and sure enough, a pair of toddlers go stomping past him at full speed, giggling and completely fearless. He lets out a low groan and presses himself closer to the railing, refusing to look down. The lake below stretches out in a peaceful, postcard-perfect blur of blue and ice, but to Kai, it may as well be a bottomless pit.

“This was your idea,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “You said this would be romantic. You said the view would be beautiful. You didn’t say anything about see-through death bridges.”

Beomgyu leans back against the railing beside him, utterly relaxed. His nose is pink from the cold, cheeks flushed under the winter sun. “It is romantic. Look at us, sharing a traumatic experience. You’ll thank me for this when we’re old and grey and you want to tell our grandchildren how brave you were.”

“Brave?! I’m going to have a heart attack and you’re going to have to tell them how you murdered me with a date idea!”

Beomgyu laughs again, eyes crinkling, and Kai hates how even now, even as he’s dying inside, the sight still makes his heart flip a little. Beomgyu reaches out and tugs gently on the sleeve of Kai’s coat.

“Come on,” he says, tone softening. “Just a little more. We’re nearly at the middle. I’ll hold your hand the whole way, I promise.”

Kai exhales shakily. “If you let go, I will cry. In public. Loudly.”

Beomgyu grins. “Noted.” Then, as if sealing a pact, he threads their fingers together and gives Kai’s hand a squeeze.

Kai shuffles forward, each footstep more of a shuffle-slide than an actual step, his grip on Beomgyu’s hand tightening every time the glass so much as creaks beneath them which, it turns out, is often. He can’t believe people voluntarily do this.

“This is my dad’s fault,” he mutters accusingly, eyes fixed firmly on the horizon so he doesn’t accidentally look down and scream. “We should’ve never taken that stupid ferris wheel.”

Beomgyu’s laugh is immediate. “You loved the ferris wheel!”

“I did not! It was terrifying.”

“You kissed me.”

Kai huffs. “ Involuntarily. Height-induced hysteria.”

Beomgyu snorts, clearly not buying it. “Mm, sure. So all those dreamy little sighs were just panic responses?”

Kai flushes. “Focus. That’s not the point.”

“Oh? Then what is the point?”

Kai throws him a sharp look, but it lacks any real bite. “The point is that ever since then, you’ve been exploiting my fear of heights to get me to cling to you.”

Beomgyu gasps, mock-offended. “That is a very serious accusation.”

“It’s true and you know it,” Kai grumbles, eyes narrowing as Beomgyu once again bounces lightly on his heels, just to make the glass shift. “You want me to be scared so I’ll grab onto you like a terrified little koala.”

Beomgyu beams. “It’s cute.”

“It’s manipulative!”

“Still cute, though.”

Kai groans, flopping dramatically against Beomgyu’s side, his forehead thunking against his shoulder. “You’re the worst.”

Beomgyu just hums, smug and satisfied, slipping an arm around Kai’s waist and pulling him close as they walk. “Says the person death-gripping my hand like your life depends on it.”

“Because it does!”

They keep going, inching along the skywalk with the pace of two very different people; one confident and leisurely, the other one – Kai, obviously – suffering visibly with every step, but there’s warmth in the way Beomgyu doesn’t let go. In the way he stays pressed close, steady and grounded, every teasing word laced with fondness. It’s annoying and unfair and infuriating, but Kai kind of wants to kiss him again.

Beomgyu shifts slightly beside him, and Kai can feel the mischief brewing before he even says a word. It’s in the way Beomgyu inhales like he’s about to deliver a line that’ll haunt Kai for days, in the way his grip tightens just enough to keep Kai close; like he’s both warning and anchoring him.

Then Beomgyu bounces – just once, just enough for the bridge to groan audibly beneath them.

Kai lets out an inhuman squeak and immediately clutches Beomgyu’s coat like a lifeline. “Don’t you dare!”

“What?” Beomgyu blinks innocently, biting back a grin. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You jumped! I heard the glass! It made a sound! Sound means danger!”

Beomgyu snickers, clearly thrilled by Kai’s reaction. “The sound means it’s strong, you dramatic beanpole. It’s designed to take weight. They test this stuff with trucks, you know.”

“I’m not a truck, Beomgyu hyung! I’m a boy with very fragile emotions!”

Beomgyu bounces again – twice this time, a cheeky little hop in place that sends a soft thud through the glass floor. Kai clutches him with both arms now, effectively wrapping himself around Beomgyu’s side like a panicked scarf.

“I swear to god, hyung, if you jump again, I’m biting you.”

Beomgyu bursts out laughing, full-bodied and delighted. “I’m giving you memories!”

Kai groans into Beomgyu’s shoulder, refusing to lift his face. “I don’t want memories. I want ground.”

“You have me,” Beomgyu says with a grin. “That’s basically the same thing.”

“It’s not,” Kai hisses. “You’re the human equivalent of a gust of wind. I need stability, not a clown with a death wish.”

Beomgyu pauses then, goes still for a second and Kai feels it, the shift, that flicker of something softer just beneath the teasing. His voice, when he speaks next, is quieter. “You know I’d never actually let anything happen to you, right?”

Kai hesitates, lifting his head just enough to meet his eyes. There’s still mischief there, still the gleam of chaos waiting to happen, but beneath it, something gentler and sincere.

“I know,” Kai mutters. Then, in the same breath, “Still, if you jump again I’m breaking up with you in advance, and we’re not even together yet.”

Beomgyu laughs again, this time wrapping an arm securely around Kai’s waist and pulling him close. “Deal. But if you survive, you owe me a hot chocolate.”

Kai sighs. “If I survive, I’m writing you out of my will.”

Beomgyu grins, pressing a kiss to Kai’s temple, barely brushing through his hair. “You’re not that rich.”

“I’m rich in resentment,” Kai says, but he doesn’t pull away.

They keep walking, slowly, the glass floor creaking with every step, but Beomgyu’s arm stays around him, and somehow, that makes all the difference. As they finally make it to the other end of the skywalk, Kai stumbles to a stop, his legs feeling like they might give way at any second. His knees are weak, and his hands shake slightly as he grips the railing for support, the dizziness of the height still swirling in his head. He feels like he’s just emerged from a nightmare; his heart racing, his chest tight. Without thinking, he drops to his knees on the ground, his body slumping as if the weight of it all just drained out of him in one go.

A few passing tourists snicker, glancing at Kai with bemused smiles, but he’s too dazed to care. His thoughts are still reeling from the terrifying heights and the way Beomgyu had been teasing him the entire time. He lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, his voice slightly breathless. “I hate you. I’m never kissing you again.”

Beomgyu, still standing with the same teasing grin on his face, looks down at him, feigning confusion. “Wait, what? That’s not a fair punishment!”

Kai raises a hand dramatically, shielding his eyes from the sunlight as if he’s searching for something. “I’m scarred for life, and you want to negotiate kisses? Really?”

Beomgyu crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “I’m sorry, did I hear that correctly? You’re holding the fear of heights against me now? You know, I’m the one who practically saved you up there.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Shouldn’t I get a reward for being so... brave?”

“Oh, please,” Kai mutters, still lying on the ground, his voice muffled by the cool pavement. “I almost had a panic attack and you were laughing the whole time. Reward? You’re lucky I’m still speaking to you.”

Beomgyu laughs and crouches down, trying to pull Kai up. “Well, I’m definitely not letting you stay here on the ground forever. Get up, drama king. We’ve got a whole city to explore.”

Kai groans, letting himself be hauled to his feet with a theatrical sigh. “You’re lucky I’m too weak to fight back right now. I swear, I’m never trusting any of your trip plans again.”

Beomgyu grins, brushing imaginary dust off Kai’s coat like he’s polishing a prize. “That’s fair. But hear me out, our next stop is actually really romantic and cute.”

Kai eyes him warily, crossing his arms even though his body still feels a bit like jelly. “You said that about the skywalk. You said it’d be ‘breathtaking’ and ‘majestic.’ And I guess technically it was… if you count me nearly having a coronary as majestic.”

“I mean it this time,” Beomgyu insists, eyes sparkling with mischief and something gentler beneath. “No glass floors. No death-defying heights. Just you, me, and vibes.”

Kai snorts. “Vibes.”

“Romantic vibes,” Beomgyu amends, stepping closer, his voice softer now. “I promise. Cross my heart.”

Kai wants to stay grumpy, really, he does. He wants to keep up the sass, the eye rolls, the playful resistance, but then Beomgyu leans in and presses a light kiss to his lips; short, sweet, with that maddening tenderness that makes Kai feel like his heart is swaddled in wool.

He melts, predictably and helplessly.

“Ugh,” Kai mutters against Beomgyu’s mouth, barely pulling back. “You’re cheating.”

Beomgyu grins, nosing at his cheek. “I prefer the term strategic affection.”

Kai groans again, but this time it’s laced with laughter. “Fine. Lead the way, you menace. But if you’ve tricked me again, I’m pushing you into a fountain.”

“Noted,” Beomgyu says, linking their hands and starting toward the next stop. “But you won’t. Because by the time we get there, you’ll be too busy falling for me all over again.”

The taxi ride up to Gubongsan Mountain is smooth and quiet, the driver humming softly along to the trot music playing from the radio as the city slowly slips away behind them. Kai sits by the window, nursing the last of his water bottle, eyes half-lidded as he watches the scenery change. Buildings give way to hills, to winding roads that carve gently through pine trees and patches of bare, wintery branches. The higher they go, the more the world seems to stretch open, sky bright and clean above them.

It’s only a little past 11 AM, but already the sun is high, casting everything in crisp, pale gold. The air outside the taxi looks sharp with cold, but inside it’s warm enough for Kai to feel drowsy, until Beomgyu nudges him with a smug little smile and says, “Still regretting trusting me?”

Kai gives him a long look. “The verdict’s still out.”

Beomgyu just grins. “Well, prepare to be amazed, Hyuka.”

When they finally arrive, the taxi pulls into a small gravel car park beside the observatory cafe. From the outside, it looks like something lifted out of a romantic K-drama; wood-panelled, strung with fairy lights even in broad daylight, and perched right on the edge of the slope, overlooking all of Chuncheon. The view stretches wide and open, the lake gleaming in the distance, the city fanning out below like a scatter of toy buildings. A few other couples are already milling around, some with cameras, others just holding hands and soaking in the stillness.

Kai steps out of the car and breathes in. The air is cold but clean, and it tastes like pine.

Beomgyu loops an arm around his waist. “Okay, but look at that,” he says, pointing toward the horizon. “You cannot tell me this isn’t worth it.”

Kai doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at the mountains cupping the city, at the wide blue sky above, at the sunlight kissing the rooftops below. Then, finally, he hums, “Alright. I’ll give you this one.”

They head inside the cafe to order drinks – Kai gets something hot and chocolatey with an embarrassing amount of whipped cream, Beomgyu gets a latte – and then take them out to the terrace. The view hits harder from here; the city shimmering in the sun, a soft breeze brushing past their cheeks, and the sound of distant traffic carried gently on the wind. They lean on the wooden railing, steaming drinks in hand, close enough that their shoulders touch.

Beomgyu glances sideways. “Not bad for an apology date, huh?”

Kai lets out a soft laugh. “If you keep pulling stuff like this, I might actually forgive you.”

Beomgyu looks ridiculously pleased with himself. “Then I’ll keep trying.” He looks so proud of himself it’s almost embarrassing. He takes a triumphant sip of his latte and then immediately wrinkles his nose. “Ugh. Too bitter.”

Kai snorts into his whipped cream. “Serves you right for acting smug.”

Beomgyu grumbles, setting the cup down, then reaches across the table and swipes his thumb through the whipped cream on Kai’s drink. Before Kai can react, he smears it gently on the tip of Kai’s nose.

“Yah!” Kai sputters, blinking in outrage. “You’re lucky I didn’t inhale that! Do you want me to die?”

Beomgyu is already laughing, dimples deep, eyes crinkled. “You’d die deliciously.”

Kai wipes his nose with the back of his hand and scowls, but the corners of his mouth betray him, twitching into a grin. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” Beomgyu says, sing-song.

Kai doesn’t reply, he just leans forward and pokes Beomgyu’s cheek with one gloved finger, gently squishing it. “You’re like a human maltese.”

Beomgyu bares his teeth in a playful growl and bites at the air between them, which makes Kai laugh so hard his head tips back, wind ruffling his fringe. The laughter tapers into a quiet moment, and Beomgyu watches him, fond and a little awed. He reaches out and brushes a hand through Kai’s hair, fingers careful, lingering at his temple.

“You’re really pretty, like, in a way that makes it hard for me to breathe,” he says quietly, like a confession.

Kai immediately shrinks into his scarf. “Don’t say stuff like that,” he mutters, cheeks blooming pink even in the cold.

“Why not? It’s true.”

Kai peeks at him through his lashes, eyes wide and a little bashful. “It’s embarrassing.”

Beomgyu chuckles, soft and warm. “Good. You’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

Kai groans and drops his forehead to the table dramatically, muffling a, “Why did I let myself fall for you.”

Beomgyu gently pats the back of his head. “Because I’m irresistible?”

Kai lifts his face just enough to glare. “Because you’re annoying.”

Beomgyu leans over, rests his chin in his palm, and smiles at him, all sunshine and mischief. “You’re holding hands with someone annoying.”

“Shut up,” Kai mumbles, but he doesn't let go.

Their hands stay tangled across the table, Beomgyu absentmindedly tracing circles against the back of Kai’s glove. The view sprawls out behind them like a painting; soft clouds drifting above the distant mountains, sunlight glinting on rooftops, the gentle hush of winter blanketing everything in calm.

After a while, Kai exhales slowly. “It’s weird. Everything feels kind of... still, right now. Like I could stay in this moment forever.”

Beomgyu hums. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

They sit like that, touching in some small way always; fingers laced, shoulders bumping, Beomgyu brushing stray strands of hair off Kai’s forehead now and then just because he can. It still doesn’t feel entirely real. Kai sits there, fingers entwined with Beomgyu’s, the faint warmth of their joined hands grounding him, but barely. The sky above Chuncheon is crisp and pale, a winter blue that stretches endlessly over the mountains, and down below, rooftops glint under the weak midday sun. It’s beautiful, quiet, and somehow too big for a moment like this, because moments like this aren’t supposed to happen to people like him, and especially not with people like Beomgyu. Student council president, frontman of the university band, the kind of person who walks into a room and turns it electric just by existing. He’s always seemed out of reach, orbiting in some shinier part of campus life where people like Kai didn’t belong, and yet... here they are.

Kai sneaks a glance at him. Beomgyu's focused on the view for now, lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks, his free hand cradling a paper cup that’s long gone cold. The fact that this boy – this too-charming, too-golden boy – is sitting across from him, holding his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, kissing him like it's inevitable... Kai doesn't know how it happened. Somewhere between classes, everything flipped. Or maybe it was always there, this thread between them, just waiting to be tugged. Either way, it’s hard not to marvel at the sheer surrealness of it all. It feels like a dream snuck into reality and made itself comfortable.

Kai watches the way the light catches on Beomgyu’s lashes. “Did you ever think we’d end up like this?”

Beomgyu tilts his head. “Like... us?”

Kai nods.

Beomgyu considers. “I hoped. Even before I admitted it to myself.”

Kai’s eyes soften, thumb gently rubbing over Beomgyu’s knuckle. “I used to look at you in class and wonder if you even knew I existed.”

Beomgyu lets out a soft laugh. “I noticed. You used to play with your pen when you were nervous.”

Kai blinks. “You noticed that?”

“Of course, I did. I told you I’ve been admiring your work for a while, didn’t I?” Beomgyu says easily, but there’s something tender in the way he says it, something that makes Kai’s heart squeeze.

They fall quiet again, but it’s a good quiet; comfortable, golden, made of warmth and shared breath.

Then Beomgyu leans closer, their foreheads nearly touching. “You said you might forgive me if I keep doing things like this. Does that mean I get to plan another date?”

Kai pretends to think, scrunching his nose. “Depends. No heights, no near-death experiences, and no scaring me for fun.”

“No promises,” Beomgyu whispers, and presses a kiss to Kai’s cheek so quick and sweet that Kai has to bite back a smile before it takes over his whole face.

He turns, brushes their noses together, and whispers, “Fine. But only because you’re cute.”

Beomgyu beams, their hands still locked tight across the table, and just for a second, the world really does feel like it could stop here, and they wouldn’t mind one bit.

Just then, Beomgyu’s lips twitch into a grin, his gaze flicking down just as Kai’s stomach lets out a loud, undeniable growl. Kai groans, slumping in his seat and burying his face in one hand. “No, no, pretend you didn’t hear that.”

“Oh, I definitely did,” Beomgyu says, grinning wider. “It sounded like a cry for help. Are you secretly starving to death? Is this why you’re being so soft with me? You’re too weak to fight back?”

Kai lifts his head just enough to glare at him, cheeks tinged pink. “I’m soft with you because I like you, not because I’m dying. Though I am kind of dying. I haven’t eaten since that overpriced park food.”

Beomgyu laughs and leans closer, nudging his nose against Kai’s temple. “Alright, alright. Mr. Starvation, do you have any secret local gems to share? You’re from here, aren’t you? I trust your taste.”

Kai perks up slightly, fingers tightening just a bit around Beomgyu’s. “Actually... yeah. Chuncheon’s famous for its dakgalbi, and there’s this street – literally called Dakgalbi Street – full of restaurants. But there’s one place me and my dad used to go to all the time. It’s nothing fancy, just kind of homey, but the food is insane. Spicy, cheesy, with tteok and sweet potatoes and cabbage… ugh. Just thinking about it is making me drool.”

Beomgyu’s eyebrows raise, visibly impressed. “Spicy, cheesy, and sentimental? Sounds like a winning combo. Lead the way, local guide. I want the full Hyuka-certified experience.”

Kai beams, a little bit proud, a little bit bashful. “Okay. But you’re paying to compensate for all the trauma you caused me this morning.”

Beomgyu gasps, mock offended. “What happened to ‘I like you’?”

“I like you,” Kai says sweetly, standing up and pulling him along by the hand, “but I like free food even more.”

Beomgyu just laughs, letting himself be dragged. “That’s fair. Honestly, that’s fair.”

They take their time leaving the observatory, fingers still laced, as if letting go would break the delicate spell around them. The sun hangs bright in the early afternoon sky, casting a soft gold over Chuncheon’s streets as the taxi winds its way downhill. Inside the cab, Beomgyu’s hand finds Kai’s knee without even thinking, giving it a small squeeze every now and then. Kai doesn’t say anything, just leans slightly against Beomgyu’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded, his whole body loose with contentment. A soft ballad plays on the radio as they pass rows of quaint shops and sleepy intersections. It’s peaceful in a way that makes Kai’s chest ache, the kind of stillness that makes you want to hold someone’s hand and never let go.

They get off a few streets away, choosing to walk the rest of the way on foot. The road to Dakgalbi Street is lined with little stores selling roasted chestnuts, souvenirs, and steaming fish cakes skewered on sticks. The scent of spice is already in the air, a whisper of what’s to come. Beomgyu keeps brushing Kai’s arm with his own as they walk, his pinky occasionally curling around Kai’s just because he can. Kai lets him. The cold air bites a little, but their shared warmth makes it bearable. 

At one point, Kai pauses to retie his scarf, and Beomgyu gently swats his hands away to do it for him; careful, clumsy fingers looping the wool around Kai’s neck with a look of faux concentration. “There,” he says, smug. “Perfect.” Kai just smiles, cheeks dusted with pink for a whole new reason.

As they near the main street, the sound of sizzling pans and chatter grows louder. Dakgalbi Street is bustling; smoke rising from outdoor grills, windows fogged up from the heat of lunch crowds, and menus displayed proudly on every storefront. The sight unlocks something deep in Kai’s memory, of being here with his dad on weekend afternoons, elbow-deep in food and laughter. His chest warms at the familiarity, but this time it’s different. This time, Beomgyu is here. Beomgyu, with his curious eyes and easy laughter, who fits beside him like he was always meant to be in these memories.

“This is it,” Kai says, stopping in front of a modest, older restaurant nestled between flashier spots. The sign above is slightly faded, but the smell leaking from the door is unmistakable; rich, spicy, mouthwatering. 

Beomgyu peers through the window and nods, impressed. “It smells insane. Are you sure I won’t cry from the spice?” 

Kai nudges him playfully. “Maybe a little. But I’ll hold your hand through it.” 

Beomgyu’s grin falters for half a second – just long enough for Kai to see the quiet affection under it – before it returns full force. “Deal. But if I start crying, I’m wiping my tears on your hoodie.”

Inside, the restaurant is warm and filled with the comforting clatter of pots and conversation. They’re seated in a booth by the window, Beomgyu insisting on sitting beside Kai rather than across from him. It’s a small detail, but it makes something flutter in Kai’s stomach. They order the signature dakgalbi with cheese, tteok, and extra sweet potatoes. While they wait, Beomgyu absently toys with the edge of Kai’s sleeve, their thighs pressed together under the table. There’s no rush. They speak in soft voices, heads close together; sharing old stories, laughing quietly at nothing, their eyes always drifting back to each other. Kai reaches up once to brush something from Beomgyu’s fringe, and Beomgyu catches his wrist midair and kisses the inside of it.

The food arrives in a sizzling pan, steam rising in spirals as the waitress stirs the mix with practiced ease. Kai’s eyes light up, the way they always do around good food, and he practically bounces in his seat. “You have no idea how happy this makes me,” he says, biting into a gooey piece of cheese-coated chicken. 

Beomgyu just watches him for a moment, chin in hand, like he’s looking at a rare painting. “I think I do,” he says softly, before picking up his chopsticks. 

In that quiet, spice-scented restaurant in the middle of a familiar street, Kai realises that somehow – without even meaning to – he’s made a brand new memory in the same place he’s always loved. One that feels just as warm, just as comforting, and maybe even better. Because this time, he gets to share it.

The restaurant hums with gentle warmth, a low buzz of conversation and the sizzle of dakgalbi pans filling the air, but without Kai’s dad’s loud voice cracking jokes or telling long-winded stories, there’s something noticeably calmer about the atmosphere. Not in a bad way, just different and quieter. More intimate, even. Kai catches onto it first, glancing at the empty seat across from them and huffing a soft laugh. “Weird, right? It’s like… peaceful now.”

Beomgyu raises a brow, grinning. “Are you saying your dad is chaotic energy personified?”

“Absolutely,” Kai deadpans, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “He’s like, one match away from being a firework at all times. This place feels way too normal without him saying something like, ‘Did you two brush your teeth before kissing up there?’” He slips into an imitation of his dad’s voice on the last part, which sends Beomgyu into a fit of laughter.

Kai laughs too, fond and exasperated. “He’s probably passed out right now, snoring like a tractor. He’s not used to walking around theme parks all day, old man can’t keep up.” He says it with a smile, but there’s so much affection packed into those words, it tugs at something soft.

Beomgyu leans back slightly, rubbing at his belly. “We should bring him some. For surviving the day with us.”

Kai lights up. “Yes! He’d love that. There’s no way he’d say no to dakgalbi, especially from this place.” He flags down the server, already ordering a takeaway portion with all the extras he knows his dad loves. As they wait for it to be packed up, Kai leans into Beomgyu’s side, letting his head rest briefly on his shoulder. Beomgyu’s hand finds his without hesitation.

Beomgyu turns his head just enough to brush his lips against Kai’s hair, lingering there for a beat. The gesture is wordless, casual even, but it sends a flush through Kai’s cheeks. He smiles into Beomgyu’s hoodie, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment. The sounds of the busy street fade into a soft hum – clattering dishes, snippets of conversation, sizzling meat on cast iron – and all Kai can focus on is the steady rhythm of Beomgyu’s breathing and the quiet warmth of being held like this, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Beomgyu gently shifts, not to pull away but to rest his cheek against the top of Kai’s head. “We’re getting kind of disgusting, huh?” he murmurs, voice low with amusement.

Kai snorts. “Disgusting? We’re adorable. People are probably taking notes.”

“Right, like, ‘step one: find someone who’ll split their banchan with you. Step two: hold hands in public without shame. Step three: be unreasonably hot while doing it.’”

Kai laughs, full-bodied and bright, and Beomgyu turns his head slightly to catch the sound more closely, as if he wants to memorise it. The server appears a few seconds later, handing over the neatly packed takeaway with a smile and a polite bow. Kai straightens up, cheeks still a little pink, and thanks her before handing over the cash.

They step outside again, fingers still laced, the winter air nipping at their cheeks as Kai carefully tucks the warm parcel under his arm. “He’s gonna be so smug about this,” Kai says. “Like, he’ll act like he’s too tired to care, but then eat the whole thing in like five minutes.”

Beomgyu grins mischievously, his eyes sparkling. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t do another ‘inspection’ to make sure we didn’t sneak in any make-out sessions like last night after the ferris wheel.”

Kai groans, a mixture of exasperation and fondness in his voice. “Why would you even bring that up? Now he’s definitely going to.”

When they reach home, Kai steps inside and calls out for his dad, expecting a response. “Dad? You home?” His voice echoes in the quiet apartment, but there’s no answer. He blinks, pausing in the doorway, a frown creasing his brow. It’s way past the time his dad would usually be awake, there’s no way he’s still sleeping at this hour.

He calls out again, louder this time. “Dad?” Silence.

His heart skips a beat. It’s odd. His dad is usually up and about, the sound of his morning routine filling the air, maybe some random show playing on the TV, the faint clink of dishes as he starts breakfast, or the creak of the door as he heads out for work. But now… nothing.

Kai glances at Beomgyu, who’s just as confused. “Weird, huh?” Beomgyu murmurs, scanning the room. “Maybe he stepped out?”

Kai nods, but the confusion lingers. It’s a little strange for his dad to be out without saying anything, especially when he’s usually home by now, but it’s not something to panic over yet. “Maybe he went for a walk or something,” he says, trying to convince himself as much as Beomgyu.

He steps into his dad’s room, pushing the door open. The room is neat as always, with everything in its usual place. The bed’s made, his dad’s things are exactly where they should be. No sign of him. Kai frowns for a moment, calling out quietly, “Dad?” but there’s no answer. He steps back out into the living room, still trying to shake off the sense of mild confusion that’s building.

Kai stands there for a moment, turning over the possibilities in his mind. It doesn’t make sense. The fridge is fully stocked, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary in the apartment. There’s no reason his dad would be out for groceries or running errands. His thoughts start to spiral a little, and the confusion turns into a nagging feeling at the back of his mind.

Beomgyu’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Maybe he just had some more errands to run or more surprises to plan,” he suggests, giving Kai a reassuring smile.

Kai huffs out a small laugh, trying to push aside the unease. “Yeah, you're probably right.” But still, something feels off. He starts pacing, wracking his brain for any other reason his dad might be out. Could he have gone to see a friend? Or maybe to a cafe for a quick break? But then, the nagging thought pops into his head.

His dad wouldn't be working… would he?

It’s a fleeting thought, but it hits him hard, like a jolt to the chest. He shakes his head, not even realising he’s moved until he’s standing in front of his dad’s room again. He pushes the door open, his heart speeding up just a little as he steps inside. His dad’s room looks the same, everything in place. But this time, his eyes flick straight to the closet. Without overthinking it, Kai walks over to the closet and pulls the door open. His heart skips a beat when he sees it: his dad’s work uniform is missing. There’s no trace of it in the closet.

Kai’s stomach twists as the realisation hits him with force. He did notice. He had noticed his dad’s extra effort, especially the way his dad had been so careful about their day at Everland, making sure everything was perfect. They’d talked about it yesterday, Kai asking how he could afford it all, and his dad had brushed it off, saying he'd been saving up for a while and had even gotten a raise at work. "Don’t worry about it," his dad had said, flashing that reassuring smile, "I’ve got it covered."

But now, standing in his dad’s empty room with the absence of his work uniform hanging like a silent question in the air, Kai can’t shake the feeling that he’d been lying. If his dad had really gotten a raise and was saving up, then there would have been no need for him to pick up extra shifts. There’s a knot in Kai’s chest, something tight and uncomfortable that makes it hard to breathe. His dad had always tried to protect him from the harsh realities, shielding him from any burden he could, but Kai feels it now. He’s been lying to him, not intentionally, but in the way parents do when they want to shield their children from the weight of the world.

Kai takes a deep breath, his chest heavy with this new understanding. He steps back into the living room, a sense of guilt settling in his gut. He had noticed his dad’s exhaustion, his tension, but he hadn’t connected the dots. He hadn’t realised that all those little sacrifices were building up, adding up to something much bigger than he’d seen on the surface. His feet carry him out of his dad’s room, and he pulls his phone from his pocket, barely registering the actions as his fingers dial the number to his dad’s workplace. The phone rings once, twice, before someone picks up.

“Hi, yes, this is Kai. I’m just calling to see if my dad’s working today?” Kai’s voice feels distant, like someone else is speaking for him.

“Oh, David?” The voice on the other end is cheery, and there's a brief sound of rustling. “Yeah, he’s here. Is everything alright?”

Kai hesitates for a moment, his throat tightening, and the words feel like they get stuck. "Oh, okay... no, everything’s fine. Just... don’t tell him I called, okay?"

There’s a slight pause, but the person on the other end simply laughs, a little confused but unassuming. “Sure, no problem.”

“Thanks,” Kai mumbles, his voice barely a whisper now, before hanging up.

He stares at the screen of his phone, the world around him feeling oddly distant. Numb. His fingers tremble as he sets it down on the table, the silence in the room pressing in on him. A wave of guilt crashes over him, and he feels like the walls are closing in. His hand shakes slightly as he places his phone down on the table, the thought of his dad working more, pushing himself even harder, gnawing at him. He should’ve known. He should’ve asked again. Why didn’t I? The guilt is suffocating, his mind swirling with thoughts of all the things his dad has done to give him everything, even when it means giving up things for himself. He leans back against the table, closing his eyes for a moment, the quiet of the apartment pressing in around him. Everything feels like it’s shifted in an instant, and he’s left standing there, the weight of his dad’s sacrifices heavier than ever before.

Beomgyu’s voice cuts through the tension in the air. "Kai? Everything okay?"

Kai’s throat tightens, and he forces a smile, though it feels weak. He doesn't want to burden Beomgyu with this, especially not now when they’re supposed to be enjoying their day. But the weight of it all is making it hard to breathe. He swallows hard and lets out a sigh, trying to sound casual, but it comes out rough around the edges.

“Yeah, he just took another shift,” Kai says, the words flat, almost automatic. His eyes drift to the window, avoiding Beomgyu’s gaze. It's not a big deal, he tells himself. It's not like this is anything new.

But even as he says it, the guilt tightens in his chest, twisting in a way that makes him feel like he can’t catch his breath. His dad has been working so hard, so relentlessly, and Kai didn’t even notice. He had been too wrapped up in his own little world, in his own worries, to see just how much his dad was carrying alone. He can feel Beomgyu’s gaze on him, and it only makes it worse. Kai knows he’s being distant, closed off, but it feels impossible to let the wall come down right now. Beomgyu deserves better than this, better than the weight Kai is carrying in silence. He should be the one offering comfort, not pulling away.

"Sorry," Kai mumbles, barely audible. "I don't mean to be... like this. I just–" He trails off, unsure of how to explain it. He doesn't want to say the words, but the truth is heavy on his tongue. He can’t stand the thought of his dad doing all of this for him, and it makes him feel so small in comparison.

Beomgyu’s voice softens, gentle, like he’s trying to reach through the fog that’s clouding Kai’s mind. "Hey, you don’t have to apologise. I’m here if you need to talk about it, okay?"

Kai nods, though the lump in his throat is still there, thick and unyielding. He can’t bring himself to say it, not yet. Not with Beomgyu standing there, so open and willing to help, when all Kai feels right now is this gnawing sense of helplessness. It’s like he’s drowning in the weight of his own emotions, and Beomgyu is just standing there, trying to help, trying to make him feel better, but Kai doesn’t know how to let it out, not when he feels like everything is his fault.

Beomgyu doesn’t push. He just stays there, close, offering Kai the space to breathe, to figure it out at his own pace, and maybe, for now, that’s enough.

Beomgyu’s voice breaks the silence again, warm and a little hopeful. “Hey, tell you what, there’s still so many places I want to go and explore, and I think you’d be the perfect tour guide. We don’t have to talk about it now, okay? But If you’re up for it, we can distract ourselves for the time being and have fun. I promise it’ll be super fun.”

Kai glances at Beomgyu, feeling a tug of gratitude for his patience. Beomgyu’s always been like this; thoughtful, caring, trying to cheer him up even when Kai can’t figure out how to let go of the weight on his chest. He can tell Beomgyu’s trying to lift his mood, even if it’s not fully working yet. It’s sweet, really, and Kai knows it comes from a place of wanting to help.

“I appreciate it, hyung,” Kai says quietly, voice laced with affection. He knows that’s all he can offer right now; the appreciation, the little smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The guilt still presses on his chest, suffocating, but he doesn’t want to ruin Beomgyu’s attempt at making things better.

“I’ll go,” Kai finally says, his words carrying more weight than he intends. He watches as Beomgyu’s face lights up with that familiar grin, but for a moment, Kai can only see the softness behind it. The way Beomgyu cares.

"Great!" Beomgyu’s excitement is contagious, his tone light and teasing. "I’ve got a whole list of places we could go. You’re not getting out of this adventure."

Kai manages a chuckle, the sound feeling strange after everything that’s happened, but he’s grateful for it. Grateful for Beomgyu’s unwavering optimism, his ability to make him smile even when things feel a little broken. “Lead the way,” Kai says, his voice steadier now, even if the heavy feeling is still lurking in the back of his mind.

Beomgyu offers him a hand with a wink. “I promise you won’t regret it,” he says, his voice filled with that playful confidence that always seems to put Kai at ease, even if just for a moment.

Kai takes his hand, and for the first time today, he feels a flicker of warmth that isn’t just the guilt. He lets Beomgyu guide him, trusting that, for today at least, he doesn’t have to carry the weight of everything alone. Maybe he doesn’t have all the answers yet, and maybe he still feels that tightness in his chest, but as they step out the door together, Kai allows himself to breathe, just a little easier.

 

🐧

 

The taxi winds its way up the gentle hills of Chuncheon, past quiet roads flanked with pine trees and patches of untouched snow, until it pulls up to the entrance of Jade Garden. As soon as Kai steps out, the crisp winter air greets him again, but it’s softer here – quieter. The garden looks like something out of a storybook, its European-style walkways framed by manicured hedges and towering firs dusted in white. The landscape feels almost enchanted, like it’s waiting for something magical to happen. Kai looks around, then back at Beomgyu, who’s already tugging his hand with that same easy smile.

“Come on,” Beomgyu says, grinning. “You need fresh air and aesthetic backdrops. This place has both.”

And strangely enough, Kai does feel something shift inside him. Maybe it’s the way the snow crunches beneath their feet, or the way Beomgyu never lets go of his hand, even as he bounces ahead like an excited tour guide. The guilt is still there, of course – tight and unmoving – but it’s no longer suffocating. There’s space now, between the ache and the moment, and it’s enough for Kai to breathe.

They wander through themed gardens; an English rose garden blanketed in frost, a maze of hedges glistening under the sun, and a tiny glass conservatory warm with potted citrus trees. Beomgyu insists on taking photos at every corner, claiming he wants “as many memories as possible,” but Kai knows he just likes an excuse to pull him close and pose like they’re a couple in a travel magazine. Not that Kai’s complaining. Not when Beomgyu keeps doing that thing where he brushes snow off his shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Not when Beomgyu keeps glancing at him like he’s the best part of the view.

They find a quiet bench beneath an arched trellis, the vines curled and dormant for winter. Beomgyu pulls Kai down beside him, thigh to thigh, and tucks their joined hands into his coat pocket for warmth. “Feeling better?” he asks softly, his voice gentler now.

Kai nods before he can stop himself. “Yeah,” he says, looking out over the snowy garden. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Beomgyu leans his head on Kai’s shoulder, letting out a pleased hum. “It’s because I’m irresistible,” he says, and Kai can hear the smile in his voice.

Kai snorts. “More like relentlessly annoying.” But his head tilts just slightly toward Beomgyu’s, letting them rest together, quiet and close. It feels right. Simple. For the first time since he realised his dad was working again, he doesn’t feel like the guilt is going to crush him. Maybe it’s the serenity of the gardens, or the steadiness of Beomgyu’s presence, but something about this moment feels like a balm. They sit there for a while, not saying much, just letting the calm settle over them like snowfall, and in the stillness, Kai finds something he hadn’t realised he’d been searching for all day. Not a fix, nor a solution. Just this: peace, shared warmth, and a hand that never lets go.

Beomgyu breaks the quiet with a soft sigh, shifting slightly to look up at Kai. “You know, I almost didn’t bring you here,” he says, voice hushed, like he’s confessing a secret. “I thought it might be too far, or too quiet, or too... I don’t know. Not enough distraction.” His thumb rubs gently over the back of Kai’s hand, a steady motion that keeps time with his own slow breaths. “I thought maybe you’d need something louder to drown it all out. But... this felt right. Something told me it would be.”

Kai turns to him, eyes soft, a little surprised by the sincerity in Beomgyu’s voice. “Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning in slightly.

Beomgyu nods, the smallest movement, his smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah,” he says again, quieter this time. “You just... looked like you needed space to breathe. Not noise. Not people. Just... this.” He gestures at the garden with his free hand; the quiet charm of the snow-dusted trees, the trimmed hedges now bare and delicate in their winter bones, the cobbled paths that wind endlessly through the landscape like a soft lullaby. “And maybe someone to keep you warm while you figure out whatever’s in your head.”

Kai blinks slowly, taking in the view again with fresh eyes. The way the sun filters through skeletal branches, the faint hush of snow crunching beneath distant footsteps, the natural stillness that holds the garden like a secret. His chest tightens; not in the same suffocating way as earlier, but in a gentler, breathier way, like warmth pooling after a thaw. “You’re a lot wiser than you let on,” he says, eyes flicking back to Beomgyu, nudging his knee against his in soft appreciation.

Beomgyu brightens at the praise, practically glowing. “I contain multitudes,” he replies with faux grandeur, but there’s a slight waver in his voice, like he’s bashful about being seen so clearly.

Kai scoffs, lips quirking. “And unbearable smugness,” he tacks on, but it’s not sharp. It’s sweet. He leans forward and presses a kiss to Beomgyu’s cheek, quick and light, but full of meaning. He feels the way Beomgyu freezes for half a second, how his breath hitches like the kiss was a surprise he didn’t think he’d earned yet. When Kai pulls back, Beomgyu’s looking at him like he’s something both sacred and silly, both impossible and real.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Beomgyu mutters, voice high with mock offence but ears burning red.

Kai laughs, his heart fluttering at the sight, at how easy it suddenly feels to laugh again. He ducks his head until their foreheads touch, eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the closeness, the shared breath. “I know,” he whispers, the words shaky with affection. “I really am.”

They sit like that a while longer, letting the cold wrap around them while their closeness keeps it all at bay. Legs pressed together, hands linked like lifelines, Kai’s thumb brushing over Beomgyu’s knuckles in absent strokes. There’s still a quiet ache in his chest – about his dad, about everything he hasn’t yet said – but it’s softened now, cradled by the presence next to him. For the first time that day, he doesn’t feel like he’s letting someone down.

They eventually peel themselves away from the bench, hands still linked as they begin wandering deeper into the garden. The snow muffles their footsteps, making everything feel dreamlike. Each path they turn down opens into a new little pocket of stillness; arched trellises wrapped in hibernating vines, a tiny bridge crossing a frozen stream, rows of bare trees standing like soldiers lined up under the pale sky. Kai keeps glancing at Beomgyu like he’s half-convinced he might disappear, like the sheer tenderness of this all can’t be real. Beomgyu, in turn, catches every glance and just squeezes Kai’s hand tighter, like a promise that says, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

Beomgyu tugs him toward a greenhouse nestled near the edge of the garden; a warm, glass haven that looks like it was plucked out of a storybook. Inside, condensation clings to the windows and lush greenery spills over planters and hanging pots. Kai inhales the sweet, earthy scent of life thriving in the middle of winter. He tilts his head back to take it in and doesn’t notice Beomgyu watching him until he turns and sees that look again. The one like Kai hung the moon. Beomgyu just shrugs and murmurs, “You look prettier than the flowers,” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Kai can’t help it, he grins, then steps forward to loop his arms lazily around Beomgyu’s neck. “You’re flirting with me in a greenhouse,” he murmurs.

“I’m flirting with you everywhere,” Beomgyu replies with a smirk, pulling him closer. “But the greenhouse adds ambience.”

They end up lingering there for a while, heads bent close, talking in whispers about which plants they’d adopt if they lived somewhere with a little balcony. Beomgyu insists he’d keep a cactus alive out of pure spite. Kai points out that Beomgyu would forget to water it for months, then cry when it died. Beomgyu protests that he’d name it something stupid like ‘Cactus Jack’ and that alone would give it the will to survive. Kai’s laughter rings out loud in the quiet space, startling a bird perched up in the rafters. It flutters off, and they watch it together, Beomgyu’s hand slowly rubbing up and down Kai’s spine.

Outside again, they follow the path toward the European-style buildings tucked into a far corner of the garden. Beomgyu insists they stop and take photos in front of every single one, and Kai – though he groans and complains – does so with a soft smile that betrays how much he actually loves it. Beomgyu sets his phone on a ledge and uses the timer to take a photo of them in front of an ivy-covered cottage, pulling Kai in at the last second for a dramatic dip. Kai shrieks and grabs at his coat, laughing breathlessly as Beomgyu struggles to keep them both upright.

“You’re going to break us both,” Kai wheezes, clutching Beomgyu’s arms.

“Worth it for the photo,” Beomgyu declares, clearly proud of himself. “We’re iconic.”

As the sun starts to dip lower, casting golden light over the snow, they find themselves wandering back to the centre of the garden. There’s a small gazebo nestled among the trees, and they slip inside, brushing snow off the bench before sitting. Kai rests his head on Beomgyu’s shoulder, while Beomgyu taps his boot lightly against Kai’s. There’s not much to say; they’ve already said it all in gestures, in glances, in the way they lean into each other without hesitation. The garden hums around them with the quiet magic of winter, still and breathless and waiting for spring, just like them.

The bus ride from Jade Garden back toward the city is quiet at first, lulling Kai into a drowsy calm. The heater hums gently from the floor vents, warming their legs, and outside, the snowy landscape rolls past like something from a postcard; bare trees, icy rooftops, people bundled in scarves and padded coats, hurrying along narrow streets. Kai leans his head against the fogged window, watching the scenery shift, but his hand remains firmly wrapped in Beomgyu’s, resting between them on the seat. Beomgyu traces idle patterns over the back of his knuckles with his thumb.

“You good?” Beomgyu murmurs.

Kai turns slightly, lips curling up. “Yeah. Better.”

Beomgyu smiles at that, then perks up suddenly. “Okay, now that you’re officially in a better mood, I’ve got one more stop in mind.”

Kai narrows his eyes. “Please don’t say the word ‘skywalk’ again.”

Beomgyu laughs. “No, no. I learned my lesson. This one’s gentler on your soul.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Romantic Market.”

Kai blinks at him. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” Beomgyu says with great conviction. “It’s practically calling our names.”

Kai snorts. “You do realise it’s just called that. It’s not actually romantic. I used to go there all the time with my dad as a kid. It’s just a regular, chaotic street market with ahjummas yelling and fish cakes flying.”

Beomgyu clutches his chest like Kai’s insulted a sacred place. “Excuse me. It’s Romantic Market. With a capital R. That means, by law, we’re supposed to flirt and hold hands while buying overpriced hotteok.”

Kai stifles a laugh behind his scarf. “You’re insane.”

“Insanely attracted to you,” Beomgyu says smoothly, then looks extremely proud of himself.

Kai groans and turns to face the window again, though his smile gives him away. “You’re the cheesiest person I’ve ever met.”

“I know,” Beomgyu sighs contentedly. “So you’re in?”

Kai shakes his head in fond exasperation but gets to his feet anyway, brushing snow off his coat. “Sure. Let’s go have the most romantic dinner of our lives surrounded by fish guts and spicy rice cakes.”

Beomgyu beams, immediately latching onto his arm. “That’s the spirit. And if anyone flirts with you, I’ll throw a squid at them.”

Kai scoffs as they walk down the winding, quiet path leading out of the garden, snow crunching gently underfoot. The air is colder now, dusk settling in soft and golden between the trees. “No one’s gonna flirt with me,” he mutters, half to himself, but loud enough for Beomgyu to catch.

Beomgyu halts mid-step, scandalized. He spins to face Kai, eyes wide like he’s just witnessed a personal tragedy. “You seriously don’t think people flirt with you?”

Kai lifts a brow at him, expression dry. “No? Not really.”

Beomgyu stares, aghast, then throws a hand over his heart like he’s been struck. “You truly have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” His voice is almost reverent, like he’s in pain. “The world does not deserve your humility.”

“Shut up,” Kai says quickly, cheeks burning as he swats at Beomgyu’s puffer jacket-clad arm. “You’re so annoying.”

“Again, says the person–” Beomgyu swings their hands between them with gleeful theatricality, “–who keeps holding my hand.”

Kai fights a smile and loses. “That’s just because it’s cold.”

“No, no,” Beomgyu says, wagging a finger. “You’re addicted to my touch. Admit it.”

Kai ignores him with practiced ease, but Beomgyu doesn’t miss the way the corner of his mouth twitches.

They stroll into the city again, the quiet woods behind them fading into the soft noise of Chuncheon’s evening buzz. They’re nearing the top of the street where signs for the market crowd together in bright lights and bold lettering, when Beomgyu suddenly gasps and turns with a grin already stretching across his face. “Alright, prepare yourself. I’m activating flirt mode.”

Kai groans immediately. “Please don’t.”

But Beomgyu presses on. “Are you a tteokbokki cart?” he starts, with the worst wink Kai’s ever seen, “Because I’d stand in line for hours just for a taste.”

Kai visibly winces, laughing despite himself as he hides his face in his scarf. “Oh my god, ew. That was actually terrible.”

Beomgyu clutches his chest again. “You wound me.”

“No, you wound me. I feel secondhand embarrassment radiating through my bones.”

“Fine, fine, one more. Let me redeem myself.” He wiggles his brows. “Are you a piping hot bungeoppang?”

Kai looks at him like he already regrets everything.

“Because you make my heart all warm,” Beomgyu finishes dramatically, “And my hands all sticky.”

Kai chokes on a laugh, nearly stumbling into Beomgyu’s side. “You’re disgusting,” He laughs and shakes his head, his eyes filled with disbelief. “Seriously? This is how you flirt with your hookups before? With lines like that?”

Beomgyu freezes for a moment, his smile faltering as the question catches him off guard. He straightens up, his usual playful energy shifting just slightly, like he’s weighing how to respond. His gaze softens, and for a second, Kai swears he sees something else in Beomgyu's eyes, a hint of vulnerability that wasn’t there before.

“No,” Beomgyu finally says, his voice quieter now, a little more serious. “I don’t flirt like this with just anyone.” He meets Kai's gaze, and the playful tone is replaced by something more earnest, something Kai isn’t used to seeing from him. “I like you, Kai. I’m serious about you. I’ve never... I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. Not like this.” His voice falters for just a moment, but his words are sure, unwavering.

Kai blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift in Beomgyu’s demeanor. He expected more teasing, more of the usual, lighthearted banter they’ve shared all day, but this is different. This feels real, and for some reason, it catches him off guard more than he’s willing to admit.

“So, what, I’m not just some random person to practice your cheesy pickup lines on?” Kai asks, trying to keep his tone light, but the soft vulnerability that slips through his voice betrays him.

Beomgyu smiles again, but this time it’s gentler, more sincere. He reaches over, placing a hand on Kai's shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of his jacket. “No, you’re not just anyone. You’re Kai. And I like you. A lot. In a way that’s way beyond cheesy lines and flirty jokes. If that’s what you need to hear, then I’ll say it.” He pauses, letting the silence stretch between them, his fingers tightening around Kai’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “I don’t want anyone else, Kai. Just you.”

Kai’s heart skips a beat at the honesty in Beomgyu’s words. The casualness of their earlier interactions feels miles away now, and he realises how much Beomgyu's presence has come to mean to him. He’s not sure what exactly to say in response. He’s not used to being on the receiving end of such vulnerability, especially not from someone like Beomgyu.

“You’re seriously... really serious about this?” Kai asks, almost in disbelief. He’s aware of how ridiculous it sounds, considering everything that’s happened between them, but he can’t help it. It’s hard to imagine that someone like Beomgyu – who’s so effortlessly charming, so used to people flocking to him – would feel that way about him.

Beomgyu laughs softly, his usual teasing smile returning, but there's still that warmth in his eyes, the one that never seems to fade when he looks at Kai. “Yeah. You’re stuck with me now, whether you like it or not.” He winks, pulling Kai into a one-armed hug, and the casualness of it all somehow makes the moment feel even more meaningful.

Kai, still a little taken aback, smiles, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. He’s not sure what this all means yet, but somehow, in this small moment between them, it feels right.

They duck into a narrow alleyway of Chuncheon Romantic Market, the golden light of the food stalls casting a warm glow against the snow-lined street. The air is thick with the scent of grilled meat, broth, and spices, but Kai walks with purpose, tugging Beomgyu’s hand until they reach a modest-looking cart tucked beside a stationery shop, its handwritten sign barely legible under years of grease and steam stains.

“This is it,” Kai announces, a little proud. “They do maguksu the old-school way. Buckwheat noodles, iced broth, homemade kimchi. It’s the real deal.”

“Are you sure we should be eating cold noodles in the middle of winter?” Beomgyu asks, amused at how excited Kai is getting.

“Yes! It’s the best time to have it,” Kai nods enthusiastically, already sitting down on a stool and calling out his order to the lady manning the stall.

Beomgyu peers at the bubbling pots and plastic stools, then looks back at Kai with an impressed grin. “God, I love how weirdly specific your food brain is.”

“I like what I like,” Kai says with a shrug, having helped order for both of them. They squeeze onto a bench at the side of the stall, knees knocking together, the metal bowls placed in front of them moments later.

The maguksu is everything Kai promised, tangy and cold with just the right hit of spice. They slurp in unison, Beomgyu giving a satisfied moan that makes the elderly lady running the stall laugh and call him dramatic. They’re in their own world – laughing, sharing kimchi, Beomgyu wiping a splash of broth off Kai’s chin with the sleeve of his jacket – until a soft voice interrupts them.

“Um... excuse me?”

They both turn, and a girl around their age stands beside the cart, clasping her hands in front of her, cheeks pink; probably from the cold, but also maybe not. Her eyes are on Kai, bright and bashful.

“Sorry,” she says, laughing a little. “I know this is weird, but I just saw you from across the way and... you’re really attractive. Like, really. I didn’t wanna leave without at least asking, could I maybe get your number?”

Kai blinks, frozen mid-noodle. “Uh–”

“He’s taken,” Beomgyu says immediately, flashing a smile that’s just this side of too polite. “Like, very taken. By me. His boyfriend. Hi.”

The girl’s eyes widen, surprised but not entirely deterred. “Oh! I didn’t realise– sorry! I just thought, you know, it doesn’t hurt to ask–”

“It hurts a lot,” Beomgyu says sweetly, scooting even closer to Kai and draping an arm around his shoulders with theatrical flair. “It’s incredibly painful. Devastating, even.”

Kai’s eyes dart between them, clearly overwhelmed, his mouth still half-full of noodles.

The girl raises a brow, matching Beomgyu’s energy now. “I mean, if he’s really your boyfriend, he can speak for himself, right?”

Beomgyu doesn’t miss a beat. “He could, but I’m great at customer service. Plus, his mouth is currently occupied with my maguksu.”

Kai chokes.

The girl looks at him with an amused smile, waiting for him to say something, but Kai just lifts both hands in surrender, still coughing slightly.

Eventually, she lets out a laugh, waving them off. “Alright, alright. Message received. You two are cute, I’ll give you that.”

“Thank you,” Beomgyu says with a victorious nod. “We know.”

She disappears back into the crowd, and only then does Beomgyu drop the act, turning to Kai with a dramatic pout. “See? I told you people flirt with you!”

Kai rolls his eyes, face still red. “That’s not flirting. She just wanted to be friends.”

Beomgyu stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “Oh my god, you’re clueless.”

Kai just shrugs and shovels more noodles into his mouth, grinning now. “Guess you’ll have to keep defending my honour, then.”

Beomgyu groans, dropping his forehead to Kai’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Beomgyu is still recovering from his dramatic performance, slurping the last of his maguksu when Kai leans in a little closer, nudging him with an elbow. His voice is laced with amusement, low and playful.

“By the way,” Kai says, tilting his head. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Beomgyu freezes, chopsticks mid-air. He turns slowly, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. “I– I mean, in context, it just made sense to say that. You know. For the bit.”

Kai raises a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Oh, for the bit. Right.”

“Totally,” Beomgyu says, nodding far too enthusiastically. “It was a protective thing. Territorial, even. Classic defense mechanism. Happens all the time.”

Kai laughs under his breath, resting his chin in his palm as he watches him squirm. “Funny, though. I don’t remember you making it official.”

Beomgyu falters again, his bravado flickering for a moment. He sets down his chopsticks and glances sideways at Kai, cheeks slowly blooming pink. “...Do you want me to?”

Kai shrugs, deliberately casual, eyes dancing. “I don’t know. Do you want to?”

Beomgyu bites the inside of his cheek, then meets his gaze properly. “Yeah. I do.” He clears his throat, suddenly shy. “So... Kai. Will you be my boyfriend?”

There’s a beat of silence, long enough for Beomgyu to start visibly panicking. Then Kai pulls a face, all mock reluctance. “Mmm... no.”

Beomgyu’s jaw drops. “What–”

Kai laughs, reaching out to gently tug Beomgyu’s scarf toward him and kiss him sweetly on the lips. It’s soft, warm, lingering just long enough to leave them both a little breathless. When he pulls away, his smile is impossibly fond.

“Of course I’ll be your boyfriend.”

Beomgyu just stares at him, flushed and stunned. “You’re actually evil.”

Kai smirks, his tone teasing as he watches Beomgyu. "Refreshing seeing me as other than an angel, right?"

Beomgyu freezes for a second, his cheeks flushing pink. He stutters, clearly caught off guard. "No..."

Kai raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. "No? You don't think so?"

Beomgyu tries to play it cool, but the slight redness in his cheeks betrays him. He shrugs nonchalantly, avoiding Kai's eyes. "I mean... I don't know. I like you either way. Angel or not."

Kai chuckles softly, amused by Beomgyu's flustered reaction. He reaches over and gently nudges Beomgyu's shoulder. "You're cute when you're all flustered."

Beomgyu glances up, his eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. "I’m not flustered."

"Right," Kai says with a smirk, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. "Sure you’re not."

The last bites of their meal are shared in a companionable silence, the air around them warm from the hearty maguksu and the comfort of each other’s presence. Kai leans back against the table, feeling the pleasant weight of a good meal settle in his stomach. It’s been a nice escape from the anxiety that had gripped him earlier, but as he glances over at Beomgyu, a fleeting shadow of guilt passes over his expression. Despite the lightness in the air, his thoughts drift back to his dad.

Beomgyu is still looking at him, smiling lazily, his eyes soft with contentment. “I should bring you out more often,” he says with a grin, his fingers tracing the rim of his drink absentmindedly. “This was nice.”

Kai smiles back, his fingers idly twirling his chopsticks. “Yeah, it was. Thank you for today, really. I needed this.” He pauses for a moment, before adding, “I don’t even know how to put it into words, but I feel better.”

Beomgyu’s gaze softens, and he gives a small nod, his hand sliding across the table to briefly rest on Kai’s. “You don’t have to say it. I get it,” he murmurs, a quiet sincerity in his voice. “I just want you to feel like yourself again.”

Kai’s heart tugs at the simplicity of it all. The way Beomgyu always seems to know what he needs, even when he doesn’t fully understand it himself. He looks down at their hands, a small, tender smile forming. For a moment, it feels like everything else has faded away. Just him and Beomgyu, in their own little bubble.

As they finish the last of their food, Beomgyu stands and stretches, rubbing his stomach. “Well, I’m stuffed,” he says, winking at Kai. “Should we head back?”

Kai nods, rising to his feet as well, though a faint weariness settles in his bones. The walk back to the bus station is easy, the cool evening air wrapping around them like a blanket. The bus pulls into the curb with a tired hiss, the doors opening mechanically as they step inside, settling into the seats nearest to the door. They’re quiet for a while, the steady rhythm of their steps blending into the background as they head toward the apartment. Kai leans against the window, looking out at the bustling streets, his mind wandering. It feels like he’s been walking through a fog all day, trying to push aside the worry gnawing at him.

When they finally arrive at the apartment, the moment Kai steps inside, he calls out for his dad again. “Dad? You home?” His voice echoes through the quiet space, but there’s no response. He frowns slightly, calling out again, but again, there’s only silence. His dad should’ve been home by now. It’s already 8 PM, and he hadn’t mentioned anything about working late.

Kai’s heart sinks, the unsettling heaviness creeping back into his chest when he realises his dad must’ve taken two extra shifts, not just one. His dad had said things were fine, that they’d manage, but it’s one thing to hear him say it, and another to see this; his dad still not home after such a long day. Kai bites his lip, trying to brush it off. Maybe something just came up. Maybe his dad’s grabbing a drink with coworkers or had to stay late, but the sinking feeling in his chest won’t let him ignore it.

“Maybe he’s just running errands or something,” Beomgyu says, glancing at Kai with a small frown. “You know how he is. Always on the move.” But even as he says it, he’s looking around the apartment, his expression thoughtful. Kai nods absently, but the thought lingers. If his dad had really taken two extra shifts, that means even more strain on an already overloaded schedule. Kai feels the guilt wash over him again, the weight of it pressing down on his chest. This time, it’s harder to ignore.

Beomgyu must sense it too; how Kai’s gone quiet again, his shoulders drawn up a little, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sweater. So he reaches out, brushing their knuckles together lightly until Kai glances over. 

“Why don’t you go wash up?” Kai suggests softly, forcing a small smile. “I’ll wait for my dad a bit. Just in case he comes home soon.” 

Beomgyu hesitates, clearly wanting to protest, but eventually gives a slow nod. “Okay. But don’t wait too long, alright?” His hand squeezes Kai’s gently before he retreats toward the bathroom, still watching Kai with concern over his shoulder.

The moment the door clicks shut behind Beomgyu, Kai exhales and sinks deeper into the couch. The apartment feels too still, too quiet, like it’s waiting too. He runs a hand through his hair, forcing himself to push the worry down long enough to get up and grab a glass of water. He paces a little, makes sure the takeaway portion they saved for his dad is still warm enough, then checks the clock again. 8:22 PM. He chews on his bottom lip as he moves to the bathroom after Beomgyu’s done with it, showering quickly, letting the hot water try to shake the weight of the day off his shoulders.

After he dries off and throws on a hoodie and sweatpants, he pads back out into the living room, towel still hanging around his neck. The TV hums softly in the background, a drama rerun playing to fill the silence, but Kai doesn’t really register any of it. He curls up on the couch again, blanket around his shoulders, eyes on the front door. He tells himself he’ll just wait a little while longer, that his dad could walk in any minute now, keys jangling, voice filling the room like always. But as the minutes pass, the stillness settles deeper into the walls.

Somewhere between one commercial break and the next, Kai’s eyes begin to flutter closed. His head slumps against the couch cushion, legs tucked in close. The exhaustion he’s been holding at bay all day finally drapes itself over him like a second blanket. Even though his thoughts are still swirling – half-worried, half-exhausted – his body gives in. The warmth of the room, the soft murmur of the TV, the scent of the leftover dakgalbi in the air… it all lulls him to sleep.

Beomgyu quietly returns to the living room after noticing Kai still hasn’t come to bed, his hair now dry and his skin softly glowing from freshly applied skincare. He stops when he sees Kai curled up on the couch, fast asleep, his expression pinched even in rest. Beomgyu’s heart softens. Gently, he kneels by the couch and places a hand on Kai’s shoulder, giving it a small shake. “Hey,” he whispers, voice low. “Kai. Wake up for a second.”

Kai blinks blearily, confused and still half-lost in sleep. “What time is it…?”

“It’s almost ten,” Beomgyu says gently. “Come on. Let’s go to bed, okay? Your dad will be home soon. You can talk to him in the morning.” When Kai doesn’t move, Beomgyu strokes his arm in slow, soothing motions. “You’ve been waiting long enough.”

It takes a few moments, but finally, Kai nods, eyes heavy. He lets Beomgyu help him up, leaning into his warmth as they shuffle toward the bedroom. In the haze of his drowsiness, the heavy ache of guilt – of never doing enough, never giving enough – feels distant, like a shadow left behind. He lets Beomgyu tuck him into bed, the warmth of his arms a quiet refuge. Wrapped in that gentleness, Kai allows himself to drift, untouchable for now by the chill of winter or the creeping weight of guilt, safe in the soft hush of Beomgyu’s embrace.

Notes:

this was a bit of a filler chapter, hope it wasn't too boring >w< but anw!! next chapter's going to be the last of the winter break!! then we're back to school and back to the fashion x music department collab project hehe it's going to be super fun!!

as always, please let me know your thoughts in the comment section <3 thank you so much for reading!!

feel free to reach out to me on twitter at @koostiddy hehe see you guys there~

Chapter 10

Summary:

Kai doesn’t need to understand the words to know what’s going on. He knows the difference between a pleasant family check-in and a call that feels like a demand. The sharpness in Beomgyu’s face, the sudden tension in his voice… it’s all too familiar.

Beomgyu’s free hand curls into a fist on his lap, his fingers twitching slightly as though holding something back. His jaw tightens, and Kai can see the way his whole posture shifts; bristling, defensive, suddenly on edge.

“I told you I’m not in Seoul,” Beomgyu says into the phone, clipped. “No, I’m not coming back tonight. I’m–” He cuts off mid-sentence, something said on the other end freezing him in place.

His brow furrows. “Wait… how did you–?”

He doesn’t finish the question, but the way his expression falters, how his grip on the phone tightens, is enough. There’s a beat of heavy silence, and then his face drops completely. Whatever flicker of rebellion had sparked in him dies out with a sigh that sounds like it’s being dragged out of his lungs.

“Fine,” he says, voice lower, dulled. “I’ll be there.”

Notes:

not too sure how i feel about this chapter tbh... sorry it took longer than the other updates, i've tried rewriting this chapter multiple times but still didn't end up satisfied with how it turned out. hope you guys enjoy it regardless tho :^) happy reading! <3

🧸

 

Beomgyu wakes to a chill.

At first, it’s a vague discomfort, the kind that gently pulls him out of sleep rather than jolting him awake. The cold seems to seep in from all directions, slipping past the duvet and tracing icy fingers along his skin, most noticeably where the covers have slipped away from his ankles. He shivers slightly, brow furrowing, and instinctively reaches across the mattress, seeking out the familiar warmth that has, in recent nights, become his favourite comfort. But his hand brushes only cool sheets, the imprint beside him faint and empty.

His eyes flutter open slowly, lashes brushing against the pillow as the room sharpens into focus. The early morning has only just begun to seep in through the curtains, casting a pale blue hue over the furniture, still and quiet in their usual places. For a fleeting moment, he wonders if this is a dream, if maybe Kai has just gone to the bathroom or slipped into the kitchen for water, but the silence feels wrong. Not just quiet, but hollow, like something has been pulled out of the space and taken with it the weight of calm that usually rests so easily around them.

Beomgyu sits up, dragging the blanket tighter around his shoulders for a moment as he squints toward the door. The chill is sharper now, biting at his bare feet when he swings his legs off the side of the bed. The thought of Kai out there somewhere alone unsettles him more than he wants to admit. Still, he moves with practiced quiet, tugging on the oversized hoodie slung over the back of the chair, sleeves swallowing his hands as he makes his way across the room. There’s a pinch of worry in his chest, but he tries to ignore it. Kai’s probably fine. Maybe he couldn’t sleep and decided to wait for his dad. He worries too much.

Just as Beomgyu reaches the door, something stops him in his tracks. A sound; low, muted, but sharp around the edges. Voices. Two of them.

He freezes, heart climbing up his throat as he strains to listen. It’s not loud, not the kind of shouting that would send someone scrambling to break it up, but there’s something in the cadence that unsettles him more than any yelling could. Kai’s voice is the first he recognises; quiet but clipped, like he’s trying to stay calm, trying not to let something spill over. The other voice, deeper and heavier, carries a roughness to it that Beomgyu hasn’t heard before but instinctively knows. It’s Kai’s dad.

Without thinking, Beomgyu moves closer, his bare feet making no sound against the floor as he edges toward the bedroom door. He leans against the wall just beside it, careful not to disturb the stillness of the apartment. The cold is still present, crawling up his spine where his hoodie hangs loose around his neck, but he barely feels it now. All his attention is trained on the muffled conversation bleeding through the door.

There’s tension in every syllable, every pause between words. Beomgyu can’t make out every sentence, but he hears enough. Enough to know that this isn’t some normal morning catch-up between father and son. This is hurt. This is frustration. This is the kind of conversation people avoid having for as long as they can, until it bursts out under pressure. 

Beomgyu’s heart beats a little faster as he presses his back tighter to the wall, feeling helpless and intrusive all at once. He shouldn’t be listening, but he can’t bring himself to walk away. Not when it’s Kai. Not when something in his gut tells him that whatever is happening just beyond the door might be breaking Kai in ways he won’t let anyone see.

“You said you got a raise,” Kai says, sharp and abrupt.

His dad hesitates. “Kai–”

“You said you saved up.” His voice trembles now, teetering at the edge of something fragile. “That we could go to Everland because things were better.”

“We are better,” his dad replies, trying to keep his tone even. “That day–”

“You’re working two extra shifts during winter break, Dad.” Kai’s voice rises, all the hurt spilling out now. “When were you going to tell me? After you collapse again? After I find you passed out by the front door like last winter?”

Beomgyu can hear the cracks forming as Kai’s voice rises, not in anger but in fear, pleading masked as scolding. His stomach twists. He hadn’t known, hadn’t even suspected there was history behind Kai’s tense shoulders and his anxious glances at clocks when talking about his dad’s shifts. Now, in the quiet of this room, he pieces things together with terrible clarity. There are no raised voices, no slamming doors. Just two people trying to meet in the middle of years of sacrifice and silence. Beomgyu feels like an intruder, but he can’t bring himself to look away, not even metaphorically.

There’s silence. Then his dad murmurs, softer now, “That won’t happen again.”

“It will if you keep lying to me.”

Another pause. Beomgyu can feel his own breath catching, fingers tightening on the edge of the door.

“I wanted to give you something normal,” his dad says eventually. “A good day. Something to remember that didn’t feel like we were just scraping by. You’ve been working so hard, too. You deserved it.”

“I didn’t ask for that,” Kai snaps, his voice cracking. “I’d rather stay home and eat ramyeon with you than spend one day laughing and the next wondering if you’re killing yourself just to pay for it.”

His dad exhales sharply. “Why can’t you just let me do something good for you for once?” he says, voice raising now; not with anger, but pain. “I wanted you to have one nice thing. Just one day where you didn’t have to think about how hard everything is. And now you’re standing there, looking at me like I’m some kind of charity case.”

“I never said that–”

“You didn’t have to, Kamal.” His voice is bitter now. Raw. “Do you know what it feels like? Watching other dads pick up their kids in decent cars, take them on holidays, buy them new shoes without blinking? And I can’t even give you a day at the damn amusement park without you looking at me like I’m doing something wrong.”

“I wasn’t– Dad, I wasn’t pitying you,” Kai says, quieter now. “I’m scared. You work yourself to the bone. You skip meals, sleep four hours a night, and still you pretend it’s fine. It’s not.”

Kai’s words come sharp at first, wounded and afraid, but then softer, softer than Beomgyu’s ever heard them. He’s begging in a way, not for forgiveness, but for honesty. For his dad to stop pretending things are fine when they’re clearly not.

“I don’t need you to be scared for me,” his dad says after a moment, voice tightly controlled. “I need you to let me try. Let me feel like I’m not failing you.”

Beomgyu doesn’t realise his fingers have curled into fists until he feels his nails biting into his palms.

Kai steps forward – he can’t see it, but he can feel the shift in his voice. “You’re not failing me. But you don’t have to break yourself to prove it.”

A beat of silence. Then, a breath, thin and shaking.

“I know,” his dad says finally. “I know you don’t ask for anything. You never do. And that’s what makes it worse. Because I know you notice. I see the way you never ask for new shoes despite how worn they've gotten. How you check the price tags when you think I’m not looking. You shouldn't have to carry that, Kai. You’re just a kid.”

When Kai’s father breaks, really breaks – Beomgyu hears it in the sudden crack of his voice, the way he says “You never ask for anything” – it hits something in Beomgyu too, because he knows that about Kai. How he never asks. How he downplays every need. How he pretends to be fine even when he’s quietly falling apart.

Kai doesn’t say anything for a moment, and neither does Beomgyu. The apartment feels suspended in that silence, like the world’s holding its breath.

“I just wanted to do one thing right,” his dad continues. “Just one thing. I thought… if we had one good day – just one – maybe you'd remember that instead of all the times I came home too late, or forgot your field trip, or couldn’t afford what you needed. I thought maybe I could feel like one of those dads who actually gets to give their kid something, instead of always saying ‘not this time’.”

His voice cracks. A sound escapes him that isn't quite a sob, but close.

“But even that– God, even that I screwed up.”

“No, you didn’t,” Kai says, hoarse and urgent. “Dad, you didn’t. You–”

“You’re right to be mad,” his father cuts in. “I should’ve told you. I just didn’t want to ruin it. Didn’t want to admit that things still aren’t better. That no matter how hard I work, it’s still not enough.”

A pause, then– “I just wanted to be a good dad.”

There’s a pause so long Beomgyu almost walks out of the room, the silence ringing in his ears louder than any voice had. He can picture it: Kai stepping into his father’s arms, the way he does when words fail, and then the silence turns heavier. The kind that follows a goodbye you didn’t expect. The kind that lingers when someone pulls away, even if they’re not walking out the door. Beomgyu feels his throat close. And then– 

“You are,” Kai says thickly. “You’re the best dad I could ever have.”

Another silence, but not the comforting kind. This one aches.

His dad’s reply is quiet. “I appreciate you saying that. But… it doesn’t feel true right now.”

“Dad–”

“I need a minute, Kai.” His voice is too calm now, too steady. Like he’s balancing on a blade. “Okay? Just… give me a minute.”

Beomgyu hears footsteps. Soft ones. The click of a door closing. Then nothing.

Just the sound of his own heart in his ears, and the quiet, unbearable stillness that follows. Beomgyu presses his hand to his chest, trying to steady his breath. He feels like he’s just witnessed something too intimate, too raw… something sacred in its sadness. He doesn’t know what to do with the ache sitting in his ribs. Doesn’t know how he’ll look Kai in the eye later, knowing what he knows now, but he does know one thing for sure, as he sinks back into the bed and pulls the duvet over his knees: Kai’s been carrying far more than he’s ever let on, and Beomgyu has never wanted to hold him tighter than he does in this moment, even if all he can do right now is wait.

Then the bedroom door creaks open again.

He lies there, motionless beneath the duvet, eyes shut tight as if that might make his heart slow down. His breathing is measured, feigned, the rhythm of someone deep in sleep, but everything inside him is buzzing. He can hear Kai’s footsteps, soft and dragging. The quiet rustle of the door shutting behind him. The floorboards creak as he crosses the room, slower than usual, like he’s moving through water. Beomgyu listens to each sound like it’s a line in a poem, something delicate and aching.

Then the mattress dips beside him.

Kai slips in carefully, almost gingerly, like he’s afraid of waking Beomgyu. He doesn't try to reach for him, doesn’t curl into his side the way he usually does. Instead, he stays on his edge of the bed, lying stiff beneath the covers, barely shifting the air between them. The silence stretches again; long, hollow, painful.

Beomgyu thinks maybe he imagined it. Maybe Kai’s fine. Maybe he’s just tired.

But then he hears it. So quiet he almost misses it.

A stifled breath. The faintest shake. And then another.

Kai is crying.

Not loudly or messily, but quietly, like someone who’s had too much practice. The kind of crying that’s done in secret, in silence, because making noise would mean asking for comfort, and Kai doesn’t do that. It’s the sound of someone trying not to fall apart because they think no one’s watching, because they think they have to hold it all in. Beomgyu lies frozen, every instinct in him screaming to turn around, to reach out, to pull Kai into his arms and tell him he’s not alone. That he heard everything. That he understands now, more than ever, how much Kai has been carrying on his own.

But something stops him.

Not because he doesn’t want to – god, he does – but because he doesn’t know if Kai would want him to. He doesn’t know if Kai is ready to be seen like this, raw and unravelled, and if Beomgyu moves, if he breaks the illusion of sleep, he’ll have to admit that he heard it all. That he listened and he knows.

So he stays still.

Letting the moment settle around them like dust, but Beomgyu lasts all of five minutes.

Five long, aching minutes of pretending he doesn’t hear Kai breathing like he’s trying not to break, Lying still in the dark, each second stretching painfully, while Kai keeps his back turned to him and cries so quietly it almost doesn’t count – almost – but Beomgyu hears it anyway; the soft, choked hitches in his breath, the way the mattress shifts with the tremble in his shoulders, and it guts him because Kai shouldn’t have to do this alone. Not when he’s right here.

So Beomgyu moves, slowly and carefully, shifting onto his side and inching closer under the blankets. His arm slips around Kai’s waist with the gentleness of a whisper, careful not to startle him. Kai goes still immediately, shoulders tensing like he’s been caught, like he doesn’t know if he should pull away or lean in. For a moment, Beomgyu’s heart pounds with the fear that he’s made a mistake, but then, something in Kai caves.

The tension unravels all at once. His body jerks slightly, a hiccuping breath rattling out of him, and then the dam just breaks. A sob escapes his throat, raw and hoarse, and before Beomgyu can say anything, Kai is turning around, shoving his face into Beomgyu’s chest and clinging to him like it’s the only way to stay afloat. His hands fist the fabric of Beomgyu’s hoodie, his whole body curling in like he’s finally letting himself collapse.

Beomgyu wraps his arms around him tighter, holding him close, holding him still. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, voice trembling despite himself. “It’s okay, Kai. I’ve got you.”

And Kai sobs.

Not like before – not the stifled, hidden kind. These are full-body sobs, unrestrained and shattering, years of being strong bleeding out in seconds. He doesn’t try to apologise or pull away. He just cries, messy and loud and real, letting Beomgyu hold him through it like he’s been needing to for longer than he wants to admit.

“I’m so tired,” Kai whispers between gasps, his voice cracking. “I’m so, so tired.”

“I know,” Beomgyu breathes, his own eyes stinging. “I know. You don’t have to do this alone anymore, okay? Not with me here.”

Kai nods against his chest, his grip tightening, his breath catching again. Beomgyu just keeps holding him, not caring how early it is or how heavy the air feels, because for the first time, Kai’s letting someone carry the weight with him, and Beomgyu will carry it for as long as he needs.

Kai eventually cries himself to sleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest becoming the only indication that the storm inside him has calmed, if only for a moment. His tears have slowed, leaving only the faintest trace of dampness on his cheeks, but the weight of everything still lingers in the air. His breathing evens out, soft and deep, and for the first time in a long while, he feels like he can finally rest without the burden of keeping everything inside. The emotional dam that had cracked open only moments ago now lays dormant, and Beomgyu feels a soft sense of relief wash over him.

Outside, the world is slowly awakening, the early morning light creeping through the slits of the blinds. The grey-blue sky that had been dark just moments ago begins to give way to the first hints of pale yellow, streaks of light chasing away the night. It’s the quiet of dawn, the world still wrapped in the hushed serenity that only early mornings can bring. The room remains dim, only a few rays of light touching the edges of the curtains, and yet there’s an undeniable warmth in the air; both from the soft glow of the sun and from the quiet, shared closeness between Beomgyu and Kai.

Beomgyu stays where he is, his arms still wrapped around Kai as he sleeps. He doesn't want to disturb him, not after everything that happened. Kai deserves this peace, even if it’s only for a while. He’s been carrying so much, and Beomgyu knows he’s not going to push him. There’s time for everything else later, when Kai’s ready. For now, it’s enough just to be here, to let him sleep and find some semblance of comfort in the warmth of someone else’s presence. Beomgyu watches Kai for a while, noticing the subtle way his face has softened in sleep, the lines of tension that had been etched into his features now gone, replaced with a quiet calm.

As the minutes pass, the weight of the morning and the events catch up with Beomgyu. The exhaustion that had been hiding just beneath the surface finally takes hold of him, the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of the morning lulling him into a gentle rest. His eyelids flutter closed, and he lets himself drift off, sinking into the warmth and comfort of the moment. Kai’s steady breathing is the only sound that fills the space between them, and it feels like the world has finally exhaled, giving them both a brief respite from everything.

The morning light continues to filter in, the world outside gradually coming to life, but inside the apartment, it’s just the two of them, curled together in the stillness. Beomgyu’s body relaxes, tension he didn’t even know he was holding unwinding as he lets himself fall asleep too. He knows there’s a lot ahead – things that need to be said, feelings that still need to be addressed – but for now, the simple act of sharing this quiet moment with Kai is enough. It’s enough to rest, to let their bodies and minds take a break from the weight of everything.

In the peaceful quiet of the room, as the sun rises higher and the world outside wakes up, Beomgyu and Kai are both allowed a rare moment of solace, and for now, that’s all they need.

 

🐧

 

Kai wakes up to a dull throb in his head, the kind that lingers long after the tears have dried and the night has passed. His mind feels sluggish, and there's a tightness around his temples as though the weight of his emotions has left an imprint on his body. He lies still for a moment, eyes closed, trying to ignore the discomfort and willing the fog in his brain to lift. It takes a few moments, but gradually, the world sharpens around him. The gentle hum of the city outside, the faint light creeping through the curtains, the soft warmth of the blankets around him – everything feels so real now, so present, and yet his mind keeps circling back to earlier that morning.

The memory hits him like a sudden wave, uninvited but undeniable. The rawness of his emotions, the way he broke down in Beomgyu’s arms, the way Beomgyu held him without hesitation, without judgement… it feels surreal now, like something he’s only just begun to understand. However, the headache and the lingering ache in his chest reminds him that it wasn’t a dream. He presses his palm to his forehead, trying to soothe the pressure building there, but the movement only worsens the throbbing. With a groan, he shifts slightly, attempting to find a more comfortable position.

He opens his eyes, blinking against the soft light spilling through the blinds. At first, the room seems unchanged, familiar, comforting even. But then his gaze lands on the empty spot beside him, and a jolt of panic runs through him. Beomgyu’s side of the bed is untouched, the blankets slightly askew as though he’s been gone for hours. Kai sits up quickly, the motion too fast, and the headache intensifies, pressing down on his temples in protest. He reaches out, half-expecting to find Beomgyu still there, maybe just turned away in his sleep or tucked under the covers somewhere, but no. 

There’s no warmth. No sign that Beomgyu has been here at all. Kai’s heart skips, a strange flutter of unease settling in his stomach. His first thought is that maybe Beomgyu is just in the kitchen, or that he’s gone to get a glass of water or something, but the silence in the apartment feels heavier than usual. His pulse quickens. He doesn't like the empty space next to him. He doesn't like it one bit.

Reluctantly, Kai slides out of bed, the coolness of the floorboards biting at his bare feet as he stands. The chill in the air makes him shiver, but it's nothing compared to the way the absence of Beomgyu makes him feel; like there's a gaping hole in the quiet morning, one he can't quite fill. He drags himself to the kitchen, half-expecting to find Beomgyu there, sipping coffee or making something for breakfast, maybe with a sleepy, amused look on his face as he tries to rouse Kai from his grogginess,  but the kitchen is just as still as the bedroom, the only sound the soft clink of a kettle on the stove, left forgotten and cold.

The uneasy quiet presses in on him as Kai leans against the kitchen counter, arms folded tightly across his chest. He’s not sure why the stillness feels so loud, why the absence feels so pointed. He doesn’t know the time, but the light pouring through the windows is far too bright and clear for morning. The sun is high in the sky, casting bold, confident shadows across the living room floor. He must’ve slept in, then. That alone makes his stomach churn. He’s not the type to sleep through half the day, especially not with his mind in the state it’s been.

He pads slowly into the living room, dragging his feet just a little, as if moving too quickly might make the silence snap. Then, before he can spiral any further, the front door clicks open.

Kai flinches. For a beat, his body freezes entirely; head turning, chest tight, and then he sees him. Beomgyu steps through the door like it’s any other day, arms full of a familiar white plastic bag, the handles straining under the weight of something warm and probably greasy. The scent follows him in before the door even shuts; a mix of rice and spice and something fried. Kai’s breath leaves him in a quiet rush. Relief comes fast and unfiltered, so sudden it makes his knees weak.

Beomgyu doesn’t look surprised to see him standing there, barefoot and bleary-eyed, in an oversized T-shirt that’s halfway slipping off one shoulder. If anything, he looks a little apologetic. His gaze flickers to Kai, then down to the bag, then back again with a crooked sort of smile, hesitant around the edges. “You were still out cold,” he says, voice low, careful. “I figured I’d grab something. Thought you might be hungry.”

Kai doesn’t answer at first. He’s too busy drinking him in; the soft flush on Beomgyu’s cheeks from the sun, the mess of his hair from the wind, the way he’s standing there in Kai’s apartment like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like last night hadn’t been some strange, fragile rupture. He looks the same, and yet something feels irrevocably different.

“I didn’t know where you went,” Kai says finally, voice thinner than he means it to be. He hates that it comes out sounding so small.

Beomgyu’s expression falters. Just slightly. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you. You looked…” He trails off, biting the inside of his cheek. “You looked like you needed the sleep.”

Kai watches him cross the room, moving towards the table. He’s already unpacking the food, laying out takeaway containers with practised ease. Kai’s eyes follow every movement, slow and uncertain, like he’s afraid that if he blinks too long, Beomgyu might disappear again. He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he woke up, but this – this unbothered return, like they didn’t fall apart and patch themselves back together in the same breath – it leaves him strangely off-balance.

Still, when Beomgyu turns back to him and gently says, “Come eat,” like it’s not a big deal, like he didn’t spend the entire morning in someone else’s bed trying not to panic, Kai goes.

The smell hits Kai fully now; rich, decadent, almost overwhelming in its intensity. Soy, garlic, something sweet simmered down to something luxurious. His stomach growls loudly, embarrassingly loud, and Beomgyu chuckles under his breath as he kicks the door shut with his heel.

“That answers my question,” Beomgyu says with a grin, lifting the bags slightly. “You’re definitely awake.”

Kai blinks at the sight of glossy black takeout boxes with gold lettering, fancier than anything they usually order. The logo on one reads Hanwoo House, and the other has a stylised pig with Jeju Premium Cuts stamped underneath it. His brows knit together, eyes narrowing.

“What did you get?” Kai asks slowly, stepping closer. “And– wait. Is that Jeju black pork?”

Beomgyu shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he hasn’t just walked in with food that costs more than Kai’s weekly grocery budget. “It is. Flown in fresh this morning, apparently. I also got some galbi jjim. You’ve slept through half the day – it’s past twelve – so I figured you deserved a late breakfast-slash-lunch-slash-recovery feast.”

Kai stares at him. “Beomgyu hyung. That’s expensive.”

Beomgyu waves him off, already unpacking the boxes with casual ease. “Don’t worry about it. I wanted to treat you. Just… let me do this today, alright?”

Kai doesn’t argue, though a flicker of guilt prickles somewhere under his skin. He busies himself by setting the table instead, quiet and careful, the ceramic dishes clicking softly as he arranges them. Two plates, then – out of habit – he reaches for a third. He hesitates for half a second, but his hands don’t stop. Another pair of chopsticks. Another bowl. Even though he hasn’t seen his dad. Even though the flat is quiet, and he’s fairly certain they’re alone. He doesn’t check the door to the small guest room, doesn’t call out, doesn’t even wonder aloud. He just finishes setting three places, like he always does when he’s home. Just in case.

Beomgyu notices – Kai can feel it – but he doesn’t say anything. His expression doesn’t shift, no comment offered. Instead, he lifts the lid off the galbi jjim and fans the fragrant steam toward Kai with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“Tada,” he says, grinning. “Braised to perfection. Tender. Melts in your mouth. Possibly the best thing you’ll eat this week.”

Kai can’t help the small smile that pulls at his lips. “You didn’t have to buy this much.”

“But you’re starving,” Beomgyu counters, already filling their bowls. “Come on. Eat before it gets cold. I even got extra radish just for you, because I’m thoughtful like that.”

Kai sits, sunlight warming the back of his neck as it spills through the window. The table looks almost too good to be real; thick cuts of meat glistening with sauce, perfectly marbled pork arranged like it’s meant to be in a commercial. It feels indulgent, comforting, surreal.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, glancing up at Beomgyu as he takes his seat across from him.

Beomgyu only shrugs again, reaching for his chopsticks with a casual sort of smile. “Of course. You needed a win today.” Then, with a nod toward the food, he adds, “Let this be it.”

Beomgyu talks as they eat. Nothing heavy. Nothing serious. Just stories; light, absurd, and increasingly unhinged with every bite of galbi jjim and jeju pork. He’s animated, practically performing across the table with sweeping hand gestures and exaggerated sound effects, like the food has given him fuel to throw everything he’s got into the mission of dragging Kai out of his fog.

“So – okay – this was like two years ago, right? House party, Soobin hyung’s classmate’s rooftop, the kind of place where they give you a red cup and suddenly you think you’re in an American teen drama.” Beomgyu’s already grinning as he sets the scene, eyes glittering with mischief. “I got sloshed, like barely-walk-in-a-straight-line sloshed. And at some point, I decided I absolutely needed to serenade the room.”

Kai raises a brow as he pokes at the jeju pork. “You sang?”

Beomgyu nods gravely. “Not just sang. Performed. Full choreography. I stood on the coffee table with a chopstick as my mic – don’t ask me where it came from, there was no food – belting out Taemin’s ‘Move’ like I was auditioning for my life.”

Kai’s lips twitch. He tries to hide it, turning his focus back to his rice.

“It gets worse,” Beomgyu says, leaning in, clearly delighted. “Midway through, I slipped, knocked over two wine bottles and a candle, and landed flat on my back. Still singing. Didn’t miss a beat. People thought it was part of the routine.”

“That’s impressive,” Kai murmurs, the corners of his mouth twitching again.

“Oh, it was,” Beomgyu says, chest puffed out. “I woke up the next day with a bruise the size of Jeju Island on my hip and at least sixty new Instagram followers, all convinced I’m some kind of misunderstood performance artist.”

Kai lets out a small huff through his nose, fighting the smile.

Beomgyu presses on, switching gears effortlessly. “You know, Soobin hyung still won’t let me live it down. Which is rich, coming from him. Don’t let the calm theatre-major aura fool you, that guy’s been unhinged since birth.”

Kai hums. “He does seem a little… theatrical.”

Beomgyu laughs. “You’re telling me. When we were ten, he tried to stage a full-length play in his backyard about an alien who came to Earth to learn ballet. I played the alien. He made me wear a tinfoil hat and a tutu. His mum still has pictures.”

That gets a real reaction out of Kai; a brief, surprised breath of a laugh. He quickly covers his mouth with his hand, but Beomgyu sees it and grins like he’s won something.

“And don’t even get me started on what I call his ‘Yeonjun phase’,” Beomgyu says, wagging his chopsticks like a warning. “That boy had it bad. Full-blown crush– no, obsession. Wouldn’t shut up about him. He used to follow Yeonjun hyung around campus – like a very tall, very obvious stalker with a theatre kid’s lack of subtlety. I’m surprised you guys didn’t notice.”

Kai blinks, genuinely startled. “Wait– what?”

“I swear on my life,” Beomgyu says solemnly. “He’d walk ten paces behind Yeonjun hyung like some lost Victorian ghost. And when I asked him why he didn’t just say hi, he goes, ‘No, I want to admire him from afar. It’s more romantic that way’.”

Kai snorts – loudly, this time – and then he coughs from the force of it, one hand on his chest as he shakes his head in disbelief.

Beomgyu beams, triumphant. “There it is. The elusive Kai laugh.”

Kai tries to compose himself, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. “You’re making that up.”

“I wish I was. He wrote an entire monologue inspired by Yeonjun hyung for an assignment once. Compared Yeonjun hyung to a ‘sun-drenched velvet ribbon’, whatever the fuck that means.”

“God,” Kai mutters, still chuckling despite himself. “That’s… horrific.”

“Right?” Beomgyu grins, clearly revelling in the moment. “He was suffering.”

Kai finally leans back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders noticeably looser now. He looks at Beomgyu, and there’s something soft in his expression; something warm, maybe even grateful, tucked behind the rim of his teacup as he takes a sip. Beomgyu doesn’t call attention to it. He just smiles back, a little gentler now, and picks up another bite of galbi jjim.

There’s something easy in the rhythm of it, the way Beomgyu gently nudges him back toward something resembling normal. It’s not forced, not suffocating; just a steady presence that keeps the silence from turning into something darker. Kai knows exactly what he’s doing, knows Beomgyu is trying, and he lets him. He lets him have the space to be ridiculous, to distract, to soften the edges of everything that still lingers in the back of Kai’s mind, and the thing is, it works.

Not completely. Not enough to erase the night before, but enough to dull the ache just a little. Enough to make Kai feel like he isn’t just floating alone in the aftermath of everything. Enough to remind him that someone’s here. That someone stayed. He doesn’t say much – he doesn’t have to. Beomgyu fills the space with stories and side comments, and Kai listens, nods, occasionally smiling when something actually lands. It's quiet and kind and exactly what he needs right now.

As Beomgyu spoons another helping of galbi onto his plate with theatrical flourish, Kai lets out a small sigh and leans back in his chair. His headache has dulled to something manageable, his stomach is full, and the sunlight has begun to feel warm again instead of harsh.

“Thanks, hyung,” he says again, softer this time, meeting Beomgyu’s gaze across the table.

Beomgyu doesn’t make a big deal of it. Just gives him a quick nod and pushes the pork closer. “You can thank me by eating that last piece. I’m not letting it go to waste.”

After the last of the dishes are rinsed and left to dry, neither of them makes a move to leave. The sun is still high, light spilling golden across the apartment floor, but there's a softness to the atmosphere now, like everything has shifted just slightly into place. Kai lingers near the window, arms folded loosely across his chest, while Beomgyu sprawls out on the couch, his head tipped back against the cushions.

“Let’s just stay in today,” Kai says after a moment, almost tentatively.

Beomgyu perks up, half turning to glance over. “Yeah?”

Kai shrugs one shoulder, eyes still on the sky. “I don’t feel like going out. It’s... quiet. I like it.”

Beomgyu’s smile is easy. “Sounds good to me.” He lifts the remote. “Wanna pick a movie?”

Kai hesitates, then walks over, toeing off his socks as he settles beside him. “Let’s see what’s on Netflix.”

They scroll for a while, flipping past titles with half-hearted commentary until Beomgyu pauses on The Paradise of Thorns.

“Oh, this one,” he says, tilting his head. “Didn’t Yeonjun hyung say it emotionally destroyed him for three days straight?”

Kai raises an eyebrow. “And you want to watch it?”

Beomgyu grins. “Naturally. I trust Yeonjun’s taste in drama and suffering.”

Kai sighs but gestures at the screen. “Alright. Let’s suffer, then.”

They settle in properly; Beomgyu slouched so low his knees are practically to his chest, and Kai curled up with a cushion on his lap, legs tucked beneath him. The movie starts, and within fifteen minutes, they’re both quiet, absorbed.

It’s beautifully shot – dreamlike in some parts, disturbingly grounded in others. The film doesn’t yell. It doesn’t demand. It lingers, instead, in glances and silences and unspoken words. The way Thongkam presses his face against Sek’s blood stain after the funeral. The way he stands outside the orchard fence, unable to step foot on the land they once dreamed over. The ache is quiet, but it’s relentless.

Beomgyu sniffles beside him at some point, and Kai thinks he hears him mutter something like, “Why am I crying over durians?” but neither of them laughs. Not really. The weight of it all hangs in the room like mist, seeping into their chests and settling there.

Kai doesn’t say much, but he keeps watching, unable to tear his eyes away. There’s something achingly familiar about that quiet, unvoiced pain. Something that tugs at a part of him he doesn’t like to acknowledge; the fear of pouring everything into something, only to have it slip through his fingers. The dread that all the effort, all the sacrifice, might not ever be enough. That no matter how hard you try, it might never matter.

By the time the credits roll, the room is still hushed. Beomgyu stretches with a loud exhale, blinking quickly as if to pretend his eyes aren’t rimmed with red. “That was so unfair,” he says, voice thick. “Like, they gave us fifteen minutes of happy and then just– ripped it away.”

Kai hums, the sound soft, tired. “That’s life, though.”

Beomgyu turns to look at him, lips parting like he wants to say something more. But whatever it is, he swallows it down and groans exaggeratedly, “Life suuuuucks.”

Kai turns to look at him, Beomgyu peeks through his fingers and grins, goofy and over-the-top, and despite the ache still clinging to his chest from this morning and everything the movie stirred up, Kai smiles too.

Kai opens his mouth, about to say something, but Beomgyu beats him to it, looking at him with a mischievous grin that seems to light up the room. "Hey," Beomgyu says, his voice light, "I know what we need to fix this mood."

Kai glances at him, confused but curious. "What?"

Beomgyu’s fingers swipe through his phone screen with a purpose, like he already knows the answer. "Shrek 2."

Kai blinks, and then blinks again. Shrek 2? The one movie he never quite outgrew, the one he’s watched so many times that even the jokes had become second nature? He hadn’t thought about it in ages. "Shrek 2?" He can’t help the small laugh that escapes him. "Are you serious?"

"Yep," Beomgyu doesn’t miss a beat. "It’s your favourite, right?"

Kai’s chest tightens at the unexpected reminder. He’d mentioned it once in passing, months ago, almost as a joke, and somehow Beomgyu had remembered. His stomach does a strange little flip at the thought. "Yeah," he mutters, more quietly than he means to. "It is."

Beomgyu grins, that playful glint still in his eyes. "Well, then it’s settled. We need a little ridiculousness to fix this," he says, his tone light, but Kai notices the subtle care behind it. Like Beomgyu's trying to give him something simple, something that’ll make things feel a little less heavy.

"Why that one?" Kai asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Because sometimes, you need a little magic and nonsense," Beomgyu replies, tapping the screen like he’s found the perfect solution to whatever’s weighing them both down. "And Shrek 2 is pure genius. Who can resist the absolute hunk that is human!Shrek?"

Kai’s lips twitch, despite himself. "I’ll admit, he was my gay awakening."

Beomgyu clicks a few buttons, and the familiar Shrek 2 opening credits appear on the screen, the music instantly bringing a sense of nostalgia that Kai didn’t even know he needed. The tension in his shoulders starts to loosen just a bit, the tiniest bit of relief creeping in.

As the movie begins, Kai curls up a little more comfortably into the couch, the cushion pressed against his chest, legs tucked beneath him. He can feel Beomgyu beside him, relaxed and almost content in a way Kai hasn’t felt in hours. The ridiculousness of the opening scene, with the fairytale creatures in the forest, already starts to bring a smile to Kai’s face, a tiny crack in the wall of exhaustion and sadness.

Beomgyu, glancing at him, says with an easy smile, "Feeling better yet?"

Kai doesn’t answer right away. He doesn’t need to. The movie does its work, and so does Beomgyu, even if it’s in a quiet way. The jokes, the ridiculousness, the familiarity of it all… he can feel his body start to unwind, the weight on his chest lifting just a little. The tightness around his chest that he hadn’t even realised he was holding onto fades slowly. There’s something soothing about this, about the simplicity of the moment, the absence of anything complicated. 

"Yeah," Kai finally says, his voice soft but lighter than it’s been all day. He shifts just slightly, sinking a little deeper into the couch. "Yeah, this is exactly what I needed."

The movie continues, and with each passing minute, the absurdity of the jokes and the characters starts to work its magic. As the movie plays on, they slowly gravitate toward each other on the couch, their bodies curling up together in the shared warmth of the blanket and the glow of the screen. Beomgyu shifts to rest his head lightly against Kai’s, and Kai leans into him without thinking. It’s easy and natural, the kind of closeness that doesn’t demand anything. 

The familiar scenes roll out in front of them, and Kai can’t help but laugh at the slapstick humour, the same jokes he’s heard a hundred times but never seem to lose their charm. Donkey’s exaggerated expressions and Puss in Boots’ dramatic attempts at being suave get a genuine chuckle from him. The ridiculousness of it all – how such a simple animated movie can still have this much power over his mood – surprises him, but he doesn’t fight it.

Beomgyu laughs along beside him, a little louder, a little more carefree. He makes a comment about Donkey’s "wholesome chaos" and mimics the voice with exaggerated flair, causing Kai to snicker despite himself. The laughter comes easier now, less forced, and as the film rolls on, Kai finds himself feeling lighter, more at ease than he has all day.

When Puss in Boots does his iconic "Look at me, I’m so cute!" act, Beomgyu leans over, nudging Kai playfully. "You know, I’m pretty sure you’ve got the whole 'adorable rogue' thing down way better than he ever could," Beomgyu teases, grinning.

Kai snorts, shaking his head. "I’m not trying to be an adorable rogue."

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "I think you’d be great at it, actually. You’ve got the looks for it."

Kai rolls his eyes, but he can’t suppress the smile that tugs at his lips. It feels good to laugh, even if it’s over something as silly as this. He catches himself in the moment, the warmth of it, and wonders, not for the first time, how lucky he is that Beomgyu’s the one here beside him.

As the movie continues, Kai allows himself to fully sink into the humour, the lightheartedness of it all. For the first time in what feels like forever, he doesn’t feel like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. Even though the day’s still lingering, even though the reality of everything hasn’t changed, for these two hours, the only thing that matters is this absurd, colourful world of Shrek and his friends.

Beomgyu’s laughter is contagious, and gradually, the tightness in Kai’s chest loosens. He can’t remember the last time he felt so genuinely carefree. It’s just a movie. It’s just him and his boyfriend – which he still hasn’t gotten used to calling Beomgyu – on a lazy day, but for that’s enough for him to feel better.

As the credits roll and the movie comes to an end, Kai leans back into the couch, still feeling lighter, the afterglow of the laughter lingering in his chest. Beomgyu glances over at him, his smile soft and knowing, and Kai feels a quiet sense of gratitude bubble up within him.

"Feel better?" Beomgyu asks, his voice gentle.

Kai doesn’t answer right away. He just nods, a small, content smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah," he says quietly, the word carrying more weight than it would have before. "I do."

Beomgyu grins, his eyes bright. "Good. Now, who’s ready for some snacks?"

Kai laughs softly, shaking his head, but this time, there’s no heaviness in the sound. Only ease. Only peace. "What do you have in mind?"

"Something sweet," Beomgyu replies with a grin, clearly pleased with himself. "I think we deserve it after all that."

Beomgyu pulls out his phone, tapping away with that familiar concentration. Kai watches him for a moment, still nestled into the couch, the quiet hum of the room surrounding them. It feels comfortable, almost surreal in how peaceful everything is after the heaviness of earlier.

"Alright, I've got it," Beomgyu says with a satisfied nod, glancing up at Kai. "Egg tarts. Your favourite."

Kai’s heart stutters at the mention, caught off guard by how effortlessly Beomgyu remembers the little things. He hadn’t expected that, hadn’t realised he’d even been paying attention. A warmth blooms in his chest at the thought of Beomgyu storing away all these details, like there's a quiet, unseen compartment in his mind labeled All About Huening Kai , and he’s been carefully filing things away there from the start.

"Thanks," Kai murmurs, his voice soft, the warmth spreading through him. "You really didn’t have to."

Beomgyu just shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes. "Nah, it’s the least I can do. You deserve it."

Kai watches as Beomgyu finishes the order, his fingers moving over the screen with ease. A few taps later, Beomgyu puts the phone down and stretches out, turning his attention back to Kai. "They’ll be here in fifteen minutes, so get ready."

Kai laughs softly, raising an eyebrow. "Ready? For egg tarts?"

Beomgyu grins, stretching his arms above his head. "Of course. You might want to loosen your belt."

“I’m literally wearing sweats,” Kai giggles, shaking his head at Beomgyu’s antics.

When the delivery finally arrives, Beomgyu eagerly hands Kai the box of warm egg tarts, the familiar sweet scent immediately hitting Kai’s senses. His stomach growls – loudly, embarrassingly so – and he doesn't even try to fight the grin that spreads across his face. Beomgyu chuckles, leaning back on the couch, clearly enjoying the sight of Kai’s anticipation.

Without hesitation, Kai opens the box and grabs the first tart, biting into it with relish. The flaky, buttery crust melts on his tongue, and the silky, slightly sweet egg custard fills his mouth. He barely registers how quickly he finishes the first one before grabbing another. The warmth, the sweetness, it’s like a comfort he didn’t realise he needed until now.

"God, I forgot how good these are," Kai mutters under his breath, barely pausing to take a breath as he devours the second tart.

Beomgyu laughs, watching Kai scarf down the treats like they’re the only thing in the world. "Take it easy, you’re going to make yourself sick."

Kai gives him a half-hearted glare, but there’s no real irritation behind it. He’s too busy enjoying the egg tarts to care. "I haven’t had these in ages," he says between bites. "I’ll be fine."

Beomgyu shakes his head, amused. "You’re like a bottomless pit, you know that?"

Kai pauses for a moment, still holding the third tart in his hand. "I don’t care," he admits, then takes another bite. "This is perfect."

And it really is. The simplicity of the moment – of sitting on the couch, eating his favourite dessert, with no heavy thoughts weighing him down – is exactly what he needs. It’s the little things, these small comforts, that make everything feel bearable again.

Beomgyu leans back, watching him with a relaxed, content expression. "I’m glad you're enjoying it," he says softly. "I just want you to feel better."

Kai looks up, a slight smile tugging at his lips, and he gives Beomgyu a nod of appreciation. "I do. I really do."

Just as things start to feel better, as the warmth from the dessert settles and the soft glow of the movie fills the room, Beomgyu’s phone buzzes on the coffee table. The vibration is enough to jolt Kai out of his easygoing state, but it’s Beomgyu who stiffens at the sound. He reaches for the phone without hesitation, his thumb hovering over the screen for a moment before he answers it, all too casually, but then, the moment his voice dips into a more formal tone, Kai feels the shift. The laughter and comfort of the evening begin to fray at the edges. Beomgyu’s posture straightens, his shoulders no longer relaxed but pulled tight, his jaw set just slightly. And then, faintly but unmistakably, Kai hears a voice on the other end of the line; loud, angry, the words too garbled to make out, but the tone is enough.

Kai doesn’t need to understand the words to know what’s going on. He knows the difference between a pleasant family check-in and a call that feels like a demand. The sharpness in Beomgyu’s face, the sudden tension in his voice… it’s all too familiar.

Beomgyu’s free hand curls into a fist on his lap, his fingers twitching slightly as though holding something back. His jaw tightens, and Kai can see the way his whole posture shifts; bristling, defensive, suddenly on edge.

“I told you I’m not in Seoul,” Beomgyu says into the phone, clipped. “No, I’m not coming back tonight. I’m–” He cuts off mid-sentence, something said on the other end freezing him in place.

His brow furrows. “Wait… how did you–?”

He doesn’t finish the question, but the way his expression falters, how his grip on the phone tightens, is enough. There’s a beat of heavy silence, and then his face drops completely. Whatever flicker of rebellion had sparked in him dies out with a sigh that sounds like it’s being dragged out of his lungs.

“Fine,” he says, voice lower, dulled. “I’ll be there.”

The fight bleeds out of him. His shoulders drop, not in relief but in reluctant surrender. He lowers the phone slowly, as though it weighs a thousand pounds. His eyes flick briefly to Kai – just a glance, quick and unreadable – before darting away again. The mask comes down fast; guarded, unreadable, a practiced expression that feels too rehearsed, and just like that, something changes. A wall goes up between them, quiet and impenetrable.

Kai’s instinct is to reach out, to say something, to touch him, anything, but before he can even move, Beomgyu is already on his feet. The motion is sharp, like he’s trying to shake something off. He starts to pace, restless, like his body needs somewhere to go, even if his mind is stuck.

“I said, I’ll be there,” he repeats again, this time louder and abrupt. Like a clap of thunder in an otherwise sunny day, like a truth he has no choice but to accept, acquiescence present in his tone.

All Kai can do is sit there, feeling the warmth from earlier vanish like it was never there.

He ends the call quickly, then sets the phone face down on the table. For a beat, there’s only silence, the kind that fills the room with weight. Beomgyu doesn’t say anything at first, but Kai can’t help but notice how his usual vibrance seems to shrink. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, his eyes a little too focused on a point somewhere in the middle of the room. Kai opens his mouth to ask if everything is okay, but he doesn’t.

There’s a part of him that wonders why Beomgyu’s reaction is so… different. Beomgyu’s family is rich, clearly, and Kai’s seen the lavish things he owns all over the apartment, but now, seeing Beomgyu react this way, so distant, so different from the carefree person he was just a few minutes ago – it feels off. Kai watches Beomgyu pace, the unease settling deeper in his chest. He can’t quite shake the feeling that something’s wrong, that whatever just happened in that phone call has flipped a switch in Beomgyu. The easy-going, carefree version of Beomgyu is nowhere to be seen now, replaced by someone distant and guarded. It makes Kai’s heart tighten.

"Hyung," Kai says quietly, his voice tentative, unsure. "Are you okay?"

Beomgyu freezes for a moment, his back still to Kai. Then he exhales sharply, like he's trying to push the words out but can’t quite bring himself to. He turns back around, forcing a smile, though it’s tight, strained. "Yeah. Just… just need to go home, that’s all."

"Go home?" Kai frowns, confused. "To Daegu?"

Beomgyu nods, his gaze flicking to the floor for a second before quickly looking up again. "Yeah. My parents… they need me."

Kai wants to ask more. Wants to push for more, because this isn’t like Beomgyu, this coldness, this distance, but something in the air tells him it’s not the right moment. He can feel the weight of unspoken things hanging between them, a silence that’s thick and heavy, and he doesn't want to intrude. Beomgyu doesn't give him more than that, his words clipped, as if every sentence is carefully constructed to keep any deeper conversation at bay. Kai’s stomach churns with the feeling that there’s more; something Beomgyu isn’t saying, something Kai isn’t allowed to know.

Kai stays silent as they walk back to his bedroom, watching Beomgyu move around the room with quick, jerky movements, as if he’s trying to pack without really thinking about it. Beomgyu grabs his things from the small corner where he had left them earlier, zipping up his bag with a little more force than necessary. The sound of the zipper is oddly loud in the stillness of the room, each pull cutting through the quiet like a sharp reminder of the tension hanging between them.

Kai stays seated on the edge of his bed, his hands restless in his lap. He watches Beomgyu, his gaze flickering between the hurried movements and the floor. The silence stretches between them, heavy and uncomfortable, and Kai isn’t sure how to bridge the gap. For a moment, he considers standing up, offering something that might keep Beomgyu here, in this space, but he remains frozen in place. He can’t bring himself to move. It feels like intruding on something that’s chained and padlocked, something that’s not meant to be opened up. The unease is like a weight in his chest, the feeling that he’s standing at the edge of something he can’t change.

Beomgyu’s movements slow as he reaches for his jacket, slipping it over his shoulders without a word. He doesn’t look at Kai, his back turned as the distance between them grows, an emotional gap that feels too wide for something so simple as a few steps. Kai feels it, that shift, that strange heaviness in the air, and he knows something’s wrong. Beomgyu is slipping away, and it’s not a space Kai can reach into.

The sound of Beomgyu zipping up his bag breaks the silence, and Kai swallows the lump forming in his throat. He wants to say something, anything, but words seem inadequate. His chest tightens, unease and confusion settling there, growing like an ache he doesn’t know how to soothe, but then, just before Beomgyu can move for the door, he pauses. His hand trembles slightly as he pulls the jacket tighter around his shoulders, his gaze flicking toward Kai. He exhales sharply, like he's been holding his breath, and for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath too.

"Hey," Beomgyu starts, his voice softer than before, hesitant, like he's trying to make up for something. He steps back, walking over to where Kai sits, and when he gets close, he cups Kai’s face gently. The warmth of his hand feels like an apology in itself. "I’m sorry I’ve been so closed off," he murmurs, his voice laced with quiet guilt. "I didn’t mean to withdraw. It’s just..."

“You don’t have to explain if you’re not ready,” Kai reassures him, running his fingers through Beomgyu’s hair.

Without another word, Beomgyu leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to Kai’s forehead, eyelids, cheeks, and finally his lips. It’s tender, a gesture that seems to say everything that words can’t right now. Kai’s breath hitches slightly, feeling the weight of Beomgyu’s emotions in that simple act, and in that moment, he understands – though not fully – the weight of what Beomgyu’s carrying.

"I’m sorry I have to leave so suddenly," Beomgyu continues, pulling away just enough to meet Kai’s eyes, the sincerity in his gaze making Kai’s chest ache. "But we’ll see each other again after winter break, okay?"

“After winter break?” Kai gasps softly. 

Kai’s heart twists at the thought of Beomgyu leaving so suddenly, and having to hold off on seeing him until classes start again. Beomgyu nods in place of a real response, seemingly trying to hold back on saying more than he should.

"But everything’s okay with you, right?" Kai asks quietly, unsure of what he can possibly offer when Beomgyu is this closed off, this distant.

Beomgyu shakes his head, his expression softening, a mixture of gratitude and regret in his eyes. "This is something I have to handle myself," he says, and his words are firm, yet laced with something that feels like reluctance. "I just... I need to go, Kai."

Kai opens his mouth to say something more but stops himself. He wants to do more for Beomgyu, wants to fix whatever this is, but instead, he simply asks, "Do you want me to walk you to the station? To the bus or the train?"

Beomgyu looks at him for a long moment, then shakes his head. "No," he replies softly, almost regretfully. "My parents’ driver is already outside.”

“What?” Kai asks incredulously. “How’d they know my address?” 

“They… they have my location on." His voice drops a little, the admission almost reluctant, like he doesn’t want to reveal it. "They track my location wherever I go."

Kai’s eyes widen at that, taken aback. "Your parents… they track you?"

Beomgyu nods, looking a little uncomfortable as he explains. "Yeah, they do. It’s not like I have a choice in it. They’ve…" He exhales, the tension in his shoulders growing. "But it’s whatever. It’s just how it is."

The weight of that hits Kai harder than he expects. He can’t imagine living like that, under constant surveillance, being pulled and controlled like that by his family. It makes his chest ache for Beomgyu, for everything he must carry that no one really sees.

Kai opens his mouth to say something more, but Beomgyu presses another soft kiss to his lips, the soft smile he offers feeling like a mask. "I’ll be okay, Kai. Don’t worry about me."

Kai wants to argue, to push for more, to make Beomgyu stay, to ask him a million questions about what’s really going on, but he can’t bring himself to. There’s a finality in Beomgyu’s voice that he doesn’t want to challenge. Instead, he simply nods, his throat tight as he watches Beomgyu slip past him, heading toward the door.

"Call me when you arrive?" Kai says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, the words heavier than they should be.

Beomgyu pauses at the door, looking back at him, the expression on his face softening. "I will," he says softly. "I’ll see you soon, Kai."

And with that, Beomgyu leaves, the door clicking shut behind him with a quiet finality that echoes in Kai’s chest.

Notes:

their happy lil bubble has burst! how was it? again, hopefully it wasn't too boring for you guys :<

but anw!! i learned a new word: acquiescence hehe so i tried to incorporate it into this chapter :D see if you guys spotted it :p

and also!!! i highly recommend the paradise of thorns on netflix yall!! it's absolutely amazing. i remember watching it for the very first time in cinemas at like 9 pm, i came out of the cinema numb and dazed...

as always, please let me know your thoughts in the comment section and feel free to reach out to me on twitter at @koostiddy! thank you so much for reading <3

Chapter 11

Summary:

The car rolls to a halt. There’s no warm welcome waiting beyond those gates. Beomgyu doesn’t move right away. He just stares through the windshield, fingers curling in his lap, jaw tight. The dread in him builds like a stormcloud, heavy and electric. Still, he reaches for the keypad on the side of the gate, punching in the code with practiced fingers. The gates creak open with an almost theatrical groan, slow and deliberate, like the house itself is reluctant to let him back in.

It’s the kind of groan that doesn’t belong in a modern world, a sound so ancient and weary it feels like it’s echoing from the bones of the house itself. The Choi estate appears immaculate from the outside, a sprawling display of architectural intimidation: high-arched windows gleaming like a row of judgmental eyes, white stone steps that lead to doors taller than most people’s ceilings, columns etched with delicate vines and ancestral crests, but even all the polish in the world can’t hide what it really is; a mausoleum to pride, to lineage, to expectation. A house that’s less of a home and more of a monument to everything Beomgyu was supposed to become.

Notes:

happy reading~

🧸

 

The car ride to Daegu is long, but not long enough.

Beomgyu sinks into the backseat of the sleek black sedan, arms folded across his chest, cheek pressed against the chilled window. Frost from the early January air creeps along the glass in delicate veins, but the cold doesn’t quite reach him; not with the heater humming low and expensive around his ankles, not with the leather seats swallowing his body in false comfort. Outside, the landscape rolls by in dull greys and faded whites, the remnants of snow clinging stubbornly to bare branches and rooftops. Villages melt into service stations, which stretch into wide swathes of empty road, until all of it starts to blur into the same lifeless smear of winter.

None of it registers. He’s not really looking, anyway.

His phone buzzes twice in his pocket; short, familiar vibrations that tug at something behind his ribs. He doesn’t check it. He knows who it is. Kai has been trying. Not in an overbearing way, not even in a guilt-tripping way. Just little things. Memes. A reel of a golden retriever in a sweater. A blurry photo of a sky that reminded him of something Beomgyu once said. There’s comfort in the consistency, in knowing Kai is still there, still thinking of him, even when Beomgyu is somewhere else entirely, but he doesn’t reply. Not now. Maybe not for a while.

“Cold out there today, huh?” the driver says, voice gruff but warm as they merge onto the open highway. His hands stay steady on the wheel, gloved and weathered, the kind of hands that have seen decades of winter drives like this one.

Beomgyu blinks, dragging his gaze from the window, where frost clings like spiderwebs to the corners of the glass. “Yeah,” he murmurs, clearing his throat. “Wind’s brutal.”

There’s a pause, the kind that stretches just a beat too long to be casual. Then, the driver tries again. “You staying home for the holiday?”

Beomgyu musters a small smile, automatic and restrained. “Something like that,” he says, not really lying, but not telling the truth either.

The driver nods, eyes still on the road, but there’s something gentle in his voice when he speaks next. “Haven’t driven you in a while. You’ve grown up, huh?”

Beomgyu exhales through his nose. “That’s what they say.”

The car hums beneath them for a stretch of silence. The driver takes an exit, one he’s taken a hundred times before, and the motion feels rehearsed, like the vehicle itself remembers the way home better than Beomgyu does. He presses his palm to the side of his leg to still the twitch in his knee.

“You know,” the driver says after a moment, quieter now, “the place’s been real quiet without you.”

Beomgyu turns toward him slightly. “I’m sure that’s a relief,” he says lightly, but there’s a thread of curiosity under the joke.

The driver chuckles, but there’s no real mirth in it. “Not quite. It’s just… things shift, when you're not around. Less–” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Less kindness in the air, maybe.”

Beomgyu’s brows pinch slightly. “What do you mean?”

The driver hesitates. Then, “You always said thank you. Always asked how our days were. Never looked through us. It’s not like that with the others.”

Beomgyu swallows, his throat tightening a little despite himself. “They haven’t changed, huh?”

“People don’t change much once they think they’re better than you,” the driver says, not unkindly. “But you– You always saw us. That’s rare in a house like yours.”

Beomgyu looks back out the window, the scenery shifting into wider roads now, colder skies, telephone wires cutting through farmland like careless ink. “I don’t think saying ‘thank you’ should be rare.”

The driver hums. “No, it shouldn’t. But it is.”

Beomgyu presses his thumb into the corner of his phone. It hasn’t buzzed again, but he can still feel the ghost of those earlier notifications, still see Kai’s name lit behind his eyelids. The ache in his chest sharpens, then dulls again like a bruise you keep pressing.

“Anyway,” the driver says gently, as if sensing something in him pulling away, “it’s good to have you back, even just for a bit.”

Beomgyu doesn’t reply for a long moment. Then, quietly, “Thanks for saying that.”

The driver nods, his eyes on the rearview mirror just long enough to catch Beomgyu’s expression; weary, drawn, older than it should be. “You let me know if you ever need to go anywhere after,” he says. “You don’t have to feel like you’re alone there. You’ve got people back home who’ll look out for you, you know.”

Beomgyu’s throat tightens. It’s strange, how something so small – a quiet offer, a steady voice – can feel more like home than the mansion waiting at the end of the road.

“Thanks,” he says again, softer this time. “I’ll remember that.”

The driver just nods, and the rest of the ride slips back into silence. the kind that doesn’t feel empty, but full of the things neither of them say out loud.

The conversation isn’t deep, but it’s real; more real than most things in his life, lately. The staff have always felt more human to him than the cold porcelain of his mother’s silence or the razored edges of his father’s pride. They looked him in the eye when they spoke to him. Laughed at his jokes. Remembered how he liked his eggs. When he was younger, he’d sneak into the kitchen barefoot before breakfast, drawn by the smell of garlic and soy sauce and the easy rhythm of voices that didn’t sharpen when he entered the room. The head cook, Mrs. Yun, used to let him peel garlic even when he fumbled it. She’d ruffle his hair with a flour-dusted hand and say he was “soft-hearted for a boy with your last name”. The maids said the same, especially after he started picking flowers from the garden to leave in their break room; tiny bunches of baby’s breath or sunflowers, always with a note that just said thank you. They’d giggle behind their hands, but he knew it made them smile for real. They never looked at him the way his father did, like something that needed to be sharpened.

Sometimes he thinks they’re the only people in that house who ever meant it kindly. The only ones who saw him instead of the mold he was supposed to grow into. When he got older and stopped being around as much – boarding school, university, Seoul – he’d still call the staff line during Chuseok and New Year. Just to ask if they were doing okay, just to hear someone ask him the same. They’d remember his birthday even when his parents forgot. Once, the groundskeeper mailed him a handmade phone charm shaped like a little guitar after hearing he’d taken up songwriting. Beomgyu wore it until the string broke, and even now it lives in the drawer by his bed. Sometimes, late at night, when the loneliness catches him off guard, he thinks the only proof that he ever belonged in that house at all are the little pieces of love they tucked into the corners; a warm plate left waiting, his room always clean and prepped for him to come home whenever he wanted, a quiet, we missed you, young master.

Even that – young master – had always made his skin crawl. It was a title soaked in distance, something heavy and performative, like a crown too large for his head. His parents insisted on it, of course. Corrected the staff sharply whenever they slipped, reminded Beomgyu it was about respect, about order, about the Choi name carrying weight, but Beomgyu didn’t want to be worshipped. He wanted to be known. He’d lower his voice in quiet corners of the house and say, “Just Beomgyu, please,” with a sheepish smile and a tilt of his head like he knew he was breaking a rule, but hoped they’d understand why, and they always did. When it was just them – behind the greenhouse, in the laundry room, huddled around the TV in the staff quarters – he was never the heir or the future CEO or whatever label his father had carved for him. He was just a boy who wanted to know how to make the perfect kimchi pancake, who helped fix the broken fan during a heatwave, who listened when one of the housekeepers cried quietly after getting a call from home, and when they called him Beomgyu, just Beomgyu, it made something in his chest loosen. Like for a moment, he was allowed to be a person, not a portrait in the family hall.

They don’t speak much after that. Just the soft hum of the engine, the low purr of tires against the road, the occasional shuffle of the driver’s hand as he adjusts the wheel. It’s quiet, but not uncomfortable. The kind of silence that’s allowed to exist between people who’ve known each other a long time, even if only in passing. Beomgyu leans his head against the window and lets his breath fog up the glass, drawing an idle shape with his finger he doesn’t bother to finish. Outside, the world is a blur of skeletal trees and flat gray sky, the kind of bleak winter palette that makes everything feel suspended in time, but for just a moment, he feels grounded. Treated like a person instead of a problem waiting to be solved. It’s a small comfort, but he clings to it.

That comfort disintegrates the moment the gate comes into view.

It rises at the end of a long, winding drive; tall and iron-wrought, its bars curled into decorative flourishes that do little to soften its severity. The pillars on either side are carved stone, chipped at the corners from age but still proud, like sentinels guarding something important. Or dangerous. Beomgyu straightens in his seat, something cold settling in his stomach. The car slows as it approaches, tires crunching over the gravel with a sound that’s too loud, too final. Even before they stop, his chest tightens. The house is still out of sight, hidden behind rows of manicured trees and hedges clipped with surgical precision, but he can already feel the weight of it pressing on him. This gate has always felt less like an entrance and more like a warning.

The car rolls to a halt. The driver doesn’t get out, he knows better. There’s no need to escort Beomgyu any further. No warm welcome waiting beyond those gates. Beomgyu doesn’t move right away. He just stares through the windshield, fingers curling in his lap, jaw tight. The dread in him builds like a stormcloud, heavy and electric. Still, he reaches for the keypad on the side of the gate, punching in the code with practiced fingers. The same code it’s always been. Four numbers, like a lock on something ancient and unchanging. The gates creak open with an almost theatrical groan, slow and deliberate, like the house itself is reluctant to let him back in.

It’s the kind of groan that doesn’t belong in a modern world, a sound so ancient and weary it feels like it’s echoing from the bones of the house itself. The Choi estate appears immaculate from the outside, a sprawling display of architectural intimidation: high-arched windows gleaming like a row of judgmental eyes, white stone steps that lead to doors taller than most people’s ceilings, columns etched with delicate vines and ancestral crests, but even all the polish in the world can’t hide what it really is; a mausoleum to pride, to lineage, to expectation. A house that’s less of a home and more of a monument to everything Beomgyu was supposed to become.

The driveway curves endlessly before him, flanked by trees and sharp-edged hedges trimmed into unnatural perfection. As the car creeps forward, the estate begins to unfold; glass conservatories blooming off the east wing like frozen greenhouses, a water fountain in the circular courtyard gurgling quietly beneath a wrought iron sculpture of a phoenix rising from marble flames. The place looks untouched by time, the kind of home that’s maintained by money and fear rather than love. A place that insists on its own importance.

The car stops. Beomgyu gets out before the driver can reach for the door handle. The cold hits him instantly; not the winter air, but the chill that lives in the bones of this place. He doesn’t knock. He never has. He steps inside the way he used to as a child: without ceremony, without permission, like he still belongs. Shoes still on. Bag slung over one shoulder. Maybe that’s his first mistake, assuming anything here has stayed the same. Assuming that walls don’t notice distance. That silence doesn’t curdle over time.

The house is too still. Grand in a way that sucks the breath out of you. White marble floors spread across the foyer like a frozen lake, a chandelier dripping crystal above him, its weight suspended from the vaulted ceiling by chains he’s always been slightly afraid would snap. Ornate mirrors hang in gold frames between sweeping staircases on either side, twin stairways he and his brother used to race up as kids, only to be scolded by their tutors for behaving like animals in a museum. The scent of expensive candles lingers in the air; sandalwood and something sharper, sterile. His footsteps echo, sharp and unwelcome, and still, no one comes.

Until they do.

Not his parents. Not his brother. But them, the people who made this place livable.

A maid passes through the hall with a tray of tea and freezes when she sees him. Her eyes widen for a split second, then soften. She bows. “Young master Beomgyu.”

He offers a small, tired smile. “You don’t have to call me that.”

She looks at him like she remembers. Another appears in the corridor, then another, people he recognizes from childhood: the gardener with the crooked smile, the housekeeper with the worn-out knees, the man who used to bring him fresh towels when he’d forget his after swimming. They greet him with surprise, warmth, realness. Not worship. Just affection.

And then– “Young master?”

The voice stops him mid-step.

He turns, and there she is.

Mrs. Yun.

She looks smaller somehow. Her hair is all gray now, pulled back in the same tight bun she wore when he was ten and cried over a scraped knee in the garden, when she patched him up with hands gentler than his mother’s ever were. She sets aside the folded linen in her arms and steps forward, hesitant for only a second.

Then she pulls him into a hug.

Not a bow. Not a polite gesture. A real hug; full-bodied, warm, grounding in a way that knocks the breath out of him. Her arms wrap around him like they’re holding together something he didn’t realise was starting to fall apart. Her voice is muffled in his shoulder. “You haven’t been home in so long.”

He holds her tighter than he means to. His throat feels full. “Yeah,” he says, voice strained. “Sorry about that.”

She pats his back, firm but gentle, the way someone does when they’ve been waiting a long time to hold something fragile. “Don’t apologise,” she murmurs. “Just… don’t disappear like that again. We missed you.”

It hits him harder than it should, not because of what she says, but because of who she means. We. Not his father. Not his mother. Not his brother sitting cold and silent. But the staff. The people who scrub the floors and carry trays and remember how he likes his toast. The ones who’ve seen him cry, seen him scrape his knees, seen him try to grow up too fast. They missed him. Not because he’s a Choi, but because he’s Beomgyu, and for a second, he doesn’t know whether to smile or let it hollow him out because maybe that’s the saddest thing; that the only people who ever made him feel seen are the ones paid not to look.

For the first time since stepping through the gates, he feels like he’s on solid ground. Not because of the stone beneath his feet, but because of her. Because she, and the others like her, are the only ones who ever made this house feel like something close to a home.

He pulls back slightly and smiles at her, a real one this time. “I missed you too, Mrs. Yun.”

She swats his arm, teary-eyed. “Still soft-hearted, I see.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he whispers, and she laughs, the sound echoing up through the marble halls like a secret the house isn’t quite able to swallow.

She dabs at her eyes with the hem of her sleeve, then smooths the front of her apron like it’s something to steady herself with. “Your father’s in the main room,” she says gently, voice dipping into something careful. “He’s been waiting.”

Beomgyu’s smile falters, but he nods.

“If you need anything,” Mrs. Yun adds, her voice quieter now, as if afraid the walls might hear, “you know where to find us. Our quarters hasn’t changed, you’re welcome to come in anytime.”

He nods again, this time more tightly. The air feels thicker now, heavier with things unsaid.

“Thank you,” he says, barely above a whisper.

She squeezes his shoulder before letting him go, her hand lingering for a second longer than it should, and then she’s gone, disappearing down the hall, footsteps soft as memory.

Beomgyu turns toward the main room with lead in his limbs. Every step feels too loud against the marble, too out of place, like he’s walking into a stage play where he forgot his lines. The door is cracked open slightly, just enough to reveal the sharp glint of crystal on the sideboard, the gleam of polished mahogany, and the faint, suffocating scent of expensive cologne hanging in the air.

He doesn’t need to knock. They already know he’s here.

Still, he pauses with his hand on the doorframe, bracing himself for the cold eyes, the clipped voices, the unspoken judgments wrapped in velvet tones. For the performance he’s already dreading.

Then, with one last breath, he steps inside.

The main room is exactly how Beomgyu remembers it, and that makes it even colder under the night sky. The ceilings soar impossibly high, disappearing into shadows, with the massive skylight overhead now a dark pane reflecting the faint glow of distant stars. Without daylight pouring in, the room feels cavernous, swallowed by silence. The grand chandelier hangs like a cluster of frozen fireflies, its crystals catching the soft light from strategically placed lights, casting fractured glimmers across the polished marble floor. The gleam is sharp and unforgiving, bouncing off every surface with a sterile chill.

The walls are lined with portraits, each one oversized and oil-rendered, showcasing generations of Chois in practiced, regal poses. His grandfather in military regalia, his great-grandmother seated stiffly beside a grand piano, his parents captured in stiff-shouldered elegance. His brother has one, too; fresh, modern, a studio-perfect image of filial legacy, but there's none of Beomgyu. No smile frozen in time, no painted reminder of his place in the lineage. He’s as absent from these walls as warmth is from the air.

The furniture is all sharp edges and cool tones; sleek, minimal, designer. A curated space meant to impress, not invite. Even the air feels stiller here, like it’s been trained not to stir without permission. The kind of room you sit up straight in without thinking. The kind of room that watches you more than you watch it. Beomgyu walks slowly across the floor, footsteps hushed by the vastness, every instinct screaming that he doesn’t belong here anymore. Maybe he never really did.

“Choi Beomgyu.” His father’s voice slices through the silence like a whip; cold, merciless, loaded with accusation. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Beomgyu lets his bag drop with a heavy thud, the sound echoing mockingly off the marble walls, swallowed by the cold grandeur of the house. He turns slowly, eyes hard, voice thick with bitter defiance. “You literally know where I was. Don’t you have my location on?”

The air tightens, thickens like a noose ready to choke. He steps fully into the room, eyes scanning the scene: his mother, statuesque and unreadable, perched at the polished mahogany table, fingers tapping away on her keyboard with clinical detachment; his brother, sprawled carelessly on the plush sofa, scrolling through his phone like everything else is beneath him; and his father, looming like a gathering storm, fury and disappointment carved deep into his sharp features, pacing like a predator hunting prey.

“So this is what you’ve become,” his father spits, arms crossed tight as if holding back a violent storm. “Snapping the second you walk through the door. Insolent. Reckless.”

Beomgyu shrugs, contempt barely hidden. “If you wanted pleasantries, maybe don’t drag me across the country like a prisoner on a chain.”

That’s the spark. His father freezes, then steps forward, voice sharp and venomous. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to get a call from Attorney Park? That his driver saw you climbing into some beat-up car outside a decrepit, crumbling slum.”

Beomgyu meets the glare, voice razor-sharp and biting. “So that’s it? Some guy saw me get into a car that wasn’t German-engineered? Jesus.”

His father’s eyes narrow into slits, face hardening. “You were supposed to come home for winter break. What the hell were you doing in that rat-hole neighbourhood? Slumming it like the gutter rat you’ve turned into.”

Beomgyu’s lips twist into a bitter, humourless smile. “Spending time with someone who actually gives a shit about me.”

His father’s face contorts into a sneer, the thin line between anger and disgust barely held in check. “Do you even realise what you’re risking? This isn’t just about you, Beomgyu. This family’s reputation. Our entire legacy is on the line. And here you are, parading around in some rundown neighbourhood like it’s a playground.”

Beomgyu’s laugh is bitter, sharp-edged. “Parading? Maybe I’m just tired of pretending the mansion’s the only place that matters.”

His father’s tone sharpens, bordering on desperate. “This mansion is the only place that matters. Do you understand how fast gossip spreads in this city? One photo, one whispered rumour and clients start wondering if the Chois are bankrupt. Asking why their heir sneaks around unseen neighbourhoods, rides in cars that look like they belong in a scrap yard.”

Beomgyu laughs again, a harsh, bitter sound that cracks the silence. “So you’re scared. Afraid your precious empire will crumble because I didn’t take a chauffeured car to see someone who actually cares.”

His father’s voice drops to a deadly growl. “That someone doesn’t deserve to even look at a Choi. If your name meant anything to you, you wouldn’t drag it through the mud, and for what? A fling? Some charity case you think you can buy affection from?”

“Don’t.” Beomgyu stiffens, heart pounding with fury. “I’m not buying anyone’s affection.”

But his father presses, venom flooding every word. “If you’re so desperate for love, I’m sure that fucker would play house with anyone who throws them a crumb. They always do. The poor and desperate, they’ll take anything.”

Something inside Beomgyu shatters, and he roars back, voice raw with pain and anger. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that.”

“Him?” His father’s sneer deepens, a cruel satisfaction flickering in his eyes. “Like what? Like a charity case? Someone you can parade around to soften your image? You think that boy cares about you? He’s using you, Beomgyu. Just like the rest of them.”

Beomgyu’s breath catches, the weight of those words landing like stones in his chest. He steps forward, voice fierce, trembling with all the years of hurt bottled inside. “You don’t know anything about him.”

His father’s eyes narrow, voice dipped in something cruel. “You think you’re special? That he’s different from all the rest? Kids like that – raised on scraps and desperation – they know exactly how to play the game. All it takes is one crumb, and suddenly they’re clinging to you like you’re salvation. Don’t fool yourself. It’s not you he wants, it’s your name. Your money. Your status. You’re just the bait, Beomgyu.”

“He’s nothing like that,” Beomgyu snaps, chest heaving.

“Oh, really? And what makes you so sure?” his father sneers. “Because he smiled at you the right way? Said he liked you?”

“He does like me,” Beomgyu bites out. “For who I am.”

His father scoffs, laughter bitter and dripping with disdain. “Christ. They’ve really refined their act these days. What, he managed to turn you gay for a free ride up the ladder?”

Beomgyu’s voice rises, fury igniting in his gut. “Newsflash, Dad. I’ve been bi my entire life. If you ever gave half a shit about who I am instead of who you want me to be, you’d fucking know that.”

His father’s face darkens, a mix of revulsion and disbelief twisting his features. “So what? You’ve got feelings for him now?” He lets out a humourless, scathing laugh. “Don’t make me fucking laugh, Beomgyu. You don’t catch feelings for a goddamn blue-collar.”

Beomgyu’s jaw clenches, his voice sharp as broken glass. “And what do you know about feelings? You’re the one who treats this family like a business transaction.”

His father’s sneer deepens, lips curling with fury. “Watch your mouth–”

Beomgyu cuts him off, voice cold and cutting. “Maybe you should worry less about my choices and more about the ones you make behind Eomma’s back. Because let’s be honest, between the two of us, you're the one paying for affection now that she can't even stand to look at you without feeling revolted.”

His mother and brother stiffen, the air suddenly thick with tension. His father’s face twists with rage, and before Beomgyu can brace himself, the slap lands, hard enough to send him stumbling backward.

Beomgyu catches himself against the marble pillar, chest heaving, eyes blazing. His father steps forward like a shadow swallowing the light, voice low and laced with venom. “You think you can talk to me like that? Remember your place, Beomgyu. Don’t make me remind you again.”

Before Beomgyu can even respond, a hand lashes out, his father’s fingers clamping around his throat in a sudden, crushing grip. The breath is knocked from him in an instant, his body jolting back against the pillar with a thud that echoes through the vaulted hall.

Beomgyu claws at the hand strangling him, panic sparking behind his eyes, but the fury rising in him burns hotter than the fear. “Fuck you,” he chokes out, voice hoarse but defiant, words rasping past the tightening hold. His nails dig into his father’s wrist, fighting against the pressure, the edges of his vision beginning to blur, stars flaring at the corners.

And then – calm, cold, detached – his mother speaks from her seat without even looking up. “That’s enough, honey.”

There’s no warmth in it. No concern. Just the kind of hollow tiredness that fills rooms like this.

His father freezes. For a second, it’s unclear if he’ll stop, but then his grip loosens. Beomgyu drops, coughing, one hand catching himself on the edge of the pillar, the other cradling his bruised throat. He sucks in air like he’s surfacing from underwater, lungs burning, vision swimming.

His father steps back, adjusting his cuff as if nothing happened.

Beomgyu doesn’t spare him another glance. He straightens slowly, fury simmering in his gaze, shoulders squared despite the ache. The marble beneath his bare feet feels like ice as he turns, footsteps loud in the silence – each one an act of defiance, of survival – as he disappears out the main room. His breath comes in ragged gasps, uneven and ragged, as if his body struggles to catch up with the torrent of emotions surging through him. The harsh slap of his footsteps against the polished marble floor echoes through the cavernous hall. Each step pounds with the weight of years of pent-up frustration and rejection as he storms toward the staircase, their grand home suddenly feeling more like a prison, and his room the only sanctuary he’s ever known, the one place where he could hide when the world became too much.

As he climbs, the cold gleam of the marble railing beneath his hand, the familiar creak of the stairs beneath his feet, something inside him shifts. His feet slow, then falter, pausing mid-step. He bites his lip, jaw clenched tight like steel, eyes darting toward a narrow corridor that branches off the main hall: the path to the staff quarters. It’s a place few of the family ever notice or visit. A quiet, unassuming space where Beomgyu has always felt something different, something rare: acceptance without judgment, a place where he can simply be Beomgyu.

Without another thought, he changes course, his steps muffled on the softer carpet as he slips silently down the quieter hallway. The imposing grandeur of the mansion fades behind him with every step; the echoing silence replaced by the gentle murmur of voices, the soft clinking of dishes, and the faint, comforting scent of warm laundry mingled with home-cooked meals. Here, the world feels softer, realer, more human. There’s no need for masks or careful words. No weight of legacy pressing down on his shoulders.

He comes to a stop before a modest wooden door, its surface worn smooth from years of use. His fingers brush along the grain, lingering as if trying to draw strength from the familiarity. This choice – a quiet retreat to the margins of his family’s world – feels like a quiet act of rebellion, but also the only lifeline left in a sea of cold, unforgiving expectation.  Beomgyu steps into the staff quarters, the familiar warmth of the room wrapping around him like a soft, well-worn blanket, the kind that smells faintly of detergent and memories. The hum of conversation falters as heads turn, a collective pause sweeping through the room. It only lasts a heartbeat before the energy shifts, like the easing of breath after a long-held tension.

“Oh, look who finally decided to visit,” one of the older cooks, Mrs. Park, calls out with mock indignation, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron as she beams at him. “Too good for us now, are you?”

“Not even a call, Beomgyu-yah,” chimes in Mr. Han, the gardener, leaning back in his chair with a playful shake of his head. “We were starting to think you’d forgotten all about us.”

A few of the younger maids giggle quietly, offering him warm greetings as they pass. Someone nudges him gently on the arm as they go by. “Don’t worry, we saved you a cookie,” one whispers conspiratorially, as if they’re sharing a secret. The fondness in the room is tangible, heavy in the air like the scent of simmering soup and clean linens. This isn’t the sterile affection of formality. This is real and familiar, the closest semblance he’ll ever get to a real home.

Beomgyu gives them a sheepish smile, shoulders relaxing just a bit. “I’ve been busy,” he mumbles, and a few people tsk as if they’ve heard the excuse a dozen times before and never believed it once.

“Busy, my foot,” Mrs. Park scoffs affectionately, already bustling toward the counter. “Sit down. You look like you haven’t eaten a proper meal in weeks. I’ll fix you something.”

“And you’ve gotten thinner, haven’t you?” Mr. Han adds, frowning as he takes in Beomgyu’s frame. “You need to take better care of yourself. Don’t they feed you properly out there?”

Throughout it all, the staff never mention the bruise blooming purple and blue along his cheekbone and his throat. Their eyes flit over it, hover for half a second too long, but not one of them says a word. They talk around it, crafting a protective shell of routine and affection that keeps the hurt at bay. Their silence isn’t ignorance. It’s kindness.

Beomgyu feels it; how deliberately they all pretend not to see the damage, as if by not acknowledging it, they’re giving him the dignity of choosing when and if to speak about it, and maybe that’s what he needs most right now. Not questions, just care.

Then Mrs. Yun appears from the hallway, her sharp eyes landing on him with all the precision of a hawk. She stops mid-step, taking him in. The flour on her hands fades from importance. Her lips press into a thin line, and she crosses the room without a word, crowding into his space with all the familiarity of someone who helped raise him.

“Come here,” she murmurs, wrapping him in a hug before he can respond. It’s firm, grounding; nothing polite or fleeting about it. When she pulls back, her fingers brush lightly against his cheek, as if checking for heat or damage. Her eyes harden with quiet fury, but she says nothing to the others. Instead, she simply turns and disappears into the adjoining room, returning moments later with a jar of ointment in her hand.

“Sit,” she orders gently, already unscrewing the lid. “This’ll keep it from swelling too much.”

Beomgyu obeys without argument, slumping into the nearest chair as Mrs. Yun kneels beside him, dabbing at the bruise with a feather-light touch. No one interrupts. No one watches too closely. They all know the unspoken rhythm of this house; how some things are handled in silence, behind closed doors, with love disguised as habit.

He closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself breathe. Letting himself feel. This is what safety tastes like, not the cold marble and distant glances of upstairs, but this: calloused hands, unspoken concern, and the quiet mercy of people who choose to see him not as a Choi, but just as Beomgyu.

 

🐧

 

Kai lies sprawled across the sofa, one arm draped over his head and the other curled tightly around his phone, gripping it like it’s the only thing tethering him to some kind of certainty. The glow of the screen keeps dimming, the device slipping into sleep again and again, but Kai taps it awake every time, chasing a flicker of hope that the name at the top of the thread – president beomgyu🧸 – will finally be accompanied by the words typing… or even a read receipt. Anything. Anything to prove he’s safely arrived home and doing okay.

Outside the windows, the city has quieted to a low, distant hush. The sky’s been dark for hours now, but Kai hasn’t turned on a single light. He’s barely moved. The only noise in the apartment is the occasional rattle from the fridge and the soft, intermittent buzz of his phone checking for updates it never receives. The silence presses in, too loud in its emptiness. The longer it stretches, the harder it is to pretend this is normal.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s opened that same thread of messages. The words are still there, frozen in time: short, casual, hopeful things he’d typed out earlier in the day. Each message remains unread, like lines in a conversation with a ghost. They hover there, suspended in a quiet that’s beginning to feel less like coincidence and more like something deliberate. Ominous. Every unread message mocks him now, the timestamps turning into landmarks on a timeline of escalating anxiety; first mild confusion, then growing unease, and now full-bodied dread blooming in his chest.

Something’s wrong. He doesn’t know how he knows, he just does. It hums under his skin like a low-frequency alarm, vibrating in his bones. There’s no proof, no evidence, nothing he can point to, but it’s there, and it’s undeniable. A tightening in his chest every time the phone doesn’t light up. A chill that settles deeper the longer Beomgyu stays silent.

He doesn’t even know what’s happening. That’s what terrifies him most. Kai’s never fully heard about Beomgyu’s family, not properly, not in the way that counts. Just scraps of them, offered in passing: a cold tone when Beomgyu mentioned his father, a sarcastic throwaway line about being summoned like a servant, a dismissive shrug when asked about holidays at home. Kai learned quickly not to push, but even in the silence, in the things unsaid, he understood enough. There’s something broken in that house, something sharp and toxic that Beomgyu rarely talks about but always seems to carry.

Tonight had been one of those rare, dreaded occasions where Beomgyu couldn’t avoid going home. He’d mentioned it offhandedly that morning, “My parents… they need me”. The way he’d said it had stuck with Kai all day. Like the word itself left a bitter taste in his mouth. Like it meant something heavier than just visiting family.

Kai’s stomach knots again. He hates this. The spiralling and the helplessness. He tries to be rational, tells himself over and over that maybe Beomgyu just forgot his charger, or maybe he’s stuck in a conversation he can’t get out of, or maybe he just needs time. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s not about him at all, but none of those explanations feel right. Not when Beomgyu always replies to him. Not when even the smallest, most fleeting texts – “u up,” “this song sounds like u,” “left ur hoodie lol” – always came through, even on Beomgyu’s worst days. Not when silence like this feels too uncharacteristic. Like a door being shut.

 

president beomgyu🧸 

lmk if u’ve made it home!!
i miss u already .·°՞(っ-ᯅ-ς)՞°·.
just searched how long it takes to drive to daegu…
3 hours ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!
i’ll check back in 3 hours hehe
hey did u make it home safe?
gyu hyuuuuung~
hyung? is everything okay?
pls just lmk u made it home safe (｡•́︿•̀｡)
hyung?

 

Before Kai can type out another message – his fingers hovering over the keyboard, eyes unfocused as he tries to figure out whether “are you okay?” sounds too desperate or not desperate enough – the front door clicks open. He startles, quickly locking his phone and sitting up straighter on the sofa. The hallway light spills in as the door swings wider, and a familiar figure steps through. His dad. Still in his uniform, coat slung over one arm, a tired look carved into the lines around his mouth. The room seems to hold its breath for a second, caught in the strange tension that hangs between them, fragile and unresolved.

Kai clears his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Hey, Dad.”

His father glances up, a little caught off guard, like he wasn’t expecting to see him still up. Or maybe like he hoped he wouldn’t have to talk to him yet. He hesitates for a second, then gives a soft, almost sheepish smile. “Hey, kiddo.” He toes off his shoes and steps inside, setting his bag down gently by the door. “Didn’t think you’d still be up.”

Kai shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

His dad nods, runs a hand through his hair. There’s a pause, like he’s deciding whether to push further, before he asks, “Where’s Beomgyu? He’s not here?”

Kai shifts slightly. “He… had to go home. His dad called.”

That seems to surprise him. His dad stills for a moment, brow furrowing. “This late?”

“Yeah.” Kai watches his dad’s expression darken just a little; not anger, more like unease. “He left around seven. Haven’t heard from him since.”

His father exhales through his nose, concern flickering briefly across his face. “That boy doesn’t talk much about his family,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “You think he’s alright?”

Kai looks down, thumbs pressing into the edge of his phone. “I don’t know.”

His dad doesn’t press further, but the silence that follows says enough. He walks toward the table, setting his things down with more care than usual, like noise might break whatever fragile understanding is holding them in place. The air between them feels thick again, not angry now, but tired. Kai watches him move, noting the extra lines around his eyes, the slump in his posture.

“Dad,” he says finally, voice low but steady. “About this morning…”

His dad stiffens slightly but nods, without turning. “Yeah. Me too.”

They stand in it for a beat; both of them tired, both of them still stinging from everything said and unsaid. Kai sits forward, elbows on his knees. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was ungrateful. I know you’re doing everything you can. I just… I hate seeing you like that.”

His father turns slowly, arms folded loosely. “And I hate feeling like no matter how hard I try, it’s still not enough.”

“It is enough,” Kai says. “Even if we don’t have new shoes or amusement parks or whatever. It’s enough.”

His dad huffs a laugh, weary. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, it should,” Kai mutters, then softer, “Because you’re all I’ve ever had, and you’ve always been there. Even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard.”

There’s a long pause, then his dad sinks onto the armchair opposite him, rubbing his jaw. “I wanted to give you a good day, Kai. I thought if we had that, maybe you’d remember it instead of… all the rest.”

Kai swallows hard. “I would’ve remembered it anyway. Just because we were together.”

His dad goes quiet, eyes darting toward the floor. “You always say the right things,” he murmurs. “Even when I don’t deserve them.”

“You do,” Kai says. “You’ve done everything for me. I just wish you’d stop hurting yourself to do it.”

His dad doesn’t reply right away. He just sits there, shoulders bowed slightly, gaze fixed on some invisible point on the carpet between them. The air buzzes faintly with the hum of the fridge and the soft creak of the building settling, but neither of them moves. Not until Kai does, slowly rising from the sofa like he’s not quite sure whether he’s allowed to. His hands twitch at his sides. Then he crosses the short space between them and crouches down in front of the chair, like he used to when he was little and afraid of storms.

His dad looks up, startled, eyes catching his.

“I mean it,” Kai says quietly. “You don’t have to keep proving anything. You already did.”

For a moment, nothing happens. Then his father leans forward, arms wrapping around him in a way that’s both careful and crushing. Kai exhales, finally, sagging into the embrace like a string pulled too tight for too long. His dad smells like work – metal and winter air and the faint tang of engine oil – but underneath that, he smells like home. That familiar scent that’s lived in the same jumpers, the same jackets, year after year.

Kai feels a hand rise and settle gently against the back of his head, fingers curling into his hair like they did when he was younger and couldn't sleep.

“I’m sorry,” his dad whispers, voice catching. “For not saying it sooner. For making you carry so much.”

Kai shakes his head against his shoulder. “I’m okay.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.”

His dad pulls back just enough to press a soft kiss to the crown of Kai’s head so naturally it feels like muscle memory. Kai’s throat tightens so suddenly he doesn’t trust himself to speak. He just holds on, eyes squeezed shut, letting himself be small for a minute. Letting himself be his father’s son, not someone who has to keep pretending he’s fine all the time.

“You’re my whole world, kid,” his dad murmurs. “I just want you to have more than I ever could.”

“I don’t need more,” Kai says thickly. “I just need you.”

And that, more than anything, breaks something open. His father pulls him closer again, arms tightening, as if trying to shield him from all the things neither of them can fix, and for a little while, in the quiet of the apartment, with the soft light pooling around them and the phone forgotten on the sofa, they just sit like that. Two hearts beating against the noise of the world. Holding on. Holding each other.

Eventually, they part, not all the way, but enough for Kai to pull back and wipe at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. His dad keeps a hand on his shoulder a moment longer, grounding and warm, before letting go with a quiet sigh.

Kai clears his throat, voice still rough at the edges. “There’s some food left, by the way. From earlier.”

His dad glances up. “Yeah?”

“Beomgyu bought it. Galbi jjim and Jeju pork. From that place near the underpass.”

His dad perks up slightly at that. “The one with the stupidly expensive side dishes?”

Kai gives a small nod. “That one.”

His father hums, pushing himself to his feet. “Guess I should take advantage before you demolish the rest.”

Kai doesn’t follow him into the kitchen but sits back on the armrest of the sofa, curling one leg up and wrapping his arms loosely around it. A few minutes later, his dad returns with a reheated bowl and settles into the armchair with a weary groan.

He eats quietly for a bit, clearly enjoying it, letting the silence hang in a way that doesn’t press too hard. Eventually, he nods appreciatively. “Damn. Beomgyu’s got good taste.”

Kai offers a faint smile. “He always goes overboard when it comes to food.”

His dad pauses, looking at him curiously. “Yeah?”

Kai shakes his head. “Yeah... It’s a shame he had to leave so suddenly, he had saved some to eat for dinner but he never got to.”

There’s a beat of quiet as his dad chews, then, more gently, “That why you’ve been staring at your phone like it owes you an apology?”

Kai doesn’t answer right away. Just shrugs, gaze fixed somewhere near the floor. His voice is softer now, more uncertain. “He hasn’t read any of my messages. Not one.”

His dad studies him for a moment, then says carefully, “Maybe he’s just catching up with family. Got caught up in it all.”

Kai looks down, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Maybe.”

But neither of them quite believes it.

His father exhales through his nose, resting his bowl on his lap. “He doesn’t talk about them much, does he?”

Kai shakes his head. “Barely at all. I don’t even know their names.”

His dad hums low in his throat, like he’s weighing something. “Still. Doesn’t mean something bad’s happened. Could just be he needs space.”

Kai’s silent for a moment, then says quietly, “Even when he’s mad or tired or busy, he always texts. Even if it’s just a thumbs-up or, like, a skull emoji.”

His father sets his bowl down on the side table, chewing the inside of his cheek. Then, with a gentler tone, “You two are... official now, yeah?”

Kai glances up, hesitant, like he’s not sure if now is the right time to say it. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We are.”

A slow grin spreads across his dad’s face. “Well, look at you. Took you long enough.”

Kai’s smile is faint, barely there. “He asked me.”

“Smart kid,” his dad says, nudging him with his foot. “Clearly knows not to wait around for you to sort your feelings out.”

Kai huffs a small laugh, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

His dad notices, and the teasing fades again, replaced by something softer. “Hey. He’s alright, Kai. I’m sure of it.”

Kai doesn’t respond. He doesn’t trust himself to. The worry in his chest hasn’t eased; it just sits there, heavy and unmoving, but he stays next to his dad anyway, and his dad stays beside him.

Kai stays there long after his dad finishes eating, the empty bowl resting on the side table, the television murmuring something neither of them really listens to. Eventually, his dad shifts with a sigh and rises to his feet, stretching with a quiet groan as his joints crack.

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Try not to stay up all night waiting for a text, yeah?”

Kai doesn't answer right away, and maybe his dad knows better than to push. He steps over, brushes a hand through Kai’s hair in a fond, familiar gesture, and presses a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Night, kiddo.”

“Night, Dad,” Kai murmurs, eyes still on the dark window.

He listens to the sound of the bathroom door shutting, the faint rush of water starting up behind it. The silence in the living room feels louder now, the kind that creeps under your skin when there’s no one left to distract you.

With a quiet exhale, Kai gets to his feet and makes his way to his room, phone still gripped loosely in his hand. He flicks on the light, shuts the door behind him, and sinks onto the edge of his bed. The covers are still rumpled from earlier, untouched since the morning. He sets his phone down on the duvet, just for a second. Just to breathe. Then he picks it back up and opens the same chat he’s been checking all day.

Still nothing.

No read receipt. No reply. The screen is a list of his words in blue, stacked neatly like unanswered prayers.

 

hyung i’m kinda worried now…
are u okay?
please answer me when you get the chance <3
i miss you
(づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡

 

The message joins the others in silence.

Kai lies on his bed, the ceiling above him blurred by the sting in his eyes. The room is dark except for the faint glow of his phone screen, the harsh blue light illuminating the exhaustion carved into his features. His thumb hovers over the chat with Beomgyu, the string of unanswered messages like bruises across the screen. Still no read receipts. Still nothing.

The silence is starting to feel less like an absence and more like a warning.

He exhales shakily and backs out of the chat, scrolling through his contacts until his finger stops on Soobin’s name. For a second, he debates it – doesn’t want to seem dramatic or intrusive or clingy – but the worry has already started to rot at the edges of his composure. He taps the call button before he can second-guess himself.

The ringing starts. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Hello?” Soobin answers, voice thick with sleep or maybe just the residue of a long day. There’s a slight shuffle, like he’s sitting up. “Kai?”

Kai doesn’t ease into it. “Hey, Soobin hyung… Have you heard from Beomgyu hyung?”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, too long to be casual. “Isn’t he with you?” Soobin asks, slower now, cautious.

Kai sits up against the headboard, fingers tightening around the phone. “No. His dad called him earlier and told him to go back to Daegu. He left right after. I haven’t heard from him since. He hasn’t even read my messages.”

Another pause. This one lands heavier.

“…Oh,” Soobin says, barely above a whisper. The way he says it, it’s not just surprise. It’s recognition. A quiet understanding sliding into place. It confirms something Kai didn’t want confirmed.

Kai’s throat is dry. “So you know something’s wrong.”

Soobin exhales, slow and deliberate. “I know Beomgyu doesn’t like going home. That’s all I’ll say.”

Kai’s stomach churns. “Do you think he’s okay?”

There’s a long stretch of quiet on the line. Kai imagines Soobin pushing a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s thinking too hard about something he can’t quite say.

“Of course, he is,” Soobin replies at last, voice careful. “He’s not the type to let people see when things get bad. But I’ll check in on him. I promise. I’ll keep you updated.”

Kai closes his eyes and leans back against the wall. It’s not the reassurance he wanted, but it’s better than silence. “Thanks. I just… I can’t shake this feeling. Like something’s wrong. I know I don’t know everything about his family, but I’ve always felt like… I don’t know.”

“I get it,” Soobin says quietly. “Believe me, I do. And you’re right, there’s a reason he never talks about them. But if there’s one thing about Beomgyu, it’s that he’s stubborn. He doesn’t like people seeing him hurt. He’ll open up when he’s ready. And until then… it’s not really my place to speak on his life.”

Kai nods slowly, though Soobin can’t see it. “I understand. I’m not asking you to break his trust. I just… I needed to know he’s not completely alone.”

“He’s not,” Soobin says firmly now, with a kind of quiet resolve. “I’ll see if I can get him to answer my call. Until then, you don’t need to worry too much, alright?”

Kai presses a hand to his chest, like he can quiet the ache that’s settled there. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Thanks, hyung. Really.”

“Try to get some sleep,” Soobin says gently. “I’ll message you if I hear anything, alright?”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

The call ends, and the room is silent again, but not quite the same kind of silence as before. It's heavier now, layered with things unsaid and worries unspoken, but at least it's not the kind of silence that leaves him entirely alone. Kai stares at his phone a moment longer, then sets it on his nightstand, screen-down. He doesn’t sleep. He just lies there in the dark, listening to the sound of the heater hum and the low, distant memory of Beomgyu’s laugh, wondering where that laugh is now.

Kai stares at the ceiling again, but this time the silence doesn't settle. It itches beneath his skin, restless and loud in all the worst ways. Soobin’s words helped a little, but not enough to quiet the gnawing unease in his chest. The stillness of his room feels like it's pressing in on him now, crowding the air out of his lungs. He picks up his phone again, thumb hesitating over one name.

Yeonjun.

He didn’t want to worry him, but right now he doesn’t care. Right now, he just needs someone who knows him like Yeonjun does. Someone who can carry the weight with him for a bit. He hits the call button before he can change his mind.

The phone rings twice before Yeonjun picks up, his voice low but immediately alert. “Ningie! What’s up?”

Kai opens his mouth, but no sound comes out at first. It’s like now that he has Yeonjun on the line, all the weight he’s been holding onto is trying to crash down at once. His throat tightens. “Hey,” he manages eventually. “Sorry. I know it’s late.”

“It’s fine. What happened?” Yeonjun’s voice sharpens slightly, still gentle but edged with concern now. “You sound off.”

Kai exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. “It’s Beomgyu.”

That’s all it takes. Yeonjun is quiet for a beat. “What about him?”

“He… his dad called him earlier. Told him to come back to Daegu. He left pretty quickly. I haven’t heard from him since. He hasn’t answered my texts, hasn’t even read them. It’s been hours.”

Yeonjun curses softly under his breath, the way he only does when he’s worried. “Did something happen? Between you two?”

“No,” Kai says quickly. “No, we’re… we’re fine. Better than fine, actually. We made it official yesterday.”

“Oh.” Yeonjun’s voice lightens with a note of warmth. “Kai, that’s–”

“I can’t even feel happy about it,” Kai cuts in, his voice cracking. “Because he just left. And I could tell he didn’t want to. He looked so– like something was pulling him apart inside. And I didn’t stop him. I didn’t even ask. I thought I should respect it if it was about his family but now I–”

“Hey,” Yeonjun says softly, firmly. “Breathe.”

Kai shuts his eyes and presses the heel of his palm into them. “I should’ve said something. I should’ve told him to stay. I should’ve– God, I don’t know. I didn’t even ask if he was okay. What kind of boyfriend does that?”

“The kind who’s trying to respect boundaries,” Yeonjun says immediately. “The kind who’s trying not to push someone who clearly struggles with being vulnerable. Don’t beat yourself up for that.”

Kai exhales sharply. “Soobin said he’d check on him. But he also said… it’s not his place to talk about Beomgyu’s family.”

Yeonjun hums. “Which probably means it’s bad.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a long silence between them. Kai can hear rustling; Yeonjun moving around, maybe getting up from bed. “I always knew something was off,” Kai murmurs. “He never talks about them. I’ve never even heard him say his parents’ names. He changes the subject, every time. And I just let him.”

“That’s not your fault,” Yeonjun says gently. “You gave him space. You were patient. That’s what people do when they care. You can’t force him to open up. All you can do is be here when he’s ready.”

“But what if–” Kai cuts himself off. His voice is barely a whisper. “What if he’s not okay?”

There’s another pause, then Yeonjun speaks again, softer than before. “Then he’ll call you. Or text you. Or show up at your door. Because no matter how scared he is, he knows you’re safe. He knows you’d never judge him. That matters more than you think.”

Kai swallows. “I just hate not knowing. I hate that I can’t help him.”

“I know.” Yeonjun’s voice is warm now, wrapping around him like a blanket. “But sometimes, helping means waiting. It means trusting that your presence is enough, even when you can’t be there physically.”

Kai shifts, curling in on himself slightly. “He cried, you know. Before he left. He was trying so hard not to show it, but I saw it. And I didn’t ask why.”

Yeonjun’s voice breaks a little too. “Because you love him. And you didn’t want to make him feel cornered. Kai, you’ve always had the biggest heart out of all of us. You feel everything so deeply, and sometimes it hurts you more than it should. But that’s what makes you a good partner. A good person. Don’t let guilt rewrite that.”

Kai’s breath shakes. He doesn’t respond right away. Then he says, “You always know what to say.”

“That’s my job,” Yeonjun says lightly, then adds, “It’s a little scary how fast I’ll fight someone for hurting you, though.”

That earns a weak laugh from Kai. “Please don’t beat up Beomgyu.”

Yeonjun laughs too, the sound soft and fond. “No promises. But seriously, the feelings that he has for you are genuine and deep. That much is obvious. He’s probably going through something he doesn’t even have words for yet. He’ll come back. And when he does, you’ll be there. That’s all you need to do right now.”

Kai nods, tears pooling again even though they don’t fall this time. “Thanks, hyung.”

“Anytime. You want me to stay on the phone? I can talk you to sleep.”

Kai hesitates, thumb still hovering over the call screen as Yeonjun’s voice lingers in his ears like warmth in cold air. Then, before the silence can settle in again and make him doubt it, he brings the phone back to his ear.

“Actually… could you?” he asks, voice small. “Stay on the phone. Just until I fall asleep.”

There’s no pause. No teasing. Just Yeonjun’s immediate, steady, “Of course.”

Kai exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders as he pulls his blanket up and shifts onto his side, phone pressed gently to his ear. The room’s still dim, save for the glow of his charging screen, but it doesn’t feel so lonely now.

Yeonjun’s voice comes again, lighter now, gentle in a way Kai’s always been grateful for. “Do you remember that time in middle school when you sprained your ankle, and I had to piggyback you all the way home?”

Kai huffs a tired laugh. “You made me stop for bungeoppang on the way.”

“Because you were crying and I didn’t know what else to do,” Yeonjun says, laughing too. “I thought red bean pastries would fix everything.”

“They kind of did,” Kai murmurs, a small smile playing on his lips.

Yeonjun continues, voice like a lullaby now. He tells more stories; some dumb, some sweet. The time he tried to dye his hair with lemon juice and sun exposure, and ended up just smelling like a fruit salad for a week. The way Kai used to tape his vocabulary lists to the ceiling above his bed because he swore he’d absorb them in his sleep. The time they stayed up past 2 AM trying to build IKEA shelves without instructions and accidentally nailed one to Yeonjun’s floor.

Kai’s eyes start to flutter shut somewhere between the story about Yeonjun crying at a Pixar short and the one where he caught Kai singing in the shower and tried to harmonize from the hallway.

Eventually, Yeonjun’s voice softens even more, words slowing to a hush. “You’re not alone in this, Kai. You never have been. No matter what happens with Beomgyu, or school, or anything else, you’ve got me. Always.”

Kai doesn’t answer, not with words, but his breath is slower now, deeper, and Yeonjun can tell he’s already slipping into sleep. He keeps talking anyway, a little longer, softer still.

“You’re doing so well. Even when it feels like you’re not. I’m proud of you, Kai.”

A tiny shift, a faint inhale from the other end of the line.

Yeonjun waits a moment, then smiles faintly to himself, whispering, “Good night, dummy.”

He keeps the line open for a while longer, just in case. Just so Kai doesn’t have to fall asleep to silence.

Notes:

we finally catch a glimpse of gyu's family life... what do you think? this chapter was supposed to be part of the previous chapter but it got too long so i split it into two, so enjoy the quick update!! also, i've been worried that this fic is getting too long but i hope you guys don't mind! i just realised i've only written 11 chapters and we're at nearly 150k words 😬 i know some people prefer shorter fics but yeah this fic is definitely going to be a long one which i hope won't be a problem hehe

let me know your thoughts about this update in the comment section!! reading you guys' comments always make me so happy and give me extra motivation hehe <3

feel free to reach out to me about this fic or literally anything at all on twitter at @koostiddy! <3

Chapter 12

Summary:

Beomgyu shifts toward him, reaching out. “Kai–”

“I have class,” Kai says without looking up.

Beomgyu frowns. “It’s barely two. I thought your class–”

“I know what time it starts.” Kai’s voice isn’t loud, but it’s sharp. He slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder and finally dares to look up. Beomgyu’s eyes are wide, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and regret. It would be enough to pull Kai back in if he weren’t already halfway out the door emotionally. If he weren’t already swallowing the burn of tears he’s not ready to shed.

“I just– need to not cry in front of you,” Kai murmurs, softer now, not angry but deeply, achingly honest. “So I’m going.”

🐧 

 

The wind brushes past his cheekbones in a lazy sweep, not sharp enough to sting but cold enough to leave a trace. It’s the kind of noon that hints at spring without committing to it; temperatures wavering above freezing, damp patches where old snow has melted, only for it to freeze again overnight in thin, treacherous sheets. The sky hangs heavy and pale, like someone left a sheet of frosted glass over the sun. Kai exhales slowly, watching the plume of his breath disappear as quickly as it forms. There’s something hollow in the way the cold settles in his chest. It has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the fact that this is the first day back on campus, and he doesn’t know if Beomgyu is going to show up.

His worn trainers leave faint prints on the slushy pavement as he walks, but they vanish within seconds, soaked into the already wet ground. Around him, other students begin filtering in, some still dragging luggage from station stops, others clinging to coffees and greeting each other with the same practiced enthusiasm every semester seems to demand. There’s chatter, laughter, the shuffle of thick coats and backpacks being adjusted, but it all glides past Kai like white noise. His headphones are in, though there’s no music playing. He just needs something to fill the silence that’s been growing louder inside him every day since Beomgyu left.

They hadn’t even fought. That’s the part that loops in his head the most. There was no tension, no argument, no bitter words tossed like stones over the walls they’ve spent months carefully lowering. Just a hurried call, a half-hearted apology, and then the sound of Beomgyu’s footsteps retreating down the hall. Kai remembers standing in the doorway long after he left, staring at the spot where he’d been sitting on the sofa only hours before, laughing softly at some ridiculous TikTok video, their legs tangled in the blankets. Now, it feels like a memory that doesn’t belong to him. A few weeks of silence has a way of doing that.

He’s sent texts. Not the kind that demand answers – he tells himself he’s above that, or at least that he wants to be – but the kind that try to make someone smile. Stupid memes. Screenshots of TikToks. A photo of the cracked mug Beomgyu had claimed as his when he visited. No replies, not even a read receipt, and Beomgyu had never turned his read receipts off before. Kai keeps checking anyway. Just in case something changes. Just in case he changes his mind.

He pulls his coat tighter around him, tugging the sleeves down past his wrists. The buttons are slightly mismatched; his dad had sewn one back on during break after Kai knocked it loose catching a stray door in their cramped kitchen. The gesture had made him smile then, but now it just reminds him of how small his world is compared to Beomgyu’s. He remembers the sound of Beomgyu’s voice echoing off the old walls of their apartment, the way he hadn’t complained once about the mattress springs or the lack of heating in the mornings. If anything, he’d said it felt cozy. But what if that had only been politeness? What if it wasn’t real? What if Beomgyu’s silence is him coming to his senses?

The thought makes Kai’s stomach twist unpleasantly. He shakes it off – or tries to – as he crosses the quad. A few students he vaguely recognises wave or nod at him, but he doesn’t slow down. His hands stay buried in his pockets, fingers curled tightly around the edge of his phone. He’s not sure if he’s bracing for another message or steeling himself against the absence of one. Either way, it keeps him grounded, if only barely.

He approaches the library slowly, steps faltering as it comes into view. There’s nothing remarkable about the building – it’s the same mix of modern glass and outdated brickwork as the rest of campus – but today it feels like something heavier waits inside. Maybe it’s the hope he doesn’t want to name. Maybe it’s the dread that he’s wrong to still be hoping. He told Yeonjun he’d meet him and Soobin there, and for a moment, he considers turning around, claiming he overslept or felt unwell or simply forgot, but he knows they’d see right through it. Yeonjun especially. He’s known Kai since childhood, and despite how different their lives have been, he’s always been able to read him like a book. So Kai pushes forward, up the steps, through the wide double doors, into the warmth of artificial heating and the scent of old paper and overpriced cafe drinks.

The interior welcomes Kai with a familiar warmth, the kind that settles in his limbs but doesn’t quite reach the cold lodged behind his ribs. It’s a quiet symphony: the low hum of conversation blending with the occasional thump of books being reshelved, the steady churn and hiss of the espresso machine behind the cafe counter, the soft rustle of pages being turned by students bent over textbooks. The scent of roasted coffee beans hangs in the air, mingling with faint notes of dust and vanilla from the library’s older shelves. Sunlight filters through the tall windows in gauzy streaks, catching on grains of dust and casting long, slanted rectangles of gold across the worn carpet tiles. The place smells and sounds and feels the same as always, but Kai doesn’t.

His eyes scan the room instinctively, and then they land on Yeonjun’s unmistakable silhouette. That fiery red hair, recently dyed with the help of Kai, glows like a beacon under the muted light. He’s tucked into their usual corner booth near the vending machine, long legs stretched out beneath the table, a black puffer jacket half-draped over the chair beside him. He lifts a hand when he sees Kai, the wave lazy but warm, fingers fluttering like he’s been expecting him for hours. Soobin sits next to him as always, hunched slightly forward as he concentrates on stirring his coffee, his fringe messily flattened on one side like he’d slept through his alarm again.

There’s a third seat, empty and waiting, the one facing the entrance. His seat. Kai’s chest tightens slightly at the sight of it, like even the booth remembers. He walks over with a careful rhythm, plastering on a smile that feels passable; soft at the edges, maybe a bit tired. He shrugs off his coat and lets it slump over the back of his chair, drops his backpack on the floor with a muted thud, and slides into the seat.

Yeonjun’s smile is easy and a little relieved, like he’d come by Kai’s room earlier that morning to check if he was awake, and when no reply came, he’d figured Kai must have already left for campus. “You looked like you needed a nudge,” Yeonjun says, nudging a takeaway cup toward him with one perfectly manicured hand. “I knocked on your door twice, but you were out cold.”

Kai clears his throat, trying not to let the guilt show. “Sorry. Fell asleep early,” he says quietly, fingers wrapping gratefully around the warm cardboard cup. The heat seeps into his skin, but it’s not enough to thaw the ache that’s been sitting in his chest since the day Beomgyu walked out of his apartment without saying when he’d be back. It’s not the same hot mint chocolate that Beomgyu has now made his task to get for him every morning.

Soobin glances up at him then, eyes gentle behind his round glasses. “You okay?” he asks, not like he expects a real answer, but like he needs to ask anyway.

Kai nods too quickly. “Yeah. Just… y’know. First-day-back vibes.”

They don’t push. That’s the thing about these two; they’re careful with him, always. Not because they don’t know how to dig deeper, but because they respect the distance he sometimes needs. He appreciates it, especially today, when everything inside him feels frayed and thin.

Yeonjun lets the conversation roll on easily, as if sensing the fragility in the air. “I already regret signing up for that 9AM fashion history lecture,” he says, groaning theatrically. “It’s in the old humanities building, you know, the one where the heating never works? I’m going to freeze my toes off before the semester even really starts.”

Soobin snorts into his cup, eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe if you actually went to bed before two, you’d survive a morning class.”

Yeonjun throws him a mock glare, hand to his chest like he’s been wounded. “Hey, that’s your fault. You kept me up all night with those late-night calls. I’m just paying the price for falling for you over winter break.”

Soobin grins, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “You did say you couldn’t resist.”

Kai smiles faintly at their exchange, but it’s a muted thing. He hears the words, watches the way Soobin rolls his eyes while Yeonjun launches into a dramatic retelling of some holiday misadventure in Busan, but it all feels slightly distant. The sound of the door opening catches his attention, and his head turns before he can stop himself. Just a pair of students walking in, arms linked, laughing over something on a phone screen. Not him. Of course not.

His fingers tighten slightly around the cup. He hasn’t touched the drink yet.

Yeonjun pauses mid-sentence, eyes flicking toward Kai, then toward the door. He says nothing, but there’s a flicker of something in his gaze; concern, maybe. Kai doesn’t meet it.

“You should’ve seen the glamping trip Eomma booked,” Yeonjun says, seamlessly picking up the thread again. “I had to sleep in a stupid mattress on the floor with literally no insulation. I had to sleep in a hoodie and a puffer.”

Soobin raises a brow. “Sounds like your version of camping.”

“It was camping,” Yeonjun replies. “With a Keurig machine.”

Kai lets the laughter between them wash over him like static. He keeps nodding, contributing the occasional hum or monosyllabic comment, but mostly he watches the entrance in intervals, heart skipping a beat every time it swings open. He knows it’s pathetic. He knows it’s been weeks with nothing, but some part of him can’t help the hope that Beomgyu might still show up, that he might walk through that door and meet his eyes like nothing’s broken between them. Like they’re still them, but the door keeps opening, and Beomgyu isn’t the one walking through it, and Kai keeps looking anyway.

Every few minutes, he glances at the entrance like Beomgyu might appear there, casually late with that insufferable smirk he wears when he knows people have been waiting for him. The door opens a few times. Students enter, some in pairs, some alone. None of them are him. Kai checks his phone again. Still nothing. He feels the smile he’s been holding start to slip, catches it just in time, replaces it with something neutral.

Soobin leans forward, his expression soft but steady, the kind of calm Kai’s been desperate for all morning. “Beomgyu told me himself that he’ll be here today,” Soobin says quietly, voice low enough to feel like a private promise meant only for Kai’s ears. “He said he’s just running a bit later than usual, nothing more.”

Kai blinks, a flicker of cautious hope stirring faintly in the pit of his stomach, but it’s almost immediately crushed beneath a heavier, colder weight. That Beomgyu had told Soobin but hadn’t bothered to tell him, his own boyfriend, the person who’s been waiting and worrying for weeks now. The thought stings sharper than he expected. Okay, sure, Soobin is Beomgyu’s flatmate and it would’ve been natural to tell him, but still. He presses his lips tightly together, trying to swallow down the rising lump of hurt and frustration. Couldn’t he have sent me one single message?

Just one. An emoji, a “don’t want to talk right now”, or even a meaningless little “…” or a thumbs-up. Something to show Kai he was alive, that he hadn’t disappeared completely into silence and shadows. Silence is the worst thing he could’ve gone for, the loudest scream of all, and Kai has spent every day of the last fortnight hearing nothing but it.

His mind won’t stop racing. It claws at every memory from the last few months, digging deeper into the moments they’d shared; the late-night talks, the sleepy morning breakfasts, the way Beomgyu looked at him when he thought no one was watching. The way they’d finally become official, just two days before Beomgyu left for Daegu, but now? It felt like those promises had been whispered into a vacuum. Like all of it – the laughter, the trust, the shy smiles – had meant nothing. Like Beomgyu could erase Kai from his life with the same ease as crossing out a line on a notebook.

Kai’s chest tightens painfully. He fights to keep his breathing steady, to stop his fingers from trembling as he clenches them in his lap. The anger bubbles up alongside the sadness, mixing into a bitter knot of confusion and loneliness. He’s so tired of not knowing, of being left in the dark. Was Beomgyu even thinking of him? Did he care? Or was Kai just a chapter that got closed without any warning?

Soobin swallows hard, clearly feeling the weight of Kai’s silence but still unable – or unwilling – to cross the unspoken line. Instead, he offers a small, apologetic smile. “Look, I’m not even supposed to be telling you this but Beomgyu’s not good at dealing with things when they get complicated,” he says carefully, choosing his words like stepping stones across a fragile stream. “He probably thought he was protecting you by staying quiet.”

Protecting him? From what exactly? Kai looks away, biting the inside of his cheek. He wants to believe Soobin, really, but it’s so difficult when all he’s had for weeks is silence and uncertainty. He’s tried reaching out – texts, calls, memes, anything to get a reaction – but nothing. Not a single reply, and that silence has made the cold between them grow into a vast, empty space Kai doesn’t know how to cross.

He thinks back to that night at Everland, the first kiss on the Ferris wheel, the laughter they shared beneath the winter sky. Those memories feel like a lifetime ago now, fragile and distant, like something he’s afraid to touch for fear it’ll crumble in his hands. Had Beomgyu meant it then? Had he felt the same way? Kai’s heart pounds painfully in his chest. He doesn’t want to give up. He wants to wait, to believe that Beomgyu will walk through the door any minute now and explain everything, but part of him, the part that’s been aching in the silence, wonders if waiting is only making the pain worse.

He catches Soobin’s eye again, and for a moment, he sees the unspoken care and worry there. The way Soobin is holding space for him, even though he can’t say what he really wants to. That quiet kindness is the only thing steady in a day that feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

“Thanks,” Kai says, voice low but sincere. 

Soobin nods.  Kai tries to hold onto those words, like a lifeline. But inside, the questions still churn, unanswered and raw. He doesn’t know what to think anymore. He doesn’t know if Beomgyu is okay, if they are okay, or if this silence is something that will swallow everything they built together. All Kai knows is that the cold hasn’t left him yet, and somehow, after everything, it feels colder than ever.

The library doors swing open just as the afternoon sunlight fades into a cooler, softer light. Kai’s head snaps up, heart leaping against his ribs before reason drags it back down. For a split second, he thinks it’s Beomgyu, that this is finally the moment, but it still isn’t. Just a couple of students, laughing too loudly as they shuffle past the entrance. The flutter of disappointment tightens inside him again, bitter and familiar.

Then the door swings open once more, slower this time, and there he is. Beomgyu, finally. Later than anyone expected, his figure framed by the chilly light outside, casting long shadows over the worn linoleum floor. Kai’s breath catches, everything else blurring around the edges like it’s happening underwater. The light is gone from Beomgyu’s eyes; the bright spark that had drawn Kai in like a moth to flame is missing, replaced by something distant and tired, as if he’s been running on empty for days.

Beomgyu’s clothes are sharp and neat, clean-cut but not flashy; a tailored black coat over a simple shirt, the collar slightly rumpled, sleeves pushed up just enough to suggest he tried but didn’t quite manage to care all the way through. His hair is a little messy, as if he’s been running his hands through it more times than he can count. There’s an exhaustion in the set of his jaw, the way his shoulders slump just a little too heavily as he moves forward.

Kai’s smile breaks free before he can stop it, wide and hopeful. He scoots over in the booth, making space without hesitation, heart pounding so loudly he’s sure Beomgyu can hear it. “Hi, hyung,” Kai says, voice a little too bright, trying to sound casual. “You’re finally here.”

Beomgyu barely looks up, his eyes flickering toward Kai but not holding the gaze. Instead, he mutters a gruff “Hey” back, voice low and rough like he’s swallowed a stone. There’s no warmth in it, no spark of the teasing, confident boy Kai knows beneath the surface. The silence that stretches after is thick and awkward, heavy enough to make Kai’s throat dry and his hands clench into fists on the tabletop.

“Are you okay?” Kai asks, voice soft, hopeful but careful. He’s not ready to give up yet, not after all this time. He wants to reach out, to pull Beomgyu back from wherever this cold shadow has dragged him.

Beomgyu shrugs, barely meeting Kai’s eyes again. “Yeah. Just tired,” he says, but it sounds hollow, like an excuse rather than an answer.

Kai feels a stab of frustration.  Tired isn’t the whole story, not by a long shot, but he doesn’t push, not yet. Instead, he shifts slightly closer, letting his hand brush against Beomgyu’s on the table, testing the waters. Beomgyu doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t respond either. The silence lingers, deeper than before. Around them, the library hums softly; the scratch of pens, the rustle of pages, distant voices blending into a muted soundtrack that feels a world away from the storm inside Kai’s chest. He wants to speak, to fill the gap between them with words, with something real, but the words catch in his throat, tangled with hope and fear and the gnawing ache of uncertainty.

“I missed you,” Kai finally admits, voice barely above a whisper, like a fragile confession he’s afraid might shatter if spoken too loud.

Beomgyu’s eyes flicker to Kai’s again, a flicker of something almost like pain – or maybe guilt – passing over his features, but then it’s gone, replaced by the same quiet, shut-down expression. “I know,” he says simply, voice tight.

The booth feels smaller somehow, the space between them both too close and impossibly wide. Kai wants to bridge it, to pull Beomgyu into an embrace that might fix everything, but the tension knots tight around his ribs.  Kai exhales quietly, trying to steady the fluttering ache inside his chest. 

Soobin, sitting opposite, clears his throat and attempts to break the silence, his voice tentative but steady. “So, how was the rest of your winter break, hyung? Did you manage to get any rest between fashion projects?”

Yeonjun chuckles softly, pushing a loose strand of red hair behind his ear. “Rest? Barely. I was buried in fabric samples and sketchbooks most of the time. You know how it is with finals and portfolio prep. But I’m glad I snuck in a bit of time with you.” He shoots a quick glance at his boyfriend, who smiles back, eyes warm despite the lingering tension at the table.

Soobin flushes a shade of red resembling that of Yeonjun’s hair and buries his face in his hands.

“It’s so easy making you blush,” Yeonjun grins and gives Soobin a playful shove. “What about you, Beomgyu? How was your winter break? I heard you stayed with Kai for a while.”

Beomgyu, still slumped slightly in the seat beside Kai, barely looks up from his phone. His fingers tap absentmindedly against the screen, scrolling through something Kai can’t see. When Kai glances toward him, his boyfriend’s face is unreadable, eyes shadowed and distant. Finally, Beomgyu murmurs, voice low and hollow, “It was fine.”

Kai’s stomach twists at the word – fine – as if it doesn’t weigh nearly enough to hold everything they’d shared over the break. Fine, like it hadn’t meant anything. Like it hadn’t been late-night laughter under shared blankets, Beomgyu’s cold hands wrapped around steaming mugs Kai’s dad made for them. Like it hadn’t been quiet walks through snow-dusted parks, Kai stealing glances while Beomgyu traced frost patterns on Kai’s bedroom window with the tip of his finger. Like it hadn’t been the Everland trip, their first kiss under a canopy of fireworks, or Kai waking up to sleepy morning murmurs and tangled limbs and the warm press of lips against his temple. That break had been the happiest he’d felt in a long time; a brief, perfect world he’d thought they were building together, but to Beomgyu, all of it had just been fine?

The hollowness of the response rattles something deep in Kai’s chest. His face remains still, expression carefully neutral, but inside, a jagged disappointment slices through him like ice water. He doesn’t need poetry or elaborate declarations, he would’ve settled for great or even nice. Anything but that cold, indifferent fine. It makes Kai feel foolish for replaying every little moment in his head these past few weeks, clinging to them like they meant something solid. Was he the only one who’d felt it so deeply? The only one who’d kept hoping Beomgyu’s silence was circumstantial, not deliberate? The air feels thinner now, harder to breathe in, and he wonders if Beomgyu even remembers how tightly Kai had held him by the front door, how reluctant he’d been to let go. Because Kai remembers. He remembers everything, and it hurts to realise that maybe Beomgyu doesn’t.

Kai doesn’t say anything. He can’t, not with the way the rejection makes his throat tighten and his chest burn with something sharp and cold. It had been a soft, quiet touch beneath the table, something small but full of meaning. A silent I’m here, a fragile please look at me, a reach toward something steady in all this unspoken distance, but Beomgyu pulls away. Gently, quietly, like maybe he thinks it won’t hurt as much if he does it softly, but it does. It aches. It leaves Kai’s hand suspended mid-air for a breath too long before he draws it back to his lap, curling his fingers into his palm like he can hide the shame. The sting lingers, a slow burn under his skin, not from the action itself but what it says without saying anything at all. That maybe Beomgyu doesn’t want to be touched by him. That maybe whatever existed between them before wasn’t real in the way Kai had believed it was.

What makes it worse, unbearable almost, is the contrast sitting just across the table. Yeonjun and Soobin – who had also found something over the break – can’t stop gravitating toward each other. It’s in the way Soobin gently nudges Yeonjun’s foot with his own, in the way Yeonjun leans into him without even thinking, their smiles wide and soft and effortlessly in sync. They’d become a ‘we’ so easily, a unit, tangible and whole. Kai can’t help but watch them and wonder what changed between them and why it feels like everything’s changed between him and Beomgyu. Just a few weeks ago, they were wrapped in each other’s warmth, Kai thinking – hoping – that whatever they were was real and becoming something more. He remembers Beomgyu whispering things like I don’t want this to end, and I’ve never felt like this before, in the quiet hush of his bedroom, breath warm against Kai’s skin. Those words echo now, hollow and distant, like fragments of a dream Kai’s starting to question the truth of. Did Beomgyu mean them? Did any of it mean anything?

Because if it did – if it really did – then why won’t he even look at Kai now?

Kai goes quiet for a moment. He keeps his smile on – at least what’s left of it – but it slips slightly at the corners, the way light fades beneath thick cloud cover. He lowers his gaze to his cup, fingers curling tighter around the lukewarm cup, as if it might anchor him, as if the shape of it might keep him from crumbling. He doesn’t say anything nor does he ask. The silence is safer, if only barely. Anything more, and he’s afraid the answer will land like a brick to the chest. 

Across the table, Yeonjun and Soobin notice it. Not in any loud, obvious way, but in the kind of pause that happens when someone senses a storm just past the horizon. Soobin shifts slightly, setting his cup down a little too carefully. Yeonjun’s grin flickers; not gone, but quieter now, uncertain. They exchange a glance, just the briefest flick of eyes between them, and in any other moment Kai might be grateful for their gentleness, their awareness, but right now, it only amplifies the ache because he knows what that look means. It's the look people wear when something's gone wrong but no one wants to be the one to name it.

He wonders what they’re seeing. What version of him he’s presenting to the world right now. He’s trying to appear fine, trying to keep the tight-lipped smile, the polite nods, the way his leg isn’t bouncing under the table from the anxious energy flooding his system. But he can feel the cracks forming. Feel the ache behind his eyes that he keeps forcing back, because god, he doesn’t want to cry in a library, in front of Beomgyu, in front of everyone. He doesn’t want this moment – this carefully arranged reunion – to be another memory he’ll have to scrub raw later, another image that will haunt him with could-have-beens and wasn’t-that-the-moment-it-all-fell-apart?

Beomgyu hasn’t said anything since that offhand “it was fine”. He’s gone back to scrolling through his phone, like whatever conversation was happening around him doesn’t need his presence. Like Kai himself doesn’t, and that’s what hurts most; not the words – or lackthereof – but the deliberate distance, because Kai remembers a version of Beomgyu who used to touch him without thinking, who used to pull him close by the wrist just to kiss his cheek, who used to grin at him in public like Kai was the best thing he’d ever laid eyes on, and now, that Beomgyu is sitting a metre away, spine curled, eyes downcast, retreating further with every minute. It’s not just coldness. It’s erasure. Like he’s trying to disappear without moving.

Kai’s thoughts tumble louder with every second. Maybe he got carried away. Maybe he thought it was real when it was just convenience. Maybe Beomgyu had been charmed by the novelty of someone so openly soft and easy with affection, and now the glow had worn off, the way it always does with cheap fairy lights and romanticised winters. Kai thinks about the texts he sent; hundreds of them, some serious, some stupid, some just a single meme followed by three question marks when there was still no reply. He’d rationalised every silence, every unread message. Told himself Beomgyu was overwhelmed. That he was busy. That he needed space. But never – not once – did he imagine that the space might grow into something permanent. Into this.

Beside him, Beomgyu shifts slightly, the leather of his coat creaking faintly. Kai’s breath catches, stupid hope leaping back into his throat like it always does, ready to be crushed, but Beomgyu doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t even speak. Just moves his phone from one hand to the other and goes back to whatever screen has claimed him. Kai blinks hard. The disappointment isn’t a wave now, it’s a flood. Slow and heavy, filling his lungs and weighing down every breath. He wants to scream. Or stand up. Or shake Beomgyu until he snaps out of it. But he does none of those things because deep down, a part of him still wants to believe this is fixable. That this version of Beomgyu – the cold, unreachable one – is temporary. A glitch. That the real one is still in there somewhere, waiting to be coaxed back out.

Soobin starts talking about his winter break then, his voice warm but cautious, as if testing the waters. He tells Yeonjun about his mum’s relentless efforts to feed him every hour, about how he nearly burned down the kitchen trying to bake cookies with his sister. Yeonjun laughs and shares a story about his aunt dragging him to a department store sale at seven in the morning and accidentally getting into a passive-aggressive fight over a discounted designer scarf. The tension eases for a moment, the conversation floating gently across the table again, but Kai is barely in it. He nods at the right times, even manages a small chuckle when Yeonjun mimics his aunt’s shrill voice, but it’s all on autopilot. His body is here, but his heart’s sitting quietly beside him, wondering why it feels like it’s being held at arm’s length.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it does. They were happy, weren’t they? He thinks of the night they watched horror movies, Beomgyu flinching at every jump scare and Kai laughing into his hoodie. The way Beomgyu used to fall asleep on his shoulder, murmuring nonsense, fingers loosely curled around Kai’s wrist. The snowball fight that ended with them breathless on the ground, Beomgyu rolling over him with a grin before kissing the cold off his mouth. Were those not real? Did they not mean anything? How does someone go from kissing you in your bedroom with trembling hands and whispered promises to acting like you barely exist?

Kai’s eyes flicker up to Beomgyu’s face again. Still unreadable. Still far away. And something cracks a little deeper inside him.

Beomgyu finally notices. Kai feels it before he sees it; feels the shift in the air, the way Beomgyu’s attention finally lifts from the glowing screen of his phone to glance his way, just briefly, like a flicker of wind rustling through still leaves. It’s not overt, but it’s enough. Enough to make Kai’s breath hitch because there’s something there in Beomgyu’s eyes now; something softer, maybe remorseful, cutting through the wall of cold detachment he’s been hiding behind all afternoon. Kai doesn’t look back right away. He can’t. His throat is too tight, his chest too sore, and the last thing he wants is to meet that look and mistake guilt for affection because they’re not the same. They never have been.

Yeonjun finally pushes back his chair with a clap on his thighs, stretching as he announces he has class. Soobin follows suit with a small smile, glancing once at Kai as if checking for cracks in the surface. There are many, but Kai manages a quick, “See you guys later,” before they walk off down the corridor, their voices fading into the rustle of backpacks and footsteps. The quiet that settles afterward is suffocating. It wraps around Kai like wet wool, heavy and clinging, and still Beomgyu doesn’t speak. Not right away.

Then, softly – so softly that Kai almost misses it – Beomgyu reaches out and holds his hand, breath warm against the space between them. “I’m sorry.”

Kai doesn’t move. He stares at the tabletop, at the pale ring of condensation left behind by Yeonjun’s drink, the warped edge of his own notebook where his thumb’s been digging in too hard. “For what?” he asks, and he hates the way his voice wavers. He wants to sound strong. He wants to sound indifferent, but it comes out small.

Beomgyu exhales like he’s been holding it in for too long. “For… this. For being closed off. For not texting back. For acting so cold when you don’t deserve it.”

That last part makes Kai flinch, because it hits too close. Too raw. He swallows thickly, blinking down the sting behind his eyes. “You think I care about a couple unanswered texts?” he says quietly, lips tight. “I just wanted to know you were okay. You didn’t have to talk. You didn’t have to explain. You could’ve sent a dot. A stupid emoji. Or a ‘not now’. Anything. Just… not nothing.”

Beomgyu runs a hand through his hair, the gesture almost frustrated but Kai can tell it’s not at him. “I know,” Beomgyu says, and this time he sounds truly pained. “I didn’t mean to shut you out. I didn’t mean for it to get so bad. I just… I was tired. I still am. Things were rough when I got home, and I didn’t know how to deal. But that’s not your fault. I should’ve told you that.”

Kai nods slowly, but the words don’t bring relief. If anything, they carve the hurt deeper. “I understand if you’re not ready to talk about it. Really, I do. But if that’s the case, then at least treat me like someone who matters to you. Not like some temporary distraction you can just drop the moment things get hard.”

Beomgyu’s mouth opens like he wants to deny it, to say you’re not, to reach across the table and prove Kai wrong with touch or words or anything, but nothing comes out, and the silence, again, says too much.

Kai shakes his head, and this time the smile he wears is faint and bitter. “Did all of it mean nothing to you? The trip, the nights at my place, the things we said, the way you looked at me like I was–” He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “Was that just some fantasy you let yourself have for a few days before you decided it wasn’t worth keeping?”

“No,” Beomgyu says quickly, firmly, finally sounding like he means it. “God, no. Kai– none of that was fake. I meant every second of it.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one who remembers it that way?”

Beomgyu looks stricken. Like he’s finally seeing the weight of what his silence has done, but Kai can’t stay. He can’t sit here and be looked at like that; like someone Beomgyu’s trying to console after the damage has been done, like someone already halfway gone.

He starts packing his things with hands that tremble slightly. The zipper on his pencil case jams and he swears under his breath, more at himself than the object. His notebooks go in his bag, one by one, far too neatly for someone trying not to cry in a public place.

Beomgyu shifts toward him, reaching out. “Kai–”

“I have class,” Kai says without looking up.

Beomgyu frowns. “It’s barely two. I thought your class–”

“I know what time it starts.” Kai’s voice isn’t loud, but it’s sharp. He slings the strap of his bag over his shoulder and finally dares to look up. Beomgyu’s eyes are wide, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and regret. It would be enough to pull Kai back in if he weren’t already halfway out the door emotionally. If he weren’t already swallowing the burn of tears he’s not ready to shed.

“I just– need to not cry in front of you,” Kai murmurs, softer now, not angry but deeply, achingly honest. “So I’m going.”

Beomgyu doesn’t stop him. Maybe because he knows he can’t. Maybe because he understands. Kai walks out of the library on legs that feel like they’ve forgotten how to move right, like they’re only carrying muscle memory and not a person. He doesn’t look back. He can’t. If he does, he knows the part of him that still likes Beomgyu – still hopes for him – will crack wide open.

And right now, that’s something he just can’t afford.

 

🧸 

 

Beomgyu sat frozen in the library booth long after Kai disappeared around the corner, his silhouette swallowed by the corridor's dimming light. The seat beside him felt too empty now, too warm with the shape Kai had left behind and too cold in all the places where he hadn’t dared to reach out. His fingers stayed curled around nothing on the tabletop, shaking slightly before he clenched them into a fist and pulled them back into his lap.

You idiot.

The words echoed like a drumbeat in his head, again and again, getting louder with every second that passed. He hadn’t meant for things to go like this. God, he never meant to hurt Kai, but he had; so clearly, so obviously, in that flicker of Kai’s eyes when he pulled his hand away, in the soft little smile that was more break than bend, in the silence that followed his apology like it had come far too late, and it had. He buried his face in his hands for a moment, elbows digging into the wood. The air was too thin in his lungs. Too tight around his ribs. He felt like he was stuck underwater, hearing only the thud of his heart and the memory of Kai’s voice – Did all of it mean nothing to you?

Of course it hadn’t. It had meant everything. That week at Kai’s place had been the only thing keeping Beomgyu from collapsing under the weight of his own life. It had felt like the first time in years that someone had looked at him like he was soft, worth loving, worth choosing. And he had chosen Kai. That kiss at Everland hadn’t been a game. Becoming official before winter break ended – it had scared him, yeah, but not in the way that made him want to run. It had scared him because it mattered. Because Kai mattered.

But he should’ve known better.

He always became like this whenever he went back home; muted, depleted, like his entire personality got scraped clean the moment he stepped through the front door. It was as if his family had found a way to siphon every last bit of light out of him without raising their voices, without saying anything cruel. Just quiet expectations and judgment wrapped in smiles. Just the awful silence of a father who didn’t care to understand, and a house where love was a performance, never a given, and this time, it had been worse than usual because they did do those things. Called him things unworthy of ever being uttered by a parent, hit and choked him.

He'd tried to hold onto the warmth Kai gave him over the break; Kai’s laughter echoing through the cramped kitchen, their fingers brushing under the dining table, the night they’d stayed up watching movies until Kai fell asleep on his shoulder. Beomgyu had kissed the top of his head and thought, god, I don’t deserve this, but he wanted to. He wanted to try.

Then Daegu happened. And his father’s voice had cut him down like it always did. The look on his face when Beomgyu had snapped back – when he’d dared to defend Kai – had been more violent than anything else. After the shouting, after the hit he didn’t see coming, there’d been that awful stretch of quiet. Beomgyu had holed himself in the staff quarters, refusing to leave or interact with any of his family members, and he hadn’t texted Kai. He couldn’t. Not when he felt like this; like a husk of himself, cracked and leaking whatever parts Kai had managed to fill.

But he should have. At the very least, he should’ve let Kai know he was alive.

Beomgyu exhaled shakily, dragging a hand down his face as he slumped further in the booth. He had another small elective class in twenty minutes. One he didn’t share with Kai, which meant one more hour after that before composition class. That was the next time he’d see Kai. If Kai even came. He tapped his fingers against the side of his thigh, restless, already plotting. What do I say? What do I do? How do you fix something you broke by saying nothing ? By showing up late and guarded and acting like the boy you like is just another classmate?

Beomgyu had always been good with words; sarcasm, teasing, quick quips like armour, but that didn’t work with Kai. Not like this. Kai saw right through him. Kai had always looked at him like there was more beneath the surface, and Beomgyu had wanted to be more for him. Still did. He just didn’t know how to get back there now. Maybe he could ask him to walk after class. Just the two of them. Say what needed to be said in a quiet hallway or out in the courtyard. Or maybe he should write it all down. Text it. No, Kai deserved more than a message. He deserved more than everything Beomgyu had given him today.

The guilt sat like a stone in his stomach, thick and immovable.

His mind kept circling back to Kai’s voice, I just needed to know you were okay. It wasn’t anger that had cracked through his tone. It was care. That was the worst part. Even after the silence, after Beomgyu shut him out, Kai still wanted him to be okay, and Beomgyu had made him walk away with tears in his eyes. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to breathe, trying to get it together before the next class. He needed to show up, take notes, pretend to be a functioning person, but all he could think about was Kai’s retreating back and the soft echo of his footsteps down the corridor.

Beomgyu had already lost too many things in his life; pieces of himself, time he couldn’t get back, family warmth he never really had. He couldn’t lose this too. He’d talk to Kai. Today. He didn’t know how yet, or what he’d say to make it right, but he would. Because Kai wasn’t disposable. He was the only thing that had felt real in a long, long time.

When it's time for class, Beomgyu can’t focus.

The classroom around him may as well be a void – just distant voices bouncing off the walls, the scratch of pens and clicking keyboards, the occasional clearing of someone’s throat – all of it muffled beneath the white noise roaring in his head. He sits on the edge of his seat, one leg bouncing under the table like it has a mind of its own, hands clenched on top of his notebook even though he hasn’t written a single word. The professor’s voice barely cuts through the haze. Slides change on the projector like scenery outside a speeding train; fast, meaningless, gone before he can latch onto anything.

Kai isn’t here.

It’s irrational, maybe, to expect him in a class they don’t even share, but Beomgyu keeps glancing at the door anyway, keeps hoping stupidly that maybe Kai will walk in just to see him. Just to talk. Just to look at him again; not with that brittle, broken expression from the library, but something gentler. Something that might mean forgiveness, but every time the door stays shut or swings open to someone else, his heart sinks lower, landing heavier in his chest each time.

He’s such an idiot.

Every time Kai’s expression replays in his mind – the quiet heartbreak tightening his mouth, the way he stood up and walked away before the tears could fall – it makes Beomgyu want to slam his head against the wall. He should’ve reached for Kai’s hand under the table. Should’ve looked him in the eye. Should’ve said something to make him understand that none of it had been fake. That the nights spent curled up on the floor of Kai’s tiny living room eating cheap tteokbokki, that first sleepy kiss under the glowing Everland fireworks, the whispered promises traded in Kai’s bed when the world had gone still, every moment had meant everything. More than Beomgyu even knows how to say, and still, he threw it all into question. With silence. With distance. With absence.

His chair creaks as he shifts forward, restless, every part of him trained on the clock now. Thirty-five more minutes. Then he can bolt. Then he can find Kai in the hallway outside composition class – maybe early if he’s lucky – and talk to him properly. No more half-apologies. No more tired excuses. Kai needs to hear the truth: that shutting him out was the stupidest thing Beomgyu’s ever done. That it was never about Kai. It never has been. It’s about him, and how messed up he always gets after Daegu, how his father’s voice still lives in his bones like poison, how he’s still learning and struggling to understand what it means to be loved without conditions.

But Kai offered him exactly that. And Beomgyu recoiled from it like he didn’t deserve it.

Twenty-five minutes now. He stares blankly at his notebook again. A page full of aimless doodles and half-sentences. He hasn’t even opened the right textbook. The professor says something – he hears his name, barely – but someone else answers, and he doesn’t even look up. He can’t. Not when every inch of him is crawling with anticipation, guilt, and need.

He wants to run to Kai. Not walk, run. Catch up to him, stand in his path, make him look at him and listen. He wants to say that the reason he never replied to the texts, the memes, the sweet little messages, is because he didn’t feel worthy of them. That he read every single one, and each one made his chest ache with longing and shame. He wants to say that Kai is the only good thing in his life that isn’t tangled up in performance or pressure or pain, and that that’s what scared him, but not anymore.

He can still feel the weight of Kai’s warmth beside him from earlier, the way Kai had made space in the booth like just seeing him had been the best part of his day, and how Beomgyu hadn’t been able to meet that joy with anything even close to what it deserved. It’s like he’d shown up dragging all of Daegu’s shadows behind him, and he’d let them spill out right there between them, covering Kai in the fallout. That can’t be the last thing Kai remembers about him.

Fifteen minutes.

He swears the hands of the clock are moving slower now, just to spite him. He taps his pen against the side of his desk, teeth sunk into his lower lip so hard it stings. His mind is already racing through how he’ll wait outside the door of their next class. What he’ll say. Kai, wait. Please don’t go yet. I need you to know it was real. All of it. I’m sorry I made you doubt that.

Maybe Kai won’t believe him right away. Maybe he won’t even want to hear it. But Beomgyu’s ready to try. For the first time in his life, he’s not going to let fear choose silence for him. Not when Kai has given him every chance to be honest. Not when Kai has made space for him; not just in his home, but in his heart.

The second his class ends, Beomgyu is already out the door in record time, running across the building to get to the main auditorium. 

The hall is already buzzing with low chatter by the time Beomgyu bursts through the double doors of the composition auditorium, chest tight, bag half-zipped, his eyes darting like a man on a mission. The adrenaline that had been building all through his previous class – his pulse beating behind his eyes, his legs jittery and tense – is still pounding through him as he skims the rows for that one familiar figure, and then he sees him.

Kai is already here.

Beomgyu’s steps falter, his heart stuttering. Of course Kai is already here. He’s early to everything, organised, dependable, always putting effort in where it counts. Of course he would show up on time to the first class of the new semester, and– shit. Shit. Sitting right next to him is Yeonjun, arm draped casually across the back of Kai’s seat like some kind of invisible barrier, his posture radiating the kind of lazy protectiveness that makes Beomgyu’s stomach twist. He’d completely forgotten that this semester, the composition class was merging with the fashion department for their new interdisciplinary project. So much for catching Kai alone.

Beomgyu exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tightening. He should’ve remembered. Should’ve known. Now, instead of pulling Kai aside like he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head – Can we talk? Please? I need to explain – he’s met with a literal wall of tailored fabric, confidence, and icy judgment: Yeonjun.

As he trudges up the steps, he can feel Yeonjun’s eyes on him even before he looks. That sharp, assessing stare, and when their gazes finally meet, Beomgyu doesn’t get a blank slate or even polite indifference – he gets a glare. One that could freeze water midair. The kind that says, I know exactly what you did, and you’re lucky I haven’t rearranged your face for it.

Beomgyu swallows hard. So Kai has told him.

That alone is enough to make something ache in his chest, because he knows what it means when Kai starts leaning on Yeonjun for comfort. Now Yeonjun sits at his side like some self-appointed bodyguard, shoulders squared, ready to keep him out.

Kai’s sitting on the aisle seat, his leg crossed neatly, sketchpad already out. There’s no other seat next to him except for the one that’s already been taken by Yeonjun, unless he sits on the stairway. Beomgyu doesn’t miss the way Kai’s eyes flick toward him – brief, unreadable – and then quickly flick away again. There’s no smile. No light. Just a quiet, sealed expression that tells him he’s not welcome here right now. Not in the way he wants to be.

There's no room next to him.

Not unless Yeonjun moves.

Which Beomgyu knows, with every fiber of his being, is never going to happen.

He stands there for half a second too long, awkward, hoping against logic that maybe Yeonjun would scoot over, offer the space, give him even a chance, but instead, Yeonjun shifts slightly – just enough to make a point – and then calmly plants his foot squarely over Beomgyu’s as he moves to sit.

Beomgyu lets out a sharp breath and winces, more in surprise than pain. “Ow– hyung, what the hell?”

Yeonjun looks over with the fakest expression of polite concern he’s ever seen. “Oops,” he says dryly, not bothering to sound even remotely sorry before turning his attention squarely back to Kai. “You okay? You want water or something before class starts?”

Beomgyu doesn’t hear Kai’s response. He’s too busy pressing his lips together, fists curled in the fabric of his hoodie, shoulders tense as he drops into the seat on the other side of Yeonjun. Close, but not close enough. Not even remotely close enough.

From here, Kai feels like he’s a thousand miles away, and the worst part is, Beomgyu can’t even blame him. Not after what he put him through. Still, his fingers twitch with the urge to reach over the seat back, to brush against Kai’s elbow or wrist or something, to offer even the smallest touch that might say I’m here. I never stopped being here. I just didn’t know how to show it.

But his hands stay where they are. Motionless. Anchored in regret.

He keeps his eyes low as the professor walks in, but his thoughts don’t stray far from the boy two seats over, the one who’s not looking at him, not speaking to him, not even acknowledging him. Every moment of this class feels stretched, unbearably slow, like punishment, and all Beomgyu can do is wait. Wait for the moment when class ends, when the conversation wraps, when Yeonjun has to leave or Kai decides to stand up, when he finally gets a chance to try again, because the second he does, Beomgyu’s going to take it. No matter how awkward, no matter how much Yeonjun glares or how cold Kai sounds when he answers. He just needs that one opportunity.

He just needs Kai to give him five minutes.

 

🧸 

 

The moment the professor dismisses them, Beomgyu is out of his seat like a shot, barely waiting for the shuffle of bags and books before he makes a beeline for Kai. His heart is thundering, throat dry, words already bubbling up – Kai, please, just give me a second, please – but then Yeonjun moves, smooth and practiced, as if he’s been planning this exact maneuver all along.

With the grace of someone who’s had runway training and battlefield instincts, Yeonjun steps cleanly between them, dragging a mannequin in one hand and a roll of muslin in the other, like props in a one-man barricade. It’s not subtle. Not even remotely. He plants them in front of Kai’s desk like they’re battlements, then squares his shoulders and raises one sculpted brow as if daring Beomgyu to try and come any closer.

Beomgyu almost laughs – almost. If he weren’t seconds from spiraling, he might’ve even found it impressive, but he’s not here to play nice.

“Move,” Beomgyu says tightly, already trying to push around Yeonjun’s wall of cloth and passive-aggressive protection. “Hyung, please.”

Yeonjun lifts his chin. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Kai hasn’t moved behind him, silent, his face unreadable as he shoves his notebook into his bag, fingers taut with tension. Beomgyu sees the slight tremble in them, the way Kai bites the inside of his cheek like he’s holding something in. It only spurs Beomgyu further. He steps past Yeonjun’s arm with a single determined stride and reaches out; not for Kai’s hand, not this time, but for his wrist, gentle but firm, just enough to say, don’t leave. Please.

Kai stiffens under the touch, but doesn’t pull away.

“Just talk to me,” Beomgyu says, voice raw, trembling. “Please, Kai. I know I fucked up. I know I’ve been distant and weird and– I just– I need you to know it wasn’t because I don’t care. It was never that. I just–” He breaks off, breath catching.

Yeonjun’s jaw clenches. He opens his mouth to cut in, but Kai lifts a hand and says quietly, “Hyung. Don’t.”

The older boy looks at him, reluctant, but nods. He steps aside, but not far; still hovering, just in case. Like a lion watching the wounded limping toward each other.

Then Kai finally looks at Beomgyu. Really looks at him, and it floors him, because the hurt in Kai’s eyes is deeper than anything Beomgyu prepared for. Tired, yes, but worse than that: disappointed. It settles in his stomach like ice, the guilt rising like bile, because this wasn’t supposed to happen. He hadn’t meant to tear that warmth out of Kai’s face. He hadn’t meant to turn him into someone guarded, hesitant, distant.

“Kai,” he breathes, taking a step closer, hand still around his wrist, now trembling. “Please. Please don’t look at me like that.”

Kai says nothing, and the silence is excruciating.

The students around them are packing up, laughing, talking, all of them oblivious – or at least they were, because now a few heads have turned, slowing to watch as Beomgyu stands there, pleading, looking like someone who’s about to come undone.

“I was stupid,” Beomgyu says, a little louder this time. “I was scared and I shut you out, and I didn’t know how to explain it. I always come back from my family’s like this– I just– everything feels wrong after I see them, and I didn’t want to drag you down with me. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

Kai still hasn’t said anything. His silence is starting to feel like a punishment. Deserved, maybe, but unbearable. Beomgyu’s desperation breaks loose all at once. With a frustrated sound, he drops to his knees in front of Kai, startling the people around them and making a few nearby conversations cut off mid-word.

“Please,” he says again, hands pressed together now like he’s praying, like Kai is the only god left worth begging. “I don’t care if you scream at me or walk away after, just don’t look at me like I didn’t care. You think that winter break meant nothing to me? That I stayed with you, and your dad, and laughed with you, and kissed you, and looked at you like you were the only thing keeping me alive– you think any of that wasn’t real?”

A murmur ripples through the class, and that’s when Kai’s eyes widen in horror. Beomgyu is on his knees in the middle of an auditorium full of students, his voice cracking with emotion, drawing stares from every row. Someone is already whispering in the back, another person nudging their friend with a barely stifled laugh. It’s too much, too loud, too public. Kai’s face floods with colour – part anger, part embarrassment, all urgency – and he shoots to his feet.

“Beomgyu!” he hisses, choosing to leave out the honourific. “Get up.”

Beomgyu blinks. “Kai–”

“I said get up!” Kai says louder, and now he’s pulling him up by the arm, jaw tight with frustration. “You don’t get to humiliate me and beg for forgiveness like this in front of everyone. What the hell are you doing?”

Beomgyu stumbles to his feet, hands raised, suddenly aware of the silence around them; the stares, the buzz, the way his heart is slamming so hard he can barely breathe.

“I just wanted to talk,” he says again, smaller now. “I just wanted you to know it wasn’t fake. That it mattered. You matter.”

Kai stares at him, chest rising and falling fast.

And finally, quietly, he says, “Then stop turning me into a spectacle.”

Beomgyu opens his mouth, closes it.

Kai slings his bag over his shoulder, eyes unreadable now. “Meet me outside,” he says flatly. “Ten minutes. After I calm down. You want to talk? We’ll talk. But not in front of everyone.”

Then he walks off down the steps without waiting to see if Beomgyu follows. Beomgyu barely makes it two steps before a hand clamps down on his arm. Yeonjun.

“Ten minutes,” the older boy says firmly, his voice low but unmistakably dangerous. “That’s what he said.”

Beomgyu flinches, caught between instinct and emotion, but Yeonjun doesn’t let go. His grip tightens, just enough to drive the point home.

“Let him breathe, Beomgyu,” Yeonjun continues, gaze sharp, mouth a thin line. “You’ve already done enough.”

“I know,” Beomgyu says, guilt spilling out in his voice like a cracked faucet. “I didn’t mean–”

“I don’t care what you meant,” Yeonjun snaps, his words like ice. “You made him feel disposable. You ghosted him. After everything? After staying with him, kissing him, asking him to be your boyfriend, and after being there for him like that, like it actually meant something?”

“It did!” Beomgyu blurts, panic rising again. “It does. I wasn’t faking it. I swear.”

Yeonjun’s eyes narrow, and then he leans in just slightly, low enough so no one else can hear. “If you ever – ever – make him feel like that again,” he murmurs, voice syrupy-sweet in the most terrifying way, “I’ll kill you and turn your corpse into one of my mannequins. Stuff it with cotton, sew on a fake smile. You’d make a decent torso.”

Beomgyu gulps. “Noted.”

Yeonjun gives him one final shove backward, not too hard, but enough to send him stumbling back into his seat. The rest of the students have mostly cleared out now, giving them space, though a few linger by the door, glancing over curiously. Beomgyu barely notices. His pulse is still thrumming too loud, brain static with dread.

Ten minutes.

He lets out a shaky breath and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, like he can will the tears back inside, like he can press the regret deep enough that it stops choking him. Ten minutes feels like a lifetime and a millisecond all at once. Every second that ticks by has his knee bouncing, his fingers drumming restlessly against his thigh.

He tries to outline what he needs to say. No bullshit, no flinching.

Start with the apology. Not just “sorry I hurt you,” but I didn’t realise how much I made you feel like you didn’t matter, and that’s on me. Then he’ll explain. Not to make excuses, but because Kai deserves to know that it wasn’t coldness. It was fear. It was old patterns, old scars, learned silence. Every time he comes back from his family’s house, he turns inward, shuts people out like muscle memory. It’s not something he’s proud of, but Kai isn’t just anyone. He should’ve known better. Should’ve pushed through the fog, the heaviness, the impulse to isolate and disappear.

You deserved better than the version of me that shuts down.

And then he has to tell Kai that it was real. That it is real. That every second they shared over winter break had been more than just a moment. Beomgyu still remembers how warm Kai’s room felt even with the drafty windows, how easy it was to exist in that tiny home on the outskirts of Seoul, with the scent of kimchi stew in the air and Kai’s soft laughter carrying from the kitchen. How they fell asleep once, tangled under the blanket after a long day, Beomgyu’s cheek against Kai’s shoulder, safe in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He should’ve said all of that the moment break ended. Instead, he’d shut his phone off for hours at a time, ignored his attempts at reaching out, barely looked at Kai this morning like none of it mattered. Of course Kai had looked heartbroken.

He only looks up when the ten-minute mark nears, and the ache in his chest sharpens with each breath he takes. This time, he won’t mess it up. Beomgyu bursts out of the building as soon as his phone screen ticks to the ten-minute mark, his heart thudding wildly against his ribs. His eyes scan the quad like a searchlight, nerves twisting tighter with every passing second. At first, there’s no sign of Kai, just scattered students cutting across the paths, wind ruffling the still-bare branches of the trees, the pale afternoon light starting its descent into evening.

Panic claws at his chest. Did he leave? Did Kai change his mind while Beomgyu sat inside like an idiot outlining his stupid speech? He fumbles for his phone, half-ready to dial, but then he sees him; sitting beneath a tree off to the side of the main path, bundled in his coat with a beanie tugged down low over his ears, Kai’s legs are drawn in close, arms wrapped around them as though trying to conserve what warmth he can. He’s still, quiet, a figure caught in between movement and solitude. Not quite gone, but not waiting either.

Beomgyu’s breath hitches in his throat. It’s not the cold that makes him freeze, it’s Kai. Even from a distance, even curled in on himself and visibly tired, there’s something about him that knocks the air right out of Beomgyu’s lungs. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it; the soft, almost unreal glow of Kai when the sun touches him just right, casting shadows across his sharp cheekbones, turning the tips of his lashes gold. His features are pinched from the wind, nose pink at the edges, but to Beomgyu, he looks like something out of a dream. Serene, untouchable, heartbreakingly beautiful.

How did I miss it? he thinks. How did I not see it sooner?

Because Kai isn’t just beautiful in the way people write songs about or draw sketches of. He’s beautiful in the way he pours water into mugs without spilling, in the way he speaks with careful honesty, in the way he stayed up with Beomgyu that night under the blankets when Beomgyu couldn’t sleep, humming a lullaby that his father used to sing until Beomgyu’s breathing slowed. He’s beautiful in the way he gives himself – quietly, fully – like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t mean everything.

Beomgyu starts walking toward him, cautiously, as if afraid one wrong step will send Kai vanishing like fog, and even now, hurt and withdrawn, Kai is everything Beomgyu has ever wanted in a partner. Someone who doesn’t flinch at his rough edges, who doesn’t shrink when he shuts down. Someone who meets silence with patience, and hurt with kindness, and something that resembles too closely to love – yes, love – with a gaze that holds steady even when everything else falls apart. He doesn’t know what he did in a past life to deserve a single moment with someone like Kai, but he knows what he did to almost lose him, and he knows another thing that might make him lose Kai for good. Beomgyu tries to swat away at the thoughts of the bet floating around his head, focusing on getting Kai to talk to him first.

Beomgyu moves closer, the crunch of dry leaves underfoot soft but definite as he approaches Kai. He stops a respectful distance away, watching him with a careful tenderness, afraid to startle the fragile quiet around his boyfriend. After a moment, Beomgyu speaks softly, voice tentative but hopeful. “Hey… maybe we could take a walk down by the Han River? Just… clear the air, you know. We could stop by the convenience store first, grab some instant ramyeon, maybe some snacks. It’s not much, but… it’s something.”

Kai shifts slightly, still wrapped up in his own thoughts, eyes fixed on a distant point beyond the bare branches. The offer hangs in the air between them like a lifeline, and after a long pause, Kai finally nods, voice low and almost reluctant. “Okay… but only because I can’t say no to convenience store food.”

Beomgyu chuckles, the sound light but genuine. “I knew it,” he says with a playful grin, stepping a little closer. “You’re hopeless.”

Kai’s lips twitch, just the faintest hint of a smile, but to Beomgyu, it feels like a breakthrough, a small victory against the heavy silence that’s been suffocating them. He breathes out, the tension in his chest loosening slightly.

Beomgyu glances sideways at Kai as they step off the curb, the cold biting at their cheeks while the city’s late-afternoon buzz hums around them. “Let’s take a taxi,” he says quietly. “It’s quicker. And warmer.” Kai doesn’t answer, but he nods, the barely-there movement enough of a yes. Beomgyu lifts his hand to flag one down and soon they’re slipping into the backseat, shoulder to shoulder, the quiet heater hum filling the silence between them.

The ride is short, made longer only by the weight of what hasn’t been said. Neither of them speaks. The city moves past in a blur of neon signs and bundled-up pedestrians, and Beomgyu stares down at their hands resting in his lap. After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches out slowly, almost afraid he’ll be rejected again, but this time, when his fingers brush Kai’s, Kai doesn’t pull away. Instead, he shifts just slightly, letting their palms press together. He curls his fingers around Beomgyu’s in a silent gesture, not forgiving, not quite letting go of the sting, but allowing something. Beomgyu swallows hard, blinking fast. He could cry with the relief that blooms in his chest like the first warmth after a long freeze.

When the taxi pulls up near the convenience store closest to the Han River, they climb out together. The chill greets them again, but there’s a small buzz of comfort now in their joined hands, like a shield against the wind. The store’s sliding doors part with a quiet hiss and they step into the familiar fluorescent glow, warm and welcoming. Almost instinctively, they split off to grab what they need: instant noodles, eggs, sausage, cheese, seaweed..

“My recipe’s better, you know,” he says, lifting his chin with mock arrogance as he saunters past Kai. “It’s, like, scientifically proven.”

Kai turns to him with a raised eyebrow, a hint of mischief sneaking back into his expression. “Please,” he scoffs, grabbing a pack of tteokbokki. “Yours is just ‘how many calories can I fit in one bowl’. Mine has actual taste.”

“Excuse me, mine is curated for optimal comfort and flavor. Yours is just ‘spicy equals personality’.”

“Oh, coming from the guy who puts strawberry milk in the cart every single time like a child?”

“Says the person who can’t drink anything else other than grape juice or hot mint chocolate!” Beomgyu gasps in mock offense. 

They fall into playful bickering, voices low but animated, nudging each other down the aisles. The tension between them hasn’t vanished, not completely. It still lingers in the small silences, in the way Kai’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, in the way Beomgyu tries just a little too hard to keep things light, but for the first time in days, it feels like something real again. Not broken, just bruised. Not hopeless, just hurting, and Beomgyu clings to that, to the sound of Kai’s soft laughter and the spark of his stubbornness, more precious now than ever.

The wind is gentler by the river, a soft breeze that carries the distant scent of water and earth, rustling the bare branches above them. Beomgyu and Kai settle into one of the stone tables scattered along the walking path, nestled between patches of dry winter grass and winding bike lanes. The Han River stretches before them in a wide, lazy sprawl, its surface smooth and silver under the overcast sky. It’s quiet here, peaceful in the way the city rarely is, and for a moment, Beomgyu is grateful for it: the stillness, the privacy, the sense of pause.

They eat without speaking, the sound of slurping noodles and clinking chopsticks the only noise between them. The food is warm and filling, settling in their stomachs like armour for the conversation still looming in the distance. Beomgyu steals glances at Kai, watching the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, the way his fingers curl around the paper cup of soup to soak in its heat. He still hasn’t said much beyond the banter in the store, and Beomgyu can feel the weight of it in his bones, like standing on a frozen lake, unsure of when or where the ice might crack.

When they finish, they wordlessly stack their empty bowls and trash into a neat pile, setting them aside at the edge of the table. The air is cooler now, tinged with the fading light of afternoon. They both sit, shoulders barely touching, watching the slow crawl of the river as the sun starts its descent. It’s not quite golden hour yet, but the light has softened, bleeding pale amber at the edges. Beomgyu feels his throat tighten. It’s time.

He exhales shakily and turns toward Kai, voice low. “I’m sorry.”

Kai doesn’t look at him, his gaze still fixed on the water, but Beomgyu sees the way his posture tenses, the way his jaw shifts just slightly.

“I know saying that doesn’t fix anything,” Beomgyu continues, his fingers twitching on his lap. “But I need you to hear it. I’m sorry for ghosting you. For shutting you out. For showing up like… like a completely different person after everything we shared. You didn’t deserve that, Kai.”

Still no reply, but Kai’s silence doesn’t feel indifferent, it feels braced. Like he’s waiting to see what Beomgyu will do next.

Beomgyu pushes on, the words beginning to tumble more freely now, drawn by the quiet urgency in his chest. “I get like that after I come back from Daegu. I don’t mean to, I swear. It’s just… something about that place, about my family– it sucks everything out of me. It’s like I forget how to be happy, how to talk, how to be with someone without feeling like I’m gonna fall apart.” His voice cracks, and he swallows hard. “But that doesn’t make it okay. It doesn’t excuse the way I treated you. The way I made you feel like– like you didn’t matter.”

He finally dares to look at Kai then, searching his profile for a flicker of response, of understanding. “Because you do. You matter to me, Kai. More than anything.”

Kai stays silent, and Beomgyu continues, “It wasn’t fake. What we had over winter break… it was the realest thing I’ve ever felt. You and your dad, your home, the way you looked at me like I was worth something even when I wasn’t sure I was. That’s not something I could ever pretend about.”

Kai finally looks at him then, and Beomgyu is struck by how tired he looks – tired, but still beautiful in that aching, quiet way that always makes Beomgyu feel a little like he’s been knocked breathless. “I didn’t need you to be perfect,” Kai says. “I just needed you to talk to me. To not vanish like none of it mattered.”

“I know,” Beomgyu says, voice barely a whisper. “And I swear, I’ll never do that to you again. You’re not disposable to me, Kai. You never were.”

They sit in silence for a long moment, the wind nudging Beomgyu’s bangs into his eyes, the soft gurgle of the river the only sound between them. Kai looks down, his expression unreadable.

Beomgyu lets the silence stretch between them for a moment, feeling the familiar weight of hesitation building in his throat. His hands are cold now, the heat from the instant noodles long gone, but he doesn't move. There’s something brittle about the quiet, something fragile he’s afraid will shatter if he says the wrong thing, but Kai is still here. Still sitting beside him, still listening, still close enough that Beomgyu can feel the faint warmth radiating from him. That’s enough. That has to be enough to keep going.

“My parents didn’t drag me back to Daegu for family bonding or anything like that,” Beomgyu finally says, his voice low, rough around the edges. “They brought me back just to… break me down, I think.”

Kai’s gaze lifts slowly, eyes narrowing slightly, not in anger but in concern, in that quiet way Kai always listens when it really matters. Beomgyu exhales shakily and continues, eyes trained on the slow-moving river. “I didn’t even make it two steps into the house before my father started yelling.” His voice falters, then hardens. “He always starts with yelling. Then it turns into reminders, of who I’m supposed to be, of how I’m never enough. And if that doesn’t get the reaction he wants… he escalates.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what that escalation means. He doesn’t mention the slap, the bruising grip around his neck, the burning fear that flared behind his ribs even as he stood his ground. He doesn’t mention the way his father spat Kai’s name like it was filth on his tongue, reduced him to a charity case, a ploy, an inconvenience. That part stays locked behind his clenched jaw. Not because it doesn’t matter, but because it matters too much. Because saying it out loud would only humiliate Kai, and Beomgyu would rather bite off his own tongue than let that happen.

“They said I’m ruining everything,” Beomgyu continues instead, voice tightening. “That I’m throwing away the family image, the legacy. That I’m a disgrace compared to my brother. He just sat there – like he always does – watching. Probably enjoying it. He’s the perfect son, you know? Never talks back. Plays the game. Keeps his hands clean while I get torn apart for breathing wrong.”

He finally glances at Kai, and his heart stutters. The wind tousles Kai’s hair gently across his forehead, but his face is still, unreadable except for the faint tightness around his eyes. Beomgyu swallows hard, pressing on, even though it hurts. “Whenever I go back there… I feel like they strip everything away from me. Like they drain me until there’s nothing left, no colour, no voice, no… me. I come back empty. I didn’t mean to shut you out, Kai. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just trying to hold myself together with whatever scraps I had left.”

Kai finally looks at him then, and Beomgyu feels the breath punch out of his chest. Even exhausted, even guarded, Kai’s eyes are devastating – soft but sharp, hurt but steady. “I wish you’d just tell me. I would’ve been there for you,” Kai says, and his voice is so quiet Beomgyu leans in instinctively. “I don’t need you to tell me the full story if you’re not ready, you could’ve texted me you didn’t want to talk and I’d understand. Now I feel a bit silly for being upset when you’re out there hurting all by yourself.”

“No, no, don’t feel silly. Your feelings are valid and what I did was wrong,” Beomgyu says, the words sticking in his throat. “And I swear I’ll never do that to you again. You’re not disposable to me, Kai. You never were. What we had… it wasn’t nothing. It was real. It is real. I just– I didn’t know how to ask you to stay when I didn’t even know how to stay with myself.”

A long silence follows. Beomgyu looks down, hands clasped between his knees, knuckles pale with how tightly he’s holding on. The gurgling of the river fills the space between them, and somewhere above, a bird cries out against the graying sky. But here, in the hush that settles, something fragile lingers, like whatever comes next might either break them or make the space between them whole again.

He breathes in through his nose, like he’s steadying himself against a tide he’s kept back for too long. “You know, my parents hated me even before they had a reason to.”

Kai moves closer, intertwining their fingers together as they sit shoulder to shoulder, his attention sharpening.

Beomgyu’s voice is quieter now, less certain. “I was too loud,” he says with a crooked sort of smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That was the first sin. Too loud to be a Choi. Our family’s supposed to be elegant. Polished. We glide through rooms. We don’t run down hallways with scraped knees and grass-stained pants screaming about bugs and cartoons.” He lets out a weak laugh. “They used to tell me that. That I was born wrong. That I embarrassed them by just… existing too visibly.”

Kai’s breath catches, but he stays quiet.

“I tried,” Beomgyu goes on, voice roughening. “When I was little, I tried so hard to be the kind of son they wanted. Quiet. Neat. Invisible. But it never lasted. There was always too much of me. Too many questions. Too much noise. Too many feelings.”

He swallows hard. “And when I got older… I stopped trying. I found bands I liked. Started learning guitar when they weren’t home. Bought this crappy amp and blew out the fuse in my room trying to mimic a solo from a live video. They hated it.” A pause. “He hated it.”

He doesn’t need to say who.

“They said Chois don’t waste time on hobbies that won’t pay the bills. That we build empires. We don’t play in bands. We don’t write songs. We don’t waste our futures in dark basements pretending we matter to people.”

Kai’s expression tightens at that, but still he lets Beomgyu speak.

“I fought,” Beomgyu says, voice fraying at the edges now. “I fought so hard to study music. Fought to apply to this program. To not be sent abroad to study law like my brother.” He spits the word out. “He didn’t even want to be a lawyer. But he went. And now he’s my father’s pride and joy. Because he looks like him. Thinks like him. Keeps his head down like a good heir should.”

He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “Me? I had to bargain. Had to agree to every condition. Smile at every event. Show up in tailored suits with the Choi name pinned to my lapel like a fucking mascot. And whenever Appa calls, I drop everything. Because that’s the deal. That’s the price for getting to live one piece of my life on my own terms.”

There’s a crack in his voice now, and he doesn’t bother to hide it. “So yeah. Maybe that’s why I do all this shit. Student council president, the campus band, the dumbass parties, the reputation. Because if I can’t get his approval, maybe I can find validation somewhere else. Maybe if everyone else thinks I’m worth something, it’ll drown out the voice in my head that keeps asking why he never did.”

His chest heaves. He doesn’t realise he’s trembling until Kai shifts, hand brushing lightly against his.

“Beomgyu hyung,” Kai says softly, and it’s like the earth tilts a little under his name. “You don’t need to earn being loved.”

Beomgyu’s head jerks toward him, eyes wet and angry and raw. “Don’t you get it?” he chokes. “That’s all I’ve ever done. Everything I’ve ever been is a performance. Even with you– I was so scared to be real. Because what if the real me wasn’t enough?”

Kai’s eyes glimmer with something fierce and gentle all at once. “But you were real,” he says. “You are real. And hyung… I didn’t fall for the student council president. Or the lead singer. Or the boy who lights up a room like he was born to hold it. I fell for the guy who sent me memes at 2 AM. I fell for the boy who warmed my ears when it got too cold. I fell for the guy who didn’t blink when I brought him to my childhood home. Who stayed quiet, not because he didn’t care, but because he did.”

Beomgyu’s throat works, jaw tight. His lips press together like he’s afraid they’ll start shaking again if he opens them.

“I see you,” Kai says, stronger now. “Even when you’re not perfect. Even when you’re not performing. Especially then.”

Silence falls again, but it’s softer this time, like a wound beginning to clot.

Beomgyu looks away first, blinking hard, chest hollowed out and aching. But there’s something else under it too. Something like hope, barely formed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice almost too small. “I never wanted to be the reason you doubted your worth.”

Kai leans just a little closer, and their foreheads bump, just enough contact to say I’ve got you now.

“You weren’t,” Kai replies. “But now that you’re here… just let me stay. Let me be the one who doesn’t expect you to be anything but yourself.”

Beomgyu, after a long, shaking breath, nods.

Beomgyu doesn’t speak for a while after that, he doesn’t think he can. His throat feels raw, scraped hollow by the effort of finally laying it bare. All those years of stuffing it down, of gritting his teeth and smiling on cue, of performing the version of himself his father found tolerable; it’s all unraveling now, right here by the river, where the sky is turning that quiet purple and orange that signals the day’s slow end. The chill creeps in under his collar, but he barely feels it. Only the pressure in his chest, the ache behind his ribs, remains.

Kai doesn’t interrupt. He just sits with him in it. That’s the thing about Kai; he’s never rushed Beomgyu into anything, never demanded softness or vulnerability like it was owed. He just waits, patient in a way that makes Beomgyu feel seen and unbearably unworthy all at once.

After a long while, Beomgyu dares to glance over. Kai’s still looking at the river, jaw set, lashes casting soft shadows under his eyes. He looks calm, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that gives him away; a coil of something unsaid, tucked in the quiet between them. Beomgyu almost doesn’t ask, but his voice surprises him.

“What are you thinking?”

Kai’s mouth presses into a line. He shifts slightly, like he’s trying to decide how honest to be. Then, finally, he exhales, slow and careful. “That must’ve been hard. Growing up like that.”

Beomgyu lets out a bitter little laugh, slumping back against the bench. “Hard is one word for it.”

Kai nods, eyes still on the water. “And lonely.”

Beomgyu swallows, the word hitting somewhere deep. He doesn’t say anything, but his silence is enough.

“I just…” Kai’s voice cracks, like the words are stuck in his throat. His lips part, then close again, like he’s choking on the thought. “If it’s always been like this with them – always about their damn image over their own son – then when they find out about me…”

He trails off, eyes searching Beomgyu’s face.

“Kai.”

“I’m scared,” he finally admits, voice low and rough, “That I’ll just end up making things worse for you and dragging your image down.”

Beomgyu’s heart clenches. He looks Kai dead in the eye. “Don’t say that. That’s bullshit. You don’t drag me anywhere. You’re not that.”

Kai finally looks at him, and the hesitation in his gaze is unmistakable; tinged with something close to dread, even if he tries to hide it. His voice is smaller when he continues. “Do they know? About us?”

Beomgyu goes still.

His hands, clasped between his knees, tighten until his knuckles ache. The question isn’t cruel; it’s careful, delicate in the way only Kai can manage, but it slices straight through him all the same. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t trust himself to meet Kai’s eyes just yet. A dozen images flash behind his lids: the disgust on his father’s face, the word charity hurled like a slur, the way his mother didn’t even blink when his throat was in someone else’s hand. The echo of That boy doesn’t deserve to even look at a Choi rings in his ears, and he swallows hard against the bile that rises with it.

“They know enough,” he says finally, voice low. “Enough to be angry.”

Kai’s silence sharpens.

He’s still watching him, Beomgyu can feel it, but the weight of it isn’t accusatory; it’s cautious, like he’s afraid of how far he should push, and that makes it worse, because Kai has always been like that – gentle, restrained, careful not to cross lines Beomgyu barely even knows he’s drawn, and now here he is again, bracing himself for a truth he doesn’t deserve to be burdened with, because Beomgyu was too much of a coward to stop his father from spewing poison in the first place.

Kai shifts slightly beside him, gaze turning back to the river. “So they don’t approve,” he says, more to himself than to Beomgyu. There’s no heat in it, but something small and uncertain slips between the words, like he’s testing how much it hurts out loud.

Beomgyu sucks in a breath, then lets it out slowly, clouding in the winter air. “They never approve of anything that doesn’t benefit them,” he says, choosing each word like it’s made of glass. “Especially if it makes them look weak. Or… human.”

Kai hums quietly, as if he understands. Maybe he does.

Beomgyu wants to say more, wants to tell him the truth, that his father didn’t just disapprove, he degraded. That he didn’t just sneer at the idea of Kai, he ripped it apart, spat every kind, quiet thing Beomgyu loves about him back in his face and called it delusion, but he can’t. He won’t. Because Kai doesn’t need that weight. Doesn’t need to carry the stench of someone else’s cruelty, not when he already lives in a world that’s so quick to decide who deserves what kind of love.

So instead, he says this:

“It’s not about you, Kai. It never was. It’s about control. About them not being able to stomach the idea of me choosing something – someone – for myself.”

Kai doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, his voice is soft. “That’s not all they said though, is it?”

Beomgyu flinches before he can stop himself.

Kai doesn’t press further, doesn’t demand it. He just nods slowly, like he’s already pieced together enough of the picture to know there’s no clean version of the story. His hands tighten inside his sleeves. He stares out at the water again, letting the moment pass without asking for the truth Beomgyu isn’t ready to share. Maybe he senses that he doesn’t want to relive it. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to hear himself spoken about like that, from the mouth of someone Beomgyu was supposed to trust.

Beomgyu, grateful and guilty all at once, just nods. “Some things don’t deserve to be repeated,” he says quietly. “Especially when they’re wrong.”

It’s the closest thing to the truth he can give, and it’s laced with enough bitterness that Kai knows it was ugly, but Kai doesn’t call him out for it. Doesn’t ask who said what, or how cruel it got. He just lets it settle there, heavy between them, a silence that feels more like grace than avoidance.

Then, after a while, Kai says, “I don’t care what they think. I care what you think.”

Beomgyu turns, finally meeting his eyes, and the weight of that simple declaration makes something splinter in his chest.

“I think,” he says, voice thick, “that I’d burn the whole house down before I let them make me ashamed of you.”

Kai smiles, and something in him eases, just a little. His shoulders drop, his posture less guarded, and when he looks away again, it’s not out of avoidance; it’s because he trusts Beomgyu to sit beside him without lying, even when the truth is hard. They fall into silence again, but this one’s different. Not cold or distant. It settles like a blanket around them; worn and frayed, maybe, but warm where it matters. The wind picks up slightly, ruffling the ends of their hair. Somewhere in the distance, a couple’s laughter floats across the riverbank.

Beomgyu inches his hand closer, fingers brushing the edge of Kai’s jaw. Kai doesn’t pull away.

“I’m proud of you,” Kai says again, voice steady but soft. “You’ve fought so hard just to be yourself. That’s not something everyone can do. Loving what you do isn’t foolish. Choosing to shape your life around what truly makes you feel alive… that takes real courage.”

Beomgyu swallows hard, the weight in his chest easing just a fraction. “That’s crazy…”

Kai whips his head towards Beomgyu, confused. “What is?”

“You dad literally said the same exact thing… You really are your father’s son.”

“Wait,” Kai fully turns his body towards Beomgyu, gripping his arm. “You opened up to my dad before me?”

Beomgyu sheepishly smiles, “Maybe?” Just as Kai scoffs, Beomgyu scrambles to explain, “He just has this way of making people wanna open up, okay? It’s his fault for using his fatherly magic on me. I’m not used to it!”

“I know, I know. If anything, I’m glad he made you feel comfortable enough to open up to him like that. You always have a place in our home, you know?” Kai reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Beomgyu’s ear. “I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere. We’ll make sure you know you deserve to be loved.””

For a moment, the cold breeze by the river feels warmer. The sky fades into dusky purples and pinks, but all Beomgyu can see is Kai’s quiet strength beside him, the kind of strength that makes him believe maybe, just maybe, things can be different.

The air between them softens, folding around them like a quiet, protective bubble against the world. Kai leans in slowly, resting his shoulder gently against Beomgyu’s, and this time, Beomgyu doesn’t pull away. Instead, he allows himself to lean in too, to settle into that closeness, as if they have both found a fragile kind of peace in each other’s presence. Their fingers intertwine naturally, weaving together like a silent promise, and Kai’s thumb begins to trace slow, soothing circles over Beomgyu’s knuckles. It’s a simple touch, but one that grounds them both in the moment; a moment stretched out like a soft breath held between two hearts. 

Beomgyu leans in close enough for their breaths to mingle in the cold air, for Beomgyu to see the long lashes fanning out across Kai’s cheeks, the prominent ridge of Kai’s nose, and the tiny moles that dot around his face. He finally brings their lips together, his hand cupping the side of Kai’s face like something delicate, bringing him impossibly closer to try and feel the warmth Kai naturally radiates. The silence between them isn’t empty; it’s full of everything left unsaid, a quiet language of understanding and forgiveness. It lingers like a fragile thread until they break apart and Kai’s voice breaks through, barely more than a whisper, but charged with an intensity that makes Beomgyu’s chest tighten.

“You know,” Kai begins, his voice soft, careful, “You’re so much more than what your dad makes you believe. So much more than those cruel words, the comparisons, the cold expectations that try to cage you. You’re amazing, and you’re one of the kindest, most genuine people I’ve ever met. And not just to me. To everyone lucky enough to know you. Truly know you.” He pauses, searching Beomgyu’s face, seeing the flicker of vulnerability that usually stays hidden. “When you’re with me, I don’t just see you. I see the real you. The person you’ve been fighting so hard to be. And it’s beautiful.”

Kai’s thumb never stops its gentle rhythm, and Beomgyu feels something inside him begin to loosen, like a knot tied too tight for too long. Kai’s words wrap around him, tender and steady, and then comes the quiet confession that strikes at Beomgyu’s core.

“I used to think no one would ever want to stay. Not for me, not for who I really am underneath all the walls. Like I was too complicated or broken or just... not enough. But with you, it’s different. You make me feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not that hard to like. And I can only hope I make you feel even the tiniest sliver of how you make me feel. I want you to feel like love isn’t something I have to chase or prove, but something that can just be.”

Beomgyu freezes, his body suddenly rigid as if the weight of Kai’s words has knocked the breath right out of him. His heart plummets – fast, heavy, like a stone sinking through cold, dark water – and for a moment, all the air around him thickens, becomes nearly impossible to inhale. His throat tightens painfully, the muscles constricting as he swallows hard, but the lump lodged there refuses to move. He feels utterly exposed, stripped bare by the quiet honesty in Kai’s voice, so steady yet so soft it reverberates inside him like a delicate wound.

Kai’s words aren’t some half-hearted attempt to soothe or offer pity. They’re raw, truthful, laid bare with a trust that almost breaks Beomgyu. It’s like a fragile gift passed between them, weighted with the kind of sincerity that doesn’t demand a response, only understanding, and that understanding crushes him with its weight. Beomgyu can barely bring himself to look at Kai, the intensity of the moment leaving him dizzy and vulnerable. How can someone say that? How can someone really believe that? Especially when everything between them started on a dare, a reckless bet thrown like a stone into a still pond, and now the ripples have grown into something much bigger, much more dangerous.

Guilt twists inside Beomgyu’s chest like a sharp, suffocating vine. He’s in too deep, more than he ever meant to be. This isn’t just a fleeting game or a momentary thrill anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time, not since the first night they kissed, not since the first time Kai looked at him without hesitation or doubt. Beomgyu knows, with a clarity that stings, that he’s falling. Falling hard and fast, and the thought terrifies him because to admit that – to admit that he might be falling in love with Kai – feels like tearing open a wound that might never fully heal. It’s a truth so fragile and raw that even thinking about it threatens to rip him apart from the inside out.

So instead of speaking, instead of confessing what his heart screams, Beomgyu stays silent. The words stick like shards of glass in his throat, too sharp to say aloud. The slow, steady press of Kai’s thumb against his knuckles grounds him, but even that small comfort feels fragile and fleeting. Because beneath the surface, Beomgyu feels the walls he’s built around himself starting to crack, and the truth he’s been running from is already seeping through the cracks, threatening to drown them both in its unstoppable tide.

He can only tighten his grip on Kai’s hand, clutching it like a lifeline, as if holding Kai’s hand could keep the truth from slipping out of his mouth.

Notes:

gyu is starting to L-word kai????
( ˶°ㅁ°) !! that's craaaazy they literally made it official like a few weeks ago, but ig gyu has already started falling for kai even before they made it official hehe how fun!!

a really exciting thing is going to be happening within the next chapter or maybe two chapters for now so look forward to that!! as always, please let me know what you think of this chapter and also feel free to try and guess what this "exciting thing" is hehe!!

thank you so much for reading and you can come talk to me about this fic or literally anything else on twitter at @koostiddy!! <3

Chapter 13

Summary:

“No.”

It slices through the silence like a slap; sharp, unexpected, and final. For a moment, it hangs in the air, weightless but heavy, echoing off the bare walls of the dimly lit study room they're holed up in. Beomgyu blinks, caught off guard, the weight of the word dropping into his chest like a stone. His stomach knots and something inside him recoils; not from surprise, but from the confirmation of what he already suspected.

“What?” he asks, voice flatter than he intends. He’s not sure if it’s genuine confusion or just his last-ditch attempt at pretense.

Notes:

i have the next 1-2 chapters written out already, and all i need to do is edit them so look forward to quick updates hehe!! i was able to write a LOT over the weekend which makes me super happy hehe (∩^o^)⊃━☆

happy reading!! <3

🧸

 

“No.”

It slices through the silence like a slap; sharp, unexpected, and final. For a moment, it hangs in the air, weightless but heavy, echoing off the bare walls of the dimly lit study room they're holed up in. Beomgyu blinks, caught off guard, the weight of the word dropping into his chest like a stone. His stomach knots and something inside him recoils; not from surprise, but from the confirmation of what he already suspected.

“What?” he asks, voice flatter than he intends. He’s not sure if it’s genuine confusion or just his last-ditch attempt at pretense. He knows what this is about. He’s known since he texted Doyoon earlier, asking to talk. Still, some part of him – the same naive corner of his brain that still believes in second chances – had hoped this would go differently.

Doyoon doesn’t bother pretending to misunderstand. He leans back in his chair with the same bored, condescending tilt to his head he’s always had, arms crossed like he’s already won. His lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No,” Doyoon says, drawing the word out slowly, the single syllable laced with mockery.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Beomgyu scoffs, unsure if he’s in disbelief or in denial.

“You know exactly what I mean. You’re not backing out. I’m not letting you.”

Beomgyu’s jaw tenses. He swallows thickly, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to keep from saying something reckless. His fists clench where they rest on his thighs, the fabric of his jeans wrinkling beneath the pressure. He doesn’t want to make a scene. Not here, not now, but the air feels too tight in his lungs, and the anger blooming in his chest is fast turning into panic. The cold fluorescent lights overhead make everything feel sterile and unreal, like he’s watching himself from above.

“I said I’m done,” he says, quieter now, but the edge in his voice is clear. “This whole thing was a joke from the start, and I’m not doing it anymore.”

Minjun chuckles from the side, perched lazily on the windowsill like he’s waiting for a show. He hasn’t said much yet, but his silence is its own kind of threat. He’s always been the more dangerous one; Doyoon might enjoy pulling strings, but Minjun’s the one who makes sure they don’t snap. Beomgyu turns his gaze back to Doyoon, willing himself not to look away. The knot in his stomach tightens, twisting with guilt, with shame, with something close to dread. He hates that it’s come to this. Hates that he’s the kind of person who let it get this far, and most of all, he hates that he cares now. That he’s gotten too close. That Kai, with his soft eyes and nervous laugh and warm, open trust, is no longer just a target, no longer a dare or a challenge or some fucked-up measure of Beomgyu’s ego, but someone real, someone precious.

He’s in too deep, and he knows it.

“You can’t stop me,” Beomgyu mutters. “You don’t control me.”

Doyoon raises an eyebrow, amused. “Sure, do whatever you want. But I’m telling Kai. About the bet. About all of it.”

The words slam into Beomgyu like a brick wall, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He feels it physically: his body goes still, every nerve on high alert, heart thudding so loudly he swears they can hear it. There it is. The threat he’s been dreading. Spoken out loud, sharp and irreversible.

“You wouldn’t,” he says, but the waver in his voice gives him away.

“Wouldn’t I?” Doyoon just smiles. “You’ve still got a little less than 3 months left, Gyu. This is easy for you.”

There’s a silence that stretches too long, and Beomgyu can’t breathe through it. His mind spins, replaying memories like film reels unspooling behind his eyes: Kai laughing at something dumb he said, Kai fast asleep curled toward him in that tiny single bed, Kai kissing him under the dim golden lights of the ferris wheel, fingers trembling but heart wide open. Trusting him. Choosing him.

It makes him feel sick.

“And what if I don’t sleep with him by then?” Beomgyu asks, voice hollow. “What if I don’t make it in time?”

“Then we tell him,” Minjun chortles smugly.

“This is fucking bullshit,” He slams his hand down on the table. “It’s a lose-lose situation for me.”

Doyoon raises a brow, unmoved. “Not true.”

Beomgyu breathes hard, nostrils flaring, chest rising and falling with the effort it takes not to scream. “If I back out, you tell him. If I don’t do it within the deadline, you tell him anyway. How the fuck is that fair?”

Doyoon’s smile is slow and cutting. “You could win.”

Beomgyu stares, throat dry. “How?”

“Easy,” Doyoon says, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug. “You fuck him, you get your one million, and who knows, maybe you even get to keep your precious little prize after. He seems gullible enough. Naive.”

The words hit like acid, burning all the way down. Precious little prize. Like Kai is a thing. A trophy to be paraded around, conquered, collected. Beomgyu wants to lunge across the table. Wants to grab Doyoon by the collar and slam him into the wall. Not just for what he’s said, but for making him believe it, even for a moment. For dragging him into this pit. For making him complicit.

“You think this is a joke,” Beomgyu says, low and hoarse. “You think people are just fucking pawns in your game.”

“Oh, come on, Gyu,” Minjun quips. “Don’t pin this all on us, you really think you’re not that guy? You are. You’ve been that guy for years. We’re just holding you to your brand.”

Beomgyu wants to scream, but the worst part is: they’re not wrong. He’s been that guy. Charming, reckless, unbothered. The kind of boy who fucks and ghosts like it’s his favourite pastime. He built that image like armour, made it into a mask, wore it so well he forgot it wasn’t his real face, but with Kai, the mask cracked, and now it’s slipping. He sits back down, suddenly exhausted. His hands tremble where they rest against the edge of the table.

Doyoon leans in. “Tick tock, Beomgyu. You’ve got less than three months. Or we tell him everything. That’s the deal.”

“You’re really that fucked up?” he asks, voice cracking around the edges now. “You’d hurt him just to prove a point?”

Doyoon doesn’t flinch. “I didn’t do anything to hurt him, Beomgyu, you did,” he says, as if that makes it better. “You did this all by yourself. That’s on you.”

“Well if you hadn’t proposed this stupid fucking bet then none of this wouldn’t happen,” Beomgyu argues, his blood boiling not just at Doyoon and Minjun, but at himself.

“Don’t act like you’re a fucking saint, Gyu,” Minjun rolls his eyes. “We’ve done this with plenty of people. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten soft just because this one has a sob story and a cute smile.”

The shame hits him full-force like acid under his skin. He’s disgusted, not just with them, but with himself. Because it’s true. He has done this before. It was never personal. Just a game, a routine, a way to prove something to himself he never even really believed, and now Kai – who deserves none of this – is on the verge of becoming another tally in a long list of regrets.

Beomgyu’s voice is barely audible. “He’s not like the others.”

Minjun scoffs. “Save us the fucking sob story, no one wants to know about his empty fucking pockets everyone knows about.”

That makes Beomgyu stand. Something flares inside him: anger, panic, a deep, buried self-loathing that claws its way to the surface. “You’re fucking sick.”

Doyoon doesn’t blink. “Hey. You’re the one who agreed to this.”

Beomgyu stares at them both, heart hammering, head ringing, vision swimming with a mix of fury and helplessness. He wants to scream, wants to rewind time, wants to make it all go away, but there’s no escape now. They’ve got him cornered, choking on the consequences of his own cruelty.

Minjun finally speaks up, his voice low and casual, as if they’re talking about weekend plans and not Beomgyu’s imploding life. “Just do it, Gyu. You said it yourself. The great Choi Beomgyu. Always wins the bet. So win it. Get your prize.”

Beomgyu lets out a hollow laugh. It rings sharp and empty in the quiet. “You really think this is going to work?” he says, dragging a hand through his hair, voice rising, shaky. “You think I’m going to ruin the one good thing in my life because you two are bitter and bored?”

Minjun just leans back, smug and unreadable. Doyoon doesn’t even look fazed.

Beomgyu shakes his head. “Kai won’t believe you. You know that, right?” There’s a flicker of hope in his chest, flickering like a candle in the wind. “He won’t believe a word of it. Not from you.”

He says it with conviction, but his heart twists around the edge of it because he doesn’t know if that’s true. He hopes it is; hopes that the way Kai looks at him means something real, something deep enough to override whatever lies Doyoon and Minjun might spill, but hope is a fragile thing and Beomgyu has already done so much damage.

“He trusts me,” he insists, quieter now, but no less certain. “You can say whatever the fuck you want, but he won’t believe you over me.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Beomgyu almost convinces himself it’s over, that maybe he’s called their bluff, maybe the threat is empty. Maybe all of this is just two miserable guys trying to fuck with him because they hate seeing someone like him happy for once. Maybe–

“Yeah,” Minjun says, his voice cool and clinical. “But he’ll believe you.”

Beomgyu falters. “What?”

And then Minjun’s phone is in his hand. A few taps. A swipe. The screen is turned toward him again.

No. 

Beomgyu’s stomach drops the moment the video starts to play. It's like deja vu, only worse, because he knows what’s coming now but he still can't look away. His own face, grinning and flushed, illuminated by the dim, shitty lighting of someone’s living room. Some party from months ago, a few days after they had made the stupid bet at the campus courtyard. Everyone loud, drunk, stupid.

There’s laughter offscreen. Shouting. A half-empty bottle in his hand. Then he hears it: his own voice, slurred and theatrical, talking into the camera like some fucking reality show host.

“Alright, everyone, get this!” he announces, throwing an arm around Minjun’s shoulder. “We’ve got a new challenge on our hands. Six months. That’s all I need to get sweet, shy little Huening Kai into my bed.”

Beomgyu blanches. The air feels thinner. His ears ring.

“Choi Beomgyu always delivers,” he drawls in the video, showing the camera a picture of Kai on Minjun’s phone. “Come on, look at him. All wide eyes and blushes and innocent little smiles. Kid’s easy. He’ll never know what hit him.”

The clip ends. The screen goes dark. The silence that follows is a living, breathing thing. Beomgyu sways on the spot. He doesn’t know if it’s rage or nausea or shame – probably all three – but it takes everything in him not to keel over. He sinks back into the chair like his knees have given up. His hands are shaking, pressed together in a loose knot that feels utterly useless.

“That wasn’t–” he starts, but the words don’t know where to go. 

It was him. There’s no point denying it. Even if he was drunk. Even if he was posturing, performing, trying to make Minjun and Doyoon laugh. Even if deep down, part of him had already started to feel bad about the entire thing, none of it matters. 

Minjun studies him. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I think that might be a little harder to explain away.”

“You fucking set me up,” Beomgyu says, but even as he says it, he hates himself. Hates the way his voice sounds; pleading, raw, small.  

Doyoon’s eyes gleam, sharp and cruel. “Set you up? You’re too full of yourself.”

Beomgyu opens his mouth. Closes it. His throat is dry.

“You’ve got time,” Minjun adds. “You still have 2 months-ish. You can still come out on top.”

“And how would you know I won’t just lie about it?” Beomgyu asks despite himself, despite knowing exactly what they’re asking for. The silence that follows is telling. He knows what’s coming, and he hates that it’s justified.

Because he’s done this before. Too many times. A long line of casual conquests turned into games, each one reduced to a challenge with a timer slapped on top. A list, a count, and at the end of each one, like clockwork, Beomgyu would snap a photo: always the same angle, half-naked in a bed that wasn’t his, with someone still drowsy or dazed beside him. Skin flushed, littered with splotches of red, hair and skin damp with sweat, lips swollen. Just enough proof to be smug about. Just enough skin to leave no doubt. He’d send them to Doyoon and Minjun like trophies, grinning and shirtless, sometimes with a peace sign thrown in for fun. No one ever questioned it. Not the people he slept with as bets. Not Doyoon and Minjun. Not him. It was just what he did. The way they kept score. The way he maintained his title. The great Choi Beomgyu: undefeated, untouchable, unbothered. Until now.

“You know exactly what we want. You’ve done it countless of times before,” Minjun’s smile returns, lazy and sure. “So prove it.”

Just like that, Beomgyu feels dirtier than he ever has because for the first time, the idea of taking that photo doesn’t make him feel victorious. It makes him feel vile. Like he’s about to steal something sacred just to keep himself from drowning. Like he’s turning love – or the closest thing he’s ever felt to it – into a weapon against the one person who trusts him without condition.

Beomgyu clenches his jaw, nails biting into the skin of his palm where his fists curl tight at his sides. He can feel the walls of the room closing in, the weight of what they’re asking pressing down on his chest like a vice. He swallows hard, stares at the floor, the table, anywhere but their faces, because looking at them might make him do something reckless. But the question slips out anyway, low and raw, scraped from the back of his throat.

“And what’s it to you?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper. “What do you get out of all this?”

Doyoon doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t even try to sugar-coat it.

“I get the slight chance,” he says, smooth and venomous, “That Choi Beomgyu might crash and burn.”

The words hit like a punch. Not because they’re cruel – though they are – but because they’re so calm. So calculated. Like he’s been waiting to say them. Like he’s been dreaming about it. There’s no glee in Doyoon’s voice, just cold satisfaction. Like watching a tower fall exactly the way you engineered it to, and suddenly Beomgyu understands: this was never about the bet. This was never about Kai.

It was about him.

It always has been.

“You’ve been floating for way too long, Gyu,” Minjun says, voice light but laced with something sour underneath. “Untouchable. Unbothered. Golden boy with the sharp tongue and the prettier face. Sleeping your way through the campus like it’s your own personal playground. People fall over themselves to be near you, professors like you for no reason, your friends would follow you into fire, and even your fuck-ups look effortless. You fail upwards. Always.”

Beomgyu doesn’t respond. Can’t. The words hang too heavy, too loud, like they’re echoing inside the walls of his skull. He’s heard versions of this before – whispers from strangers, rumours around parties – but hearing it like this, right to his face, from people who’ve known him, people he once called friends, makes it feel like a different kind of violence. Like truth laid out and weaponised.

“And now,” Minjun continues, raising an eyebrow, “What– you're catching feelings? Over some quiet little sweetheart with big eyes and a crooked smile? You think you get to have everything?”

Beomgyu can’t move. Can’t breathe. Every memory of Kai, every moment he’s held onto like it might save him – Kai resting his head on Beomgyu’s shoulder in a crowded subway, Kai handing him a cup of hot chocolate with both hands and a soft smile, Kai trusting him enough to bring him home, into his life, into his heart – it all unravels in his chest like thread pulled from a seam, because this isn’t just betrayal anymore. This is premeditated.

This is destruction.

He wants to scream. Wants to throw something. Wants to rewind time to that night at the quad where this all started, when he let the ego and loneliness guide his mouth into saying yes. Wants to rewind time so he can fucking listen to Soobin for once, and not have argued with him like the stubborn piece of shit that he was. He wants to believe he could’ve said no, could’ve walked away, could’ve chosen to be better, but he didn’t, and now he’s here. Standing at the edge, watching the fuse burn down. And Doyoon? Doyoon’s just waiting for the explosion, right there with Minjun.

There’s venom Minjun’s voice now, the smoothness cracking just enough to reveal the rot underneath. “You think you can have the money, the thrill, the reputation and the boy? That’s not how this works. That’s not how you work.”

Beomgyu flinches like he’s been struck. Not physically, but something about the words hits that same nerve, because the worst part, the part that makes his stomach curdle, is that he doesn’t have a response. Not one that makes him look less pathetic. Not one that doesn’t give them even more ammunition, because yeah – he is catching feelings. He does want Kai. Not as a challenge, not as a trophy, but as something real. As someone to hold onto when everything else in his life is cold and transactional and fake, but saying that out loud feels like walking into a fire.

Doyoon leans back, satisfied, like he’d just watched Minjun deliver a sermon. “You’re not allowed to rewrite your own rules just because the game finally turned on you.”

The game. Beomgyu feels bile rise in his throat. That’s what they still think this is. A game. Something stupid and cruel that they orchestrate from the shadows like it’s sport, and the worst part? He let it happen. He let himself be part of it. No one forced him to take the bet. No one dragged the words out of his mouth that night in the back of the bar, half-drunk and full of ego, grinning at Doyoon and Minjun like he had something to prove. Like people were disposable. Like Kai was.

Now he’s bleeding out the consequences of it all, and they’re just here to watch him squirm.

Beomgyu's breath comes short. He feels cornered, exposed, like his skin’s been turned inside out and every raw, aching part of him is on display. He hates that he ever gave them this power. Hates that part of him still wants to believe he can fix it. That if he just finds the right words, if he explains it all to Kai – if he gets there first – he can undo it, unmake the rot, but Doyoon and Minjun don’t deal in mercy. They’re here to remind him what he’s done. To make sure he knows there’s no going back.

Doyoon’s the one who delivers the final nail; casual, unflinching, like he’s just brushing dust from his sleeve.

“You made your bed, Beomgyu,” he says, standing now, sliding his phone into his back pocket with infuriating nonchalance. “Now you get to lie in it. Alone or with your prize is up to you. Either way, the ending’s already written.”

He tilts his head, studying Beomgyu like he’s a dying animal too pitiful to kick again. “But hey– if it helps? I’m rooting for you. I mean, you’ve always been so charming, haven’t you? So magnetic. The way Kai looks at you like you invented warmth… God, it’s sweet. Almost makes me forget you’re a walking disaster.”

Beomgyu wants to say something, anything, but his mouth won’t open. His fists are clenched so tightly his knuckles have gone white, nails carving half-moons into his palms. His heartbeat thunders in his ears, drowning out everything but the sickening echo of Doyoon’s words.

A walking disaster.

He stays frozen as Doyoon steps around him and heads for the door, Minjun following with a quiet, smug smirk. Then, before either of them could leave, Beomgyu speaks up, “And if I go through with it? If I win… how would I know you won’t go and tell Kai anyway?”

Doyoon only smirks; a condescending, cruel little thing. “Have a little faith in us, will you?” 

With that, Beomgyu is left alone. The silence they leave behind is deafening, louder than any argument, heavier than any blow. The study room, once a bland space of humdrum collaboration and late-night cramming, now feels like a cage. The door clicks shut behind them, and Beomgyu is left alone in the fluorescent hush, the quiet pressing in from all sides.

He sinks back into the chair, hands still trembling, mind reeling. The video, the selfies, the impossible weight of what he’s done, it all crushes him from within. He remembers how Kai looked the last time they saw each other: soft-eyed, trusting, his whole body leaning into Beomgyu like gravity pulled him there. Like he felt safe. And Beomgyu had let him. Had pulled him close, had kissed him like it meant something, like it wasn’t all built on a goddamn lie. The memory tastes like rust now.

He swallows hard and lets his head drop into his hands, fingers tangling in his hair as if he can claw the guilt out of his skull, but it doesn’t leave. It never does, because for once in his life, the consequences didn’t skip him. There’s no charming his way out of this. No pretty lie to smooth it over. He played the game too long, and now the game’s playing him, and the worst part is – he doesn’t even care about the money, his image, or anything anymore.

He just doesn’t want to lose Kai.

But maybe he already has.

He sits there for what feels like forever, staring at the table but seeing none of it; just static, just white noise and flashing images of Kai’s face, Kai’s laugh, Kai’s fingers brushing his beneath the duvet in the dark. The sweetness of it. The terrifying purity of it and how he’s polluted all of it just by existing, just by being who he is: selfish, performative, dishonest. He always thought he could outrun his own bullshit, keep everything compartmentalised: the bets, the jokes, the thrill of winning, the false bravado that made him feel like someone instead of no one, but Kai tore through all of that. Made him feel seen in a way that scared him. Made him want to be good, not just appear good, and now the thought of Kai finding out from someone else – finding out like that – makes him physically nauseous. He thinks he’d rather be hit again. Choked again. Anything but the look that would be on Kai’s face if he heard it from Doyoon or Minjun.

Beomgyu swallows the lump rising in his throat and grips the edge of the table until his knuckles ache. He has to tell him. He should have told him that night at the river, when Kai looked at him like he was worth understanding, when he told Beomgyu that he saw the real him and still wanted to stay, but he’d clung to the lie like a coward. He doesn’t get to do that anymore. Not with the truth burning a hole in his chest and consequences clawing at his back. Maybe it’ll ruin everything. Maybe Kai will never want to see him again. But at least it’ll come from him. At least he won’t have to look into those eyes one day and know that he let someone else twist the story first. If Beomgyu has any chance left – any shot at earning even a scrap of Kai’s trust back – it has to start with the truth. It has to start now.

 

🧸

 

Soobin hyung

you can do it!!
i believe in you gyu
i knew you’d do the right thing
🫂 

 

Beomgyu sighs and pockets his phone. The apartment is warm, lived-in, and just messy enough to feel like home. A striped sweater hangs off the back of a chair, notebooks and fabric swatches clutter the coffee table, and Yeonjun’s half-drunk iced americano sweats on the windowsill. Beomgyu’s laptop is open in front of him, keys worn from hours of late-night edits, but he’s barely typed a thing. The melody looped in his headphones for the last hour is passable, maybe even good, but it sounds hollow to him now. Not enough weight. Not enough heart. It’s missing something he can’t pin down, and maybe that something is just his own peace of mind.

Kai sits cross-legged on the rug, sketching in a spiral-bound notebook, brow furrowed in focus. Every now and then he hums a few bars under his breath, testing the rhythm with his pencil tapping against the floor. There’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth whenever their melodies blend just right. It’s that smile that’s been killing Beomgyu all afternoon.

Yeonjun is sprawled out on the sofa behind them, balancing a moodboard on his knees while texting furiously on his phone. “No blue lighting,” he mutters to himself. “It’ll drown the gold thread. God, why is lighting so hard.” He doesn’t look up when he speaks, his attention flickering between Pinterest and a production manager who apparently has no concept of hue theory.

The silence between the three of them is comfortable, familiar, but for Beomgyu it’s laced with tension he can’t shake. Every time Kai glances up at him with those open, earnest eyes, his stomach twists. He should have told him days ago. After the library. After Doyoon and Minjun backed him into a corner with their smug threats and that godforsaken video. He swore to himself he wouldn’t let it drag on, wouldn’t let Kai keep trusting him under false pretences, but then Kai had texted him the next morning, asking if he wanted to come over to work on the project again – just as soft and unassuming as always – and Beomgyu said yes. Of course he said yes. Coward that he is.

He’s been saying yes to everything except the one thing that matters.

He glances sideways at Kai, who’s now flipping through a folder of stage design references, brows drawn in thought. Beomgyu opens his mouth. Closes it again. Yeonjun shifts behind them, sighs dramatically, and tosses his phone onto the cushion. “If this show kills me,” he says, stretching like a cat, “Make sure they bury me in silk.”

Kai laughs, quiet and genuine, the sound ringing in Beomgyu’s ears like punishment. He knows Yeonjun being here is what’s stopping him. He can’t say it now, not with Yeonjun in the room. Not with an audience. This is something Kai deserves to hear in private, something that requires space and softness and time. But time keeps slipping through his fingers, and every second he doesn’t tell him, he feels the lie thickening between them like fog.

He glances down at his laptop again. The cursor blinks on a blank bar. The chord progression he had queued suddenly sounds wrong. Everything sounds wrong.

Beomgyu drags his fingers through his hair, frustrated. “I think the tempo’s too fast,” he says, more to break the silence than anything else. “It’s clashing with the pacing of the walk.”

Yeonjun nods vaguely, half-listening. “Yeah, maybe. We can try slowing it down and layering something on top. Kai, do you still have that ambient sample from last week?”

They work into the late afternoon, layering strings over synths, stitching harmonies between drum loops and ambient textures. Bit by bit, the track begins to take shape, unlike anything they’ve made before. There’s something jagged and unpredictable about the rhythm, like footsteps down an unfamiliar hallway; there are distorted notes that bend instead of break, basslines that linger like questions. It’s experimental, eerie, but still beautiful, like a dream you’re not sure you wanted to wake from.

Kai leans back with his hands behind his head as the final chorus fades into silence. “Okay,” he breathes, grinning. “That actually… that might be it.”

Beomgyu nods mutely beside him, fingers still resting on his keyboard, unsure if the goosebumps on his arms are from the music or from how close Kai’s shoulder is to brushing his own. The song is everything Yeonjun asked for: strange, offbeat, a little bold and a little unhinged, but still polished, still distinctly theirs. He watches Kai’s eyes shine with quiet pride and doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t dare to ruin it.

Yeonjun sets his moodboard aside and sits up properly for the first time in an hour, earbuds already in. He hits play on the file without waiting, arms crossed, brow furrowed like he’s preparing to find something wrong. But then the track begins, and his expression slowly changes. His head tilts. His eyes sharpen. He doesn’t speak until the song ends and the silence reclaims the room.

Then, simply, “It’s perfect.”

Kai blinks. “Seriously?”

Yeonjun stands, pacing a short circle like he’s already imagining it: the music swelling through the venue, models striding beneath strobing lights, the clash of fabric and form and sound colliding into something theatrical and bold. “No, listen– this is exactly what the line needs. It’s like… haunted elegance? Genderless, merciless. I love how it builds and then just fractures at the end. That last drop is so jarring, it’s going to make people feel something. It’s not just background noise. It’s storytelling.”

Beomgyu lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You think it fits the collection?”

Yeonjun whirls around, already half-possessed by the idea. “God, yes. I’ve got these sharp-shouldered suits in velvet and mesh, right? Like something a vampire would wear to a rave. And the skirts; structured, sculptural, nothing dainty. Then there’s this leather corset-dress hybrid that’s going to wreck the audience. I was worried nothing would match the mood but this… this sounds like something you’d play while the world ends on a catwalk.”

Kai chuckles. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said about my work.”

Yeonjun winks. “You’re welcome, musical genius. I owe you both my life.”

Beomgyu laughs too, but it’s quieter. There’s a kind of relief that settles over him, like rain after a long, stifling heat. He’s proud of what they made; no matter how twisted his circumstances have become, this song is real. This collaboration, this connection between the three of them, it’s real. He clings to that as the only steady ground beneath his feet.

Kai reaches for a spare pen and starts jotting down notes for revisions. “We could smooth out the bridge a little, though. Maybe layer in a reverse reverb before the last drop?”

Yeonjun nods enthusiastically, already back in vision mode. “Ooh, yes. Give it that inhale before the kill kind of moment.”

They fall back into work again, adding and undoing, laughing at bad takes, tossing compliments and ideas back and forth like old friends, but for Beomgyu, it’s all happening under a thin layer of ice. Every smile feels fragile and every second feels borrowed, because the longer he waits, the more this moment just tightens the noose around his own neck.

They wrap up just as the sun starts to bleed out behind the buildings, the light dimming to a soft amber hue. The air is heavy with productivity and faint static from overworked speakers. Yeonjun lets out a dramatic groan as he pushes away from his sewing table, a hand pressed to his lower back, the other flopping lifelessly at his side.

“I swear to god,” he grumbles, half to himself, “If I bend down one more time to pin a hem, my spine is going to snap in half like a glowstick.”

Kai snorts, stretching his arms above his head. “Face it, hyung. You’re just getting old.”

“Old?!” Yeonjun turns with faux outrage, eyes narrowed. “I’m only three years older, you gremlin.”

“Exactly,” Kai says with a smug little grin. “You’ve peaked. It’s all downhill from here.”

Beomgyu watches the exchange with a faint smile, but his body aches in a way that feels more than physical. The creative high has ebbed away, leaving only the drag of exhaustion in its wake. His head is pounding from too much concentration and too little sleep, and beneath it all, a low buzz of guilt vibrates like a second heartbeat in his chest.

He leans back on his hands, pretending his joints don’t throb. “Not to pick sides, but my body feels like I’ve been hit by a train.”

“Thank you,” Yeonjun says, tossing a balled-up piece of muslin at Kai. “At least someone else here is feeling the effects of chronic pain.”

Kai catches the fabric with ease and rolls his eyes, already shepherding Beomgyu toward the hallway. “Alright, enough dramatic flair. We’re calling it. Come on, hyung. You look like you’re about to pass out and faceplant into my keyboard.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Beomgyu mumbles, letting himself be led. “Your keyboard’s too precious.”

The apartment’s quiet as they pad into Kai’s room, the hum of the city muffled behind thick windows. Kai tosses him a change of clothes – an oversized hoodie and soft cotton shorts – and Beomgyu doesn’t argue. He slips into them while Kai changes too, both of them moving with the easy routine of people who’ve done this too many times to count, and when they finally collapse onto Kai’s bed, limbs tangled without thinking, it feels like exhaling. Beomgyu lets his head fall against Kai’s chest, feels the steady thrum of his heartbeat against his ear. Kai’s arms come around him instinctively, solid and warm, fingers drawing lazy circles against his spine.

The silence stretches. Not uncomfortable, just soft, like the hush between raindrops. The kind that wraps around them like a blanket.

Then, quietly, “You’ve been a little off lately.”

Beomgyu stiffens before he can stop himself.

Kai’s voice stays gentle. “Is it still… because of your family?”

He says it carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s crossing a line, but still willing to risk it. His hold tightens a little, grounding and honest, and it makes something in Beomgyu’s throat go tight. He wishes – god, he wishes – that were all it was. That he could just nod and blame it on Daegu, on the bruises fading under his sleeves, on the house that still echoes with cruel words, but this is different. This is so much worse. Because this is a wound he inflicted on himself. This is a secret rotting beneath his ribs, curling deeper with every passing day.

Beomgyu sits up slowly, heart thudding in his chest like it’s trying to claw its way out. His body feels heavy, like every muscle is soaked in lead, but there’s a nervousness electrifying his fingers. He turns slightly, looking down at Kai still half-lying on the bed, the warmth of his body lingering against Beomgyu’s side. The comfort of it is almost unbearable now.

“Kai,” he says, voice quiet, rough. “I have something I need to tell you.”

Immediately, Kai’s expression shifts. Not in fear or suspicion, but in readiness and quiet concern. He pushes himself upright too, blanket pooling in his lap, and turns toward Beomgyu fully. His gaze is steady and earnest. Gentle in that disarming way that always makes Beomgyu feel more seen than he wants to be.

“Okay,” Kai says, soft. “Tell me.”

Beomgyu swallows hard. He keeps his eyes on Kai’s face, watches the way the lamp light warms the hollow of his cheek, the way the shadows catch in his lashes. Kai looks like he always does: open-hearted, unguarded, infinitely kind. Like someone who would never hurt him and never expect to be hurt in return, and suddenly, the truth lodges in Beomgyu’s throat like a shard of glass. Because how can he say it now? How can he look into that face, that trust, and tell him that none of this was supposed to be real? That it started as a game. That he was a game. That there’s a ticking clock over their heads, and Beomgyu is the one who started it.

He opens his mouth.

“I…” he starts, eyes flicking to Kai’s lips, to the little furrow between his brows. Say it. Just say it.

But Kai’s gaze is too soft. Too believing. Too good. So Beomgyu blinks, and the words come out different.

“I’m just… really tired, I guess,” he says instead, forcing out a breathy laugh. “And I think I’ve been overthinking everything lately. It’s not just family stuff, it’s… life.”

Kai’s expression folds into sympathy so easily it hurts.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I get that.”

He reaches out, brushing his fingers lightly against Beomgyu’s knee; simple, grounding. Forgiving, even though there’s nothing to forgive. Yet. Beomgyu wants to throw up. Or scream. Or rewind everything to that moment in the study room when he could’ve walked away and never said yes. Instead, he nods and lets Kai pull him back down. Lets himself be wrapped up again in warmth he doesn’t deserve.

Their lips find each other again with a kind of inevitability that’s almost frightening in its tenderness; like they’ve kissed here before, like some invisible force is guiding them back to this place, back to each other. It starts slow, slow enough to feel every shift in breath, every nervous exhale against the curve of his jaw. Beomgyu sinks into it without thinking, like instinct, like need. Kai’s mouth is soft, pliant, sweet in the way it parts for him so easily, like he was always meant to be kissed like this; thoroughly, reverently, like he’s something holy.

Beomgyu doesn't realise his hands are trembling until Kai reaches up to steady them, gentle fingers brushing the inside of his wrist, and still, Kai pulls him closer. Closer, until there’s no space left between them, until Beomgyu can feel the quiet thrum of his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt, steady and real and grounding. Kai’s hands settle at his shoulders, then slide up into his hair, brushing through the strands with aching care, as if he’s trying to soothe something nameless in him. Like he knows; not the specifics, not the ugly truth, but something, enough to hold him delicately anyway. 

Beomgyu lets himself be pulled into it. He kisses deeper, with more pressure now, letting his fingers drag down Kai’s sides until they find the hem of his shirt. He hesitates – but only for a breath – and then he’s lifting it slowly, reverently, exposing inches of skin like unwrapping something secret. Kai lets him, arms lifting without question, the shirt disappearing behind them somewhere on the floor in a careless flurry, and then Kai’s bare chest is beneath him, warm and flushed and so real it steals the air from Beomgyu’s lungs.

He exhales shakily. Swallows thickly. He leans in and presses a kiss just above Kai’s collarbone, then another beneath his jaw, trailing a path down the slope of his neck like he’s memorising it with his mouth. Kai arches faintly into him, a soft sound leaving his throat, and Beomgyu thinks he might shatter.

His own shirt comes off next. He barely even notices how it happens, only feels the brush of Kai’s palms skimming up his back as the fabric slips away, the way their bare skin touches for the first time. There’s a sharp jolt of sensation, hot and dizzying, as their bodies come together fully. Chest to chest. Knee to knee. Every shift electric. Kai’s fingers skim his sides, feather-light, a touch that both grounds and ruins him, and then Kai shifts beneath him, hips tilting just slightly to bring them closer, and a soft breath hitches in his throat. A sound escapes him: small, involuntary, impossibly tender.

The tiniest little whimper.

It stops Beomgyu cold.

Not all at once – his lips are still on Kai’s neck, his body still pressed flush against his – but it’s like something inside of him gets knocked loose, like a dam breaks quietly in the back of his mind. That sound, so unguarded, so trusting, echoes in his ears louder than anything else. Not lust. Not performance. Not the kind of noise made for someone who doesn’t care. It’s intimacy. Vulnerability. Kai, giving himself to him without reservation, and suddenly all Beomgyu can hear, louder than Kai’s breath or his own heart pounding, is Minjun’s voice in his head: Just do it, Gyu. Get your prize.

A sickening twist coils low in his stomach.

Because this is exactly what they wanted. This was the plan. This was the fucking goal. The finish line in a game that was never supposed to go this far, and here he is, with Kai beneath him, half-naked and wide-eyed and willing, and all Beomgyu can think about is the bet. The money. The fucking selfie they’ll expect if he goes through with this.

He jerks back like he’s been burned. Breathless. Cold despite the heat of their skin.

Kai startles, confusion clouding his expression. “Hyung?” he whispers, voice still laced with the remnants of affection and something softer, concern. “Are you okay?”

Beomgyu can’t answer. He sits there, trembling, breath ragged, the high of the moment curdling into a sickening crash. His chest seizes tight around a guilt so sharp it feels like he’s being carved out from the inside. His throat closes, and without warning, his face twists and breaks, and then he’s crying. Not silent tears. Not elegant sadness. Ugly, gasping sobs that rip out of him before he can stop them, his hands dragging down his face as he curls in on himself like he’s trying to disappear.

Kai sits up instantly, alarmed. “Beomgyu hyung– hey, what’s wrong?” His hands hover, unsure if he should touch, but aching to comfort. “Did I do something? Did I hurt you?”

Beomgyu shakes his head frantically, face buried in his hands, words garbled. “No– fuck, no, it’s not you– it’s me, I–” His voice cracks on every syllable. “I’m so sorry, Kai. I didn’t mean– fuck, I didn’t mean for this to happen–”

“You’re scaring me,” Kai says quietly, eyes huge, voice small. “What’s going on?”

But Beomgyu can’t explain, not like this. Not when his whole body feels like it’s crumbling beneath the weight of what he almost did, what he’s still doing. He’s never hated himself more. Not even that day in the study room with Minjun and Doyoon. Not even after the slap in Daegu. Nothing compares to this, because this is Kai. Kai, who trusted him. Kai, who touched him like he mattered. Kai, who gave him softness and asked for nothing back, and Beomgyu had come so close to destroying it all with a kiss.

Kai reaches for him gently then, hands tentative but sure, fingertips brushing Beomgyu’s bare shoulders like he’s handling something fragile, and maybe he is. Maybe Beomgyu has never felt more breakable in his life. His whole body is shaking, chest heaving with each breathless sob, the tears coming faster now that he’s not trying to stop them. He doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore, only that the apologies won’t stop spilling out.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out again, voice thin, cracked, desperate. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I–”

“Hey, hey, shh,” Kai soothes, pulling him in before Beomgyu can resist. The warmth of him is immediate, arms wrapping around Beomgyu’s bare back, one hand stroking up and down his spine like he’s trying to calm a storm. “It’s okay. It’s alright. I’m right here.”

Beomgyu crumbles into the touch, sinking into Kai’s chest, tears soaking the skin just beneath his collarbone. He fists the fabric of Kai’s bedsheets weakly, clinging to him like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth, and still, the words come.

“I’m sorry–”

“I know,” Kai says softly. “It’s okay. I’m not mad, Gyu. We– we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

That makes Beomgyu cry harder. Because Kai thinks that’s what he’s apologising for, that they went too far, that he got scared. Kai thinks this is about nerves or guilt or boundaries. But it’s not. It’s so much worse. It’s everything else. It’s the lie they’re still living in. It’s the thing Beomgyu should’ve told him days ago, weeks ago, before anything ever touched the line between them. He can’t say it now. Not like this. Not when Kai’s hands are so gentle on his back, not when Kai’s voice is steady and patient and kind.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Kai whispers again, leaning down to kiss his hairline. “We’re okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

But I did, Beomgyu wants to scream. He almost says it. It sits on the tip of his tongue, burning like acid, but it dies there because Kai’s arms are holding him too tightly now, too surely, like a harbour he doesn’t deserve but still longs for. The same way he held Kai that night back in his childhood home, when the whole world had turned sharp around him. When Kai had sobbed into his chest after the fight with his father, voice hoarse and cracked, telling Beomgyu through choked words how tired he was.

Back then, Beomgyu had whispered, I’m not going anywhere, and now here they are. The roles reversed, and Kai’s the one catching him.

That thought alone breaks something gentler inside him. The worst of the sobs fade to something softer, less jagged. His shoulders still tremble, but his breathing slows as he buries his face deeper against Kai’s warm skin. He lets himself be held. He lets the steady rhythm of Kai’s heart lull him into something quieter, something almost safe.

“I’m here,” Kai says again, almost in a whisper. “I’ve got you.”

And Beomgyu believes him.

He lets the guilt pool at his feet for now. Lets the weight of everything unsaid hang heavy between them. He’ll tell him– he will, but not tonight. Tonight, he just wants to be small in someone’s arms. He wants to let himself fall. So he does. Chest pressed to chest, skin to skin, he closes his eyes and lets the warmth of Kai’s embrace cradle him until the tears fade to sniffles, and the sniffles to silence. His lashes flutter once, twice. His body stills.

Then, slowly, mercifully, he sleeps.

 

🧸

 

The next morning, the sun breaks through the gauzy curtains like it’s trying too hard; too bright, too soft, too gentle, when everything inside Beomgyu still feels grey and brittle and wrong. He wakes in Kai’s bed, curled up in sheets that still smell like the detergent Kai insists on buying, lavender and linen. There’s warmth behind him, Kai still tucked close, one arm loosely around his waist like he hadn’t moved an inch during the night, like holding Beomgyu had been instinctual and natural. Beomgyu wishes he could stay like this. Let the moment stretch a little longer, but he can’t. He’s already taken too much.

He slips out carefully, trying not to wake Kai, but of course he stirs, eyes fluttering open in that sleepy, sun-drenched way that always makes something painful throb in Beomgyu’s chest.

“Leaving already?” Kai’s voice is hoarse from sleep, thick with concern. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”

Beomgyu nods, mustering what he hopes is a smile. “Yeah. I’m okay now. Just tired, that’s all.”

Kai frowns, still fussing, running a hand through Beomgyu’s bed-mussed hair before letting it trail down to his cheek. “You were really out of it last night. I mean, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you like that.”

Beomgyu looks down, shame catching in his throat. “Yeah… sorry about that.”

“Don’t be dumb. I just– I’m glad you let me be there,” Kai says, and he sounds so sincere that it makes Beomgyu’s heart twist. “You wanna eat before you go? I could make something?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Beomgyu says softly, already slipping on his hoodie. “I should head back. Shower. Regain some brain cells.” 

Kai frowns, shifting in bed, the covers pooling at his waist. “Wait,” he says, and the urgency in his voice makes Beomgyu pause mid-step.

Before he can ask what’s wrong, Kai’s already out of bed, padding barefoot across the room and wrapping his arms around Beomgyu from behind. It’s not a desperate hug, more like a quiet insistence, warm and grounding and just a little bit sad. His cheek presses lightly in the crook of Beomgyu’s shoulder and neck. “Just… don’t disappear again, okay?”

Beomgyu’s breath catches. His hands, which had been curled into the hem of his hoodie, slowly lower to rest over Kai’s forearms. Guilt surges in his chest like a tide, bitter and relentless. He knows exactly what Kai’s remembering; what it means, this quiet plea to stay in contact, to not vanish without a word the way he had during winter break. It still haunts them both. Kai hadn’t said much about it once they’d cleared it up, hadn’t pushed or pried, but the fear had settled in him all the same, fragile and lingering.

Beomgyu turns in his arms, facing him fully, and something about the sleepy softness of Kai’s expression, still puffy-eyed and gentle and so fucking open, nearly breaks him. “I won’t,” he says, and he means it this time. His voice is low but firm. “I promise. I’ll text you as soon as I get back.”

Kai studies him for a moment like he’s looking for any cracks in the words, any weakness in the vow. Then he exhales and nods. “Okay.”

There’s a beat where neither of them moves, suspended in the stillness of the morning, their bare chests nearly brushing. Kai leans in, just slightly, and Beomgyu meets him halfway without even thinking. Their lips meet in a kiss that’s supposed to be goodbye, just a fleeting press of affection, but it lingers. It deepens. Kai’s hands find his waist, pulling him closer, and Beomgyu’s fingers slip into the nape of Kai’s hair like a reflex.

It’s slow and heavy, something that tastes like longing and regret, and when Kai’s tongue brushes gently against his own, Beomgyu nearly forgets himself all over again. For a heartbeat, his body leans into the motion, a warmth pooling low in his stomach, his breath catching, but then he pulls back just enough to rest their foreheads together, to let the moment cool before it melts them down completely.

Kai blinks up at him, a little breathless but smiling. “That wasn’t very goodbye of us.”

Beomgyu huffs a laugh, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, well. You’re impossible to leave.”

“Good,” Kai murmurs, giving his waist one last squeeze before stepping back. “Now go. And don’t make me text you first.”

Beomgyu nods. “I won’t.”

One last look. One last flash of Kai’s smile as he retreats back into the bedroom, ruffling his sleep-mussed hair and already yawning. Beomgyu steps into the hallway, the door clicking quietly behind him, and only once he’s alone again does he let out a shaky breath. Then Beomgyu is gone, letting himself out into the pale morning chill. The city hums faintly around him, too loud and too quiet all at once. His chest still feels like it’s wrapped in lead, but there’s something steadier beneath it. A thread of calm he borrowed from Kai’s arms. Just enough to get him through the walk home.

His apartment is quiet when he steps in, door clicking shut behind him. He doesn’t expect anyone to be up, it’s early still, and the weight of the night clings to him like static. Beomgyu toes off his shoes by the door, the familiar scent of home washing over him; laundry detergent, ramen seasoning, and the faint trace of Soobin’s cologne. It’s comforting in the way a childhood blanket is comforting: not necessarily warm, but familiar enough to feel safe. His hoodie is still damp with the weight of last night’s emotions, though he’s showered and changed and forced his face into something approximating normal.

 

Huepeng Kai🐧

hyung you forgot your headphones!!
Σ(っ °Д °;)っ🎧

haha that’s okay
i’ll just get it the next time i come by
i’ve arrived home btw

i can bring it to class for you (✿◠‿◠)
yaay rest well hyung!!
you looked like you needed more sleep (˘･_･˘)

i will babe
thanks♥️

call me babe more pls
hehe
（づ￣3￣）づ╭❤️～

ofc babe
baby
sweetheart
darling
my honeybunch
😘

okay that’s too much now…

 

Beomgyu snorts, walking into the kitchen. Soobin’s at the kitchen counter, sipping something green that Beomgyu refuses to acknowledge as edible. He looks up when the door shuts, eyebrows lifting slightly. “You look like shit,” he says, not unkindly.

“Thanks,” Beomgyu mutters, slinging his bag onto a nearby chair. “Good to see you too.”

Soobin takes another sip, then gestures with the mug. “So? How’d it go?”

Beomgyu hesitates, fingers twitching at his sides. He could say it. He could tell Soobin everything, spill the entire mess across the linoleum like a broken bottle of ink; black, staining, impossible to scrub away. He could tell him about the bet, the video, the selfie requests, the way Kai held him like something worth keeping even as Beomgyu was falling apart in his arms, but Soobin’s looking at him like he’s hopeful. Like he believes in him. Like he’s been waiting for this moment to prove that Beomgyu isn’t the fuck-up everyone else has decided he is.

So Beomgyu lies.

Because if he tells the truth now, if he admits that he couldn't do it, that he froze, that he let Kai hold him and kiss him and cry with him without ever knowing the truth… then everything Soobin has given him will snap. His faith, his patience, his love. That fine thread that’s held them together even through this mess would finally break, and it’s not just about self-preservation. It’s not just about cowardice. It’s about Kai, too. Beomgyu knows he still has to tell him. Will tell him – he swears he will, he has to – but it has to be the right moment. The right time. He can’t just keep swinging wildly and breaking things in the process. One lie at a time. One person at a time. One heart, and then the next.

And anyway… it’s not like Soobin can help him fix this. The damage is already done. All Soobin would be is collateral.

So Beomgyu swallows the bile rising in his throat, tamps down the guilt that’s already screaming at him, and forces his voice to come out steady. A version of events that won’t break anyone’s heart – yet.

“Yeah,” he says, voice even, casual. “I told him.”

Soobin’s eyes widen a little in surprise, and then relief. A full-body exhale. “Shit, Gyu. Seriously?”

Beomgyu nods, too fast. “Seriously.”

“That’s…” Soobin leans on the counter, visibly impressed. “Wow. I didn’t think you’d actually do it. I mean– not because I think you’re a coward or anything,” he amends quickly, “But because I know how much this means to you. And how scared you were.”

Beomgyu laughs once, short and brittle. “Yeah. Terrifying.”

Soobin walks over and claps him on the shoulder, warm and reassuring. “I’m proud of you, Gyu. Really. I know how hard that must’ve been, especially with everything going on with your family, and–” he pauses, reading Beomgyu’s face, “–and the way you’ve been lately. I was worried. But this… this is good.”

Beomgyu swallows the lump building in his throat and forces a smile. “Yeah. It’s good.”

He hates it, how easily it comes out now, this performance. How natural it feels to hide behind it, but what else can he do? He can’t shatter the illusion. Not when Kai is still safe inside it, cradled in the lie like a secret Beomgyu can’t bear to expose.

Soobin ruffles his hair like he used to when they were kids, affectionate and a little annoying. “Bet you feel a thousand kilos lighter, huh?”

Beomgyu lets out a breath. “Something like that.”

Soobin disappears for a moment, returning with two bottles of banana milk, one of his favourite offerings when words fall short. Beomgyu accepts it with a nod, not quite drinking it, just holding the cold bottle between his palms. The chill bites into his skin, grounds him. He keeps his gaze low, lets the soft thud of Soobin settling into the chair opposite him fill the silence for a while.

“So,” Soobin starts again, carefully this time, like he’s easing open a fragile door. “How… how did Kai take it?”

Beomgyu pauses, lets out a slow breath through his nose. His lies are starting to stack now, tall and teetering, but he doesn’t flinch. He lifts his shoulders in a little shrug, eyes still fixed on the bottle. “It hurt him. Of course it did. But… he said he’s willing to move past it. That he just wants me to be honest from now on.”

Soobin nods slowly, visibly moved. “That’s… that’s big of him. I’m glad. He’s always been good like that. Always choosing forgiveness when people don’t deserve it.”

That one slices, sharp and deep. Beomgyu’s grip tightens on the bottle cap until it creaks.

“And Minjun? Doyoon?” Soobin continues, his voice cautious, like he’s treading into darker waters. 

“Settled,” Beomgyu says flatly. “It’s all settled. I told them to back off, and they got the message.”

Not a lie. Not really, but the truth is still rotting beneath the floorboards of the story he’s built, waiting to erupt.

Soobin exhales, a long, grateful sigh, and then he gets up and pulls Beomgyu into a hug without another word. It’s warm and tight and familiar, and Beomgyu nearly lets himself sink into it. Nearly.

“I’m proud of you,” Soobin murmurs into his shoulder. “I know I already said it, but I mean it. I knew you weren’t the type of person who could actually go through with something like this. You talk big sometimes, and you act cocky, but deep down? You’re better than that, Gyu. You’ve always been better.”

Beomgyu squeezes his eyes shut, his jaw clenching so tight it aches, because if only Soobin knew. Kai’s not the first. He’s not the outlier, he’s just the first one who mattered. The first one Beomgyu let matter. There’ve been others. A list long enough to build a wall of shame from, each name tucked away behind smirks and selfies and late-night messages sent like clockwork to Minjun and Doyoon, and Soobin’s hugging him like he’s something whole. Like he’s a good person. Like he didn’t leave a trail of destruction behind him just because it was fun, or easy, or because he wanted to feel wanted. Beomgyu feels worse than shit. Worse than a lie. He feels like a walking grave of all the people he’s hurt and never thought twice about until now.

So he nods once, firmly, pulling back from the hug before he can break down again. “Hey, hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“Can we not… ever talk about this again?” Beomgyu asks, voice light but deliberate. “Me and Kai, we just– we wanna forget it ever happened. No need to bring it up again.”

Soobin tilts his head slightly, searching his face. “Yeah, of course. If that’s what you guys want.”

“It is.” Beomgyu forces a smile. “I mean, what’s the point of dragging it back up, right? We’re moving on. That’s what matters.”

Soobin nods, hand firm on his shoulder. “You’ve got it. I won’t say a word.”

“And hey,” Beomgyu adds quickly before the guilt can soften his resolve, “Don’t say anything to Yeonjun hyung either. Let Kai be the one to tell him, if he wants. I don’t want to–” he hesitates, then settles on, “–step on any toes.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Soobin agrees easily. “I won’t say a thing. Promise.”

Beomgyu nods again, not trusting himself to speak, and Soobin goes back to the kitchen like nothing’s wrong, humming under his breath. The bottle of banana milk still sits unopened in Beomgyu’s hand, its chill finally beginning to fade, and Beomgyu just sits there in the silence, surrounded by warm lies and well-meaning promises, wondering how long he can keep all the truth from bleeding through.

It’s serious now. He knows it. The moment Soobin walks away, humming that stupid, comforting tune under his breath like everything’s fine – like Beomgyu didn’t just lie straight to his face – something cracks deeper inside him. Something quieter and more dangerous than a breakdown, because this isn’t just about Minjun and Doyoon anymore. It isn’t just about a bet that went too far, or feelings he was never supposed to catch, or the devastation he nearly caused in Kai’s bed. This is a performance now. A carefully constructed role he’s slipping into with terrifying ease, smiling at Soobin, lying through his teeth, carrying his guilt like a secret stitched into the lining of his hoodie.

Soobin. The one person who’s always been there. Who never demanded anything of him except honesty. Who saw him at his worst and still stayed. Who trusted him without question, and not because Beomgyu manipulated him into it, but because Soobin believed in the good parts of him, even when Beomgyu couldn’t see them himself, and now Beomgyu’s lying to him too. Spinning another thread in the web he’s wrapped around himself so tightly he can’t tell where it begins or ends. He’s cornered, he’s caged, and he’s the one who built the walls.

It’s one thing to hurt people who never really knew him. One thing to laugh about it in a group chat and send off receipts like trophies. It’s another thing entirely to sit across from Soobin – sweet, loyal, fucking real Soobin – and tell him it’s all fine, that everything’s behind him, that Kai forgave him, because Kai doesn’t even know, and Beomgyu hasn’t earned that forgiveness. Not yet, and maybe not ever.

His skin feels too tight, like his own body is rejecting him. He can’t even drink the banana milk. He sets it down carefully on the table, watching the condensation bead and drip, like it might tell the truth he won’t say out loud. He’s not just a liar now. He’s not just a boy who made a mistake. He’s a fraud.

He’s lying to Kai, and to Yeonjun, and now to Soobin too. Layer after layer, smile after smile, and the scariest part is how easy it’s becoming. How natural the lies roll off his tongue. How he almost believes them himself, for a second, when Soobin said he was proud of him, but that’s the worst part. The ache in his chest isn’t just guilt anymore. It’s the crushing, soul-wrecking fear that he might keep doing this – might keep lying – just to hold on to the love of the people he’s already betrayed.

And that someday, maybe sooner than he thinks, they’re all going to see right through him.

Notes:

so uh back to angst :D sorry bout that hehe

the exciting thing i was hinting at last chapter is happening next chapter so look forward to the update tomorrow!!

as always, please let me know your thoughts in the comment section or come yell at me on twitter at @koostiddy!! <3

Chapter 14

Summary:

“Princess?”

The voice cuts through the din of instruments and idle chatter like a tuning fork struck against the air. That nickname. Kai hasn’t heard it in years, not since before everything changed. His head snaps toward the sound, heart thudding hard in his chest, and there, standing by the drum kit with a guitar slung over his shoulder, is a face he knows like the back of his hand. A face he used to see almost every day. A face that used to be right there alongside Yeonjun during every scraped knee, every school project, every lazy summer afternoon. Starry eyes, a sharp jawline, lips curled into a dimpled smile that hasn’t aged a bit despite the time that’s passed. This was the face that used to sit beside him on the back steps eating ice lollies until the sun dipped below the rooftops, the one that made the mundane feel like magic simply by being there. As close to him as Yeonjun was, his other half in all the ways that counted back then.

Notes:

here's the last of my 3-chapter update marathon lool, next update will come next week!

happy reading~

🐧 

 

The arts building hums with quiet activity as Kai steps inside, a worn backpack slung over one shoulder and a takeaway coffee for Beomgyu in one hand. The familiar buzz of fluorescent lights overhead blends with the distant echo of a piano scale from one of the practice rooms, and though he’s walked these corridors before, today feels different. He’s not here for class. Not even for Yeonjun. He’s here because Beomgyu asked him to be. The thought alone makes something flutter nervously in his chest, like a bird trapped behind his ribs, flapping its wings against the curve of his sternum.

His trainers squeak softly on the linoleum as he follows the signs towards the music department, trying not to look too out of place. His heart taps a steady rhythm beneath his hoodie, the beat almost matching the slight tremble in his fingers. He’s already replayed Beomgyu’s invitation more times than he’s willing to admit; how casual it sounded, like an afterthought, but with a tightness around the eyes that said otherwise. “Come by if you want, you can watch me practice. After rehearsal, we can work more on the track.” Just like that. An easy smile, not even proper eye contact, but Kai had nodded and said he’d come, like it was no big deal, but it was a big deal. This is the first time Beomgyu’s asked him into his world. Not the curated bits they show Yeonjun during project meetings, but the messy, chaotic, real part: music and sweat and people he’s known for years.

Kai’s not sure where he fits into that picture. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he’ll just sit awkwardly in a corner with his drinks and pretend not to eavesdrop while they go over guitar solos and lighting cues and god knows what else bands talk about, but he’s still glad he came. Even if Beomgyu doesn’t say it outright, something in the way he looked at Kai lately – after the river, after all everything – told him he wanted him there, and Kai is trying not to read too much into that, not to let hope spiral too far beyond what they are. Still, there's a small, stubborn warmth in his chest that says maybe things are different now. Maybe their feelings for each other have grown deeper and he’s not just imagining things.

He rounds the corner and catches sight of the double doors leading to the rehearsal room, propped open with a guitar case. From inside, there’s laughter; low, familiar voices overlapping, the scrape of metal against wood as someone adjusts a mic stand. Kai pauses just before the threshold and exhales through his nose. He’s grateful Soobin is there. Soobin, at least, is a constant. Quiet, steady, with that particular kind of gentleness that always seems to anchor a room. If it gets weird, if Kai feels too much like an outsider, he knows he can drift towards Soobin like a raft in high tide. It’s stupid to be this anxious, but he can’t help it.

He straightens his shoulders, adjusts the cups in his grip, and steps inside.

The moment Kai crosses the threshold, he’s hit with a wall of sound and movement. The rehearsal room is enormous, bigger than most classrooms, and it feels more like a backstage lounge than a practice space. The air smells faintly of dust and old amps, mixed with the sweeter notes of someone’s cologne and the unmistakable scent of fast food wrappers crumpled on a nearby amp case. Laughter ricochets off the concrete walls, layered with the erratic strumming of an electric guitar being tuned in the corner and the sharp clack of drumsticks testing the snare.

It’s chaos. Pure, vibrant, musical chaos.

There are people everywhere; some slouched over on beanbags or folding chairs, others leaning against the walls with half-finished drinks in hand. A few are actively playing, jamming in improvised clusters near the back of the room. A synth is running riffs over a chugging bassline, and someone keeps testing a mic with a slightly off-key “check, check, one-two, one-two.” It’s all too much at once, and Kai instinctively shrinks in on himself, clutching the coffee cup a little tighter. His fingers are freezing from the cold plastic, but they give him something to focus on, something to hold as a buffer between him and this blur of loud, beautiful people who all seem to belong here in a way he doesn’t.

And then he sees Beomgyu.

He doesn’t have to search. His eyes find him instantly, as if drawn on instinct, like a needle tugging north on a compass. Beomgyu is standing near the centre of the room, head slightly tilted as he talks to a small group of people; Soobin among them, thankfully, his bass slung over one shoulder like an afterthought. Beomgyu is in his element, effortlessly magnetic even when he’s not trying. His hair is tucked behind one ear, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows as he gestures to a scribbled setlist in his hand. The overhead lighting isn’t doing anyone any favours, but somehow he still manages to shine, like the world decided he deserved a spotlight wherever he went.

Kai lingers by the door for a beat too long, trying to get his bearings. A few of the band kids glance his way, expressions friendly if a little curious. One girl with bright pink braids gives him a wave from where she’s perched cross-legged on a folded-up riser, and a tall boy in a Joy Division shirt throws him a lopsided smile. Kai forces a smile back, lifting one of the drinks in a sort of half-wave. His legs finally move, carrying him across the room towards Beomgyu, careful not to step on any stray cables. The closer he gets, the louder the room seems to grow, like the music is swelling around Beomgyu. There’s something about him – his laugh, the way he moves, the casual confidence in his voice as he tosses ideas back and forth with Soobin and another guitarist – that demands attention without ever asking for it.

Still, as soon as Kai is close enough to catch the scent of his shampoo – citrus and cedar and Beomgyu – he feels the nerves start to settle. Even though Beomgyu is different in here – louder, freer, more assured – he still turns when Kai arrives like he knew he was coming, like he’s been waiting for him all along. Beomgyu flashes him that effortlessly brilliant smile, the kind that could part storm clouds, and in an instant, the tension wound tight in Kai’s shoulders unravels. His grip on the coffee cups loosens, his breath evens out, and before he knows it, his feet are already carrying him the rest of the way, drawn forward like a tide pulled in by the moon.

“Hey, babe,” Beomgyu says, all casual ease, the pet name slipping from his lips like it’s second nature because he knows exactly what it does to Kai. His smile is warm and a little smug as he watches Kai flush, like he’s enjoying the effect. “Glad you made it. We’re just about to kick off rehearsal.”

“I got you your Americano,” Kai says, offering the cup with both hands like it’s something precious.

Beomgyu takes it with a grin and leans in, pressing a kiss right onto Kai’s lips; quick, sure, and unbothered by the room full of people around them. Kai’s eyes go wide, his breath catching as heat floods his cheeks. He glances around nervously, as though someone might scold them or laugh. No one does, but the boldness of it still leaves him flustered.

“Thanks, babe,” Beomgyu smirks, taking a long sip of the drink like nothing happened, eyes glittering with mischief over the rim of the cup.

“Princess?”

The voice cuts through the din of instruments and idle chatter like a tuning fork struck against the air. That nickname. Kai hasn’t heard it in years, not since before everything changed. His head snaps toward the sound, heart thudding hard in his chest, and there, standing by the drum kit with a guitar slung over his shoulder, is a face he knows like the back of his hand. A face he used to see almost every day. A face that used to be right there alongside Yeonjun during every scraped knee, every school project, every lazy summer afternoon. Starry eyes, a sharp jawline, lips curled into a dimpled smile that hasn’t aged a bit despite the time that’s passed. This was the face that used to sit beside him on the back steps eating ice lollies until the sun dipped below the rooftops, the one that made the mundane feel like magic simply by being there. As close to him as Yeonjun was, his other half in all the ways that counted back then.

“Tyun?” Kai breathes, disbelieving.

Taehyun’s eyes light up. “Oh my god, it really is you.”

And just like that, the years fall away.

Kai doesn’t think, he moves. A second later he’s barreling across the rehearsal room like some overgrown golden retriever, limbs too long and heart too full, practically launching himself into Taehyun’s arms. The impact sends a startled laugh from both of them, but Kai doesn’t care. He clutches him tight, tighter than he ever has before, as if the strength of it might somehow make up for all the years they lost. As if pressing their bodies together could reverse time, could erase the empty space where Taehyun used to be in his life.

“You’re real,” Kai mumbles into his shoulder, voice cracking with disbelief. “You’re actually here.”

Taehyun lets out a huff of laughter, hugging him back just as fiercely. “I could say the same. God, you’re taller. When did that happen?”

Kai pulls back just far enough to look at him, beaming from ear to ear. “Probably around the time you stopped texting back.”

Taehyun winces, sheepish. “Oh my god, Eomma’s phone got stolen and we didn’t remember your phone number. We tried to find you but ultimately we couldn’t find anything, and by the time we went back to Seoul for a holiday you’d already moved out. I’m gonna make it up to you, I promise.”

“Damn right, you do,” Kai says, but there’s no real heat behind it. His smile is too wide, eyes too glassy. “What are you even doing here? I thought you were in the States?”

“I just got back this semester. I’m in the exchange program. Transferred to finish my last year here,” Taehyun explains, still grinning, still slightly breathless. “I just joined this band, and now look what happens.”

Kai laughs, heart swelling so fast it almost hurts. “I can’t believe this. Yeonjun hyung’s gonna lose his mind.”

“I know,” Taehyun says with a smug little shrug. “I’m so happy you guys are still friends.”

“Are you kidding me? As if I’d let Yeonjun hyung stop being my friend.” Before Kai can say more, a sharp throat-clearing cuts through their moment.

Beomgyu stands a few feet away, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, looking every bit the unimpressed frontman with a chip on his shoulder. His expression isn’t quite hostile, but there’s a weight behind his words.

“Who are you calling Princess?” he asks casually, but the underlying tension pulls at Kai’s chest.

Kai’s eyes sparkle as he bounces on his heels, unable to contain his excitement. “Hyung! Why didn’t you tell me Tyunnie was in your band?”

Beomgyu blinks, caught off guard, a flicker of something – jealousy, maybe? – passing through his eyes before he masks it with a shrug. “How was I supposed to know you two even knew each other?”

Kai waves a hand dismissively. “I guess you’re right... But, oh! Taehyun, you’ve probably met Beomgyu hyung already, right? He’s my–”

“Boyfriend,” Beomgyu interrupts smoothly, voice low but firm. “I’m his boyfriend.”

Taehyun’s eyes widen in surprise, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Whoa, I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend, hyung. And Kai of all people! What a small world.”

Beomgyu shrugs, the faintest hint of a scowl playing on his lips. “Why would I tell you? We’re not exactly close.”

Kai shoots Beomgyu a pointed look. “Hey, that was mean.”

Beomgyu raises his hands in mock surrender and rolls his eyes. “Sorry, sorry. I’ve got to get back to this setlist.” He gestures toward the scattered papers and scribbled notes spread out on a nearby table.

Kai watches him go, a little puzzled, before turning back to Taehyun, who’s already moving to set up his instruments. “So, you’re the new kid in the band?”

Taehyun nods, plugging in his guitar with practiced ease. “Yeah, just recently recruited. Still getting the lay of the land.”

Kai beams, feeling a warm glow of happiness. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Taehyun tunes his guitar as they settle into a rhythm, the conversation flowing with the kind of ease that only comes from knowing someone in a past life. They fall into laughter over shared childhood memories: Kai reminding him of the time they got stuck on Yeonjun’s apartment rooftop during a thunderstorm, Taehyun bringing up the time Kai accidentally drank paint water during an art project. Their voices rise and fall above the ambient hum of the rehearsal room, and Kai’s laugh, loud and unguarded, feels like it hasn’t surfaced in ages. He’s animated, his whole body leaning towards Taehyun, eyes crinkled, arms occasionally bumping into Taehyun’s as they talk like no time has passed at all.

Behind them, unnoticed, Beomgyu glances over with a look that doesn’t quite mask the twinge in his chest. He watches the way Kai lights up around this boy, this stranger to him but someone clearly not a stranger to Kai. His lips purse into the softest of pouts, fingers stilling on his guitar strings as the rehearsal checklist in front of him is all but forgotten.

“I think your boyfriend’s jealous,” Taehyun says under his breath, grinning as he strums an idle chord.

Kai blinks, glancing over his shoulder just in time to catch Beomgyu staring at them, brows slightly furrowed and bottom lip jutting out just enough to be comical if it weren’t so transparent.

He laughs it off. “He’s not,” Kai says too quickly, waving a hand. “He’s just tired. Rehearsal stuff.”

Taehyun chuckles knowingly, unconvinced, but lets it drop. “Sure. If you say so, Princess.”

As rehearsal properly kicks off, the room shifts from laidback noise to structured chaos. Chords ring out, beats sync up, and melodies begin to shape themselves under the weight of collective effort. But even amidst the organised buzz, Kai and Taehyun remain in their own little world. Between takes, they’re whispering again, quiet bursts of laughter shared over some private joke or a memory that Kai only just remembered. Taehyun nudges him at one point, grinning ear to ear, and Kai practically beams in response, nudging him right back with the giddy ease of someone who feels like a kid again.

Beomgyu notices. Of course he does. From his spot behind the mic stand, fingers grazing across guitar strings, he keeps pretending to check levels or tweak settings on his laptop, but really, he’s watching. Watching the way Kai leans in, the way Taehyun’s eyes never quite leave him, the way Kai seems lighter, almost glowing in a way he hasn’t been in weeks, and Beomgyu wants to be happy about that – he wants to just let Kai enjoy this moment – but it needles at him. Every quiet laugh between them lands like an offbeat strum against his ribs.

When Taehyun misses a cue – again – Beomgyu exhales through his nose and speaks before he can stop himself.

“Hey, Taehyun? We recruited you for a reason,” he says, not raising his voice, but letting just enough edge sneak in. “If you’re gonna keep slacking off, maybe don’t waste our time.”

The room stills for a beat. Taehyun, midway through adjusting an amp setting, straightens slowly and blinks, clearly surprised, though not particularly wounded. “I thought we were just warming up,” he replies, even-toned, careful.

Kai turns immediately. “Hyung, it’s my fault,” he says, frowning, stepping slightly forward. “I was the one who kept talking. Don’t blame him.”

Beomgyu shrugs like it’s nothing, like it’s over, but the smile he usually wears is nowhere to be seen. He plucks at his guitar absently, gaze fixed on the strings. “Whatever. Let’s just get on with it.”

The next beat drops in heavier than before.  Kai finally falls quiet.

Something about Beomgyu’s clipped tone, the tension that wrapped briefly around his words, pulls Kai out of his bubble with Taehyun. He lowers himself onto the studio couch, tucked in the corner of the rehearsal room, and decides, for once, to keep still. His hands fiddle absently with the sleeve of his jumper as the band resets. Then the music starts again, properly this time, the rhythm taking hold like a tide pulling at his feet, and suddenly, Kai is transfixed.

He’s always known Beomgyu was in a band. He’s even seen them perform once or twice during campus events or spring festivals, but always from a distance, always as someone passing through. Never like this. Never with a front-row seat. Never as someone who’s allowed to be close.

Beomgyu is different here. 

There’s a sharpness to him when he plays, but it isn’t hard or aggressive, it’s controlled and natural. Like the mic is just an extension of his body, like the rhythm lives in his blood and he’s only letting it out in pulses. His hair is pushed back with a headband, a few strands falling loose and clinging to his damp forehead as the set stretches on. He sways a little when he sings, head tilted, eyes fluttered shut when he hits certain notes. The flex of his neck, the casual strength in his arms as he lifts the mic to his lips, the way his fingers tighten around the mic… all of it strikes something low and hot in Kai’s chest. He swallows. Hard.

The heat that creeps up his spine isn’t from the broken air-con. It’s from watching Beomgyu like this, fully in his element, alive in a way Kai doesn’t get to see often. The confidence, the charisma, the quiet command of attention, it’s devastating, and when a bead of sweat slips down Beomgyu’s neck, disappearing into the collar of his shirt, Kai’s breath catches. He fans himself with one hand, trying to focus on the music, not the way Beomgyu’s biceps look beneath his rolled-up sleeves.

He’s still staring, mouth slightly open, utterly dazed, when Taehyun’s voice cuts through the spell like a whipcrack.

“Watch out, Princess,” Taehyun teases, loud enough for him to hear, his tone airy. “If you keep gawking like that, you’ll turn into a frog or something. Tongue out, catching flies.”

Kai jolts upright, face blazing as he snaps his mouth shut. “Shut up,” he mutters, tugging his sleeve up to cover his mouth out of embarrassment.

Beomgyu, without missing a beat or even looking up from his guitar, says coolly, “Stop calling my boyfriend Princess.”

Taehyun raises a brow, clearly amused. “Oh, um, okay?”

Soobin ambles over during a break in the set, towel draped around his neck and a bottle of water in each hand. He tosses one across the room to the drummer with practiced ease, then crouches to grab another from the crate beside the couch where Kai’s sitting, still trying to recover from Taehyun’s very public teasing. Taehyun, for his part, looks entirely unbothered, idly strumming his guitar as he perches on the armrest beside Kai like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Soobin uncaps his bottle, takes a long drink, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before glancing between the two of them. Then he leans in slightly, voice pitched just low enough not to carry.

“Don’t mind Gyu,” he says, eyes twinkling. “He’s just being petty. Jealousy’s his favourite colour.”

Kai blinks. “Jealous?”

At that, Beomgyu makes a strangled noise from across the room. “Hyuuuuung,” he groans, drawing the word out into a dramatic wail. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Soobin stands, utterly unfazed. “I am. That’s why I’m telling your boyfriend to be patient with your sulky little tantrum.”

“Hyung!” Beomgyu protests again, hands flying up as he stomps – actually stomps – his foot like a child denied dessert.

Kai turns slowly, eyebrows rising, and finally takes in the full picture. The pout on Beomgyu’s lips. The way he keeps glancing over between chords, like he can’t decide whether he’s more annoyed or just dying to be included. The fact that he’s glaring not-so-subtly at Taehyun every time they laugh, and suddenly, it all clicks. Beomgyu is actually jealous. Of Taehyun.

Not in a cruel or insecure way, but in that silly, lovesick, almost embarrassingly transparent way that makes Kai want to melt into the floor and grin for a hundred years at the same time. He’d been so caught up in catching up with Taehyun, so swept away in the nostalgia and excitement, he hadn’t even noticed it until now, but looking at Beomgyu sulking like a kicked puppy in skinny jeans and eyeliner, still pretending not to look their way, Kai feels his chest bloom with something fond and giddy and a little smug. He covers his mouth with his hand, stifling the smile before it gets too obvious. Soobin gives him a knowing look and walks back to his spot, muttering something to the keyboardist along the way.

Kai nudges Taehyun with his knee. “You’re not helping,” he whispers, but he’s grinning now.

Taehyun just laughs, slouching back against the sofa. “What? I didn’t do anything. Your boyfriend’s the one acting like a kicked puppy.”

Kai glances back at Beomgyu, who’s pointedly tuning a guitar even though it’s already in perfect pitch, lips pursed, eyes fixed anywhere but their direction. 

Yeah. He’s definitely jealous.

And it might just be the cutest thing Kai’s seen all day.

Without a word, Kai walks across the studio and wraps his arms around Beomgyu from behind, slotting himself neatly into the curve of Beomgyu’s back. It’s something he’s grown quietly fond of: the way Beomgyu fits against him, slightly smaller, like a puzzle piece that was always meant to go there. He presses his chest flush to Beomgyu’s back and rests his chin on his shoulder, cheek nuzzling softly into the warm line of his jaw. Beomgyu stills, breath catching, and Kai can feel the faintest stutter in his rhythm, his fingers going loose around the jack cable.

“I like when you’re pouty,” Kai murmurs, voice low. Then, with an uncharacteristic surge of bravery, he kisses Beomgyu’s cheek, soft and slow.

His own cheeks burn the second he does it, public displays like this aren’t his thing, not usually. But for some reason, right now, it feels right. Necessary, even.

Beomgyu finally glances sideways, his expression flickering into something unreadable. “You’re being weird.”

Kai pulls back just enough to face him properly. “Are you jealous?”

“No, I’m not,” Beomgyu says instantly, too quickly.

Kai grins. “Yeah, you definitely are.”

Beomgyu scowls, squinting at him. “Okay, fine. Whatever. But what’s his business calling you Princess?”

Kai rolls his eyes fondly. “Tyun’s been calling me that since we were babies, hyung. It’s basically muscle memory at this point.”

Beomgyu groans, looking vaguely betrayed. “You never told me that.”

“I guess it never came up in conversation,” Kai says with a shrug, then tilts his head playfully. “Do you really want him to stop calling me Princess?”

Beomgyu hesitates, his eyes flicking to the side like he’s working through it in real time. “...No. It’s fine. Especially if that’s been your nickname since forever.” He says it with obvious reluctance, like the words taste bitter on his tongue but he’s trying to be mature about it.

Kai smiles sweetly, leaning in closer until their noses nearly brush. “Mmm. Good boy.”

The effect is immediate. Beomgyu freezes like someone hit pause on his entire nervous system. His shoulders lock up, his ears turn a furious shade of pink, and his mouth opens slightly like he’s about to protest but nothing comes out. His eyes go wide, glassy with disbelief, and then, slowly, the blush creeps down his neck, spreading like fire beneath his skin.

“Oh my god, who are you and what did you do to my shy little Kai?” Beomgyu mutters, eyes darting to the floor, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “You can’t just say stuff like that. When did you get so bold?”

Kai’s grin stretches wider, absolutely delighted. “Why not? Is it because you like it a little too much?”

Beomgyu lets out a wounded little noise. “Not when there are other people in the room! I’m already– ugh.” He shoves lightly at Kai’s chest but doesn’t move away, which only encourages Kai to wrap his arms around him tighter, laughing quietly into his hair.

“Relax. No one’s listening,” Kai teases, though they both know it’s a lie. The others are definitely watching, pretending not to.

“I hate you,” Beomgyu mumbles into Kai’s hoodie.

“No you don’t.”

Beomgyu sighs dramatically. “Fine. I don’t.”

Kai gives him one last kiss on the temple before Beomgyu groans and buries his face in his shoulder to hide. Behind them, someone snickers – probably Soobin – and Kai just beams, feeling the strange, warm rush of something that feels a lot like being seen, like being claimed, and weirdly… like home.

 

🐧

 

“I thought we were supposed to work on our project today?”

Kai freezes mid-laugh, having just said something stupid to make Taehyun snort. “Shit,” he mutters, eyes widening as guilt crashes down on him. “I completely forgot.”

Beomgyu crosses his arms. “Really?”

“I– yeah, I’m so sorry.” Kai winces, genuinely torn. “It’s just– Taehyunnie and I haven’t seen each other in years, and I wanted to take him to meet Yeonjun hyung before he heads out for his work shift. Like… two hours tops, I promise. Then me and Yeonjun hyung’ll come straight to your place to work on it. I swear.”

Beomgyu’s expression flattens into something unreadable, and Kai steps a little closer, voice softening. “Hyung. It’s just been so long. I didn’t expect to see him again and I really, really miss him.”

There’s a pause, too long for comfort. Beomgyu’s gaze flicks over Kai’s face, then to Taehyun, who’s chatting easily with Soobin as he coils a lead. Eventually, Beomgyu sighs, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

“Two hours,” he says, not quite smiling. “And you’re still coming over tonight.”

Kai lights up. “Yes! Promise, you’re the best, hyungie.”

Beomgyu pretends to grumble, turning back to his guitar case. “You better bring snacks or something. I’m not letting you slack off just because you were off frolicking with your childhood soulmate.”

Kai snorts, stepping closer to give his shoulder a squeeze. “You’re being so dramatic.”

“Mm, and yet still letting you go,” Beomgyu mutters, eyes pointedly not meeting his.

Kai leans in to kiss his cheek anyway. “Thank you, hyung.”

Kai leaves the rehearsal room with a bounce in his step, shoulder to shoulder with Taehyun as they exit the arts building into the early dusk. The sky is a soft blue-grey, clouds feathered thin like cotton, and the chill in the air carries the first whisper of approaching spring. It’s surreal, walking like this, like nothing ever changed. Like all those years apart never happened. They fall into conversation easily, no stutters or pauses, just a seamless return to a rhythm they’ve always known.

“So,” Kai says, nudging Taehyun lightly with his elbow as they make their way across the quad, “What’ve you been up to all this time? You basically vanished off the face of the earth.”

Taehyun huffs out a laugh, shoulders rising in a small shrug as he buries his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “Honestly? Not much. Moved to a new city, started at a new school. Made some friends here and there, but… none of them were quite like you and Yeonjun hyung.”

Kai scoffs, shoving at his shoulder. “As if.”

“I’m serious!” Taehyun says with a grin. “No one could ever replace you two. I kept thinking about you guys, especially after we lost contact. It felt like… something important just dropped out of my life.”

Kai glances sideways at him, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You could’ve looked for us, you know. Ever heard of this thing called Instagram?”

“I don’t have Instagram.”

Kai gapes at him. “You’re still a grandpa?! That’s why me and Yeonjun hyung couldn’t find you. We tried Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, everything.”

“I’m not a grandpa just because I don’t want to rot my brain on social media!” Taehyun protests, laughing. “What about you? How’s life been?”

Kai shrugs, smile bright and open. “I’m just… getting by, really. Music school’s intense, half the time I feel like my brain’s leaking out my ears, but I’ve got good people around me now. That helps.” 

Taehyun hums, eyes scanning Kai’s face like he’s committing it to memory. “That’s good. You look really happy with Beomgyu hyung.”

“I am,” Kai says simply, and the sincerity in his voice leaves no room for doubt.

Taehyun’s grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “What about Yeonjun hyung? Has he got anyone?”

“Oh! Yeah, he’s with Soobin hyung.”

Taehyun stops in his tracks for a second. “No fucking way.”

Kai laughs, almost too gleefully. “Yes way. Apparently, Soobin hyung’s had a crush on him since, like, orientation. He used to follow Yeonjun hyung around campus just to stare at him from afar.”

Taehyun squints. “Damn… I don’t know if I should feel impressed or vaguely alarmed.”

Kai snorts. “A bit of both.”

“Yeah. Definitely both.”

A beat of quiet settles between them, warm and easy. Kai looks over, eyes softening as he studies his friend’s profile. “I’m really glad you’re here, Tyun.”

Taehyun slows his steps again, turning to meet Kai’s gaze. Something flickers in his eyes; fondness, nostalgia, maybe a trace of wonder. “Yeah?” he murmurs. “Me too. Seeing you again like this… it’s kind of surreal. Feels like the universe hit ‘resume’ on a save file I thought was long deleted.”

Kai smiles. “Then I guess we better not lose it again.”

They reach the library just as the sun begins to slant through the tall glass windows, casting golden stripes along the floor. Kai leads the way like muscle memory, weaving past clusters of tables and murmuring students, right towards the tucked-away corner he always gravitates to his usual spot. It’s quiet, nestled against a wall of windows, with an outlet conveniently placed and chairs that are just comfortable enough to sink into between classes. It’s the same spot where he’s spent countless afternoons with Beomgyu and Soobin bickering over lyrics, and Yeonjun flipping through fashion catalogues with a smoothie in one hand and a highlighter in the other.

Taehyun trails after him, eyes skimming the shelves and tables as if memorising the new scenery. When they arrive, Kai throws his bag onto the seat he usually claims and flops down beside it, patting the chair across from him for Taehyun.

“This is it,” he grins. “Our unofficial but very much claimed hangout. No one really messes with us here.”

Taehyun chuckles as he takes the seat. “You’ve got turf now, huh? You’ve changed, Huening Kai.”

Taehyun raises a brow, unimpressed. “That’s such a lie. You’ve always been a nerd, and we both know you’re acing everything.”

Kai huffs, half-smiling. “Okay, fine. My grades are stellar. Top of the class. A true academic weapon.”

“There we go,” Taehyun says, grinning. “No need to play humble with me. I know the truth.”

Kai leans back, mock smug. “Alright, then. I’ll make it my mission to brag about myself nonstop from now on.”

Taehyun laughs, eyes crinkling. “Perfect. I’ll pretend to be annoyed while secretly keeping a tally.”

 

yeonjun hyung🦊

hyungie (；′⌒`)
i need your help…
come to the library please?
(˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥)

WHAT
WJAT HAPPENED
IM RUNNING RIHHT NOW
DONT GO ANYWHERE!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

“Yeonjun hyung is on his way,” Kai giggles mischievously. “You should hide when he comes in!”

“Good idea,” Taehyun laughs, already getting ready to get under the table.

Barely five minutes after Kai sends the text, the library doors burst open with a gust of cold air and urgency. Yeonjun rushes in, his signature red hair tousled by the wind and his long, immaculately tailored coat billowing behind him like something out of a drama. His eyes scan the space in a mild panic until they land on Kai, and then he's speed-walking across the room like he’s on a mission.

“Kai! What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he blurts, dropping his bag on the table with a thud and grabbing Kai’s face in both hands. He squishes his cheeks, tilting his head from side to side like he’s inspecting him for bruises or broken bones. “Did someone touch you? Do I need to fight someone?”

Before Kai can answer – or even pry Yeonjun’s hands off his face – a hand suddenly reaches up and tugs on Yeonjun’s ankle from beneath the table.

Yeonjun shrieks. Loudly.

Several students glance up from their books, hissing a chorus of “Shhhhhh!” in disapproval, but Yeonjun’s already jumping back like a startled cat, nearly tripping over himself as he grabs the edge of the table for balance.

From underneath, Taehyun pops up, grinning casually. “Hi, hyung.”

For a second, Yeonjun just stares, blinking, frozen mid-breath like his brain is still buffering. And then–

“Oh my god, Tyunnie?!” he gasps, and suddenly he’s surging forward to pull Taehyun into a hug so tight it lifts the younger boy off the ground. Without missing a beat, Yeonjun spins him around in a small, squeaky circle like someone joyfully reuniting with a long-lost pet.

Taehyun dangles mid-air like a mildly disgruntled but ultimately indulgent cat. “Hyung,” he deadpans, “Put me down before we get kicked out.”

“Shhh!” another student hisses from a nearby cubicle.

“Sorry,” Taehyun apologises on behalf of Yeonjun who still hasn’t put him down.

Kai, doubled over with silent laughter, clutches his stomach. “I have never heard you scream like a cartoon character before, hyung.”

Yeonjun finally sets Taehyun down, eyes shining. “You little punk. I thought you fell off the planet. What the hell are you doing here?”

Taehyun dusts himself off with a grin. “Guess the universe decided to put me back where I belong.”

Yeonjun doesn’t let go.

Even after setting Taehyun back on his feet, his arms stay looped tightly around the younger boy, swaying him gently side to side like he’s trying to make up for all the years they’ve been apart in one never-ending squeeze. His chin rests on top of Taehyun’s head, and when he finally pulls back enough to really look at him, his eyes are suspiciously glassy.

“My kitty has grown up,” Yeonjun breathes, voice wobbly with affection as he cups Taehyun’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing the curve of his cheekbones. “Look at you! Taller! Handsomer! And muscular too! You’re so big now . ”

Taehyun groans, swatting at his wrists. “Ugh, not this again,” he mutters, though there’s no real heat behind the words. His ears are already turning red.

Kai, snickering beside them, doesn’t even try to intervene.

Yeonjun, of course, only doubles down. “No, you shut up,” he squeals, grabbing both Taehyun and Kai by the cheeks and squishing them together like dough. “I can’t believe I’ve got my baby ducklings back with me!”

“Ow, hyung!” Kai protests, his voice muffled by squished lips. “My face!”

“Have mercy,” Taehyun pleads, doing nothing to escape. “People are staring.”

And they are. Several students from across the library have poked their heads up from behind their laptops, blinking at the small reunion circus happening in the corner. But Yeonjun doesn’t care. His smile is too wide, his joy too loud to keep to himself, and he finally lets go only to wrap them both up in a three-way hug that smells faintly of his cologne and all the warmth of home.

“My babies,” he sighs, dramatically, contentedly. “The universe knew I needed this.”

Their childhood had been carved out of warm summers and endless after-school afternoons, their three houses lined up like dominoes on a sleepy neighborhood street. Yeonjun’s house stood in the middle, an unofficial headquarters that held their childhood secrets; forts made of couch cushions, shared instant noodles, movie marathons and sleepy pile-ups on the floor. Being three years older, Yeonjun had naturally stepped into the role of mother hen, always fussing over scraped knees and making sure they drank enough water during play. He was the tallest, the fastest, the smartest, and in Kai and Taehyun’s eyes, probably the coolest person alive. They followed him like ducklings, hanging on his every word, copying his style, begging to be included in whatever new game or idea he had. The three of them were inseparable, a self-contained little world that thrived on inside jokes, whispered dreams, and pinky promises.

Kai still remembered the exact smell of the airport terminal, cold and sterile, mixed with the salt of his tears. Taehyun’s departure for America was one of the worst days of his life, something that still lived inside him like a faded scar. He’d been young, too young to understand what a move like that really meant until it was already happening. Their families had all gone to the airport together, Taehyun clinging to Yeonjun and Kai in turns while his parents sorted out luggage and tickets. Kai had sobbed so hard his chest hurt, his tiny fists gripping the hem of Taehyun’s sleeve like letting go would be the same as losing him forever, and when the final boarding call rang out and Yeonjun and Kai were forced to let go, it took both of Yeonjun’s and Kai’s parents to peel them off Taehyun. Kai had screamed until his throat gave out, kicking and thrashing wildly in his father's arms, reaching out to the boy disappearing through the gate, until Taehyun was gone and all that was left was an empty hallway and the cold press of grief.

The silence in the car ride back was suffocating. Kai had curled up in the backseat, face buried in Yeonjun’s lap, still shaking with hiccuped sobs while Yeonjun combed gentle fingers through his hair. No one had said much. There wasn’t anything to say. Something huge had shifted in their world, like the sun had dipped below the horizon and taken all the warmth with it. In the days that followed, they’d tried to act normal – Kai and Yeonjun still hanging out after school, still playing video games and sneaking snacks – but the third chair always sat empty, a silent placeholder for the boy who used to fill it. For a while, it had felt like they were holding their breath, waiting for someone who might never come back.

“I still can’t believe you’ve been here this whole time and we had no idea,” Yeonjun says, shaking his head in disbelief as he keeps one arm slung tightly around Taehyun’s shoulders, even now that they’re all squeezed into a library booth like no time has passed at all.

“No, seriously, I just got here this semester,” Taehyun laughs, holding up his hands like he’s defending himself. “Exchange program. Total last-minute decision.”

“And the universe made sure we crossed paths the second you landed,” Kai adds, grinning as he nudges Taehyun’s knee under the table.

“Obviously,” Taehyun says, flashing him a smile. “We’re soulmates, remember?”

Kai’s reply is immediate and warm. “Always.”

Taehyun’s expression softens as he leans back against the booth, eyes flicking between the two of them. “So… how are your parents, hyung?” he asks Yeonjun first, curiosity shining in his eyes. “Still ruling the fashion world?”

Yeonjun laughs, rolling his eyes affectionately. “Busy as hell, as always. Eomma just launched another line in Paris and Appa’s off somewhere in Milan, photographing for fashion week or something. I don’t even know anymore.” He leans into Taehyun’s side, still half-clinging to him. “But they’re doing great. They’ll lose their minds when they find out you’re back.”

Taehyun grins, clearly touched. “Tell them I said hi. I miss their weird fancy dinner parties.” 

Then he turns to Kai, voice still warm. “And what about your Eomma and Dad? Hiyyih and Lea noona? How are they?”

The shift in Kai is instant. His posture stiffens slightly, the corners of his smile tightening like thread pulled too taut. “They’re… okay,” he says quietly. Too quiet. It doesn’t match the long, breezy answer Yeonjun just gave. It doesn’t match the warmth in his eyes a moment ago. Just two words, dropped like a stone.

Taehyun blinks, his brows twitching just a bit, but he only nods. “That’s good,” he says, gentle and cautious.

Yeonjun notices it right away, the way Kai’s eyes drop, how he suddenly looks like he’s somewhere far away. Without missing a beat, Yeonjun leans in and loudly begins recounting the time Soobin tried to impress him with a leather-on-leather disaster of an outfit, complete with hand gestures and dramatic sighs. Taehyun bursts into laughter, bantering back without hesitation, and soon the two of them are immersed in a loud, ridiculous retelling of Soobin’s fashion crimes.

Kai sits quietly beside them, watching, smiling faintly at the performance but not really feeling it. Because even now, years later, the memory of his mother and sisters is a wound that never quite scabs over, something he never talks about, not even with Yeonjun, and though he appreciates the distraction, a small ache still curls in his chest, sharp and familiar.

Before Kai can sink deeper into that quiet, heavy place, Taehyun’s voice pulls him back, gentle and warm. “Hey, Kai, remember that ridiculous outfit you tried at Yeonjun’s birthday party? The one that looked like you were going for cowboy slash disco ball slash mermaid? I bet Soobin hyung’s fashion disasters don’t come close to that.” Taehyun’s teasing grin is impossible to resist.

Kai’s lips twitch into a reluctant smile, then a genuine laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep inside. The sharp edges of his pain soften, blurred by the familiar comfort Taehyun always seems to carry. It’s like a balm; just hearing Taehyun’s voice, catching his easy smile, grounding him in the present. Before he knows it, Kai is fully there again, laughing and cackling alongside Taehyun and Yeonjun. Their shared jokes and memories fill the space, pushing the ache to the background. In that moment, it’s just them – their friendship, their history – something steady and true in a world that so often feels uncertain.

 

🐧 

 

Kai is already sprawled comfortably on Beomgyu’s bed when he starts talking about Taehyun, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm as if he’s afraid the moment might slip away if he doesn’t say everything now. Beomgyu sits at his desk, fingers flying over the keyboard of his laptop, eyes scanning lines of beats and riffs. He’s clearly trying to focus, but the rapid cadence of Kai’s words breaks through the quiet room like a persistent melody. Kai doesn’t notice Beomgyu’s distracted expression; his gaze is bright, animated, like he’s reliving every moment spent with Taehyun just by speaking about him.

“Honestly, Gyu, you should’ve talked with him earlier. He’s just so… I don’t know, he almost feels like home? Like… All of my happy memories personified into one person, just effortlessly cool and comforting. But not in a showy way. Like, he just is. And he’s wickedly funny too. I swear, I’m so happy he’s here. Like, I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a while now,” Kai gushes, his hands gesturing wildly as if painting pictures in the air.

Beomgyu types a few more lines but doesn’t look up. “Mmm,” he hums distractedly, not quite responding.

Kai chuckles and inches closer to Beomgyu’s side, nudging his shoulder gently. “Are you really that jealous, huh?” he asks teasingly, voice dropping just a little.

Beomgyu snaps his laptop shut, finally giving Kai his full attention as he flops onto the bed on his front next to Kai. “Jealous? Me? I’m just trying to get this project done,” he grumbles, but the faint crease at the corner of his mouth betrays him. He taps the edge of the laptop, irritated. 

Kai grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on and on. I just haven’t seen Tyun in ages. It’s weird how quickly we clicked again, like no time had passed. And I guess it caught me off guard.” His eyes flicker with warmth and a little nostalgia.

Beomgyu sighs, leaning back in his chair, the corner of his mouth twitching with reluctant amusement. “Alright, fine. Tell me about him then. Why does he call you Princess?”

Kai snorts, the sound light and fond. “I was always the most timid one between him and Yeonjun hyung. Total crybaby. I hated getting my hands dirty, screamed bloody murder at the tiniest insect, and I always – always – needed someone to hold my hand.” He smiles, soft with the weight of memory. “And little baby Tyunnie took it upon himself to stick to baby Kai like glue whenever we played outside. Like he appointed himself my personal bodyguard or something.”

He glances up, eyes crinkling with amusement. “I used to call him Prince Tyunnie and he’d call me Princess Kai, and Yeonjun hyung was our Queen– yes, Queen Yeonjun. It was stupid and cute and kind of our thing. I eventually outgrew calling him that, but he never stopped calling me Princess.”

Kai shrugs, but the pink tint on his cheeks betrays him. “I guess it still stuck to him to this day.”

“Whatever, it’s a corny nickname anyway.” Beomgyu grumbles.

“Hey! It’s cute, okay?” Kai laughs, scooting closer to Beomgyu on the bed and wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“How did you two even meet?”

Kai leans forward eagerly, the energy returning to his voice. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. Our houses were right next to each other growing up. Yeonjun hyung’s a couple of years older, so he was like this mother hen to both of us, always fussing and making sure we didn’t get into trouble.”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, clearly interested despite himself.

Kai continues, “Taehyun and I were inseparable back then. We looked up to Yeonjun hyung like he was some kind of legend, but Tyun and I had our own little world. We did everything together; rode our bikes, went to the park, played music, you name it.”

He pauses, a small smile playing on his lips. “It was one of the worst days of my life when Taehyun had to move to America. I remember Yeonjun hyung’s family took us to the airport, and we refused to let go of Tyun until we were literally torn apart. I was kicking and punching the air, screaming for him not to leave, but I was already being carried away. That day felt like my world just broke in two.”

Beomgyu’s face softens, and he nods slowly. “Sounds rough.”

Kai shrugs, a little embarrassed but honest. “Yeah, but now he’s back. And it’s like we just picked up right where we left off. Except, you know, we’re older.”

Beomgyu leans forward, wrapping his arms around Kai so that they’re facing each other. “But that’s not a problem is it?”

Kai bites his lip, thinking for a moment. “No, of course not… It’s just weird seeing him grown after all these years. Taehyun’s the same age as me, so our friendship is different from the one I have with Yeonjun, who’s older and more like an older brother or guardian figure. Tyun’s more of a peer, someone I can joke around with, confide in, and, hell… he was even my first kiss.”

Beomgyu blinks, momentarily speechless. “Wait, your first kiss? With Taehyun?”

Kai nods, cheeks flushing faintly. “Yeah. It was a total surprise. We were kids, curious, you know? It just happened one day, and yeah…”

Beomgyu falls silent for a moment, then abruptly turns the other way, voice low and sharp. “Go ahead and date him, then.”

“What? Gyu, oh my god, are you really that jealous?” Kai bursts out, incredulous but amused. Sitting up on his elbows to peek at Beomgyu from behind his shoulder.

“Whatever. Go on, kiss him again if you want,” Beomgyu replies flatly, not looking back.

Kai cackles, falling back on his back as he shakes his head. “Beomgyu hyung, we were kids when we kissed.”

“Oh, so now you don’t care about me? Laughing at my misery? Fine, whatever. Get off my bed and out of my room,” Beomgyu snaps, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Kai grins mischievously, scooting closer as he pulls Beomgyu onto his back. “Beomgyu hyung, you’re so cute.”

“Get away from me,” Beomgyu hisses, trying to hide the blush creeping up his neck as Kai lays him down and situates himself above Beomgyu.

Beomgyu is completely caged in beneath him, and Kai thinks he’s never looked more breathtaking. His long hair fans out across the sheets like a dark halo, silky strands catching the soft light. The smudged remnants of his earlier eyeliner cling to his lash line, framing those impossibly full lashes that only make his eyes more hypnotic. He looks delicate and devastating all at once, like something Kai was never meant to touch, and yet can’t help but want to. It takes every ounce of restraint in him not to lean down and completely lose himself and devour Beomgyu.

Kai’s voice softens, playful but sincere as he leans closer. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, my eyes were on you and you only during rehearsal.” His smile is teasing, but there’s an earnestness in his gaze that makes Beomgyu’s heart skip.

Beomgyu scoffs, arms crossed but unable to hide the faint twitch of a smile. “Didn’t seem like it,” he retorts, his tone light but suspicious.

Kai shrugs, his grin widening. “Yeah? Well, I was trying not to get a hard-on.” The words tumble out with mischievous ease, and the unexpected confession catches Beomgyu off guard. 

Beomgyu chokes on his own spit, eyes widening in shock and disbelief. “Kai–!” he splutters, voice cracking.

Kai takes advantage of Beomgyu’s stunned silence, leaning in with deliberate slowness. His breath is warm against Beomgyu’s skin, carrying the faint scent of mint and something uniquely Kai. “Do you know how hot you looked?” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. “You know it, don’t you? Use it to your advantage when you’re prancing around on stage, captivating everyone who looks your way.” His lips trail a slow, feather-light kiss down Beomgyu’s neck, sending an unexpected shiver through him.

Beomgyu’s resistance melts away; his eyes flutter closed, and he tilts his head back in surrender, caught in the moment. “Kai…” he breathes, voice thick with a mix of desire and disbelief.

Kai’s fingers thread gently through Beomgyu’s hair as he presses closer. “You’re so pretty, hyung, I could die.” His voice drops to a whisper, almost reverent. “I wanted nothing more than to jump you earlier while you were rehearsing. I don’t know how I’d handle myself during the actual performance, when you’re all dressed up and made up for me.”

“For you…” Beomgyu echoes softly, eyes searching Kai’s.

Kai nods, a tender smile playing at his lips. “Yeah. Only for me. Don’t forget that.” The words hang between them, heavy with promise and a quiet possessiveness that makes Beomgyu’s pulse quicken. The moment is intimate and electric, a private world where only the two of them exist, and the noise of the outside world fades to nothing.

Their lips meet in a rush of want; urgent, messy, nothing delicate about it. It’s like striking a match and setting everything between them ablaze. Beomgyu pulls Kai closer with both hands buried in his hoodie, dragging him into his lap as if proximity alone could erase the jealousy still flickering in his chest. Kai responds in kind, straddling him without hesitation, fingers cupping Beomgyu’s jaw as their mouths clash and mold and melt into one another. There’s no rhythm, no thought, just heat and breath and the electricity sparking every time their lips part and meet again.

It gets heavy fast. Clothes are tugged and yanked without finesse, Kai's shirt tossed blindly somewhere onto Beomgyu’s floor, followed by Beomgyu’s own in a rush of fumbling hands and half-swallowed sighs. The air is thick with heat, their skin flush and buzzing with tension. Kai kisses down Beomgyu’s neck again, slower this time, savouring the taste of skin and the way Beomgyu’s breath hitches. He moves down to his collarbones, nipping, sucking lightly, leaving behind faint pink marks, territorial in a way he doesn’t stop to examine. Every sound that escapes Beomgyu’s mouth – every helpless little whimper and hitched breath – feels like a reward, intoxicating, addictive.

But as Kai's mouth travels lower and he grazes his lips across Beomgyu’s chest, he’s hit with a wave of deja vu so sharp it nearly knocks the breath out of him. His mind flashes unbidden to that night just days ago: Beomgyu trembling in his arms, eyes puffy and haunted. The way he’d broken down, vulnerable and shattered, letting Kai hold the pieces without ever explaining why they were in pieces to begin with. That raw fragility, still so recent, still so present. It hits him like cold water, but he tries to shake it off, bury it under the warmth of Beomgyu’s body, the way he tastes, the way he moans when Kai kisses down the centre of his chest.

Kai swallows hard, pushing the thought aside, determined to stay in the moment. He trails his lips lower, just above Beomgyu’s waistband, and Beomgyu arches slightly beneath him, breath coming faster, hands fisting in the sheets. Kai’s fingers move to undo the button of his jeans, the anticipation buzzing like static in the space between them, but just as his fingers graze the metal clasp, a hand catches his wrist, firm and trembling.

Kai freezes.

He looks up, and Beomgyu’s face is flushed, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes, something fragile and uncertain. He doesn’t say anything at first, just keeps holding Kai’s wrist, not pushing him away exactly, but not letting him go further either.

“Hyung?” Kai’s voice is gentle, the fire still burning beneath his skin but quickly reined in, heart suddenly thudding with something heavier than lust. “Are you okay?”

Beomgyu doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at him for a moment, eyes glossy, lips parted. He looks guilty for some reason, and Kai immediately feels bad, not wanting Beomgyu to feel guilty about not being ready to go further. 

Then Beomgyu exhales. “I… I want to. I really do,” he says softly, voice tight. “But I– just… not ready yet.”

And Kai nods, instantly, without hesitation. He shifts up, cupping Beomgyu’s face with both hands, brushing his thumbs along his cheekbones. “No, of course. It’s okay. We don’t have to. I just want you to be okay.”

Beomgyu closes his eyes and leans into the touch like he’s falling, and Kai kisses his forehead, his cheek, his nose, anywhere but his lips now, because this is different. This is softer. This is holding and not taking. Kai pulls the blanket over them, wraps an arm around Beomgyu’s waist and lies beside him, chest pressed to his back. Beomgyu’s fingers find his and tangle them together, holding tight. 

In the quiet that follows, the air still warm and humming from what could’ve been, Kai whispers, “I’ll wait. For as long as you need.”

And Beomgyu squeezes his hand, silent, but his grip says everything.

Notes:

TYUNNIE IS HEREEERERREREERERERE YIPPEEEEEEYIPEEYIPEEYIPEEEEEE
✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡

anw i hope you guys enjoyed the 3 updates back to back hehe!! i actually already have the next chapter written but i think i still wanna add more to it so that'll probably come either this weekend or next week!

as always, please let me know your thoughts in the comment section and thank you so much for reading!! feel free to hit me up on twitter at @koostiddy <3

Chapter 15

Summary:

Just as Beomgyu wraps up his enthusiastic rundown of the music department, mentioning everything from rehearsal spaces to collaborative projects to the underground band scene that’s half-sanctioned, half-legend, he claps his hands lightly, gesturing to the clipboard he’s set out.

“If any of you are really interested, jot your names down here,” he says, flashing a grin. “We’ll send more info your way about auditions, application windows, and whatever else you need to know.” The students flock forward with pens already in hand, buzzing with excitement, and Beomgyu steps back to let them queue up.

He watches them write, murmuring quick thanks or teasing a few with remarks like, “Only one exclamation mark in the name, yeah?” when someone gets a little too excited, but then someone steps up, and Beomgyu stills. She's stunning in a quiet, almost otherworldly way, with long blonde hair catching in the breeze and soft features that sharpen into something almost familiar. It takes a second to place why she stands out so starkly, but when it hits him, it’s like someone’s just struck a tuning fork behind his eyes.

Notes:

hope you guys didn't wait too long! enjoy the update! <3

🐧

 

The morning light spills soft and golden through the half-drawn blinds, casting gentle slats across the bed where Kai stirs awake. The world is quiet, save for the occasional muffled hum of traffic several storeys below and the rustle of bed linens as he shifts onto his side. It's late, nearly eight, though for once there's no rush. Classes have been cancelled to make way for the university’s open house, and while Beomgyu has student council duties that require his presence on campus, Kai has nothing but time. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, the edges of his dreams still lingering like smoke, before they dissolve completely in the warmth of the moment he’s woken into.

Next to him, Beomgyu is still asleep, turned slightly on his stomach with one arm curled under the pillow. His lips part with every soft exhale, breath ghosting out in small puffs that stir a strand of his fringe. The duvet is pushed down low around his waist, revealing a pale expanse of shoulder and the dip of his spine, the cotton of his old band tee slightly rumpled and riding up. He looks impossibly young like this – unguarded, utterly at peace – and Kai’s heart gives a small, helpless flutter. It still catches him off guard sometimes, how deeply this boy has wound himself into him.

He shifts closer without thinking, tucking an arm beneath his head and just watching. There’s something sacred about Beomgyu like this, in the quiet between breaths, his lashes long against his cheeks and his mouth slack with sleep. Kai’s fingers move of their own accord, brushing back the strands of hair that have fallen into Beomgyu’s eyes. He lets his fingertips trace the curve of his brow, the slope of his nose, the edge of his jaw; light, adoring touches, as though memorising something fragile and irreplaceable. He pets Beomgyu’s hair gently, combing through the dark strands, smoothing them back with slow strokes.

Kai leans in and presses a barely-there kiss to Beomgyu’s shoulder, letting his lips linger for a beat before pulling away. “You’re drooling,” he whispers, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, even though Beomgyu hasn’t stirred. There’s no drool, not really, but the teasing makes Kai feel grounded, like the morning could stretch endlessly ahead of them, like this softness could last. His hand drifts again, this time over Beomgyu’s back, tracing the familiar outline of his spine through the thin fabric. 

He lets his head rest against Beomgyu’s pillow, inhaling the faint scent of shampoo and something unmistakably warm, unmistakably Gyu. There’s a stillness in Kai’s chest he hasn’t felt in a long time; an ease that settles over him like a blanket, heavy and reassuring. Everything lately has felt like this: soft edges, stolen glances, laughter blooming easy and unforced between them. For the first time in what feels like forever, the noise in his head has dulled. He’s not overthinking, not doubting, not wondering when the good parts will run out. He’s just… here. Wrapped up in the quiet of the morning, in the gentle rise and fall of Beomgyu’s breathing, in the rare and precious knowledge that he is wanted. Maybe even loved.

Love…

He doesn’t mean to think it. It just sort of arrives, unannounced, the way the sun does, quietly but with certainty, until it’s lighting up every part of him he didn’t realise was dim. It comes to him in the way Beomgyu’s nose scrunches slightly when the sunlight hits his face and he tries to bury himself deeper into the pillow. In the warmth Kai feels from just watching it, like the soft press of a secret against his ribs. He brushes another strand of hair off Beomgyu’s cheek, lets his fingers linger just a second too long, and there it is: the thought. The realisation. Like an ache. I love him. He doesn’t blink, nor does he panic. He just lets it settle, soft and weightless, but steady; like it's always been there, waiting for him to notice, and maybe it has.

He exhales slowly, gaze tracing the slope of Beomgyu’s cheekbone, the faint mole on his cheek and beside his lip, the tiniest crease in his brow. He thinks about all the nights they’d talked in the library before this became anything real; how easily they’d fallen into rhythm even then, even when Kai was still unsure of what this was. Kai had always noticed him, always found his voice too loud and his eyes too knowing, his presence too magnetic to ignore. Maybe he’d started falling back then, in the hush between guitar chords and Beomgyu’s low laughter, in the way he’d offered Kai snacks without asking if he wanted any, in the way he made Kai feel like he belonged without needing to say it aloud. Maybe that’s why it feels so natural now, why the words don’t scare him the way he thought they might, because it doesn’t feel rushed. It feels like arriving.

He stares at Beomgyu for a long moment, something tender blooming in his chest that threatens to spill over. He’s beautiful, yes, but it’s more than that. It’s in how he makes space for Kai without asking him to perform, how he listens without trying to fix, how he holds him like Kai is precious and not just tolerated. Love, he thinks, isn’t fireworks or grand confessions. It’s in the quiet mornings, in the patience of brushing out tangles in Beomgyu’s damp hair, in choosing an outfit for him while he complains and grins. It’s in knowing the weight of what they’re both carrying and still reaching for each other anyway. It’s terrifying because he knows what it feels like to be left, but with Beomgyu, for the first time, he thinks he might know what it’s like to stay, to be fought for.

Beomgyu begins to stir with a groggy groan, his arm stretching out across the mattress before flopping back down with dramatic finality. He blinks slowly, still not quite awake, then instinctively noses his way towards Kai like a sunflower chasing warmth. Kai’s heart tugs at the sight. Without thinking, he welcomes him in, drawing Beomgyu close until they’re pressed together in a way that feels almost too perfect. Beomgyu fits so snugly against him, his smaller frame tucked effortlessly into the curve of Kai’s chest and arms, that it makes Kai wonder how he ever slept without this. Without him. Their legs tangle easily, like they’re meant to, like the universe had this arrangement in mind all along.

“Wake up, Mr. President,” Kai murmurs against his hair, voice thick with affection. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you.” 

Beomgyu just whines in protest, curling tighter into him, one hand finding Kai’s hoodie and clutching it like a child refusing to let go of their blanket. Kai can’t help the soft laugh that escapes him, the way it rumbles low in his throat. He leans down to kiss the top of Beomgyu’s head, then trails his lips across his forehead, his closed eyelids, the slope of his nose, each cheek, his chin, and finally, with the gentlest touch, his lips. 

“No escaping now,” Kai whispers between kisses, peppering Beomgyu’s face with affection in every direction, a relentless little kiss attack that makes the boy beneath him squirm and giggle.

“Kai– stop, it tickles,” Beomgyu mumbles through laughter, trying half-heartedly to pull away, but it’s clear he doesn’t really mean it. His smile is radiant and still heavy with sleep, his cheeks flushed and warm. Kai just grins, holding him tighter, not letting him go. The world outside the bed might be waiting, full of open houses and responsibilities and too many people, but here, in this narrow sliver of morning sunlight and shared warmth, everything is still. Still and safe and impossibly sweet. They breathe in sync, hearts settling into a quiet rhythm, and for a moment, Kai forgets all the reasons he should be afraid, because this is joy in its most unassuming form, and he wants to stay here for as long as he can.

“Come on,” Kai says, patting Beomgyu’s back before slipping his arms around his waist and starting to coax him upright. “You’ve got to shower. You need to be on campus in an hour.”

Beomgyu flops dramatically against him with a guttural groan, burying his face in Kai’s chest like that might somehow buy him more time. “Ughhhh, don’t wannaaaa,” he mumbles, voice muffled and petulant. He sounds like a petulant child and Kai, exasperated and utterly smitten, finds himself biting down a grin.

“You brought this onto yourself,” Kai reminds him, tugging gently. “No one asked you to run for student council president.”

“Ughhhhh,” Beomgyu repeats, floppier than ever, and it takes every ounce of Kai’s restraint not to melt on the spot. He sighs fondly, then braces himself and gives one last determined yank, pulling Beomgyu out of bed. Beomgyu stumbles, legs tangling in the duvet, and he ends up slumping against Kai in a sluggish heap, clinging to him like dead weight. Kai laughs, steadying them both, but the moment his eyes land on Beomgyu’s face, something inside him lurches.

Beomgyu looks utterly ridiculous. His hair is an absolute disaster, flattened in some parts and defying gravity in others. His eyes are bleary and barely open, still half-trapped in the softness of sleep, and his cheeks are adorably puffed, swollen in that way they always are when he’s just woken up. He looks like chaos incarnated, and yet, Kai’s chest aches at the sight of him. This is a Beomgyu no one else gets to see. Just him. Kai thinks, with a kind of helpless awe, god, I’m so gone for you.

Beomgyu rubs his eyes with the back of his hand as Kai helps steady him on his feet, the duvet a defeated heap behind them. For a moment, he just leans there, squinting blearily at the sunlight filtering through the curtains before letting out a soft groan. “Can’t we just… shower together?” he mumbles, like it’s nothing, like it’s the most casual request in the world.

Kai blinks, heat creeping up his neck. “What?”

Beomgyu straightens slightly, suddenly a bit more awake, eyebrows lifting in faint alarm. “Oh– sorry, you don’t have to, if that’s weird or if you’re not comfortable–”

“No,” Kai interrupts quickly, a little too quickly. “No, I– I’m not uncomfortable. I mean, if you want to. We can. Yeah.”

Beomgyu smiles sleepily, and just like that, the moment regains its softness. They move together like a quiet rhythm, peeling off layers, steam already curling at the edges of the bathroom. There’s no fanfare in it; no dramatic pause, no wide-eyed stares, no fumbling to cover up. Just the quiet rustle of fabric falling away, the gentle patter of feet on the cold tile, and then the warm, humid press of steam as they step beneath the water together. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other like this – completely, without the filter of dim lights or clothes in the way – but there’s no hesitation, no blushes, no flicker of self-consciousness. Just comfort. Just a naturalness that settles between them like a shared breath. 

Kai doesn’t look away; he doesn’t feel the need to. Beomgyu is right there in front of him, pale skin, soft curves, a few moles scattered across the broad expanse of his skin like stars in the night sky. He’s beautiful, but more than that, he’s familiar. Like Kai’s already memorised him without even realising it. 

Beomgyu hums a little under his breath as Kai lathers shampoo into his hair, tilting his head back without being asked, trusting Kai completely, and when it’s Kai’s turn, Beomgyu takes the same care, rubbing soothing circles into his scalp, fingers threading through his curls like they’re made of something precious. They take turns washing each other’s backs, passing the soap like an unspoken promise. No rush, no awkwardness; just the tender slide of skin against skin, the drag of fingers down spines, the occasional shared glance in the mirror where their reflections look impossibly gentle like something sacred. Kai’s chest tightens as he watches Beomgyu tilt his face into the spray, eyes closed, water running down his cheeks like tears. 

They don’t talk much, the quiet says enough. They don’t make it a big deal, either. Like showering together is something that’s been long ingrained in their morning routine despite it being their first time. They wash each other’s backs, shoulders, arms, falling into a routine they never planned but feels like it’s always been there, waiting for them to slip into it. Their fingers graze, pause, linger a little longer than necessary, and still, it’s far from sexual. It’s not about wanting. It’s about being: being close, being trusted, being home.

Kai finds himself staring not out of desire, but out of awe. This is the sort of intimacy he didn’t know he craved, the kind he never thought he’d get. Not like this. Not with someone who turns the mundane into something luminous. His chest aches with love. Real, terrifying, quiet love. The kind that doesn’t demand attention but still consumes him from the inside out. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Beomgyu’s, water pooling in the dip of his collarbone, sliding down both their chests like a tether binding them together. 

It feels more intimate than anything they’ve done, closer even than that night they’d kissed each other breathless on Kai’s bed. This is something else. Something quieter, heavier. The kind of thing you don’t do unless you’re all in, and Kai realises with a kind of aching certainty that he is. He’s already there, already his, and he doesn’t want this feeling to end ever.

They step out of the shower together in a tangle of limbs and steam, the fogged-up mirror barely reflecting more than the hazy outline of their forms. Beomgyu grabs two towels – one for Kai, one for himself – and Kai just stands there dripping, arms open like he’s expecting to be pampered. Beomgyu rolls his eyes but grins all the same, towelling off Kai’s hair with more enthusiasm than technique. It’s rough, but there’s so much affection in it that Kai doesn’t mind. He retaliates in kind, tugging Beomgyu’s towel up and scrubbing gently at the roots of his damp hair, careful not to pull. 

Soon, they’re both half-dressed in boxers, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the mirror as Kai plugs in the hairdryer. They take turns with it, laughing over the noise, trading it back and forth like it’s some sacred relic. Kai coaxes Beomgyu’s fringe into place with careful fingers while Beomgyu leans forward and steals a kiss to his cheek. When it’s Kai’s turn, Beomgyu tries to spike his hair like a cartoon character until Kai bats his hands away with a shriek, both of them in fits of laughter.

The toothbrushes are next, foam and mischief building in equal measure as they stand shoulder to shoulder over the sink. Kai focuses on brushing diligently while Beomgyu, the menace that he is, suddenly turns to him with cheeks puffed full of minty foam. 

“Don’t you dare,” Kai says, his voice garbled through a mouthful of toothpaste. Beomgyu grins, toothpaste drooling slightly at the corners of his mouth, and leans in threateningly. Kai ducks with a yelp, nearly knocking over the soap dispenser, and Beomgyu wheezes with laughter, spitting into the sink. 

“You’re disgusting,” Kai says, scrubbing at his tongue while still laughing. 

“Yet you still like me,” Beomgyu sings back. 

After rinsing off, Beomgyu lines up his skincare like a general before battle, patting the bed and ordering Kai to lie down. “It’s spa day,” he says with mock authority, and Kai – grinning, fond, a little exasperated – complies. 

Beomgyu applies each product like it’s a sacred ritual, fingers gliding over Kai’s cheekbones, tapping gently under his eyes. “Your skin’s so nice already,” he murmurs, like he’s talking to a rare treasure. Kai closes his eyes and lets it happen, a soft hum rising in his throat.

“Yours too,” Kai smiles, reaching up to caress Beomgyu’s face.

When it’s time to get dressed, Beomgyu shrugs into his clothes lazily, sleeves half-buttoned, tie hanging undone. Kai, ever meticulous, straightens it for him, brushing invisible lint from his university blazer and smoothing down his collar, adjusting it until it sits just right, not a wrinkle in sight. Kai tugs on a simple hoodie, checks his reflection, then glances at Beomgyu through the mirror, and something in him twists. It’s so achingly domestic. So absurdly tender. This shared routine, this easy intimacy; it’s not just morning prep, it’s a quiet act of love. Kai’s chest swells with it, heart blooming so wide it almost hurts. He reaches out without thinking and tugs Beomgyu in for one more kiss, brief and lingering, the kind that says, thank you for this morning, thank you for you. Beomgyu smiles against his lips like he already knows.

Breakfast is quick and unceremonious, but no less filled with affection. Beomgyu pads around the kitchen still barefoot, sleeves of his white shirt rolled up as he spoons chocolate spread onto toast with entirely too much flourish, humming some off-key pop song under his breath. Kai watches from his spot at the table, elbow propped and chin in hand, sipping at the last of the lukewarm tea Beomgyu insisted on making for him. 

The toast lands in front of him with a wink and a playful, “Bon appetit, monsieur,” before Beomgyu flops into the seat beside him with his own, far messier slice. 

Kai takes a bite and sighs like it’s gourmet. “You spoil me,” he mumbles through a mouthful of chocolate.

Soobin emerges from his room, bleary-eyed and yawning, donning the same uniform as Beomgyu. He shuffles past them toward the counter, eyeing the toast in Kai’s hand. “Make me one while you’re at it?” he asks, voice still rough with sleep. Beomgyu doesn’t even glance up. 

“No.” The rejection is swift, casual, and merciless. 

Soobin freezes mid-step, eyes wide. “What– why?” he sputters, affronted. “He gets one and I don’t?” 

Kai barely manages to swallow before he bursts into laughter, shoulders shaking. “Boyfriend privileges,” he says smugly, waving his half-eaten toast like it’s a prize. 

“Sucks to be you, hyung.” Beomgyu grins wide, leaning back in his chair like a king who just denied a peasant his daily bread.

That’s all it takes. Soobin marches over and shoves Beomgyu on the shoulder to steal his toast, hard enough that his chair tips slightly.

“Make your own toast, loser,” Beomgyu retorts, laughing, pushing back. Soon they’re both up, jostling in front of the counter like schoolboys, hip-checking and elbowing each other in a petty bid for dominance. 

Kai watches, utterly entertained, licking chocolate from his thumb as if he’s at a live comedy show. “Honestly,” he says, raising his voice over the chaos, “If you two wrinkle those blazers, I’m not steaming them out for you.” 

“You heard him! Get off, you idiot, you’ll mess up my hair!” Beomgyu screeches, and Soobin finally gives up and makes his own toast, grumbling dramatically while Kai’s still giggling, chest so full he swears he might float.

The drive to campus is brief, but comfortably quiet. Kai rides shotgun, window cracked open to let in the crisp air, his hand resting in Beomgyu’s across the middle console. Soobin, for all his dramatic antics in the kitchen, seems content with the soft hum of the radio and the occasional jab when Beomgyu makes a wrong turn or sings too loud along with the music. It feels oddly domestic, like this is their routine, like he belongs here in the seat beside Beomgyu, in the orbit of their tiny shared world.

When they arrive, the campus is already buzzing. Banners for the open house flutter along the fences, and clusters of eager high school students trail behind student volunteers in bright sashes. As soon as Beomgyu parks, the three of them unbuckle their seatbelts in tandem, Beomgyu and Soobin launching into conversation about schedules and assignments and what part of the Union they’ve been tasked to manage. Kai trails behind them as they cross the pavement, clutching the sleeve of Beomgyu’s blazer for just a second longer than he needs to. Beomgyu turns back to him with a soft grin, brushing a few strands of hair from Kai’s forehead before he leans in.

The kiss starts sweet, familiar, but deepens quickly, like neither of them want to let go just yet. Beomgyu’s palm cradles Kai’s cheek, thumb brushing his skin as their lips move in sync, slow and indulgent. 

Soobin groans behind them, loud and deliberately obnoxious. “For fuck’s sake, can you not? It’s eight-forty in the morning.” 

Beomgyu pulls back just slightly, eyes fluttering open, and chuckles. “I’ll come by tonight,” he murmurs, close enough that Kai can feel his breath. “Promise.” 

Kai nods, brushing another soft kiss to Beomgyu’s lips, unable to help himself. He’s about to say something else, something completely sappy no doubt, but Soobin has had enough. 

“Goodbye, Kai. Get home safe,” Soobin says pointedly, grabbing Beomgyu by the elbow and dragging him away from Kai towards the Union building. Beomgyu reaches out and presses a kiss against the palm of his hand then throws a final glance over his shoulder, a grin still playing on his lips, and Kai watches him go, heart stupid and full.

Once Beomgyu is out of sight, he turns away. The sun is warm on Kai’s back as he strolls away from campus, hands still tingling from the goodbye kiss Beomgyu had pressed into his palm moments earlier. He’s smiling like an idiot, earbuds in but nothing playing. The city is waking up in soft golden hues, and Kai feels light, like the entire world has shifted slightly in his favour.

Until he hears a voice behind him.

“Well, if it isn’t Huening Kai.”

He turns and immediately regrets it.

Minjun stands a few feet away, hands in his pockets, dressed in that same annoyingly crisp, expensive-looking coat that always made him look like he belonged on a fashion billboard. His smile is all teeth, but there’s no warmth in it, just that same plastic charm Kai remembers too well.

“Oh. Hey,” Kai says, pulling his earbuds out slowly, already tensing.

“You’re up early,” Minjun remarks, looking him over. “Didn’t think to run into you here since classes are cancelled.”

Kai forces a polite smile. “I dropped Beomgyu off. Student council event.”

“Ah,” Minjun hums, and there’s something sour behind the sound. “Still playing the perfect boyfriend, huh?”

Kai blinks, wary. “Still?”

Minjun steps closer, the morning sunlight glinting off his silver rings as he swipes his hair back lazily. “Well, yeah. I mean, Beomgyu’s had his fair share of flings, hasn’t he? He always did like collecting admirers. I thought it was just a phase, but it’s kind of cute that he’s got you wrapped around his finger now.”

Kai’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his expression neutral. He’s not going to let Minjun rattle him, not anymore. “We’re not just a fling.”

“Right,” Minjun says smoothly, mocking. “You’re different. Special. All that.”

There’s something deliberately performative about the way he says it, his words soaked in condescension. Kai narrows his eyes but says nothing.

Minjun shrugs as if he’s doing Kai a favour. “You know, it’s funny seeing you like this. So smug. So sure of yourself. Reminds me of me back when I was still with Beomgyu, actually.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

Minjun laughs. “No, I guess not. You’re sweeter. Softer. You’d probably cry if someone even raised their voice at you.”

Kai’s smile sharpens. “Maybe. But at least I don’t spend my mornings reminiscing about people who’ve clearly moved on.”

That hits. Minjun’s grin falters for a fraction of a second.

But he recovers quickly, too quickly. “Oh, Kai. I’m not reminiscing,” he says, voice suddenly low, almost cruel. “I’m just amused. Because you walk around looking so proud, like you’ve won something. But you don’t even know the half of it, do you?”

Kai stills, that distant churn in his gut starting to rise.

Minjun steps in, just close enough to make Kai uncomfortable. “Let me paint you a picture,” he murmurs. “Beomgyu’s known for being insatiable, you know that, right? When he was with me, we couldn’t even finish a conversation without him dragging me into the nearest room or cubicle. And now he’s with the prude of the year. Do you really think he’ll last with you?”

“You don’t know me.” Kai clenches his jaw, nausea prickling at the edges of his stomach. “You know it’s pathetic that you’re telling me this, right? You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself he still wants you.”

Minjun tilts his head, smiling. “Oh, I know he doesn’t want me. Not anymore. He’s all yours now, right?” He leans in, voice turning syrupy and cruel. “But tell me something. Does he kiss you like you’re the most precious thing in the world? Touch you like you’re something holy? Fuck you like you’re his salvation?”

His words dig deep. Kai doesn’t answer.

“Guess not, huh?” Minjun’s smile widens. “Let me tell you something about Beomgyu. If he’s not interested in someone, he doesn’t sleep with them. Says he’s ‘not ready yet’. That’s always been his go-to excuse. I’m sure you’ve heard that plenty of times, no?”

The words hit Kai like a sucker punch to the gut, knocking the breath right out of him. Not ready yet. That stupid phrase. He's heard it more times than he can count, always murmured against his mouth or whispered into the quiet between them. After kisses that left them both trembling. After moments that felt like they were going to tip into something deeper. Every time it had been Kai reaching first, Kai wanting more, and Beomgyu with those tender eyes and shaky exhale, pulling back just enough to say it: I’m not ready yet. Kai had never questioned it. He’d chalked it up to nerves, to the bruises Beomgyu never talked about, to the scars Kai was still learning how to trace. He’d never pressure Beomgyu into doing something he isn’t ready to, but now? 

Now that Minjun had said it so casually, like it was a line he knew by heart, it made something twist violently in Kai’s chest, because how the hell would Minjun know that unless it had been said before? Unless Beomgyu had used that exact phrase, over and over, on someone else? On him? Kai's stomach churns, bile rising up alongside a shameful thought he can’t quite swallow.

Then Kai exhales, low and sharp, a bitter laugh escaping before he can stop it. “You know what? Keep talking. Because the more you open your mouth, the more obvious it gets.”

Minjun raises a brow. “Obvious?”

“Yeah,” Kai snaps, standing his ground now. “That you’re bitter. That it eats you up inside knowing he only ever saw you as a convenient fuck while actually likes me for me and not for the sex. I get it. Must suck being hung up on someone that was never even yours to begin with.”

Minjun’s smile drops, and for the first time, Kai sees something real flicker behind those dark eyes: an edge, jagged and ugly, but only for a second. Then Minjun straightens, expression smoothing over into something slick and venomous.

“You think he likes you,” he says softly. “That’s cute.”

Kai’s brows knit, heart still pounding.

Minjun shrugs like it’s all a joke, like he hasn’t just been lobbing grenades dressed up as anecdotes. “But hey, if you really believe those feelings are genuine… You’ll find out soon enough.”

He turns without another word, walking off down the street like he didn’t just peel open Kai’s insecurities and drop a match inside. His coat flares slightly with every step, crisp and unbothered. Kai doesn’t move for a long moment, standing still on the pavement with the wind threading through his hair, the morning suddenly colder than before. He breathes in deep. Shaky. 

You’ll find out soon enough… What the hell does that even mean?

Hands buried in his pockets again, he forces himself to keep walking. He’s wrong, Kai tells himself, again and again, but his fingers curl tighter in the pockets of his hoodie, holding on like they’re the only anchor keeping him steady.

 

🧸

 

Beomgyu stands tall beside the music department booth, lanyard bouncing against his chest as he gestures animatedly through his well-rehearsed spiel about the programme’s practical approach and student-led showcases. The sunlight catches in his freshly styled hair – courtesy of Kai – and the crisp lines of his university blazer give him just the right amount of polish to balance out the teasing glint in his eyes. He’s in his element here: confident, articulate, warm. A magnet. Groups of high schoolers, most barely concealing their crushes, gather around him in half-circles, hanging on his every word. 

A girl near the front stares openly, cheeks pink, before blurting, “You seriously look like a K-pop idol.” Her friend nudges her, both giggling. 

Beomgyu lets out a self-conscious laugh, eyes scrunching as he waves it off with a practiced humility that only makes him more endearing. “I think you need to get your eyes checked,” he jokes, voice light, but there’s a small part of him, one he’d never admit out loud, that quietly basks in the attention. 

He’s used to being noticed, used to drawing eyes in a crowd, but something about doing it in this context, while representing something he actually cares about, makes it hit a little different. He glances down the line of booths and spots Soobin holding court over a cluster of drama kids, arms animated, posture theatrical as he explains the intricacies of stage design like it’s the most riveting thing in the world. Their eyes meet for a second – Soobin gives him a mock salute – and Beomgyu grins, rolling his eyes. 

They’ve done enough of these together to know the rhythm by heart. Still, even surrounded by admirers and classmates and the buzz of future students asking thoughtful questions, Beomgyu feels an odd ache settle somewhere beneath his ribs. It’s not unpleasant, not quite. It’s just the only thing he really wants, if he’s honest with himself, is for this day to be over so he can be back with Kai, laughing at nothing, stealing kisses between shared mouthfuls of toast.

He fields questions like a pro, effortlessly switching between enthusiastic and informative depending on the student in front of him. One boy, a lanky third-year in a school blazer two sizes too big, asks about audition requirements with a nervous sort of urgency, and Beomgyu softens instantly. He tells him about the flexibility of the music department, how they're more interested in potential and passion than perfection. Another girl asks whether it’s hard to balance club activities with coursework, and Beomgyu answers candidly, saying it can be, sure, but it’s manageable when you love what you’re doing. He even throws in a wink that makes her blush and duck behind her friend, giggling.

With every question, Beomgyu’s pride in the department becomes more evident. He talks about his band and how the school supports student projects, about the late nights in the practice rooms that turned into jam sessions, and about how the professors are surprisingly chill if you actually talk to them. It’s easy, all of it, and when he catches himself enjoying the way people light up when he speaks, he realises it’s not just the attention that makes him feel good; it’s knowing he’s built something here. Something he cares about enough to show off. Something he has to himself that his family can never tarnish.

Still, beneath the smoothness of his answers and the brightness of his smile, there’s a quiet pulse of anticipation. Every now and then, his mind flickers back to that morning: Kai’s sleepy voice, the warmth of his body under the spray of the shower, the soft way he’d kissed Beomgyu goodbye. The contrast is jarring: the bustle of the open house versus the hush of their shared morning. Beomgyu shakes it off each time, returning to the crowd with his usual charm, but something about today feels different. Like he’s caught between two lives, the version of himself who thrives in a crowd and the version who only wants to be seen by one person.

Just as Beomgyu wraps up his enthusiastic rundown of the music department, mentioning everything from rehearsal spaces to collaborative projects to the underground band scene that’s half-sanctioned, half-legend, he claps his hands lightly, gesturing to the clipboard he’s set out. 

“If any of you are really interested, jot your names down here,” he says, flashing a grin. “We’ll send more info your way about auditions, application windows, and whatever else you need to know.” The students flock forward with pens already in hand, buzzing with excitement, and Beomgyu steps back to let them queue up.

He watches them write, murmuring quick thanks or teasing a few with remarks like, “Only one exclamation mark in the name, yeah?” when someone gets a little too excited, but then someone steps up, and Beomgyu stills. She's stunning in a quiet, almost otherworldly way, with long blonde hair catching in the breeze and soft features that sharpen into something almost familiar. It takes a second to place why she stands out so starkly, but when it hits him, it’s like someone’s just struck a tuning fork behind his eyes. She looks like Kai. Not in some vague, passing resemblance either – no, it’s uncanny. The curve of her cheekbones, the slant of her eyes, even the slight bump on her nose bridge… it’s Kai. His chest tightens before he can think better of it, but then she reaches for the pen and leans over the clipboard, and Beomgyu forces himself to glance down at what she’s writing.

Jung Bahiyyih.

Jung. Not Huening. He exhales softly, Kai’s surname is Huening. So… maybe not related. Probably not. They must just be distant lookalikes, doppelgangers even. Still, his curiosity thrums as he looks back up at her, schooling his expression into something polite. Especially when that name sounds so familiar, he just doesn’t know where he’s heard it from.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he says gently, voice smooth despite the tightness in his chest. “Really unique.” 

She glances up at him, eyes unreadable as they flick across his face – studying him, just for a second too long. “Thanks,” she murmurs, and with a quick, polite nod. “My dad gave it to me.”

Beomgyu blinks, momentarily thrown. There’s a weight to the way she says it: not casual, not boastful, just… quietly significant. Like it means more than it sounds. Her voice is soft but certain, and as she straightens up, the sunlight hitting her hair just right, he’s hit with that same uncanny feeling again.

Beomgyu hesitates only for a second before giving in to the impulse, he can’t not mention it. The resemblance is too uncanny to ignore, and it’s been needling at him since the moment she stepped up. 

“You know,” he says, half-laughing, trying to keep it casual as she hands him the pen back, “You look exactly like my boyfriend. Especially with the blonde hair, he just dyed his too.”

Bahiyyih arches a brow, amused. “Is it just 'cause he’s also Wasian?”

“No! I mean– yeah, but no, it’s not just that. I swear, he really looks like you. Wait–” Beomgyu fishes out his phone, fumbling through his gallery until he pulls up a photo from a few days ago, one of Kai grinning at him over a cup of coffee, his blonde fringe falling into his eyes. “His name’s Kai. Here.”

But before he can even tilt the phone fully her way, Bahiyyih leans in sharply, eyes going wide. “Kai? Huening Kai?”

The grip she clamps around his wrist is alarmingly tight. Beomgyu’s taken aback, blinking at her as his phone wobbles slightly in his hand. “Uh– yeah? You know him?”

Her whole demeanour changes in an instant; composure stripped away, urgency crackling through her voice like a live wire. “Where is he? Is he here?”

Beomgyu’s brows knit, pulse jumping a little at her intensity. “Uh–  he left already, why?” he asks carefully, still not pulling his wrist away but now very aware of how hard she’s holding it. Something in her eyes – shock, hope, desperation – makes his skin prickle.

That surge of urgency in her gaze doesn't waver, in fact, it deepens, her fingers trembling slightly as they hold onto Beomgyu's wrist like a lifeline. “Please,” she says, voice low but tight with emotion, “Please, can you take me to him? Or– no, if that’s too much, just– just give him my number. Can I have your phone, please?”

Beomgyu can only blink at her, stunned as he hands her his unlocked phone and watches her punch in her number. The name strikes him again, sharper this time. Bahiyyih. He finally remembers he’s heard Kai mumble it once or twice in sleep, back when they first started staying over together. He’d assumed it was a dream, something insignificant.

“Can you tell him... can you tell him Hiyyih is looking for him? And Lea too. Please just tell him we’re looking for him.” She pleads as she hands him his phone back.

Beomgyu blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone, the weight behind her words. She isn’t panicked exactly, just intense, like this means more than she’s willing to explain. “Uh... yeah, okay,” he says slowly, brows knitting. “I can do that...”

But before he can say anything else, she lifts her hand, pinky extended. “Promise?”

He hesitates, a flicker of warmth blooming in his chest because she’s looking at him exactly the way Kai does when he asks him to pinky promise something silly but secretly important. It's uncanny, almost eerie. She’s got the same set to her jaw, the same stubborn tilt to her brow. Beomgyu exhales softly through his nose and links his pinky with hers. “I promise.”

Her shoulders relax a little as she offers him a grateful smile; small, genuine, but tinged with something fragile. “Thank you,” she murmurs, taking a step back. Then she’s gone, slipping off to rejoin her friends who’ve already wandered toward the art department booths, her blonde hair glinting in the sun as she moves further away.

Beomgyu stays rooted there for a moment, blinking after her. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, not really, but something tells him – something instinctual, something in the way she said Kai’s name – this is important. Then he takes a glance at his phone, to see the newly saved number. Saved under the name:

Huening Bahiyyih.

 

🐧

 

Beomgyu flops onto the bed with all the grace of a fallen tree, still warm from the shower, hair damp and curling at the ends where it clings to his forehead. He lands squarely between Kai’s spread legs, his cheek pressing snugly to Kai’s chest like he belongs there, like there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. The heavy groan that rumbles out of him draws a soft, amused laugh from Kai.

“Ughhhhhh, I’m so tired,” Beomgyu whines, voice muffled by Kai’s shirt, face smooshed like a sleepy cat seeking warmth.

Kai smiles, threading his fingers through the soft strands at the nape of Beomgyu’s neck. “Oh, my poor baby,” he coos dramatically, lips quirking. “Mr. President worked so hard today, huh?”

“I sat for like a total of five minutes the entire day,” Beomgyu mutters, shifting just slightly so his nose nuzzles closer to Kai’s collarbone. He’s pliant, exhausted in that sweet, clingy way Kai secretly loves.

“Come here,” Kai murmurs, though Beomgyu’s already as close as he could physically be. Still, Kai wraps his arms around him tighter, one hand sliding to his shoulder blade, fingers kneading lightly into sore muscles. Beomgyu lets out a low, pleased hum, eyes fluttering closed as Kai presses slow, careful circles into the tension there.

“Mm… that feels good,” he sighs, voice loose with sleepiness and gratitude. A soft moan escapes him when Kai hits a particularly tender spot, and Kai chuckles quietly, heart folding in on itself with fondness.

Kai shifts under him with a soft grunt, gently coaxing Beomgyu to roll over until he’s lying on his back, sprawled out like a ragdoll across the bed. His hair’s a damp halo against the pillow, his limbs boneless with exhaustion, and he lets Kai manhandle him without protest, only peeking one eye open when Kai grabs his ankles and drags his feet into his lap.

“Wha–” Beomgyu starts, only to dissolve into a moan as Kai’s thumbs dig into the arch of his foot.

“Oh my god,” he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes like he’s in pain, though the blissed-out curl of his mouth says otherwise. “You’re a godsent. I’m going to cry. Keep doing that. Never stop.”

Kai huffs a laugh, fingers deft and sure as he presses into the sore muscle, thumbs moving in careful, grounding circles. “You’re so dramatic,” he says, but it’s fond, teasing.

He switches to the other foot, letting the silence stretch for a beat before he asks, “So? How’d today go?”

Beomgyu sighs, relaxing further into the bed like a weight has been lifted. “Went well, actually,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut again. “A lot more people showed interest in the music department this year compared to last year. I think we might actually be getting through to them. The booth was packed all day.”

Kai smiles, pride swelling in his chest as he presses his thumbs just beneath Beomgyu’s toes. “Good boy,” he says softly.

Beomgyu’s eyes snap open, and Kai beams innocently. Beomgyu is flushed with sleepy pride and something almost bashful. “You can’t just say that,” he says, even as he shifts smugly against the bed like he’s been handed a medal. “You know what that does to me.”

Kai smirks, hands still working slowly. “Exactly.”

Beomgyu sits up abruptly, the sudden movement making Kai blink in surprise. The serious look on Beomgyu’s face is unlike the sleepy contentment he wore moments ago; it’s sharp, urgent, like he’s just remembered something crucial. “Oh,” Beomgyu says, voice low but tense, “Someone was looking for you today.”

Kai frowns, sitting up a little himself, curiosity piqued. “Huh? Who?”

Beomgyu hesitates a beat before answering, “I don’t really know. She wrote her name down as Jung Bahiyyih, but then she saved her contact on my phone as Huening Bahiyyih. She said to tell you that she and… Lea? If I remember correctly, are looking for you.”

Kai freezes, his breath catching in his throat as the names echo in his mind. “What did you say?” His voice is barely above a whisper, trembling with disbelief.

Beomgyu’s eyes search his face, steady but concerned. “Bahiyyih and Lea are looking for you.”

The weight of those words crashes down like a tidal wave. Bahiyyih and Lea. His sisters. The thought that they were searching for him – after all this time, after all the silence – sends his heart spiralling into chaos. Suddenly, the room feels unbearably tight, air thick and suffocating. His chest tightens so fiercely it feels like it might cave in. His vision blurs at the edges, colours draining away until only sharp shapes remain. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat pounds loud in his ears, drowning out everything else.

Kai’s hands shake uncontrollably, fingers curling and uncurling as if trying to grasp something solid that isn’t there. His breath comes in short, ragged gasps, as if his lungs have forgotten how to work properly. His throat constricts painfully, words trapped somewhere deep inside, unable to form. The panic bubbles up, hot and sharp and all-consuming, threatening to drown him.

“Kai? Baby, what’s happening?” Beomgyu’s panicked voice comes through, but it sounds distant, like he’s sinking underwater into a bottomless ocean while Beomgyu floats near the surface.

Kai’s chest tightens even more, the pressure crushing and relentless. His vision fractures into shards of blurred shapes and shadow, the room spinning wildly as though he’s caught in a storm with no escape. Every breath feels like shards of glass tearing through his lungs. His fingers clutch at his own shirt, desperate for a hold, but the fabric slips through trembling hands, useless and intangible.

Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate. His voice softens, becoming a lifeline thrown into the tempest. “Look at me, Kai. I’m right here, okay? Focus on my voice. Breathe with me. In… two, three, four… out… two, three, four.” His hands find Kai’s trembling ones, wrapping around them firmly, grounding him in the present. He strokes slow, deliberate circles on Kai’s back, his touch steady and warm despite the chaos inside Kai’s mind.

Kai tries desperately to obey, to pull himself back from the edge, but the panic surges like a tidal wave, threatening to pull him under completely. “I… can’t…” he chokes out, the words breaking free with a strangled sob.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” Beomgyu’s voice is steady, unwavering, his presence a beacon in the darkness. “You’re doing so well. Just keep breathing with me.” He leans closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Kai’s temple, murmuring reassurances, offering silent promises through touch and sound.

Minutes stretch, the storm slowly losing some of its fury as Kai’s breaths lengthen, shaking less with each inhale and exhale. Beomgyu holds him like a lifeline, refusing to let go, until at last the grip of panic loosens just enough for Kai to rest his head against Beomgyu’s chest, exhausted but alive, cradled in the warmth and calm of the one person who keeps him grounded.

Tears spill over Kai’s lashes before he can stop them, warm and sudden, tracing slow, uneven paths down his cheeks. The sobs shake his frame, raw and unfiltered, as if every locked-away fear and sorrow has found release all at once. Beomgyu doesn’t pull away; instead, he wraps Kai tighter in his arms, steady and unyielding, a quiet sanctuary amid the storm of emotion. His fingers weave gently through Kai’s hair, grounding him with soft strokes and whispered comforts.

Kai’s cries slowly soften, becoming gentle hiccups, and then finally a fragile silence settles between them. He stays curled in Beomgyu’s embrace, chest rising and falling with a new kind of stillness, but his mind drifts to his sisters, to Bahiyyih and Lea, and to his mother. The ache in his chest deepens as memories flutter through him: snippets of laughter, fractured conversations, the cold spaces where family should have been. His heart tightens painfully at the thought that now, after so long, they’re searching for him.

Kai’s voice is low, hesitant at first, then growing steadier as he finds the words he’s kept folded away for so long. “I have sisters,” he begins, and Beomgyu doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t say anything; he just listens, giving Kai the space he needs. That alone makes Kai feel safe enough to keep going.

He exhales shakily, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the room, lost in memory. “You might have noticed it’s just me and my dad... my parents got divorced when I was thirteen. I was old enough to understand what that meant but still too young to fully grasp it.” His hands twitch nervously, fingers intertwining in his lap. “My mum… she took my little sister and my older sister with her. Left me behind with my dad.” His voice cracks on the last word, a bitter weight settling over the sentence.

For a long moment, he’s silent, the ache settling deep into his chest. Then, with a vulnerability that surprises even himself, he whispers, “I used to wonder what it was about me that wasn’t good enough for her to bring along. Not that I wanted to leave my dad – I love him – but why wasn’t I enough? Why didn’t she love me enough? Why was I the one left behind?” The questions hang in the air, raw and unanswered, the weight of that loneliness pressing against them both in the quiet room.

Kai’s voice is barely above a whisper now, weighted with years of pain and silent endurance. “She took everything,” he says, his fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket as if it could anchor him against the storm inside. “The family savings, the money my dad had worked for, for years. She left me and my dad behind, like we didn’t matter.” His eyes darken with the memory. “When it came to court, she lied. Said my dad was abusive. Said that’s why she wanted the divorce.” His jaw clenches, muscles twitching with the bitterness that still burns years later. “But it wasn’t true. Not even close, but you know what this country’s like with foreigners. She had found someone else, a man who was richer, who could offer her more things, more status. So she left to be with him.”

Kai swallows hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. “Back then, my dad wasn’t poor. We had a good life… comfortable, even, but after the court ordered him to pay her fees for a crime he never committed, and with her taking all our savings, everything fell apart.” His voice cracks just slightly as he traces the outline of the room with tired eyes. “We had to sell the house. The car, too. We left Seoul behind, moved to a smaller city where life was cheaper. That’s where you stayed with us over winter break, our tiny apartment.” The memory of that cramped space feels heavy now, but bittersweet. “My dad works two jobs just to keep us afloat. Two jobs. Sometimes, I think he never sleeps.”

Kai’s gaze locks onto Beomgyu’s, raw and fierce with quiet resolve. “I promised myself I’d never leave him alone. That I’d be the son he deserves, the son who stands by him no matter what.” His voice is steady but laced with vulnerability, the kind that comes only after years of holding it all inside. “Because… he’s all I have left.” The fierce protectiveness radiating from him is like a shield, but beneath it, the ache of abandonment still hums softly; waiting, always waiting.

Kai’s voice softens further as he continues, a mix of gratitude and guilt threading through his words. “Yeonjun hyung’s family… they helped us a lot when things were darkest. They insisted on helping, even when my dad didn’t want to accept it. My dad’s proud, he felt like a burden, so he stopped letting them help as much as he could. But they still do, quietly.” 

He glances away for a moment, as if seeing the memories flicker in the dark. “The apartment Yeonjun and I live in now? It’s fully paid for by Yeonjun’s family. At first, my dad and I rejected the offer, didn’t want to owe anyone anything. But they insisted. And honestly… we’ll be forever grateful. Without their support, I don’t know where we’d be.” His fingers brush gently over Beomgyu’s hand, grounding himself in the present as he shares the weight of his past. 

Kai thought he was over it, truly thought he’d moved past the ache, the rawness of it all. But now, just hearing his sisters’ names had ripped through him like a fresh wound, dragging him down into a panic attack he hadn’t expected, couldn’t control. His voice trembles as he apologises softly, almost ashamed. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to–”

Beomgyu cuts him off firmly, shaking his head as if the words alone could erase Kai’s guilt. “No. Never apologise for feeling, for what you’ve been through. You don’t owe me apologies, or anyone, ever.” His eyes hold a fierce tenderness as he cups Kai’s face gently. “You deserve all the love in the world. All of it. And I’m here, always.” The certainty in Beomgyu’s voice is a lifeline, pulling Kai slowly back from the edge, reminding him that here, in this moment, he is safe, seen, and deeply cherished.

Beomgyu holds him close, the warmth of his body a steady, calming presence against Kai’s trembling frame. His arms wrap around Kai like a shield, grounding him in the here and now, in a world where pain can be softened and fears soothed. Quietly, almost reverently, Beomgyu leans in, his breath warm against Kai’s ear as he whispers soft promises and gentle reassurances.

“You’re not alone,” he murmurs, his voice barely louder than a breath. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never leave you, okay?” His words ebb and flow like a quiet lullaby, each one a balm to Kai’s frayed nerves. “You’re safe with me. You’re loved more than you can imagine.”

Kai lets himself melt into the comfort of Beomgyu’s hold, the steady rhythm of their breathing syncing, the softness of the sheets beneath them. It’s a quiet intimacy, no words needed beyond those whispered fragments, just two souls finding solace in each other’s presence, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, trust, and the fragile hope of healing.

Notes:

haaiiii hope it wasn't too long of a wait hehe. last week i wrote sooo much that i thought i'd just chill out this weekend :p

let me know your thoughts in the comment section or feel free to talk to me about this fic or literally anything else on twitter at @koostiddy !! <3

Chapter 16

Summary:

“Kai,” Yeonjun says, voice gentler now, not teasing. “You’re really quiet today.”

Kai doesn’t look up. He’s been picking at the last piece of pancake for the past five minutes, pushing chocolate-streaked banana slices around the plate like they’re pieces in a puzzle he can’t quite solve. His shoulders stiffen at the sound of his name, and for a second, it seems like he won’t answer.

But then, with a small breath, he does.

“Hiyyih and Lea noona are looking for me,” he says, so quietly it barely carries across the table. “Beomgyu hyung found out yesterday. They… reached out.”

Notes:

happy reading~

🧸

 

Beomgyu wakes to the quiet hum of morning, golden light filtering in through the blinds and soft warmth pressed against his chest. Kai’s back is curled into him, his shoulders rising and falling in slow, measured breaths, and Beomgyu lets his eyes fall shut again just for a moment, savouring the stillness. His arm is slung around Kai’s waist, and he gives a little squeeze before burying his face into the crook of Kai’s neck.

"Good morning," he whispers, voice thick with sleep, lips brushing over warm skin. Kai doesn’t answer, doesn’t even twitch, and Beomgyu frowns a little but doesn’t push. He just presses another kiss, this time to the top of Kai’s shoulder, then nuzzles in a little closer.

Kai’s quiet. Too quiet.

Usually, even if he’s shy in the mornings, he responds with a soft hum, or a sleepy smile, or the faintest tilt of his head towards Beomgyu’s mouth like he’s asking for another kiss, but this morning, there’s a stillness in him that Beomgyu doesn’t quite know how to read. Like something’s pulled taut beneath his skin. Like he’s somewhere else entirely. Still, Beomgyu doesn’t let go. He tugs him in tighter instead, wrapping both arms around his middle and pressing a long, slow kiss behind his ear. His voice is quieter this time, gentle.

"Did you sleep alright?"

Kai nods once, but the motion is sluggish and mechanical. He stays facing away, eyes locked on the far wall, and Beomgyu watches the faint furrow between his brows that hadn’t been there the night before.

"Are you cold?" he tries again, fingertips brushing over the hem of Kai’s shirt, then dipping just under it to smooth over the skin of his stomach. Kai once told him that, growing up, he and his dad used to rub each other's bellies, and that the gesture still brings him comfort, so Beomgyu does it. "I can grab more blankets if you want."

Another shake of the head. No words.

Beomgyu presses his lips together, nodding even though Kai can’t see it. He doesn’t press, doesn’t ask. He knows that look, knows the way Kai withdraws when something’s weighing on him. He remembers it from the first time they’d fought, the way Kai had curled into himself like he could make his body smaller than the ache in his chest. The way his silence had felt louder than any words he could’ve said.

So Beomgyu stays. He curls around him like a second skin and just holds him, pressing idle kisses to Kai’s hair, his temple, the slope of his cheekbone. Touching gently, constantly. Letting Kai know, wordlessly, that he’s here. Eventually, Kai sighs, soft and shaky, and turns slightly, just enough that Beomgyu can see the outline of his face. His eyes are open, but dull, unfocused.

Beomgyu brushes a knuckle along his jaw. "You don’t have to talk yet," he murmurs, kissing the space just below his ear. "Just let me stay like this, yeah?"

Kai doesn’t answer, but his fingers twitch where they’ve been curled against the sheet, and after a second, he lets them drift to Beomgyu’s wrist. Not holding, just resting there. The smallest anchor. Beomgyu breathes out like it's a relief. They lie like that for a long time, still and quiet, the clock ticking faintly in the background. Morning light shifts slowly across the floorboards, and Beomgyu can feel the stiffness beginning to set in his back, but he doesn’t move. He wouldn’t even think of it.

Then, suddenly, Kai’s stomach lets out a low, unmistakable grumble.

Beomgyu blinks. Then snorts.

"Was that–? Oh my god." He pulls back just enough to look at him properly, eyes wide with faux scandal. "You’re ignoring me, torturing me with your tragic silence, and you’re starving? That’s a proper nightmare, babe."

It’s meant to coax a smile out of him, just a little one, but Kai doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even roll his eyes. His lips twitch like he wants to, like he knows what Beomgyu’s doing, but there’s something heavy sitting behind his expression. Beomgyu sees it anyway and feels it settle into his own chest like a stone.

Still, he leans in, nose brushing against Kai’s as he whispers, "You know what? That was the sound of opportunity. I’m going to make you breakfast. No tragic silences allowed in the kitchen, though, only appreciation for my culinary genius."

Kai finally looks at him properly then, and the way he does – so tired, so distant, but trying anyway – makes Beomgyu’s heart twist.

"You don’t have to," Kai murmurs.

"But I want to." Beomgyu kisses him again quick and soft, just at the corner of his mouth. "And you obviously need it. That was, like, a six on the Richter scale."

Kai huffs a tiny breath, almost a laugh, and Beomgyu grins like it’s a victory. He peels himself out of bed reluctantly, ruffling Kai’s hair before he stands. His own limbs ache, the chill of the air prickling against his bare skin as he stretches, but he doesn’t care. There’s only one thing on his mind now.

"Any requests?" he asks over his shoulder as he pads to the kitchen, already rooting through cupboards. "Or should I surprise you with whatever my sleep-deprived heart can cobble together?"

He doesn’t expect a reply, but after a beat, Kai says softly, "Surprise me."

Beomgyu glances back. Kai’s still lying there, eyes on the ceiling, face unreadable but he answered.

"Alright then," Beomgyu says, heart thudding as he turns back to the counter. "Surprise breakfast, coming right up."

And maybe Kai isn’t ready to talk about it yet, maybe the weight of yesterday is still sitting on his shoulders like a storm that hasn’t passed, but Beomgyu will be here when it does. He’ll keep making breakfast. Keep holding him through the silence. Keep loving him in every quiet way he knows how.

Beomgyu hums to himself as he rummages through the cupboard, triumphant when he unearths a half-used box of instant pancake mix. He sets it on the counter with a little flourish like he’s presenting a five-star ingredient on a cooking show, then snatches a mixing bowl from the shelf above. Then he adds the water by eye, whisking quickly with a fork until the batter is smooth enough to pass. It’s not perfect. Not even close, but it’s better than letting Kai sit in silence with that hollow look in his eyes. Better than doing nothing.

As he’s stirring, his gaze flicks to the snack bar they’ve got stacked in the corner near the kettle. It’s mostly ramen and crisps, but tucked neatly in a plastic tray, like some kind of offering, is a chocolate bar; dark, expensive-looking, probably one of Yeonjun’s imports. Beomgyu pauses.

“…Sorry, hyung,” he mutters under his breath, snatching it up. He unwraps it and breaks it into chunks, the chocolate cracking under his fingers. It’s surprisingly satisfying. Therapeutic, even. He sprinkles the shards into the pancake mix, watching them sink and swirl as he folds them in. The batter takes on a marbled effect; glossy, messy, a little chaotic. Just like him.

He glances back at the counter. Nutella. Bananas. Not much else, but honestly, it’ll do. Chocolate chunk pancakes topped with more chocolate and sliced fruit? That’s not breakfast. That’s therapy. He starts the stove and pours out the first ladleful, the sizzle making him smile. The scent starts to bloom almost immediately; warm and sugary, sweet with just the faintest hint of burnt sugar. It fills the air, clings to his clothes, makes his stomach growl.

He doesn’t even hear the footsteps until there’s a soft sound behind him, and he turns to see Kai hovering in the kitchen doorway, arms folded around himself like a barrier. His hair’s a mess, sticking up in tufts, and he looks a little lost, but his eyes are fixed firmly on the pan like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the present.

A second later, Yeonjun shuffles in behind him, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He sniffs the air dramatically, then groans.

“Oh my God. Are you cooking? At– what is it– nine in the morning?” he mutters. “Who are you and what’ve you done with the real Beomgyu?”

Beomgyu snorts, flipping the pancake with a little flourish. It lands perfectly, golden brown. “He’s dead. I’ve replaced him with someone better. Someone who actually feeds people.”

Yeonjun leans against the counter, eyeing the pancake with suspicion. “You didn’t poison it, did you?”

“It’s chocolate chunk pancakes,” Beomgyu says, offended. “Show some respect.”

Kai steps further into the room, silent, his gaze never leaving the pan. He stops just beside the table, fingertips brushing the edge like he’s grounding himself. He hasn’t said a word, but Beomgyu can see the tension softening just slightly in his shoulders.

“Chocolate?” he murmurs after a moment.

Beomgyu brightens instantly. “Found a bar in the snack tray. Don’t tell Yeonjun hyung.”

“Yah,” Yeonjun says, but there’s no real bite to it. He’s smiling faintly now, watching Beomgyu work. “Make enough for three, yeah?”

“Obviously.”

The next pancake goes on. Beomgyu works quickly, slicing the banana with practised ease and arranging the slices neatly on a plate beside a jar of Nutella. It’s quiet, save for the gentle hiss of batter on the pan and the clink of cutlery as Yeonjun sets the table. Kai finally sinks into a chair, still wordless, but his eyes track Beomgyu’s every movement. There’s something clearer about his gaze now. Less cloudy. Like the smell of sweetness and the rhythm of familiarity are drawing him out of wherever he’s been.

Beomgyu slides a finished pancake onto a plate, piles it high with banana and Nutella, then sets it in front of him.

“There,” he says, tapping the edge of the plate lightly. “Made with love. And petty theft.”

Kai blinks at the plate, then looks up at Beomgyu. His expression doesn’t change, but his voice is soft when he says, “Thank you.”

It’s quiet. Quiet enough that Yeonjun, who’s mid-mouthful of his own pancake, stops chewing for a moment. Beomgyu just nods, hand brushing Kai’s shoulder as he sets down a second plate. They eat like that, quietly. Yeonjun fills the silence with stories about a ridiculous dream he had involving Soobin and a haunted IKEA, gesturing wildly with his fork. Kai doesn’t laugh, but he does smile – just barely – and Beomgyu thinks that’s enough for now.

He watches Kai carefully out of the corner of his eye, noting the way he eats slowly but finishes every bite. The way his gaze softens each time Beomgyu passes him something without asking. The way he doesn’t flinch when Beomgyu brushes their knees together beneath the table, just lets it happen. Like it’s normal. Like it’s comfort.

Yeonjun’s halfway through a dramatic retelling of his dream when he pauses mid-sentence. His fork hovers over his plate, Nutella smudged along the rim, and his brows draw together, ever so slightly. Beomgyu follows his line of sight, already knowing what he’s about to say before it leaves his mouth.

“Kai,” Yeonjun says, voice gentler now, not teasing. “You’re really quiet today.”

Kai doesn’t look up. He’s been picking at the last piece of pancake for the past five minutes, pushing chocolate-streaked banana slices around the plate like they’re pieces in a puzzle he can’t quite solve. His shoulders stiffen at the sound of his name, and for a second, it seems like he won’t answer.

But then, with a small breath, he does.

“Hiyyih and Lea noona are looking for me,” he says, so quietly it barely carries across the table. “Beomgyu hyung found out yesterday. They… reached out.”

The words hang in the air like smoke, curling between them.

Yeonjun doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. He sits perfectly still, his expression frozen in a way Beomgyu’s never seen before, like someone’s pulled the rug out from under him, and he’s trying not to show that he’s still mid-fall.

Beomgyu shifts slightly in his seat, his gaze darting between the two. The way Yeonjun’s jaw tightens, the way his fingers curl slightly around the edge of the table, it’s all too familiar. Beomgyu understands now. He sees it with sudden clarity: Yeonjun isn’t just stunned. He’s furious, protective, hurt on Kai’s behalf, because unlike the rest of them, Yeonjun’s seen enough to connect the dots in real time, and with what Kai confided in him last night – about the day his mother left, about being chosen to stay behind like some afterthought, about the years of aching silence since – well. It’s no wonder Yeonjun looks like he’s been sucker-punched.

Yeonjun slowly turns his head, and Beomgyu can feel the weight of his stare even before it lands on him.

“…Is that true?” Yeonjun asks, his voice low, unreadable. “They reached out?”

Beomgyu meets his gaze squarely and nods. “Yeah. Well, Bahiyyih did.”

Yeonjun’s eyes flicker back to Kai, whose face is neutral but tight, the corners of his mouth pressed into a faint, trembling line. He’s looking down again, suddenly very interested in the smudge of chocolate on the side of his plate.

“It was during the open house,” he starts, eyes flicking towards the hallway, making sure Kai isn’t in earshot. “At our booth. For the music department.”

Yeonjun looks up, silent but alert now.

“There was this girl. She came to sign up for the newsletter– just a regular student, at first glance. But then I looked at her again and I swear, it felt like someone hit rewind on Kai’s face. She had his nose, his eyes, just softer, y’know? Younger.”

Yeonjun’s brows knit together, and he straightens in his chair.

Then Beomgyu continues, “Nothing unusual at first. But when she wrote her name down, I glanced at it and saw her surname. Jung.”

Yeonjun’s brow twitches. “It was Hiyyih?”

Beomgyu nods slowly. “Yeah. I was thrown off, because they obviously didn’t have the same surname, but I couldn’t shake the fact that they practically look identical. So I said, ‘You look exactly like my boyfriend Kai’.”

He remembers it so clearly, how her face had changed the second he said the name. The way her eyes went wide and glassy, like she’d been holding her breath for years and someone had finally spoken the words she hadn’t dared hope to hear.

“She froze,” Beomgyu says, quieter now. “Then she grabbed my wrist and said, ‘Huening Kai? He’s here? He’s really here?’ She looked like she was about to cry.”

Yeonjun’s arms drop from his chest. His expression shifts from wary to something more delicate, softened by shock and the kind of sadness that crawls in around the ribs and settles in the sternum.

“She asked me to take her to him,” Beomgyu continues. “Begged, actually. She said she and Lea have been looking for him.”

Yeonjun exhales shakily, like that one word – begged – hit him in a place he didn’t know was still raw.

“But Kai had already gone home,” Beomgyu says, his voice threaded with regret now. “And I couldn’t leave the booth. So she gave me her number and asked me to pass along the message. That’s all she said. That they were looking for him.”

Yeonjun is silent for a long moment, absorbing it all. Then he looks up at Beomgyu again, something unreadable in his expression.

“Can I see your phone?”

Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate this time. He pulls it from the pocket of his joggers and unlocks it, fingers scrolling to his contacts. He turns the screen toward Yeonjun without a word.

Yeonjun takes the phone, brows furrowed, scanning the screen. The name stares back at him in plain black letters:

Huening Bahiyyih.

Yeonjun’s quiet for a beat after handing back Beomgyu’s phone, the weight of everything still thick in the air. He doesn’t move much, just presses his palm over the back of his neck and looks towards Kai. His hair’s still messy from sleep, his hoodie sleeves tugged low over his hands, eyes slightly red-rimmed, though he doesn’t look like he’s been crying. Just… tired and washed-out.

“Ningie,” Yeonjun says gently, like he’s not sure how loud he’s allowed to be, “How’re you feeling?”

Kai pauses by the fridge, fingers curling around the handle without opening it. His gaze drops to the floor instead, and for a second, Beomgyu thinks he’s not going to answer at all. But then, softly:

“I don’t even know how I’m supposed to feel,” he says, voice low and faraway. “I just… I feel like I’m floating.”

Yeonjun blinks, caught off guard by the honesty of it. Beomgyu’s stomach twists. There’s something about the way Kai says floating that makes it sound less like a weightless drift and more like he’s been cut loose entirely; no anchor, no land in sight. Just… aimless.

Yeonjun’s tone shifts, careful. “Do you… want to see them?”

Kai’s response is immediate. A sharp shake of the head, like the very idea makes him recoil. “No. I’m not ready yet.”

Beomgyu feels something in him settle at the conviction in Kai’s voice; not because he’s glad about the answer, but because it means Kai knows where he stands. That he’s drawing a boundary, and not just retreating out of fear.

He steps a little closer, voice soft. “Do you want me to tell her that? Or… would you rather I didn’t text her at all?”

Kai hesitates. His teeth worry at his lower lip for a moment, then he sighs, nodding once. “You can tell her. Just… be nice. She didn’t do anything wrong, not really.”

Beomgyu nods. “Of course.”

He pulls out his phone again and types out the message carefully, checking the words twice before he presses send:

 

Huening Bahiyyih

hey this is beomgyu
kai’s boyfriend
just wanted to tell you he’s not ready yet, but i told him
thank you for reaching out tho, i’ll def update you when he’s ready
i’ll let him know you’re thinking of him

 

He shows the screen to Kai without being asked, and Kai offers a tiny nod before turning away again, arms hugging around himself like he’s holding himself together by sheer will. Yeonjun doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches the two of them; the quiet tension, the way Beomgyu keeps glancing at Kai like he wants to fix something but isn’t sure how. Then, softly, Yeonjun steps forward and places a gentle hand on Kai’s back, rubbing a small circle between his shoulders.

“We’ve got the whole day,” he murmurs. “Let’s do something. Just the five of us. You, me, Beomgyu, Binnie, and Tyunnie. Get out for a bit. Clear your head.”

Kai’s eyes stay downcast, but he doesn’t pull away from the touch. Doesn’t say yes, either, but Beomgyu knows him well enough by now to recognise that as a maybe. A softened no, the kind that can be swayed with a little warmth and patience, and Beomgyu has both in spades. 

Especially for him.

 

🧸

 

By midday, the weight that had been clinging to Kai like a second skin seems to have thinned out, peeled back by the warmth of sunshine, laughter, and the comfort of being surrounded by people who love him. They’ve hit all of Kai’s favourite spots; grabbed egg tarts from his go-to cart near the park, wandered through his favourite vinyl shop where he spent a whole ten minutes just flipping through one Ryuichi Sakamoto album with eager fingers, and now they’re sprawled out on the patchy grass of a park, sodas in hand, lazy with contentment.

Beomgyu watches from where he’s lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, eyes fixed on Kai across from him. Kai’s mid-laugh, head tilted back, nose scrunched the way it does when he can’t help himself, and Beomgyu swears his chest physically expands with the relief that rushes through him.

He’s smiling again. Really smiling. None of the polite, distracted ones he’d been giving all morning. This is the real thing. Eyes bright, hands animated, voice slightly too loud as he tells Taehyun some ridiculous story about how he once mistook a raw onion for an apple as a kid and cried for twenty minutes straight. Beomgyu already knows the story – he’s heard it three times now – but it hits differently today because Kai looks alive again. Like colour’s bleeding back into him after days of grey.

The sight of it – of him – is so beautiful Beomgyu almost wants to cry.

He settles instead for scooting closer, nudging his foot against Kai’s until Kai glances over, still breathless from laughter. Beomgyu grins and leans in, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder through the fabric of his hoodie.

“You’re cute when you’re stupid,” he murmurs.

Kai swats at him, cheeks blooming pink, but he’s still smiling. “That wasn’t even the stupidest part.”

“I’m listening,” Beomgyu says, chin now perched on Kai’s shoulder, fully ignoring the conversation happening between Yeonjun and Soobin nearby.

Taehyun throws a grape at him. “Let him finish the story, attention hog.”

“Jealousy’s an ugly colour on you, Taehyun,” Beomgyu shoots back, grinning as the grape bounces off his arm. He flicks it back, missing entirely, but it’s enough to make Kai laugh again, leaning into him slightly, shoulder bumping his chest.

God, he’s missed this. He hadn’t realised just how tense he’d been all morning; waiting, worrying, watching Kai drift through the hours like he wasn’t really here, but now, with Kai so openly himself again, giggly and bright and glowing with that quiet, shy joy that Beomgyu’s grown to adore, he feels like he can breathe again.

They go for bubble tea after; Kai’s horrifying mint chocolate slush, Taehyun’s usual half-sweet brown sugar milk tea with grass jelly, Yeonjun and Soobin splitting one like the couple they very much are (Soobin says he’s not drinking it, Yeonjun calls him dramatic and drinks 80% of it himself). Beomgyu orders a caramel milk tea with pudding but switches with Kai halfway through because Kai likes the pudding despite the fact that Beomgyu absolutely despises mint chocolate, but Beomgyu likes him, and really, that’s all the logic required. 

They play a few rounds of those claw machines at the arcade next door too, Kai getting stuck on one with a stupid pink penguin plush and going feral trying to win it. Beomgyu has no choice but to step in, shamelessly wasting four tries before he actually gets the thing, but it’s worth it just to see the way Kai beams and hugs the penguin to his chest like it’s made of gold.

“Name it after me,” Beomgyu demands as they walk out into the street, late afternoon sun spilling across the pavement.

Kai glances up at him, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Okay, but then I’m going to toss it around and call it annoying.”

Beomgyu gasps. “You wound me.”

Kai just laughs again, and Beomgyu pulls him close, arm slipping around his waist with ease. He’s always touchy with Kai, but today… today he doesn’t want to let go at all. Not even a little bit.

But then Beomgyu’s mood sours the second he steps out of the toilet and realises Kai’s nowhere in sight. He’d only been gone for two minutes – three, tops – but it’s long enough for the group to scatter like dust in the wind. Soobin and Yeonjun have predictably vanished, likely holed up in some corner photobooth being gross and coupley, and Beomgyu’s pretty sure he saw Taehyun dragging Kai toward the shooters earlier. Still, the arcade is loud and crowded, filled with flashing lights and tinny explosions and children screaming with the kind of unfiltered joy that makes his teeth ache. It takes him longer than it should to find them.

When he does, he almost wishes he hadn’t.

They’re huddled together at the zombie shooting game, both gripping their plastic rifles like they’re in the middle of a real apocalypse. Kai’s leaning in close, mouth open in a wide grin as he shouts directions at Taehyun, who’s barking back with the kind of dry sarcasm that only seems to make Kai laugh harder. Their shoulders bump, their arms tangle, and at one point, Kai even throws his head back against Taehyun’s shoulder in a dramatic wail when he gets “bitten”. It’s ridiculous. They look more like two golden retriever puppies wrestling for attention than two boys playing a game, but still, something twists uncomfortably in Beomgyu’s chest.

He had wanted to play that game with Kai.

He lingers for a moment, arms crossed, lips pursed, watching them with a growing pout that could rival a sulking child. Kai doesn’t even glance his way. He’s too busy laughing, too busy touching; his hand grazing Taehyun’s wrist as they reload, their legs brushing each other with every step. Beomgyu’s not stupid. He knows there’s nothing going on, knows Kai and Taehyun have that easy kind of closeness built on years of shared history, but still. It stings.

Beomgyu sighs and turns away before he gets caught glaring. Instead, he plops himself down on a nearby Mario Kart machine and starts jamming coins into the slot like it’s personally offended him. He doesn’t even like Mario Kart that much – he’s always been more of a Rhythm Heaven kind of guy – but right now, he just needs something to distract him from the petty little storm cloud forming over his head.

He’s halfway through a race and being absolutely demolished by Bowser when someone slides into the seat beside him.

“Well, well, well,” Soobin drawls, peering at him with that infuriatingly perceptive smirk of his. “If it isn’t the green-eyed monster himself.”

Beomgyu huffs. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sulking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re playing Mario Kart alone.”

Beomgyu scowls. “It’s a legitimate form of self-soothing.”

Soobin raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’ve been moping ever since Kai ditched you for Taehyun.”

Beomgyu glares at the screen. “He didn’t ditch me. I went to the bathroom.”

“Yeah. And in the two minutes you were gone, he replaced you with someone faster and better at headshots.”

“Stop. Talking.”

Soobin grins and leans back in his seat, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “You know, if you keep sulking like that, people are going to think you’re the neglected ex.”

Beomgyu kicks at his leg. Misses. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Soobin straightens up, eyes glittering with amusement as he turns his head. “Hey, Kai! Your puppy’s jealous!”

Beomgyu almost dies on the spot. “Hyung, please–”

But it’s too late. Kai’s head pops up from across the arcade, eyes wide like a startled deer, and then he’s bounding over like he’s just heard a treat bag rustle. He reaches them in seconds, cheeks flushed from laughing, still a little breathless.

“What?” Kai asks, blinking between them. “What did you say?”

Soobin grins. “Your boyfriend’s sulking because you ditched him for Taehyun.”

“I didn’t–” Beomgyu starts, mortified, but Kai’s already laughing.

“Oh my god, you’re such a baby,” he says fondly, and before Beomgyu can even think of a response, Kai’s sliding into his lap, legs straddling his thighs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Were you really pouting this whole time?”

“I wasn’t pouting,” Beomgyu grumbles, but he doesn’t push him off. Of course he doesn’t. Kai’s warm and soft and smells like milk tea, and the weight of him settles Beomgyu instantly.

Kai just giggles and rests his arms around Beomgyu’s shoulders, nuzzling close. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

Beomgyu wraps his arms around Kai’s waist, pressing his face into his neck to hide the smile he can’t fight. “I wanted to play the zombie game with you,” he mumbles.

Kai snorts. “Then say so next time instead of glowering from the sidelines like a kicked puppy.”

“You are his puppy,” Soobin adds helpfully, and Beomgyu throws a coin at him.

Kai just kisses Beomgyu’s temple, soft and lingering. “You’ve got me now, okay?” he whispers.

Beomgyu nods, letting himself sink into the moment, into the boy in his lap and the warmth in his chest and the relief that, despite all his doubts and fears, Kai still chooses him. Every time.

Beomgyu refuses to let Kai out of his sight for the rest of the arcade trip, all the way to the karaoke place. His arm is slung lazily around Kai’s shoulders, fingers sneaking beneath the edge of his hoodie to graze bare skin. When Kai shifts, Beomgyu’s hand trails down to loop around his waist instead, fingers drumming a soft rhythm against his hipbone. He presses kisses to Kai’s temple without warning, buries his face in Kai’s shoulder while they wait for Taehyun to finish singing another song, and even laces their fingers together when they’re not doing anything at all. He’s practically draped over Kai, grinning like a maniac, and doesn’t even try to be subtle about it.

If anyone asks, he’s simply affectionate and loving. Supportive, even. Not jealous, absolutely not possessive, but the way he keeps glancing over at Taehyun every time Kai so much as laughs at one of his jokes suggests otherwise.

Taehyun, for his part, is clearly entertained.

“Jesus,hyung,” he mutters, watching Beomgyu subtly tug Kai back into his side for the third time in under a minute. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Beomgyu says innocently, nuzzling Kai’s cheek. “Just wanna be close to my boyfriend, that’s all.”

Kai giggles and lightly shoves him off, only for Beomgyu to return seconds later, pouting like a puppy denied a treat. He hooks his chin over Kai’s shoulder and stares at Taehyun with thinly veiled smugness, as if daring him to try something. Taehyun only laughs.

“You look like you’re about to mark him like a territory,” he teases. “Should I back away slowly or…?”

Beomgyu shrugs, resting his full weight against Kai’s back. “Do what you want. He’s mine.”

“You’re so ridiculous,” Taehyun says, shaking his head.

“You’re just mad I’m cuter than you,” Beomgyu retorts, smirking. “And taller.”

“Only by three centimetres.”

“Still counts.”

Yeonjun sidles over at that moment, a bubble tea in one hand and a wicked grin on his face. He catches the tail end of the conversation and raises an eyebrow. “You really going through it, huh, Gyu?”

“He’s being dramatic,” Kai says, still laughing.

“Obsessed,” Taehyun adds helpfully.

“And what about it?” Beomgyu quips, giving Kai a shameless kiss to the cheek. 

Yeonjun hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, well. No matter what you do, Tyunnie here will always be Kai’s first kiss.”

Beomgyu jerks back like he’s been slapped. “Excuse me?”

Taehyun snorts.

Beomgyu stares between them, wide-eyed and visibly affronted. “Babe, did you hear what he just said to me?”

“It’s true,” Taehyun says coolly, sipping his drink.

“Come on,” Kai adds, completely unbothered. “You already know.”

But Beomgyu isn’t mollified. He turns to Kai with a betrayed look, his hands still wrapped around Kai’s waist like he’s clinging to the last shred of dignity. “But I didn’t want to be reminded of it.”

Kai rolls his eyes and laughs, patting his cheek. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” Beomgyu says, still scandalised. “I wanted to be your first everything!”

“You’re definitely my first boyfriend,” Kai says teasingly.

“That’s not comforting!”

Yeonjun cackles, elbowing Taehyun. “You’ve unlocked a whole new level of possessive Beomgyu. Congratulations.”

Beomgyu is about to retort when Kai, smiling softly now, tilts his head and says simply, “But you’ll be my last.”

Beomgyu freezes.

The words are said with such casual sincerity that for a moment, all the noise of the karaoke fades away. Kai’s eyes are warm, lips curved, like it’s the most natural truth in the world, and Beomgyu just stares at him, stunned into silence.

Then his face splits into the smuggest grin imaginable.

“Ha!” he shouts, turning to Yeonjun and Taehyun with childish glee. “Did you hear that? I win! I win!”

“You’re unbelievable,” Taehyun mutters.

Beomgyu sticks his tongue out at both of them and throws his arm around Kai’s shoulders again, pulling him close. “That’s right. First, second, third– doesn’t matter. I’m the last. And the best. And the cutest.”

Kai just shakes his head, laughing softly as Beomgyu peppers kisses down the side of his face, all but vibrating with joy. The others groan, but neither of them care. Beomgyu’s too busy basking in the victory, in the warmth of Kai’s hand in his, in the quiet promise of always lingering in the space between them.

By the time the group stumbles out of the karaoke room – cheeks flushed, throats hoarse, high on sugar and laughter – Beomgyu is seconds away from losing his mind.

He’s been hanging off Kai all evening, and at first, it was just his usual clinginess, the exaggerated kind he uses to tease Yeonjun or provoke Taehyun, but somewhere between Kai pressing a hand to his chest to feel the beat during a duet, and Kai’s thigh resting snugly against his on the too-small bench seat, something shifted. Beomgyu had kissed his cheek earlier, meaning it to be quick and silly, but Kai had turned his head at the last second and it landed on the corner of his mouth instead, and that was it. That was the moment the spark caught.

Now it’s not just cuddles. It’s fingers brushing hips a little too intentionally. It’s Kai’s hand lingering on his thigh when they share a drink. It’s the way Beomgyu tilts his face into Kai’s neck when he laughs, taking in the faint scent of his shampoo and the warmth of his skin and wanting more. It’s the way Kai looks at him when he thinks no one else is paying attention; eyes darker, hungrier than before, lips parted ever so slightly like he’s already halfway to kissing him.

Beomgyu swears the air between them is practically buzzing.

He doesn’t think the others notice – Soobin’s too busy butchering an IU ballad, Yeonjun is engrossed in filming it to humiliate him later, and Taehyun’s scrolling through his phone with the bored detachment of someone babysitting toddlers – but Beomgyu notices, and judging by the way Kai’s been clinging to his hoodie hem, thumb rubbing lazy circles against the inside of his wrist, Kai definitely notices too.

They’re laughing and singing and moving through the arcade and karaoke bar like a pack of overgrown children, but every time Beomgyu brushes his lips to Kai’s ear to whisper something stupid, Kai shivers. Every time Kai leans in to giggle against Beomgyu’s shoulder, Beomgyu feels heat coiling low in his stomach. It’s like playing with fire, inching closer with every touch, every look, every breath shared too close, and there’s nothing they can do about it.

Not when they’re still surrounded by their friends.

Kai’s laugh is breathy now, a little too breathless when Beomgyu lets his hand rest low on his back, and Beomgyu’s voice is raspier, lips lingering against the shell of Kai’s ear a moment too long, until Kai’s lashes flutter and he almost drops the mic. The tension simmers just below the surface, a taut string stretched tight and threatening to snap.

Beomgyu swears Kai knows exactly what he’s doing, the way he keeps finding excuses to lean into him, to curl into Beomgyu’s side like he belongs there – and he does, he always has – but now there’s an edge to it, something raw and wanting. He nuzzles into Beomgyu’s jaw with innocent giggles that aren’t so innocent anymore, and each time Beomgyu kisses his hair, he swears he could just die from how badly he wants him.

By the time they’re all on the street again, the cold air biting at their flushed skin, Beomgyu is holding Kai close more out of necessity than affection because he needs to do something with his hands or he might just explode. He wants to push Kai against a wall and kiss him senseless. He wants to bury his face in the crook of Kai’s neck and forget the world exists, but instead, he slips his hand into Kai’s coat pocket with his, thumb brushing the inside of his wrist, and waits for the night to finally end.

They all linger a little too long at the corner where they’re meant to split, everyone dragging their feet like they don’t want the night to end, even though it’s obvious from the way Soobin’s yawning like a baby panda and Yeonjun keeps nuzzling into his shoulder that they’ve hit their limit. Taehyun, as usual, is the first to break the spell, announcing he has an early class tomorrow and that if any of them text him past 1 AM, he’ll block them out of spite.

“Go home, old man,” Yeonjun calls after him as Taehyun walks away, flipping them off over his shoulder.

Then Yeonjun turns to Kai, looping an arm lazily around his shoulders, pulling him close in that effortlessly familiar way that only years of friendship could make natural. “I’m staying at Soobin’s tonight,” he says, soft and a little teasing. “That okay?”

Kai’s still grinning, his cheeks pink from the cold or the karaoke or maybe just Beomgyu , and Beomgyu’s been tracking every flush, every smile like it’s gospel. “You don’t need to ask me that,” Kai replies, leaning into him just a little.

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, gaze flicking pointedly to Beomgyu. “Just being polite. Wouldn’t want to cockblock your boyfriend, now would I?”

Kai snorts, not even pretending to be subtle. “Beomgyu’s definitely staying over.”

There’s a beat of silence where Beomgyu blinks, surprised by how fast Kai says it, how sure he sounds. Kai doesn’t even look at him when he says it, he just knows. Beomgyu feels warmth rise up his neck, entirely unrelated to the alcohol they didn’t even drink. Then Kai does look at him – briefly, like a nudge to the ribs but made entirely of eye contact – and smirks.

A knowing little curve of his lips. Soft, playful, and dangerous.

Beomgyu’s stomach flips.

He’s so done for.

 

🐧

 

The lift ride feels like an eternity.

Kai leans back against the cold metal wall, his breath shallow and hands clenched at his sides like if he loosens his grip, even a little, he’ll give in. Beomgyu stands on the opposite side, equally still, like they’re holding court in some silent standoff, but there’s nothing calm about it. The tension hums between them, sharp and heavy, pressing into every corner of the tiny space. The air is electric, charged with something hot and trembling and dangerous.

Neither of them speaks. Neither of them dares.

Because the moment one of them moves – touches – it’s over.

So Kai just stares at the floor numbers blinking slowly toward their destination, every nerve in his body lit up like it’s mid-thunderstorm. His heart’s a mess, slamming against his ribs like it’s trying to climb out. His mouth is dry. His thighs ache with restraint. And from the corner of his eye, he sees Beomgyu’s chest rising and falling like he’s in the middle of a sprint.

The ding is a gunshot.

The doors slide open and Kai practically bolts, his feet barely carrying him straight as he fumbles toward the door of the apartment, keys rattling too loudly in his hands. He can feel Beomgyu at his back, the warmth of him too close without touching, and it’s making his hands shake. He swears under his breath when the key won’t slot in properly. His fingers are trembling, too fast, too desperate.

“Damn it–”

Beomgyu leans in, but doesn’t touch. Just watches, breathing hard.

Somehow, finally, the door clicks open, and they stumble inside, tripping over each other in their rush to toe off their shoes. The door shuts behind them with a dull thud and then– 

They just stand there.

Still. Panting. Staring.

The silence is thunderous. The apartment feels too small. The hallway too narrow. The space between them is barely a breath and yet it crackles like a livewire.

Kai’s whole body hurts with want.

Beomgyu’s eyes are wide and wild and locked on him like he’s something Beomgyu’s been starving for.

And then they snap.

No warning, no hesitation – just collision.

Hands are everywhere, scrambling, grabbing, dragging each other in. Kai crashes into Beomgyu, lips slanting against his, messy and uncoordinated, all tongue and teeth and hunger. Beomgyu’s hands are in his hair, on his waist, under his jacket, everywhere at once. Kai moans into his mouth, fists clenching around the fabric of Beomgyu’s shirt like he’s afraid he’ll float off if he lets go.

It’s primal, borderline feral.

They stumble back into the wall, Beomgyu slamming him there with a grunt that’s swallowed into Kai’s mouth. Kai wraps a leg around Beomgyu’s thigh like he can’t get close enough, and Beomgyu groans, deep and wrecked, kissing him like he’s trying to drink him whole. There’s no rhythm, no softness, just desperation and pure need. Months of restraint snapping at the seams.

Kai gasps as Beomgyu’s lips trail down to his throat, biting lightly at the pulse there, and he lets his head fall back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, breath hitched and ragged. He’s never felt like this before, like he’s on fire from the inside out .

They don’t leave the wall.

They can’t.

It’s as if once their bodies collided, gravity itself shifted. Kai is pinned; back flat against the cool paint, chest heaving, lips swollen and slick. Beomgyu is flush against him, so close he might as well be under his skin. There’s no space to breathe properly, not with the way they’re clinging to each other like they’re trying to crawl inside, like they’ll die if they let go, and yet, somehow, it’s still not close enough.

Kai's hands are everywhere; tangled in Beomgyu’s hair, dragging nails down his back, clutching at the hem of his shirt like if he tugs hard enough, it’ll disappear. Beomgyu’s hips rock forward, unthinking, chasing friction, chasing more. His breath catches with a tiny whimper when Kai hooks his leg higher and presses his thigh in tighter between Beomgyu’s legs.

It earns him a gasp; fragile, almost delicate in contrast to how frantically they’re kissing. Beomgyu's hands spasm against Kai’s sides, clutching at his hoodie like a lifeline as he rolls his hips forward again, a desperate stutter of movement that has Kai groaning softly into the heat between their mouths.

Beomgyu lets out a trembling sigh, head dropping to Kai’s shoulder as he presses in, hips grinding in small, shallow circles, each motion drawn-out and clumsy and hungry. His breath is hot against Kai’s neck, his voice a low murmur of sound that doesn’t make sense, all broken vowels and breathless need.

“Fuck– Kai…”

Kai closes his eyes, lashes fluttering against flushed skin as he tightens his grip on Beomgyu’s waist, pressing his thigh up in response, holding him there. Beomgyu shudders.

There’s something dizzying about the way Beomgyu responds to him; how he gasps when Kai’s thigh tenses, how his fingers curl at the base of Kai’s spine like he’s going to fall apart if he’s not anchored. Every little sound he makes is like a secret, small and shivery, made just for Kai, and Kai drinks it in, hungry for all of it.

They’re not saying anything coherent. Just sighs, moans, panting breaths, the occasional gasp of each other’s names. Fingers tug. Mouths drag across skin. Teeth graze lips. Beomgyu’s hips keep rolling forward, soft and shaky, and Kai swears he can feel every ounce of his restraint slipping. It’s messy and hot and helpless, just pure want, so much want it aches.

Beomgyu lifts his head, eyes glassy, face flushed red, lips parted as he stares at Kai like he’s watching a dream blur into focus.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispers, voice hoarse.

Kai doesn’t answer.

He just pulls him in again.

They don’t even remember how they made it to the bedroom; just a blur of clumsy footsteps, mouths refusing to part, hands tangled in hair and clothes, but now, Beomgyu’s sprawled across Kai’s bed, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes glazed and lips kiss-bitten. Kai looms above him, one knee digging into the mattress beside Beomgyu’s hip, arms braced on either side of his head like he’s caging him in. There’s a brief pause as their eyes lock, just a heartbeat of tension crackling between them, so taut it might snap.

Then Kai descends, and they’re kissing again.

No – devouring. It's not tender, not even close. It’s open-mouthed and panting, lips sliding and dragging, teeth clashing. Kai licks into Beomgyu’s mouth like he owns it, desperate and possessive, groaning when Beomgyu bites at his bottom lip in return. Beomgyu arches into him, hands flying up to grip at Kai’s shoulders, dragging him closer, closer, as if the taste of him is an addiction he’s been starved of. Their tongues meet in a wet, needy tangle, the kiss downright filthy with the way neither of them holds back. Kai sucks on Beomgyu’s tongue, moaning low in his throat when Beomgyu whines into him, hips jerking up as if to chase the sound. They kiss like they’re trying to undo each other, mouths slick and swollen, breath hitching between them with every frantic gasp.

Kai’s fingers trail down, hooking into the hem of Beomgyu’s shirt. He yanks it up and over his head with a single breathless motion, tossing it aside without looking. Beomgyu follows suit, tugging Kai’s hoodie off with shaking hands, eyes never leaving his face. The moment their bare chests press together, they both groan, Kai’s deeper, broken at the edges; Beomgyu’s higher, breathless and needy. Their skin is warm and feverish, slick in places from sweat, their hearts hammering between them like they’re trying to communicate through touch alone. The friction is unbearable, jeans tight and tented, the seam of the fabric only adding to the tension as they rut helplessly into each other. Every movement makes them gasp, makes them ache.

Kai’s lips trail down Beomgyu’s chest, slow and wet, tongue flicking and teasing every inch of skin he touches. His mouth parts open wider, sucking and nipping messily as he follows the curve of Beomgyu’s ribs, breath warm and ragged against his skin. His hands roam freely, fingertips tracing patterns that make Beomgyu shiver beneath him. When Kai’s lips finally reach Beomgyu’s stomach, his mouth opens even more, swallowing the skin in messy, open-mouthed kisses, teeth grazing lightly over tender spots that make Beomgyu catch his breath.

Just as Kai’s fingers brush toward the button of Beomgyu’s jeans, curling around the waistband with slow, deliberate intent, Beomgyu’s hand shoots out, gripping Kai’s wrist hard. The pressure is sudden and firm, an unspoken command that stops Kai’s movement dead in its tracks. Beomgyu’s eyes meet Kai’s, dark and serious, filled with a mix of want and something else; something that begs for patience, for understanding. It’s a silent plea, loud enough that Kai can’t ignore it, no matter how much he wants to.

Kai’s voice breaks the charged silence. “Hyung? You okay?” The question hangs between them, tentative, gentle.

Beomgyu doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls Kai up, hands steadying him as their lips meet; not with the fiery hunger from before, but a chaste, soft kiss. It’s brief, almost fragile, but there’s something swirling deep in Beomgyu’s eyes; a flicker of something Kai can’t quite place, something tangled and conflicted.

Then Beomgyu pulls back, voice low but steady, “Sorry, baby. I’m just not ready yet.”

Those words cut through the air sharper than any kiss could. The same five words Minjun had whispered like poison into Kai’s ear, the ones that Minjun claimed were Beomgyu’s go-to excuse whenever he didn’t want to be with someone. The doubt Minjun planted rises up again, twisting Kai’s stomach with bitter questions and unwelcome fears.

Kai swallows hard, his voice hesitant as he asks, “Am I… doing something wrong?”

Beomgyu shakes his head quickly, eyes softening as he cups Kai’s face gently. “No, baby. You’ve done everything right. It’s not you. I just want to wait for the perfect moment… to do this with you.”

Kai’s brow furrows. “And this isn’t the perfect moment?”

Beomgyu bites his lip, looking away for a brief second before meeting Kai’s eyes with a small, apologetic shake of his head. “That’s not what I meant. I just… I’m not ready yet.”

The words hang quietly in the room. Kai nods slowly, suppressing the sting twisting his chest. He doesn’t want to push Beomgyu into anything he isn’t ready for. So instead, Kai leans in and presses a chaste kiss to Beomgyu’s lips, soft and reassuring.

Then, with a hopeful tilt of his head, he says, “Want to shower together?”

Beomgyu hesitates, then shakes his head again. “I’ll shower later.”

That simple refusal sends a pang through Kai’s heart, sharp and hollow, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, Kai steps into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, not bothering to lock it. He doesn’t think Beomgyu would follow, not tonight. The air in the apartment feels different now, and the weight of that difference presses down harder the second the water hits his skin.

He should feel proud of himself, maybe. The day had gone so well, hadn’t it? They’d laughed and played and wandered around the arcade like it was their own private world. Beomgyu had looked at him like he hung the moon, had clung to him with the same need Kai felt in his own chest. Everything had felt good, easy, and safe. So why is he standing under scalding water, trying not to cry?

What is it about him that makes Beomgyu pull away? Kai presses his forehead to the tile, breathing through the sting in his throat. Beomgyu has slept with people before. He knows that much. There’s no shame in that, not for either of them, but it makes it all the more confusing. Why them, and not him? What makes him the exception?

His chest tightens as his mind drifts, uninvited, to a voice he hates; smug, polished, soft like poison. Minjun’s smile had been the kind that you want to wipe off with your fist.

“Let me tell you something about Beomgyu. If he’s not interested in someone, he doesn’t sleep with them. Says he’s ‘not ready yet’. That’s always been his go-to excuse. I’m sure you’ve heard that plenty of times, no?” He’d said with an infuriating chuckle.

Kai squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the memory away, but it stays. Plays on loop like a broken record. The shrug Minjun had given, like none of it mattered, like it was all just entertainment to him.

“But hey, if you really believe those feelings are genuine… You’ll find out soon enough.”

A shiver climbs up Kai’s spine, despite the heat of the water. He hates this; hates that Minjun's words are still living rent-free in his head, carving doubts into the walls of his heart. He doesn’t want to give that boy power. Doesn’t want to let him be right.

But…

Beomgyu said the exact words. “I’m not ready yet.” Said them like he meant them, with something soft behind his eyes, something unreadable, but now all Kai can see is Minjun’s smirk.

What if he’s right?

What if Beomgyu really doesn’t want him like that? What if Kai’s just another charity case to tiptoe around, another delicate thing Beomgyu doesn’t want to break by being honest?

He lets the water run down his back, dragging the doubt with it, but it never washes clean. He wants to believe Beomgyu, wants to trust in that gentle voice and the way he looks at him like he’s special, but Minjun’s words had been so specific. Too specific. Like he knew exactly where to hit to draw blood, and what did he mean by that last part? “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Find out what?

Kai swallows around the knot in his throat, pressing his palms flat to the wall in front of him. There’s a sick kind of logic to it: if Beomgyu’s excuse has always been “I’m not ready” when he’s not interested… then what does that make Kai? Just another someone. Another maybe. Another almost. But what about Everland? What about the way Beomgyu looked at him on the ferris wheel? What about all the times he held him like he was something sacred? What about how soft his voice gets when he says Kai’s name, or how tightly he hugs him in his sleep?

What about all of that?

His head pounds with it – logic, emotion, memory, insecurity – clashing like a storm behind his eyes. He wants to believe it means something. That Beomgyu means it. That he’s not being strung along, but how can he be sure, when Minjun’s words fit the cracks so perfectly? Kai turns off the tap, water dripping from his lashes as he steps out of the shower. He dries himself with slow, automatic movements, mind still lost in the spiral. He shouldn’t be thinking like this. He should just talk to Beomgyu, talk to him about his conversation with Minjun, ask him what Minjun meant, trust him. 

But there’s a voice in his head that sounds an awful lot like Minjun, whispering “But do you really want to know?”

And Kai’s not really sure he does.

Notes:

minjun really did a number on kai didn't he D: poor baby, he doesn't know the real reason why beomgyu's so reluctant on getting intimate with him :<

but anw please let me know your thoughts about this update hehe!! also, i made a strawpage so you're welcome to visit, send a lil anon message or drawing if you'd like!!

koostiddy.straw.page

Chapter 17: special chapter 🐰🦊

Summary:

They make their way to Soobin’s room, and it’s only once the door clicks shut behind them that the full weight of Yeonjun’s presence becomes obvious again. His fingerprints are everywhere in here, like his body just expands to fill any space it touches. What was once Soobin’s room now looks more like a curated mix of two lives blended without ceremony.

There’s a second toothbrush by the sink. Not tucked away or hidden in a travel pouch, just there, standing beside Soobin’s like it belongs. A second set of skincare bottles, labelled in Yeonjun’s familiar handwriting. On the desk, Soobin’s neatly stacked script pages share space with swathes of muslin, half-drawn fashion sketches, pins, and a measuring tape curled like a sleeping cat. Yeonjun’s portable sewing machine lives beneath the desk now, and the mannequin in the corner has been draped with half-finished pattern pieces, delicate lines and stitching held together with pearl-topped pins.

Notes:

enjoy this bonus yeonbin chapter~

🐰 

 

The arcade lights blink like city traffic; loud, fast, and just a little chaotic. Soobin steps inside, greeted first by the shriek of a claw machine in despair and the unmistakable scent of ramyeon and metal coins. He spots the group almost instantly. Kai is laughing – truly laughing, that high, airy kind of sound that cracks out of him like it hasn’t been weighed down by worry for once – and Yeonjun stands beside him with a soft grin tugging at his lips. Soobin doesn’t say anything right away. He lingers by the entrance for a moment, watching quietly, as he always does, letting the world speak before he responds, and the first thing he notices isn’t the neon glow or the haze of noise or even the swell of the Friday night crowd. It’s Yeonjun.

Specifically, the way Yeonjun watches Kai. 

It isn’t overt or dramatic, but there’s a tension in his shoulders, a subtle tilt of his body like he’s ready to step in, to protect, to mediate. His eyes are narrowed, flicking between Kai’s smile and Beomgyu’s bouncing energy. He’s clocking something. Measuring, tracking, reading. Soobin’s heart pulls in that soft, quiet way it always does when Yeonjun gets like this, so full of care that it spills out of him before he can even catch it. He weaves his way through the crowd, ducking past a group of middle schoolers yelling over a basketball game, until he reaches the boys. Yeonjun is still in observation mode, still scanning Kai’s microexpressions like a secret language only he can read, when Soobin slips his arms around his waist from behind.

Yeonjun startles slightly, like he hasn’t even realised Soobin’s there, but the moment Soobin’s arms settle around him, he melts. The tension drains out of him instantly, shoulders dropping, head tipping back just enough for his temple to brush against Soobin’s cheek.

“Hey,” Yeonjun murmurs, turning his head to press a kiss to Soobin’s jaw, slow and warm, like he hadn’t realised how much he needed it until it was there.

Soobin smiles. He loves this part. The way touching Yeonjun feels instinctive and easy, like grounding him comes as naturally as breathing. “Hi, baby.”

Kai groans loudly. “Can you not do that in public?”

Beomgyu, ever the chaos conductor, chimes in with a dramatic whine. “You’re worse than the old couples feeding pigeons in the park. I feel like I should hand you a bag of seeds.”

Yeonjun doesn’t even glance at them as he leans further back into Soobin’s arms. “Please. You two have been eye fucking each other all night.”

“Hyung!” Kai squeaks, eyes round with horror.

Beomgyu just grins, leaning even harder on Kai’s shoulder like he hasn’t got a single care in the world. “You're not denying it though.”

Soobin chuckles, chin still nestled near Yeonjun’s shoulder. His hand spreads over Yeonjun’s stomach, fingertips brushing the hem of his fitted top without much thought, just needing the contact. He feels Yeonjun’s hand slide over his, fingers threading together, squeezing once.

This is how they are; Kai and Beomgyu with their clumsy affections and over-the-top bickering, Yeonjun poking at them like an older brother who enjoys the drama, and Soobin quietly taking it all in, the silent observer with a full heart. Tonight, it’s more obvious than ever the way Beomgyu gravitates to Kai like he can’t help it and the way Kai doesn’t pull away. The teasing’s louder, sure, but the warmth between them is real. Still, Soobin doesn’t miss the flicker behind Yeonjun’s eyes, the glint of something still slightly guarded. His gaze keeps drifting back to Kai. He hasn’t fully relaxed, even with Soobin holding him like this.

Soobin leans in and whispers, low and gentle, only for Yeonjun to hear. “You don’t need to keep watch all night. He’s alright.”

Yeonjun tilts his head back again, meeting Soobin’s eyes. His lashes flutter once, then he gives a small nod, sheepish almost. “Yeah. I know.”

But Soobin notices the way Yeonjun’s fingers tense a moment later, when Beomgyu throws an arm around Kai and pulls him toward a skeeball machine. Like he’s still bracing, still not quite letting go.

He doesn’t press the point, though. Just presses a kiss to Yeonjun’s cheek and pulls him gently closer, tethering him to the here and now.

“Come on,” Soobin says softly. “Let’s play something.”

Yeonjun smiles finally, and lets himself be led. Soobin threads his fingers through Yeonjun’s as they drift from the others, the loud clangs and cheers of the arcade softening to a dull hum behind them. Their hands fit together easily, like muscle memory–like something instinctive they’ve done for years. He watches Yeonjun’s profile in the dim arcade light, the colours flashing across his skin; blue, then red, then gold. He’s still half-watching the others, even now, his thumb absently brushing against Soobin’s knuckle. Soobin’s heart folds in on itself a little at the sight.

He’s never known someone who cares as completely as Yeonjun does. It’s in the way he never half-commits to anything; every emotion Yeonjun carries, he carries all the way through. When he loves, it’s with every corner of his chest. When he worries, it eats him from the inside out, and when he hurts... Soobin knows how deeply it carves, but tonight, even in the midst of the laughter and noise, Yeonjun is watching Kai with that barely concealed protectiveness, like he’s still trying to make sure the pieces of his little makeshift family hold together. Soobin admires that about him. Always has.

He tugs gently at Yeonjun’s hand. “Come here.”

Yeonjun lets himself be steered without question, blinking when Soobin veers off down a narrow hallway tucked into the corner of the arcade. There, half-hidden behind a neon claw machine with flickering bulbs, stands a dusty old photobooth.

Yeonjun grins the second he sees it. “You’re such a sap.”

Soobin shrugs, eyes soft with quiet mischief. “You love it.”

“Tragically,” Yeonjun says, but his voice is warm, and he’s already ducking inside.

They squeeze into the booth, knees bumping, shoulders pressed too close in a way neither of them minds. Soobin feeds the coins into the machine, the familiar jingle crackling to life above them. The screen lights up with a countdown.

Yeonjun turns to him with a crooked smile, eyes sparkling. “Silly faces?”

Soobin nods, and the first flash goes off with Yeonjun sticking his tongue out while Soobin crosses his eyes dramatically.

The second flash, Yeonjun lunges in to kiss Soobin’s cheek mid-shot.

The third, Soobin turns the tables and kisses Yeonjun’s jaw just as he’s grinning.

The last one, they’re nose to nose, foreheads pressed together and smiling soft, closed-lipped smiles; the kind that lives quietly in the corners of private rooms, never needing to be loud to be known.

As the machine spits out their photos with a mechanical whirr, Soobin takes them and holds them up between them. “We look stupid.”

Yeonjun chuckles. “We look perfect.”

And Soobin… well. He doesn’t disagree.

 

🦊 

 

Yeonjun’s fingers are sticky with pink sugar from the bag of cotton candy he insisted they get, and Soobin is grumbling half-heartedly as Yeonjun tries to smear it on his cheek. He’s already dragging him to the next row of claw machines before the taller boy can retaliate, his laughter echoing over the beeping and buzzing of arcade games.

“This one,” Yeonjun declares, pointing at a claw machine filled with ridiculous, round-faced plushies that look vaguely like deformed bunnies. “I’m feeling lucky.”

“You said that three machines ago,” Soobin says, but he’s already pulling out his wallet anyway.

Yeonjun slots in the coins with dramatic flair, tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth as he manoeuvres the claw, eyes squinting in concentration. Soobin rests his chin on Yeonjun’s shoulder to watch, arms looped casually around his waist, and Yeonjun leans back into the weight of him without thinking. It’s nice, too nice. Familiar in the way sugar melts into tea: slow, unspoken, warm.

The claw descends, wobbles a little, and somehow grips the toy.

“Oh my god– oh my god, baby, look!” Yeonjun gasps like he’s just discovered fire. “It’s holding!”

Soobin laughs softly, shaking his head. “You’re a menace.”

The bunny drops into the prize chute with a dull thud. Yeonjun whoops, grabbing it and immediately pushing it into Soobin’s chest like he’s bestowing a crown. “For you.”

Soobin blinks, then snorts. “You’re not even gonna keep it?”

Yeonjun grins, brushing invisible dust off Soobin’s shirt. “I’ve already got you.”

“So you’re saying I look like this squished rabbit doll?” Soobin deadpans.

“Duh! Look at how squishy you are,” Yeonjun giggles as he squishes Soobin’s cheeks in his hands.

That earns him an eye-roll and a pink-tinged smile that Soobin tries to hide behind the plushie. Yeonjun feels like his chest is going to explode from how fond he is. He keeps walking, one hand still tangled with Soobin’s, his free arm swinging like a kid hopped up on sugar and good weather, but every so often – between the giddy highs of skeeball victories and dancing to stupid rhythm games – Yeonjun’s eyes flicker across the arcade. He’s not even thinking about it. It’s like muscle memory at this point, his gaze always finding Kai.

He catches sight of him a few aisles down, doubled over laughing at something Taehyun’s just said. The tension that’s been coiled in Yeonjun’s chest since earlier finally starts to ease. He’d noticed it the second he saw Kai that morning; the smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, the way he stuck close to Beomgyu like he needed something solid to lean on. No one else had caught it, too distracted by the noise and colour of the arcade, but Yeonjun knows Kai like the back of his hand. Something had been off, but now, Kai’s eyes crinkle properly when he laughs. He reaches for Taehyun’s arm when he stumbles from laughing too hard, and Beomgyu – hovering close by as if unable to help himself – grins as he watches them.

Yeonjun lets out a soft breath.

“You always worry,” Soobin says gently beside him, like he’s read his thoughts.

Yeonjun glances over, surprised. “I don’t–”

“You do,” Soobin cuts in, not unkindly. “And that’s why he loves you so much.”

Yeonjun doesn’t reply. Instead, he squeezes Soobin’s hand hard.

He’s always tried to be the glue, the steady one when things get messy. It’s just who he is. When Kai hurts, Yeonjun feels it in his bones. When Taehyun used to make a mistake, Yeonjun wants to fix it for him before the guilt has a chance to settle, and when Soobin’s tired or too in his own head from assignments, Yeonjun babbles loud enough to pull him back into the present. It’s not a burden. It’s love, and right now, love looks like Kai’s cheeks flushed from laughing, Beomgyu trailing after him like a moon caught in orbit, Taehyun rolling his eyes fondly, and Soobin beside him, calm and quietly radiant, grounding him without even trying.

Yeonjun pauses as they pass the air hockey tables and abruptly turns to Soobin. “Do you think they’d let us rent this place out? For a private event?”

Soobin raises an eyebrow. “You mean like… for a party?”

“No,” Yeonjun says seriously. “Our wedding.”

He watches with smug delight as Soobin’s brain visibly halts; his brows shooting up, eyes widening, mouth parting like he’s about to speak but his entire operating system has crashed mid-reboot. For a second, Yeonjun wonders if he’s broken him. He kind of hopes he has.

Soobin stares at him, completely blank.

Yeonjun grins and presses on, like he’s pitching a very reasonable business idea. “Think about it. Matching suits– powder blue, obviously. DDR machine for our first dance. Photobooths instead of a photographer. Cotton candy instead of cake. Ring pops instead of rings– okay, no, we’ll still get real rings, but you get the vibe.”

Soobin makes a noise. It’s hard to define. Somewhere between a wheeze and a squeak.

Yeonjun finally turns fully to face him, squinting a little. “What? Too much?”

Soobin just stares. “Did you just say wedding?”

Yeonjun shrugs. “Yeah. Not like, tomorrow. But someday.” He says it lightly, but his heart thuds a little harder in his chest. “I mean… if we do get married, it should feel like us, right? I’d want it to be fun. Stupid in the best way. Silly but unforgettable.”

Soobin looks like he’s about to short-circuit again. His fingers tighten slightly around Yeonjun’s, like he’s trying to ground himself. “You can’t just drop the W-word in an arcade,” he croaks. “You’ll kill me. I’ll die.”

Yeonjun laughs, utterly endeared. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re planning our wedding next to a skeeball machine!”

“Yeah? You’re already in love with me.”

Soobin chokes on nothing and covers his face with both hands like he’s genuinely about to combust.

And Yeonjun can’t help it, he softens. Because it’s funny, yeah, watching Soobin melt into a blushing, wide-eyed mess over something so casual, but it’s also sweet. Kind of devastating, actually, to realise just how seriously Soobin takes every little thing he says. Like Yeonjun’s words aren’t just jokes or fantasies, they’re possibilities and hopes.

He nudges Soobin gently. “Hey,” he says, quieter now. “I know it sounds crazy, but… I think about that stuff. You, me, the future. I know it feels big, but it doesn’t feel scary. Not with you.”

Soobin lowers his hands, eyes still wide and pink around the edges. He swallows hard and mumbles, “I– I didn’t think you thought about stuff like that.”

Yeonjun smiles. “You’re all I think about.”

Soobin makes another helpless noise and leans his forehead against Yeonjun’s shoulder like he’s conceding defeat to the world’s most unrepentant romantic.

Yeonjun chuckles and drops a kiss to his temple. “Come on, fiance,” he teases, tugging him forward. “Let’s go humiliate some eight-year-olds at skeeball again.”

Soobin follows, still dazed, like he’s floating more than walking, and Yeonjun feels the warmth rise up in his chest again; soft and glowing and golden, because yeah, he jokes about it, but that doesn’t mean he’s not serious. He’s not in a rush. He doesn’t need timelines or plans. But someday? Someday, when the timing’s right?

Yeah. He’d marry Soobin in an arcade.

And he knows – without even looking back – that Soobin would say yes.

“You’re unhinged,” Soobin mutters.

Yeonjun grins. “You love it.”

Soobin smiles, and it does that thing to Yeonjun’s chest again. That soft ache. That bone-deep feeling of home.

“Yeah,” Soobin murmurs. “I do.”

Then someone’s yelling Yeonjun’s name across the arcade, and he turns just in time to see Beomgyu flinging a foam ball at him. It bounces off Yeonjun’s chest with a squeak, and he gasps like he’s been fatally wounded.

“Beomgyu!” he cries. “My beloved organs!”

Kai appears next to Beomgyu, laughing so hard he nearly drops his soda. “That’s what you get for being disgusting!”

“Speak for yourselves,” Yeonjun retorts, grabbing Soobin around the waist. 

Kai gags. Beomgyu splutters. Taehyun just shakes his head like he’s aged ten years in the span of five minutes.

Yeonjun watches them with a soft sort of fondness blooming low in his chest; Kai’s head tipped back in laughter, Taehyun gesturing wildly with both hands as he tells some ridiculous story. For a moment, Yeonjun forgets the lights and noise of the arcade, the plushie tucked under Soobin’s arm, even the weight of Soobin’s fingers curled loosely in his. His eyes stay fixed on Kai, something warm and almost bittersweet rising behind his ribs.

He’s come so far.

Not everyone sees it, but Yeonjun does. Kai has this quiet kind of strength; one that doesn’t demand attention, doesn’t take up too much space. It lives in the way he keeps going, even when things get hard. In the way he loves gently but fiercely, like he’s still learning that he’s allowed to take up room in other people’s hearts. Yeonjun remembers a time when Kai flinched at praise, when the idea of someone staying felt like a lie. And now…

Now he’s looking at Beomgyu like he hung the stars.

Yeonjun's gaze slides towards the boy in question. He’s watching Kai too, from a small distance, his thumb running absently over the button of a gaming controller in his hand. There’s a tiny crease between his brows. Not jealousy, just that soft, lost expression Yeonjun’s only seen on Beomgyu’s face when he’s trying very hard to pretend he doesn’t want to pull Kai into his arms and keep him there forever.

Yeonjun sighs.

He hadn’t trusted Beomgyu at first. Not entirely. There was something too slippery about him; too many masks, too many games, and maybe some of that’s still there, but Yeonjun’s not blind. He’s seen the way Beomgyu looks at Kai when he’s not trying to be cool. The way he always lingers a second too long when they part. The way he stops mid-sentence sometimes, like he can’t remember what he was saying because Kai’s laughing, and nothing else seems to matter.

Yeonjun’s wary, but he’s not ungrateful.

Kai has someone. Someone who seems to actually want to stick around, and maybe that’s enough.

A tug at his hand draws him back. Soobin is looking at him with quiet concern, head tilted, his thumb gently brushing Yeonjun’s knuckles.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay? You zoned out.”

Yeonjun hums. “Just thinking.”

Soobin doesn’t press. He just steps a little closer, eyes flicking across the room then narrowing slightly.

“Is Beomgyu… sulking?” he asks after a beat.

Yeonjun blinks and turns to follow his gaze. Sure enough, Beomgyu is hunched over the Mario Kart console in the corner, playing a single-player round with the stubborn concentration of someone who’s just been third-wheeled by his own boyfriend.

Kai and Taehyun are too busy howling with laughter over some zombie shooter disaster to notice. Beomgyu doesn’t even glance up as Yeonjun and Soobin watch him.

Yeonjun’s mouth twitches. “Oh my god. He is.”

“I thought he’d be used to it by now,” Soobin murmurs. “Taehyun and Kai have been inseparable since they’ve reunited.”

Yeonjun smirks. “Poor kid.”

And before he can say another word, Soobin is tugging him forward, weaving between machines with his usual quiet determination. “Come on. Let’s go bully him.”

Yeonjun laughs, letting himself be pulled along. “You’re annoying… I like it.”

“I know,” Soobin says with a smug little smile, and Yeonjun grins the whole way across the arcade.

When they’re done teasing Beomgyu, they slip into another photo booth, its cramped space suddenly feeling like the safest little bubble outside the noisy arcade. The camera’s countdown flashes – 3, 2, 1 – and Yeonjun leans over, attempting to steal a quick kiss from Soobin before each shot snaps. Soobin’s laughter bubbles out, warm and genuine, every time Yeonjun’s lips brush against his cheek or press softly to his temple. By the last photo, they’re both giggling so hard their poses are less about looking good and more about capturing the joy between them.

Afterwards, they wander over to the dance machine, a neon-lit console blaring pop beats. Yeonjun steps up first, confident as ever, but Soobin’s turn reveals a surprising finesse; he hits every arrow with precision, almost effortlessly. Yeonjun frowns dramatically, stomping his feet and throwing up his hands in mock frustration.

“You’re cheating,” he accuses with a pout, swaying exaggeratedly.

“Begging to differ,” Soobin says, smirking. “Maybe you’re just rusty.”

“Rusty? More like outclassed,” Yeonjun mutters, flopping onto a nearby bench. 

Soobin laughs, the sound light and full of affection. “Aww, look at you being all sulky. You’re so cute when you sulk.”

Yeonjun shoots him a mock glare, though the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “Cute, huh? I’m the better dancer here, don’t let that score fool you.”

“So you say,” Soobin teases, reaching over to ruffle Yeonjun’s hair gently. “You’re still my favourite dancer. Hands down.”

Yeonjun sighs, resting his head on Soobin’s shoulder, clearly not ready to concede the game just yet.

That’s when Soobin launches his playful attack; soft kisses pressed against Yeonjun’s jaw, trailing down to his neck. Yeonjun twitches at the unexpected sensation, a small smile breaking through the sulk.

“Stop it,” Yeonjun murmurs between kisses, though his voice is far from annoyed.

“Can’t help it,” Soobin grins, eyes shining mischievously. “You’re too adorable.”

Slowly, the sulk fades, replaced by warmth that spreads through Yeonjun’s chest. He wraps an arm around Soobin, pulling him close, their laughter blending with the arcade’s noisy hum. The playful tension melts away, leaving only the quiet certainty of being exactly where he wants to be.

They exchange soft touches, fingertips grazing with the ease of familiarity. Soobin leans in close, his warm breath brushing against Yeonjun’s ear as he whispers jokes so silly they make Yeonjun snort with laughter. “You know,” Soobin murmurs, “if you practiced half as much as you sulk, you might actually win next time.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes but can’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. “Oh, please. I’m just letting you feel better about yourself. You’ll get tired of winning soon enough.”

Soobin winks, his gaze softening. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of beating you.” He brushes a stray lock of hair from Yeonjun’s forehead, the touch gentle but lingering just a second longer than necessary. It’s a small gesture, but Yeonjun feels the weight of it.

Around them, the arcade buzzes with noise – flashing lights, the blips and beeps of games, distant cheers from other players – but in this chaotic bubble, Yeonjun finds a calm centre. The world outside might be messy and uncertain, but here, with Soobin, everything simplifies. He thinks about how easy it is with Soobin; no second-guessing, no hesitancy. Just a safety net he can lean into without fear of falling. Soobin doesn’t pry into the corners of his mind where the doubts linger, he doesn’t rush or pressure him. 

It makes everything else feel less daunting, like a quiet harbour in the middle of a storm.

Yeonjun catches Soobin’s eye and smiles softly. “You know, you make everything feel a little easier.”

Soobin’s smile deepens, a warmth spreading in his gaze. “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? To be your calm.”

Yeonjun playfully swats Soobin’s arm, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Honestly, you should’ve just approached me sooner. Who knows? Maybe we’d already have been together for years by now.”

Soobin laughs softly, then his smile fades just a little, his eyes steady on Yeonjun. “I was too nervous,” he admits quietly. “But it wasn’t just that. I guess I was afraid… Afraid that someone like you, so bright and sure of yourself, wouldn’t see me.”

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, teasing, “And how does it feel, now that you’re finally with the man of your dreams?”

Soobin’s gaze doesn’t waver, and his voice drops low, earnest. “It feels surreal… like everything I’ve ever dreamed of. But it also feels natural, like coming home, like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Like all those fears just fall away when I’m with you. You make me feel seen, in a way I never thought I would.”

The weight of those words sinks deep into Yeonjun’s chest, and even though his question was half-joking, he knows Soobin means every syllable. His breath catches, a quiet vulnerability shining through the usual banter. “You’re so sappy,” he murmurs, voice softer now, touched with something like awe.

“So are you,” Soobin replies with a small, warm smile.

They lean into each other, the noise of the arcade fading away, and Yeonjun closes the distance with a slow, tender kiss; one that speaks of gratitude and something far deeper than words could say.

 

🐰

 

The night is winding down, the neon glow of the karaoke softening as crowds begin to thin. Soobin watches Yeonjun from across the room, catching his eye and calling out with a familiar warmth, inviting him over like he always does. Yeonjun’s face lights up with that mischievous grin Soobin knows so well, the silent confirmation of their quiet ritual; no elaborate plans, just the simple certainty that when the night ends, they’ll end up together. Soobin feels a gentle calm settle over him at the thought. No matter how chaotic the world gets, there’s comfort in this steady rhythm, in knowing Yeonjun will be at his place tonight, as always.

Taehyun is the first to break the quiet lull, as predictable as ever. He announces he’s got an early class in the morning and warns, with mock seriousness, that anyone texting him after 1 AM will be blocked out of pure spite. Soobin smirks, already half-exhausted but amused by the familiar banter.

“Go home, old man,” Yeonjun calls after Taehyun, who’s already striding away, flipping them off over his shoulder without missing a beat. Soobin watches, thinking how effortlessly Yeonjun slips into that teasing big-brother role, the way he always does around this group.

Then Yeonjun turns back, looping an arm casually around Kai’s shoulders. Soobin notices how natural it looks; years of friendship folding into that simple gesture, familiar and comforting. “I’m staying at Soobin’s tonight. That okay?” Yeonjun asks, his voice low and teasing. There’s a softness there, almost like a question hidden beneath the joke.

Kai’s grin is wide, cheeks pink and warm, either from the cold, the night’s laughter, or maybe something more subtle. Soobin watches him lean into Yeonjun, that small, easy closeness that comes from knowing each other inside out. Beomgyu is close by too, and Soobin catches how intently he watches Kai, as if memorising every flicker of expression.

“You don’t need to ask me that,” Kai replies, voice light but sure.

Yeonjun raises an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at Beomgyu. “Just being polite. Wouldn’t want to cockblock your boyfriend, now would I?”

Soobin chuckles quietly, warmed by the teasing exchange. Kai snorts, not even bothering to hide how obvious it is. “Beomgyu’s definitely staying over.”

Yeonjun cackles, already grabbing Soobin’s hand and pulling him forward, grinning mischievously. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” he calls over his shoulder, though with Yeonjun, those words are mostly empty; full of mischief, not meaning.

Soobin yawns, half asleep already, letting himself be dragged along like luggage, but he can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. Moments like this – messy, chaotic, full of jokes and easy friendship – remind him how much he belongs here, how much he belongs with Yeonjun.  They make it back to the apartment in seven minutes flat. The streets are quieter now, the buzz of the arcade and the warmth of their friends left behind, tucked into the folds of the night. Yeonjun is still clinging to Soobin’s arm like a particularly dramatic scarf, making dramatic groaning noises about his feet and how Soobin should consider carrying him bridal-style next time. Soobin just snorts and unlocks the door.

Inside, the place is dim and familiar; quiet, lived-in, warm in a way that always settles something in Soobin’s chest. Beomgyu’s shoes are still by the front door, his jacket half-thrown over the arm of the sofa like always, and the faint hum of the fridge is the only sound. Yeonjun kicks off his sneakers and sighs, stretching his arms like he’s arrived at a hotel. “Finally,” he groans. “I thought we’d never get home.”

Home.

Soobin doesn’t say anything, but the word settles deep.

They make their way to Soobin’s room, and it’s only once the door clicks shut behind them that the full weight of Yeonjun’s presence becomes obvious again. His fingerprints are everywhere in here, like his body just expands to fill any space it touches. What was once Soobin’s room now looks more like a curated mix of two lives blended without ceremony.

There’s a second toothbrush by the sink. Not tucked away or hidden in a travel pouch, just there, standing beside Soobin’s like it belongs. A second set of skincare bottles, labelled in Yeonjun’s familiar handwriting. On the desk, Soobin’s neatly stacked script pages share space with swathes of muslin, half-drawn fashion sketches, pins, and a measuring tape curled like a sleeping cat. Yeonjun’s portable sewing machine lives beneath the desk now, and the mannequin in the corner has been draped with half-finished pattern pieces, delicate lines and stitching held together with pearl-topped pins.

Yeonjun flops face-first onto the bed like a corpse, groaning into the mattress. “You seriously need a bigger bed. You’re tall, but I’m the one with standards.”

Soobin rolls his eyes, moving around the room to pick up a hoodie that’s absolutely not his: it’s cropped and hot pink and smells like Yeonjun’s perfume. “Then go sleep in your own bed.”

There’s a muffled laugh from the mattress. “You mean my luxurious, memory foam, ultra soft, but Soobin-less bed? No thanks.”

Soobin pauses, hoodie still in his hands. It’s not even a joke anymore. In the past month, it feels like Yeonjun has practically moved in. The spare keys are in his bag, the wardrobe has two full sections now – one for Soobin, one for Yeonjun – and sometimes, Soobin finds his chargers missing because Yeonjun’s borrowed them to work late into the night sketching or sewing something on the floor.

It’s not just toothbrushes and clothes. It’s the way Yeonjun folds his socks into perfect little squares and lines them up in the drawer like it’s a boutique. It’s the way their mugs end up mismatched because Yeonjun insists on using the same chipped one every morning. It’s the playlist that autoplays when Soobin turns on the speaker, the laundry that smells like Yeonjun’s detergent, the sketchbooks stuffed into the shelves beside acting books.

“Yah,” Yeonjun says, voice muffled as he turns his head toward Soobin. “You’re staring like you’ve seen a ghost. Or worse. A cockroach.”

Soobin blinks, caught in the moment. “Nothing,” he mutters, pulling off his hoodie. “You just… really take up space, that’s all.”

Yeonjun grins, pushing himself upright with the grace of a cat who knows they’re wanted even when they pretend not to care. “Well, good thing you’ve got a big heart so you’ve got space for me.”

Soobin scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it. “I should start charging you rent.”

“Rude. I provide priceless companionship, endless entertainment, and unmatched beauty.”

“And three unwashed mugs on my nightstand.”

“Artistic clutter,” Yeonjun corrects, stretching again with a dramatic sigh. “You’re welcome.”

It’s ridiculous, how natural this has become. How easy. There’s no big ceremony to any of it, no long-winded discussion about boundaries or toothbrushes or what it means when Yeonjun leaves his keys in the dish by the door and texts Soobin when he’ll be home late. It just happened. Like they gravitated here before they even noticed they’d moved.

Yeonjun pulls his top over his head and flings it onto the desk chair. “We showering separately or together?”

Soobin throws a pillow at him. “As if you have to ask.”

Later, when they’ve both washed and changed, when the lights are dimmed and the blankets are pulled up around them, Soobin finds himself watching Yeonjun quietly from his side of the bed. Yeonjun’s head is tilted, hair still damp, reading something on his phone with his glasses on; frames he only ever wears at night, when he doesn’t think anyone’s paying attention. Soobin reaches out and tugs one of Yeonjun’s wrists toward him, just enough to make him glance over.

“What?” Yeonjun asks, but there’s already a smile tugging at his lips.

Soobin doesn’t answer right away. He just intertwines their fingers, gently, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“Nothing,” he says again, quieter this time. “Just… stay over. Like always.”

Yeonjun gives him a look, exasperated but fond. “I already took up half your flat, idiot. I’m not going anywhere.”

And somehow, that’s enough to make Soobin exhale like he’s been holding it in all night. Not a dramatic declaration, not a confession. Just a truth between them. Just Yeonjun, already here.

Already home.

Yeonjun’s quiet for a while after that, phone abandoned somewhere between the pillows, glasses set down carefully on the nightstand. Soobin thinks he’s winding down for the night, but then Yeonjun shifts, swinging his legs off the bed and padding across the room with the heavy drag of someone lost in thought. He doesn’t say anything at first, just crouches beside the study desk and starts rifling through the folders and sketchbooks piled in the corner.

Soobin watches from the bed, chin resting on his arm. “What are you doing?”

“Having a crisis,” Yeonjun says, voice flat and muffled as he pulls out a thick folder and flips it open. “A slow, painful, fabric-based crisis.”

He groans, loud and theatrical, pressing a hand to his forehead like he’s in a Shakespearean tragedy, before grabbing a stack of paper and carrying it back over. He tosses the sketches onto the duvet between them and flops down again, legs still dangling off the edge of the bed. “I’m losing it. Look at these. Seriously. Just look.”

Soobin props himself up on one elbow and glances down at the designs. They’re good. Beautiful, actually. Crisp lines, bold silhouettes, layers of texture and movement. A mix of soft and sharp, fabric panels sweeping over angular frames, exposed seams and asymmetry that somehow feels deliberate instead of messy. There’s a rawness to them, unfinished in a way that looks intentional, but Soobin’s not exactly a fashion student. He knows how to read a scene, memorise a monologue, break down a script. He doesn’t always know how to read the language of Yeonjun’s art. Still, he knows when something’s been laboured over. He can feel it in the strokes of pencil pressed into the page.

“They’re incredible,” he says, frowning in confusion. “What’s the problem?”

Yeonjun groans again, dragging a hand through his hair. “They’re not what I want them to be. I don’t know. I’ve been staring at them for so long I can’t tell if they’re edgy or just… a mess.”

Soobin’s quiet for a moment. He shifts to sit up properly, crossing his legs beneath him and reaching out to touch the edge of one sketch carefully, mindful not to smudge the graphite. “What’s your vision?”

Yeonjun exhales, head tilting back against the headboard. “Androgynous. Edgy. Innovative. Something that makes people stop and go, ‘I’ve never seen that before but I love it.’ Like what Mugler did in the ‘90s. Or Yohji Yamamoto, how everything looked like it shouldn’t work but it did. I want it to be weird and bold and sort of… fluid? Like something out of a dream, or a really strange music video. But wearable. I want to blur lines without losing structure.”

Soobin hums thoughtfully, eyes scanning over the pieces again. Now that he’s heard that, he can see it: the skeletal shapes hinted beneath sheer overlays, the stark contrasts, the tug-of-war between softness and severity. The designs are bold. They don’t scream elegance in the traditional sense, but they’re distinct, and they carry Yeonjun’s touch all over them. There’s movement, character, something that feels more like performance than clothing. Something alive.

“You’re close,” he murmurs, fingers ghosting over one particular sketch with a sharp, curved shoulder and a cinched waist that bleeds into draping silk panels. “But maybe that’s the problem, you’re pulling back at the last second. Like you’re scared of going too far. Of it being too strange.”

Yeonjun’s brow furrows. “Because if it is too strange, no one will wear it.”

Soobin nods slowly. “Right. But your whole point is to challenge that idea. If you’re designing to blur lines and break expectations, then you have to go past the line. Be brave about it. The best pieces you’ve done – the ones that made people stop at showcases last year – were the ones you didn’t tame.”

Yeonjun stares at him, lips parted slightly.

Soobin leans in, tapping the corner of another sketch. “What if you played with illusion? Not just through layering, but by warping the body’s silhouette, elongating in places, constricting in others. Like… letting structure interrupt the human form. Something architectural, almost aggressive. Still wearable, but surreal.”

Yeonjun blinks. “Like using corsetry in odd placements. Shoulder or thigh. Waist distortion.”

“Exactly.” Soobin’s warming up now, ideas sparking faster than he can censor them. “And fabric choice matters. Try pairing something glossy and synthetic – vinyl or latex – with an unexpected natural textile. Hemp or raw silk. That tension between man-made and organic would reflect the gender fluidity you want, right? Something that rejects binary logic.”

Yeonjun is staring at him like he’s grown a second head.

Soobin hesitates, suddenly unsure. “Too much?”

But Yeonjun exhales, one sharp breath like he’s been winded. Then he’s grinning slowly, almost disbelieving. “No. No, that’s it. That’s exactly it. You get it. Like– it’s like you’re in my head, but saying it smarter.”

He reaches for the sketch he was complaining about earlier, eyes darting over the lines with new energy. “Okay, yeah, if I extend the bust line here and exaggerate the taper of the leg, then use a mesh overlay to offset the bulk– shit, I was thinking too safe. You’re right. I was taming it.”

Soobin smiles, half proud, half dazed. “Well… I’m glad it helped.”

But Yeonjun’s still looking at him. There’s something new in his eyes now, softer but sharper too. “How do you know all this?” he asks, brow furrowed with genuine confusion. “Like… you’re not a fashion student. You’ve never sat through one of Professor Hwang’s lectures. But you’re talking like you’ve done five internships and read the entire Vogue runway archive.”

Soobin flushes, glancing down at the mess of sketches spread across the bed. He fiddles with the corner of one page, then shrugs like it’s nothing. “I… might’ve taken a minor in fashion during first year.”

Yeonjun’s mouth drops open. “You what?”

Soobin cringes. “Just for one semester,” he says quickly. “I didn’t tell anyone because it didn’t last. I was already stretched thin trying to balance acting classes, dance, rehearsals, and everything else. Fashion studio was just… too much.”

“But why’d you even take it?” Yeonjun asks, incredulous.

There’s a beat. A pause thick enough to hold Soobin’s nervousness, the quiet rhythm of the night pressing in around them.

And then Soobin, very softly, says, “Because I had a stupid crush on you. You were this loud, brilliant, ridiculous fashion major who wore sequins to orientation and a sheer blouse to your first lecture, and I thought if I learned about what you loved, maybe I’d have a better chance of talking to you. Maybe you’d notice me.”

He laughs, a little embarrassed. “I was this weird, quiet theatre kid with a mop of hair and a crush the size of a mountain. So I signed up. I sat in on lectures, sewed a sleeve backwards, and nearly burned a dart trying to press it. And I still remember the exact moment I gave up. I had a fitting and a rehearsal on the same day, and I ran out of the sewing lab with pins stuck in my jumper.”

Yeonjun is silent.

Completely, utterly silent.

Soobin looks up warily. “...Hyung? Was that too weird?”

Yeonjun’s expression is unreadable. A slow, blooming sort of astonishment softens his features. His eyes flick between Soobin’s face and the scattered sketches on the bed. Then, very suddenly, he’s climbing over the drawings, pushing them aside with careful hands as he moves into Soobin’s space.

And then he’s kissing him.

Not softly. Not playfully.

Like he’s trying to communicate the exact weight of his heart through every press of his mouth. Again and again and again. One on Soobin’s cheek, one on his nose, one just under his jaw before returning to his lips like it’s home.

Soobin blinks, startled. “Hyung–”

“You took a minor for me,” Yeonjun says breathlessly, pulling back just an inch to meet his eyes. “You took an actual, academic, graded minor to impress me? Are you insane?”

Soobin groans, hiding his face. “Stop. Don’t make it weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Yeonjun insists, catching his wrists and pulling them away. “It’s literally the most flattering thing anyone’s ever done for me. I cannot believe you went to class for a crush. That’s… God. That’s some grand romantic drama shit. That’s Shakespeare. That’s peak cinema.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Soobin mutters, pink to his ears.

“Obviously. I’m dating a theatre major who took fashion classes for me. I’m allowed to be dramatic.” Yeonjun grins, leaning back just enough to smother Soobin in kisses again. “You absolute maniac. My genius maniac. My muse.”

Soobin makes a strangled noise. “Muse? You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” Yeonjun says, unapologetically smug. “And I’m never going to let you go.”

Soobin lets out a breathless laugh, giving up and letting Yeonjun pepper him with more kisses. They tumble backwards onto the bed, the sketches wrinkling beneath them and forgotten for now, replaced by the warmth of shared history and soft laughter.

Outside, the city buzzes on, but in this moment, in this bed they’ve half-claimed together, everything is calm. Everything is safe.

And Yeonjun – so endlessly loud and chaotic and creative – looks at Soobin like he’s found the one person who understands every unfinished sketch, every frayed edge, every impossible dream.

And Soobin thinks, maybe he has. 

Notes:

i figured you guys deserve a break from all the angst, so here's a soft fluffy yeonbin chapter for all of you before we dive right back into the angst! i have the next chapter like 70% written, so i'm probably going to be able to post it tomorrow night!!

how'd you like this fluffy chapter? please let me know in the comments!

and also, i made a strawpage!! please feel free to leave an anon ask/message or even a lil drawing on my page hehe it would be so fun to see <3 here's the link!!: koostiddy.straw.page

Chapter 18

Summary:

“Well, this is... wholesome,” Doyoon says, eyeing Kai, who’s smiling politely but clearly confused. “You guys always this close during breaks?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu says flatly. “Got a problem?”

“Nah, nah,” Minjun replies smoothly. “Just thinking of how… close you are now.”

Beomgyu’s blood runs cold. He knows Minjun isn’t talking about how close he and Kai have gotten. He’s talking about how close he is to the deadline.

Notes:

this chapter is shorter than usual but i hope you still enjoy it regardless!! happy reading~

🧸

 

Beomgyu doesn’t know what’s worse: the fact that he hasn’t slept properly in days or the way Kai keeps beaming at him from the back of the practice room like the world’s most devoted boyfriend. Every time he glances up from his mic stand, there he is; Kai in his oversized hoodie and that soft, giddy expression, legs bouncing lightly to the beat. Yeonjun’s beside him, equally loud in his support, whooping every time Soobin nails a solo. The room smells like sweat and cheap vending machine coffee, but somehow it all feels warm. It shouldn’t.

“Take five, yeah?” Soobin calls out, wiping at his forehead with his sleeve. “I need water or I’ll die right here.”

There’s a collective sigh of agreement as everyone starts setting their instruments down. Beomgyu hears Taehyun groan as he stretches out his fingers, shaking out the stiffness, and pats his shoulder while they make their way over to the two. Kai’s already on his feet, offering him a water bottle like he’s been waiting the whole session for this one small act of care.

“You looked really hot just now,” Kai says, laughing a little as Beomgyu takes the bottle. “I feel like dropping down to my knees.”

Beomgyu gives a half-smile, something tight behind it. “Kai!”

Beomgyu laughs, but it catches awkwardly in his throat, not quite reaching his eyes. The image Kai paints – so casually, so trustingly – makes his heart thud painfully against his ribs. He wants to. God, he wants to more than anything. Every time Kai touches him, every time he looks at him like he's the only thing that matters, Beomgyu feels like he's standing on the edge of something he doesn’t deserve, and yet, he always pulls away. Not because he doesn’t want it, but because he can’t bring himself to cross that line while the bet still hangs like a noose around his neck. It would make everything feel dirty – make him feel dirty – and Kai deserves so much more than that.

Kai sits down cross-legged beside Yeonjun, who immediately slings an arm around him and starts teasing him about how heart eyes he looked. Beomgyu lowers himself to the floor between Kai and Taehyun, trying not to stare too long at Kai, trying not to want too much. The conversation flows easily around him: light-hearted teasing, Soobin complaining about Taehyun’s “impossible” guitar solos, Yeonjun pretending to be their manager. It’s the kind of break Beomgyu usually loves, that rare moment where it feels like nothing bad could touch them.

Then the door opens.

It’s subtle at first, just the creak of the handle and the buzz of students filing in, probably from the other bands who booked the room next. Nothing unusual, but then he sees them, two heads in the small crowd that make his stomach twist with instinctive dread. Minjun and Doyoon.

They’re laughing about something between them, arms casually draped around their guitar cases like they haven’t spent the past few months holding a noose over Beomgyu’s head. Beomgyu goes cold. His eyes flick automatically to Soobin, who’s still mid-laugh at something Taehyun said, then to Kai, whose back is to the door, blissfully unaware. He thinks maybe if he looks away fast enough, they’ll pretend they didn’t see him, but of course, that’s wishful thinking.

Minjun locks eyes with him like a wolf scenting blood, his mouth curling into a smile that Beomgyu immediately mistrusts. Doyoon follows his gaze, spots the group, and nudges Minjun in that direction. Beomgyu’s heartbeat stutters as they start walking over.

“Oh, god,” he mutters before he can help himself.

Soobin hears it and turns. “What?”

Beomgyu doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have time.

“Didn’t realise this was where the party was,” Minjun says as he saunters up, all lazy swagger and fake charm. “What’s up, Gyu? Soobin?”

Soobin gives them a simple nod as Beomgyu forces a tight-lipped smile. “Didn’t know you were joining rehearsal.”

“Got a practical in two weeks,” Doyoon answers, letting his gaze travel over the group. “Oh, hi! Kai, right? Nice to see that you’re still hanging around Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu can feel the tension ratcheting up with each second they linger. His hands feel clammy. He wants to shrink into himself.

Yeonjun, who’s been eyeing them with casual suspicion, tilts his head. “You two friends of Beomgyu and Soobin?”

Minjun doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, yeah. We go way back. Right, guys?”

“Unfortunately,” Beomgyu mutters under his breath.

Taehyun says nothing, but his eyes have narrowed slightly. Soobin, beside Beomgyu, stiffens almost imperceptibly. Beomgyu doesn’t even have to look at him to know what he’s thinking because Soobin is supposed to think the bet’s been called off. That Beomgyu ended it ages ago, but now Minjun is here, acting like it’s still in play.

“Well, this is... wholesome,” Doyoon says, eyeing Kai, who’s smiling politely but clearly confused. “You guys always this close during breaks?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu says flatly. “Got a problem?”

“Nah, nah,” Minjun replies smoothly. “Just thinking of how… close you are now.”

Beomgyu’s blood runs cold. He knows Minjun isn’t talking about how close he and Kai have gotten. He’s talking about how close he is to the deadline.

Soobin turns sharply to look at him, and for a moment Beomgyu swears his heart actually stops. Kai, blessedly, doesn’t seem to understand the implication. He just raises his brows at Beomgyu, confused. Yeonjun’s gaze flickers between them, clearly clocking the shift in tone. Taehyun, ever so perceptive, is staring Beomgyu down like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

Doyoon laughs, too loud. “We’ll leave you to it, then. Good luck, Gyu. Hope you... finish strong.”

Minjun flashes a final smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and turns to walk away. Doyoon follows, tossing one last look over his shoulder that makes Beomgyu want to be sick. They move to the far corner of the room, practicing with the rest of the group they came in with. No one speaks for a moment.

Then Soobin gets to his feet. “I need air,” he says shortly, and walks out, clearly signalling at Beomgyu to follow him, but Beomgyu is frozen to his seat.

Kai watches him go, puzzled. “Is he okay?”

Beomgyu shrugs, mouth dry. “Think the practice wore him out.”

Kai nods slowly but doesn’t seem convinced. Taehyun frowns. “Those guys always talk like that?”

Beomgyu’s jaw clenches. “Only when they want to make me miserable.”

Taehyun doesn’t say anything in response, but his eyes are sharp and steady on Beomgyu, studying him with the quiet intuition that’s always made Beomgyu feel a little exposed. Beomgyu doesn’t look away. He has to make it seem like nothing’s wrong, but god, is it difficult. Not when everything’s this close to falling apart.

 

🧸

 

The last few chords of their encore fade out into the hum of amps cooling, the clatter of sticks tossed into a bag, the scrape of mic stands being pushed aside. Practice wraps up smoother than usual, the high from playing in sync and the rush of approval from their tiny but vocal audience – Yeonjun and Kai – leaving everyone flushed and a little breathless. Even Taehyun looks pleased, which is saying something.

Yeonjun’s clapping like an overexcited stage mum. “You guys were so good. Like, unreasonably good. I don’t know if I want to throw my bra on stage or sign you for a record deal.”

“We’ll take both,” Beomgyu jokes, wiping sweat off his neck with a towel. “Though I’d have to fight Soobin for the bra.”

Kai snorts while Soobin rolls his eyes, but the tension in his jaw doesn’t fade. Beomgyu clocks it, just briefly, before Kai tugs his arm and starts rambling about how tight they sounded during the breakdown of their third song. Beomgyu lets himself get swept into the conversation, half-heartedly laughing along, trying not to look over at Soobin too obviously.

Yeonjun groans loudly, dragging a hand through his fringe. “I hate that I have to go. My professor moved up my consultation, and if I reschedule again, he’s going to think I’m an unserious fashion dabbler with commitment issues.”

Beomgyu snorts. “Aren’t you?”

Yeonjun flips him off without malice. “You wish.”

“I’ll walk with you part of the way, hyung,” Taehyun offers, packing away his keyboard with meticulous care. “I need to get home. I’ve got some revisions I want to work on.”

“Of course you do,” Kai says, grinning. “What would you be if not perfect?”

Taehyun raises an eyebrow. “Well-rested?”

They all laugh, even Soobin, though his smile’s a tight little thing, there and gone in a blink. Beomgyu sees it but doesn’t have the time or courage to say anything before Taehyun slings his bag over one shoulder and nods toward the door. Yeonjun is already pulling on his coat with dramatic flair.

“I expect live updates from your little sleepover,” Yeonjun says, pointing at Kai and Beomgyu like a scandalised aunt before walking over to Soobin and giving him a sweet kiss. “I’m sorry I can’t come over tonight.”

Soobin shakes his head and pulls him into a tight hug. “Don’t even worry about it, babe. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Kai rolls his eyes but salutes. “Yes, sir.”

There’s a round of goodbyes – Taehyun and Soobin doing their usual awkward hand-clap-hug, Yeonjun nearly squeezing the life out of Kai – and then the group parts ways, the pair of them disappearing down one end of the hall, their chatter fading.

The silence left behind is stark.

Beomgyu lingers a moment by the doorway, watching them go before he turns to Kai, who’s bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, full of energy like the day’s only just begun.

“So,” Kai says brightly. “Shall we?”

Beomgyu nods.

Kai turns to Soobin, beaming. “You don’t mind me crashing, do you, Soobin hyung?”

Soobin gives a stiff shake of his head. “Of course not. You’re welcome any time.”

Beomgyu catches the tension in his tone, the way his eyes flick to Beomgyu just long enough to say we’ll talk later, and suddenly, the walk home stretches out before him like a minefield, each step one bad comment away from detonation.

And Kai – sweet, excited, utterly unaware – just walks on ahead like nothing’s wrong.

The wind has softened into a breeze by the time they leave campus, the sun mellow and low in the sky, casting long shadows down the pavement. Kai’s beside him, shoulder brushing against Beomgyu’s every few steps, talking a mile a minute about the setlist, the lighting, the way Taehyun absolutely murdered his guitar solo even though it was just practice.

“You were so cool, Beomgyu hyung,” Kai says, beaming up at him, completely oblivious to the tension pulling Beomgyu’s shoulders tighter with every word. “Like, insanely cool. When you did that high note during the finale? I literally felt my soul ascend. And don’t get me started on Soobin hyung during the second song, oh my god–”

Soobin hums something that sounds like polite agreement, but it’s too clipped, too stiff. He doesn’t even crack a smile.

Kai doesn’t notice. Of course he doesn’t. He’s still talking, practically skipping as he walks backwards now, grinning at the two of them like he’s starring in a coming-of-age movie. “I seriously don’t get how you guys are real. Like… what kind of talent buff did the universe give your whole friend group?”

Beomgyu wants to laugh or say something snarky, but the knot in his stomach is growing tighter by the second, because Soobin hasn’t said a single word since they left the practice room, and the air between them is thick with something sour. Beomgyu knows what it is. Knows exactly what Soobin must be thinking, and he’s right.

He lied.

He’d looked Soobin in the eye weeks ago and said, I’m done with the bet. It’s over. I told them to shove it, and Soobin had believed him because why wouldn’t he? But now – after what just happened in the practice room, with Minjun and Doyoon circling like vultures and dropping thinly veiled comments about time running out – there’s no way Soobin hasn’t figured it out.

Beomgyu can feel it in the way Soobin keeps a step ahead of them the entire walk, hands jammed deep into his coat pockets, shoulders rigid, jaw tight. He hasn’t looked at Beomgyu once since they left. Just stared straight ahead, eyes narrowed like he’s watching storm clouds roll in.

“Do you guys think people will dance?” Kai’s asking now, laughing at his own question as he loops an arm around Beomgyu’s. “I’m gonna dance no matter what. I’ll drag Yeonjun hyung in too. We’ll start a mosh pit during that one transition.”

“Can’t wait,” Beomgyu says, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

Kai squeezes his arm and lets go, skipping ahead again to catch up with Soobin, who still doesn’t look at either of them. “Soobin hyung, do you think I’ll look weird if I wear glitter under my eyes for the festival? Or is that too much? Yeonjun hyung says he’s going to dress me up.”

Soobin finally turns to glance at him, face unreadable. “Do whatever you want,” he says shortly.

Kai blinks, a little taken aback by the tone, but he smiles anyway. “Okay. Cool. Then it’s settled. Glitter it is.”

Beomgyu watches Kai walk ahead, the breeze tousling his hair, cheeks pink from the cold and the lingering high of a good day, and god, he hates himself a little in that moment; or ruining something so light, so soft, with all the weight he’s been dragging behind him since the start of this.

The apartment’s warm when they step inside, but it feels anything but. Soobin disappears into the kitchen to pour himself a cool glass of water – no doubt to cool himself off from the anger – and Beomgyu’s left in the living room with Kai, who’s toeing off his shoes by the shoe rack and humming some pop song under his breath.

“Wanna order chicken later?” Kai asks, dropping his bag onto the couch. “I’m craving something greasy and unhealthy. You down?”

Beomgyu nods, barely registering the question. His mind’s still in the kitchen with Soobin, still stuck on the look he had given him; tired, disappointed, like he already knows the answer but is still hoping it’s not what he thinks.

Kai throws himself onto the couch, pulling his hoodie over his head in one smooth motion, his shirt underneath riding up slightly. “I feel gross. Can we shower together? I don’t feel like waiting.”

Beomgyu opens his mouth, but no words come out. His throat feels thick, choked with guilt. He wants to say yes. Desperately. Wants to kiss the little pout forming on Kai’s lips, wants to follow him into the steam and forget everything else, but he can’t. Not like this. Not while Soobin knows he lied, but before he can even formulate a gentle excuse, Soobin’s voice cuts sharply through the moment from the kitchen doorway.

“Sorry Kai-yah,” he says, calm but pointed. “I need to borrow Beomgyu for a second.”

Kai glances over, half-sat up again. “Hm? What for?”

“Apartment stuff,” Soobin replies smoothly, stepping into view with his arms crossed. “Some admin forms. Price adjustments or something. Won’t take long.”

“Oh.” Kai’s brows furrow, but then he shrugs. “Okay. I’ll shower first, then. I’ll wait for you in your room, alright, hyungie?”

Beomgyu nods stiffly, offering a tight smile. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

He watches Kai disappear down the hallway, the bedroom door clicking shut behind him. A few seconds later, the water begins to run, distant and muffled but unmistakable, and then Soobin is tugging him by the arm, wordless and brisk, leading him to the balcony. The air outside is cooler than expected, and Beomgyu shivers slightly as Soobin slides the door closed with a soft but final thud. The glass muffles the shower noise just enough to make sure their conversation can’t be overheard, but Soobin’s voice doesn’t rise above a low, steely murmur.

“You didn’t call it off, did you?”

Beomgyu’s heart stutters. “What–”

Soobin gives him a flat look. “Don’t. I saw your face earlier. The second Minjun and Doyoon showed up. You looked like you were going to be sick.”

Beomgyu swallows, his throat dry. “It’s not like that–”

“So you didn’t tell them you were out?” Soobin presses, arms still folded, eyes sharp. “You told me you did. Weeks ago. And I trusted you.”

“I wanted to.” Beomgyu’s voice cracks, small and hoarse. “I meant to. I swear, hyung. I was going to, but...”

“But you didn’t,” Soobin finishes for him, tone clipped. “You let me believe you had, all this time. That you weren’t lying to Kai anymore. That you weren’t using him.”

“I’m not–” Beomgyu cuts himself off, hands fisting at his sides. “I’m not using him.”

“You think that matters if the truth comes out?” Soobin’s voice isn’t loud, but it’s sharp enough to sting. “You think he’ll care whether or not you ‘meant to’? Gyu, you’ve had months.”

“I know.”

“He loves you.” That part is softer. Not angry, just exhausted. “He loves you, I can tell, and every day you don’t tell him is another day you’re choosing the bet over him.”

“He doesn’t love me,” Beomgyu denies, but deep inside, something stirs. He’s not ready to confront that just yet, though.

“Yes, he does, Beomgyu. You can’t stand here and fucking look me in the eyes and deny the fact that that boy is in love with you.” Soobin spits, his eyes blazing with rage.

Beomgyu says nothing. He can’t. The words lodge in his throat like splinters, all sharp and shameful and impossible to swallow. He wants to deny it again, wants to deflect or make some weak joke to lighten the air, but Soobin’s stare is too steady, too tired, too furious for anything less than the truth.

“I tried,” Beomgyu finally whispers, the words cracking apart in the cold air between them. “I did. I told them I wanted out.”

Soobin’s arms are still crossed, jaw tight. “And?”

“They said no.”

Beomgyu presses his back to the railing, breath fogging in front of him. “Doyoon didn’t even look surprised. Like he knew I’d come crawling back the moment things got serious. And Minjun–” He laughs bitterly, voice low and shaking. “Minjun said if I tried to quit, they’d send the video to Kai.”

Soobin goes still.

“What video?”

“There’s a video… Minjun filmed me bragging about it, like a fucking idiot, and they said they’d send it to Kai if I try anything. I was drunk. I was stupid. But they’re serious.”

Soobin’s breath hitches. “Jesus.”

“I’ve tried to get it deleted. I’ve begged.” Beomgyu laughs bitterly. “You think I like being their puppet? You think I haven’t wanted to throw myself off a roof every time Kai looks at me like I’m the best thing that ever happened to him?”

Soobin doesn’t respond right away. He’s still staring at Beomgyu like he doesn’t quite recognise him; like the person in front of him isn’t the same best friend he’s known since they were babies, the one who used to make stupid faces to make him laugh during tests, who once cried during a dog food commercial and claimed it was allergies. His expression flickers between disbelief and something that looks an awful lot like heartbreak.

“I thought you were better than this,” he says eventually, and it’s not loud or dramatic; just soft, level, and devastating in its honesty.

Beomgyu’s chest caves a little. “I was trapped, hyung.”

“Trapped?” Soobin laughs incredulously. “I fucking told you in the beginning not to do this, Beomgyu. You brought this onto yourself.”

Beomgyu flinches. “I know. I know you did. But I didn’t think it’d get this far. I didn’t know– I didn’t mean for any of it to go this far. At the start, it was just a dare, just a way to… I don’t know, prove something. I thought it’d be harmless. I didn’t think I’d–”

“Didn’t think you’d fall for him?” Soobin snaps, voice rising for the first time. “Didn’t think you’d end up actually caring about the boy you were supposed to seduce like some fucked up challenge?”

Beomgyu looks away, jaw clenched. “No. I didn’t think he’d mean so much to me. I didn’t think he’d be so–”

“So what?” Soobin cuts in sharply. “So real? So kind? So much better than the version of you who thought this would be a game?” He’s seething now, arms crossed tight across his chest, like if he doesn’t keep himself together he might do something he regrets. “You keep trying to justify this like it’s some tragic misunderstanding. Like you were ‘trapped’ and had no way out. But Gyu, you’re in love with him now.”

“I’m not in–”

“God, Gyu, the least you could do for yourself is not deny your feelings. You’re in love with him and you fucking know it. And the worst part is, he’s in love with you too!”

Beomgyu’s throat closes up. He’s heard it before – moments ago, even – but hearing it again makes it ache more, somehow. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Then why are you still lying to him?” Soobin says, and this time it’s not angry. It’s just… tired. “Why are you still letting this thing rot in the corner of what you have with him, poisoning it every time he smiles at you like you hung the fucking moon?”

Beomgyu swallows hard. “Because if I tell him, I lose him.”

“You already are losing him,” Soobin says, and it hits like a punch to the gut. “Every time you push him away, every time you let him wonder why you won’t touch him the way he wants you to, you’re losing him piece by piece. And when he finds out the truth, which he will, it won’t just be the lie that breaks him. It’ll be that you were cowardly. That you let it drag on like this.”

Beomgyu’s voice breaks at the end, thick with a quiet desperation that doesn’t suit him, doesn’t suit the boy Soobin’s known his whole life. “I’m stuck at a dead end, hyung. If I call off the bet, Kai gets sent the video. If I let the deadline come and go without sleeping with him, they’ll still send it out of spite. If I go through with it…” He swallows, voice faltering. “If I sleep with him, knowing it started because of that dare, I’m disgusting.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, fingernails digging into his scalp. “There’s no version of this where I don’t lose him. No version where I come out clean. I’m backed into a fucking corner, and the longer I stay here, the more I feel like I’m going to tear myself apart.”

Soobin just stares, the anger in his expression slowly draining into something quieter, something heavier. “You’re not wrong,” he says eventually, and that might be the worst part; he isn’t offering comfort, or trying to downplay it. “There isn’t a clean way out of this anymore. That was months ago. You passed every off-ramp.”

Beomgyu winces. Soobin’s silent for a long moment, the only sound the night breeze flowing past them. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter.

“So what’s your plan, then? Just keep lying to him until when? Until they finally release the video? Until he finds out some other way?”

Beomgyu presses his palms to his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t fucking know, hyung.”

Another beat of silence. Then:

“You should’ve told me.” It’s not sharp this time, just disappointed. “If I’d known... if you’d just said something, I could’ve helped you figure something out. But instead you lied. To me. To him. And now it’s all a fucking mess.”

“I didn’t want to drag you into it,” Beomgyu says quietly, eyes fixed on the floor. “I thought… now that you’re with Yeonjun hyung, it’d be easier for you if you didn’t know. If you didn’t have to carry the weight of it like I do. I didn’t want you to feel that pressure, to look at him and know what I’ve done.”

Soobin exhales slowly, the tension in his posture loosening but not vanishing. “Too late for that.”

Beomgyu nods, throat tight. “Yeah.”

“But you still have a choice,” Soobin continues, more gently now. “You always have a choice. You can either keep lying and hope the fallout somehow hurts less when it comes – and it will come – or you can try to be the person he thinks you are. It’ll be better if it came from you rather than Minjun or Doyoon. Even if it costs you everything.”

Beomgyu’s eyes sting. “You think he’ll ever forgive me?”

“I don’t know,” Soobin says honestly. “But at least if you tell him the truth, you’ll know you gave him the choice to walk away. Right now, he’s loving you blindly, and you’re letting him. That’s not love, Gyu. That’s cowardice.”

Silence stretches between them, broken only by the faint rush of the shower still running inside. It sounds far away now, like it belongs to a different world, one that hasn’t caught fire yet.

“I love him,” Beomgyu whispers, voice raw.

“I know you do,” Soobin says, almost sadly. “That’s what makes this so fucking tragic.”

Beomgyu’s knees nearly give. The weight of it all – of Kai’s love, Soobin’s disappointment, the suffocating noose of the bet tightening with each passing day – crushes his lungs like a vice. He rubs at his face with trembling hands, dragging them down as if he could scrape the guilt off his skin, but it clings to him like tar. His voice cracks when he speaks again. “I’m so fucking sorry, hyung. I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve fucking listened to you.”

Soobin doesn’t move at first. Just stares at him with that unreadable look, equal parts tired and torn, but then Beomgyu’s shoulders start to shake, a choked sob escaping before he can swallow it down, and that’s what finally pulls Soobin forward.

He wraps his arms around him, firm and grounding. Beomgyu doesn’t deserve it, not this kindness, not after everything, but he clings to Soobin anyway, like he’s the only stable thing left in a world that’s spinning too fast. His cheek presses to Soobin’s shoulder, and he’s crying now, the kind that steals the air from your lungs and leaves you empty in its wake.

Soobin holds him, but he doesn’t say it’s okay. Doesn’t say it’ll all work out. He just stands there in the cold night air, arms tight around Beomgyu, steady and solid in the silence.

“I’m not saying I forgive you,” he says softly, voice low by Beomgyu’s ear. “You’ve fucked up. Badly. And I’m not going to lie, I’m disappointed. But I still believe in you, Gyu. I still think you can fix this. If you love him the way I know you do… you have to.”

Beomgyu nods against him, tears soaking into the fabric of Soobin’s hoodie. “I will,” he says, though it sounds more like a plea than a promise. “I have to.”

The sound of the shower cuts off abruptly. Pipes groan. The spell breaks.

Soobin glances toward the door. “I won’t say anything. Not yet. But you need to tell him soon.”

Beomgyu nods again, his head a dull throb of guilt and regret. “I know.”

“Don’t let this go any further than it already has.”

“I won’t.”

Soobin slides the balcony door open and steps inside without another word. Beomgyu lingers for a second longer, the night air biting at his skin, before following him back into the warmth.

 

🧸

 

Beomgyu runs the towel over his damp hair one last time before tossing it onto the laundry basket in the corner. Steam still lingers in the ensuite, curling around his ankles, but the cool air of the bedroom rushes in as he opens the door and steps out. His skin feels warm and clean, his oversized tee clinging loosely to his frame, but the knot in his chest remains stubbornly in place, heavy and tight.

Then he sees Kai.

He’s perched cross-legged on the bed, a towel draped over his lap, hair already towel-dried and fluffed up at odd angles. The hair dryer in his hand whirs softly as he tests the heat on his own wrist, looking entirely too serious about it. When he looks up and sees Beomgyu, his whole face lights up like someone flipped a switch inside him.

“You took forever,” Kai grins, patting the empty space between his legs. “Come here. It’s hair spa time.”

Beomgyu’s heart squeezes, tender and aching. He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, even as the weight of his earlier conversation with Soobin presses down harder. He moves wordlessly toward the bed, sitting down in front of Kai with his back to him, and immediately feels Kai’s legs come to rest on either side of his hips, cradling him in that familiar, lazy kind of closeness that Kai gives so freely.

The soft whirring of the dryer starts up again, and Kai gently cards his fingers through Beomgyu’s hair, lifting the strands and drying them with an almost obsessive kind of care. His fingers are warm and gentle, tugging just enough to scratch at Beomgyu’s scalp in a way that makes him melt a little. Every so often, Kai leans in and plants a soft kiss to the crown of his head, murmuring things like “So pretty,” and “Soft like a teddy bear.”

Beomgyu laughs quietly, leaning back into his touch. “You’re spoiling me.”

“Good,” Kai says, combing through the back of his hair again. “You deserve it. Hyuka Spa has a strict policy of over-pampering its favourite clients.”

The sound of Kai’s voice, sweet and full of unfiltered affection, pours over him like honey. Beomgyu wants to let himself relax, wants to soak in the comfort of this moment like it’s real, like it can last, but underneath it all, the echo of Soobin’s words from earlier still lingers, haunting the edges of his thoughts.

He loves you.

Beomgyu swallows hard.

“You’re being extra cute today,” he says, keeping his tone light. “What’d I do to earn VIP treatment?”

Kai hums as he switches off the dryer and sets it on the nightstand. “You performed, like, insanely well today. And you looked hot doing it.”

Beomgyu turns slightly to glance at him, catching the cheeky little smirk on Kai’s lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

He does. God, he does.

“Lie down,” Kai orders, gently pushing at Beomgyu’s shoulder. “Hyuka Spa’s premium skincare treatment is next.”

Beomgyu obliges, stretching out on the bed with his head resting in Kai’s lap. Kai twists open a little tub of moisturiser, scooping some onto his fingers. He spreads it carefully across Beomgyu’s cheeks, his brows furrowed like he’s painting something delicate. His touch is so light, so gentle, like he’s worried Beomgyu might break if he’s not soft enough.

“Close your eyes,” Kai whispers. “Let me take care of you.”

Beomgyu does. He lets his eyes slip shut and breathes in the scent of Kai’s lotion; fresh and floral, just like him. He feels Kai’s fingers glide across his skin, tapping and smoothing the cream into place, followed by the softest press of lips against the tip of his nose.

“Stop kissing me,” Beomgyu mumbles, though he’s smiling.

“Not a chance,” Kai says, pressing another kiss to his temple, then one to the corner of his mouth. “It’s in the Hyuka Spa package deal. You get pampering and infinite kisses.”

“You’re insane.”

“You’re glowing,” Kai counters, running a thumb beneath his eye. “Beautiful even when you’re tired.”

Beomgyu feels like crying.

Not because of anything Kai has done, but because Kai is still so blissfully unaware of everything. Still looking at him like he hung the stars. Still touching him like he’s worth loving. Still here, unguarded and open and ready to give more than Beomgyu ever deserved. He wants to freeze this moment and live inside it. Wants to keep Kai tucked into this bubble of warmth and care, where the world can’t touch him and the truth doesn’t exist, but the clock is ticking, and Beomgyu knows this can’t last forever.

He opens his eyes slowly, gaze drawn to the way Kai is focused entirely on him, fingers brushing against his jaw as he massages the last of the product in.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Kai smiles down at him. “For what?”

“For loving me,” Beomgyu almost says, but bites his tongue at the last second. He’s not ready to open that can of worms yet.

“For this,” he says instead, reaching up to gently hook his fingers around Kai’s wrist. “For being you.”

Kai leans down and kisses him again, this time soft and slow, like he doesn’t have anywhere else to be.

“Always,” he says, and Beomgyu nods, heart breaking just a little more.

Kai’s lips are so warm on his, so certain, and for a moment Beomgyu lets himself sink into it because how could he not? With Kai leaning over him, fingertips still grazing his cheek, soft hair brushing his forehead, and all the love in the world stitched into the way he kisses? It’s everything Beomgyu’s ever wanted. Everything he’s spent months pretending he didn’t crave, didn’t ache for, but then Kai shifts closer, deepens the kiss, and Beomgyu’s heart stutters because he knows exactly where this is going.

Kai’s body slots perfectly against his, a knee slipping between his thighs, one hand resting against his chest while the other trails down his neck with the kind of tenderness that makes it hard to breathe. His kisses scatter lower, pressing along Beomgyu’s jaw, then down his neck, deliberate and slow. Beomgyu feels Kai smile faintly against his skin, then hears the breathy little whisper:

“You looked so hot on stage today,” Kai murmurs, voice barely audible over the soft hum in the room. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About this.”

Beomgyu’s breath catches in his throat.

“I want you so bad, hyung. Can I have you?”

Every nerve in his body is on fire because Kai wants him, really wants him, and it would be so easy to let it happen. To let Kai kiss him into a haze and make him forget all the ways he’s screwed this up. It would be easy to disappear into Kai’s arms and pretend this is something he’s earned, but he hasn’t and the weight of it – the bet, the video, the fucking lie that has stretched across every moment they’ve shared – wraps itself around Beomgyu’s entire being like a boa constrictor.

He can’t do this.

Not like this.

“Kai, baby,” he says, barely a whisper.

Kai stills, but doesn’t pull away just yet. His lips hover over the hollow of Beomgyu’s throat. “Hmm?”

Beomgyu gently pushes at his shoulder, and Kai sits up slowly, confusion flickering in his eyes. His cheeks are flushed, his lips pink from kissing, and Beomgyu hates himself for being the reason that brightness dims just a little.

“I can’t,” Beomgyu says softly, sitting up too.

Kai blinks, lips parting like he’s about to say something, then closes them again. His gaze drops to the bedsheets between them, and for a second, neither of them moves. It’s the silence Beomgyu dreads the most because in it, he sees the glint of something wounded flicker across Kai’s face. He’s not upset, not angry. Just... hurt, and that’s somehow so much worse.

Beomgyu swallows the guilt rising in his throat and reaches for Kai’s hand. Their fingers tangle together easily, naturally, like muscle memory. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he starts, eyes fixed on where their hands meet. “God, I do. I want you so bad it scares me.”

Kai’s eyes lift, searching his. Beomgyu forces himself to meet them.

“It’s just– this is the first time I’ve ever... felt like this about someone,” he says. It’s not entirely a lie. “Every time I’ve slept with someone before, it was meaningless. Just something to do. But with you... I don’t want it to be like that. I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Kai’s lips part again, softer this time, gentler. “You wouldn’t fuck it up, hyung.”

“I might,” Beomgyu insists, voice cracking just slightly. “I’m not used to any of this. Feeling this much. Wanting things to be perfect. I’m afraid if we do this before I’m ready, before everything feels right, I’ll ruin something that means too much to me.”

Kai’s quiet for a moment, thumb gently stroking along the back of Beomgyu’s hand. Then, finally, he nods. Not a stiff or reluctant nod, but a slow one, warm and full of something Beomgyu doesn’t think he deserves.

“Okay,” Kai says. “We’ll wait.”

“You’re not upset?”

Kai shrugs, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I mean... a little. Not because I’m mad. Just... I want to be close to you. But I get it.” His fingers squeeze Beomgyu’s. “It’s kind of sweet, actually. That you care so much about doing it right. It means you care about me.”

Beomgyu almost bursts into tears on the spot because Kai says it so easily. Because he’s not trying to guilt him, not trying to pry. Because even in this moment – when Beomgyu has denied him again, when he could have every right to feel confused or distant – he still reaches for Beomgyu, still holds onto him like he’s something worth keeping.

Like he’s something real.

Beomgyu leans forward and buries his face into the crook of Kai’s neck, holding him close. “You’re too good to me.”

Kai lets out a soft laugh and runs a hand up and down his back. “Well, you’re mine. Gotta take care of what’s mine.”

And Beomgyu can only nod, face still pressed against Kai’s skin, trying not to let the shame or grief take him under.

Because this boy – this boy who would wait a thousand nights for him without complaint, who kisses him like he’s never been hurt, who sees the best in him even when Beomgyu can’t – deserves everything.

And Beomgyu is going to destroy him.

Notes:

do yall feel that... shit is starting to get intense... BUT DW we're nowhere near the climax so we still have a few more chapters of them living in their happy little bubble (if you can call beomgyu spiralling under the weight of his own guilt a happy little bubble lol)

soobin found out beomgyu lied!! what do you think? let me know in the comment section!!

and feel free to drop me a message or a drawing on my strawpage hehe, it'll mean the world to me hehe <33
here's the link!! : koostiddy.straw.page

Chapter 19

Summary:

Kai’s fingers tremble slightly as he sets down the empty cup of mint chocolate on the low table, the warmth still lingering between his palms. His voice is fragile, almost hesitant, but there’s an edge to it too, a question that’s been gnawing at him since that conversation with Minjun.

“Do you guys think I’m easy to lie to?” he asks quietly, eyes not quite meeting Yeonjun or Taehyun’s.

Notes:

happy reading~

(also, hueningie's outfit is his love language mubank outfit just cuntier🙂‍↕️)

🐧

 

It keeps happening like this.

Kai thinks nothing of it at first. They’re tangled together on the couch in his and Yeonjun’s shared apartment, half-watching some stupid variety show neither of them really likes, when Kai dares to kiss him with a little more hunger than usual. Beomgyu melts into it at first, fingers in Kai’s hair, tongue brushing teasingly against his, until Kai shifts to straddle him, hands tugging at the hem of his jumper and Beomgyu stills.

“Wait,” he murmurs, pulling back with a breathless laugh, his hand curling around Kai’s wrist. “Sorry, I just– I’m really tired.”

Kai blinks, confused for a second, but he nods and shrugs it off. “Okay.” He stays in Beomgyu’s lap, head resting on his shoulder. He tells himself it’s fine. 

The second time, it’s later, and Kai’s the one who’s tired but when Beomgyu kisses him in the middle of his bedroom, kisses him like he means it, like he’s finally ready, Kai finds his body waking up fast. He lets his hands wander, lets his mouth fall open with a soft sound when Beomgyu’s teeth catch on his bottom lip, but just as he tries to back them towards the bed, Beomgyu tenses.

“Sorry,” he says again, panting a little. “I’ve got rehearsal early tomorrow. I should probably– yeah.”

Kai nods again, smaller this time. He lies awake for hours after Beomgyu leaves, staring at the ceiling and wondering if he came on too strong.

The third time is worse.

Beomgyu sleeps over at Kai’s and they share the tiny bed like they used to before things got complicated, except now, there’s nothing innocent about the way Kai looks at him in the dark. There’s nothing innocent about the way their legs tangle under the blanket, or how Beomgyu’s fingers trace slow, distracted shapes on Kai’s bare hip.

Kai kisses him softly at first, then harder. Beomgyu kisses him back just as hungrily, and when Kai rolls on top of him, moaning into his mouth, Beomgyu lets out a sound that shoots heat straight through Kai’s stomach. His hands are on Kai’s thighs, then his waist, then they’re not.

“Can we… just stay like this?” Beomgyu whispers, breath warm against Kai’s jaw. “I don’t wanna ruin it.”

Kai doesn’t ask what it is. He just nods, even though his hands are shaking a little when he pulls away.

He starts to keep count after that.

Two times. Three. Five.

Each time, Beomgyu’s reason changes.

I have a headache.
I don’t want you to think that’s all I want.
I’m just not ready yet.

Kai starts to wonder if the reasons are for him or for Beomgyu. If Beomgyu thinks he’s the one who needs excuses to slow down, but it’s never Kai hesitating. It’s never been Kai pulling away. It’s always Beomgyu, with his sad, sweet eyes and hands that shake when they get too close, too fast, too real.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. He tells himself it’s okay. That maybe Beomgyu’s never been in a serious relationship like this before, that love isn’t measured in how quickly someone takes your clothes off, but it starts to gnaw at him, slow and silent, because Beomgyu used to be different. Kai’s not naive; he’s heard things, little comments from other students, whispered stories about Beomgyu’s past. He used to be reckless and wild. The type to kiss someone at a party just because they looked lonely. The type to hook up and disappear before sunrise, and Kai didn’t care. Still doesn’t, really. He doesn’t care who Beomgyu used to be. He just wishes he understood why he never gets to be that version of him. Why Beomgyu looks at him like he’s breakable. Like if they go too far, Kai might shatter.

He doesn’t want to be breakable.

He wants to be wanted.

Sometimes, when he’s alone, he starts to wonder if there’s something wrong with him. If maybe Beomgyu just isn’t attracted to him that way. If the softness between them – the quiet talks and the stolen glances and the way Beomgyu’s fingers always find his in crowded rooms – is all Beomgyu wants, and if it is, why doesn’t he say so?

But he doesn’t ask. Not when Beomgyu apologises and tells him he wants to make sure things are perfect with him. Not when Beomgyu kisses him afterward like nothing happened. Not even when he lies awake at night with a tightness in his chest he can’t shake… until tonight.

Kai shifts on the edge of the living room sofa, the fabric of his sweats stiff beneath his fingertips, his heart stammering in his chest like it’s begging him not to open his mouth. But he’s already started. The words are there, stuck behind his teeth, desperate and awkward and heavy with something he can’t name.

“Could you…” he starts, barely audible. “Could you help me with something?”

Yeonjun tilts his head, wiping the remnants of his sheet mask off his cheek with the sleeve of his pajamas. “Of course. What’s up?”

Kai panics. “Never mind.”

Yeonjun groans and flops dramatically back onto his pillows, arms splayed out. “Don’t do that. You already said something. You can’t just drop a breadcrumb and then retreat into your shell like a little woodland creature.”

Kai looks down, cheeks pink. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Everything is a big deal when you look like you’re going to pass out from anxiety. Spit it out.”

Kai hesitates. His throat works as he tries to swallow the nerves. “I just… I wanted to try something.”

Yeonjun props himself up on one elbow, curious. “What kind of something?”

Kai pulls his sleeves over his hands, twisting them between his fingers. “I thought maybe… if I changed the way I looked a little. Or like, just for one night.”

Yeonjun watches him, careful now. “Changed how?”

Kai exhales hard through his nose, forcing the words out before he can backtrack again. “I want to look… sexy.”

Yeonjun blinks. “You are sexy.”

“No, I mean, like…” Kai gestures vaguely at himself, clearly frustrated by his own clumsy explanation. “The kind of sexy that’s… obvious. I want Beomgyu hyung to see me and not be able to look away.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Yeonjun blinks again, slower this time. “Wait. Are you asking me to–”

Kai interrupts before he can finish the thought. “You don’t have to. It’s stupid. Just forget I said anything–”

“Absolutely not,” Yeonjun cuts in, suddenly sitting up like he’s been electrocuted. “Oh my God. You’re asking for a glow up? A seduction transformation? Like a full ‘I’m gonna make him regret ever hesitating’ makeover?”

Kai winces. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Yeonjun’s eyes are alight now, a grin stretching across his face. “Holy shit, I’ve been waiting for this moment since we moved in together.”

Kai groans and covers his face with his hands. “This was a mistake.”

“Nope. Too late. You’ve activated fashion mode. Come on.” Yeonjun is already on his feet, grabbing Kai by the wrist. “To the studio.”

Kai hesitates in the doorway. “Are you sure this isn’t, like, too much?”

Yeonjun scoffs. “Kai. Beomgyu’s going to lose his mind. You’ve got legs for days and cheekbones that could cut glass. You just need the right styling.”

Kai’s face flushes deeper. “Don’t say it like that…”

Yeonjun turns to face him, suddenly softer. “Hey. Seriously. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. He’s not holding back because he doesn’t want you. It’s something else. But if this’ll make you feel more confident, then I’m all in.”

Kai looks down, the edge of a smile playing at his lips. “Thanks.”

Yeonjun moves like a man on a mission, pulling out hangers, holding them up to Kai’s frame, discarding half and keeping the rest in a growing pile on the bed. There’s silk and mesh and leather and lace, some pieces that make Kai’s eyes widen and some that make him laugh in disbelief.

“Try this,” Yeonjun says eventually, handing him a fitted pink crop top and a pair of low-waisted ripped jeans with holes big enough to leave nothing to the imagination. “And don’t make that face. You’ll look hot.”

Kai disappears into the bathroom to change, heart pounding. When he steps out again, Yeonjun lets out a low whistle.

“Okay, wow. This is illegal.”

Kai turns in front of the mirror, hands fidgeting with the waistband of the jeans sitting low on his hips, exposing his Calvin Klein briefs. “It’s… a lot.”

“It’s perfect,” Yeonjun says, moving behind him. “You’re not used to being seen like this. But you should be.”

Kai meets his own eyes in the mirror. There’s a flicker of someone else there; someone bolder, sharper, just a little bit dangerous. He doesn’t look like a boy who’s always apologising for wanting too much.

Yeonjun smiles behind him. “Now sit. It’s time for makeup.”

Kai lowers himself into the chair in front of the vanity, eyes darting over the hundreds of brushes and products. “You’re really going all out with this, huh?”

Yeonjun picks up a primer with a wink. “You asked for sexy. I’m going to make you irresistible.”

After about twenty minutes of letting Yeonjun do his thing, Kai hears him let out a low whistle.

“Holy shit,” Yeonjun mutters, leaning back to admire his work.

“What?” Kai asks, alarmed.

“You’re going to kill him.”

Kai frowns. “You haven’t even finished.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Yeonjun says. “He’s already dead.”

Kai groans, but there’s a flicker of something in his chest. Hope? Anticipation? He doesn’t know, doesn’t want to name it just yet. But it buzzes under his ribs as Yeonjun reaches for mascara next.

“This is going to feel weird. Look up.”

Kai obeys. The mascara wand tickles at first, and he flinches once–Yeonjun clicks his tongue but says nothing, only tries again, slower this time. His lashes darken and lengthen, brushing shadows over his cheekbones when he blinks.

Then come highlighter and blush, applied with quick, swirling motions.

“You have such a pretty nose,” Yeonjun murmurs, dabbing something shimmery down its bridge.

Kai can’t help the quiet scoff. “I always thought it was too big.”

Yeonjun pauses, looking at him through the mirror. “It’s not. Not even close. Seriously, who put that in your head?”

Kai shrugs, cheeks going pink.

“Well, they were wrong.” Yeonjun says it simply, without drama, and somehow that makes it stick.

Then come the lips.

“You’re going natural,” Yeonjun says, already opening a tube of something pink and glossy.

“I thought you said we were going for seductive,” Kai teases, trying to deflect the nerves starting to build again.

“Exactly,” Yeonjun says, dabbing a lip tint in the centre of Kai’s mouth and blending it out with his finger. “This shade enhances your natural lip colour and says ‘you’ll never survive kissing me’.”

Kai laughs genuinely this time. “You’re so dramatic.”

Yeonjun grins. “You’re the one letting me turn you into my masterpiece.”

When the gloss goes on, slick and rich and tinged with the barest shimmer, Kai doesn’t recognise the reflection staring back at him.

He looks… dangerous.

His eyes are smouldering beneath shadow and smoke, lips parted just enough to tempt, cheeks kissed with colour and framed by the faintest gleam of highlighter. The crop top clings to his chest, and the cut of the trousers makes his legs look impossibly long, but it’s the way he carries it now; his posture straighter, his gaze sharper. He doesn’t look like someone asking for affection.

He looks like someone who demands it.

“Oh my God,” Kai breathes. “Is that– me?”

Yeonjun hums, pleased. “Told you. Absolute vixen.”

Kai leans forward, inspecting every angle. His lashes flutter. His collarbones peek out from under the fabric. The shape of his eyes is unfamiliar, but not in a bad way. It’s like a version of himself he’s always kept locked away, hidden beneath oversized hoodies and careful smiles.

“I didn’t know I could look like this,” he says softly.

“You always could,” Yeonjun says. “You just didn’t know how to let yourself.”

Kai swallows around the lump forming in his throat. “Thanks, hyung.”

Yeonjun shrugs like it’s nothing, but his smile is warm. “You don’t need makeup to be desirable, Kai. But if this helps you feel powerful, then I’m glad.”

Kai turns back to the mirror. He thinks about Beomgyu’s eyes widening. About the stunned silence he might get. About maybe feeling like he’s finally enough to make Beomgyu want.

By the time Kai’s back in his own room, he’s almost giddy. He stares at his reflection one last time, tugging at the hem of the top and fluffing his fringe in the mirror. He debates tucking a few strands behind his ear – no, it looks better falling loose, softer and sexier. He rakes his fingers through his hair for the fifth time, trying to strike that effortless look that took an hour to perfect.

“You look hot,” Yeonjun calls from the kitchen, casually peeling a tangerine.

Kai blushes, biting back a smile. “You sure it’s not too much?”

“No such thing,” Yeonjun says, and then, with a smirk, “Just remember to use protection.”

“Hyung!” Kai groans, scandalised.

“I’m just saying,” Yeonjun shrugs, popping a slice of fruit into his mouth. “Don’t let all my hard work go to waste. Be safe, be smart, and if he doesn’t lose his mind the second he sees you, I’m marching over there myself to knock some sense into him.”

Kai laughs, nerves twisting into something lighter in his chest. He hugs Yeonjun tightly from behind, nuzzling his face onto the elder’s cheek. “Thanks, hyung. For everything.”

“You’ll ruin your makeup!” Yeonjun screeches as he pulls his face away from Kai. He lifts his tangerine slice in a mock toast. “Now go. Seduce.”

Kai pulls on his coat, checking his phone once more to make sure the makeup still looks fresh in the front camera. His heart thunders with each step down the hallway, and by the time he’s at the bus stop, it’s pounding in his throat. He stands in the cold, fingers fiddling with the hem of his sleeves, the anticipation simmering just beneath his skin.

The bus arrives with a mechanical hiss and he boards, claiming a seat near the back, furthest from the glare of the ceiling lights. He digs his phone out again, stares at Beomgyu’s contact name for a beat too long before tapping call.

It rings twice before Beomgyu answers. His voice is warm, familiar. “Hi baby, what’s up?”

“Hi,” Kai says, trying to sound casual. “Are you… home?”

“Yeah, just got back a little while ago. Why?”

Kai swallows, eyes fixed on the city sliding past outside the window. “Can I come over?”

“Of course. You don’t have to ask.”

Kai smiles down at his lap. He knew Beomgyu would say yes – he always does – but hearing it still sends a rush of adrenaline through him. “Okay. I’m on my way.”

He ends the call and tries not to vibrate out of his seat with impatience.

The ride feels like it stretches forever. The lights blur past in gold and white, casting moving shadows across the glass. He checks his appearance again and again, tugging his sleeves, adjusting the angle of his coat to show just enough of the crop top beneath. His lips still glisten, eyes still smoulder, but he keeps touching up anyway, needing something to do with his hands.

By the time he’s stepping out of the bus and approaching the apartment complex, his heart is hammering so hard it almost hurts. The lobby is quiet, all polished marble and clean lines, and the lift dings softly as it opens.

Kai steps in and punches in the number for Beomgyu’s floor. The private lift hums as it climbs, sleek and silent. He stares at his reflection in the mirrored walls. The nerves are creeping back now, a swirl of hope and fear tangled so tight he can hardly tell the difference.

The lift stops. The doors slide open and Beomgyu is standing right there; barefoot, in sweatpants and a hoodie, hair pushed back like he’s run a hand through it a dozen times. His phone is still in his hand, like he only just put it down, but none of that matters because the second he sees Kai, he goes completely still. His mouth parts slightly and his eyes widen, scanning Kai from head to toe in stunned silence.

Kai steps out of the lift, heart threatening to leap out of his chest. “Hey.”

Beomgyu blinks. Once. Twice. “You… holy shit.”

Kai laughs, soft and nervous, reaching up to touch the edge of his hair. “Yeah?”

Beomgyu looks at him like he’s seeing something unreal. “You look–” He breaks off, exhaling like he’s been holding his breath. “You look insane.”

Kai frowns, unsure. “Insane good or insane bad?”

“Good,” Beomgyu breathes. “Good, Kai. You– fuck, you’re–”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He just steps aside, letting Kai in, eyes still glued to him like he can’t believe it’s real.

Beomgyu laughs, breathless. “I don’t even know what to say. You look like a fantasy. Like you walked out of one of my fucking dreams.”

Kai takes a slow step forward, head tilted slightly, eyes wide with something sweet and almost innocent but there’s nothing innocent about the way he’s standing, the way the light catches the soft shimmer on his cheekbones or how his cropped top reveals a teasing sliver of skin above his waistband. He knows exactly what he’s doing, even if he pretends he doesn’t.

“A good dream?” he asks, voice featherlight. His lashes flutter as he looks down at Beomgyu through them.

Beomgyu swallows visibly. “Kai…”

“Hm?” Kai tilts his head the other way now, deliberately coy. 

“Oh, come on,” Beomgyu groans. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?” Kai asks sweetly, shifting slightly so his top rides just a little higher. “I just wanted to see you.”

Beomgyu leans back like he needs physical distance. “This is cruel.”

“You don’t have to look,” Kai offers, though he knows that’s an empty gesture. He could sit on the other end of the flat, and Beomgyu would still be watching him like he’s under a spell.

“I can’t not look.” Beomgyu runs a hand through his hair, visibly flustered. “Seriously, what’s going on with you tonight?”

Kai shrugs again, soft and cool. “Nothing. I missed you. Thought maybe we could… hang out.”

“Hang out…?” Beomgyu narrows his eyes slightly, but the affection behind it is unmistakable. “You’re dangerous.”

Kai stands slowly, padding towards him in socked feet. He stops just in front of Beomgyu, who’s still seated on the couch, and lets his fingers gently toy with the drawstring of Beomgyu’s hoodie. The air shifts.

Beomgyu looks up at him with something almost desperate in his expression. “Baby…”

“Yes?”

“You’ve got to stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, tilting his head again, this time with real curiosity dancing behind the mischief.

Beomgyu exhales, low and shaky. “Like you know exactly what you’re doing.”

Kai doesn’t say anything. He just smiles, coy and devastating, and tugs lightly on the string of Beomgyu’s hoodie. “Maybe I do.”

Beomgyu’s hands twitch like he’s fighting the urge to touch him. “You’re not playing fair.”

Kai leans in, so close their noses nearly brush. “Then stop me.”

It’s a spark. A snap. The exact moment something inside Beomgyu breaks loose.

Kai watches it happen – feels it happen – the instant the line between restraint and surrender disappears in Beomgyu’s eyes. One second he’s frozen, eyes wide and mouth parted like he doesn’t dare breathe, and the next he’s surging forward like he’s starved.

Their mouths crash together in a kiss that’s nothing like the gentle ones from before. This one is all heat and urgency, tongue and teeth, as Beomgyu grabs him by the waist and pulls him close like he wants to fuse their bodies together. Kai gasps into it, barely has time to react before Beomgyu’s hands slide down, gripping his hips so tight it’s almost bruising, like he needs to feel that this is real.

Kai fists his hands in Beomgyu’s hoodie, lips parting further, letting him in deeper. The kiss is wild. Desperate. Beomgyu kisses like he’s drowning, like Kai’s the only breath he’s got left, and Kai gives himself over to it without hesitation. He doesn’t tease now or play coy. He meets Beomgyu’s hunger with hunger of his own, hands slipping up beneath the hoodie to find warm skin, tracing the muscles there with shaking fingers. Beomgyu groans low in his throat and pushes forward, stumbling them both towards the hallway.

They barely make it in one piece.

Beomgyu’s hand slams against the wall to steady them, the other still gripping Kai’s hip as they stagger backwards, all mouths and moans and breathless curses. Kai’s laughing between kisses, but it’s shaky, high-pitched, completely overwhelmed. He’s never been kissed like this before, like he’s something to devour.

“Beomgyu hyung–” he gasps, as Beomgyu mouths along his jaw, biting just enough to leave heat blooming across Kai’s skin. 

Beomgyu growls against his neck, voice so low it makes Kai tremble. “You think I can resist you when you look like this?”

“I–” Kai’s voice dies as Beomgyu bites at the place just beneath his ear. His knees buckle a little, and Beomgyu catches him easily, arms winding around him again to hold him upright.

Kai’s hands are everywhere now; Beomgyu’s shoulders, his chest, trying to pull him closer, like if he just pressed hard enough, their hearts might finally beat in sync. They’re still kissing between every ragged breath, every muttered curse, Beomgyu’s lips swollen and red and hungry.

When they reach Beomgyu’s bedroom door, it’s like something explodes. Beomgyu slams it shut behind them with a kick, crowding Kai against it with his full weight, lips on his neck again, his chest, his collarbone. His hands are dragging up Kai’s sides now, leaving trails of heat in their wake, and Kai’s back arches, body already trembling from how raw it all feels.

“God, you drive me fucking insane,” Beomgyu growls, teeth grazing just above the hem of Kai’s top. “You show up here dressed like this and expect me to just, what? Be normal?”

“I didn’t know it’d work this well,” Kai says, breathless, voice hitching as Beomgyu’s mouth presses to the skin just beneath his ribs. “I didn’t think you’d lose your mind.”

Beomgyu laughs, but it’s wild and shaky. “I’ve been losing my mind.”

He kisses Kai again, harder now, and Kai melts into it with a sound that’s almost a whimper, hands threading through Beomgyu’s hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. It earns him a hiss and a sharp nip to his bottom lip, and it’s like a switch flips in both of them because now Beomgyu’s hands are gripping his thighs, and Kai wraps one leg around Beomgyu’s waist instinctively, gasping into his mouth. They’re flushed chest to chest, breath mingling, heat radiating between them so intense it borders on unbearable.

“I want you,” Kai whispers, barely audible between kisses. “Want you so bad.”

Beomgyu groans, low and ragged. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I do,” Kai breathes. “I–”

But Beomgyu’s kissing him again, swallowing the rest of his sentence, and it’s like they’re both unravelling. Kai can feel the desperation in every touch, the way Beomgyu’s fingers dig into his thighs, the bruising press of his mouth. It’s not perfect – god, it’s messy and chaotic and a little clumsy – but it’s real and raw and so alive.

Beomgyu pulls him across the room, pushing him onto the bed like he weighs nothing, and Kai’s back hits the mattress with a breathless laugh, his hair spilling around him like a halo. Beomgyu is on him in a second, crawling over him, one hand cupping his jaw, the other braced beside his head. His eyes are dark, intense, almost feral.

“You’re going to ruin me,” Beomgyu murmurs, thumb brushing across Kai’s lips.

“Good,” Kai whispers, catching his thumb and kissing it. “Maybe you deserve it.”

Beomgyu laughs, breathy and hoarse, before ducking down to kiss him again, and this time it’s slower, deeper, as if trying to memorise the taste of him. Kai clings to him, breath catching, back arching as their bodies mould together.

Every kiss. Every touch. Every breathless sound is a release; weeks of tension pouring out all at once, like they’ve both finally stopped pretending.

Kai’s makeup is smudging, lipstick staining Beomgyu’s mouth, glitter transferring to his cheeks, and neither of them cares. All that matters is the way they fit together. The way Beomgyu looks at him like he’s a miracle. The way Kai feels like he’s finally being wanted; no more confusion, no more hesitation.

They move upon the bed like a storm, sheets twisting under their weight as Beomgyu presses Kai down, lips still locked in that feverish, consuming kiss. Kai barely registers the shift, only that suddenly, he’s caged beneath Beomgyu’s body, pinned by the weight of him and the heat that radiates off his skin like a furnace. Beomgyu’s knee slots between his thighs, hand flat beside Kai’s head, and he kisses like he’s starved. Like he’s making up for every night he pushed Kai away.

Kai’s breath stutters. Beomgyu is everywhere all at once; his tongue, his hands, his scent, the soft rasp of his voice when he groans against Kai’s lips. It’s messy and aggressive, but fuck, Kai loves it. Loves the way Beomgyu presses him down, takes control like he’s been holding back for far too long. Then Beomgyu grabs a fistful of Kai’s hair and yanks his head to the side.

Kai gasps, lips parting in surprise, but there’s no time to react. Beomgyu’s mouth is on his throat, hot and open, teeth dragging against the sensitive skin just below his jaw before he bites down, hard enough to make Kai writhe. Kai’s pulse hammers beneath Beomgyu’s tongue, loud and frantic, and he’s sure Beomgyu can feel it thudding, begging.

“God–” Kai exhales, hips jerking up against Beomgyu’s. “You’re ruthless.”

Beomgyu just growls against his neck. “You’re the one who came over looking like a wet dream.”

“And now I’m your problem,” Kai manages, breath hitching as Beomgyu sucks at the hollow of his throat, tongue soothing over the bite. “So deal with it, like a good boy.”

Beomgyu shudders like the praise shoots straight through him. He groans, dark and filthy, and ruts down against Kai with a desperation that makes Kai moan aloud. His fingers tighten in Kai’s hair, yanking his head back further as he kisses down his neck, leaving a trail of red marks in his wake.

“You’re evil,” Beomgyu grits, nipping at his collarbone.

“You like it,” Kai breathes, cocky and breathless.

“Say it again.”

Kai grins, one hand trailing down Beomgyu’s back, nails dragging lightly just to make him twitch. “Be a good boy for me, baby.”

Beomgyu groans, ragged and hoarse. “Fuck, Kai–”

There’s something about the way Beomgyu reacts to those words, like he’s come undone, all his hesitation ripped away. He surges up suddenly, yanking Kai’s crop top over his head in one swift, impatient motion, exposing smooth skin and the soft dip of his waist. Kai’s arms lift instinctively, helping him, and then Beomgyu’s hands are all over him, tracing ribs and stomach, fingers pressing hard like he can’t decide whether to worship or devour.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Beomgyu breathes, sitting back on his knees for a moment just to look. “You’re–” His hands slide up Kai’s chest, thumbs brushing over his nipples, drawing a gasp from his throat. “You’re unreal.”

Kai bites his lip, flushed from head to toe. “Take yours off.”

Beomgyu doesn’t need to be told twice. He peels off his hoodie and shirt in one go, tossing them aside like they’re in the way of something sacred. His chest is flushed, rising and falling with heavy breaths, hair messy from Kai’s hands, lips red and swollen from kissing. He looks wrecked. Beautiful and wild and wrecked.

Kai reaches up and pulls him down by the waistband of his joggers, their bare chests colliding in a rush of heat. Beomgyu groans into his mouth as their skin touches, the sensation sending a fresh wave of desire rolling down Kai’s spine.

“Say it again,” Beomgyu murmurs against his lips, voice low and trembling. “Call me that again.”

Kai exhales, slow and deliberate, voice dripping with syrup. “You’re such a good boy, Beomgyu hyung.”

The sound Beomgyu makes is downright obscene, like the words are addictive, like he needs them to breathe. He dips his head again, mouthing along Kai’s chest, biting and kissing, marking every inch of skin he can reach. Kai threads his fingers through his hair and tugs gently, which earns him another growl.

“Feels good?” Beomgyu rasps, dragging his teeth down the centre of Kai’s chest.

Kai arches into it, gasping. “Yes, fuck–”

“Yeah?” Beomgyu slides lower, tongue tracing the lines of his torso. “You’re unbelievable. Coming here dressed like sin and calling me your good boy like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“I do know,” Kai admits, breathless and trembling, looking down at him through half-lidded eyes. “And that’s exactly why I’m doing it. You should’ve touched me sooner.”

Beomgyu shoots up and kisses him again, rough and unrelenting, his entire body braced like he’s trying to hold back but failing miserably. Their mouths meet with a brutal kind of rhythm now, all lips and teeth and need, and Kai clings to him like he’ll come apart without him.

Beomgyu’s hands drift lower, trailing over Kai’s sides with a heat that burns straight through the fabric of his trousers. His fingers tremble, hovering at the waistband like he’s asking without words, and Kai nods, breath catching.

“Go on,” he whispers, voice barely audible above the pounding in his chest.

Beomgyu exhales shakily and tugs his trousers down in one swift motion, eyes drinking in every inch of newly revealed skin. Kai’s left in just his briefs now, flushed and panting, and Beomgyu’s gaze darkens, jaw slack like he’s trying not to lose himself entirely. Kai’s heart thuds as Beomgyu drags his palms down his thighs, slow and reverent.

“Fucking hell,” Beomgyu mutters, dazed. “You’re unreal.”

Kai smirks, drunk on the attention, his hands finding the drawstring of Beomgyu’s joggers. “Your turn.”

Beomgyu swears under his breath but lifts his hips without protest, letting Kai strip him down to his boxers in one smooth tug. Their bodies press together again, burning from every point of contact, and when they kiss this time, it’s hungrier, greedier. Beomgyu pulls Kai closer with an urgency that borders on desperation, hips rocking up as their mouths crash and part, gasps mingling between them like sparks catching fire.

Kai moans into the kiss, unable to stop himself. The friction between them is maddening, unbearable in the best way. His hands slide over Beomgyu’s shoulders, down his chest, mapping every inch of warm, taut skin like he’s been dying to touch him for months, and maybe he has. God, maybe he has.

And then, without breaking the kiss, Kai shifts his weight and flips them, catching Beomgyu off guard and pinning him beneath him. Beomgyu’s eyes flutter open in surprise, and Kai grins down at him, lips swollen, hair a mess, eyes dark with mischief.

“Mine now,” he murmurs.

Beomgyu groans, head tipping back against the pillow as Kai grinds down hard, dragging another filthy noise from deep in his throat. His hands fly to Kai’s waist, nails biting into skin as he bucks up instinctively, mouth falling open. Kai doesn’t let up–he moves again, slow and deliberate, rolling his hips in a way that makes Beomgyu’s breath hitch violently.

“Fuck, baby.”

Kai kisses him again, open-mouthed and greedy, swallowing the helpless sounds Beomgyu makes with every grind of his hips. He’s never heard anything like it; those breathless, strangled gasps, that low whine in the back of Beomgyu’s throat when he shifts just right.

Kai pulls back, just enough to see his face. Beomgyu’s flushed to the roots of his hair, lips bitten raw, eyes glazed as he pants beneath him, and every time Kai rocks down again, his features twist like it’s too much, like it’s perfect, like he’s about to break.

“Good boy,” Kai murmurs, hips rolling again.

Beomgyu chokes on a moan, hand flying to cover his face.

“Don’t hide,” Kai whispers, dragging the hand away. “Let me see you.”

He presses down again, slower this time, more purposeful, and Beomgyu whimpers. It’s the most devastating sound Kai’s ever heard, and it makes something inside him surge, the power of it, the closeness, the want.

But then something shifts.

Suddenly, Beomgyu goes still.

His entire body freezes under Kai’s, tension snapping tight like a wire. His breath catches, not in pleasure this time, but in panic. His eyes fly open, wide and terrified, and he stares up at Kai like he’s just been doused in ice water.

Kai blinks. “Hyung?”

Beomgyu doesn’t answer. He just shoves at Kai’s chest, rough and frantic, scrambling away like he’s been burned. He twists out from under him and backs up fast, until he’s sitting against the headboard, arms braced, shoulders hunched.

Beomgyu pulls the covers over his lap like a shield, his eyes wide and frantic as he stares at Kai from across the bed. The air between them feels like broken glass; sharp, painful, impossible to breathe through. Kai sits frozen, still in just his briefs, his skin flushed and glowing moments ago now feeling unbearably bare. The chill in the room creeps up his spine, shame curling like a cold fist in his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Beomgyu says, voice hoarse. “I just– I can’t.”

Kai’s heart stutters. He can’t? Can’t what? 

His breath catches as the words tumble out before he can stop them. “Can’t what?” he asks, quiet but sharp. “Can’t be bothered? Can’t feel attracted to me? Can’t stand the thought of touching me? Can’t what, hyung?”

Beomgyu flinches, eyes widening like he hadn’t expected Kai to call him on it. Like he’d hoped that vague apology would be enough. Like Kai would just nod, swallow the rejection, and pretend it didn’t slice him open a little more each time.

He stares at him, searching his face for something, anything, that might make it make sense, but all he sees is distance and walls building between them, and it hits him all at once, like a wave he didn’t see coming; how many times they’ve ended up here, how often he’s leaned in, hopeful and open, only to be gently pushed back. How every kiss, every soft touch, every teasing word is allowed, until it’s not. Until Beomgyu flinches or freezes or pulls away like Kai’s too much.

“…Is it me?” Kai whispers.

Beomgyu’s head snaps up. “What?”

Kai tries to smile, but it wobbles. “Are you… repulsed by me or something?”

The question leaves him before he can stop it, and as soon as it’s out, he hates himself, but the silence that follows? That’s worse.

Beomgyu’s expression twists. “No. What? Baby, no, I just–”

“Then what is it?” His voice cracks. “You keep saying you want me, but every time I try, really try, you act like I’ve done something wrong.”

“You haven’t,” Beomgyu says quickly. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then why won’t you touch me?” Kai presses, the pain bubbling up like a storm he’s been holding back for weeks. “I’m not trying to force you into something you’re not ready for, I just want to understand. Why won’t you let me touch you? What is so wrong with me that you keep changing your mind the second I get too close?”

Beomgyu drags a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “It’s not you, baby. It’s not you. I swear to god, I want you so bad it hurts. But I can’t– fuck– I just can’t right now.”

“Why?” Kai asks again, quieter this time. “Why not?”

Beomgyu falters, lips parting and closing again like he’s trying to find the words but nothing comes out, and somehow, that hurts more than if he’d just said he wasn’t attracted to him. At least that would be an answer. This? This is a maze with no end.

Kai’s throat tightens. “I dressed up and did my makeup and everything…” He swallows, his voice thick as he laughs humourlessly. “God, I feel so fucking stupid.”

Kai turns away as he wipes at his eyes with trembling fingers, movements jerky as he starts grabbing for his– Yeonjun’s clothes from the floor. Beomgyu is still sitting on the bed, stunned into silence, the blanket bunched around his waist like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

“It’s not like that, baby,” Beomgyu says again, more insistently now, more desperate. “Kai, please, it’s not– god, you don’t understand–”

“Then make me understand,” Kai snaps, voice cracked and thick. He pulls his jeans on over his briefs, his hands fumbling with the zipper. “Because from where I’m standing, it really feels like you just don’t want me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is?” Kai looks up at him, eyes glassy, flushed and broken in the glow of the bedside lamp. “Because I’m done guessing. I’m done trying to prove I’m good enough to be touched by you.”

Beomgyu stares at him like the words physically hurt.

“Baby… You are good enough,” he says, but it comes out in a whisper.

Kai gives a bitter smile as he pulls his shirt over his head, arms trembling. “Then why does it feel like I’m the only one who wants this?”

“That’s not true. I want you so bad–” Beomgyu starts, but Kai cuts him off before he can get the words out.

“…Is it because I’m not attractive enough?”

The question drops like a stone in water, small and quiet but leaving ripples that shake the whole room. Kai doesn’t look at him as he says it. He just pulls on his top with shaking fingers and stares down at the floor like the truth might already be written there.

Beomgyu’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

Kai finally lifts his gaze, eyes rimmed red and wet. “You said I’m beautiful. You said you’ve never wanted anyone like this. But you still won’t touch me. So just tell me the truth, Beomgyu. Is it because I don’t fit your standards?”

Beomgyu’s face crumples. “No. No, Kai, please– don’t say that. Don’t ever think that. I swear to you, I–”

Kai looks away, jaw clenched. “I’m tired, hyung. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep putting myself out there and feeling like I’m not enough.”

He moves toward the door, not looking back as he reaches for the handle.

Beomgyu scrambles from the bed, bare feet thudding against the floor. “Kai please, just stay–”

But Kai doesn’t slow. He throws the door open and walks out into the living room, eyes focused straight ahead.

Soobin is just stepping out of the kitchen, phone in hand, hoodie slung half-on like he was mid-exit. He pauses when he sees them; Kai fully dressed but visibly shaken, and Beomgyu in nothing but his underwear and frantic behind him.

“Oh,” Soobin says, blinking. “Yeonjun hyung just called me. He said to give you guys space, I was just about to leave–”

Then his eyes sweep over them: Kai’s trembling hands, the redness in his face, the glistening tear trails that haven’t quite dried; Beomgyu’s half-dressed figure in the hallway, eyes wide and pleading. The atmosphere is heavy enough to crush lungs.

“Wait,” Soobin says slowly, tone shifting. “Is everything okay?”

Kai doesn’t answer right away. He just swallows hard, pulling his coat tighter around himself like armor. Then, quietly he says, “You don’t have to leave.”

Soobin frowns. “Huh?”

“I’m leaving anyway.”

Beomgyu’s breath catches behind him. “Kai, baby, please.”

But Kai doesn’t stop. He walks past Soobin like he didn’t hear him, like he didn’t just spend the last ten minutes wrapped around Beomgyu’s body, whispering things no one else will ever hear. His shoulder brushes Soobin’s gently, and Soobin instinctively reaches out, like maybe he could stop him, but one look at Kai’s face is enough to make his hand fall uselessly to his side.

“Wait– please–” Beomgyu calls again, voice breaking.

But Kai is already stepping into his shoes, already opening the door to the apartment. Already leaving the warmth and walking out into the leading to the lifts where the air bites colder, sharper, like punishment.

He doesn’t look back.

 

🐧

 

Kai slams the door so hard the whole apartment seems to shake. Yeonjun startles, sitting up from the couch in the living room.

“Hueningie? What are you doing back so early? I thought you were–”

Kai cuts him off with a barked command. “Call Tyun and tell him to come here.”

“What?”

“And tell him to bring egg tarts.”

Yeonjun blinks, caught between confusion and concern. “Kai–”

“Hyung!” Kai shouts, voice cracking. The sharpness in it makes Yeonjun fall silent instantly.

“Please…” Kai’s voice drops to a desperate whisper, his eyes dark and raw. “I’ll tell you everything when Tyun arrives but just… please?”

Yeonjun’s expression softens immediately. “Okay, yeah. I’ll call Taehyunnie. I’ll be waiting in here, okay?”

“Yeah,” Kai mumbles, voice barely audible, and turns quickly, heading down the hallway to his room.

Once inside, the door clicks shut, muffling the sounds of the apartment behind him. Kai pulls off his jacket, then, hands trembling, starts to erase the makeup Yeonjun had done for him with little regard, rubbing roughly at his skin as if trying to scrub away more than just colour. Tears fall silently as he wipes away the mascara and foundation, the warmth burning down his cheeks more than the cold water ever could. He feels so fucking pathetic and unwanted. Not even by the person he thought cared the most.

Eventually, he drags himself to the bathroom, stepping into the shower and turning the water on full blast. The scalding stream hits his skin like a punishment. He scrubs himself raw, desperate to wash away the hurt, the embarrassment, the feeling of rejection. If he scrubs hard enough – if he washes himself clean enough – maybe, just maybe, he’ll become something better, something worthy, something beautiful, but all he feels is the sting, and the ache, and the lonely heat of tears mixing with the water running down his skin.

Kai pulls the shower curtain closed behind him and reaches for the oversized shirt hanging on the back of the door, one of his dad’s old shirts. It’s soft and worn, the kind he always steals when he’s feeling down. Slipping it on, he buries his hands in the sleeves, letting the familiar scent and texture settle around him like a fragile shield. It makes him feel a little less alone, a little closer to his dad, even though they’re miles apart.

He must’ve been under the water for ages because now he can hear Taehyun’s voice drifting from the living room, low and easy, like he’s trying to keep things calm. Kai wipes the last of his tears away with the sleeve of the shirt, swallowing hard as he steels himself, willing the tightness in his chest to loosen.

When he finally steps out, the apartment feels quieter than usual, softer somehow. Yeonjun and Taehyun have already made space for him on the couch; a small, quiet island between them. Kai doesn’t hesitate, he sinks down into the gap, curling his knees up against his chest instinctively, folding inward like he can protect the pieces of himself that feel shattered. Taehyun wordlessly hands him an egg tart, its warm weight steady in Kai’s palm. Yeonjun offers a cup of hot mint chocolate, steam curling gently from its rim. Kai takes it without a word, the rich, sweet warmth seeping into his fingers.

They say nothing. They don’t press. They just wait.

In the silence, Kai begins to breathe again

Kai’s voice is quiet at first, hesitant, like he’s afraid the words might shatter the fragile moment, but with Taehyun’s steady presence beside him and Yeonjun’s unwavering gaze, something inside him loosens. He lets the dam break.

“I don’t know why Beomgyu hyung refuses to do anything sexual with me. It’s like… every time we start getting close, really close, he stops me,” Kai begins, eyes fixed on the tiny crumbs clinging to the egg tart he’s nervously picking at. “Right when it’s about to go somewhere, he just… stops me. Says he’s not ready.”

He swallows hard, the lump in his throat thickening. “But it’s not like he doesn’t want it, you know? He acts like he wants it. Like he’s into it.” His fingers clench around the warm tart, the edges soft and crumbly. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

Yeonjun nods slowly, eyes gentle. “Has he said why?”

Kai shakes his head, biting his lip. “I mean he kept saying he wants things to be perfect between us but what more does he want? In my eyes, we’re as perfect as we can get. And the thing is… I know about his past.” He looks up, cheeks flushed. “I know he used to… sleep around. Like, a lot. And that never bothered me. I don’t care about that stuff.”

Taehyun shifts slightly, his expression attentive but nonjudgmental.

Kai’s voice cracks a little as he continues, “So why doesn’t he want to sleep with me? Why not now? Why not ever?” His eyes finally meet Yeonjun’s, searching, vulnerable. “Am I… am I that different? Am I not enough? Or worse… does he not want me? Like, really want me?” The question hangs in the air, raw and fragile.

Yeonjun reaches out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from Kai’s forehead. “Hey. Hey, look at me.” His voice is steady, soothing. “You’re definitely not the problem here.”

Taehyun nods emphatically. “Beomgyu hyung’s got his own shit he’s working through. This isn’t about you or your worth, princess. You’re amazing. Don’t forget that.”

Kai lets out a shaky breath, feeling some of the weight lift but the ache remains. “I just… I don’t get it. Why won’t he tell me what’s wrong? Why can’t he trust me enough to be honest?”

The room stays quiet for a beat, the only sounds the soft clinking of the mug in Kai’s hands and his uneven breathing.

Yeonjun breaks the silence, voice soft but firm. “Sometimes people carry things that make it hard to be vulnerable, even with the people they care about most. Beomgyu’s scared, yeah, but it’s not because of you. It’s his own walls.”

Taehyun adds, “And those walls aren’t going to come down overnight. But he’s here. He hasn’t run. That means something.”

Yeonjun’s smile is warm but tinged with sympathy. “You can’t fix him, Huening-ah. But you can be patient. And honest. Keep talking. Keep showing him you’re not going anywhere.”

Taehyun nudges Kai’s shoulder gently. “And remember, you’ve got us too. You’re not alone in this.”

Kai’s fingers tremble slightly as he sets down the empty cup of mint chocolate on the low table, the warmth still lingering between his palms. His voice is fragile, almost hesitant, but there’s an edge to it too, a question that’s been gnawing at him since that conversation with Minjun.

“Do you guys think I’m easy to lie to?” he asks quietly, eyes not quite meeting Yeonjun or Taehyun’s.

Yeonjun immediately bristles, his jaw tightening as if the very idea stings. “Easy to lie to? Kai, no one messes with you like that. You’re not stupid, and you’re not some pawn.”

Taehyun, more measured and calm, simply tilts his head, eyes steady on Kai. “Where’s this coming from? What happened?”

Kai takes a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to shake off the memory. “It’s… Minjun.” The room seems to shift subtly and Yeonjun and Taehyun exchange a quick, silent glance. Taehyun’s brow furrows slightly, and Yeonjun’s posture stiffens just a little.

“Wait– who’s that again?” Taehyun asks quietly, voice laced with concern.

“The guy with the light brown hair who joined us during the band practice the other day? The smaller one. He was hyung’s ex fling.” Kai swallows hard, feeling exposed but needing to get it out. “He cornered me once, said some things about Beomgyu hyung. About how Beomgyu hyung always uses that line – ‘not ready yet’ – to keep people he’s not attracted to at bay. Like it’s just an excuse, to keep them close without really having to do anything with them. He made it sound like I’m just another… fling. Like Beomgyu hyung’s not really into me.”

Yeonjun’s eyes flash, a protective edge sharpening his tone. “Minjun’s full of shit. You know how Beomgyu is with you. Don’t let some bitter asshole mess with your head.”

Taehyun nods slowly but keeps his tone neutral, probing gently, “But how did that make you feel? Do you think there’s any truth to what he said?”

Kai bites his lip, voice cracking slightly. “I want to believe it’s not true. But every time Beomgyu stops us, says he’s ‘not ready’… it eats away at me. I wonder if I’m just not enough, or if he’s waiting for someone else better. I feel so stupid for wanting him, for dressing up and trying to be something more. Maybe I’m just too soft, too naive.”

Yeonjun’s expression hardens, but his voice softens, “Hueningie, you’re not stupid. You’re brave for loving with your whole heart. Beomgyu has his own battles but that doesn’t mean you’re not worth it.”

Taehyun adds quietly, “It’s okay to be scared, princess. But don’t lose sight of what you know about Beomgyu hyung, not what some jealous ex says.”

Kai lets out a shaky breath, the knot in his chest loosening just a little. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “I– I shouldn’t have let Minjun get to me like that. I feel bad for snapping at Beomgyu hyung. He didn’t deserve it.”

Taehyun gives his hand a small, reassuring squeeze. “Hey, your feelings aren’t automatically wrong. You’ve been patient, and you’ve been kind. And it’s okay to be hurt when you don’t feel that coming back the same way. Being cautious is good. Just… don’t forget to let people prove you wrong.”

Yeonjun nods fiercely, “Yeah. And you have us. No one’s going to mess with you while we’re around.”

“Do you guys think…” Kai starts, then falters, the words catching on the lump in his throat. He looks down at his hands, twisting the edge of his sleeve between his fingers. “Do you think his feelings for me are real?”

There’s a pause, but it’s not the uncomfortable kind. Just quiet enough for honesty to settle in.

Yeonjun’s voice is steady when he speaks. “I can’t claim to know everything, but from where I’m standing? That boy looks at you like you invented light. Like just being near you is enough to make the whole damn world make sense. If that’s not real… then Beomgyu’s a damn good actor.”

Kai lets out a shaky breath that’s half-laugh, half-sob, wiping at the corners of his eyes with the sleeve of his dad’s shirt. “God. You guys are too good to me.”

Taehyun leans in a little, his expression soft but earnest. “You don’t have to earn love, Kai. Not from us. Not from him. You’re allowed to ask for reassurance.”

Yeonjun bumps their shoulders gently. “And anytime you need it, we’ve got you. Always.”

“Obviously, who else would protect our princess from all the evil witches and dragons?” Taehyun smirks, resting his head on Kai’s shoulder.

Kai doesn’t answer right away, he just exhales a laugh, eyes glassy but a little less heavy. For the first time that night, he believes he might be okay. Not because all the doubt is gone, but because someone is holding the weight with him.

They finish the box slowly, each tart savoured between long silences and quiet murmurs, the sugar sticking to their fingers and the warmth gradually returning to Kai’s limbs. Kai laughs once or twice, mostly at Yeonjun’s dramatic renditions of old high school crush horror stories, and even Taehyun cracked a few jokes that made him snort through his egg tart. Still, the exhaustion in Kai’s bones doesn’t lift, it only softened into something less sharp.

When the last tart is gone and the tea mugs sit empty on the coffee table, Taehyun stretches his arms over his head and claps once. “Alright,” he announces, already getting to his feet, “Group migration. Let’s go.”

Kai blinks. “Go where?”

“Your room, obviously.” Taehyun says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Yeonjun stands up too, grabbing their empty cups. “He means we’re crashing. No negotiations.”

Kai frowns, a little slow to catch up. “Wait, you’re sleeping in my room?”

“Duh.” Yeonjun has already disappeared down the hall, calling over his shoulder. “What kind of hyungs would we be if we let you cry into your pillow alone all night?”

“I wasn’t going to cry,” Kai mutters, following them reluctantly.

Taehyun glances back with a faint smile. “Of course not. But just in case.”

Kai rolls his eyes, but his chest warms in that quiet, aching way that only ever came with being seen. By the time they reach his room, Yeonjun has already thrown himself dramatically across the bed, limbs spread out like a starfish.

“You’re taking the floor,” Kai says, pointing at him.

“Too bad,” Yeonjun yawns, “This mattress is mine now. You can fight me for the left pillow.”

Taehyun doesn’t even argue, he just climbs in on the other side and pulls the covers up to his chin, somehow managing to look more serene than a monk in meditation. Kai sighs loudly for show, slipping into the space between them and making a few exaggerated shoves until he can lie on his back with at least some room to breathe.

“Can’t believe I’m letting you guys bully me into this,” he mumbles.

“Mm-hmm,” Yeonjun hums sleepily. “You secretly love it.”

Kai scoffs, but there is no bite to it. He stares up at the ceiling for a moment, letting the silence settle around the three of them like a blanket. Yeonjun’s breathing is already slowing. Taehyun’s chest rises and falls evenly beside him. The warmth of their bodies on either side is grounding, their quiet snoring comforting. The ache in his chest didn’t vanish, but it has since dulled into something manageable and survivable.

Still, sleep doesn’t come.

Kai blinks up into the dark, the weight of the day lingering behind his eyes like a bruise. He turns slightly, careful not to disturb either of them, and reached for his phone on the bedside table. The screen lights up immediately, blinding in the dark, and his stomach drops.

Twenty one missed calls.

A string of messages. All from Beomgyu.

 

president beomgyu🧸 

kai please i need you to listen to me
i know i hurt you
i have no excuse i just can’t tell you rn
i wish i could but
please just pick up the phone?
please don’t be mad at me
i want you so bad, you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen
i wanna be with you so bad i promise
baby?
i’m so sorry
talk to me baby please?
i miss you already baby

 

Kai swallows hard, thumb hovering over the screen, unsure whether to open the conversation or throw the phone across the room. He opts for the former. The second he opens the chatroom, he sees the typing bubble appear. 

 

president beomgyu🧸 

baby i know you’re reading this
i’m so sorry darling
i promise you you’re so special to me
you’re so beautiful darling

hyung

i want you so bad baby i just can’t rn

hyung stop
can u listen to me first

ofc baby go ahead

i’m sorry too

WHAT noo baby you have nothing to apologise for
i’m the one who should be apologising 

no i just…
ig i should’ve been honest with you
the reason why i flipped out as bad as i did
i mean i obvi didn’t want to force you to have sex with me
i’d love to but i understand if you’re not ready
ig i was just sensitive bc the other day…

 

Kai starts typing out the message – Minjun told me some things… – but his thumbs hesitate over the keyboard. The words stare back at him, too small, too fragile for something that suddenly feels so heavy. He pauses, then backspaces slowly, letter by letter, until the screen is blank again. This isn’t something he wants to reduce to pixels on a screen, not when it sits like a stone in his chest. Whatever this thing is between them – whatever it could still become – deserves more than a text. Some conversations should happen face to face.

 

ykw i think we should talk about this ftf
can i… come over tomorrow?
so we can speak properly
and i can apologise properly too

ofc baby i told you you didn’t have to ask to come over
you always have a place here
and please don’t apologisr!!!
i’m the one who’s in the wrong baby not you
please never apologise
i’ll wait for you okay?
i’ll be waiting for you tomorrow
for now jus don’t think about it okay?
rest and go to sleep
sweet dreams baby

okay see u hyung
(つ｡•́︿•̀｡)つ♡

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

 

Kai types another message – i love you hyung – but ultimately deletes the messages, choosing to lock his phone and keep those words for another day.

Notes:

what do you think is going to happen next? i'd love to hear your thoughts hehe

also, the next chapter might come a little late as i'll be super busy. i'm in the middle of a campaign for work so most of my attention's been focused on that, and i won't be able to write as much or as fast as i usually do. i'll still try to update as fast as i could tho!! but if i'm not able to, i hope you guys won't mind if the next updates comes in like a week or so (｡•́︿•̀｡)

anw let me know what you think about this chapter in the comment section and please feel free to drop me an ask or a drawing on my strawpage hehe! link down below:

koostiddy.straw.page

Chapter 20

Summary:

Beomgyu has to tell him. He can’t let it go on any further. Not when Kai’s looking at him like this; with so much trust in those tear-glossed eyes, so much love still lingering in the quiet between them. It doesn’t make sense. Kai should be furious. He should hate him. He shouldn’t be here, in Beomgyu’s room, folding in on himself like he’s the one who did something wrong. Beomgyu's chest aches as he swallows the shame threatening to crush him.

His throat works. “Kai, baby. I need to tell you something–” he starts, voice barely a whisper.

But Kai shakes his head, eyes wet but steady. “I know.”

Notes:

please note that everything written in this fic is FICTION and in no way, shape, or form, a reflection of what these people are like in real life! it's just for funsies hehe, no harm!

with that said, enjoy the chapter!

🧸

 

“You don’t have to apologise, hyung.”

Beomgyu’s heart sinks. The words are soft, barely above a whisper, but they hit harder than any shouting could. Kai sits cross-legged on the edge of his bed, dressed in one of Beomgyu’s oversized hoodies, sleeves swallowed up by his hands. He looks smaller than usual, quieter too; not in that dreamy, soft-spoken way Beomgyu’s grown to adore, but in a guarded, pulled-in kind of way that makes his chest ache.

“I do,” Beomgyu says, because it’s the only thing he can say. His voice is hoarse, stripped down. He’s spent the last twenty-four hours replaying that moment over and over in his head; Kai pulling away, hurt shimmering in his eyes, the way he dressed up and smiled and called him hyungie like he wanted to be wanted, and Beomgyu wanted him. God, he did. Every fibre of him ached to touch, to give in, to let it happen.

But he didn’t – couldn’t – because of the fucking bet.

Kai shakes his head gently, not looking at him. “You really don’t. I was the one who pushed. You said you weren’t ready, and I should’ve respected that instead of getting upset.”

“But you didn’t do anything wrong–”

“I was selfish,” Kai cuts in, his voice wobbling slightly before he swallows it down. “I wanted something more than you could give. That’s on me.”

Beomgyu’s lungs stutter, like something’s lodged in them, pressing down until his next breath comes jagged and tight. He wants to scream. No, you’re not selfish. You’re not wrong. You’re the one person in the world who’s been nothing but honest, nothing but good to me, and I–

He can’t even finish the thought. Guilt gnaws at his insides like rust, sharp and slow. If Kai only knew. If he knew that all of this started because Beomgyu was dared to sleep with him for a million won, if he knew the way Beomgyu had laughed at the idea at first, had played along, even bragged–

But he doesn’t know, and now he’s here, taking the blame for something that was never his fault to begin with. It makes Beomgyu feel sick.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says, voice raw. “I promise, baby, I never meant to.”

Kai nods, then gives a fragile smile that does nothing to reach his eyes. “I know. It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. Nothing about this is okay, but Beomgyu is too much of a coward to say the truth. Because if he opens his mouth now – if he says it – it’s all over. The bet, the blackmail, the secret he’s been carrying like a ticking bomb in his chest… Kai will never look at him the same again.

“I think… the reason why I got so upset that night wasn’t really because of you.” Kai pauses, fingers stilling. “Or at least, not entirely.”

Beomgyu’s pulse skips. “What was it?”

Kai hesitates, and Beomgyu watches his lips part, then press together again. His eyes flick up for just a second, like he’s searching for permission.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” Kai says, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just– I was embarrassed. And confused. But I talked to Yeonjun hyung and Taehyunnie and they made me realise that it’s not really something I should be keeping from you.”

Beomgyu’s skin prickles. He doesn’t like where this is going.

“Kai,” he says slowly. “What happened?”

Kai bites his lip, picking at a thread on the blanket. “Minjun happened.”

Beomgyu’s stomach drops. Cold and fast. “Minjun?”

Kai nods, still not meeting his eyes. “I ran into him during the open house. It wasn’t long, just a short conversation, but… he said some stuff. Stuff I didn’t know how to react to. And I guess it just… stuck in my head more than it should’ve.”

Beomgyu’s heart is pounding now, cold sweat forming at the back of his neck. “What did he say?”

Kai takes a deep breath, like it hurts to even recall. “He said… you’ve always had a lot of flings. That you liked collecting admirers. And that I was just the latest one. Wrapped around your finger.”

Beomgyu swears under his breath. “Kai–”

“I know, I know,” Kai says quickly. “It sounds stupid now. But at the time, he was just so… confident. Like he knew everything. And then he said…” Kai trails off, voice wavering. “He said that when you’re not interested in someone, you always say the same thing. That you’re not ready. And I–”

Beomgyu flinches. The words slice clean through him because whether he likes it or not, Minjun’s right. That phrase – I’m not ready – has followed Beomgyu like a shadow, the easiest excuse to slip past someone’s disappointment without having to explain himself. He’s used it before. On people he didn’t care about, on nights that meant nothing, with hands he never wanted holding him. And Minjun – smug, poisonous Minjun – was there for most of it, watching Beomgyu wield that line like a shield. Of course he would remember. Of course he’d know exactly how to twist it into something cruel, something weaponised, but to throw it at Kai? Sweet, soft Kai who’s done nothing but love Beomgyu with his whole heart? That’s a new level of low even for Minjun. Beomgyu grits his teeth, a curse curling in his mouth like bile. Minjun might’ve known how to get under his skin, but this? This was a direct hit to something far more fragile. He never thought Minjun would stoop so low as to use that against him. Not now. Not when it could shatter the one good thing Beomgyu has left.

Kai wipes at his eyes, a shaky breath escaping his lungs. “I shouldn’t have believed him. I don’t even know him. But it just– everything started spiralling after that. I kept thinking about how every time I tried to get closer to you, you pulled away. And then it made me wonder if maybe you didn’t really… like me. Not like that. And I felt so pathetic for even thinking I was special.”

Beomgyu’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Kai looks up at him finally, eyes rimmed red and brimming with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, hyung. You don’t deserve that. I should’ve trusted you. I do trust you. I was just scared, and insecure, and I let someone like Minjun get in my head when I know you’re not like that. You’re not cruel.”

Beomgyu swallows hard, the lump in his throat sharp as a blade. Kai’s words land with the force of a blow – You’re not cruel – and it guts him, because he is. Or at least, he feels like he is. Kai says it with so much certainty, with so much trembling sincerity in his voice, and Beomgyu wants to believe him. But the truth is rotting inside him, heavy and sour. He has been cruel. Maybe not in the way Minjun was, not with malice or spite, but cruelty doesn’t always need intent. Sometimes it looks like silence, like avoidance, like watching someone fall deeper into something real while you’re still hiding behind lies, and Kai’s out here crying, apologising, trying to make him feel better when Beomgyu is the one who’s done the damage. The one keeping the ugliest secret of all. Kai believes he’s been loved purely and honestly, and Beomgyu… he’s the opposite of that. A coward wearing kindness like armour. A liar being forgiven for something Kai doesn’t even know about yet.

Beomgyu watches, helpless, as Kai’s voice trembles. “You’re kind. And thoughtful. And you always take care of me. So why did I let one person shake all of that?”

“Kai–”

“I’m sorry,” Kai says again, choking on the words now. “I just… I thought I was being brave, showing up that night, dressing up, trying to be someone you’d want. And when you stopped me again, it all came crashing down, like maybe I wasn’t enough after all.”

Tears spill down his cheeks freely now, his hands balling into fists in his lap. “I know I shouldn’t be crying. I know this is stupid. But I really do lo–” Kai stops himself and Beomgyu feels his heart lodge into his throat. No, he thinks. Please don’t say it. Then Kai corrects himself and continues, but Beomgyu doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.  “Like you. And I trust you. And I hate that I made you feel like you had to apologise when it was me… I was the one being unfair.”

Beomgyu is already moving before he realises it, crossing the space between them and pulling Kai into his arms. Kai resists at first, embarrassed, but then he melts into Beomgyu’s chest, his tears soaking the front of his shirt, and Beomgyu just holds him tighter, like maybe if he clings hard enough, he can absorb all the pain and guilt Kai is carrying.

But the truth is, he should be the one crying and apologising. Not Kai.

Because everything Kai said, everything he blamed himself for, isn’t his fault. It’s Beomgyu’s. All of it. The reason he can’t bring himself to go further isn’t because he doesn’t want Kai. God, he wants him more than anything. It’s because every time Kai touches him like that, every time he looks at Beomgyu like he’s something precious, something worth it, it reminds him of the lie. Of the ugly, rotting secret that’s been clawing at his insides since this whole thing began.

Beomgyu has to tell him. He can’t let it go on any further. Not when Kai’s looking at him like this; with so much trust in those tear-glossed eyes, so much love still lingering in the quiet between them. It doesn’t make sense. Kai should be furious. He should hate him. He shouldn’t be here, in Beomgyu’s room, folding in on himself like he’s the one who did something wrong. Beomgyu's chest aches as he swallows the shame threatening to crush him.

His throat works. “Kai, baby. I need to tell you something–” he starts, voice barely a whisper.

But Kai shakes his head, eyes wet but steady. “I know.”

Beomgyu freezes. His heart skips, stutters, then hammers so loudly he can hear it in his ears. “You… you know?”

There’s a second, just one, where the world stops turning. Where everything burns cold.

Kai lets out a watery laugh, rubbing at his eyes. “I know you’ve been trying so hard. And I know it’s not easy for you to open up about… whatever’s been hurting you. You’ve never asked for much, and you’ve always been there when I needed you, so I should’ve trusted you more. I should’ve known you’d never hurt me on purpose.”

Relief slams into Beomgyu so fast it’s almost nauseating. For a second, he forgets how to breathe. That’s what Kai meant. That’s what he thinks he knows. Beomgyu lets himself exhale but the guilt doesn’t fade. If anything, it sharpens, because this, this grace, is something he doesn’t deserve. Not when the truth is still clutched, trembling, at the back of his throat.

He opens his mouth again, heart thudding in his ribs. “Kai, there’s something I–”

But Kai stops him with a soft touch to his lips. “Shh, it’s okay, hyung. I get it. Can we just… not talk anymore?” he asks quietly, almost pleading. “Not tonight. No more apologies. No more digging at wounds. I don’t want to keep pulling this apart just to bleed more. I just want to be with you right now.”

Beomgyu’s mouth shuts. The words die in his throat. But I need to tell you about the bet before I dig myself a deeper grave.

“I’m tired,” Kai continues, voice small. “And I know we’re both still hurting, but I just want to lie here. With you. No more pain. Just… us. Is that okay?”

Beomgyu could be honest and say it isn’t, could somehow put on a bravado and pretend that he’s strong enough to tell the truth now, but the ache in Kai’s voice – the vulnerability, the quiet desperation for peace – claws at every raw edge of him. He wants to give him that. Even if he’s not worthy of it. And who is he to deny another chance of stalling?

So he nods. “Yeah. It’s okay.”

Kai exhales, shoulders relaxing for the first time since they sat down. He shifts, climbing up onto the bed, and Beomgyu follows without a word, settling beside him. They lie facing each other, just breathing, just existing in the fragile warmth between them. Kai’s fingers find his under the blanket, and Beomgyu grips them tightly, holding on like he’s terrified of letting go.

Because he is. 

He doesn’t deserve this moment, but for now, for just another night, he lets himself have it.

Beomgyu thinks his heart can’t hurt any more than it already does until Kai leans in, eyes shimmering beneath the low light, and whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

The question nearly undoes him.

It’s not just the way Kai says it, quiet and careful like he’s afraid of breaking something already fractured. It’s not even the way he looks; hair slightly messy from where he’s run his fingers through them, cheeks still blotchy from the crying, lips chapped but parted in such a hopeful, delicate way. It’s the fact that he asked at all. That after everything, after all the love he’s given so selflessly, he still feels the need to ask if he’s allowed.

Beomgyu swallows hard, his throat burning. “You don’t have to ask, Kai.”

Kai’s fingers twitch between his. “I don’t know anymore,” he admits, voice barely a breath. “After everything I said… everything I accused you of, I don’t know if I have the right to just– touch you. To kiss you. I feel like I messed everything up.”

And that is the final crack. The one that splits straight through Beomgyu’s chest and leaves his heart bleeding out into the space between them.

He doesn’t speak. He just leans forward and kisses him.

It’s gentle. Not desperate like before, not charged or frantic. It’s just lips meeting lips, tentative and trembling, the way you might handle something precious for the first time. Kai inhales sharply through his nose, a startled sound, but then he melts, body softening into Beomgyu’s like a sigh. His hand lifts to cup Beomgyu’s cheek, fingers cool against his flushed skin, and Beomgyu leans into the touch like he’s starving for it.

Kai’s lips meet Beomgyu’s in a way that feels both unfamiliar and instinctive, like stepping into a dream he’s somehow lived before. They’re tentative at first, a brush, a pause, a moment of hesitation where neither of them moves too fast. Beomgyu tilts his head slightly, just enough to slot their mouths together more comfortably, and Kai sighs softly against his lips; relieved, maybe, that he’s still wanted. Beomgyu’s hand comes up to cradle the side of Kai’s face, thumb stroking gently along the cheekbone as if to steady him, reassure him. Kai responds by shifting closer, one of his knees sliding between Beomgyu’s thighs as he leans in, fingers curling into the fabric of Beomgyu’s shirt like he’s afraid he might disappear.

Their mouths move in slow, deliberate sync, no urgency, just a careful exploration of softness and trust. Beomgyu parts his lips slightly, and Kai follows, their kisses deepening with the ease of familiarity, of a bond that didn’t need to be rushed. The mattress dips beneath their shifting weight as Kai gently nudges Beomgyu back against the pillows, hovering just above him but never demanding. Beomgyu’s free hand finds Kai’s waist, not gripping, just resting there; anchoring him, grounding himself. Each press of their lips is followed by a pause, a breath, a shared look before diving back in. It’s a kiss that says: I’m here. I want you. I still trust you. It’s unhurried, woven with apology and comfort, stitched together by the quiet ache of everything unspoken between them.

The kiss deepens gradually, naturally, like an inhale after holding one’s breath for too long. There’s the faintest graze of tongue when Kai tilts his chin and licks softly into Beomgyu’s mouth, testing, exploring, and Beomgyu welcomes it with a quiet, shuddering exhale. It’s not filthy, not rushed or messy, just slow and warm and devastatingly tender. Their mouths glide together in a rhythm that feels instinctive, mouths parting only to reconnect again like a tide drawing them back to shore. The room is still, save for the soft, wet sounds of kissing, the gentle rustle of fabric against sheets, the occasional sigh that slips between them like a shared secret.

Kai shifts, pressing closer, until there’s no more space left to give. His chest is flush to Beomgyu’s, his hands now cupping Beomgyu’s jaw with care, and Beomgyu’s fingers slide up beneath the hem of Kai’s borrowed shirt just to feel the warm curve of his spine, to remind himself he’s real. Their legs tangle naturally, like they’ve always known how to fit together like this, and every pass of their lips carries something unspeakable: I’m sorry, I need you, I’m here. The intimacy is quiet but full, soaking into the space between heartbeats. It doesn’t need to escalate. It already means everything.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that. A minute. An hour. All he knows is the warmth of Kai’s mouth, the way he kisses like it means something, like it’s the only language he has left. Sometimes he pulls back to look at Beomgyu, eyes wide and searching, like he’s checking to see if it’s still okay, if Beomgyu’s still here, and every time, Beomgyu answers him with another kiss.

They don’t talk. They don’t need to.

Eventually they shift under the covers, finding a rhythm, a kind of gentle pattern. A kiss. A breath. A pause to rest their foreheads together. Another kiss. Sometimes their hands wander; no further than a chest, a jawline, a curl of fingers around the nape of a neck. It’s slow and quiet, their bodies pressed close, legs tangled beneath the blanket like it’s always been this way.

It isn’t heavy. It isn’t about lust or proof or making a point. It’s just them. Kai and Beomgyu, stripped down to the softest parts of themselves.

At some point, Kai buries his face in Beomgyu’s neck and murmurs, “I’m sorry again,” and Beomgyu just shakes his head, carding his fingers through Kai’s hair.

“Don’t be,” he whispers back, pressing a kiss to Kai’s temple. “You’re not at fault here.”

And that’s how they fall asleep. Wrapped around each other, mouths sore from kissing, hearts still sore from everything they haven’t said but beating together anyway, steady and close.

 

🐧

 

Kai’s fingers are sore from the shears, but he keeps cutting anyway, following the chalked curve of Yeonjun’s muslin pattern as carefully as he can. It’s the fourth piece they’ve done tonight, and there’s still a growing pile waiting to be traced and cut. Yeonjun is kneeling on the floor beside them, surrounded by reference sketches and pinned mock-ups, his brows furrowed in that very particular way that means he’s trying not to spiral.

“You know,” Beomgyu says from across the coffee table, squinting at a folded sleeve block, “this would go way faster if Yeonjun hyung would let us near the sewing machine.”

Yeonjun doesn’t even look up. “The last time you touched my machine, Gyu, you broke a needle and threaded the bobbin backwards.”

Beomgyu scowls. “That was one time!”

Kai stifles a laugh. “It was the only time. And you still managed to cause irreversible damage.”

“Oh, whatever.” Beomgyu rolls his eyes, but his grin softens the bite of it. “I’m a musician, not a tailor.”

“Then maybe stop trying to stitch through your thumb,” Kai says lightly, and Beomgyu mock-gasps, clutching at his chest like he’s been fatally wounded.

Yeonjun finally looks up, but the smile he gives them is tired yet grateful. “You guys are lifesavers,” he murmurs, voice tight with exhaustion. “Seriously. I don’t know how I’m going to finish all this in time.”

“You will,” Kai says gently. “You always do.”

And he means it. Even though their apartment is strewn with fabric scraps and coloured pencils, half-finished mood boards curling at the corners, there’s something fiercely brilliant about the way he works. His line – sharp, genderless silhouettes layered with tulle and neoprene, deconstructed tailoring and raw-edged hems – is unlike anything Kai’s seen before, and the track he and Beomgyu finished, a dark, atmospheric piece full of swelling synths and glitchy drum samples, fits it like a second skin.

“Four months is plenty of time,” Beomgyu adds. “Especially with your loyal minions doing the grunt work.”

Yeonjun snorts, but doesn’t argue. Kai sees the tension in his shoulders ease just a little.

They lapse into silence for a while, the only sounds in the flat the snip of scissors, the rustle of paper, the faint hum of the record player Yeonjun forgot to turn off earlier. Kai doesn’t mind the quiet. There’s something comforting about being surrounded by the people he trusts most, working toward something together. It reminds him that he’s not alone, not really.

Beomgyu is the one to break the silence again.

“Hey,” he says, quiet but casual. “So, uh. Hiyyih texted me again.”

Kai’s hand stills. His eyes flick up, meeting Beomgyu’s across the table. The words hang between them for a second, like something delicate.

“Yeah?” Kai says, trying to sound neutral.

Beomgyu nods. “Just a few times. Since that last message. She… she said they still miss you and would really like to see you among other things.” He pauses. “I can show you what she said, if you want.”

Kai sits there for a moment, heart pacing itself a little too loudly inside his chest, each beat echoing louder than it should. He feels the familiar crawl of hesitation inch up his spine. He’s never known how to handle this part, the lingering threads of a family that unravelled without his permission, but something about Beomgyu’s voice, gentle and without pressure, makes him feel like he doesn’t have to fall apart just for looking. They’re just words. Letters on a screen. Not a voice. Not a visit. Not their smiles that look too much like his own reflected back at him with a trace of apology. Just words.

“I…” Kai breathes in, then out. His throat feels tight, but he pushes through it. “Okay. I think I want to see them.”

Beomgyu looks at him carefully, like he’s checking if he’s sure, and when Kai gives a small nod, Beomgyu sets down his scissors and pulls out his phone. There’s a quiet moment as he scrolls, his brows knitting slightly as he searches through the conversation. Then he turns the screen toward Kai, holding it with two hands like it’s something fragile.

Kai leans in.

The messages are spaced out, sent over the course of a few days. Hiyyih’s name glows at the top of the screen in a way that feels so familiar it knocks the breath from his lungs for a second.

 

Huening Bahiyyih

hi beomgyu oppa (⸝⸝•ᴗ•⸝⸝)੭⁾⁾
how is he?
can u tell him we miss him please
oh and also tell him to take his time
i know it’s too sudden but
lea unnie and i miss him a lot
and we’re sorry we couldn’t do anything
oh!!
tell him we just adopted a new cat hehe ₍^. .^₎⟆
we have two now!
aqua and ruby!!

 

“Wait,” Kai says quietly, fingers creeping towards the phone like it might disappear if he’s not careful. “Is that… Aqua?”

Beomgyu blinks. “Yeah, that’s what they said.”

Kai’s lips part, disbelief blooming on his face. “I know that cat.”

“You do?” Beomgyu sits up straighter.

“I used to visit her all the time at the cat cafe near campus. The one with the rescue programme. She was the sweetest, always climbed into my lap and tried to steal the foam off my hot chocolate. She’d sit on me so I couldn’t leave. I even have her on my instagram!” Kai scrolls on his instagram to show a photo he posted of Aqua sitting on his chest.

Beomgyu laughs gently, but his eyes stay focused on Kai’s face. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” Kai stares at the image again, the fondness in his voice threaded with awe. “They told me she’d been adopted a few weeks ago. I didn’t even ask by who. But this–” He looks up at Beomgyu, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. “Of all people in this city. It’s them?”

Beomgyu smiles, a little amazed. “The universe works in weird ways.”

“Yeah,” Kai murmurs, eyes falling back to the photo, a quiet kind of warmth spreading through his chest. “I guess it does.”

He doesn’t say it aloud, but something about the coincidence settles differently in him; softens the sting, just a little, of everything that’s happened. If Aqua’s happy… if she’s safe and purring and curled up beside his sisters, then maybe it’s okay to believe, for a second, that not everything that was taken from him is lost forever. Some things just find new ways to return.

Kai stares at the photo for a moment longer, the soft curve of Aqua’s sleeping form imprinting itself behind his eyes. Something stirs in his chest – nostalgia, longing, maybe even a little hope – but it’s muddied by the usual knot of guilt that curls at the edges of anything that reminds him of them. Of what was. Of what might still be.

Yeonjun sets down his shears, brushing fabric scraps off his lap. “Do you want to say something back?” he asks gently, not pressing, but watching Kai closely.

Kai’s fingers twitch on the table, the urge to type something a quiet, traitorous hum beneath his skin. He doesn’t look up right away. “I…” He chews his lip. “I don’t know.”

Beomgyu lowers his phone, sensing the shift. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready.”

“I know,” Kai murmurs. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just… it feels like if I say something, it becomes real. Like I’m opening a door I’m not sure I can close again.”

Yeonjun nods slowly, his tone soft but firm. “It’s your door. You decide when, or if, it opens.”

Kai finally meets his eyes, something vulnerable flickering behind his lashes. “It’s not just about me. It’s my dad. After everything, after she took them and left us like that… he’s the one who stayed.”

Beomgyu and Yeonjun go quiet, the room holding its breath with him.

“I feel like if I reach out, even just a little, it’s like I’m betraying him somehow. Like I’m turning my back on everything he sacrificed just to keep me okay.”

Yeonjun’s voice is gentle. “You’re not betraying anyone, Hueningie.”

Kai looks down at his lap. “Still. I think I need to talk to him first.”

Beomgyu gives a small, understanding nod. “Then we’ll wait, and they will too. However long you need.”

Kai doesn’t say thank you, but the look he gives them both says it for him. He leans back into the couch cushion, letting the soft whirr of Yeonjun’s sewing machine fill the silence again, his heart a little heavier but somehow steadier now that he’s said it aloud.

Kai scrolls slowly through the thread, thumb hovering over the screen as his gaze takes in each message one by one. They’re all short, casual things; updates, little thoughts, pictures of the new cat Aqua curled up with Ruby. His heart twists.

Even the way Hiyyih texts – filled with kaomojis, double exclamation marks, and excited keyboard smashes – it’s so familiar it almost hurts. It’s like looking into a slightly younger, softer version of himself. He can practically hear her voice behind the words, bubbly and bright and unapologetically affectionate. He feels it then, like a soft crack splintering somewhere inside his chest. That’s her. There’s no denying it. It’s not just a name in Beomgyu’s inbox or a number reaching out from a past he’s tried so hard to bury, it’s her. His sister, and even after all this time, even after the silence and distance and ache, she still sounds exactly like she used to. Like home.

His eyes flick up to the photo again. Aqua perched in a cat tower by the window, with Ruby right below her. The sight makes his chest swell with a bittersweet ache. Of all the people who could’ve adopted her… how strange. How poetic. How cruelly coincidental that the kitten he used to visit every other weekend, the one who curled in his lap and purred like an engine, ended up with them.

He swallows thickly, heart heavy. When the cat cafe had told him Aqua was adopted a few weeks back, he’d been happy, even though there’d been a faint pang of loss too, but he’d never imagined this. He’d never let himself think it could be his own family, because he hadn’t dared to look. Not once. Not in years. The thought of seeing their lives without him – seeing them happy, grown, moving on – had felt too much like pouring salt into a wound that never closed.

But now… now he wonders.

He wonders how tall Hiyyih is now. Whether Lea still forces Hiyyih to perform girl group choreos with her like she used to with him. Whether they still sing in the shower, harmonising badly, giggling when they mess up. Whether they talk about him, whisper about him when the lights go out and the house is quiet. He wonders if they still remember the same inside jokes. If they ever hated him for staying the same way he hated them for leaving. 

“Kai?” Beomgyu asks softly, careful not to startle him.

Kai blinks, realising he’s been staring at the same message for minutes now. He nods, then clears his throat. “Sorry. I’m okay.”

Beomgyu watches Kai carefully, like he’s afraid a single wrong word might tip him over the edge. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, softer this time.

Kai nods, a little more firmly. “Yeah. I just…” He takes a breath, then lets it out slowly. “Can I ask something kind of dumb?”

“There’s no such thing,” Beomgyu says without missing a beat.

Kai hesitates, then says, “What… what does Hiyyih look like? Now, I mean.”

Beomgyu’s expression softens, a slow, almost wistful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “She looks like you,” he says quietly. “Like, really looks like you. Same jawline, same big eyes. She dyed her hair blonde too, but a little more golden than yours. Her features are softer, but when she smiles, it’s just like yours. It’s kind of eerie, honestly.”

Kai lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, though it sounds more like disbelief. He stares down at the floor, jaw tensing as he tries to hold onto the image Beomgyu just painted. Blonde. Big eyes. Same smile. It’s strange… he’s spent so long not letting himself remember their faces too clearly, not letting himself miss them too much, but now it’s like they’re right there, just out of reach.

“She looks healthy,” Beomgyu adds, gently. “And happy. From what I can tell.”

Kai nods, his throat tight, a lump beginning to form that he refuses to acknowledge. He blinks down at the table, hands folded in his lap until Beomgyu’s voice cuts in again.

“If you want,” Beomgyu offers, “we can look at her Instagram. I didn’t follow her back, either of them, because I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with it. But they both followed me a while ago.”

Kai blinks. “They followed you?”

Beomgyu nods. “Yeah. After I replied to that first message. They didn’t say anything at first, just followed me. Lea did too. I didn’t think it’d be right to follow them back without asking you.”

Kai’s lips part, then close again. The idea that they’d been watching from afar this whole time – that they’d seen Beomgyu’s posts, seen him – sends a strange ripple through his chest.

“…Then they must’ve seen me,” he murmurs. “In your posts. You’ve posted a bunch of pictures with me.”

Beomgyu hesitates. “Yeah. They commented on the latest one, actually. The one where we went to that photobooth.”

Kai’s brows knit, his voice barely audible. “What did they say?”

Beomgyu reaches for his phone, fingers moving deftly before he angles it toward Kai.

 

bamgyuuuu like this post if you think i’m cuter than @eversokaindly
↳ hiyeahhh_ not liking this post simply bc of that caption (•̀⤙•́)
↳ leanavvab eyyy kai is obv cuter

 

Kai stares at the screen like it might dissolve if he blinks too hard. There it is. Proof. Not just that they saw him, but that they still cared. That they were still looking. That even after everything, they didn’t hate him. They hadn’t forgotten. His heart clenches so tightly it aches, and for a moment, Kai doesn’t know what hurts more: the guilt, the longing, or the bittersweet hope blooming quietly in his chest.

Kai’s fingers twitch in his lap before he quietly asks, “Can I… see their profiles?”

Beomgyu doesn’t say anything at first, just unlocks his phone, clicks the app open, and hands it to Kai without hesitation. “Take your time,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to look at everything. Just… click through whatever you’re ready for.”

Kai nods once, stiff, lips pressed in a tight line. His heart beats too fast in his chest, a low throb blooming behind his ribs like something warning him away, but he doesn’t stop. Not when Yeonjun slides in beside him silently and rests his chin on Kai’s shoulder, warm and grounding. Not when the screen flashes bright in front of him like a memory waiting to happen.

He clicks on Hiyyih’s profile first.

The photo hits him like a punch to the lungs.

It’s her. It’s really her. Blonde now – golden and soft, falling in lazy curls past her shoulders – but still so undeniably Hiyyih. Her smile tugs lopsided, her nose scrunching like it always used to when she laughed too hard. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, wide and bright, and she still uses kaomojis in her captions. Her most recent post is a picture of a cat curled into her lap with the caption, “Ruby’s the clingy one. Aqua’s more like Lea unnie 😼💖”.

Kai feels a little tug at his heartstrings, because Aqua’s also a clingy cat. Or at least, with him she is. As he scrolls through her posts, he misses her more than he ever has. That’s the moment he realises, he never really let himself miss them before. Not truly. He’d buried the ache somewhere so deep it no longer had a voice, but now it swells all at once, blooming like bruises under his skin. He scrolls slower now, past photos of Hiyyih in cafes, in school uniforms, in silly face filters with her friends. Some selfies are just her and Lea, smiling big at the camera like nothing in the world ever hurt them.

And then there’s his older sister . Lea. In one post, Hiyyih had tagged Lea’s account, so Kai clicks without thinking.

The loading screen flashes once. Then the photos are sharper, sleeker, and more editorial. Lea’s cheekbones have grown more pronounced, her style elegant and confident. She’s unmistakably the same Lea he remembers; just older, bolder, more poised. A model now. He’s not even surprised. She always did walk around the house like the hallway was her runway, Kai beatboxing or humming in the background as their dad sang along dramatically, turning their small living room into a theatre.

It’s almost laughable. Almost sweet.

That is… until he sees her.

Their mother.

There’s a post: a family portrait, clearly recent. His mother stands in the centre, her smile gleaming, Lea and Hiyyih on either side of her, arms linked. Her new husband, the man Kai had only met once in a courtroom, stands proudly behind them. They’re dressed in luxury, smiles wide, the photo captioned “Happy birthday Eomma💐💝 thank you for everything you do for us!”

Kai’s heart stops. The air in his chest turns to concrete.

He stares at it, at the sharp lines of his mother’s face, the glint of her wedding ring, the perfectly curated family portrait – the money she stole from his father on display in every pixel. While he and his dad were counting coins, choosing between light bills and lunch, this was the life she’d built with the winnings. Their suffering turned into her luxury.

He shuts the app.

Just like that. One flick of his thumb. His hands tremble as he hands Beomgyu’s phone back without a word.

“Kai?” Beomgyu asks gently.

“I don’t want to talk to them,” Kai says flatly, voice barely above a whisper. “Not ever, I think.”

He knows it sounds childish. Knows it in the way his voice trembles despite how cold he tries to sound, in the way his throat tightens like he’s holding back a scream, but how could he not feel this way? How could he not feel the bitterness twist inside him like a knife, watching his mother and sisters live in comfort – flourishing in warmth and softness and luxury – while he and his dad had spent years patching holes in their lives with duct tape and blind faith? Every time he thought about his father’s tired smile after another night shift, or the way they stretched meals to last the week, it made his stomach churn to think she got to be happy. They got to be whole. With her. And maybe that’s petty, maybe it’s unfair to hold a grudge against the girls who once held his hands as they slept, but it doesn’t matter because right now, all he feels is the ugly, hot burn of injustice.

Neither Yeonjun nor Beomgyu says anything at first.

“I’m not angry at Hiyyih or Lea noona,” he adds, almost too quietly. “But I can’t pretend I’m okay seeing her. Her looking… happy. Like she didn’t break everything and take what little we had just so she could play happy family somewhere else.”

His hands curl into fists. His voice is tight, sharp, but it wavers. “While Dad worked two jobs and kept dinner warm for me every night, they got bubble tea and luxury birthdays and fucking Aqua.”

No one says it’s fair. Because it isn’t.

Yeonjun’s arms tighten around him. Beomgyu reaches for his hand, threading their fingers together, silent but firm. Kai doesn’t say anything else after that. The ache speaks louder than words.

 

🐧

 

Kai's dad has always been the calm in the storm. Even now, lying on the familiar mattress in their tiny flat on the outskirts of Seoul, Kai feels like a child again, seeking shelter under the steady rhythm of his father's breathing. The light above the bed is dim, casting soft gold over the walls, and Kai sits cross-legged on the bed while his father rests against the headboard, his arms behind his head in a quiet sprawl.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" his dad asks gently, glancing sideways.

Kai chews the inside of his cheek. He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he fiddles with the edge of his sleeve, picking at a loose thread. His heart is tight, throat even tighter. But this is why he came, isn’t it? To say something out loud. To stop carrying it alone.

"Beomgyu hyung met Hiyyih," he says finally, his voice a near whisper. "At the open house."

His father stills. The silence between them stretches a little. "She was there?"

Kai nods. "Yeah. They didn’t know each other, obviously. But they met. And he showed her my picture because he thought we looked eerily alike, then she gave him her number. Said she and Lea noona want to talk to me."

He watches the way his father’s mouth tightens, jaw flexing ever so slightly.

"And what do you want?"

Kai shrugs. "I don’t know."

His dad shifts to look at him properly. "Yes, you do. You always know. You're just afraid to say it."

Kai lets out a quiet breath, tugging his knees up to his chest. He rests his chin on them, eyes fixed on the far wall. "I don’t think I want to talk to them."

His dad turns his head to look at him fully. “Why not?” he asks again, gentler this time.

Kai’s eyes flicker. “Why would I?” he mutters. “They left.”

There’s a moment of quiet, just the soft hum of the fridge from the kitchen and the occasional passing car outside the window. His dad lets it sit, lets the silence stretch just long enough before he speaks again.

His dad lets out a slow breath. “Kai… they didn’t leave you. Not really. They were just kids.”

Kai’s lips press into a thin line. “Kids who still left.”

“They were taken,” his dad says gently, like he’s said this to himself so many times that the edges of the words have smoothed out. “They didn’t have a choice. Your mother decided, and they were too young to understand what it meant. They didn’t choose to leave you. And they didn’t want to leave you either.”

Kai shakes his head, stubborn. “They could’ve reached out. Even once. Even just to say hi. But they didn’t.”

“They were scared,” his dad says. “Probably told things that weren’t true. Maybe even made to believe it was better this way.”

Kai’s jaw tightens. “I was scared too.”

“I know.” His father turns a little, resting a hand over Kai’s bent knee. “But you had me. They didn’t.”

That breaks something in Kai’s chest. Because he knows it’s true. For all the anger he clung to, for all the silence he interpreted as betrayal, he’d never once stopped to wonder what it must’ve been like for his sisters on the other side of that locked door. All these years, he imagined them laughing without him, growing up without missing him – but maybe they missed him every day. Maybe they cried for him, just like he had for them.

“But Eom– that woman left you,” Kai says, voice tight. “She took everything. She took them. How can you be so calm about it?”

His dad smiles, not quite sad, not quite bitter. “Because I got you. And I never lost you.”

The words hit Kai harder than he’s prepared for. His throat closes up, and he blinks fast, shoulders curling inward. All this time, he’s been trying so hard to be angry on behalf of his dad – on behalf of himself too – that he never once realised the thing he was mourning might not even be gone.

His dad sighs, like he’s letting go of something long buried. “Of course I was hurt,” he murmurs. “Of course I felt like something had been carved out of me. They were my daughters. I raised them. I loved them. And then one day they were gone. No warning, no chance to fight for them. Just… gone.”

Kai looks up, heart squeezing in his chest. His father’s voice is quiet, but it doesn’t waver; it holds the weight of years, of grief softened by time but never erased.

“But,” his dad continues, his eyes fixed on the faint lines of the ceiling, “you were still there. You stayed. And having you here with me… it made all the difference. You were so small, Kai. So scared. But you still smiled for me, still helped me cook, still tried so hard to make me laugh when I felt like I couldn’t breathe. You don’t even realise it, do you?” He huffs a quiet laugh. “You saved me.”

Kai’s breath catches. “Dad…”

His dad swallows hard, his voice dipping even quieter. “If you had gone with them – if I’d come home that night and the house had been empty – I don’t know if I could’ve gone on. I don’t know if I would’ve wanted to.”

That stops Kai’s heart. His whole body freezes, like it’s trying to absorb the weight of those words, and then all at once, he shifts, pushing the blankets aside and curling himself against his father’s side. He throws an arm around his dad’s waist and clings to him like he’s anchoring himself.

“Don’t say that,” Kai whispers, voice cracking. “Please. Don’t ever say that.”

His dad’s hand comes up to cradle the back of his head, gentle and sure. “I won’t. I’m still here, aren’t I? Because of you. I’m not going anywhere, Kai-yah.”

Kai squeezes his eyes shut, face pressed to his dad’s shoulder. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” his father says, voice steady with quiet conviction. “As long as I’m breathing, I’ll always be right here. You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone.”

Kai doesn’t answer, just burrows closer, holding on like he’s still that scared kid who needed his dad to keep the world from falling apart, and his dad holds him right back like he’s always done.

Kai’s grip around his father stays firm for a while longer before he finally eases back, settling against the bed with his knees drawn up again. His eyes are red, but dry now. He swallows thickly, voice low. “I miss them,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Of course I do.”

His dad doesn’t respond, just waits patiently.

Kai picks at a loose thread on his sleeve. “But it doesn’t feel right. Seeing them again. Not after…” He trails off, hesitating.

His father prompts gently, “Not after what?”

Kai lifts his gaze, tired and conflicted. “Not after seeing how good their life is now. They look happy. Comfortable. They have everything. And I know that’s not their fault – they were kids, they didn’t get to choose – but I can’t stop thinking about it.” His voice cracks slightly. “I can’t stop thinking about how they got to live that life while you had to break your back just to keep us afloat.”

The silence stretches again, this time heavy and brittle.

Kai presses on, the words tumbling out now. “They’re living easy. With her. The woman who walked out and took them and never looked back. She built a whole life using money that should’ve been yours. Ours. And they’re just–” He gestures helplessly. “Thriving in it. Posting selfies and matching outfits and going on family vacations like none of it ever happened.”

His dad nods slowly, his face unreadable. “And you feel angry.”

“I feel spiteful,” Kai admits. “I know I shouldn’t, but I do. And guilty, too. Because what if I meet them they want to start over like it’s that simple? I’d feel guilty even looking them in the eye, knowing I still hate how they got to be happy while you–” His throat closes up.

His dad sighs, leaning forward to rub his hand over his face. “Kai-yah… Your feelings are valid. You don’t have to rush forgiveness. You don’t even have to forgive at all right now. But don’t let that bitterness eat you alive. That kind of resentment… it doesn’t just hurt them. It hurts you more. I don’t want that for you.”

Kai’s lip wobbles. “But I can’t help it, Dad. I want to be better. I want to be the bigger person here. But all I can think about is how they got to be warm and fed and safe while you were pulling night shifts and I was pretending everything was fine so you wouldn’t worry.”

His father’s eyes soften, and he takes Kai’s hand gently. “You did everything you could. We both did. And we made it through, didn’t we?”

Kai doesn’t answer, just nods, throat too tight to speak.

“But listen to me,” his dad continues. “You should never feel guilty for wanting to see your sisters. Never. That love doesn’t cancel out the hurt. You’re allowed to carry both. You’re allowed to miss them and still be angry. And when – if – you’re ready to talk to them, it won’t be a betrayal. Not to me. Not to what we’ve been through.”

Kai blinks back tears. “Even after everything she did to you? To us?”

His dad exhales slowly, voice steady but soft. “Your sisters weren’t the ones who hurt me, Kai-yah. They were just kids. Just like you.” He pauses, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall, as if remembering something too heavy to name. “And as for your mother… I won’t pretend I wasn’t hurt. That it didn’t break me. But I’ve done my healing. I had to. For both our sakes.”

Kai swallows thickly, his jaw tightening. He wants to believe that it's possible to move on from pain so deeply stitched into their past, but it still feels raw to him, like scar tissue that never quite settled.

“I know it’s hard to see right now,” his dad continues gently, “but maybe… maybe meeting them again could help you, too.”

Kai’s gaze snaps up, wary.

“I’m not saying you have to forgive everything all at once. Or even understand it. But healing doesn't always come from holding the wound shut,” his father says, turning toward him. “Sometimes it comes from opening it back up. Letting it breathe. Letting yourself remember what it felt like before all the hurt. Before the resentment took over.”

Kai is silent, his chest tightening painfully. He thinks of Hiyyih’s texts, the photos, the kaomojis that looked too much like his own. He thinks of Lea's sharp features, still so familiar, even through a screen. Then he thinks of the post he’d seen, the one with their mother smiling in the centre, arm slung around her new husband like the past had never happened. That was the part he couldn’t forgive. The part he couldn’t make peace with.

“I don’t know if I can,” he whispers. “Not yet.”

“That’s okay,” his dad says without missing a beat. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. But don’t lock that door forever, Kai. Leave it open a crack. For them. For yourself.”

Kai’s throat tightens again, but he nods. It’s small, but maybe it’s enough. Or at least, for now.

Kai blinks, startled, when his dad shifts beside him and asks, almost too quietly, “Did they… did they ask about me too?”

The question hits harder than he expects. Something about the way it’s spoken – not quite hopeful, not quite resigned – makes Kai’s stomach twist. His dad doesn’t look at him as he says it, gaze fixed on the bedsheets like he’s already bracing for the answer. Like some part of him already knows.

Kai opens his mouth, but no words come out.

That’s when it dawns on him: his father is just as hurt. Maybe even more. For all his calm wisdom, for all the times he’s said he’s moved on and healed, there’s still a part of him – small, bruised, impossibly human – that’s still waiting, hoping, and still clinging to the faintest thread of his daughters remembering the man who used to play guitar on rainy days and sing them lullabies when they were scared. The man who encouraged their dreams, cheered at their makeshift performances in the living room, taught them how to harmonise and laugh and be soft with the world.

And they hadn’t asked for him. Not once.

Kai doesn’t know what his mother must have told them. Doesn’t know what narrative she spun to justify walking away and taking his sisters with her, but for them to reach out to him – after all this time – and never once mention the man who raised them?

It guts him.

Still, he can’t say that. Not when his father has already endured so much. So he swallows the truth and forces a casual shrug, eyes trained on the dark weave of the blanket beneath his fingers.

“I didn’t really read all the texts,” he lies, voice far steadier than he feels. “Just skimmed a few. I don’t know.”

He risks a glance at his dad and instantly regrets it. The subtle deflation in his posture is unmistakable; shoulders sagging slightly, breath escaping in a quiet exhale. He nods, and looks away.

Kai’s chest aches. He wants to reach out, say something, anything to undo what he just said, but he knows nothing will. So instead, he edges closer and leans against his father’s side, pressing the crown of his head lightly to his shoulder, and even though they don’t say anything more, the silence between them shifts. Heavier now, but at least it’s shared between the two of them.

Notes:

sorry for the long wait yall, on top of work being extremely hectic, i got a comment on one of my other fics that said i was too slow at updating which bummed me out quite a bit and made me lose motivation ૮(˶╥︿╥)ა which i understand is super unfair to you guys because you guys werent the ones commenting that but you still ended up having to wait longer than usual anyway.
i'm sorry for that (っ- ‸ - ς)

hopefully you guys aren't too annoyed hehe. anw please let me know what you think about this chapter in the comment section!! it's a bit shorter than usual since i still haven't fully gotten my mojo back yet lol but hopefully i'll be able to write longer chapters in the next update!

thank you so much for reading and please feel free to visit my strawpage to send in a lil anon message or drawing hehe!!

koostiddy.straw.page <3

Chapter 21

Summary:

Soobin doesn’t respond for a moment, just watches him with that soft, steady gaze that’s somehow more grounding than anything else in Beomgyu’s life. “Stop saying you don’t know what to do anymore, you know exactly what to do,” he says finally. “Tell Kai.”

“I want to,” Beomgyu whispers. “I almost did. So many times. But every time I try, he says something that makes it even harder. He believes in me. He trusts me. He thinks I’m–” His voice breaks. “He thinks I’m a good person.”

Soobin looks like he wants to say something else, but before he can–

“Beomgyu hyung?” comes a soft voice from the entryway, familiar and heartbreaking.

Beomgyu stiffens like he’s been caught in a trap. His head snaps toward the door, eyes wide.

Notes:

happy reading!!

🐧

 

The room is quiet, lit only by the soft spill of the hallway light slipping through the half-closed door. Kai is curled up against Beomgyu beneath a shared blanket, one leg tangled with his, his cheek resting lightly on Beomgyu’s chest. He can hear the gentle rhythm of Beomgyu’s heartbeat, steady and real and close, and it soothes something deep in him. This peace feels hard-earned.

Beomgyu’s fingers are combing lazily through Kai’s hair, his touch light and repetitive. "So," he murmurs, voice low and warm, "how was the visit to your dad’s?"

Kai sighs, lips brushing the fabric of Beomgyu’s shirt. “Good. I mean… emotional. We talked about my sisters.” His voice falters just a bit. “And about Eomma.”

Beomgyu doesn’t say anything at first, just shifts his hand to run gently down Kai’s spine instead as encouragement, a grounding gesture.

Kai breathes in slowly. “He told me I don’t have to carry his pain. That I shouldn’t keep the grudge on his behalf.” He pauses, lips tugging upward slightly. “He said maybe meeting them would help me heal.”

“That sounds like him,” Beomgyu says quietly, pressing his lips to the crown of Kai’s head. “He’s a good man.”

Kai nods. “He really is.”

A long silence stretches between them, comfortable in the way silence only is when you’re with someone who doesn’t need filling. Kai closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself melt into Beomgyu, until something strikes him and he lifts his head, eyes lighting up.

“Oh!” he says, grinning. “Your birthday’s coming up soon.”

Beomgyu snorts. “Don’t remind me.”

Kai pokes him in the side. “Don’t be like that. I already have something planned.”

Beomgyu blinks down at him. “You what?”

“I said I have something planned,” Kai repeats proudly. “And you’re not allowed to ask questions.”

Beomgyu stares at him, almost like he’s waiting for the punchline. When none comes, he swallows, voice quieter now. “I didn’t even realise it was coming up.”

Kai frowns. “How could you not?”

“Because we never celebrate it,” Beomgyu says simply. His tone is flat, almost too casual, like he’s repeating something he’s said many times before. “I mean. My family doesn’t.”

Kai’s heart sinks. “Why not?”

Beomgyu stares at the ceiling for a moment, jaw tightening just slightly. Then he exhales, slow and bitter. “They don’t see the point. They didn’t think it was worth it to spend money on something– or I guess, someone, who wouldn’t be useful to them. It’s just not worth the investment.”

Kai sits up, horrified. “What? That’s– that’s not how birthdays work.”

A short laugh escapes Beomgyu, the kind that doesn’t hold any humour. “In my house, it is. Everything has a cost. A value. And if something doesn’t bring a return on investment, it’s not worth it.” His eyes flick toward the far corner of the room. “They only celebrate things that make them look good. Business wins, academic awards, deals signed. People don’t get celebrated unless they’re useful. And I wasn’t.”

Kai feels his breath catch in his throat. “You’re not useless. That’s not– God, hyung, that’s not true.”

Beomgyu shrugs one shoulder, but it’s too stiff to be casual. “Didn’t stop them from telling me I was wasting their money every time they paid for something. Music school. Guitars. Food. Whatever. My mum once told me the only good I’d do is if I managed to marry someone with a decent family name. Said that’d be the only way I’d make up for being a burden.”

Kai’s stomach twists violently. “Hyung…”

Beomgyu lets out another breath. “So no. We don’t celebrate my birthday. Never really did. The staff at home would bake me a cake and secretly celebrate it with me sometimes. But most years, it was just another day. Just a reminder I was taking up space.”

Kai leans forward, grabbing his hand tightly. “You’re not a burden.”

Beomgyu looks at him, finally meeting his eyes. There’s something raw there, something that makes Kai ache. “You say that now.”

“I’ll say it every day if I have to,” Kai says fiercely. “You’re not a burden, hyung. You’re not useless. You matter to me. To Soobin hyung, to Yeonjun hyung, to Taehyunnie. You matter.”

Beomgyu’s lips twitch, like he wants to believe him but doesn’t quite know how. “You guys make it too easy to forget how bad it used to be.”

“Good,” Kai says, softening. “Then forget. Because you have a family here now.”

Beomgyu’s throat moves as he swallows. “Even if I don’t deserve it?”

“You do,” Kai says without hesitation. “You deserve everything. And more.”

Beomgyu pulls him in again, and this time it’s tighter and fiercer. His arms wrap around Kai like he’s afraid he’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. Kai lets himself be pulled in, nuzzling into the crook of Beomgyu’s neck.

“I don’t,” Beomgyu breathes. “I really don’t, Kai. You have no idea.”

Kai shifts back slightly at that, enough to look up at him, brows knitting. “Why do you keep saying that?”

Beomgyu blinks, like he didn’t expect to be questioned. His jaw clenches faintly, eyes flickering to the side. “I just…” He shrugs, but the motion is too tight, too resigned. “You’re good. Too good. And people like me, the things I do–” He cuts himself off with a short breath. “We don’t get to keep things like this.”

Kai stares at him, confused. “Things like what?”

Beomgyu’s eyes return to his. “You. This. A life where I’m happy.”

There’s a beat of silence. The words hit Kai in the chest, all tender and strange. “Why not?” he asks softly. “Why don’t you think you get to keep it?”

Beomgyu hesitates, and for a second, Kai thinks he’s going to say something. Maybe the real reason behind the shadow in his eyes lately, but instead, Beomgyu only shakes his head and sighs, like he’s too tired to argue. “Because people like me ruin things,” he says, quieter now. “And I’m just trying really hard not to ruin this.”

Kai’s lips part. He wants to say more – press him, demand to know why he talks like he’s already done something wrong – but the sadness in Beomgyu’s eyes stops him. Like it’s taking everything in him just to hold it together.

So Kai exhales slowly, reaching up to cradle Beomgyu’s face in his hands. “You’re not ruining anything,” he says firmly. “You’re trying. You’re here. That’s what matters.”

Beomgyu doesn’t answer. He just leans in and kisses him, slow and aching, like he’s trying to memorise every second of this softness, and Kai kisses him back, fingers curling into his hair, letting the warmth of it settle over the growing unease in his heart. But even as Beomgyu holds him like he’s something precious, even as their lips meet again and again with a tenderness that borders on worship, Kai can’t quite shake that small, sharp voice inside him. The one that wonders why Beomgyu still looks like he’s saying goodbye.

Kai pulls the blanket further over their legs and snuggles closer, cheek squished lightly against Beomgyu’s chest as he listens to the quiet thump of his heartbeat. It’s late, and Beomgyu’s room is warm with lamplight and the hum of his PC still running in the background. Their legs are tangled beneath the duvet, the scent of vanilla lotion and old laundry detergent clinging to the sheets, familiar now in the most comforting way, but his mind drifts, spurred by the ache he still feels after what Beomgyu just said. I don’t. I really don’t, Kai. You have no idea.

Kai blinks, then shifts a little so he can look up at him. “Hey,” he says, soft but brighter than before, trying to nudge the atmosphere somewhere lighter, “you might not think so, but you’re a better person than you think. You deserve everything and more, and that’s why I have a whole thing planned for your birthday.”

Beomgyu lifts a brow, lips twitching. “A thing?”

“A secret thing,” Kai says with a smug little smile, resting his chin on Beomgyu’s chest.

Beomgyu snorts. “You’re seriously going to keep it from me?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

Beomgyu mock-gasps, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “I thought we were boyfriends, Kai-yah. I thought we were supposed to share everything.”

Kai shrugs playfully. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see, then.”

There’s a beat, then Beomgyu grins wickedly. “Is it a flash mob?”

“No.”

“A life-sized sculpture of me made out of rice cakes?”

“God, no.”

Beomgyu cackles. “A flash mob with rice cakes?”

Kai groans, burying his face into Beomgyu’s hoodie. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m a genius,” Beomgyu corrects, grinning into Kai’s hair.

They fall into soft laughter, limbs melting into one another, the tension from earlier dissolving little by little into something gentler, but then Beomgyu pauses, blinking up at the ceiling. “Shit.”

Kai pulls back slightly. “What?”

Beomgyu winces. “The spring festival. It’s the same week as my birthday, isn’t it?”

Kai blinks. “Yeah…?”

“No, I mean, the actual show, the final night of the festival.” He makes a face. “That’s my birthday.”

Kai stills. “Wait, really?”

Beomgyu nods with a grimace. “The music department just finalised the schedule this morning. Our band’s performing that night. Main stage.”

Kai deflates instantly. He’d been planning something quiet and sweet for that night: a whole evening to himself with Beomgyu, a surprise dinner, that heartfelt gift he’d been working on little by little every night. But if Beomgyu’s playing a live show… “Damn it.”

“I’m sorry,” Beomgyu says quickly, guilt flickering in his expression. “I didn’t even think about it until just now.”

“No, don’t apologise. It’s fine,” Kai says quickly, even though his chest sinks. He was really looking forward to it. “I’ll just… think of something else. A plan B.”

Beomgyu watches him closely. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Kai sighs, nose scrunching. “Yes, I do. You deserve to be celebrated, hyung. I want to make sure your birthday actually means something this year.”

Beomgyu swallows hard and looks away, quiet for a moment. “Just being with you is more than enough.”

Kai feels his heart twist, but still, he smiles, placing a kiss to the underside of Beomgyu’s jaw. “Yeah, well, that’s sweet. But I’m still gonna surprise you. And no, it’s not a rice cake sculpture.”

Beomgyu chuckles, but Kai can still see the weight behind his eyes, and quietly, as Beomgyu’s arm wraps tighter around him. Beomgyu’s breathing evens out a little, the lines around his mouth softening as he settles back into the pillow, but Kai can still feel the quiet thrum of uncertainty radiating from his chest, like a rhythm that doesn’t quite know what beat it’s meant to fall into.

“You have a family now, you know,” Kai says gently, fingers toying with the sleeve of Beomgyu’s hoodie. “You have me. Soobin hyung. Yeonjun hyung. Even Taehyun, even if he looks like he hates you.”

Beomgyu lets out a low laugh at that, short and disbelieving. “Please. Taehyun totally hates me.”

Kai scoffs. “You two basically went on a date that time you were waiting for me to finish class.”

“And the only conversations we had were of him yapping about 'fun facts’ I didn’t even understand.”

“And yet you stayed,” Kai says pointedly.

“I guess you’re right.” Beomgyu goes quiet for a beat. Then, softly, half teasing, he murmurs, “Even your dad likes me more than you.”

Kai laughs, startled. “Okay, you need to shut up.”

“No, but like, he gave me extra meat the last time I came over.”

“Hyung, he gave you his share.”

“Exactly.” Beomgyu smiles, but it’s small, crooked. Like he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. He doesn’t look at Kai when he speaks again. “He likes me. It’s… weird. I’m not used to that.”

There’s something about the way he says it, something heavy that makes Kai’s chest ache. Kai doesn’t respond right away. He just shifts, pulling himself upright enough to properly wrap his arms around Beomgyu’s middle and press his face into his shoulder.

Beomgyu breathes in sharply like he’s surprised, but then slowly, so slowly, his arms tighten around Kai’s waist, holding him close like he’s trying to memorise the shape of him.

“I mean it,” Kai mumbles into his hoodie. “You have a family now. Not perfect, but at least it’s something. People who care about you. People who want you around.”

Beomgyu swallows hard. His hands flex at Kai’s back before he hugs him even tighter, like he’s afraid letting go will make it all vanish. Kai feels it. All of it. The warmth and the weight and the disbelief. So he hugs him back just as tight, trying to say everything he can’t quite find the words for in the way he curls his arms around Beomgyu’s spine.

They stay like that for a while, unmoving, in the quiet safety of the room. Just two boys clinging to each other like lifelines, and if Kai feels the fabric of his shirt dampen slightly where Beomgyu’s face is pressed, he doesn’t say anything. He only holds him closer.

 

🧸

 

Beomgyu doesn’t see them at first. He’s just trying to make it through his day, earphones in, chin up, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder as he wanders through the quieter part of campus after a morning class. Then a hand clamps on his shoulder, fingers digging in a little too tightly, and when he turns, Doyoon is already smirking at him, Minjun leaning against the wall with a toothpick between his teeth like he thinks he’s in some noir film.

“You been busy, Gyu?” Doyoon asks, tone too casual, eyes too sharp.

Beomgyu pulls one earbud out. “What do you want?”

Minjun smiles, slow and oily. “Just checking in. We haven’t heard from you in a while. Thought you might’ve gone soft on us.”

Beomgyu says nothing. Just crosses his arms and stares.

Doyoon clicks his tongue. “Don’t give me that look. It’s February already. We gave you months, and you’re the one who agreed to the terms.”

“Yeah,” Minjun chimes in. “And unless you want us to send the video to your precious little Hueningie, I suggest you show us some results.”

Beomgyu flinches. “There are no results.”

Minjun raises a brow, a cruel smirk already tugging at the corner of his lips. “So you still haven’t slept with him? Damn. What have you been doing all this time?”

“Crocheting sweaters?” Doyoon chimes in with a snort. “Feeding each other strawberries? Jesus, you really went full househusband for this one, huh?”

Beomgyu tightens his grip around the can in his hand. He says nothing.

Minjun steps closer, cocking his head with that smug little tilt Beomgyu’s come to despise. “You know the deadline’s in a month, right? That’s not a lot of time to get him into bed, especially if he’s the shy type. Though I guess by now, even the shyest ones would’ve caved to The Great Ol’ Choi Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu’s jaw clenches. “Drop it.”

But they don’t. They never do.

Doyoon circles around to his other side. “Unless you’ve gone soft. Is that it? You’re too scared to make a move because you actually care?”

Beomgyu exhales sharply through his nose. “Don’t do this.”

Minjun’s eyes glint. “Or maybe you tried, and he rejected you. That would be hilarious. Imagine how pathetic that would be… falling for the bet and getting turned down.”

Beomgyu turns away, but Doyoon grabs his wrist, not hard but firm enough to freeze him. “Come on, Gyu. You’re not seriously going to walk away now. We made a deal. You had one job: get the boy to sleep with you. Doesn’t seem that hard, considering he’s practically obsessed with you.”

“Let go,” Beomgyu mutters.

“Then give us proof,” Minjun says simply, stepping into his line of sight again. “You dragged this out for months. Either you did it and you’re lying, or you’re lying because you can’t.”

“I’m not giving you anything,” Beomgyu bites out. “I told you, I’ll give you the money. That’s all you’re getting.”

Minjun laughs. “What happened to all that cocky talk, huh? You were so sure back then. Said it’d be easy. That he looked like the type who’d fall head over heels for a pretty face.”

Beomgyu’s stomach turns. He remembers. Not clearly – blurred and messy from too much tequila and too little conscience – but he remembers saying something. Something vile. Something he’d regret for months afterward.

Doyoon’s voice cuts through again, colder now. “You’re not getting out of this. We don’t care if you caught feelings–”

“I did,” Beomgyu snaps.

Silence.

It cuts through all their jeering like a knife. For a second, neither Minjun nor Doyoon says a word.

Beomgyu’s breath is shaky, his pulse pounding in his ears, but he lifts his chin anyway, meeting their eyes. “I fucking fell for him. Is that what you wanted to hear? I fell in love with him. And I’m not going to treat him like some prize in your sick game just because you’re bored and bitter and can’t stand seeing someone happy.”

Doyoon’s expression flickers; shock, then something like disdain.

Minjun’s brow arches slowly. “Wow,” he says flatly. “So it’s like that.”

Beomgyu swallows hard. “Yeah. It’s like that.”

There’s a beat of silence.

And then Minjun laughs. “God. You’re dumber than I thought.”

“Pathetic,” Doyoon mutters. “Seriously. You actually think love’s going to save you when he finds out? You think he’s gonna look at you the same after he knows why this started?”

Beomgyu doesn’t answer. He already knows. He’s asked himself that question too many nights in a row. In the dark. While Kai’s breathing softly beside him. While he’s pressed kisses to Kai’s temple and felt the guilt chew through his ribs like acid.

Minjun’s voice sharpens, mocking. “You gonna tell him, then? Since you’re so honest now?”

Beomgyu’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “I want to.”

“But you won’t,” Doyoon says, deadpan. “Because you know he’ll leave.”

Beomgyu doesn’t respond.

Because it’s true. And the silence says everything.

Even the breeze seems to die for a second. Minjun straightens from the wall. Doyoon stares.

Minjun steps forward slowly, his expression unreadable now. “You know that wasn’t the deal.”

“Then fuck the deal,” Beomgyu snaps. “Here. I’ll pay you. I’ll give you the whole damn million. For each of you. I don’t give a shit. Just leave Kai out of this.”

Doyoon lets out a low whistle. “Wow. Never thought I’d see Beomgyu whipped. And for what? A charity case?”

Beomgyu’s fists clench. “Say that shit again, I dare you.”

There’s a pause.

Minjun and Doyoon exchange a glance, something silent passing between them. It isn’t the usual smug, twisted amusement that Beomgyu has grown used to. For the first time, they both seem... quiet. Thoughtful, even. Doyoon shoves his hands in his pockets, brow furrowing like he’s really thinking it over. Minjun’s gaze drops to the floor, then flicks back up; not sharp, not mocking, but calm.

“Alright,” Minjun says, shrugging slowly. “Maybe you’re right.”

Beomgyu freezes. “What?”

“I mean,” Minjun sighs, “if you’re really serious about him… maybe it’s time we backed off. It was a joke that went too far anyway.”

Doyoon kicks the ground lightly, his voice low. “Didn’t expect you to catch real feelings, man. That’s on us. We didn’t think you had it in you.”

Minjun’s lips tug into something that could almost pass for a smile. “You said you’d pay, right? Forget the rest. We’ll call it off. We won anyway.”

It’s... surreal.

Beomgyu blinks at them. His breath catches. His fists loosen at his sides.

“You’re serious?” he asks carefully, unable to mask the disbelief in his voice. “You’re actually going to drop it?”

Minjun nods. “Yeah. I mean, it’s obvious you care about him. Like, really care. And as much as I don’t get it…” his eyes narrow a little, but not cruelly, “...I guess it’s not our business anymore.”

There’s a strange hollowness in Beomgyu’s chest where all the dread used to sit, the anxiety and the fear and the self-loathing. It doesn’t go away completely, but it softens. A little.

He exhales, finally. Shoulders dropping.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “Seriously. Just… thank you.”

Doyoon gives him a little nod, like it’s nothing. Like this is a normal conversation between old friends and not a months-long blackmail nightmare.

“Of course,” Minjun says, even stepping back as if to give him space. “You’re right. We were out of line. Let’s just… let it go.”

For a moment, it almost feels like the world rights itself. Like maybe there’s a version of this ending that doesn’t leave everything shattered. That Kai never has to find out, not like this. That Beomgyu can hold onto what they have just a little longer. That maybe, somehow he hasn’t destroyed the one good thing in his life beyond repair.

And then Minjun says, “I just hope he’s not too disappointed when he eventually finds out.”

Beomgyu’s head snaps up. “What?”

Doyoon’s smirk is back, full force now. “I mean, you’re not going to tell him, right? So you’re still technically lying. That’s kind of worse, don’t you think?”

Minjun laughs under his breath. “Must be exhausting, waking up every day next to someone who trusts you and knowing you’re one word away from losing it all.”

Beomgyu goes still. The cold washes over him instantly, like someone tipped a bucket of ice water down his spine. His stomach turns.

“I thought you said–”

“Oh, we’re done with the deal,” Doyoon interrupts, raising his hands innocently. “We’re not gonna ask you for proof anymore. We don’t care if you sleep with him. You’ve already lost.”

Beomgyu stares at them. “What?”

“Don’t look so shocked,” Minjun hums, voice turning razor-sharp again. “You really think this was ever about the money?”

“Or even the sex?” Doyoon adds with a scoff. “It was never about that.”

“Yeah,” Minjun finishes with a cold grin, “it was about watching you – cocky, golden boy Beomgyu – crumble for someone like him. And you did. You fell. Hard. And it’s honestly fucking hilarious.”

Beomgyu’s mouth dries. His pulse thunders in his ears.

“God,” Minjun continues, like he’s enjoying himself now, “you don’t even realise how easy you are to read. All those little Instagram posts. Those desperate glances in the hallway. The way you look at him like he’s your oxygen or something. It’s fucking tragic.”

Beomgyu says nothing. He can't. His throat has closed up.

“But hey,” Doyoon shrugs. “Keep the fantasy alive if you want. Play house with your little charity case boyfriend. Just know that the moment the truth comes out? It’s over. And it’s all gonna be your fault.”

Minjun nods, smug. “And we won’t even have to say a word. You’ll do it all on your own.”

Then they walk past him, brushing his shoulder with intentional carelessness, and vanish down the corridor like they didn’t just set fire to the floor beneath him. Beomgyu stands there, completely still, while the last shreds of whatever fragile relief he’d felt moments ago burn to ash in his chest.

Doyoon doesn’t leave without getting the final word.

He pauses just before turning the corner, tossing a glance back over his shoulder like it’s an afterthought, but there’s nothing casual about the glint in his eye.

“Oh, and by the way,” he says, tone light, almost friendly. “You’ve got my bank details, right? I’ll be waiting for that transfer. Make sure it’s not late. Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation on top of everything else.”

He winks, then disappears around the corner with a low chuckle, leaving the corridor echoing with the hollow sound of his footsteps, and the thick, suffocating silence that follows. Beomgyu stands frozen in place, jaw clenched, fists trembling at his sides. He’s never hated anyone the way he hates them now. Not because they’d manipulated him. Not even because of the bet.

But because they were right.

And that’s what makes him sick.

 

🐧

 

Kai picks at the rice on his tray like it’s puzzle pieces he can’t quite fit together. His chopsticks hover in mid-air, unmoving, while his food cools untouched in front of him. Across the table, Taehyun is still mid-rant about whatever Pokemon game he’s currently obsessed with – something about stat boosts and broken evolutions – but it all sounds muffled to Kai’s ears, like background static. His mind is miles away. Or more specifically, one apartment away.

Beomgyu hasn’t texted back.

Not last night, not this morning, and not even when Kai sent a stupid little sleepy selfie he knows Beomgyu always responds to. It’s not like him. Even on days when he’s swamped with rehearsals or holed up in a recording booth for hours, he’ll usually shoot Kai a quick heart emoji or a voice note or some dumb blurry selfie captioned "look who’s dying in the studio lol 🧍." But now? Silence.

Kai glances down at his phone again for what feels like the hundredth time. Still no notifications. No grey typing bubble. Nothing.

Taehyun’s voice finally cuts through the fog. “You haven’t touched your food.”

Kai blinks up. “Huh?”

“I said,” Taehyun drawls slowly, like he’s humouring a very confused child, “you haven’t touched your food. Which is suspicious, considering they’re serving your favourite today.” He gestures toward Kai’s untouched plate of spicy pork and rice with a deadpan expression. “Are you ill? Emotionally traumatised? Or–” he leans in dramatically, “–did someone finally tell you Pikachu isn’t real?”

Kai exhales, setting his chopsticks down. “It’s nothing.”

“Mm. That’s what people always say right before it turns out to be something.”

There’s a pause.

Then, softly, Kai admits, “Beomgyu hyung hasn’t messaged me since yesterday.”

Taehyun’s brow furrows slightly. “Yesterday as in, last night?”

Kai shakes his head. “No. Since… like, mid-afternoon. I sent a few texts, even tried calling. Nothing.”

Taehyun sits back in his chair, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “That’s… weird.”

“Right?” Kai says quickly, grateful someone else is finally saying it out loud. “It’s not like him. Even when he’s busy, he always says something.”

Taehyun nods. “Did something happen?”

“I don’t think so.” Kai frowns, voice growing quieter. “We were fine the night before. We stayed up late just… talking. Laughing. He kissed me goodbye like always, said he’d see me later. But then… nothing.”

Taehyun reaches over and places a comforting hand over Kai’s. “Maybe his phone died?”

Kai glances at him. “For a whole day?”

“…Okay yeah, no. That doesn’t make sense.”

The silence settles again between them, broken only by the gentle hum of other students chatting nearby and the occasional clatter of trays. Kai stares at his phone again, thumb hovering over Beomgyu’s contact photo; his dumb face half covered in whipped cream from that cafe date Yeonjun dragged them to. The sight of it makes Kai’s heart twist.

“It’s just…” he trails off, swallowing hard. “I know I shouldn’t panic. But it’s hard not to when I keep thinking something might’ve happened. What if he’s sick? What if he’s hurt? What if something happened with his family? What if–” his voice drops to a whisper, “What if he’s avoiding me?”

Taehyun’s eyes soften. “Princess…”

“I mean,” Kai goes on, the words tumbling out, “what if I did something wrong? What if he changed his mind? We were talking about his birthday before he left. I told him I had something planned and he told me he never celebrated birthdays. What if he hates birthdays that badly? What if I’d just made him uncomfortable with my plans? What if I–”

“Okay, princess, stop,” Taehyun interrupts, lifting a hand. “You’re spiralling.”

Kai closes his mouth, breathing through his nose.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Taehyun says firmly. “Beomgyu hyung isn’t upset with you. He looks at you like you invented the concept of love. Like he’s never seen light before you. You could never do anything wrong in his eyes.”

Kai flushes. “That’s dramatic.”

“It’s accurate,” Taehyun says with a shrug. “And anyway, if something did happen, don’t you think you should just go over there and check? Instead of sitting here convincing yourself he’s ghosting you?”

Kai hesitates. “I don’t want to… impose.”

Taehyun raises both brows. “Impose?”

“I mean, what if he’s resting? Or doesn’t want to see me?”

Taehyun gives him a flat look. “You’re his boyfriend. You live like, what? Five bus stops away? You have the code to his apartment.”

“Still–”

“Still nothing,” Taehyun says, voice gentler now. “If you’re worried, go. You’d want him to come to you if the roles were reversed, wouldn’t you?”

Kai thinks about it. Thinks about the nights he’s cried on his bed, only to look up and find Beomgyu standing in his doorway with a tub of mint chocolate ice cream and that crooked, careful smile. Thinks about the comfort he felt when Beomgyu stayed up with him on his worst days, brushing the hair out of his eyes and whispering, "I'm here, it's okay."

Yeah. He’d want Beomgyu to come.

“...Okay,” Kai says finally, setting his chopsticks down. “You’re right.”

Taehyun smirks. “I usually am.”

Kai gives him a look but manages a smile. It’s small, still tinged with worry, but it’s real.

“I’ll go after class,” he says, quieter now. “Just to make sure he’s okay.”

Taehyun nods, reaching over to shove Kai’s tray closer. “Good. Now eat your food before I do.”

Kai picks up his chopsticks again and finally takes a bite. The food is lukewarm, but something in his chest feels warmer now. Not quite calm, but steadier because if something’s wrong, he’ll find out, and if it’s nothing, then he’ll get to see Beomgyu’s face again. And right now, that’s all he wants.

Kai doesn't even notice Minjun approaching at first. He’s too busy watching the blinking cursor in his chat with Beomgyu, thumb hovering over the keyboard, debating whether to send yet another “are you okay?” when Taehyun’s voice trails off mid-sentence.

“Kai,” Taehyun says, low and warning. “Don’t look up.”

But of course, Kai does. And immediately stiffens.

Minjun stands by their table, all sugar-slick smiles and faux friendliness, though his eyes flicker with something sharp underneath. “Hey,” he says, as if they’re all old friends catching up. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just looking for Beomgyu. Haven’t seen him around since yesterday.”

Kai doesn’t say anything. His spine’s gone rigid. His mouth, dry. Minjun turns his gaze on him, but Taehyun subtly shifts in his seat, his shoulder angling in front of Kai like a shield.

Minjun smiles wider. “Relax, I’m not here to bite. I just have something to pass on to Beomgyu, that’s all. I figured since you’re…” He eyes Kai meaningfully, “...close, you could let him know for me.”

“Kai’s not your fucking messenger,” Taehyun says coolly, the friendliness drained from his tone. “If you want to tell Beomgyu hyung something, go tell him yourself.”

Minjun turns his eyes on Taehyun now, the smile still on his lips, but colder. He takes a slow, deliberate glance down Taehyun’s outfit – just a campus hoodie and jeans – then back up to his face.

“Huh,” Minjun says, tone airy but laced with poison. “You know, I was just thinking… the two of you would make a better couple. So evenly matched.” He glances at Kai again, and his smile twists. “At least financially.”

Kai’s stomach sinks. He feels Taehyun stiffen beside him.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Taehyun rises sharply from his seat, eyes flashing as he stares Minjun down, daring him to repeat it, but before it can escalate, Kai gently tugs his sleeve and murmurs his name, quiet but grounding, just enough to pull him back into his seat.

“Anyway,” Minjun continues, taking a step closer, ignoring the way Kai flinches back. His voice lowers, syrupy sweet. “Do me a favour, will you? When you see Beomgyu, tell him thanks for the million won.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. Just flashes them one last smirk and turns on his heel, walking away like he hadn’t just dropped a live grenade in the middle of their table.

Kai stares after him, eyes wide. “What…?”

“Don’t,” Taehyun says quickly, as if reading his mind. “He’s messing with you. He’s trying to get in your head.”

“But why would he say that?” Kai’s voice is thin, unsure. “A million won?”

“Because he’s an asshole,” Taehyun says. “That’s what they do. They twist things. Maybe Beomgyu hyung owed him for something small and he’s just exaggerating to make it sound worse. Maybe he’s bluffing entirely.”

Kai nods slowly, trying to believe that. Trying to dismiss the icy knot that’s begun forming in his stomach.

“Right,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to his phone again. Still no new messages. No replies.

But still, that phrase won’t stop echoing in his head. Thank him for the million won.

It could be nothing. Minjun is manipulative. He always has been.

But if it really is nothing…

Why can’t Kai stop thinking about it?

 

🧸

 

“So it’s over?” Soobin asks, not looking up from where he’s folding laundry on the futon. His voice is quiet, cautious. Like he already knows the answer before Beomgyu even opens his mouth.

Beomgyu nods anyway. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s over.”

But the words feel hollow the second they leave him. They hang in the air like smoke, curling into the corners of the room and choking him slowly. It’s not really over, is it? Sure, Minjun and Doyoon had backed off for now. They’d laughed in his face, taken his guilt, chewed it up and spat it out like it was nothing. They walked away clean, smug, satisfied. Meanwhile, he’s still here, heart cracking beneath the weight of what he’s done, of what he’s still doing. Just because the bet is technically over doesn’t mean the damage isn't already done.

Soobin watches him closely, like he can see the storm behind his silence. “But you don’t feel like it’s over.”

Beomgyu exhales through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair. “Because it isn’t.”

There’s a long pause before Soobin sets the shirt in his hand aside and sits up straighter. “So what now?”

Beomgyu shrugs. “I don’t know. Pretend it never happened? Move on? Tell him?” He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, digging hard like it’ll press the thoughts out of his skull. “I don’t even know anymore. They’re gone, and I still feel like absolute fucking shit.”

Soobin’s voice is calm, even, but edged. “Because they were never the real problem, Gyu. You think if you’d told them to fuck off a month ago, you wouldn’t still feel this way? That guilt’s not from them. It’s from you.”

“I know that,” Beomgyu snaps, voice suddenly raised, sharper than he means to– no, sharper than he can control. It slices through the quiet of the apartment like glass shattering against concrete. “Fuck, Soobin hyung, I know! I know it’s my fault! I made the bet, okay? I dragged Kai into this mess. I played along when I should’ve said no. I should’ve shut it down before it even started! You were right! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He’s pacing now, arms tense at his sides, hands curling into fists like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. His pulse pounds in his ears. “And now look at me. I’m still lying to him every goddamn day. He looks at me like I’m someone worth trusting and I– I can’t even look at myself.”

Soobin blinks, startled, but doesn’t flinch. “Okay,” he says slowly, carefully, like he’s trying not to startle a wild animal. “I know you’re angry. But don’t take it out on me.”

That lands like a slap. Beomgyu rounds on him, eyes wide, breath coming in short bursts. “You think I don’t know that? That I’m a shitty friend and a shitty boyfriend? That I’ve fucked it all up so bad I don’t even know how to come back from it?”

He can see it – Soobin trying to stay patient, trying to stay calm – but something in Beomgyu is fraying, snapping at the seams. “Every second I spend with him feels like I’m stealing something. And I hate myself for it. I hate that he trusts me. I hate that he’s planning surprises for me and talking about the future like there’s actually a future for us. I hate that I can’t even enjoy being with him without this secret sitting in my chest like a loaded gun.”

Soobin opens his mouth to speak, but Beomgyu cuts him off, voice cracking. “And what are you gonna say? That I need to tell him? That I need to own up to it? I know! I know I should! But every time I try, I just–” His voice chokes off, thick with emotion. “I can’t do it. I see his face and I freeze. Because the second I say it out loud, I’ll lose him.”

There’s a pause. A heavy, suffocating one. Beomgyu’s chest heaves. His fists have gone white from how tightly he’s clenching them. He turns away, running both hands down his face, trying to scrub the mess off his skin even though he knows it’s buried much deeper than that.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, voice hoarse. “That was– fuck, I didn’t mean to blow up at you. I just–” He breathes out, shaky. “I feel like I’m bleeding out and they’re walking around clean. Like they handed me the knife and I stabbed myself with it, and now I’m expected to thank them for walking away.”

Soobin doesn’t say anything for a long moment. When he does, his voice is still steady but softer now, touched with concern. “You can be mad, Gyu. You can hate them. You can even hate yourself, if you want. But don’t throw all of that at me.”

Beomgyu deflates. The fight drains from his body like water spilling from a cracked bowl, and he slumps against the wall, sliding down until he’s seated on the floor, head in his hands.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know. I’m sorry. I just… don’t know what to do anymore.”

Soobin doesn’t respond for a moment, just watches him with that soft, steady gaze that’s somehow more grounding than anything else in Beomgyu’s life. “Stop saying you don’t know what to do anymore, you know exactly what to do,” he says finally. “Tell Kai.”

“I want to,” Beomgyu whispers. “I almost did. So many times. But every time I try, he says something that makes it even harder. He believes in me. He trusts me. He thinks I’m–” His voice breaks. “He thinks I’m a good person.”

Soobin looks like he wants to say something else, but before he can–

“Beomgyu hyung?” comes a soft voice from the entryway, familiar and heartbreaking.

Beomgyu stiffens like he’s been caught in a trap. His head snaps toward the door, eyes wide.

“How long have you been standing there?” he blurts.

Kai blinks, confused. He steps out of his trainers and pads softly into the room, peering at Beomgyu with those big, honest eyes that never seem to hold anything but warmth. “I just walked in. Why?”

Beomgyu lets out a breath, slow and shaky. The relief that floods him is instant and overpowering, but it leaves a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. “Nothing, baby,” he says quickly, smoothing over his panic with a weak smile. “What are you doing here?”

Kai tilts his head, smile small but genuine. “You didn’t answer your phone, so I got worried.”

Behind Beomgyu, Soobin slips back into silence, folding the rest of the laundry like nothing just happened.

Beomgyu clears his throat and rises to his feet. His heart still races in his chest, but he forces the edges of his lips upward, stepping toward Kai and brushing their fingers together. “Sorry about that,” he murmurs. “Just been kind of… all over the place.”

Kai nods slowly. “You okay?”

Not even close. “Now that you’re here,” Beomgyu says instead, “I’m better.”

Kai smiles and leans up to press a soft kiss to Beomgyu’s cheek. “Good.”

But even as Beomgyu wraps his arms around Kai, holding him close, the weight of the secret remains, heavier than ever. Soobin’s eyes meet his from across the room; serious, knowing, disappointed. Beomgyu closes his eyes.

The clock is ticking and Beomgyu knows, sooner or later, the truth will come out.

But not yet. Not tonight.

Tonight, he just wants to hold onto this moment a little longer as long as he’s allowed. 

Notes:

sorry again for the slow-ish update, i think this will be the pace for the next couple of chapters because work has truly been kicking my ass lately holy shit... i wish i had more time to write so i could update as quickly as i did at the beginning 😭😭 i'll try my best to sneak in some time for writing during work if i can, but otherwise, i apologise if updates will come slower than usual😭 also, i'm sorry that this chapter's shorter than usual too UGHH I'M SO FRUSTRATED WITH MYSELF i'm writing slower and lesser idk why i can't write as quickly and efficiently as i did at the start grrrrrr i hope you guys don't mind😓

anyway!! minjun and doyoon have finally backed off and have basically left the picture but at what cost? turns out it isn't as much of a solution than gyu thought...

thank you guys so much for reading!! please let me know your thoughts about this chapter in the comment section!! and feel free to drop a message or a drawing on my strawpage, or slide into my dms on twitter at @koostiddy to scream at me about literally anything ever!!!

koostiddy.straw.page

Chapter 22

Summary:

Kai knows it’s a lie.

Not just a small one either, not one of those passing white lies people use to dodge inconvenience or save themselves embarrassment. No, this one tastes different. It sits thick and bitter on Kai’s tongue the moment it’s spoken. He can feel the truth hiding behind the edges of Beomgyu’s voice, can sense the weight in his posture, the stiffness in the way he offers that excuse like a door being closed gently in Kai’s face. Family stuff. Kai’s not stupid. He saw the withdrawn silence, the way Beomgyu’s hands trembled ever so slightly when he thought Kai wasn’t looking. Something happened. Something real, and yet, here Beomgyu is, lying through his teeth with that too-casual tone and tired eyes. Kai? He lets it slide, because what else can he do? Demand the truth? Force it out of someone who clearly isn’t ready to share it?

Notes:

sorry for the long wait! enjoy~

🐧 

 

The room is quiet, blanketed in the soft hush of the fan humming from Beomgyu’s desk. Evening light seeps in through the curtains in thin, muted stripes, and Kai is lying half on top of him, one leg hooked lazily over Beomgyu’s hips. Their limbs are tangled the way they always are when they’ve spent too long pretending they don’t want to be this close. Beomgyu’s hand is pressed flat between Kai’s shoulder blades, not moving, just resting there like a weight that grounds him.

Kai exhales, his cheek pressed to Beomgyu’s chest, listening to the quiet thump of his heartbeat.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

Beomgyu’s fingers twitch slightly against his back. “Mm?”

“You disappeared,” Kai murmurs. “Yesterday. I texted. Called.”

There’s a brief, but heavy pause. Then Beomgyu speaks, his voice low and casual in a way that immediately sounds forced.

“Sorry. It was just… family stuff.”

Kai’s lips part, the beginnings of another question sitting on the tip of his tongue, but when he tilts his head up to look at Beomgyu’s face, there’s a weariness behind his eyes that says that’s not exactly what it is.

Kai knows it’s a lie.

Not just a small one either, not one of those passing white lies people use to dodge inconvenience or save themselves embarrassment. No, this one tastes different. It sits thick and bitter on Kai’s tongue the moment it’s spoken. He can feel the truth hiding behind the edges of Beomgyu’s voice, can sense the weight in his posture, the stiffness in the way he offers that excuse like a door being closed gently in Kai’s face. Family stuff. Kai’s not stupid. He saw the withdrawn silence, the way Beomgyu’s hands trembled ever so slightly when he thought Kai wasn’t looking. Something happened. Something real, and yet, here Beomgyu is, lying through his teeth with that too-casual tone and tired eyes. Kai? He lets it slide, because what else can he do? Demand the truth? Force it out of someone who clearly isn’t ready to share it?

Still, the sting doesn’t go away. It festers, quiet and sore. It’s not that Kai wants Beomgyu to bleed out every bruise and burden he’s carrying, not if it hurts too much to speak about them. What aches is the fact that he doesn’t seem to want to, and it leaves him spiralling a little, wondering if maybe, somehow, he hasn’t been open enough, safe enough, soft enough. Maybe Beomgyu does trust him, just not that much. Not enough to hand over whatever it is that’s clearly clawing at his insides. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. A quiet, creeping hurt that whispers why not me? Why can’t you let me in? Why do you always close yourself off right when I’m reaching out the most?

Kai presses himself closer, pretending he doesn’t notice the lie sitting between them like a phantom third body. Pretending he doesn’t feel it pushing between their ribs, keeping them from fully sinking into each other. He tries not to let it get to him, but even as Beomgyu’s arms wrap around him and his hand smooths down Kai’s back with a gentleness that says I care about you, the doubt lingers. Then why won’t you let me carry even a little of your pain? Kai buries his face into Beomgyu’s shirt and nods like he believes him, but inside, something curls up small and wounded in his chest. Because if Beomgyu doesn’t feel safe enough to tell him the truth now, will he ever?

Kai nods instead, the air between them tightening just a little. “Okay.”

A beat.

“But if you ever want to talk about it…” he trails off, fingers toying with the edge of Beomgyu’s shirt where it’s ridden up a bit from their shifting. “I’m here.”

Beomgyu looks at him for a long moment, and then, without saying anything, he brings his hand up to gently brush Kai’s fringe away from his eyes. The touch is featherlight, almost scared. Then he leans in and kisses him once on the temple, lips lingering.

Kai’s eyes flutter shut.

He doesn’t press further. He knows how this goes. Knows that sometimes Beomgyu needs space the same way Kai needs reassurance. He just hopes that when the time comes, Beomgyu won’t keep running from him.

Kai keeps his eyes shut long after Beomgyu’s lips leave his skin, savouring the warmth of the kiss even as the chill of everything unsaid settles in. It should be enough; the tenderness, the way Beomgyu’s fingers lingered in his hair like a quiet apology, but it’s not. As much as Kai wants to believe in Beomgyu’s feelings for him, wants to trust the way he holds him, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s still standing on the outside of a door he hasn’t been given the key to, and what scares him most is that maybe Beomgyu doesn’t want to give him the key. Maybe he’s just not someone Beomgyu will ever fully let in.

He knows this isn’t fair; knows that love isn’t a transaction, that pain doesn’t become easier just because someone’s willing to share the weight of it, but a part of him feels rejected anyway. Like something in him just isn’t enough. Maybe he’s too soft, too eager, too open. Maybe Beomgyu sees that vulnerability as something to protect from rather than lean into. And that thought – however fleeting – wraps around his ribs like thorns. Why won’t you trust me with this part of you? What am I doing wrong?

But Kai doesn’t ask. He won’t beg for what Beomgyu isn’t ready to give. He’s already learned how to read the silences, how to accept the distance without pushing too hard. He tells himself it’s patience, that this is what love means; waiting in the quiet, hoping the person you care for will meet you halfway when they’re ready. Still, a small, scared voice at the back of his mind whispers that maybe Beomgyu won’t. That maybe, when that door finally creaks open, it’ll be too late.

Just then, Beomgyu shifts beneath him and picks up his phone to check a notification. A pause. Then, a soft inhale.

Beomgyu taps the screen a few times, then glances down at Kai. “It’s Hiyyih,” he says gently. “She texted again.”

Kai’s body tenses for a second, something instinctive, before he lifts his head to peer at the screen Beomgyu now holds out for him.

 

Huening Bahiyyih

hii beomgyu oppa! (๑'ᵕ'๑)⸝*
just wanted to send a lil message hehe
lea unnie and i still miss him :<
can u tell him that pretty please
(ㅅ •᷄ ₃•᷅ )
lea unnie said to tell him he looks exactly how she remembers him
i think so too!

 

Beomgyu’s voice cuts through the quiet. “How are you feeling about that?”

Kai doesn’t answer right away. He lets the question sit. His fingers curl slightly into the fabric of Beomgyu’s shirt as he lies back down against him. It’s a simple question, but the answer’s anything but. He thinks about his dad. About their conversation the other night, how gently he’d said it, how earnestly he’d tried to help Kai let go of the weight he’s been carrying for years.

“It’s not your job to protect me from something I’ve already made peace with.”

And how, for the first time, Kai had let himself believe it might be true.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Kai says softly, voice muffled against Beomgyu’s chest. “About what my dad said. About how… I owe it to myself to try. Not for them. But for me.”

Beomgyu’s hand stills on his arm. He waits patiently. That’s what Beomgyu’s best at, Kai’s learned. Not rushing him. Just… waiting.

Kai exhales. “Maybe I do want to meet them. Just… not now. I’m not ready yet.”

Beomgyu’s lips brush the top of his hair. “That’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to be.”

There’s another moment of silence, long and thick with something unsaid, and then Beomgyu asks, “Do you want to start with just texting them first?”

Kai pulls away slightly, just enough to see his face. Beomgyu’s eyes are warm, careful, like he knows this is fragile terrain and doesn’t want to press too hard. He’s always like this when it comes to the parts of Kai that still feel a little bruised; tender, not tiptoeing, but careful.

Kai nods slowly. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I’d like that.”

Beomgyu smiles. “You can use my phone if it’s easier. Or I can give you their numbers, and you can do it whenever you’re ready.”

Kai chews on his lip, glancing down at the message still glowing on Beomgyu’s screen. It’s surreal, how casual it looks. Just a text. Just a few words from someone he hasn’t seen in what feels like another life. Someone he used to sing with, laugh with, fight over the last slice of tteokbokki with. Someone who used to braid his hair when they were bored, who used to sleep beside him and cling like a koala through the night.

And someone who also left.

Kai tucks himself closer into Beomgyu’s side again, heart still thudding a little harder than he’d like, but the dread that usually latches onto the thought of seeing his sisters again… he notices it’s a little softer tonight. Like it’s easing its grip on him, just a little.

The bed creaks faintly as Beomgyu rolls onto his side to face him better, propping his head up on his hand. “Hey,” he murmurs, “I’m proud of you.”

Kai’s lips twitch upward in something that might become a smile. “For what?”

“For being brave,” Beomgyu says, not missing a beat. “Even thinking about this? That’s a huge step.”

Kai snorts a little. “I’m not brave.”

“You are,” Beomgyu says, and then adds in a half-whine, “You just don’t believe me because you’ve got main character syndrome and think that being scared all the time gives you a little bit of edge.”

Kai lets out a soft laugh, burying his face in the pillow between them. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Beomgyu grins. “You’re kind of amazing, and I’m lucky to know you.”

Kai peeks up at him from behind the pillow. There’s that feeling again; like the air in the room is a little too warm, like his chest is too full of something he can’t name. Gratitude, maybe. Or love. It’s still a little scary to admit to himself that he’s in… love with Beomgyu, especially when he doesn’t know if the latter even feels the same way. 

He reaches for Beomgyu’s hand beneath the sheets and threads their fingers together. “Thanks,” he whispers.

Beomgyu squeezes once. “Always.”

They stay like that, tangled in the quiet, for a long time, and though the future still scares him, though he knows that reconnecting with his sisters won’t erase what happened, the idea doesn’t feel quite so impossible anymore. Not when Beomgyu is holding his hand through it.

Kai is quiet for a while after that, curled close to Beomgyu’s side, letting the weight of the decision settle in his chest. The air between them is gentle now, like nothing urgent has to happen, but Kai feels it. The way his heart races. The way something deep in his chest begins to shift.

Then, slowly, he lifts his head. “Can I… borrow your phone?”

Beomgyu blinks, then immediately nods, reaching over to grab it from the nightstand. “Of course.” He unlocks it with a swipe and hands it over without hesitation, the message from Hiyyih still open.

Kai takes it with trembling hands, propping himself up just enough to sit upright against the headboard. The soft white of the screen glows in the dim room, illuminating his face in a faint blue. He stares at the empty text box for a long time, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

His chest is a battlefield of contradictions. He wants to reach out, to take that step forward like he said he would, but the weight of it presses down hard; the years of silence, the anger, the betrayal, the ache of being left behind. How do you fit all that into a few sentences? How do you speak to someone who once held your hand through every childhood nightmare, but also didn’t fight to stay?

He starts typing.

 

hi hiyyih. it’s kai. i saw your message. i hope you and noona are doing okay.

 

Then he stops. Backspaces all of it.

Starts again.

 

hey. i’ve been thinking about what you said. i don’t know if i’m ready to meet yet, but maybe we could talk.

 

Delete.

 

it’s weird texting you again. not in a bad way. just weird. i guess i’ve missed you. maybe.

 

Kai groans and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, frustrated, overwhelmed. His breathing quickens just a bit, and he glances toward Beomgyu with something close to panic.

Beomgyu notices immediately. “Hey,” he says gently, sitting up beside him. His voice is a soft anchor. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be you.”

Kai swallows, hard. “What if I say the wrong thing?”

“You won’t,” Beomgyu says with absolute certainty. “You couldn’t. Not to her.”

Kai stares at him, something unspoken passing between them. Then, with a quiet breath, he nods, types quickly, faster this time, not letting himself overthink it:

 

Huening Bahiyyih

hi hiyyih, it’s me. i’m not sure what to say but… i saw your message? and i’m here

 

His thumb hovers over the send button like it’s a detonator. Beomgyu places a reassuring hand on his thigh, grounding him.

Kai presses send.

The second the message goes through, he flings the phone across the mattress like it burns, and immediately buries his face in Beomgyu’s neck. “Oh my god,” he mumbles into Beomgyu’s skin. “I can’t. I can’t look. If I see the typing bubble, I might have a heart attack. If she replies, I might die.”

Beomgyu chuckles softly, wrapping his arms around Kai and pulling him in, stroking his back gently. “You’re so dramatic.”

Kai whines. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” Beomgyu presses a kiss into his hair. “But I’m proud of you. You did it.”

The phone buzzes against the duvet almost immediately. One soft vibration, then another, and Kai stiffens in Beomgyu’s arms.

Beomgyu lets out a quiet sound of surprise as he reaches toward the foot of the bed, where the phone had landed face-down on the sheets. He picks it up, squinting at the screen. His thumb swipes down to unlock it. The glow of the message lights up his face, and for a second, Beomgyu just reads; silent, lips parting slightly.

Kai feels the shift, feels Beomgyu freeze just a little before his expression softens.

“She replied,” Beomgyu says gently. “Do you wanna see?”

Kai’s breath catches. His first instinct is to shake his head and dive back under the covers, to stay right here with his face pressed to Beomgyu’s chest where things are still quiet and safe and untouched by the past, but something steadier rises up in him too, braver, so he swallows and nods once.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Okay.”

Beomgyu shifts, propping the phone between them like it’s something sacred. Kai’s eyes drop to the screen.

 

Huening Bahiyyih

kai oppa!!!
omgoomgomgomgomg
this is so surreal
i missed you so much (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥)
lea unnie too!
thank u sm for replying, i know things are…
different (?)
but we still miss you
and we still love you ʕ⁠っ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ⁠っ ♡

 

Kai’s eyes sting before he even realises it.

The words hit harder than they should, we still love you. Something about the simplicity of it, the rawness, the soft kaomojis that mirror the way he used to text when they were still a family. It’s like a key turning in a locked door he didn’t know was still there. The room behind it is full of dust and ache, but also warmth, and the moment he steps into it, everything rushes back at once. He brushes at his cheeks quickly, almost embarrassed by how fast the tears fall. Beomgyu doesn’t say anything, just tightens his hold around him, grounding him without question.

Of course he misses them. That part isn’t even a question.

But love? Love is harder. Love is more complicated. He used to say it all the time, used to scrawl it across the end of every note, every birthday card, every sleepy goodnight. And then one day, they were gone. Just gone. And all those I love yous felt like tiny betrayals echoing back at him, reminding him of everything that was taken, everything that didn’t stay.

Does he love them still?

He wants to say yes. He thinks the answer is yes. Of course he’s always loved them. Somewhere beneath the bitterness, beneath the aching silence and the long winters of pretending he didn’t care, Kai knows there was always a part of him that stayed soft for them. For the memory of Lea dancing in their cramped living room in feather boas and plastic heels. For the way Hiyyih used to sleepwalk into his room at night, just to curl up by his side. That kind of love doesn’t just vanish. It gets buried, maybe, under years of dust and disappointment, but it doesn’t rot. And yet… he’s spent so long feeding the resentment instead. So long convincing himself they chose comfort over family, that they abandoned him and his dad to chase some polished new life. What does it say about him, now, if he lets go of that anger so easily?

He doesn’t even know if he has the right to love them. Not after the things he’s said in his head, not after the way he’s turned away from their names whenever they came up. He’s held onto that bitterness like it was the only thing tethering him to the truth of what happened, like admitting he still loved them might somehow erase how much it all hurt. Now, staring down at the blinking cursor, those three words feel too heavy, too sacred to give. He can’t undo the years that built this distance. He can’t be the only one trying to bridge it. So instead, he picks the closest thing that feels honest. “i miss you too.” Because he does. He misses them so much it cracks open something small and sore inside him. But love? That will take time.

 

Huening Bahiyyih

 

i miss you too
(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

i cant believe we’re finally talking

me neither lol

i really really missed you oppa
i really wanna see you
can we?

 do u live in seoul?

yeah we do!!
in hannam-dong!!

 

The moment the words appear on Beomgyu’s screen, Kai feels something in his chest snap like a dry twig underfoot. The warmth that had been slowly building – the tentative ease that came with their earlier texts, the flicker of connection he’d started to let himself hope for – vanishes in an instant. Hannam-dong. Of all places. His heart drops before rage heats it again, his breath catching on a bitter inhale as his gaze sharpens into a scowl. Hannam-dong isn’t just some trendy district. It’s one of the most expensive, exclusive neighbourhoods in all of Seoul. A place he used to walk past as a teenager and wonder what the people inside those glass-fronted homes had done to earn their lives of luxury.

He sits up abruptly, dragging a shaky hand through his hair as if the motion could still his thoughts, calm the sudden swell in his chest but it only makes the ache sharper. How is that fair? How is it fair that while he and his dad were counting coins to keep the lights on, rationing food, and sleeping in a crumbling one-room flat outside of the city, they were nestled comfortably behind iron gates and manicured gardens, probably eating takeout from restaurants that cost more than their weekly groceries. His throat tightens with the weight of it. His sisters, his own blood, living in a world so far removed from the one he’d been left behind in, like they never knew hunger, never knew what it meant to watch someone break under the weight of bills and still get up for work the next morning.

He doesn’t want to resent them. He knows the logical part of the story; he knows they were kids too, that they didn’t get to choose where they lived or how they were raised, but the pain doesn’t know logic. Anger doesn’t care about nuance. It just festers, feeding on the contrast between their lives and his. Between what he lost and what they gained. The sharp divide that was cleaved into his family the moment their mother walked out the door with them and never once looked back; not for his dad, not for him, and now they’re in Hannam-fucking-dong. It makes him sick. His hands shake, not from fear but from fury that he’s tried so hard to bury all these years.

He thinks about the apartment he grew up in. The cracked linoleum floors. The leaky sink. The way his dad used to stuff towels against the door in the winter because the draft would freeze the kitchen pipes. He thinks about how they used to warm their hands over the gas stove when the heater gave out. About how once, his dad skipped dinner for a week just so Kai could eat three full meals a day. Now he’s supposed to feel happy that his sisters are thriving? That they’re living somewhere with floor heating and high ceilings and probably a walk-in closet bigger than his entire childhood bedroom?

Kai swallows down the burning in his throat. He doesn’t say anything, not yet. Beomgyu’s hand is still resting lightly on his knee, but Kai barely registers it. His mind is miles away, retracing the parts of his past that he’s long since packed into boxes labelled too painful to unpack . He’s not even sure who he’s mad at anymore – his sisters, his mother, the universe – but in this moment, the resentment crashes back into him like a tidal wave, choking out whatever soft hope had begun to bud in his chest. Maybe he will meet them someday, but not like this. Not when it still feels like justice was never served. Not when it still feels like his wounds never got the chance to scab.

Beomgyu sits up slowly beside him, the mattress shifting with the movement. His hand comes up, gentle and grounding, rubbing soft, steady circles along Kai’s back. There’s no rush in his touch, nor any push for answers, just a quiet presence, something steady for Kai to hold onto while the weight in his chest threatens to pull him under.

“You okay?” Beomgyu asks softly, voice barely more than a whisper, but it cuts through the quiet like a pin through silk.

Kai doesn’t answer at first. He stares ahead at nothing, jaw tight, shoulders locked. His breathing is shallow, caught somewhere between restraint and collapse. Beomgyu’s hand never falters. It stays there, comforting and patient.

Kai’s voice sounds small even to himself, barely carried by the stale hush of the room. “Maybe I’m not ready,” he says again, softer this time. “To talk to them. After all.”

This time, the silence that follows is heavier. It settles thick in his chest, the way dust settles on things long untouched; slow, sure, and suffocating. Beomgyu doesn’t say anything right away. His hand keeps moving along Kai’s spine, slow and tender, grounding him like always. Kai can feel him watching with concern etched in his face, that open-hearted patience Beomgyu wears so easily, like it doesn’t cost him anything. Like Kai is someone worth waiting for, but that only makes the ache sharper. His throat burns with unsaid things. Words that have curdled inside him for years. He draws in a breath and releases it with a quiet shake of his head, still unable to look at Beomgyu.

“I was really starting to think maybe this could work,” he says, almost bitterly. “I was reading their texts, and for a second, it felt like… like maybe we could have something again. Not what we had. But something.” His chest rises and falls shallowly, trembling around the next words. “But then she said…”

He finally looks at Beomgyu then, eyes glassy, voice rough. “They got to live in one of the most expensive neighbourhoods in the country, hyung. And I had to stay up at night trying to figure out if we could afford another semester of school lunches. My dad skipped dinner more times than I can count just so I could eat properly. I had to secretly work as a dishwasher at the miyeokguk place near our house to earn scraps so I could at least help my dad while Lea noona got to model couture on magazine covers.”

Beomgyu’s lips part, but Kai doesn’t give him the chance to speak. The floodgates are open now.

“I know it’s not their fault,” he says quickly, voice rising. “I know. I know. But they still lived it. They still got to be there, with her, while we were stuck scraping by with nothing. And now they’re reaching out, saying they miss me and love me… and I don’t even know if I’m allowed to love them back, Beomgyu. I don’t know if I can. I’m angry. I’m still so angry.”

He presses the heel of his hand into his chest, like the pain is something he can physically hold back. “And I hate that. I hate feeling this way. Like I’m being the bitter one. Like I’m the one who needs to forgive and forget just because they’re finally ready to come back.” He lets out a shaky breath, barely holding himself together. “I feel like such an awful person.”

“You’re not,” Beomgyu says quietly, but Kai doesn’t hear it over the roar of his own guilt.

“Maybe one day I’ll be able to look at them and not think about what they got that I didn’t,” he says, his voice fraying. “But I don’t think that day is today.”

He curls inward again, away from the open wound of his own words, and Beomgyu’s arms wrap around him without hesitation. In the quiet that follows, Kai doesn’t cry but his eyes sting, and his shoulders tremble, and his heart folds in on itself like paper worn too thin. Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe it’s small. But for now, that’s all he can give.

Notes:

hi guuys! hope you guys don't mind the long wait and the short update...

i really really really appreciate all the reassurance you've given me about the speed of my updates but i can't help but still be disappointed in myself, and it's been affecting my writing 😭 been feeling like i've put myself in a self-inflicted writer's block lately, i've been so hard on myself about how slow and unproductive i've been, and it's totally messed with my inspiration and motivation to write, which frustrates me even more because you guys deserve the steady updates i used to be able to give you and not this wishy washy nonsense😮‍💨

don't worry tho!! i'll still try my best to get rid of this stupid little rain cloud i have over my head and write more consistently!! although i do have to give you guys a heads up, my mid-year report presentation at work is due by the end of this month, so updates might be slower seeing as i'll have to focus on my report, but after this month, hopefully i'll be more consistent with my updates and quicker too!!

i can't thank you guys enough for all the kindness and patience you've shown me, i really can't put into words how much i appreciate every single one of you🥺

as always, comments and kudos are much appreciated! and you can come talk to me on my twitter or my strawpage!! thank you so much lovies <3

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Chapter 23

Summary:

“Hey, Beomgyu hyung,” Taehyun says, stepping closer, guitar still slung over his shoulder. “Got a sec?”

Beomgyu turns, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

Taehyun jerks his head toward the door. “Come with me.”

Beomgyu lingers nearby, confused but calm. “What’s up?”

Taehyun’s eyes flick toward him, unreadable. “I wanted to talk to you. About Kai.”

Notes:

managed to write a little more this time yay!! happy reading~

🧸

 

Spring lingers in the air, the campus grounds dipped in gold, bathed in the kind of gentle sunlight that makes everything look softer, safer, like the world’s been wrapped in warm gauze. The air smells sweet with cut grass and blooming magnolias, yet Beomgyu walks beside Kai through it all like he’s underwater. Kai, on the other hand, is full of life. His voice bounces from one thought to the next with the kind of easy rhythm that usually makes Beomgyu feel lighter. Right now, it barely registers.

“I’m so excited to see your show at the Spring Festival. I mean, I’ve basically seen it already through rehearsals but I know it’ll be so much better on a real stage! Not that your rehearsals aren’t already good enough or anything–”

Beomgyu hums, non-committal. “Mm.”

“And I was thinking, maybe we could go to the cat cafe and I could finally introduce you to Chamchi. He’s the other cat I usually play with when I wasn’t playing with Aqua. He’s super intense, but I think he’d like you. Or hate you. I’m not sure.”

“Sure.”

Kai glances sideways, a small crease forming between his brows. “You’d probably charm him anyway.”

Beomgyu lets out a small, barely-there laugh. It sounds more like breath than anything.

Ever since he wired the money to Minjun and Doyoon, finally severing whatever sick hold they had on him, he thought he’d feel lighter. Freed, almost. He’d imagined waking up with the weight gone from his chest, imagining holding Kai without shame, laughing with him like before. Instead, everything’s gotten louder. His mind won’t shut up. The guilt, no longer buried beneath fear or obligation, has grown claws, scratching at every quiet moment, every soft smile Kai offers him. It's like now that the threat is gone, there's nowhere left to hide from himself, and it’s making it harder to look at Kai at all; harder to focus when he's talking, when he's smiling, when he's looking at Beomgyu like he's still worth something, because every time Kai reaches for him, Beomgyu can only see the lie in his own hands. His guilt has only then multiplied tenfold.

They pass a cherry blossom tree still holding onto the last of its petals. Kai reaches up instinctively, brushing his fingers through a branch, sending a small drift of pink to the pavement.

“Oh, and I heard they’re setting up a booth with make-your-own plushies. We should make one together,” Kai says brightly. “I want ours to be holding hands.”

Beomgyu mumbles, “Cute.”

Kai slows just slightly, eyes flicking up to his profile. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Beomgyu feels the words land somewhere just outside of him, like a stone skipping over water he can’t quite sink into. He wants to be present, wants to turn and meet Kai’s eyes, smile properly, pull him close and say yes, let’s make something ridiculous and sentimental and ours, but his head feels fogged over, thoughts looping too fast to catch hold of anything real. He’s trying. He knows Kai deserves better than this distracted shell of a boyfriend, and it makes him feel even worse for letting his silence keep winning. Still, the guilt sits so heavily on his chest it’s hard to breathe, and all that makes it out are short, dull answers. He hates how they sound the second they leave his mouth, hates the way Kai’s smile falters just slightly every time, but the more he tries to be present, the deeper his mind pulls him under.

Beomgyu can see Kai’s smile dim a little through the corner of his eye, but the latter keeps going, filling the silence with a quiet hopefulness. “And then after the show… I thought maybe we could sneak away somewhere. Just us. I have something planned for your birthday.”

Beomgyu doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even hear him.

He’s halfway inside his own head again, sinking deeper with every step. The spring air means nothing. The sound of Kai’s voice is background noise, sweet and warm and utterly distant. All Beomgyu can hear is the echo of his own thoughts.

You’re lying. You’re still lying.

Kai’s voice reaches him again, just the tail end of a sentence, soft and unsure: “...but we’ll have to kinda hike there, though–”

Beomgyu barely registers it. Just those last few words.

Hike? What for? God, that sounds exhausting…

He doesn’t stop to think about it. Doesn’t stop to realise what Kai might’ve been saying before that. The rest of the sentence slips past him like water through his fingers.

He replies flatly, voice low and automatic, “Don’t feel like it.”

The words fall between them with a dull thud.

Kai stops walking.

They’ve only just passed the corner shop, and now Kai’s frozen mid-step, eyebrows raised and eyes wide with shock. The kind of expression that lands in Beomgyu’s gut like a stone. There’s a flicker of something raw in his face, like surprise curdling into hurt before he can school it away. His mouth parts, as if to ask why? , but nothing comes out, just the way his eyes dull ever so slightly, like a light dimmed behind glass.

“What?” Kai asks softly after a beat of silence.

Beomgyu blinks, pulled violently back to the present. “Wait– sorry, what?” he says quickly, heart skipping. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Kai lets out a quiet laugh but it comes out more like a wheeze, and repeats himself, more slowly this time. “I said, after the Spring Festival, I thought we could go somewhere. I’m planning something. For your birthday. But we might have to hike a little bit to get there.”

Beomgyu’s stomach drops.

Fuck, he’d said no. He’d said don’t feel like it. To something Kai had been carefully planning. For his birthday. His surprise. And he’d just… brushed it off like it was a chore. His mind races, the full weight of the moment crashing into him all at once. Kai must’ve spent days thinking this through – figuring out something special, something meaningful, something just for the two of them – and Beomgyu had thrown it away with four careless words. Stupid. Stupid. Fucking stupid. He feels like punching himself. Like grabbing the words out of the air and swallowing them whole before they can land in Kai’s heart the way they clearly just did. Of all the things he could’ve screwed up, he had to screw this. A rare, vulnerable gift Kai had handed him so gently, and he hadn’t even been listening.

Beomgyu forces a smile, too big, too quick. “Oh. Oh, of course! I’d love to, babe.”

He tries to sound casual, tries to mimic the way he used to speak to Kai; warm, playful, and easy, but the words come out hollow, shaky at the edges, like he’s reciting lines in a script he barely remembers. Kai’s face doesn’t soften. At least, not all the way. His mouth lifts, but it’s tight at the corners, like it’s being held there with string. His eyes don’t meet Beomgyu’s. They stay somewhere around his collarbone, unfocused and distant, like he’s still buffering what just happened.

Beomgyu scrambles. The silence feels unbearable now. “Seriously. That sounds amazing. I didn’t mean what I said, I just spaced out. I’m really excited. For your surprise. And… for my birthday,” he adds, forcing some lightness into his tone, trying to pass it off as forgetfulness instead of the bone-deep guilt gnawing at him from the inside out.

It tastes like sawdust in his mouth. He hates how fake it sounds, how obvious it must be that he’s trying to clean up a mess he doesn’t even fully understand himself.

Kai gives a small nod, eyes flicking to the pavement. “Okay,” he says.

It’s just one word, barely even a breath, but it punches straight through Beomgyu’s chest, and the way he falls silent tells Beomgyu it’s not okay. 

Beomgyu’s chest tightens, panic crawling up his throat like static. “I’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time. “Really, Kai. I didn’t mean it like that. I just– I’ve got a lot on my mind lately, and I thought you were talking about something else. I didn’t hear what you were saying before that. I should’ve been paying attention, I’m sorry.”

Kai doesn’t respond right away. His lips twitch into something like a smile, but it’s strained, polite, and distant, the kind of expression you give to a stranger who’s stepped on your foot and apologised too late. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

Then, wordlessly, Kai pulls his hand from Beomgyu’s and stuffs it into the pocket of his hoodie. The gesture is small, subtle even, but it makes Beomgyu feel like the pavement’s cracked open beneath him. The warmth that was once nestled between their palms is gone in an instant, replaced by a wall of silence. Kai’s shoulders draw in slightly, chin dipping toward his chest as he walks ahead, his pace just quick enough to create a few steps of distance between them.

Beomgyu follows, heart hammering. He doesn’t think. He just speeds up to catch him, closing the gap in two long strides.

Without a word, he slips his own hand into the pocket where Kai’s retreated, fingers searching in the cotton-dark until they find his again. His palm presses gently to Kai’s, interlocking their fingers in the tight space. It’s awkward, a little uncomfortable, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to feel Kai’s hand again, to feel like they’re still connected, even if just barely. 

Kai doesn’t pull away.

But he doesn’t squeeze back, either.

Beomgyu holds his breath in the silence, hand still tucked into Kai’s hoodie pocket, his fingers curled carefully around Kai’s but receiving nothing in return; no squeeze, no twitch, not even the barest acknowledgement that he’s still welcome there. It feels like holding hands with a ghost. His voice is barely above a whisper when he tries again.

“I’m really sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to say that. I swear, I didn’t mean to sound like I didn’t care. I was just distracted and didn’t hear what you were saying properly.”

Kai doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even glance at him. His eyes stay fixed ahead, watching the cracks in the pavement pass beneath their feet.

“It’s fine,” Kai murmurs, and Beomgyu hears the lie in it instantly. It’s not fine. The way Kai’s shoulders are hunched in on themselves says otherwise. The way he’s not looking at him says everything.

The air has shifted, gone thick and quiet, the warmth of spring now distant, unable to reach the space between them. Beomgyu swallows hard against the ache crawling up his chest. He tries to say something light, something safe, anything that might coax Kai back out of this shell.

“So… what were you saying about Chamchi again?” he asks, gently nudging Kai’s elbow. 

Kai’s jaw tightens, and for a second Beomgyu thinks maybe he’ll smile. Maybe he’ll roll his eyes and make some offhand comment about how Chamchi’s getting pickier with age.

But all he gets is a shrug. “Nothing.”

That’s it. Just that. Dismissive and distant. Said like he doesn’t want to keep the conversation going. Said like he doesn’t want to talk to him. It breaks something in Beomgyu’s chest, and it’s all Beomgyu’s fault. He falls silent, the two of them walking in step down a street blooming with sunlight, but it feels cold now, the gold of the evening dimmed by the weight of everything unsaid. Beomgyu keeps his hand where it is, hidden away in Kai’s pocket, holding on as gently as he can, but Kai’s fingers stay still in his, unmoving.

Beomgyu swallows the lump in his throat, guilt pressing harder against his ribs with every quiet step they take. The silence is deafening now, no soft hum of Kai’s voice, no shared laugh, not even the usual tug of his hand as he points something out with excitement. Just the soft scuff of their shoes against the pavement and the leaden weight in Beomgyu’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, barely above a whisper. He leans in and presses a small kiss to Kai’s cheek, hoping and praying that it might soften something, crack the wall that’s risen between them in the span of minutes. His lips linger for just a second longer than usual, like maybe sincerity can be absorbed through skin.

Kai gives a tiny nod.

He doesn’t turn toward him or lean in, he doesn’t even look at him.

Beomgyu’s heart sinks.

The rest of the walk passes in silence, and Beomgyu spends every step of it beating himself up. How could he let this happen? How could he let his own shame slip so carelessly into their everyday life? The bet was supposed to be over. He’d ended it, transferred the money, and washed his hands clean, but somehow the guilt hadn’t gone with it; it had just shifted, spilled through the cracks, creeping into his words, his silences, his smile. He thought he could hold it all together if he just pretended hard enough. That Kai wouldn’t notice. That the version of him Kai loved wouldn’t get infected by the worst parts of who he was, but he was wrong.

He sees it now in the way Kai keeps his gaze fixed ahead, in the way his shoulders are drawn tight, in the way his fingers still refuse to squeeze back. Beomgyu has no one to blame but himself. He let his shame take the wheel, and now it’s driving him straight into the one thing he’s most afraid of: losing Kai. Not because of the bet. Because of everything he let rot and fester after.

 

🐧

 

Kai’s been talking for blocks now. Not because he’s got that much to say, but because someone has to fill the silence, and Beomgyu hasn’t been doing it.

“I’m so excited to see your show at the Spring Festival,” he says, giving Beomgyu’s hand a light swing as they walk. “I mean, I’ve basically seen it already through rehearsals, but I know it’ll be so much better on a real stage! Not that your rehearsals aren’t already good enough or anything–”

Beomgyu hums, just a soft “Mm.”

Kai swallows, brushing off the slight sting. He tries again. “And I was thinking, maybe we could go to the cat cafe and I could finally introduce you to Chamchi. He’s the other cat I usually play with when I wasn’t playing with Aqua. He’s super intense, but I think he’d like you. Or hate you. I’m not sure.”

“Sure.”

It lands flat, and Kai feels the edges of his smile falter. He glances up at Beomgyu’s profile, looking for a hint of life, anything that might make the one-word answer feel less… dismissive. “You’d probably charm him anyway.”

Beomgyu lets out a sound, something that might’ve once been a laugh, if it weren’t so hollow. It sounds more like air escaping through clenched teeth.

They pass under a cherry blossom tree, its petals clinging stubbornly to the last of spring. Kai reaches up instinctively, fingers brushing a low branch, and watches the soft flurry of pink drift down around them like something straight out of a fairytale. It’s pretty, and it should feel magical, but Beomgyu hasn’t said a thing.

So Kai tries one more time, brightening his voice a little. “Oh! And I heard they’re setting up a booth with make-your-own plushies. We should make one together,” he says, nudging their shoulders. “I want ours to be holding hands.”

Beomgyu mumbles, “Cute.”

That’s it.

Usually, that would’ve gotten a real reaction: Beomgyu’s eyes lighting up, a teasing grin, some over-the-top joke about making the plushies kiss or giving his one stupid hair to match him. He would’ve leaned in and said something like "God, you're such a sap," while secretly loving every second of it. But now? Nothing. Just that one-word reply, flat and far away, like he didn’t even really hear him. Beomgyu doesn’t even glance over, doesn’t smile, doesn’t meet his eyes, and it stings because Kai had pictured this moment. He thought it would make Beomgyu laugh. He wanted to make him laugh, but all he gets is the kind of half-hearted disinterest you’d give to a stranger. It makes his heart dip painfully, a quiet panic flickering behind his ribs. Why does it suddenly feel like Beomgyu’s not really with him anymore?

Kai slows a little, looking up at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

The lie is so casual, so easy, that it almost knocks the wind out of Kai. He nods and smiles, but his chest has gone tight. He keeps talking because he doesn’t know what else to do. Because maybe, if he keeps the momentum going, Beomgyu will come back to him again.

“And then after the show…” he says, “I thought maybe we could sneak away somewhere. Just us. I have something planned for your birthday.”

Nothing.

Beomgyu doesn’t even blink, still not looking at him.

Kai’s stomach knots. He’s not even sure Beomgyu heard him, but he pushes on with a hopeful little smile. “Nothing fancy, I promise. But I’ve been working on it for a while now. I think you’ll really like it, but we’ll have to kind of hike there, though–”

Then suddenly, Beomgyu’s voice cuts in, flat and offhand: “Don’t feel like it.”

Kai feels his heart stop in his chest.

What? What?

It hits like a punch to the gut. No warning, no pause, just those words – don’t feel like it – dropped so carelessly between them, like they meant nothing, but to Kai, it feels like a bomb’s gone off under his ribs. He stares at Beomgyu, stunned, heart thudding loud and uneven in his ears. You don’t feel like it? After everything? After the weeks he’s spent sneaking around, trying to make sure every little detail of the surprise is perfect? After combing through old memories and new ideas, searching for something Beomgyu might love, something that would make him feel wanted, celebrated, known? His throat tightens. Where did he go wrong? Was it too much? Did he read everything wrong? He’d been so sure Beomgyu would smile or tease him or kiss his forehead and say something cheesy like, you’re such a romantic. But now… now Kai just feels stupid, and small. Like he’s spent all this time building something beautiful in the dark, only to have the light turned on and realise Beomgyu was never looking at it in the first place.

He turns, looking at Beomgyu like he’s just been slapped. His eyebrows pull together, confusion sinking into the growing pit in his chest. Did he hear that right? Why would he say that? Kai’s mouth opens, but the words catch on nothing. His voice doesn’t work. His heart’s racing and still, he doesn’t understand. Kai sways where he stands, arms limp at his sides, because where did he go wrong? When did he start being someone Beomgyu could shrug off so easily?

“What?” he asks quietly, barely able to push the word out.

Beomgyu blinks at him like he’s only just now realising they’re still together on the same sidewalk. “Wait– sorry, what?” he says quickly, stumbling. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Of course he wasn’t.

Of course.

Kai lets out a laugh, but it dies somewhere in his throat. It comes out jagged, awkward, like a broken zipper being yanked too fast. He repeats himself, slower this time. “I said, after the Spring Festival, I thought we could go somewhere. I’m planning something. For your birthday. But we might have to hike a little bit to get there.”

He’s trying not to sound bitter, he really is, but his voice wavers anyway.

Beomgyu finally looks at him and pastes on a smile. It’s too wide, too eager, like a child trying to pretend they didn’t break a vase. “Oh. Oh, of course! I’d love to, babe.”

Kai wants to believe it. He really, really does, but the ache in his chest doesn’t go away. The apology sounds too rehearsed. The word love rings empty, and he hates himself for noticing. His smile stays frozen in place, a stiff, half-hearted thing that he can’t get to soften no matter how hard he tries. His eyes flick to the ground, heart sinking.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

But inside, he feels like screaming.

What’s happening to us?

Beomgyu’s here. He’s right here. Their hands are still linked, but everything feels off-kilter and slippery. Like trying to grip sand that keeps falling between his fingers. Beomgyu keeps drifting further and further and Kai doesn’t even know why. What changed? What did he do wrong? Was it too much? Was he too much?

He thought they were happy.

He knows they were happy.

So how did it get like this?

All of a sudden, Beomgyu’s hand in his feels too much; too hot, too heavy, too wrong. Something that used to feel like safety now just feels like pressure, like a reminder of everything Kai can’t understand, everything he can’t fix. The warmth that once made him feel grounded now feels like it’s burning through his skin. He lets go, quietly and deliberately, and without a word, he shoves both hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie, curling his fingers into fists just to have something to hold onto that won’t slip away.

He picks up his pace, walking faster down the street lined with golden light and blooming trees that suddenly feel too loud, too bright, too mocking in their beauty. Beomgyu jogs a few steps to catch up, and before Kai can say anything – before he even knows what to say – he feels it: Beomgyu’s hand slipping into his pocket, finding his, and interlocking their fingers like nothing’s wrong.

But it is wrong.

Everything’s wrong.

Kai doesn’t squeeze back.

He can’t. His fingers stay limp in Beomgyu’s, his entire body tense and humming with confusion, hurt, and the steady roar of doubt beginning to flood every corner of his mind. His ears are ringing. His chest feels tight. He can hear his own heartbeat thudding unevenly in his ribs, and it feels like the world is starting to tilt beneath him.

Beomgyu says something – sorry, probably, again – but it barely registers. The words bounce off the thick glass that’s gone up around Kai’s head. He can’t focus. He doesn’t want to focus because if he listens too closely, he might crack. He feels the elder press a kiss on his cheek, lingering for just a short while, and what once used to make his heart race now just makes him feel numb.

His brain won’t stop racing. Was it something he said? Was he annoying? Was the surprise stupid? Was he being clingy again? Did he make Beomgyu uncomfortable with how much he loved him, how much he wanted to do everything with him? Maybe he’d been too obvious. Maybe Beomgyu was just tired of him. Maybe the person Kai fell for isn’t even really here anymore. Or maybe he never was.

That is the most terrifying thought of all.

Kai’s thoughts spiral like water circling a drain, faster and tighter with every breath.

Maybe I’m too much. Maybe I’ve always been too much. Maybe he’s just been pretending this whole time to enjoy the things I care about. Maybe he never liked me. Maybe he never liked being with me. Maybe he’s just… tired of me. Of this. Of us.

Each thought sharpens into the next, slicing into him with increasing precision. His chest aches from holding it all in, from the effort of staying light and cheerful when everything inside him feels like it’s caving in. He doesn’t want to cry. Not in front of Beomgyu. Not like this. So instead, he swallows the lump in his throat and tells himself what he doesn’t want to admit.

I just need space.

He can’t think clearly like this. Not when Beomgyu is next to him, warm and quiet and unreadable. Not when everything he says feels like it might crack something in Kai’s chest. He needs to stop before he starts begging for reassurance Beomgyu doesn’t seem willing or able to give.

He halts mid-step.

Beomgyu turns to look at him, eyes blinking with confusion. Kai forces his voice to stay even.

“I think I’ll just go home tonight, hyung. I’m not feeling too well.”

Beomgyu’s steps slow beside him, a crease forming between his brows as he turns. “What? Are you sick?”

Kai forces a smile, weak and watery. He regrets it the moment Beomgyu lifts a hand to touch his forehead – gentle, instinctive, worried in that quiet way only Beomgyu can be – but he leans back out of reach before the touch lands.

Beomgyu freezes mid-motion. The flicker of hurt that crosses his face is small, almost imperceptible, but Kai catches it anyway, and it twists something sharp inside his chest. Because he doesn’t want to hurt Beomgyu, he never does, but he can’t keep pretending everything feels the same when it doesn’t. When he’s been trying so hard to keep them afloat while Beomgyu drifts further and further from him without a word.

“I’m just not feeling well,” Kai says again, quieter this time. He hopes Beomgyu won’t ask any more questions. Hopes he won’t see right through the paper-thin excuse.

But of course, he does.

“I’ll take you home, then–” Beomgyu says quickly, already moving to fall in step with him, like the offer will make things okay again. Like it’s still something he wants.

“Hyung,” Kai says, a little too sharp, the syllable catching at the edge of his throat. He stops walking. “I’m going home.”

Beomgyu stares at him, stunned into silence. The spring light falls across his face in broken, golden fragments, but his eyes look almost grey with how confused they are. How careful.

“Kai…” he starts. “Is this about what I said?”

It hangs there, quiet and heavy. Kai’s breath catches. His fingers twitch at his sides.

Because yes. Of course it is. It’s about what Beomgyu said, and what he didn’t say. It’s about how he’s been retreating behind a wall Kai can’t see over. It’s about how Kai’s been talking to himself in their conversations for days. It’s about how he thought they were building something real, only to feel like it’s crumbling quietly underfoot, and he doesn’t know how or why.

But he can’t say all that. He doesn’t even know how to start.

So instead, he looks up, eyes burning but unreadable, and leans forward just enough to press a soft kiss to Beomgyu’s cheek. It lingers for only a second before he steps away again.

Beomgyu doesn’t move nor follow, and Kai doesn’t know what he wants more: to be respected or to be chased, to be given space or to be fought for, but the absence of either makes his chest throb in the worst possible way. He turns without another word, walking away with hands stuffed deep into his hoodie pockets, his shoulders stiff against the weight of everything unsaid. The fading light falls behind him. The street stretches out before him, quiet and empty. 

Beomgyu doesn’t call his name.

 

🐧

 

“I just don’t get it!” Kai blurts, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, voice a little too loud for the quiet path they’re walking. His footsteps quicken in agitation, sneakers scuffing the pavement, but Taehyun keeps pace beside him, gaze calm, steady.

“I don’t get what I did wrong,” Kai continues, softer now, as if the volume of his thoughts had startled even him. “Did I say something? Did I push too hard? Am I just… too much for him sometimes?”

Taehyun doesn’t answer right away. He waits, letting Kai spill it out, the way only a friend who’s known him long enough to spot a spiral before it fully crashes does.

“It’s like he’s not even there anymore,” Kai says, voice cracking faintly. “I talk, and it’s like I’m on mute. Or worse, like he’s just nodding and smiling out of obligation. And he used to light up around me, you know? We used to talk for hours . He used to– he used to look at me like I mattered.”

His breath hitches, frustration fizzing beneath the surface, tangled with hurt and confusion and guilt. “Now it’s like I’m just… someone he has to deal with. And I don’t want to be that.”

“You’re not,” Taehyun says simply.

“But it feels like I am,” Kai replies, teeth biting into the inside of his cheek. “Yesterday, I was telling him about the trip I planned for his birthday. I’ve been saving up for weeks. I thought it would make him happy. And I was trying to be all cute about it, like – ‘we’ll have to hike a little, but I promise it’ll be worth it’ – and he just said…”

He swallows. The words taste worse the second time.

“He said, ‘Don’t feel like it.’ Just like that. Like I was inviting him to do the dishes or something.”

Taehyun winces, visibly. “What?”

“Exactly! I mean I get it, he wasn’t paying attention but…” Kai lets out a dry, bitter laugh. “It felt like getting the wind knocked out of me. I’ve been holding onto this surprise like it was the one thing I could still do for him. The one thing I was sure he’d love. And he didn’t even hear me.”

They’re nearly at the music building now. The glass doors glint in the late afternoon sun, and Kai’s steps slow. Inside, he can already hear the familiar murmur of voices, the low thrum of an amp being tested, the metallic crash of someone tuning drums.

But something twists in his stomach at the thought of walking in and pretending everything’s fine. Pretending Beomgyu’s distant smiles and vague answers don’t chip away at him, piece by piece.

They’re nearly at the music building now. The glass doors glint in the late afternoon sun, and Kai’s steps slow. Inside, he can already hear the familiar murmur of voices, the low thrum of an amp being tested, the metallic crash of someone tuning drums, but something twists in his stomach at the thought of walking in and pretending everything’s fine. Pretending Beomgyu’s distant smiles and vague answers don’t chip away at him, piece by piece.

“Hey,” Taehyun says gently. “It’s okay if you’re not ready.”

Kai doesn’t answer, eyes fixed on the building like it’s some great chasm he can’t cross.

“I just don’t know how to be around him right now,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I look at him, I feel like I’m chasing something that used to be there but isn’t anymore. And I don’t know what that means. I don’t know if he’s just stressed or tired or…”

He exhales sharply through his nose. “Or if he’s just… slowly getting over me.”

Taehyun frowns. “Hey. Don’t go there.”

Kai lifts his gaze, searching Taehyun’s face, desperate for something to ground him. “Then where am I supposed to go, huh? He barely looks at me anymore. He answers like he’s somewhere else. Like he’s bored. And I keep thinking what if he is? What if I’ve already lost him and I’m just too pathetic to see it?”

“You’re not pathetic,” Taehyun says firmly. “And you don’t know that’s what’s happening. You’re building a story in your head without even giving him a chance to explain the ending.”

Kai lets out a weak, bitter laugh. “Yeah, well… every version of the ending I imagine ends the same way.”

“Princess…”

“Don’t ‘princess’ me,” he says, more defeated than angry. “I know I overthink. I know I take everything too personally. But what else am I supposed to do when the person I love starts pulling away and I don’t even know why?”

Taehyun softens. “You have to give yourself more credit. You’re not too much, Kai. You never have been. But if you keep feeding those thoughts, they’re going to eat you alive.”

Kai bites his lip, throat tight. “I’m trying not to. I swear I am.”

“I know,” Taehyun says quietly. “But trying counts too.”

A long beat passes between them, the breeze tugging softly at their clothes, rustling through the branches of the trees overhead. The sun hangs low now, drenching the path in soft gold. It should feel warm, it should feel hopeful, but Kai just feels tired.

He stops completely, a few steps away from the building’s entrance. Taehyun turns back, brow lifting.

“You coming?”

Kai shakes his head, gaze dropping. “I don’t think I can today.”

“You sure?”

“I just…” Kai fumbles for the right words, then sighs. “I don’t want to see him. Not when I’m still like this. I need to sort my head out first.”

Taehyun doesn’t argue, just watches him for a moment, then nods. “Okay. Want me to walk you back?”

Kai manages a small smile. “Thanks. But I think I just want to sit for a bit. You should go.”

“Text me later?”

“I will.”

Taehyun gives his shoulder a brief squeeze, then slips through the doors, disappearing into the building’s echoing interior.

Kai stays where he is, slumping onto the nearest bench nestled under a thin cherry blossom tree. A few petals drift down and catch in his hair, unnoticed. He draws his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms tight around them. The thing is, he doesn’t know what he wants from Beomgyu right now. Space? Reassurance? An apology? All he knows is that something’s changed. Something is missing. The worst part is… he still loves Beomgyu more than anything, and he doesn’t even know if that love has somewhere to land anymore.

 

🧸

 

Band practice goes surprisingly well, at least on the surface.

The music is tight, the harmonies more in sync than they’ve been all week. Soobin’s bassline is solid, grounding the room in a rhythm that thrums through Beomgyu’s bones, while Taehyun’s clean, sharp guitar riffs weave effortlessly into the edges of the chorus. When Beomgyu sings, he hits every note, his voice soaring in just the right places. To an outsider, it probably looks like they’re killing it, and they are, but inside, Beomgyu feels like he’s made of static.

He’s too aware of the way his throat tightens around certain lyrics, of how his gaze keeps flicking to the clock even though the minutes don’t seem to move. Even while the music flows, something in him keeps getting snagged, like a zipper caught on thread, small and persistent and impossible to ignore. They finish their third run-through of the final chorus and Taehyun calls for a break, stretching out his back with a sigh.

Beomgyu wipes sweat off his neck with the hem of his shirt and heads for his water bottle, taking a long drink while Soobin plucks absentmindedly at his strings. No one talks for a moment, just the soft clatter of water bottles opening and the occasional creak of folding chairs. It’s a rare kind of quiet, one Beomgyu should be grateful for, but all it does is make the buzz in his head louder.

“Hey, Beomgyu hyung,” Taehyun says, stepping closer, guitar still slung over his shoulder. “Got a sec?”

Beomgyu turns, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

Taehyun jerks his head toward the door. “Come with me.”

There’s something in his tone, slightly cold and deliberate, that catches Beomgyu off guard. He glances at Soobin, who’s absorbed in tuning, then follows Taehyun out into the hallway. It’s quieter here. The old corridor smells like metal and dust and forgotten cables, dim fluorescent lights flickering weakly above them. They head down past the locked storage rooms until they reach the far end, where the broken vending machine lives, still cracked, still humming like it’s trying to die with dignity.

Taehyun stops beside it and leans against the wall, arms folded.

Beomgyu lingers nearby, confused but calm. “What’s up?”

Taehyun’s eyes flick toward him, unreadable. “I wanted to talk to you. About Kai.”

That takes the wind out of him quicker than expected. Beomgyu stiffens slightly, eyes narrowing just a little. “Is he okay?”

The second the words leave him, guilt coils tighter around his chest. He hasn’t even messaged Kai today. Not since a few days ago, when Kai kissed his cheek and walked off without looking back. He’s been trying not to think about that, about the silence since, about the slackness in Kai’s hand when it used to curl so tightly around his. The thought of Kai hurting, spiralling, thinking he did something wrong makes Beomgyu feel sick. This is all his fault. He’s the one pulling away, the one acting cold, the one lying by omission. Kai shouldn’t be the one paying for it.

Taehyun doesn’t move. “He didn’t come today.”

Beomgyu nods slowly. “Yeah. I saw.”

“He didn’t come,” Taehyun continues, “because he said he’s not ready to see you.”

Beomgyu’s grip tightens around his water bottle. “Me?”

“You know why?”

Beomgyu stares at the vending machine screen. “Not really.”

Beomgyu stares harder at the flickering screen, as if it might offer some kind of answer, but all he sees is his own reflection in the warped glass; drawn, tired, a little hollow at the edges. Not really, he says, but of course he knows. He’s not stupid. He’s been giving Kai scraps lately, short answers, distracted smiles, flimsy reassurances that even he doesn’t believe. And still, Kai stayed. Still, Kai tried. Until now. The words not ready to see you echo in his head, bitter and sharp. He doesn’t blame him. If he were Kai, he wouldn’t want to see himself either.

“Then I’ll tell you.” Taehyun’s voice isn’t cruel, but it’s firm, measured. “He’s upset. He’s confused. He keeps thinking he did something wrong.”

“He didn’t,” Beomgyu snaps, a little too fast.

“Then what is it?” Taehyun’s eyes narrow just slightly. “Because I’ve seen you two together. You used to light up around him. Now you barely look at him. You barely speak.”

Beomgyu says nothing.

“Look, I’m not trying to play therapist,” Taehyun goes on, softer now. “But I’ve known Kai since we were kids. He’s the kind of person who gives people the benefit of the doubt even when he shouldn’t. And I’m watching him twist himself in knots trying to figure out what he did to make you act like this.”

Beomgyu presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to fight the pressure building behind his ribs. He looks away.

“I’m not pulling away because of him,” he says eventually. “It’s not that simple.”

“I didn’t think it was.” Taehyun pauses, then says carefully, “But that doesn’t make it any easier for him to understand. You can’t just shut down and expect him not to notice. You matter to him, hyung.”

“I know that,” Beomgyu mutters. “God, I know.”

Beomgyu’s grip around the water bottle goes tight again, plastic creaking faintly under his fingers. Kai matters to him too, more than he ever meant him to. More than he knows what to do with. He hadn’t expected to care like this. He hadn’t planned to fall, but now, the guilt has his heart in a vice, squeezing every time Kai so much as smiles at him. Every time Kai tries, and he fails to meet him halfway.

He remembers Kai’s voice from the other night, hopeful and sweet and so earnest as he talked about a birthday surprise he’d been working on for weeks, and how casually Beomgyu had ruined it. Don’t feel like it. The words haunt him. They weren’t just careless, they were cruel, and now Kai thinks it’s his fault and thinks he did something wrong.

Beomgyu swallows hard, gaze still averted, jaw tight. He wants to scream. At himself, at the world, at the part of him that keeps dragging this out instead of just telling Kai the truth, but the thought of losing him – the look on his face when he inevitably finds out why Beomgyu really got close to him in the first place – it’s paralysing.

The silence that follows is thick. The vending machine’s hum buzzes louder in his ears. Taehyun watches him for a moment, the kind of quiet that feels intentional, like he’s waiting for Beomgyu to say the thing he’s been refusing to say.

When he doesn’t, Taehyun straightens. “I’m not asking you to tell me everything. That’s between you and him. But whatever’s going on, you need to figure it out. Because if you keep acting like this, he’s going to stop trying. And you’ll lose him.”

Beomgyu swallows hard, jaw clenched. “I don’t want to lose him.”

He scrubs a hand down his face, exhausted from everything. From trying to juggle his feelings and his guilt and the secret that’s rotting everything he touches. Taehyun’s words dig in deep, because they’re true. Every one of them, and now all Beomgyu can see is Kai, sitting on the couch with his knees pulled up, waiting for a text that still hasn’t come. Holding onto hope that Beomgyu keeps cutting down with silence.

It’s not fair. None of this is fair. Especially not to Kai.

“Then act like it.”

Taehyun’s words aren’t cruel, but they land with a force that makes Beomgyu wince. The guilt twists tighter in his chest, thicker than ever, almost unbearable now. He thought paying off Minjun and Doyoon would be the end of it, but it only widened the void inside him. The bet is over, but the consequences are still echoing like feedback in an empty room.

Taehyun’s already turned to go, boots echoing down the hallway. Before he rounds the corner, he glances back once. “You’re not a bad person, hyung. But you have to stop hiding behind the idea that you’re protecting him by keeping him in the dark.”

Then he disappears, leaving Beomgyu alone with the broken vending machine and the weight in his chest growing heavier by the minute.

Beomgyu stares after him, jaw clenched, throat tight. The hallway feels quieter without Taehyun in it, like the air itself is holding its breath. His heart thuds loud in his ears, and everything else – the distant echo of music from the practice room, the buzz of the flickering vending machine – fades into a kind of static.

He leans back against the cold wall, presses the heel of his hand to his forehead. He has to fix things with Kai.

His voice breaks the silence, too soft at first. Then louder, rushed.

“Taehyun!”

His friend pauses at the end of the corridor, shoulders tensing before he turns back around, brows lifted in question.

Beomgyu straightens, arms hanging uselessly by his sides, eyes wide and pleading. “Can you help me?”

Taehyun furrows his brows. “With what?”

 

🐧

 

Kai’s curled up on the couch, limbs tucked in and shoulders hunched like he’s trying to disappear into the cushions. A blanket is tangled uselessly around his legs, half on the floor, the other half twisted around one ankle. His phone rests on his chest, screen dimmed to black hours ago, forgotten. The TV is still on, muted and flickering softly with the dull blues and greys of a late-night drama rerun, something he’s seen before, something he isn’t really watching now. It plays like background noise even in silence.

The apartment is still. Heavy with that kind of quiet that makes everything feel louder. His thoughts. His heartbeat. The occasional creak of the building’s old pipes. He hasn’t eaten dinner. He’s not trying to be dramatic or punish himself but the thought of getting up, of chewing, of pretending to care about whatever leftovers are in the fridge just makes him feel tired. It’s easier to stay here, where at least the cushions don’t ask questions.

He hasn’t heard from Beomgyu all evening.

They’re supposed to be okay. They’re supposed to have moved past that awkward weirdness from a few nights ago, but Beomgyu still feels… distant. Like he’s there but not really present, and every time Kai tries to reach out, all he catches are wisps of smoke slipping through his fingers. The worst part is he doesn’t even know what he did wrong. If he did something wrong.

The vibration of his phone startles him. He jerks upright slightly, the screen lighting up against his chest.

prince tyunnie😺

He exhales and swipes to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey,” comes Taehyun’s voice; too casual, like someone trying too hard not to sound rehearsed. “You home?”

Kai blinks, confused. “Yeah?”

“Could you, uh… check something in your lobby for me?”

“…What?”

“I think I might’ve left my umbrella there earlier. I don’t remember exactly.”

Kai frowns. “Why would your umbrella be in my lobby?”

There’s a pause. A short one, but enough to raise suspicion. “I dropped by earlier after band practice. Thought you might be home but I guess I missed you. Must’ve had the timing wrong.”

“I’ve been home all day,” Kai replies flatly.

“…Weird.” Taehyun coughs. “Maybe it was just the wind. Still, could you go check?”

Kai glances around the apartment, as if the mystery umbrella might suddenly materialise beside the potted plant in the corner. “Why would you even leave your umbrella here? It hasn’t rained all day.”

“Because…” Taehyun hesitates. “It was raining… leaves.”

Kai pulls the phone slightly away from his ear to stare at it like it’s grown a second screen. “Raining what?”

“The leaves,” Taehyun says, too fast. “They were falling. Like– really falling today.”

“Tyun, it’s spring. That’s not how seasons work. Why would leaves be falling?”

There’s a sigh on the other end, followed by an almost pleading, “Just humour me, okay?”

Kai narrows his eyes, suspicion thick in his voice. “What is going on?”

“Wind,” Taehyun says solemnly, as if invoking some great, natural law. “Mysterious. Unpredictable. A true force of nature. Just go check, please?”

Kai sighs deeply, dragging a hand over his face. “Fine. But if there’s nothing down there, you’re buying me lunch for the next week. No complaints.”

“Deal!” Taehyun chirps, voice already fading. “Love you, bye!”

The call ends before Kai can even grumble a response.

Still muttering under his breath, he kicks the blanket off entirely and shuffles toward the front door. He throws on a hoodie, not bothering to zip it up, one side slipping low off his shoulder. The floor is cold through his house slippers as he steps into the hallway and takes the lift down to the ground floor, squinting under the lobby’s fluorescent lights.

Predictably, there is no umbrella.

No trace of Taehyun. No gust of magical wind carrying forgotten umbrellas across tiled floors. Just the faint scent of someone’s takeout and the low hum of the vending machine.

Kai glances around once more, just to humour the ridiculous errand. Then, shaking his head, he turns back toward the elevator.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters to himself. “This better be worth the free lunch.”

The elevator dings softly as it opens, and Kai trudges back in, arms crossed, the absurdity of the whole thing swirling around in his head like the imaginary wind Taehyun kept blaming everything on. He hits his floor, watching the numbers light up, still grumbling under his breath. When he finally steps back into his apartment, everything seems exactly the same. The lights still dim. The same quiet rerun still playing on the TV. His blanket lies messily draped over the couch, but then his eyes narrow.

His bedroom door.

He’s sure he left it open earlier. He always does. He hates the way it feels stuffy whenever he comes home so he makes sure to leave the door open to air his room out. But now it’s shut. Kai frowns, still standing by the threshold, hesitant. For a second, his brain races with ridiculous possibilities. Did he lock it earlier and forget? Did the wind really do something? Is Taehyun hiding in there? He wouldn't put it past him, with how weird he's been acting all day. Slowly, he pads toward the door and pushes it open.

And promptly screams his lungs out.

Right in front of him, blocking the entire doorway, is a giant, human-sized penguin plushie. No, worse. It’s not just standing there. It’s floating slightly, swaying side to side, like it's trying to waddle.

Kai stumbles back instinctively, heart hammering in his chest. “What the–?!”

But then, just as he’s about to bolt for the door and report his very haunted apartment to someone else who’s in charge of ghosts and cursed mascots–

He sees it.

A pair of legs.

Sticking out from beneath the penguin plushie. Very familiar legs. Long and narrow and twitching nervously.

“What– Beomgyu hyung?!”

The penguin pauses. Then slowly, it lowers just enough for the plushie’s flippery arms to slump, revealing Beomgyu’s unmistakable mop of hair behind it, but instead of speaking like himself, Beomgyu lifts the plushie slightly again and says in a silly high-pitched voice:

“Hello! I am Penggyu, ambassador of apologies coming to apologise on behalf of a big ol’, stinky idiot!”

Kai just stares, mouth slightly parted. He then crosses his arms, biting down a smile. “Oh really?”

The plushie waddles forward, very slowly. “He’s very, very sorry. He didn’t mean to hurt the sweet boy with the soft eyes and cutie cheeks. He was just scared. And dumb. And now he feels like a mouldy riceball.”

Kai snorts despite himself. “A what?”

The penguin droops slightly. “Mouldy. Riceball. Like… the kind you find under your bed after two weeks and cry about because you forgot it was there.”

Kai tilts his head. “Did the penguin rehearse this?”

“Very extensively.” Beomgyu lifts the penguin slightly higher, just enough to peek his eyes out from behind the plush beak, wide and sheepish. “Permission to speak as Beomgyu?”

Kai stares at him for another beat, then huffs out a small, involuntary laugh. He covers his mouth quickly, trying to hold it back. “You’re insane,” he mutters, barely above a whisper.

“Insane with guilt,” Beomgyu says solemnly, still using the penguin voice. “Penggyu says so. Also, Penggyu thinks you’re very pretty when you smile. Even if it’s just a little.”

Kai tries to fight it, but the smile is already curling against his will.

“Hyung…” he murmurs, voice trembling with both amusement and something softer. Something closer to relief. “What are you even doing?”

Beomgyu lowers the penguin entirely now, holding it in front of him like a very fluffy shield. His hair is tousled, cheeks flushed pink, not from embarrassment but from exertion, like he ran the whole way here carrying this ridiculous thing. His voice drops to his usual quiet sincerity. “I just… I didn’t know how else to say sorry.”

He shifts, hugging the penguin tighter. “You were right to walk away last night. I… I’ve been so stuck in my own head lately. And I didn’t mean to shut you out, I swear. It’s just– there’s so much I haven’t figured out yet. But that doesn’t mean I should’ve made you feel like you did something wrong.”

Kai steps forward slowly, arms still crossed, but his posture softens.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to see me,” Beomgyu says. “So I figured I’d send a penguin first. To test the waters.”

Kai stares at him, heart twisting, because this? This is the Beomgyu he knows. The boy who brought him hot packs when he was cold, who clumsily wrapped his scarf around Kai’s neck at Everland, who once tripped over a chair trying to impress him with a guitar riff. This is the boy he’s been in love with, even if he hasn’t had the courage to say it yet.

He sighs, stepping closer until there’s barely any space between them.

“So… is this you saying sorry?” he asks, brushing his fingers lightly against the plushie’s soft fabric.

Beomgyu nods. “It’s not enough. But yeah. It’s a start.”

Kai swallows. His voice wavers. “You scared me, hyung. I didn’t know what I did wrong.”

Beomgyu shakes his head instantly. “You didn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’ve only ever been… perfect.” His voice cracks a little. “I was the one who messed up.”

Kai doesn’t respond right away. He just slips his arms around the penguin – and by extension, Beomgyu – and leans his forehead against the soft plush fabric between them.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

Beomgyu exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days. “I missed you too.”

They stay like that for a moment – boy and boy and oversized penguin plushie – wrapped up in something soft and quiet and forgiving.

They naturally find their way towards the bed and Kai curls into Beomgyu the way he always does, tucked under the curve of his arm, head resting lightly against his shoulder, his hand splayed across Beomgyu’s chest like a grounding weight. The penguin plushie lies half-crushed between them, sandwiched in the tangle of blankets and limbs, but neither of them seems to care. It’s quiet now, the only light in the room coming from the moon slipping in through the window and the occasional car headlights passing by outside. The air smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla from Kai’s pillow, soft and familiar and heartbreakingly safe.

For a while, they just breathe together.

Beomgyu runs his fingers gently through Kai’s hair, tracing slow patterns at the nape of his neck, and Kai responds by nosing lightly into Beomgyu’s collarbone, eyelids fluttering shut. He’s never needed much to feel content, just this. Just the steady beat of Beomgyu’s heart beneath his cheek, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the quiet warmth of being held like he matters.

The plushie shifts as Beomgyu turns slightly to face him more fully, one arm draped over Kai’s waist, the other adjusting the penguin between them like it’s a third party with diplomatic importance.

After a beat, Beomgyu clears his throat softly and says in the same silly falsetto he’d used earlier, “U-Um… excuse me… this is Penggyu speaking…”

Kai snorts into his neck. “Oh no. He’s back.”

“Penggyu has a very important question,” Beomgyu continues solemnly, clearly trying not to laugh himself. “Can… can Beomgyu hyung kiss you?”

Kai lifts his head, eyes gleaming with affection and amusement. “Is Penggyu asking for Beomgyu’s sake?”

“Obviously,” Beomgyu says, now in his regular voice. “Penggyu’s just the vessel. The very plush, cuddly vessel.”

Kai giggles, leaning in, brushing their noses together. “Tell Penggyu… that Beomgyu hyung doesn’t need to ask.”

He kisses him.

It’s soft at first, just a warm press of lips, slow and a little shy, like they’re starting over, but then Beomgyu exhales through his nose, a sound of relief and want all tangled into one, and he deepens the kiss just slightly, pulling Kai closer by the small of his back. Kai sighs into it, parting his lips just a little, and suddenly the space between them feels far too wide.

The plushie gets shoved aside gently – "Sorry, Penggyu," Kai whispers through a breathy laugh – and then they’re properly tangled, bodies slotting together like puzzle pieces. Beomgyu’s hands find Kai’s hips, smoothing over his sides like he’s memorising him again. Kai’s fingers slip beneath the hem of Beomgyu’s shirt, tracing idle circles against warm skin, and the way Beomgyu shivers beneath his touch makes something glow in Kai’s chest.

Still, there’s no rush. The kiss stretches long and languid, punctuated by little whispers of each other’s names and the occasional breathless laugh when one of them bumps noses or when Beomgyu murmurs something ridiculous like, “Penggyu’s watching.”

Kai kisses that smile off his lips.

Everything about the moment feels soft, like fleece and candlelight, like trust. There’s heat, yes, but it simmers rather than burns. Built not from desperation but from something gentler, more profound. Kai feels it in the way Beomgyu cups his jaw with both hands like he’s holding something precious. In the way their foreheads press together after each kiss. In the way Beomgyu looks at him, eyes dark and wide with emotion.

Kai doesn’t know when the kiss changes, only that one moment it’s sweet and smiling, and the next it’s molten; deep and consuming, like a fire blooming slow and steady under his skin. Beomgyu kisses like he’s starving, mouth parted and searching, tongue sliding against Kai’s with a hunger Kai’s never quite felt from him before. It’s heady, dizzying. Beomgyu’s fingers trail under the hem of Kai’s shirt, not tentative like before but with real intent, palms splaying against the small of his back to draw him closer, closer, until there’s not even air between them.

Then Kai feels it, Beomgyu’s hands not just exploring but tugging. First at his shirt, pulling it up in hurried jerks, exposing skin to the cool air. Beomgyu breaks the kiss only long enough to help Kai yank it off over his head, and then he’s back in again, mouth trailing down the line of Kai’s jaw to his throat, mouthing at the sensitive skin just under his ear. Kai gasps, clutching fistfuls of Beomgyu’s shirt.

Beomgyu doesn’t stop there.

He’s tugging at his own shirt now, eyes dark and unreadable, lips slick from kissing. It’s the first time he’s ever been this forward, this sure. The clothing comes off in a single motion and lands somewhere beside the bed. Kai watches him, chest rising and falling, unsure if he should speak, unsure if this is really happening, because Beomgyu always stops them before it can reach this point. Always gently pulled back. Always whispered, not yet, I’m not ready.

So Kai lies still for a second, hand hovering over Beomgyu’s ribs. He whispers, “Are you sure?”

Beomgyu nods, but it’s the way he leans down and kisses Kai again that says more than words. He’s not hesitant. His mouth is confident, deep, coaxing Kai to give in. One of his hands sneaks between them, running down Kai’s bare chest, thumb dragging lightly over a nipple just to hear Kai’s breath catch. Then Beomgyu rolls his hips forward, and the contact – hot and clothed and heavy – rips a low, helpless sound from Kai’s throat.

It’s messy after that.

Beomgyu groans, pushing harder against Kai’s hips, rutting against him like he can’t help it. Kai gasps, holding onto him with one arm slung around his back, the other gripping his shoulder tight enough to leave marks. The friction is desperate and delicious, the heat between them unbearable. Kai rocks up into him instinctively, and Beomgyu moans, quiet but broken, like it’s too much and not enough all at once.

Their breathing turns ragged, stuttering in time with their movements. Every exhale is a shared one, warm against lips and necks and collarbones. Kai’s head tips back as Beomgyu licks along his throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin he can reach. His hands roam greedily over Kai’s chest, his waist, down to his hips where he holds on and pulls him even closer.

Still, they’re both fully clothed from the waist down, sweatpants rubbing against each other with each frantic thrust. The pressure, the texture, the want… It builds and builds, electricity sparking along every nerve until Kai’s whimpering into Beomgyu’s shoulder, teeth scraping gently against skin just to ground himself. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of Beomgyu’s sweatpants for a second, not to go further, but just to feel.

Beomgyu doesn’t stop him.

Their rhythm grows uneven and messier. Sweat pools at their temples. Kai’s lips find Beomgyu’s again, the kiss hot and bruising and too much and still not enough. They gasp into each other’s mouths, swallowed moans and whispered names, everything shared in the desperate haze of friction and heat.

Kai’s brain is foggy with sensation, but one thing is achingly clear, Beomgyu is the one taking control now out of pure need. Something raw and real and fragile blooming beneath the way he touches Kai, like he’s trying to show everything he can’t yet say out loud.

Kai kisses back like he understands.

Because he does.

Kai’s breath hitches as he stares up at Beomgyu, flushed cheeks, lips parted, chest rising fast above him, and he grabs the elder by the waist, flipping them over so Beomgyu is splayed on his bed. His hands move with quiet certainty now, fingers curling into the waistband of Beomgyu’s sweatpants and boxers. He hesitates, just for a second, just long enough to meet Beomgyu’s eyes, and what he finds there scorches through him like fire.

Beomgyu nods, desperate and silent. His gaze is wide, brimming with something that looks so much like trust it almost undoes Kai entirely. So he moves.

He tugs both his and Beomgyu’s waistband down just enough, just far enough, and then they’re touching, bare and burning. Skin on skin. Heat meeting heat. Beomgyu gasps at the contact, his hips jerking up instinctively, and Kai moans softly against his throat, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it, the weight of how much he wants this. Wants him.

He wraps a hand around them both, the slide unsteady at first but hungry, and Beomgyu chokes out a sound that shoots straight through Kai’s chest. It’s shaky, raw, and absolutely beautiful. Kai finds his rhythm slowly, dragging their bodies together, his free hand buried in the mattress for balance, his forehead resting against Beomgyu’s.

The friction builds fast, the mess of it only making everything more real. Sweat-slicked skin, breath shared between gasps and bitten-off moans, and the way Beomgyu clutches at his waist like he’s afraid to fall apart without him there to catch him.

“Kai, baby,” Beomgyu breathes, voice wrecked. “Fuck, I’m close!”

Kai kisses him hard, tasting the want on his tongue. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, and he means it.

They move together in perfect rhythm, everything too much and not enough. Kai feels the edge sneaking up on him, feels it in the way his muscles tighten, in the way Beomgyu trembles under him, lost in the sensation.

And then they’re falling together.

Beomgyu gasps his name, breath breaking on a moan as they come undone, clutching each other as their bodies shake and spill and shudder. Kai buries his face in the crook of Beomgyu’s neck, panting hard, trying to remember how to breathe. When it’s over, he doesn’t move. Beomgyu’s arms are around him, their chests and stomachs sticky and flushed, their legs tangled up with Penggyu somehow still squished awkwardly beside them. Kai lets out a breathless laugh, pressing a kiss to Beomgyu’s jaw.

“Sorry you had to see that, Penggyu.” Kai breathes out a laugh, his limbs still feeling like jelly as he rests on top of Beomgyu.

“Pengkai too,” Beomgyu adds, lifting a hand to lazily gesture at the smaller penguin plushie sitting primly beside its larger counterpart, wide-eyed and, at least in Kai’s imagination, a little scandalised.

Kai snorts into Beomgyu’s collarbone. “God. They saw everything.”

“They’re traumatised,” Beomgyu murmurs, but there’s a softness to his voice now; drowsy, fond, tangled with sleep and affection and the slow come-down from everything they just shared.

“Wait, why is Penggyu so much bigger than Pengkai?”

Beomgyu smirks, not missing a beat. “Because it’s accurate to scale.”

Kai scoffs, nudging him with his elbow. “In what universe?”

Kai pulls back just enough to look at him. Beomgyu’s hair is a mess, his cheeks still flushed, his lips swollen and damp from all the kissing. He’s beautiful, unfairly beautiful, and yet there’s something else in his expression now too; something gentle, something vulnerable. His eyes stay on Kai like he’s anchoring himself there.

“Do you… feel okay?” Kai asks, brushing a few strands of hair off Beomgyu’s forehead. “I didn’t push too far, did I?”

Beomgyu’s smile is faint but real. “No. You didn’t push. I– I wanted it. I wanted you.”

Kai’s heart flips in his chest. There’s something heavy behind those words, and he doesn’t quite know what to make of it. He doesn’t press, though. Just nods, threading their fingers together where their hands rest beside them, half-buried under Penggyu’s plush wing.

After a beat, Kai murmurs, “Did I do okay?”

Beomgyu’s head lifts slightly, eyebrows knitting like he can’t believe the question was even asked. “Darling,” he says, voice rough with affection and the faintest rasp of exhaustion, “you just gave me the most mind-blowing, toe-curling, leg-quivering, breath-stealing orgasm of my entire life. With your hand. I think you did more than okay.”

Kai lets out a nervous laugh, ducking his head a little. “That’s good… I mean, I was kinda terrified. That was my first time. Doing anything like that. With anyone.”

Beomgyu stills. “What?”

“Yeah…” Kai shrugs, his voice smaller now. “You’re my first handjob, I guess.”

For a second, Beomgyu snorts and just stares at him. Like something inside him is cracking open. He shifts closer and cups the back of Kai’s neck, thumbing gently at the skin there.

“God,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You should’ve told me.”

Kai shrugs again. “I didn’t want it to be a big deal. I just… wanted you. I wanted it to be with you.”

They lie like that for a while, legs still tangled beneath the covers, their bodies still warm where they’re pressed together. The silence is soft, the kind that only exists after something real. The kind that doesn’t demand to be filled.

Kai turns his head slightly, cheek against Beomgyu’s shoulder. “You know, I really was working on something special for your birthday.”

Beomgyu’s fingers curl a little tighter around his. “I know.”

“You kind of broke my heart earlier.”

That makes Beomgyu wince, just slightly. He tilts his face toward Kai’s hair, pressing a quiet kiss there. “I know,” he whispers again, and the apology in his voice is so heavy, Kai feels it sink straight into his chest.

“I wasn’t… trying to brush you off, baby. I swear,” Beomgyu murmurs after a moment, voice rough around the edges. “I didn’t even hear what you were saying. I was so in my own head– I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Kai’s brows pinch, but he doesn’t pull away. His fingers tighten just slightly over Beomgyu’s.

“I know,” he says again, quieter this time. “It just… hurt.”

Beomgyu's hand finds Kai’s under the covers, lacing their fingers together tightly. “I’m so sorry,” he says again, voice thick with guilt. “You didn’t deserve that. You were being sweet, planning something for me, and I just… I shut you out. I hate that I made you feel unwanted. I hate that I made you doubt yourself.”

Kai stays quiet for a beat, staring at their joined hands. Then he rolls over just enough to face Beomgyu, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re here now,” he says softly. “That’s what matters.”

Beomgyu’s breath hitches. “You forgive me?”

Kai nods, brushing his nose gently against Beomgyu’s. “Always.”

“Promise?” Beomgyu asks, and it almost seems as if there’s something else under that question. Something loaded.

Kai answers regardless, “I promise.”

He closes his eyes and lets the sound of Beomgyu’s breathing lull him, steady and warm, his body wrapped around the only person in the world who makes him feel this kind of safe. Penggyu and Pengkai sit as guards beside them, quiet and unblinking, as if guarding the fragile peace between them.

Eventually, Kai hums and cringes at the feeling of dried cum between them. “Ugh, we should clean up. This is gross.”

Beomgyu groans. “In like… five years.”

Kai tuts, and presses one more kiss to Beomgyu’s throat before snuggling in closer. “You’re so lazy.”

Beomgyu hums, smug. “You like it.”

“I like you, not the puddle we’re lying in.”

“Same difference.”

Kai rolls his eyes affectionately, but the stickiness between them is starting to register more now, making him squirm a little. He glances down at their mess-slicked stomachs, at the faint sweat cooling on Beomgyu’s chest. “Okay, seriously, this is disgusting. Come on. Shower time.”

“Oh, come on. All I have to do is lick you clean. Come here–” 

Kai yelps, half laughing, half horrified, as Beomgyu lunges with mock hunger, dragging the tip of his tongue obscenely slow up the centre of Kai’s chest.

“Hyungie!” he shrieks, squirming violently beneath him, trying to shove him off. “You are disgusting.”

Beomgyu grins, utterly unrepentant, voice low and teasing. “You said it was gross. I’m solving the problem.”

“That is not how hygiene works, oh my god–!” Kai manages to wriggle out from under him, bolting upright with a horrified laugh and clutching the blanket to his chest like it’s armour. “We’re showering, end of discussion. You pervert.”

Beomgyu collapses onto his back, laughing openly now, breathless and pleased. “A pervert you just came all over.”

“Shut up!”

Kai flings a pillow directly at his face. It lands with a soft whump, muffling Beomgyu’s continued laughter.

Kai shifts underneath him and starts to sit up, untangling their legs. “Fine. If you won’t move, I will move you.”

That gets Beomgyu’s attention. His head lifts, eyes squinting. “You wouldn’t dare.”

But it’s already too late. With a huff of determination, Kai tightens his arms around Beomgyu and begins to haul him up bridal-style from the bed. Beomgyu lets out a surprised yelp, flailing slightly before instinctively wrapping his arms around Kai’s shoulders for balance.

“Kai!” he gasps, voice caught between a laugh and disbelief. “What the hell– put me down!”

“Nope,” Kai says, breath puffing out as he adjusts Beomgyu’s weight. “You brought this on yourself. I warned you. You reek.”

Beomgyu snorts, mock-offended. “You reek! I reek because of you!”

“Exactly why we both need a shower,” Kai deadpans, heading toward the bathroom, grinning despite the slight tremble in his legs. Beomgyu’s not that heavy, but the post-orgasm jelly-legs don’t exactly help.

Beomgyu rests his head against Kai’s shoulder, warmth in his chest blooming slow and fond. “You’re insane,” he mutters, but there’s a smile in his voice now.

Kai nudges the bathroom door open with his foot and gently sets Beomgyu down on the tiled floor. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing,” Beomgyu says, eyes crinkling.

They both strip the rest of the way off, laughter quiet and sleepy between them as clothes hit the floor. The shower roars to life, steam already beginning to fog the mirror.

Kai steps in first, then holds the door open for Beomgyu, who follows with a stretch and a groan. The heat hits them instantly, wrapping them in warmth.

Beomgyu leans into Kai as the water runs over them, his cheek pressed to the curve of Kai’s neck. “Mmm. Okay, maybe this was a good idea.”

Kai smiles faintly, his hands rubbing soft circles into Beomgyu’s back. “Told you.”

“I guess,” Beomgyu murmurs, nosing into the damp hair at the nape of Kai’s neck. “You taste better when you’re clean anyway.”

Kai smacks his arm lightly. “I swear to god.”

They stay like that for a while, just holding each other under the spray, letting the water rinse everything away: the mess, the tension, the lingering weight of earlier hurts.

There’s no need to rush. They’re here. Together. 

Notes:

whew it's been a while since i wrote smut so sorry if it was a little rusty...

also what do you guys think :O nawt gyu settling the bet and immediately letting himself ~do things~ with kai😭 i wanted to write the scene from gyu's pov but i think we've had enough of all his guilt-ridden thoughts so i figured i'd write it from kai's oh so clueless pov :D

please let me know your thoughts about this chapter hehe!! i hope you like it, and thank you so much for being patient with me. updates are still gonna be kinda slow, but i've been stealing time to write a little here and there so i can get updates out to you quicker!! thank you so much for reading lovies <33

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Chapter 24

Summary:

Just then, Kai starts singing.

A quiet, almost whispered rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, so gentle it nearly sounds like a lullaby. His voice trembles at first, probably from nerves, but it steadies as he continues. It wraps around Beomgyu like a blanket, warm and intimate, brushing over the bare skin of his neck like a breeze.

Beomgyu’s eyes flutter open.

The room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of a single flickering candle atop a small cake and a table lamp on his study desk. Kai is sitting cross-legged on the mattress beside him, wearing an oversized hoodie that swallows him whole, sleeves bunched up around his wrists. His hair’s messy, and there’s a streak of what looks like icing near his temple.

“...Kai?” Beomgyu’s voice is hoarse from sleep, but laced with fondness, even as he squints blearily at the sight in front of him.

Kai smiles, not breaking the tune until he finishes the last, breathy “Happy birthday to you~.”

Notes:

sorry for the long wait!! enjoy the update~

🧸 

 

Beomgyu doesn’t even remember falling asleep. One moment, he was lying in bed, limbs pleasantly aching from rehearsal and nerves; the next, he’s being pulled from the tight hold of sleep by the faintest rustling, and it’s almost imperceptible, but enough to tug at the edges of his dreamless slumber.

At first, he thinks to ignore it. He shifts slightly, burying his face deeper into the pillow, but then there’s the subtle dip of the mattress behind him, a quiet exhale, and fingers that are gentle yet tentative threading through his hair. Warmth spreads through his scalp, then down his spine. A familiar voice follows, whispering his name in a tone that’s soft and sweet and wholly unhurried.

“Beomgyu hyung.”

He hums in response, not fully awake but already reaching up instinctively, fingers groping through the dark until they find the hand nestled in his hair. He links their fingers together and presses his lips to the back of Kai’s hand, murmuring something soft and wordless. It’s not quite “I love you,” but it’s something close.

Just then, Kai starts singing.

A quiet, almost whispered rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’, so gentle it nearly sounds like a lullaby. His voice trembles at first, probably from nerves, but it steadies as he continues. It wraps around Beomgyu like a blanket, warm and intimate, brushing over the bare skin of his neck like a breeze.

Beomgyu’s eyes flutter open.

The room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of a single flickering candle atop a small cake and a table lamp on his study desk. Kai is sitting cross-legged on the mattress beside him, wearing an oversized hoodie that swallows him whole, sleeves bunched up around his wrists. His hair’s messy, and there’s a streak of what looks like icing near his temple.

“...Kai?” Beomgyu’s voice is hoarse from sleep, but laced with fondness, even as he squints blearily at the sight in front of him.

Kai smiles, not breaking the tune until he finishes the last, breathy “Happy birthday to you~.”

Beomgyu sits up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. “What time is it?” he mumbles, not that it really matters. He already knows. It’s just past midnight. The official start of his birthday.

Kai doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he offers the cake forward with both hands, grinning sheepishly. The cake is small, slightly lumpy in shape, with icing that looks like it fought back during the decorating process. There’s a faint lean to it, like it might collapse under the weight of the candle if provoked, but none of that matters. In fact, it only makes it better.

Written across the top in uneven piping gel is:

“happiest birthday cutie bomgyu hyongie >3<”

Beomgyu’s lips twitch. He bites back a laugh that comes out as more of a sigh, chest filling with something warm and a little fragile. He looks up at Kai, who’s watching him with an expression that’s half pride, half shyness.

“You made this?” he asks, already knowing the answer. There’s no way anyone else would write emoticons on a cake like he knows Kai would.

Kai nods, a little pink in the cheeks. “It’s not perfect… the oven was being weird, and I ran out of pink icing halfway, and I accidentally dropped it once, but–”

“It’s perfect,” Beomgyu cuts in, voice quiet. He looks back down at the cake and smiles, truly smiles. “It’s so you.”

Kai ducks his head, clearly pleased. “Make a wish,” he says, nudging the cake a little closer. “You’ve got to blow it out before the wax drips onto the letters.”

Beomgyu shifts to lean in, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment.

He doesn’t even hesitate.

I wish this could last forever.
I wish I could have this, and have Kai, without it being tainted.
I wish Kai could be mine. Really, truly mine.

He opens his eyes again and blows out the candle in a single breath.

The room dims for a moment as the flame disappears, leaving just the faint orange hue from his desk lamp on the far side of the room. Kai leans over to set the cake gently on the nightstand, careful not to let the top smudge. Beomgyu watches him the entire time, something swelling in his chest that he doesn’t have a name for.

When Kai turns back to him, his smile is soft. “Happy birthday, hyungie.”

And for a moment, for this quiet, sacred little moment, it feels like nothing else exists. No festival. No secrets. No guilt threatening to claw its way out of his ribs. Just Kai, sitting in front of him in the dark with messy icing on his cheek, like he belongs here, like he’s his.

Beomgyu reaches forward and cups Kai’s jaw, thumb brushing against that streak of frosting. “You really woke me up at midnight just to sing happy birthday?” he murmurs, amused.

Kai grins. “Of course. It’s tradition.”

Beomgyu huffs a quiet laugh. “Since when?”

“Since now,” Kai says simply. 

“God. I feel ancient,” Beomgyu mutters, but he can’t stop smiling. “How’d you even get frosting on your cheek, by the way?”

Kai just giggles in response when Beomgyu wipes the icing off his cheek and brings it to his mouth. They sit there for a moment longer, just looking at each other, fingers still loosely laced together. Then Kai leans in and presses a soft kiss to Beomgyu’s cheek, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

“Here, let’s cut the cake.”

He shifts to grab the small breadknife he must’ve brought in earlier, nestled beside the box on the bedside table. Beomgyu watches, already endeared, as Kai frowns with exaggerated focus while slicing into the cake like it’s some delicate operation. The layers squish unevenly under the blade, icing sliding slightly off the side.

“There,” Kai says with satisfaction, lifting a very crooked piece onto a plate and handing it over like it’s a trophy. “First slice goes to the birthday boy.”

Beomgyu accepts it with a mock solemnity, tipping his head like he’s being knighted. “An honour,” he murmurs, before glancing down at the mess of cake on his plate. It looks... questionable. The sponge is oddly dense, almost like it never fully rose, and there’s a glimmer to the icing that feels suspiciously like it’s been sweating.

Kai watches him with the widest, most expectant eyes, hands curled under his chin as he leans in.

There’s no way Beomgyu can’t eat it.

He steels himself, lifts a forkful, and takes the bite.

It’s… salty?

His whole body jolts in surprise, the flavour hitting the back of his throat like a slap. The texture is gluey, and the icing tastes faintly of... lemon? And something else. Something very wrong.

Beomgyu tries not to gag.

Kai is still watching him, practically sparkling with anticipation. “Well?” he prompts. “How is it?”

Beomgyu forces the swallow, nodding slowly like his jaw has suddenly stopped working properly. “Wow,” he chokes out. “Kai... this is... amazing.”

His voice rises an octave on the last word.

Kai blinks. “Really?”

Beomgyu smiles, strained but earnest, because the last thing he wants is to hurt his feelings. “Mhm. So unique.”

But Kai squints. “You’re chewing like it’s a chore.”

“I’m savouring it,” Beomgyu replies quickly.

“You’re lying,” Kai says, pouting now. “Is it that bad?”

Before Beomgyu can protest, Kai reaches over and scoops up a bite for himself, popping it into his mouth without hesitation.

It takes less than two seconds for his entire face to contort in horror.

“Ugh–!” He jerks back from the cake like it’s physically harmed him, tongue sticking out in disgust. “Don’t tell me– no. No, no, no– I mistook the salt for sugar?!”

Beomgyu bursts into laughter, full and warm, the sound echoing softly through the dim room. “Oh my god,” he wheezes. “Kai.”

“I was in a rush!” Kai defends, now dramatically flopping backwards onto the mattress, one arm over his eyes. “I was so focused on hiding it from you, scared that you’d hear me clanging around in the kitchen, I didn’t even taste the batter!”

Beomgyu slides the plate onto the nightstand and leans over him, grinning down at the melodramatic mess that is his boyfriend. “You tried to poison me.”

Kai peeks from under his arm, still pouting. “I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to give you the best birthday ever and I’ve already ruined it.”

Beomgyu just shakes his head, fondness bleeding into every line of his face. “You haven’t ruined anything.”

“You’re saying that because you’re too nice,” Kai mutters, still hiding.

“I’m saying that because it’s true,” Beomgyu says, lowering himself until he’s lying beside Kai. He reaches out and gently tugs Kai’s arm away from his face, thumb brushing across his cheek. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

Kai blinks at him, surprised. “But the cake–”

“Is terrible,” Beomgyu agrees with a soft laugh. “But you stayed up to bake it. You snuck into my apartment to bake it and then snuck into my room with a candle and sang to me.”

Kai flushes at the reminder, eyes darting away.

Beomgyu leans in, kisses the tip of his nose. “I’ve never had that before. I’ve never had you like this. And nothing could top that.”

Kai’s expression softens, eyes glossing faintly with emotion. He reaches out and cups Beomgyu’s face, fingers gentle and lingering.

“Still wish the cake was edible,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

Beomgyu smiles and kisses him, slow and sweet, like a thank you and a reassurance all in one. “It’s the thought that counts,” he whispers against Kai’s lips.

Kai sighs dramatically. “Next year I’m ordering from a bakery.”

“You could give me a rock and I’d still love it if it came from you.”

Kai narrows his eyes. “You say that now.”

“I mean it.”

And Beomgyu does. With his whole heart. Even if things are tangled and guilt lurks just beneath his ribs, he means it with every ounce of him that aches for this moment to last. Just him, and Kai, and the awful cake that somehow tastes like home anyway.

“You want your first gift now?”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. “First? How many do you have?”

Kai only presses a finger to his lips. “Shh. Close your eyes.”

Beomgyu hesitates, narrowing his eyes playfully. “You’re not gonna pie me in the face or something, are you?”

Kai giggles, shaking his head. “No pranks. I swear.”

Still suspicious, Beomgyu closes his eyes anyway.

A few seconds pass, and then…

“Okay,” Kai says, voice just a little giddy. “Open them.”

Beomgyu’s eyes flutter open, and his heart stumbles in his chest.

Kai is now sitting in front of him with a red ribbon tied haphazardly around his head, one loop drooping comically low over his temple. He’s grinning ear to ear, cheeks glowing with bashfulness, and says, “Ta-da! I’m your present.”

Beomgyu’s not sure when the laughter fades into silence, or when the taste of that godawful cake finally disappears from his tongue. He’s just left sitting there on the bed, heart threatening to crack his ribs with how hard it’s beating, fingers still tangled with Kai’s, the remnants of icing now forgotten on his cheek. Across from him, Kai is all big eyes and twitchy hands, clearly unsure whether to be proud or embarrassed.

He’s so stupidly perfect.

Beomgyu blinks a few times. His vision blurs a little, and at first he thinks it’s just the late hour or the sugar crash, but then he realises there are actual tears welling up in his eyes.

Kai’s smile falters. “Wait, hyung– are you crying? Oh my god, I didn’t mean to– was the cake that bad? I’m sorry–”

Kai’s eyes widen slightly, but before he can speak, Beomgyu is already leaning forward. He kisses him again, slow and meaningful this time. His hands cradle Kai’s face like he’s something sacred, like he’s fragile in the way beautiful things always are. Kai melts into it almost instantly, hands gripping at Beomgyu’s wrists, his hoodie sleeves sliding down his arms.

Kai exhales shakily, looking like he might cry too, but Beomgyu doesn’t give him the chance. He kisses him again then leans forward until Kai’s back hits the mattress with a quiet bounce. Beomgyu climbs over him, settling in his lap, never once breaking contact, their lips brushing between breaths like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

Kai’s hands slide up his back, holding him there, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Beomgyu cups the side of his neck, feeling the soft flutter of his pulse under his thumb, and he thinks he could map the rest of his life just like this; in the shape of Kai’s skin, in the rhythm of his breath, in the way he trembles beneath him.

Then, just as his hand starts inching under the hem of Kai’s hoodie, Kai shifts slightly beneath him and whispers, “Hyung?”

Beomgyu hums, mouth still brushing his jaw. “Mm?”

“I meant it,” Kai says, a little breathless. “When I said I’m your present.”

Beomgyu stills for a moment, pulling back just far enough to look him in the eye. “Yeah?”

Kai nods. His cheeks are bright pink, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “You can have me. However you want.”

There’s a pause, just a heartbeat’s worth, and then Beomgyu lets out a soft groan like something inside him has finally snapped. His hands dart to the hem of Kai’s hoodie, and with one smooth movement, he lifts it over Kai’s head and tosses it to the side. Kai gasps, flustered and half-laughing, but he doesn’t stop him.

Beomgyu just stares for a moment, fingers skimming over Kai’s now-exposed torso. His skin is warm under his palms, and he’s trembling slightly from nerves, or maybe anticipation.

“You’re ridiculous,” Beomgyu whispers, his voice low, eyes tracing every line and shadow like they’ve never seen anything more precious. “You’re literally wrapped in a bow.”

Kai covers his face with both hands. “Stop looking at me like that,” he mumbles, clearly embarrassed but smiling.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m… perfect or something.”

Beomgyu leans down to kiss his shoulder, his collarbone, the little freckle on the right side of his neck. “That’s because you are,” he murmurs. “You don’t even realise, do you? How fucking beautiful you are.”

Kai lets out the tiniest whimper, and Beomgyu swears under his breath. He’s never wanted anything more in his life.

His hands tremble where they rest on Kai’s waist, fingertips pressing into warm skin. Kai’s eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, breath catching softly with every touch. His fingers are still laced behind Beomgyu’s neck, holding him close like he never wants him to leave. Everything about this – about Kai, offering himself so vulnerably – is pulling Beomgyu under like a riptide, and for one dizzying moment, he wants to surrender to it completely. He wants to let go, wants to take everything Kai’s giving and give back even more, but something claws at the back of his mind.

The weight returns without warning. Dull and cold and heavy.

Beomgyu freezes. His heartbeat stills. His hands pause on Kai’s hips as if suddenly remembering they shouldn’t be there. The warmth in his chest curdles, not because of Kai, never because of Kai, but because of the way guilt drapes itself around his shoulders like a soaked blanket, even now. Even with the bet long over, with Minjun and Doyoon nothing more than shadows at the edge of his life, the ghost of it still follows him. Still watches him and haunts him. He swallows, hard. His forehead presses against Kai’s shoulder as he tries to steady his breathing, but it’s no use because this isn’t about readiness. It’s not even about fear.

It’s about shame.

Shame that he let someone dare him into this in the first place. Shame that it ever started with such ugly roots, even though everything between them now is real. Undeniably, painfully real. Shame that Kai is looking at him like he hung the stars, when all Beomgyu can think of is how much he doesn’t deserve it.

Kai shifts slightly beneath him, gentle hands smoothing along Beomgyu’s back. “Hyung?” he asks softly, voice still breathless. “What’s wrong?”

Beomgyu shakes his head without lifting it. “Nothing,” he says, but it sounds hoarse, fragile.

Kai’s arms wrap tighter around him. “It’s okay,” he whispers, thumb brushing behind his ear. “You can tell me.”

Beomgyu exhales shakily, finally sitting back on his knees, pulling away just enough to look at Kai properly. The confusion in his expression is gentle, concerned, but not pushy. Kai never pushes, never demands. That’s part of what makes this harder. So he comes up with an excuse he hopes is believable enough.

“As much as I want you inside of me, I kinda do still have to be able to stand and jump around on stage later, you know?” Beomgyu jokes, hoping his fear and guilt doesn’t show through the cracks of his broken giggle.

Kai blinks, clearly caught off guard for a second, then his mouth opens in a soft little “oh.” His eyes go wide, and then his whole face lights up with a sheepish, horrified sort of realisation. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, sitting up straighter beneath Beomgyu. “You’re right. I completely forgot. You have a performance later tonight– hyung, I’m so sorry–”

“Hey, hey,” Beomgyu interrupts gently, hands smoothing down Kai’s arms. “It’s okay.” He leans in, kissing the corner of Kai’s mouth, then the tip of his nose. “I’m the one who got carried away. You just happened to be really fucking distracting.”

Kai groans, pressing his hands to his face. “Hyung, don’t say things like that.”

Beomgyu laughs softly, tugging Kai’s hands away and threading their fingers together. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re the one who said you wouldn’t be able to jump,” Kai mumbles, still pouting slightly but leaning in again anyway. His lips brush Beomgyu’s jaw, tentative and lingering. “I just wanted to give you something special. Something that made today really feel like your birthday.”

“Yeah? Well it’s not my fault you’ve got such a big co–”

“Hyung!” Kai screeches, placing his palm over Beomgyu’s mouth. “Oh my god!”

“And you did,” Beomgyu says after pulling Kai’s hand from his mouth, voice lower now, eyes fluttering closed. “You do. Every second I’m with you, I feel like the luckiest person alive.”

Kai flushes at the sincerity in his voice. He looks down between them, where Beomgyu is still straddling his thighs, their joined hands resting between their chests. It’s quiet for a beat, calmer as a breath of soft warmth stretches between them, but then Beomgyu tilts his head and leans in again, kissing him slow. Not desperate this time, just… lingering, deep, and familiar. Kai melts against it almost immediately, and just like that, the warmth starts to flicker back into something hotter.

Beomgyu’s thumb rubs slow circles on the back of Kai’s hand. Their mouths move together a little more urgently now, the soft sounds between them growing bolder. When Kai exhales shakily into his mouth, Beomgyu feels the tug in his gut all over again, that insatiable need simmering right below the surface, just enough to quell the guilt gnawing at his heart.

He pulls back just enough to murmur, lips ghosting Kai’s, “But that doesn’t mean…”

Kai blinks up at him, lips red and swollen, pupils blown wide. “Doesn’t mean what?”

Beomgyu smiles, a little wicked, a little shy. “Doesn’t mean we can’t do other things.”

Kai’s brows pinch together, adorably confused. “What do you mean?”

Beomgyu leans in, his voice a whisper at the shell of Kai’s ear. “I mean… there’s more than one way to unwrap this birthday present, isn’t there?”

Kai makes a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan, turning red all the way to the tips of his ears. “Hyung,” he says weakly, swatting at Beomgyu’s shoulder.

Beomgyu just grins, catching Kai’s hand again and kissing his knuckles. “What?” he says innocently. “You said I could have you however I wanted. That offer still stand?”

Kai bites his lip, flustered but smiling. He nods, slow. “Yeah,” he whispers. “It does.”

And Beomgyu’s grin fades into something softer, hungrier. Like he’s about to worship and devour him all at once.

“Then,” he says, voice dropping a register, “lie back for me.”

Kai obeys without question, cheeks burning, but eyes never once leaving Beomgyu’s. 

Beomgyu lowers himself again, hands braced on either side of Kai’s waist as he presses a kiss just below his bellybutton, his eyes flicking up only to find Kai already watching him, gaze wide and trembling. There’s something so raw in that expression, equal parts anticipation and awe, that Beomgyu feels his chest ache. Like he’s being handed something delicate, something sacred.

He wants to deserve it.

So he makes sure to take his time. Every move is deliberate, unhurried. He doesn’t just touch. He explores, mapping Kai’s body with great detail, noting every hitch in breath, every stuttered gasp, every twitch of a muscle like a musician memorising the rhythm of his favourite song. He kisses over Kai’s ribs, the soft skin of his stomach, the faint dip of his hipbone, and listens carefully to the sounds Kai makes in response. One spot just above his waistband makes Kai suck in a sharp breath and squirm slightly. Beomgyu marks it for later, presses a longer kiss there, smiling against the warmth of his skin when Kai’s fingers clench in the sheets.

He looks up again, needing the visual confirmation, and Kai’s still watching, flushed and beautiful, mouth parted, chest rising and falling with every shaky inhale. Their eyes lock.

“Still okay?” Beomgyu asks, voice low and rough around the edges.

Kai nods, lips forming a silent yes before it fully reaches his voice. “Mhm.”

And Beomgyu grins, slow and utterly mischievous. “Good.”

He dips lower, nosing along the edge of Kai’s waistband, then, to Kai’s visible confusion and growing curiosity, leans in and catches the fabric between his teeth. Beomgyu’s eyes stay fixed on his, challenging and amused, even as he begins to pull.

Kai’s breath hitches. “Hyung–”

But he doesn’t finish the thought. Doesn’t need to.

Because the second the waistband slips past his hips, he lets out a soft, involuntary sound – half embarrassment, half disbelief – and covers his face with both hands.

Beomgyu chuckles, letting the fabric go and crawling up to press a kiss to Kai’s heated cheek. “Don’t hide,” he murmurs. “You’re too pretty to hide.”

Kai peeks through his fingers, eyes shining. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re so adorable it makes me want to scream,” Beomgyu counters, nosing at his temple, then his jaw. “You make me want to just eat you up.”

Beomgyu presses open-mouthed kisses down Kai’s jaw, and sucks right on his pulse point, earning a shaky whimper from the younger. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

“Hyung…” Kai gasps when Beomgyu nips at his skin, lapping over it afterwards to soothe the pain. His hands dig at the elder’s skin, undoubtedly leaving crescent shaped marks where his nails seek for leverage.

“You’d let me eat you up, savour your taste, take you apart with just my mouth alone, wouldn’t you, baby?” Beomgyu smirks, his lips finding Kai’s rosey-nude nipples and sucking on them, making the latter dig his nails further into his skin and rut up against Beomgyu’s still fully clothed body. Beomgyu drags his fingers up Kai’s cock, gathering the bead of precum on the pad of his finger before bringing it up to Kai’s face. “You’re so wet for me and I haven’t even done anything to you yet.”

Kai just about sobs, eyes shiny with unshed tears as he looks up at Beomgyu. “Hyung, please?”

“Didn’t you say I could do whatever I wanted with you?” Beomgyu teases, his heart soaring when he sees the pout form in Kai’s lips.

“You’re so mean,” Kai whines, hands cupping Beomgyu’s cheeks to pull him in for another kiss. 

Beomgyu laughs into the kiss, hands reaching down to wrap his fingers around Kai’s cock, earning a choked gasp from the younger. “Fine, I’ll play with you.”

He slinks down the long span of Kai’s body, leaving a trail of kisses that leave the latter squirming under him. Beomgyu makes sure to take his sweet, sweet time with Kai, pressing chaste kisses up the length of his cock, revelling in every twitch and gasp the younger lets out with every touch. He wraps his lips around the head of his cock, giving kitten licks to his slit and tasting the precum that had already been steadily dripping. He suckles softly and moans when Kai pulls at his hair, thighs wrapping around Beomgyu’s head as he arches his back off the bed, letting out a broken moan.

“H-Hyung, ahh, please!” Kai pleads brokenly, his hands gripping Beomgyu’s hair even tighter.

“Baby, I haven’t even done anything yet,” Beomgyu giggles. “You’re just a sensitive little puppy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes! Your sensitive puppy, hyung, only yours,” Kai babbles mindlessly. 

Beomgyu feels the heat deep inside his gut flare up, his chest burning with pride at just how wrecked Kai sounds with even the tiniest ministrations. Without warning, Beomgyu takes his cock further down, reaching only about halfway when Kai thrusts into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat. Beomgyu sputters around his cock, coming up for air as he chokes.

“Sorry! Sorry, hyung, I didn’t mean to– It just feels so good,” Kai sobs, rubbing his thumb across Beomgyu’s cheek where a tear had fallen.

“Be a good boy for me and stay still,” Beomgyu orders sternly, pinning Kai’s thighs apart.

“Yes, hyung, anything for you,” Kai hiccups, hugging a pillow to his chest.

Beomgyu lowers himself back onto Kai’s cock, licking and slurping around the thick, pulsing heat of it. The sounds coming out of Kai’s mouth are like music to his ears as he bobs his head up and down, savouring the weight of his cock on his tongue, suckling on the head before taking it even further, feeling the head prod at the back of his throat and he isn’t even near the base. Beomgyu pulls off, licking at the underside of his cock, tongue tracing at the veins wrapping around the girth of it, making sure that Kai’s watching as he gives the slit a few more kitten licks. He then relaxes his throat and slowly works his way down, determined to get as far as he can. 

“God, you’re so fucking big,” Beomgyu gasps as he pulls off, stroking Kai’s spit-slick cock as he kisses and tongues at the slit. 

Beomgyu hums as he takes Kai back in his mouth, bobbing his head up and down and pushing further down every single time. He can feel Kai’s thighs quivering, and his grip tightening in his hair, broken and desperate moans and whimpers float out his mouth like a symphony. 

“Beomgyu hyung! I-I’m close–” Kai moans, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Already?” 

Beomgyu chuckles as he lets his jaw go slack, relaxing his throat and taking Kai in as deep as he can. He reaches the base of his cock, the tip of his nose touching the trimmed fuzz of Kai’s pubic bone, and swallows around the girth, feeling it twitch as he sucks from base to tip. He repeats the motion a few more times before he can feel Kai’s grip getting tighter. 

“Hyung, wait– I’m gonna come!” Kai gasps as Beomgyu continues suckling on his head. “No, hyung, I’m coming–!”

Beomgyu keeps sucking and bobbing his head, letting the younger ride out his climax as thick, warm strips of white coat his mouth, the bitter salty taste hitting his tongue. He stops when Kai’s whimpers border on painful, sliding off with a pop as he smiles at the fucked out expression on the younger’s face. Kai’s cheeks redden as he looks at the cum pooling in Beomgyu’s tongue. 

Beomgyu can’t help the quiet laugh that escapes him when Kai’s jaw practically drops, eyes wide as he stares at the cum Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate to swallow. He’d made a little show of it – tongue out, chin tilted up, just to see the way Kai’s expression would shift – and the reward is so, so worth it. That stunned look, the blush high on his cheeks, the way he looks at Beomgyu like he’s both holy and unhinged, it makes Beomgyu’s chest ache with something deeper than lust.

He leans in and presses a chaste kiss to Kai’s lips, barely a brush, a counterbalance to everything that just happened. Like he’s grounding them both again. Kai still isn’t speaking, eyes glazed and lips parted, and Beomgyu chuckles softly as he gently tugs Kai’s pants back up, fingers careful as they work around trembling limbs. Then he lies down beside him, arm curling around Kai’s waist, tugging him close until Kai’s face is tucked beneath his chin and their bodies are pressed together in the warmth of the room.

Beomgyu lets out a slow breath, nose buried in Kai’s hair, fingers idly stroking up and down his spine. The moment is quiet, still humming with afterglow, and he can feel Kai’s breathing begin to slow. His chest rises and falls in soft waves, body limp in that way that only comes when he feels safe.

God. Beomgyu’s heart swells, painful with how much he loves him. How could he ever have gone along with that stupid, cruel bet? Even if it’s over, the guilt is a ghost that clings to his skin.

Just as he thinks Kai’s drifting off, he feels the shift. Kai stirs against him, lifting his head groggily. Beomgyu opens his eyes.

“Wait,” Kai mumbles, voice scratchy and wrecked. “Hyung, can I… return the favour? I’d like to eat you out, please.”

Beomgyu blinks, caught off guard. Then a crooked smile tugs at his lips as he coos and squeezes Kai’s cheeks. “You’re so polite with it, you’re the cutest thing in the world,” he coos, brushing his fingers through Kai’s hair. His heart swells even more because Kai always thinks about him. Even when he’s half-asleep and wrung out and glowing with warmth.

“I’m serious,” Kai says, frowning slightly like he’s afraid he offended him. “I want to.”

Beomgyu shakes his head and noses at Kai’s cheek, gently pressing him back down into the pillow. “I haven’t cleaned myself enough for that yet.”

Kai looks confused. “But I didn’t–”

“It’s okay, baby,” Beomgyu says softly. 

Kai’s brow furrows like he’s still not convinced, but a massive yawn slips out before he can argue further. Beomgyu grins and pulls him in tighter, slotting a leg between his and kissing the top of his head.

“Besides,” he adds, lips brushing Kai’s hair, “you’d fall asleep halfway through and I’d have to rock you like a baby.”

That gets a soft little whine out of Kai, muffled by Beomgyu’s chest. “You’re mean…”

Beomgyu laughs under his breath. “The day after tomorrow,” he promises, rubbing slow circles against Kai’s back. “We’ve got all the time in the world after tomorrow. But for now, sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Kai hums in acknowledgment, already halfway back under. His breathing evens out again, warm and steady against Beomgyu’s collarbone, and for a moment, everything is still, quiet and safe.

Beomgyu closes his eyes, tucking Kai close like something precious. The guilt doesn’t vanish, it never fully has, but here, with Kai curled into him and sleep tugging at his bones, it’s a little quieter. He presses one last kiss to Kai’s forehead, whispering into the dark.

“I love you, Kai.”

 

🧸

 

Beomgyu wakes to a quiet trill of notifications and the soft glow of early morning sun bleeding in through the edges of the curtain. The warmth beside him is steady and grounding: Kai, still curled in the sheets, hair a soft mess against the pillow, one hand tucked beneath his cheek and the other loosely resting on Beomgyu’s chest. He’s out cold. And beautiful. So fucking beautiful it actually hurts.

Beomgyu glances at his phone, careful not to move too much. A dozen unread birthday texts light up the screen; Yeonjun’s chaotic emoji spam, Soobin’s all-caps “WAKE UP OLD MAN,” a message from Mrs. Yun he doesn’t dare read yet. There’s even one from his homeroom teacher from Daegu, but Beomgyu doesn’t feel like replying just yet. Not while Kai is still pressed against him like this, like he belongs there.

He lets himself linger. Just a few minutes more.

Eventually, Kai stirs, nose scrunching as he lets out a tiny whine and blinks awake. His eyes meet Beomgyu’s and immediately soften into that sleepy smile that always makes Beomgyu’s heart stutter. “Happy birthday,” Kai mumbles, voice low and hoarse with sleep.

Beomgyu leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Best one I’ve ever had.”

They stay like that for a little while; draped in comfort, limbs tangled, stealing kisses and lazy whispers as the rest of the world stirs awake beyond the window. It’s almost too easy to pretend that nothing else exists outside this room, but time ticks on, and eventually, they both have to get up. They shower together, half-dressed and laughing as Beomgyu tries to brush Kai’s hair for him and gets swatted away. Kai makes Beomgyu coffee in his little pour-over contraption while Beomgyu fumbles around looking for a clean shirt, and somehow, the simple domesticity of it all makes his chest ache even more than last night did.

They part ways at the station, Kai heading home to grab something and promising to meet up again before the performance. Beomgyu kisses his cheek before he goes, right in the middle of the busy sidewalk, and doesn’t care one bit who sees.

The moment he steps onto campus, it’s like stepping into a dream.

The festival is in full swing already. Rows of colorful booths line the walkways, strung with ribbons and paper lanterns that flutter in the morning breeze. There’s music playing faintly from every direction; students carrying guitars, someone drumming on a cajon, someone else testing mics near the quad. The smell of street food drifts in waves through the crowd – hotteok, tteokbokki, grilled meat on skewers – and everything feels golden and alive.

Beomgyu walks with a bounce in his step, sunglasses perched on his nose, holding the cup of coffee Kai had made him. He waves at a couple juniors who shout his name from a food stall, high-fives a random guy in a banana costume, and spins once in the middle of the path just because he can. He feels good. No– he feels incredible. Light like something heavy had finally been scraped off his chest in the middle of the night, left behind in his sheets. The world feels wide open, like anything could happen, and all of it would be good.

He finds Soobin and Taehyun already in the music room when he gets there. Soobin is pacing, muttering under his breath about audio levels, and Taehyun is sitting cross-legged on top of an amp, calmly tuning his guitar like they don’t have less than twelve hours to prepare.

Beomgyu barely has time to greet them before the rest of their bandmates burst in with a chorus of “Happy birthday!”. Someone’s holding a cake, candles flickering in the morning light, and another tosses a silly cone party hat right at his face. He catches it midair and laughs, genuinely surprised. There are a couple small gifts on the amp beside Taehyun, wrapped clumsily but clearly with care; a little mic keychain, a doodled sketch of the band from their rhythm guitarist, a handwritten card with a bunch of inside jokes that make him wheeze, and suddenly, Beomgyu can’t stop smiling.

Not because of the gifts, not even because it’s his birthday, but because everything feels good. His friends are here, the festival is buzzing with life, and Kai is his. Maybe things have been messy, and maybe there are still things he hasn’t said out loud, but today… today, everything feels exactly the way it’s supposed to. He looks around the room – Soobin still muttering, Taehyun making fun of Soobin under his breath, their drummer testing out an overly dramatic roll on the snare – and he feels, just for a moment, like he’s watching his life from the outside, and what he sees? He likes it.

He catches Soobin’s eye and flashes him a peace sign. “Hey, you nervous?”

Soobin glares. “Are you not?”

Beomgyu shrugs, grin wide. “Nah. Got a good feeling about today.”

Because how could he not? The sun’s shining, his hands feel steady, and somewhere out there, Kai is thinking about him. Maybe counting down the hours until the show. Maybe wearing that stupid red ribbon again just to make him laugh. Whatever it is, Beomgyu’s certain of one thing. Today’s going to be one of the best days of his life, and he’s not wrong.

Practice kicks off smoother than any of them expected. From the first verse, everything just flows. Soobin’s bass is steady, Taehyun’s guitar riffs are sharp and clean, and the rest of the band stays locked in like they’ve already played the set five times today. Beomgyu’s voice glides effortlessly through the songs, notes landing like second nature, and for once, he’s not overthinking every word. There’s no tension in his shoulders, no anxiety pressing at his ribs. Just music and pure joy.

They run through the entire set list once without a hitch, and by the end of it, even Soobin looks shocked.

“That’s it?” he says, wiping his forehead with a towel. “We’re already done?”

Taehyun stretches his arms above his head, looking completely unbothered. “I told you we didn’t need to run it three times. We’re not amateurs.”

Beomgyu grins, sipping from his water bottle. “Wow. Did we actually impress Soobin hyung today? Mark the date.”

Soobin rolls his eyes, but there’s a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t push it. We still have soundcheck later. But… yeah. That was good.”

The band disperses quickly after that, relieved to have a few hours of free time before they have to be back. The sky is clear, the sun is warm but not overbearing, and the campus is alive; students rushing around in colorful outfits, booths lined up with everything from cheesy street food to handmade crafts. There’s laughter in the air, faint music from a portable speaker nearby, and the scent of something grilled wafting from somewhere up the path.

Beomgyu pulls out his phone the second they step out of the auditorium, fingers already finding Kai’s contact. The phone rings once before Kai picks up.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft and sweet, like he’s already smiling.

Beomgyu finds himself smiling too. “Where are you?”

“Campus,” Kai replies. “Near the front lawn. Yeonjun hyung wanted cheesy lobster tails, so we’ve been waiting in line for twenty minutes.”

Beomgyu laughs. “Of course he did.”

“Want me to get you one?”

“I’d rather steal yours.”

“Hyung,” Kai says, warningly, but he’s laughing.

By the time Beomgyu, Soobin, and Taehyun make their way to the main path, the campus is fully alive. Student clubs are handing out flyers, the air smells like sugar and smoke and spice, and there’s a booth selling flower crowns right beside another one advertising fortune readings. Someone walks past them in a full bear costume.

“It’s like a fever dream,” Taehyun mutters.

“Welcome to spring festival,” Beomgyu replies, spotting the back of Kai’s head in line a few booths down. “There he is.”

Kai turns around as if sensing him. When their eyes meet, Kai’s face lights up like the sun’s finally reached him. He lifts a hand, waving him over, and Beomgyu quickens his pace, not bothering to hide how wide he’s smiling.

“You found us,” Kai says as Beomgyu wraps his arms around him from behind.

“Did you doubt me?”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Yeonjun snorts from the side. “Gross. Be romantic on your own time.”

“I am on my own time. It’s my birthday,” Beomgyu says smugly.

Kai looks over his shoulder at him. “Happy birthday again.”

Beomgyu softens. “Thanks.”

The line finally inches forward. As Kai and Yeonjun debate toppings, Beomgyu leans against Kai’s side and murmurs, “This is already the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

Kai glances up, cheeks dusted pink. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, really. Rehearsal went great. I didn’t die from nerves. The weather’s perfect. And…” He brushes Kai’s hair behind his ear. “You’re here.”

Kai swallows, quiet for a beat. Then: “I’m really glad I’m here too.”

Eventually, they get their food and find a patch of grass to sit on near the center of the festival. Beomgyu tears a chunk off Kai’s lobster tail like he promised, stealing a bite without remorse, much to Kai’s dismay.

They spend the afternoon like that, drifting from booth to booth, laughing at Taehyun’s deadpan reactions to overly enthusiastic club members, cheering on Soobin when he miraculously wins a plushie from a game booth for Yeonjun despite not having a single athletic bone in his body. Kai insists they stop at the photo booth. Beomgyu lets the younger drag him inside and throw a brown teddy bear-ear headband on his head, and he huffs.

“I look stupid,” Beomgyu says, adjusting the plastic ears.

“You look adorable,” Kai corrects, and kisses his cheek right as the flash goes off.

The photo strip is ridiculous. Beomgyu pockets it anyway.

Their last stop is the plushie-making stall tucked near the end of the vendor path, nestled between a booth selling flower wreaths and another blasting pop remixes over tinny speakers. It’s modest, just a few folding tables beneath a sun-faded canopy, but it’s the one Kai’s been talking about all week. Beomgyu remembers the way Kai’s eyes had lit up when he’d first spotted the booth on a campus poster, voice pitching with excitement as he rattled off every detail. Beomgyu hadn’t really gotten it then, but now, watching Kai tug him eagerly toward it with both hands wrapped around his wrist, he starts to understand.

“They let you pick everything,” Kai says, half-breathless, eyes already scanning the table for fabric swatches and color charts. “Like, down to the stuffing, the outfits, the name, even the scent! And you get a birth certificate. Like an actual one.”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, but he’s smiling. “That’s dangerously powerful information.”

Kai shoots him a look. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

“I’m not,” Beomgyu chuckles, bumping their shoulders. “I’m naming mine pengkai 2.0. Trademark pending.”

“Unoriginal,” Kai snorts. “Mine’s going to be a teddy bear in a pink hoodie with frog slippers and a little backpack.”

Beomgyu pauses. “You’ve really thought about this, huh?”

Kai doesn’t even hesitate. “Obviously.”

Soon they’re sitting cross-legged on a picnic mat beneath the booth, surrounded by stray tufts of stuffing and tiny pieces of felt. The station smells faintly of glue and lavender sachets, and the afternoon sun filters through the gaps in the canopy above them, casting soft shadows over Kai’s face. Beomgyu’s never seen him so hyper-focused; brows drawn together, lower lip caught gently between his teeth as he threads a dull plastic needle with the precision of a surgeon. His tongue pokes out slightly as he sews a seam down his plushie's hoodie, fingers nimble, movements delicate. There’s a quiet sort of magic in how seriously he’s taking it.

Beomgyu forgets to work on his own plushie for a moment. He just watches.

“You’re really into this,” he murmurs, half amused, half enchanted.

Kai doesn’t look up. “It’s therapeutic.”

Beomgyu hums, reaching to tie off a loose string on his own penguin plushie. “I like watching you.”

That makes Kai glance up. A beat passes, and then his face blooms pink like a petal unfolding in slow motion. He ducks his head, smiling into his lap.

“You’re being soft today,” he says, voice barely above the chatter of nearby students.

Beomgyu shrugs, warmth blooming in his chest. “It’s my birthday. I’m allowed.”

Kai twists a little closer to him, their knees brushing. “...I like it when you’re soft.”

Something inside Beomgyu stutters. It’s simple, really, just a line said without hesitation, but it lands deep. His fingers pause mid-stitch, and for a moment, he lets himself look at Kai. At the flush still clinging to his cheeks. At the way the sun has caught the gold in his lashes. At the small, hopeful curve of his smile.

Beomgyu reaches over and touches Kai’s wrist, just briefly. A gentle tap of fingertips. “You bring it out of me.”

Kai dips his head and smiles bashfully, tracing the hem of his plushie’s hoodie with a soft hum, like he’s trying to hide how giddy he is. The moment hangs between them, sweet and unspoken, their plushies nestled between crossed legs like some quiet extension of the affection neither of them knows quite how to express with words yet.

Then Kai perks up a little, biting his bottom lip as a thought seems to cross his mind. “Hey,” he says, nudging Beomgyu with his knee. “Wanna make them even more special?”

Beomgyu raises a brow. “You’re gonna give yours a government ID now or something?”

Kai giggles, nose scrunching. “No, dummy. I mean, what if we put voice notes inside them? Like… secret ones. For each other.”

Beomgyu blinks. “You can do that?”

Kai leans forward and grabs two tiny recording chips from a tray on the corner of the booth, holding them up triumphantly. “Built-in button and speaker. They said we could add messages if we wanted. I thought it’d be cute. You don’t have to, but–”

“No, let’s do it,” Beomgyu says quickly, surprising even himself with how eager he sounds. His heart’s already beating harder. “I want to.”

Kai smiles, soft and fond, like he’s memorizing Beomgyu’s face. “Okay,” he says, handing over one of the chips. “But no cheating. You’re not allowed to hear mine unless you’re really missing me.”

“I already miss you when you’re in the bathroom too long.”

Kai’s cheeks go red again, but he hides it with a dramatic sigh. “Then consider this your emotional backup plan.”

They both stand, laughing a little under their breath, and head to opposite corners of the stall to record. The laughter fades, though, the moment Beomgyu finds himself crouched behind a banner with the little voice chip tucked in his palm, thumb hovering uncertainly over the record button.

It’s not that he doesn’t know what to say. It’s that there’s too much he wants to say, and he only has thirty seconds.

He takes a breath. The air smells like cotton stuffing and Kai’s shampoo.

And then he presses record.

“Hey,” he begins softly, a smile curling into his voice. “If you’re hearing this, I guess it means you’re holding that bear tight. That probably means you’re missing me. Which… if I’m being honest, I hope you do. Just a little. Because I miss you all the time, even when you’re right next to me. I know that sounds ridiculous, but you have this way of filling up my whole heart and somehow still leaving me wanting more of you.”

He pauses, thumb stroking over the plastic shell of the recorder.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone. You make things feel light, even when the world’s heavy. And I’m not always good at saying things when I should, but… I want you to know that I love you. Really. I love you, Kai.”

His voice hitches just a little. He doesn’t stop it.

“You bring out all the parts of me I thought I lost. So keep this bear close, okay? And if it ever feels like I’m far away, just press play. I’ll always find my way back to you.”

The recording ends with a soft click, but the words echo in his chest long after. He sits there for a second, letting the weight of them settle, before standing and carefully tucking the chip deep into the belly of Kai’s teddy bear. He stitches it closed gently, like it’s something sacred.

When he turns around, Kai’s already waiting, cheeks pink, hands folded in his lap like he’s trying to look casual but failing miserably.

“All done?” he asks, eyes dancing.

Beomgyu nods. “All done.”

Kai hugs the teddy bear close to his chest immediately, nose buried in its soft fuzzy head.

“I’m gonna listen when I’m home,” he says, muffled into the plushie. “Not now. I wanna wait until I really miss you.”

Beomgyu smiles, heart full. “You won’t have to wait long. I’m annoyingly missable.”

Kai laughs again, soft and sincere, and they sit there a little longer with their plushies tucked safely between them, the sky melting from orange to lilac above their heads and the quiet promise of love stitched into the hearts of two silly, handmade toys.

By the time they’re finished, the sun has dipped lower in the sky, streaking the horizon in shades of honeyed orange and soft lavender. Students wander by in lazy clusters, the crowd somehow has grown even larger, the real buzz of the spring festival show finally nearing. Beomgyu and Kai both stand holding their completed plushies: Kai’s is exactly as he described, from the pink hoodie to the frog slippers, and Beomgyu’s penguin plushie proudly sports a miniature version of their band’s performance tee, stitched on slightly crooked but charming all the same.

“They’re dating,” Beomgyu declares, holding the two plushies up side by side.

Kai lifts an eyebrow. “Or married.”

Beomgyu looks at him sideways, fighting back a grin. “Just like us then?”

Kai giggles, biting his lip. “Shut up.”

They walk until they find a patch of grass a little removed from the noise, where the music from the main stage fades into background ambience. The two of them lie down side by side, heads angled toward the clouds, their plushies abandoned between them. The last of the light filters through the trees, painting long shadows across the grass.

Beomgyu breathes in deep. The air smells like fried sugar and fresh-cut grass and something warm he can’t quite name. Around them, the campus pulses gently with life; students laughing, someone strumming an acoustic guitar nearby, the clink of bottles and chopsticks from a food tent not far off. It should all feel loud, overwhelming even, but with Kai beside him, the world narrows to something quieter and softer.

He turns to look at him. Kai’s face is tilted toward the sky, lips parted slightly like he’s dreaming with his eyes open.

“Thanks,” Beomgyu says, voice quiet and certain, “for making today feel like more than just a day.”

Kai turns, meeting his gaze with something close to awe. “You make it feel easy.”

For a moment, Beomgyu doesn’t say anything. He just watches Kai’s eyes flicker in the golden light, the corner of his mouth tipping upward in the kind of smile Beomgyu knows he’ll remember even when this day is long behind them. His fingers twitch like they want to reach out again, to press against Kai’s cheek or thread through his fingers or just hold on somehow, but then a familiar voice cuts through the fading hum of the festival.

“There you are,” Taehyun says, walking up with the sun behind him like a spotlight. His arms are crossed, face impassive, but there’s the smallest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. “Soundcheck, hyung. Let’s go before Soobin hyung combusts.”

Beomgyu groans dramatically but doesn’t argue. “God, I was hoping you’d forget.”

Taehyun snorts. “Soobin’s pacing like an expecting father backstage. He will literally cry.”

Kai giggles, nudging Beomgyu gently with his shoulder. “You should go,” he says, soft but encouraging. “They need you.”

“I need you,” Beomgyu whispers, barely audible as he leans in close.

Kai blushes, but it’s a happy blush, the kind that warms his entire face as he squeezes Beomgyu’s hand one last time. “You’ll do amazing.”

As if summoned by the thought, Yeonjun appears in the crowd a few moments later, waving dramatically as he jogs up to them. “There you are! I lost you in the sea of couples and overpriced mochi booths.” His eyes flick toward Taehyun. “You stealing my son-in-law again?”

Taehyun raises an eyebrow. “He’s your son-in-law now?”

“Temporarily,” Yeonjun grins as he winks over at Beomgyu – or at least, tries to – then turns to Kai. “C’mon, I’ve been holding our spot at the front of the crowd. Let’s go cheer on our rockstars.”

Before they part ways, Kai leans in, his plushie now tucked under one arm, and presses a gentle kiss to Beomgyu’s cheek. He lingers a second too long, lips soft against his skin. “Good luck,” he whispers, almost shyly.

Beomgyu, caught off guard by how much that simple touch centers him, blinks at him for a beat before smiling. “I’ll sing better just knowing you’re there.”

They don’t say goodbye, it’s more like a promise left in the way Kai looks over his shoulder three times as Yeonjun tugs him toward the stage area, and in the way Beomgyu stays frozen for a second, just watching him walk away, his hand lifting slightly like he’s about to call him back, but he doesn’t. He just lets himself smile, warm and grounded, before turning to Taehyun with renewed energy.

“Soobin hyung’s going to cry when I tell him I got a good luck kiss and he didn’t.”

“Who said he didn’t?” Taehyun smirks as they start walking. “He did. Right before I came to find you. Yeonjun gave him one. Full tongue too.”

Beomgyu lets out a strangled noise. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. It was gross.”

Beomgyu laughs, shaking his head. “God, I love them.”

“You’re disgusting when you’re happy,” Taehyun mutters, but there’s affection in the way he bumps shoulders with him as they disappear behind the main stage.

And just like that, the golden part of the day slips behind them, and the lights begin to rise.

 

🧸

 

The air is electric by the time they step on stage. Not just buzzing with energy, but alive with it, roaring through the packed crowd like a current, sharp and bright. Beomgyu squints against the overhead lights, hand wrapped tightly around his mic stand as the cheers rise, crashing against the stage in waves.

They start strong. Taehyun tears into the opening riff like his guitar owes him money, and Soobin is a force behind the bass, each pulse of the rhythm grounding Beomgyu like a heartbeat. And Beomgyu? He’s soaring. Something in him has cracked open tonight, something like certainty, and then he sees him.

Front row, practically glowing, Kai is impossible to miss. His headband flashes silver under the lights: CHOI BEOMGYU printed in bold Hangul. He’s grinning so hard his cheeks are pink, bouncing in place as he claps along to the beat, but it’s the shirt that kills Beomgyu: bright white, custom-printed in red and black: I ❤️ BEOMGYU .

Beomgyu nearly forgets his next lyric.

His heart lodges somewhere behind his ribs, swelling with a pride that borders on delirium. Kai wears his name like a badge, like a flag, like he’s not just in Beomgyu’s corner, he is the whole damn stadium, and it hits him in that moment, chest tight and fingers tingling with adrenaline: he’s not just performing anymore. He’s showing off for the person who believes in him most.

They fly through the set list with ease, song after song sliding seamlessly into the next. The band’s tighter than they’ve ever been, and Beomgyu feels on fire. Every time he glances down, Kai’s there, mouthing the lyrics, throwing hearts at him, swaying with the crowd. He doesn’t even try to tone down the smile that keeps tugging at his lips. Let them see it. Let them all see it.

Then, midway through the set, Soobin calls a break, announcing they’re swapping instruments and grabbing water. Taehyun flashes a peace sign as he steps back, and Beomgyu reaches for the acoustic guitar propped by the amp. The stage quiets around him. The crowd shifts, murmurs rippling through the air.

Beomgyu settles onto the stool in the center of the stage, guitar resting on his knee, fingers brushing over the strings. The lights dim slightly, focusing on him.

“This next song…” he starts, voice steady in a way that surprises even him. “I wrote it for someone really special.”

A pause. A ripple of interest from the crowd.

“He knows who he is.”

Gasps and giggles echo through the front rows. Beomgyu doesn’t look away from Kai, not even for a second.

And then he begins.

The first chord falls soft and sure, and the hush is immediate. He sings each line like a confession, his voice raw and sincere, laced with every inch of the love he hasn’t yet said aloud until now. Every word from “that was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love, if it does not exist, but darling, you are the only exception” to “I’m on my way to believing” is aimed squarely at Kai. He doesn’t care who else hears it. Doesn’t care if the whole campus figures it out. This is for him.

Kai’s eyes well up with tears before the bridge even hits.

By the time the final chord rings out, the crowd erupts in cheers, but Beomgyu only sees Kai, standing frozen with his hands pressed over his heart, a damp sheen glimmering beneath his lashes. They hold each other’s gaze like no one else is there. Then the spell breaks. Taehyun lets out a dramatic whistle, and Soobin’s counting them in, and suddenly they’re back into the final stretch of their set, electric and loud and full of life.

Beomgyu sings like he’s never sung before.

When the show ends, his ears are still ringing with the crowd’s roar. Sweat clings to the back of his neck as he stumbles offstage with the rest of the band, laughter and exhausted adrenaline spilling out of them in waves.

Taehyun slaps him on the back. “We killed it.”

Soobin’s already being pulled into Yeonjun’s arms, the older boy squealing as he leaps onto his boyfriend like a koala. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Yeonjun gushes. “You– oh my god, Bin-ah… you were so cool~!”

Beomgyu barely has a second to breathe before he sees him: Kai, still in his ridiculous, adorable Beomgyu fanboy getup, bounding over with stars in his eyes. Beomgyu doesn’t wait. He grabs Kai by the hips and hauls him in, kissing him full on the mouth, deep and hard, his hands fisting the back of Kai’s shirt like he can’t bear to let go.

“You wearing my name all over you is insanely hot,” he breathes against his lips. “I’m obsessed with you.”

Kai laughs, breath hitching, eyes still a little glassy. “I mean, if the song didn’t already tell me.”

Taehyun makes a retching noise behind them. “Okay. I’m going to go check out the rest of the festival before I throw up. Text me when you’re done being nauseating.”

He disappears with a wave. Yeonjun calls after him to bring back more lobster tails.

Beomgyu presses one more kiss to Kai’s forehead. “You’re not real.”

“Remember when I said I had another surprise?” Kai says, voice suddenly shy. His fingers toy with the hem of Beomgyu’s sleeve. “But you have to close your eyes.”

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. “Right now?”

“Right now,” Kai confirms, trying not to smile.

And just like that, Beomgyu shuts his eyes. “I’m trusting you.”

Kai leans in close, voice brushing his ear like a secret. “Good. Because you’re going to love it.”

 

🧸 

 

Beomgyu stumbles a little as Kai tugs him up the path, eyes obediently shut despite the incline and the soft gravel crunching beneath his sneakers. His fingers are laced securely in Kai’s, and he keeps laughing under his breath, half from the sheer absurdity of being led blindly through a forest trail, and half from how warm he feels inside. The air is crisp now, the tail end of spring brushing soft against his cheeks, and with every step, he can hear the grin in Kai’s voice.

“You’re going to trip me and I’m going to sue,” Beomgyu warns, his tone light.

“You won’t sue me,” Kai hums, tugging him gently around a bend. 

Beomgyu’s smile is instant, impossible to hide. “And how are you so sure?”

Kai only giggles, not answering.

They’re near the top of the hill now, he can sense it. The slope evens out, and the wind brushes against his skin a little stronger, like the trees have thinned. His grip on Kai tightens. “Can I open my eyes yet?”

“Nope.”

He groans. “You’re such a tease.”

“And you’re very impatient.”

“You dragged me up a mountain with no vision, I think I deserve answers–”

“Okay,” Kai says, interrupting gently, his hands settling on Beomgyu’s shoulders to guide him just a few more steps. “Now you can look.”

Beomgyu blinks his eyes open slowly, adjusting to the soft light, and freezes.

The clearing is bathed in twilight blue, the moonlight stretching long shadows through the trees. A picnic blanket is laid out in the center of the small meadow, patterned in faded plaid and weighed down by carefully packed containers. Two thermoses sit to the side, steam still rising from their lids, but what catches his breath are the fairy lights, strung haphazardly between tree trunks, glowing warm and delicate like fireflies.

He takes a step forward. Then another. And then he just stops.

“You’re really trying to make me cry on my birthday,” he chokes, trying to laugh, but the sound catches in his throat.

Kai bites his lip, suddenly nervous. “It’s not, like– too much, right? I wasn’t sure if you’d like it. I mean, I didn’t know if you’d be tired after the show, and I know it’s not, like, amazing, but I just thought–”

“Kai,” Beomgyu says, turning to face him fully, his voice low. “You did all this?”

Kai shrugs, cheeks warm. “I mean, yeah. I had Yeonjun help me carry some of it up earlier, but… yeah. I cooked everything. It’s probably not even that good, I’m so out of practice–”

Beomgyu doesn’t let him finish. He pulls him into a hug, burying his face into Kai’s neck and holding on for a long, long moment. “It’s perfect.”

They sit together on the blanket, Kai immediately fussing, pouring soup into paper cups, nudging the lid off a small tub of kimchi rice, offering slices of hotteok that have definitely seen better days in terms of shape, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. Not even a little. He’s still in his stage clothes, hair mussed from sweat and lights, but he feels like this moment is clearer than anything he’s had in weeks.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” he says quietly, between bites of the still-warm rice.

“I wanted to,” Kai says simply, spooning soup into his own cup. “You always do so much for me. I just wanted to give something back.”

“You do give back,” Beomgyu says. “You’re– God, Kai, you’re the reason I even made it through the term.”

Kai goes quiet for a beat. “I thought maybe… I don’t know. Something small and quiet might feel nice after a loud day.”

Beomgyu doesn’t say anything for a while. He just eats, slowly, watching Kai poke at the corner of a sticky note that’s peeling up from the thermos. It’s all real and homemade. A little clumsy and nowhere near perfect, sure, but it’s Kai’s effort that makes it so special, and that’s what breaks him.

His throat tightens again, but for a different reason. 

It’s guilt.

This is everything he’s ever wanted. This small, glowing space of love carved out of the world just for him, and he doesn’t deserve it.

He’s the reason Kai ever doubted himself. The reason Kai’s even had to cry at all. The reason he felt unwanted, unlovable, just a few weeks ago, and now here he is, curled beside Beomgyu like it’s the most natural thing in the world, holding out a lopsided slice of hotteok and asking softly, “Are you full?” like he hasn’t already given Beomgyu the entire universe in one evening.

Beomgyu reaches for Kai’s hand before he can stop himself and holds it tightly. He doesn’t speak at first.

Kai looks over, surprised. “You okay?”

Beomgyu exhales. “You’re kind of a lot to handle, you know that?”

Kai blinks, a little startled. “...In a good way?”

Beomgyu nods, squeezing his hand. “In the best way. I just– I don’t think I’ll ever be able to deserve you.”

Kai frowns. “Hey. Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true,” Beomgyu says, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than he means to be. 

“You are worth all this.”

“Kai.”

“No, I mean it.” Kai leans in, his brows furrowed, eyes bright with stubborn warmth. “You are worth this. And more. You’re my favorite person. You make me laugh, you listen to me, you make me feel safe. I wanted to do something special because you’re special, hyung.”

Beomgyu looks away, jaw tight, blinking hard. He exhales shakily. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m adorable.”

“You’re both,” he says with a soft laugh. “But mostly adorable.”

Kai grins, proud of himself. “You gonna finish your soup?”

Beomgyu leans in and kisses him instead. Long and slow, soft and sweet, like a thank you he doesn’t know how to say aloud.

After they finish the last of the hotteok – Kai insisting it tasted better when it was fresh and Beomgyu swearing it’s perfect anyway – they stay there a while longer, curled together on the picnic blanket, listening to the distant sounds of festival music still echoing through the trees. The thermoses are nearly empty, the soup gone cold but still clinging to their lips like warmth they don’t want to let go of. Beomgyu feels full; not just in the stomach, but in the chest, the heart, every corner of himself soft and buzzing like the fairy lights above them.

Kai shifts beside him and says, “Okay. One more thing.”

Beomgyu turns, brows raised. “One more?”

Kai nods, reaching into his bag with that telltale anxious kind of excitement, the way he always looks before giving someone a drawing, or showing them a song, or unveiling something that matters a little too much. “It’s just… something small. Don’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?” Beomgyu says, voice already thick with affection.

Kai fidgets. “You might laugh.”

He finally pulls out a tiny velvet box, pale blue under the dim light. He hesitates for a second, like he’s considering changing his mind, then places it in Beomgyu’s hands.

Beomgyu blinks at it, then back at Kai. “You’re proposing?”

Kai tuts and rolls his eyes fondly. “Just open it,” he murmurs shyly.

So he does.

And his breath catches.

Inside, nestled in the dark lining, is a necklace. The chain is simple, silver and delicate, but what hangs from it is what draws his attention: a wooden guitar pick pendant, soft in color, slightly uneven in shape, the edges not quite symmetrical. It’s clearly handmade. Clearly loved into existence.

Right in the centre of it is an engraving:

cbg + hnk

Beomgyu doesn’t speak. He can’t.

Kai watches his face, nervous, then suddenly laughs under his breath and holds up his hands. “I, uh… I carved it myself. I followed a tutorial. It took like… five tries. Got a splinter that lasted three days. Look.”

He points to the heel of his palm, where a faint scar is still healing. “I kept messing up the edges, so I tried sanding it down with nail files at one point. Yeonjun hyung said it looked like I was preparing to summon a ghost.”

Beomgyu is still staring at the necklace. His fingers haven’t moved.

Kai’s voice softens. “I wanted you to have something that was only yours. That I made just for you. I know it’s not much, and it’s not perfect, but…”

Beomgyu doesn’t look up. His thumb brushes lightly over the grain of the wood, the smoothness where it must’ve been sanded with patience. He can see the subtle texture, the uneven grooves from where Kai’s hands must’ve trembled. There’s a tiny dot on the edge, almost like a fingerprint was accidentally carved into it.

His throat is completely closed.

Kai hesitates, lips parting like there’s more he wants to say but he’s not sure how. His fingers fidget with the hem of his sleeve, a nervous habit Beomgyu’s come to recognize. The soft glow of the fairy lights catches in his hair, and for a long moment, all Beomgyu can do is look at him; at this boy who packed a picnic with shaking hands and carved a wooden pendant with his own blood and stubbornness, just to give Beomgyu something no one else ever had.

Still holding the open box in his palm, Beomgyu finally tears his gaze away from the necklace and lifts his eyes to Kai’s face. “You made this for me,” he says, like he can’t quite believe it.

Kai nods. “Yeah. I just… I wanted you to have something real. Something that wasn’t just store-bought or expensive or flashy. Something I put time into. Even if it’s stupid, even if it’s not perfect. I wanted you to know that you matter that much to me.”

His voice starts to shake toward the end, and Beomgyu watches his throat bob, sees the way his hands twist tighter in his lap. There’s something unspoken clinging to him, something heavy, and Beomgyu waits, quiet and open, his chest aching with a kind of knowing.

Kai exhales through his nose, then gives a small, self-conscious laugh. “Yeonjun hyung told me I should just say it. That if I waited for the perfect moment, I’d never do it. That you probably already know, anyway.” He glances up, meets Beomgyu’s gaze. “But I didn’t want to say it just because it’s your birthday, or because you played that song for me, or because everything feels perfect tonight. I wanted to say it when it was mine. When it was true.”

Beomgyu’s heart is in his throat. His fingers curl tighter around the edges of the box. 

Please, no…

Kai shifts a little closer on the blanket, the distance between them now charged, like the air itself is holding its breath. His voice is quieter now, but every word lands with weight.

“I didn’t grow up believing people stayed,” he says softly. “Or that I could really be someone’s favorite. I think I always assumed I’d be temporary. Easy to forget.”

Beomgyu opens his mouth, but Kai holds up a hand, like he needs to finish before he loses the nerve.

God, please, don’t say it–

“But then you came along, and you made me feel like maybe I wasn’t. You made me feel like I was worth something. Like I could be someone’s best part of the day.” He smiles, shaky and impossibly fond. “You looked at me like I wasn’t too much. Like I wasn’t a burden. And I just– I don’t know how to thank you for that. I don’t think I ever could.”

Beomgyu is staring now, eyes burning, lips parted. The pendant in his palm feels like it’s burning a hole through his hand, like it carries the weight of every word Kai’s ever struggled to say.

Stop, no…

Kai breathes in again, his eyes never leaving Beomgyu’s. “So I made this. And I brought you here. And I tried so hard to get this night right. Because I needed you to know. I needed you to feel it.”

Please don’t tell me–

He leans in, close enough that Beomgyu can feel the tremble in his breath.

“I love you,” Kai says. Voice tender, steady now. “I love you. And it’s not too soon, and it’s not just because everything’s good tonight. It’s because I’ve known for a while now. And I wanted to wait until I could say it like this because you deserve to hear it when I mean it the most. I love you, Beomgyu hyung. I’m in love with you.”

The silence that follows is electric.

Beomgyu looks up.

Kai’s face is open, bare, stripped down to its quietest honesty. His shoulders are drawn in, like he’s bracing himself, but he doesn’t look away, and doesn’t take it back.

And Beomgyu– God, Beomgyu breaks.

 

Notes:

waaa kai finally said the L word!!!! :O

i loved writing this chapter tbh, i think that's why it took so long. i tried my best to make it as good as i can get it, and i'm kinda proud of this chapter ngl hehe :3 but anyway what do you think about this chapter!! aren't beomkai so cute >w< and did anyone get the kimchay reference loool alsoo the song beomgyu wrote for kai is "the only exception" by paramore lool let's just pretend beomgyu wrote that song :D

please let me know your thoughts in the comment section!! i love hearing about what you think of the updates hehe it always makes my entire day <33 thank you so much for reading and i hope you liked it!!! <333

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Chapter 25

Summary:

“I love you,” Beomgyu whispers. Not once. Not twice. But again and again and again, like it’s all he can say, like he’s trying to make up for something, or ward something off. “I love you. I love you. I love you–”

Kai freezes.

And then he melts.

His eyes close as he lets the relief crash into him like a tide, folding his arms tightly around Beomgyu’s shaking body. He sags into the hug, into the warmth, into the truth of it all. Beomgyu loves him. He loves him back. He’s not dreaming this, he didn’t hallucinate the spark in Beomgyu’s eyes or misread the softness in his voice, he’s not the only one on this ledge of hope. They’re both here.

Notes:

enjoy the double update~ :D

🐧

 

Kai shifts beside him on the blanket, pulse fluttering somewhere near his throat. He shouldn’t be this nervous, not after everything tonight – Beomgyu’s smile, the picnic, the song – but his hands are clammy and his heart won’t stop stuttering. He clears his throat quietly and says, “Okay. One more thing.”

Beomgyu turns toward him with an amused arch of his brow. “One more?”

Kai nods, lips twitching with a nervous smile. He reaches into his bag, fingers grazing past the thermos and crumpled napkins until they find the cool shape he’s been avoiding all night. There’s an anxious kind of energy to him now, the same one he gets whenever he’s about to show someone a new sketch or a lyric he’s not sure is good enough. He glances up, just once, then looks down quickly and mutters, “It’s just… something small. Don’t laugh.”

Beomgyu’s voice is already soft, already thick with something far gentler. “Why would I laugh?”

Kai shrugs. “You might laugh.”

He hesitates only a second more before pulling it out: a small velvet box, pale blue under the dim fairy lights. Even in his own hands it looks too serious, too loaded, but he swallows his nerves and places it carefully in Beomgyu’s palm.

Beomgyu blinks at it, then up at him. “You’re proposing?”

Kai lets out a small, flustered breath, rolling his eyes. “Just open it,” he says, his voice dropping into something shy and warm.

He watches closely as Beomgyu lifts the lid.

The moment stretches.

Beomgyu’s breath catches, visibly. His shoulders still, and his eyes go wide.

Inside, resting against the dark velvet lining, is the necklace. A silver chain, plain and simple, but it’s the pendant that matters. A wooden guitar pick, soft in colour, just slightly uneven around the edges, not quite symmetrical. His fingers had trembled the entire time he carved it, but he hadn’t let himself stop. It had to be this one. It had to be real.

In the middle, carefully etched and then clumsily re-traced, is an engraving:

cbg + hnk

Kai watches his reaction like he’s watching the sky for a storm. His stomach is in knots. “I, uh… I carved it myself,” he says, voice too fast, too high. “I followed a tutorial. It took like five tries. Got a splinter that lasted three days. Look” He lifts his palm and points to a faint scar near the heel. “I kept messing up the edges, so I tried sanding it down with nail files at one point. Yeonjun hyung said it looked like I was preparing to summon a ghost.”

Beomgyu doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t move. He just stares at the necklace, fingers unmoving, eyes unreadable.

Kai swallows. His voice lowers. “I wanted you to have something that was only yours. That I made just for you. I know it’s not much, and it’s not perfect, but…”

He trails off, unsure if he’s said too much or not enough.

Still holding the open box in his palm, Beomgyu finally looks up from the necklace. His eyes meet Kai’s, wide and almost disbelieving. “You made this for me,” he says softly, like the words don’t quite make sense yet.

Kai’s breath catches. He nods, heart thudding. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice a little hoarse. “I just… I wanted you to have something real. Something that wasn’t store-bought, or expensive, or flashy. Just something I put time into. Even if it’s stupid. Even if it’s not perfect.” His throat tightens mid-sentence, and he swallows hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “I wanted you to know that you matter that much to me.”

As he speaks, his hands knot together in his lap, fingers twisting at the sleeves of his jumper like they’re the only thing tethering him to the ground. He can feel his pulse in his wrists, his ears, the base of his throat. It’s terrifying, saying something so raw out loud… but he needs Beomgyu to understand. Needs him to know how much of himself Kai carved into that tiny pendant, how much he’s wanted to make something worthy of the way Beomgyu makes him feel.

But now, Beomgyu’s just sitting there, quiet and unreadable, and Kai’s nerves swirl tighter in his stomach. There’s a strange weight in the air between them, thick with something he can’t name. Beomgyu isn’t smiling. He isn’t saying anything else. He’s just watching him, chest rising slowly, like he’s bracing for something.

And Kai… Kai starts to feel the first trickle of fear.

Kai’s heart feels like it’s lodged between his ribs. His hands fidget in his lap, twisting at the edge of his sleeve, trying to ground himself. His pulse is so loud it’s hard to think, and he realises, all at once, that this is it. That there’s no perfect moment waiting in the future. That he’ll never stop being scared, but he loves Beomgyu more than he fears the fallout.

He draws in a breath. “Yeonjun hyung told me I should just say it,” he begins, glancing down with a soft laugh. “That if I waited for the perfect moment, I’d never do it. That you probably already know anyway.”

His eyes meet Beomgyu’s, and the breath in his lungs feels like glass. “But I didn’t want to say it just because it’s your birthday, or because you played that song for me, or because everything feels perfect tonight. I wanted to say it when it was mine. When it was true.”

Beomgyu is still silent, and it sends a wave of panic through Kai, but he pushes through. He leans a little closer, enough that their knees are brushing. The air feels charged, too fragile to move in. His voice drops, but every word lands like a stone in a lake.

“I didn’t grow up believing people stayed,” he says. “Or I could really be someone’s favourite. I think I always assumed I’d be temporary. Easy to forget.”

He sees Beomgyu’s mouth part, but Kai lifts a hand. Please, let me finish.

“But then you came along,” he continues, “and you made me feel like maybe I wasn’t. You made me feel like I was worth something. Like I could be someone’s best part of the day. You looked at me like I wasn’t too much. Like I wasn’t a burden.” He pauses. His smile trembles. “And I just– I don’t know how to thank you for that. I don’t think I ever could.”

His throat is tight now, and his fingers clench together just to keep steady. He looks at Beomgyu, really looks, and he thinks, this is it. This is the moment I’ve been carrying around for weeks.

“So I made this,” he says, nodding toward the necklace. “And I brought you here. And I tried so hard to get this night right. Because I needed you to know. I need you to feel it.”

His breath shakes. Then he leans in, voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you.”

Beomgyu’s eyes widen.

“I love you,” Kai says again, surer this time. “And it’s not too soon, and it’s not just because everything’s good tonight. It’s because I’ve known for a while. And I wanted to wait until I could say it like this because you deserve to hear it when I mean it the most.”

He draws back just slightly, only enough to see Beomgyu’s face. His own expression is open, raw, nothing left hidden. “I love you, Beomgyu hyung. I’m in love with you.”

And then he waits.

The silence that follows is so quiet it feels loud. The wind stills, the stars blink down, and Kai feels like he’s teetering on the edge of something enormous; hope, maybe, or heartbreak.

He watches Beomgyu.

And Beomgyu… breaks.

Suddenly, he’s surging forward across the space between them, the little velvet box still gripped tight in his hand as his arms wrap around Kai like he’s afraid he’ll disappear. The impact of the hug knocks Kai back slightly, makes him gasp, but then he’s being held tighter than he ever has before, Beomgyu’s entire body trembling against his. His breath stutters in Kai’s ear, ragged, and dampness seeps through the fabric of Kai’s jumper where Beomgyu’s face has buried itself into his shoulder.

Kai blinks. “Hyung–?”

But he doesn’t get to finish the thought. Doesn’t get the chance to question it, because then he hears it.

“I love you,” Beomgyu whispers. Not once. Not twice. But again and again and again, like it’s all he can say, like he’s trying to make up for something, or ward something off. “I love you. I love you. I love you–”

Kai freezes.

And then he melts.

His eyes close as he lets the relief crash into him like a tide, folding his arms tightly around Beomgyu’s shaking body. He sags into the hug, into the warmth, into the truth of it all. Beomgyu loves him. He loves him back. He’s not dreaming this, he didn’t hallucinate the spark in Beomgyu’s eyes or misread the softness in his voice, he’s not the only one on this ledge of hope. They’re both here.

He lets out a breathless laugh, his heart swelling so much it almost hurts. “You don’t have to cry,” he murmurs, brushing his hand gently over Beomgyu’s back, still trembling beneath his fingers. “We love each other. That’s all that matters, right?”

But then… then comes the feeling.

The ache.

The subtle wrongness curled around Beomgyu’s voice. The way his chant of "I love you" doesn’t sound entirely like relief. It sounds like mourning. Like desperation. Like goodbye.

Kai’s brows furrow. Why does it feel like Beomgyu’s holding on too tight? Like he’s trying to memorise the shape of him. Like this moment is all they’ll have left. His stomach sinks, but he says nothing, and when Beomgyu’s arms slowly loosen, Kai pulls back slightly, just enough to see him. He lifts both hands, cups Beomgyu’s tear-streaked face between his palms. His thumbs brush under his eyes, wiping away the dampness there, the soft tremble of emotion still visible in the way Beomgyu’s lips are pressed tight, how his eyes won’t meet Kai’s.

“Hyung…” Kai says gently, worry bleeding into the edges of his voice. “Why are you crying like this?”

Beomgyu still doesn’t answer.

So Kai leans in, forehead resting against his. His voice comes softer this time, steadier.

“I love you, hyung,” he says again.

“I have to tell you something,” Beomgyu chokes out in response.

Kai pauses. There’s something in Beomgyu’s voice that chills him to the bone. A hollow note that rings wrong in the air.

“What?” Kai asks, blinking. 

Beomgyu’s eyes are red-rimmed, glassy, but he looks up at him with something that feels a lot like guilt. Like dread. “You have to promise me first,” he says. “Promise me you won’t hate me.”

And Kai – sweet, trusting Kai – smiles softly, almost confused. “I won’t hate you,” he says easily, reaching to brush his fingers through Beomgyu’s hair, like they’re not on the edge of a cliff. “Why would I hate you?”

Beomgyu’s lip trembles. “You know I love you, right? You feel my love, don’t you?”

Kai presses his palm against Beomgyu’s cheek again, grounding them both. “I know you love me. I feel it. I do.” His voice is earnest now, warm. “You think I don’t notice how you look at me? Or how you always pick up my calls no matter what time it is? You wrote a song about me, hyung.”

Beomgyu flinches.

“I know you love me,” Kai says again, like he’s trying to remind him. “Even Yeonjun hyung keeps saying how obvious it is. Taehyun too. Everyone sees it.”

Beomgyu swallows hard. “Just know my feelings for you are genuine, Kai-yah. I love you so much and I don’t want you to hate me.”

Kai nods, smiling again. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”

And for a second, Beomgyu looks like he might believe him. Just for a second.

But then… he exhales.

And Kai feels something, some invisible line, snap in the air between them. Beomgyu’s fingers tighten in the fabric of his jeans. His breathing is shallow, uneven, and when he finally speaks, his voice is so soft Kai almost doesn’t hear it.

“There was a bet.”

Kai blinks.

It doesn’t register at first. Not really. He hears the words, but they don’t land. They hover there, in the space between them, thin and fragile like smoke.

Beomgyu’s face twists. His throat bobs as he swallows, and then he rushes forward, eyes pleading, voice shaking.

“There was a bet,” he says again, louder now, like he has to force it out before he loses the courage. “It was stupid, it was so fucking stupid– I didn’t even mean to– Minjun and Doyoon, they dared me. They offered a million won if I could–” His voice breaks. “If I could get you to sleep with me.”

Everything stops.

Everything in Kai’s body, in his chest, in his mind… stops.

Beomgyu grabs his hands, holds them tightly like he’s afraid Kai will vanish. “I never– I never meant for it to get this far. I didn’t even think you’d talk to me, I didn’t think you’d like me, I didn’t think I’d– God, Kai, I didn’t think I’d fall in love with you.”

The word echoes.

Love.

Kai is still frozen.

Beomgyu barrels on, frantic. “I called it off. I never wanted the money, I didn’t take anything from them, I didn’t– please, I swear, I swear to you, I know it started that way but everything I have ever said, what I feel about you, it’s all genuine. You have to believe me. I love you. You changed everything for me.”

But all Kai hears is get you to sleep with me.

His heart is a distant, dull drum in his chest, like it’s not even his anymore. Like he’s just watching this happen to someone else.

He blinks again.

Once. Twice.

His lips part, but no sound comes out.

Beomgyu is crying now. Truly crying, tears streaking down his cheeks as he grips Kai like he’s his last lifeline. “I let you see parts of me that not even Soobin hyung has seen. You made me want to be better. You made me want to be honest. I was going to tell you, I was– I tried, so many times, but I was scared of losing you, and I couldn’t find the right time to tell you. But I can’t keep it in anymore, not after tonight, not after what you said–”

Kai feels his breath stutter.

What he said.

I didn’t grow up believing people stayed, but then you came along. I love you, Beomgyu hyung. I’m in love with you. 

He tries to laugh.

He tries, he really does, because it feels like a joke, doesn’t it? The universe must be laughing. The quiet boy, the poor boy, the easy one, the easy target. Always the punchline. The one who falls so hard, so fast, so completely, only to be reminded that love is never real for people like him.

Only bets. Only dares.

Only jokes.

And he fell for it again.

In his head, it replays like a cruel highlight reel: the first time Beomgyu approached him. That stupid classroom, too loud and too hot and too full of people who never noticed him. But Beomgyu did. With his pearly smile and his shining eyes and his compliments that sounded too genuine to be false. “I wanted your music to be heard all over the world.” Kai had blinked at him like an idiot, fingers curled into the sleeves of his sweater, wondering how someone like that – so golden, so wanted – could say something so kind to someone like him. He’d chalked it up to politeness, or a fluke, but Beomgyu kept showing up. Every single day at the library. Every chance he got, with laughter in his voice and stories that made Kai laugh in spite of himself, and it wasn’t just the words. No, it was the way Beomgyu looked at him, like he saw something bright in the quiet, fraying edges of Kai’s soul. Something worth knowing. Something worth keeping.

He thinks of winter break now, like a knife to the chest: when he let Beomgyu into his childhood home, that small, creaky apartment on the edge of Seoul that always smelled faintly of detergent and old floorboards. He can still see Beomgyu sitting awkwardly on the living room floor, cross-legged with his chopsticks poised mid-air, glancing between Kai and his dad like he couldn’t believe this was real. Kai had smiled, really smiled, because that had been the first time in a long time someone chose to see that part of his world. Beomgyu had slept in his room, had borrowed his threadbare hoodie, had written his name in bold next to his on that damn wall. Beomgyu had seen the cracked family photo frame on the hallway shelf, reflecting his own heart, and Kai had told him. About the sisters he doesn’t talk to. About the mother who left. About the nights he sat on the bathroom floor trying not to cry too loud so his dad wouldn’t hear. He had given him those truths. Words that had cost him years to say aloud. And now… God, now it all feels so fucking foolish. Like he’d handed over the blueprint to his most breakable parts and begged Beomgyu to destroy them.

He trusted him. He let Beomgyu press his lips to his skin and his name into the spaces between heartbeats. He let him in. Past the defenses, past the bitterness, past the place where he stores every old wound and ugly memory. He let him in, and Beomgyu had made a home there. Had laughed in his bed and kissed his shoulder and pulled him closer like he was something precious. Kai remembers how he used to fall asleep to the sound of Beomgyu’s breathing and think, maybe this is it. Maybe I get to keep this. He’d been cautious, yes, but hope had a way of blooming even in the unlikeliest soil, and god, Beomgyu had watered that hope with every touch, every quiet confession, every time he looked at Kai like he mattered. It’s not just betrayal. It’s theft. Beomgyu didn’t just break his heart. He took it, hollowed it out, and left him holding the pieces like a child with a broken toy.

The stars overhead blink down, distant and indifferent. Kai laughs, bitter and breathless. Of course he was the joke. The punchline to a bet they probably laughed about for weeks. He wonders if Beomgyu ever mocked the way his voice trembled when he opened up. If he told Minjun and Doyoon how easy it was to get him to talk, to kiss, to trust. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? He trusted him. More than anyone. Beomgyu got everything. Every secret. Every insecurity. Every part Kai had kept locked away for years, and he gave it willingly. Because he thought, just this once, maybe he wasn’t being fooled. Maybe, just this once, someone saw him and didn’t look away. But of course. Of course it was a lie. Of course it was all just a fucking bet.

Beomgyu reaches out with shaking hands and wraps them gently around Kai’s, his grip feather-light, like even the pressure of his touch might shatter whatever fragile thing is left. “Kai,” he says, brokenly. “Please. Just say something. You can hit me. Scream at me. Call me a bastard. Hurt me. Just– please– don’t go quiet like this. Don’t shut me out, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything, I swear I will, just please say something.”

Kai doesn’t look at him. He stares down at their joined hands, eyes glazed, and for a second Beomgyu thinks maybe he didn’t hear him. But then Kai draws a slow, shaky breath. And he lifts his gaze, not to meet Beomgyu’s eyes, but to stare somewhere past his shoulder, unfocused and glassy.

“What do you want me to say, hyung?” he whispers. His voice is calm. Too calm. Like the eye of a hurricane that’s already razed everything to the ground. “That I’m not surprised?”

Beomgyu flinches, but Kai doesn’t stop.

“Do you want me to say I should’ve known? That it was stupid to think someone like you – someone with perfect facade and perfect timing and a thousand friends – would ever actually see someone like me and mean it?” His laugh is hollow, mirthless. “Do you want me to admit that I saw it coming, somewhere deep down? That I knew, and I still let myself fall for you anyway?”

Beomgyu is crying now, silent and shaking, his thumbs trembling where they still cradle Kai’s knuckles. “I didn’t– Kai, I didn’t mean to–”

“I let you in,” Kai says, finally looking at him. And this time, his eyes aren’t just sad, they’re haunted. “I let you in, Beomgyu. I showed you my world. My dad. My family. My fucking soul. And you–” his voice catches, just for a second, before he steadies it again, like pulling a knife out slow. “You saw all of it. And you used it as a game.”

Kai’s eyes glisten in the moonlight, rimmed red, his jaw trembling as he exhales through his nose. For a second, it looks like he’s going to stop there. Like he might swallow it all down and seal it back behind the walls Beomgyu worked so hard to tear down, but then he speaks again, and this time his voice is quiet, not shaky, but sharp . Carved at the edges like glass.

“So?” he asks. “Was it worth it?”

Beomgyu’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

Kai tilts his head, that bitter, broken smile spreading in a way that makes Beomgyu feel sick. “Was it fun?” he presses, voice tightening. “Taking advantage of the poor, lonely boy with no money and no family and no clue someone I trusted could be so cruel?”

“Kai, no–”

“No?” Kai echoes, a sharp bark of laughter punching out of him. “What was it then, Beomgyu? A challenge? A game? Did they all take turns guessing how fast I’d fall? Was there a group chat? A fucking scoreboard?”

Beomgyu shakes his head helplessly. “It wasn’t like that. It stopped being like that–”

“But it started like that,” Kai snaps, and his voice cracks. “It started with me being a joke to you. You looked at me and you thought, ‘He’s easy. He’ll fall.’ And the worst part is you were right.”

The calm shatters. Just like that.

Kai rips his hands from Beomgyu’s grasp like they burn. His whole body trembles as he pushes at Beomgyu’s shoulders, palms shaking, hitting not to hurt but because he has to, because it’s the only thing tethering him to himself. “I gave you everything,” he chokes, voice strangled with grief. “I let you in. I trusted you. I– I loved you. Is that not enough?”

Beomgyu stumbles back, stunned. His breath catches on a sob.

“I gave you everything,” Kai repeats, louder now, fists landing against Beomgyu’s chest like a storm, raw and wild and real. “My home. My dad. My heart. I carved you a fucking gift with my own hands, Beomgyu. I bled for it. I bled for you. Was that not enough?”

His voice breaks on the last word, ugly and loud and full of anguish, and then the sobs take over. He falls forward, chest heaving, shoulders curling in on themselves as his fists twist into Beomgyu’s shirt one last time; not to push, but to hold, like some desperate part of him still wants to cling even when everything’s already falling apart.

“I would’ve given you anything,” he whispers into Beomgyu’s collar, voice wrecked. “I did.”

Beomgyu’s hands hover helplessly between them like he doesn’t know whether to reach out or retreat. Like touching Kai might shatter him completely. His eyes are rimmed red, mouth parted around a hundred unspoken pleas, but Kai can’t hear them. Not over the sound of his own heart breaking open in his chest, a wet, raw, splitting sound he swears echoes through the entire fucking night.

“Kai, please,” Beomgyu rasps. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I– fuck, I didn’t know I’d fall for you. I didn’t expect to love you.”

Kai jerks back like he’s been slapped. “Love me?” His voice comes out high, hoarse. “You loved me?”

“I do! I love you, I swear to God–”

“You don’t get to say that to me anymore,” Kai spits, and it’s like something dark inside him finally, finally uncoils. “You don’t get to say I love you after all this. You don’t get to use it like a fucking band-aid. That’s not what love is.”

“I know that! I know, Kai– please, I ended the bet. I didn’t care about it anymore, I haven’t for months.”

“But you did care about it once, didn’t you?” Kai snaps. “You looked at me and saw a fucking paycheck. And now you want credit for stopping? You want me to what– applaud you for falling in love by accident?”

He laughs, but there’s nothing funny in it. It sounds like choking.

“It was real,” Beomgyu says, louder now, almost desperate. “You said it yourself. You felt that I loved you. So doesn’t that mean something?! Doesn’t that matter more than how it started?!”

And that’s what finally does it.

Kai stills, blinking at him slowly. The disbelief on his face is almost gentle, almost sad, until it isn’t.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he whispers. “Are you really, really, trying to use my words against me?”

Beomgyu flinches. “No, I just–”

Kai steps forward, voice rising, sharp with betrayal. “You’re throwing my love back in my face like it’s a goddamn gotcha? Like me believing in you, trusting you, was some kind of fucking card for you to pull now, like– like that makes this okay?”

He laughs again, a broken, bitter sound that barely hides the tears catching in his throat. “You know what I felt? I felt safe. I felt like, for once, someone actually saw me. Not the background kid. Not the quiet one. Not the poor one with no mum and a dad who works himself half to death just so I can exist. I thought you saw me.”

He shakes his head slowly, eyes glassy.

“But you saw a target. You saw ‘easy.’ You saw someone you could play for laughs and cash. And now you want me to say it’s okay because what? Because you fell? You accidentally caught feelings, so that means it was all worth it?”

Kai’s hands ball into fists. “Well, congratulations, Beomgyu. I hope the fucking million won was worth it.”

Beomgyu’s face crumples. “I didn’t even take it, Kai, I even paid them both a million each–”

“I don’t care!” Kai roars, and he’s screaming now, actually screaming, every part of him shaking. “I don’t fucking care. It’s not about the money, Beomgyu! It’s about what you thought I was worth! And you put a price tag on me the second you agreed to that fucking bet.”

He chokes on the next breath, chest heaving, vision swimming with tears, and still, somewhere deep in his chest, something screams not to care. Something begs him to fold, to forgive, because it’s Beomgyu, and Kai is so goddamn tired of hurting, but he doesn’t fold. He doesn’t cave, because this hurts in a way nothing ever has before. Not when his mum left. Not when his sisters stopped answering. Not when he cried himself to sleep for years thinking something must be wrong with him for everyone to leave.

Because this, this betrayal, came wrapped in warmth and laughter and whispered promises. This betrayal held his hand through Everland and kissed him on his bedroom floor and told him he was beautiful when Kai didn’t even believe in mirrors anymore, and that’s the kind of pain you don’t just shake off.

That’s the kind of pain that ruins you.

Kai laughs. It bubbles up from somewhere deep and hollow, an ugly sound that tastes like salt and bile. He doubles over with it, pressing the heel of his palm to one eye like that’ll stop the tears, but they just keep falling. “God,” he breathes, dragging in a trembling inhale. “I was so stupid.”

Beomgyu blinks, panicked. “Kai–”

“No, really,” Kai cuts in, smiling in a way that shows too many teeth. “Do you remember that night I wore makeup? That stupid pink crop top I borrowed from Yeonjun hyung? I spent hours getting ready because I thought–” His voice cracks, and he has to swallow around it. “I thought maybe you’d finally want me. I thought maybe I’d finally be enough to make you want me.”

Beomgyu’s mouth opens. Closes. There’s nothing he can say to stop the flood now.

Kai doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

“I wrapped a fucking bow around myself this morning,” he says, voice tight with something between laughter and sobbing. “Literally gift-wrapped myself like an idiot, thinking maybe today, on your birthday, you’d finally want to take me to bed. Because I thought maybe you just needed more time. Because I trusted you.”

He looks up, eyes blazing through tears. “And the whole time you were just sitting there, probably laughing behind my back with Doyoon and Minjun about how easy I was. Right? About how desperate I was. About how the poor, lonely boy was practically begging for it.”

Beomgyu shakes his head furiously. “No. No, Kai, I would never–”

“Wouldn’t you?” Kai yells. “Because that was the whole fucking point of the bet, wasn’t it? To sleep with me? That was the prize, right? One million won for getting me in your bed.”

Beomgyu takes a step closer, voice shaking. “That’s why I didn’t do it. That’s why I couldn’t bring myself to sleep with you, no matter how much I wanted to.”

Kai’s eyes widen for a moment, then narrow as his lips curl into something bitter and broken. He laughs again, the sound sharp and cold. “Wow,” he breathes, dragging out the word like it’s poisonous. “Thank you. Really. That’s so generous of you.”

Beomgyu’s face twists like he’s been slapped.

Kai shakes his head, stunned by how much it hurts. “I was just dying for it, wasn’t I? Practically on my knees. You must’ve loved that. Must’ve felt so powerful, watching me unravel while you held all the cards.”

“No– Kai, that’s not–”

“Don’t,” Kai snaps, eyes blazing now. “Just– don’t try to tell me it was noble. Like you were doing me a favor by not fucking me when it was the whole goddamn point. You don’t get points for holding back when you were the one who set me up in the first place.”

He steps back, folding his arms around himself like he can hold his ribs together, like maybe if he squeezes hard enough, his heart won’t keep bleeding out through the cracks.

“You knew I wanted you,” he whispers. “You saw how much I wanted you. And you still let me beg. You let me beg.”

His voice is nothing but a broken whisper now. “You were always going to win, weren’t you? Because I was always going to fall.”

Kai collapses. His legs fold under him like they’ve simply given up, like his body finally understands what his heart has been screaming, that there’s nothing left to hold him up. The blankets beneath him feel too soft, too warm, too full of meaning for a night that’s now hollow. The clearing is quiet except for the aftermath of his sobs, and the air that once felt alive with anticipation now just clings heavy and unmoving.

He looks around, barely seeing through the blur in his vision. The fairy lights still glow faintly against the walls, dimmed now as if they too are ashamed. His eyes catch the streamers, the remnants of the painstakingly arranged dinner now going cold on the table. The smell of his dad’s soup – Kai had followed the recipe word for word – lingers in the air like it doesn’t realise everything’s already gone stale.

All that effort. The late-night planning, the handwritten notes, the handmade gift. The heart he handed over without hesitation. All of it. Every piece of himself he gave to Beomgyu, wrapped in affection and innocence and trust. For what?

He doesn’t even cry anymore, but his chest convulses like it hasn’t gotten the message yet, like it still thinks it’s allowed to hope. That’s when he realises he’s still sobbing, even if it’s soundless, even if it doesn’t feel like crying anymore. Just pain in motion.

Beomgyu is beside him in an instant, as if instinct pulls him there, like even now, even after everything, he thinks he has the right to touch him. He holds Kai like he’s something precious, like that means anything anymore. His arms wrap tight around Kai’s shaking frame, his lips pressing a trembling kiss to Kai’s temple, and Kai doesn’t even flinch or resist. He doesn’t have the energy to fight it, or maybe he just doesn’t see the point. He’s been scrubbed raw. Inside out. There’s nothing left to bleed.

And when Kai finally lifts his head, it’s with the kind of slowness that aches. Like moving through honey, like surfacing from deep water with lungs already burning. The air feels heavy in his chest, his limbs useless, every breath more effort than it’s worth. His gaze drags upward until it meets Beomgyu’s – red-rimmed, trembling, a storm behind those lashes – but Kai doesn’t flinch anymore. He just stares. Hollowed out, emptied.

Beomgyu is holding him like something fragile, like he’s trying to piece him back together just by being close, but there’s no magic in it anymore. No comfort in those arms, just weight.

Kai’s voice finally breaks the silence, soft and brittle, stripped of any anger or accusation. There’s no rage left. Only ruins.

He sounds so small, hoarse, every syllable scraped raw. “If it weren’t for that bet…” he begins, and even hearing himself say it makes his stomach twist. His lips part like he’s going to stop, like he can’t bear to finish it, but he does. He has to. “Would you have even looked at me?”

The question hangs in the air, heavier than anything he’s said tonight. He sees it hit, sees Beomgyu flinch like the words shoot him square in the chest, but he doesn’t stop nor soften, because there’s nothing left in him to soften with.

“Would you have noticed me at all, Beomgyu hyung?” he asks again, quieter now, barely more than a whisper. “Or was I always just the pathetic, lonely boy you could win a million won for fucking?”

Beomgyu doesn’t answer. Just stares at him with something broken behind his eyes. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out, and that silence hurts worse than anything else ever could. His hand is still curled tight around the little velvet box, knuckles white like it’s the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely, like it’s the only thing left to keep him tethered to Kai. Kai’s eyes catch on it; that box, his gift, the one he spent weeks perfecting, the one he gave with trembling hands and a trembling heart, and something in him snaps.

Without a word, Kai wrenches the box from Beomgyu’s grip, fingers tearing it free with a force he didn’t know he had. Beomgyu gasps, “Wait– Kai, please–” but before he can move, Kai hurls it. Throws it hard and fast, into the dark line of trees at the edge of the clearing, where it disappears into the brush with a muffled thud.

Beomgyu scrambles up instantly like instinct, like panic, stumbling toward where the box disappeared, but the moment Kai stands too – slow, unflinching, eyes dull but resolute – Beomgyu halts, like someone hit pause on his body. His chest heaves as he stares back at Kai, frozen halfway between running after the box and falling apart entirely.

Kai doesn’t speak. He just turns, each step away from the scene weighted and deliberate, like he’s peeling himself out of something sacred and ruined, but then Beomgyu lurches after him, desperate and frantic, grabbing at his arm to stop him.

“Please, please don’t go,” Beomgyu begs, falling to his knees like prayer, like punishment. His voice cracks wide open, pleading as he clutches at Kai’s wrist. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. But I love you. I swear to god, I love you. You changed me. You made me better. You made me love you and I never meant to hurt you, I didn’t– Kai, please, just listen–”

Kai doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move to wipe his tears. Doesn’t soften, not this time. He looks down at Beomgyu, expression carved from quiet devastation, and he says it coldly, clearly, like each syllable is a blade:

“Don’t you ever fucking talk to me again.”

And then he walks away. Doesn’t look back. Not even once.

 

🐧

 

The streets blur around Kai as he walks, a quiet chaos of colour and movement that doesn’t touch him. His legs carry him forward like muscle memory, familiar paths winding him home, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Nothing does. His breath catches on every inhale, sharp and broken, like crying has made his lungs forget how to function properly. He tries to wipe at his cheeks, but it’s useless. More tears come, relentless, hot and heavy like punishment. The city continues around him: people chatting, horns honking, the world alive and indifferent. He doesn’t care when people glance his way, some concerned, others curious, a few whispering as they pass. He can feel their pity, their discomfort, but none of it matters. He’s too consumed, too wrecked, because the only voice he hears is Beomgyu’s, echoing in his ears on loop. Please, I love you. Please believe me.  

Each step pounds against the pavement in time with his thoughts, frantic and brutal. How could he have been so fucking stupid? He thinks about that night Beomgyu had dragged him out to the riverside even though it was freezing, just so they could lie on a bench and share a bag of crisps and talk about stars. Beomgyu had leaned his head on Kai’s shoulder and whispered, “It’s crazy how you look exactly like the man of my dreams.” Kai had laughed, shoved him playfully, felt his entire chest bloom with something that almost hurt. Or the afternoon Beomgyu had surprised him at his childhood home, holding a brand new air conditioner for his dad’s room as it had broken just a day ago. God, Kai had stood there like an idiot, blinking back tears, wondering how someone like that had ever found their way into his life. Now those memories feel sharp and sour in his mouth, twisted beyond recognition. Were those moments real? Or just part of the game?

He thinks about the first time Beomgyu ever kissed him in the rain, both of them soaked after missing the last bus, standing beneath a flickering streetlamp. Kai had shivered from cold and nerves, and Beomgyu had cupped his face and kissed him so gently like he was something precious, something rare. He’d said, “You’re the softest thing in my world,” and Kai had believed it. God, he’d clung to it. He remembers lying curled in Beomgyu’s bed one night, their limbs tangled, while Beomgyu softly braided strands of his hair and mumbled, half-asleep, “I think you might be my favourite person.” And Kai had just smiled into the pillow, heart full to bursting, thinking: Maybe this is what real love feels like. But now, all of it is tainted. Every whispered word. Every lingering touch. Every sleepy confession. He doesn’t know what was genuine and what was performance.That’s the cruelest part; how effortlessly Beomgyu blurred the line.

He’d been skeptical. He knew better. From the very beginning, he’d questioned it – why now? why me? – but Beomgyu made it so easy to forget. Beomgyu made him feel wanted. Not just in the way people look at you when they think you’re pretty, but in the way someone sees you and chooses you anyway. He remembers their first late-night walk around campus, when Beomgyu stopped mid-step just to say, “You make me nervous, Kai. That’s how I know it’s real.” And Kai had swallowed that line whole, tucked it into his heart like a talisman. What a fucking joke. What a cruel, brilliant performance. Kai had given him everything; his trust, his story, his home . He’d invited him into his quiet, lived-in life, let Beomgyu meet his dad, let him see the way Kai’s world was built on quiet love and second chances. And now? He just wants to claw those memories out of himself. Scrub them clean. Pretend none of it ever happened.

He wants to scream. He wants to rip the world apart with his bare hands. Because it’s always him, isn’t it? The easy target. The quiet one who takes too long to speak. The one with big eyes and soft smiles, the one people feel sorry for. The one they poke and prod and take from until there’s nothing left. He wonders if Minjun and Doyoon ever laughed about how easily Kai had folded. How desperate he must’ve looked, half-sitting on Beomgyu’s lap in their living room, blushing because Beomgyu called him pretty. How pathetic he must’ve seemed, turning up with cake and candles and that stupid fucking bow tied around his head. He wonders how many times Beomgyu replayed it all for them. Reenacted it, mocked it, and still, still, his chest aches like it’s missing something vital. He misses him. He misses Beomgyu like a phantom limb, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

His feet drag him closer to the apartment, closer to safety, but there’s no comfort waiting behind that door. Only silence and Yeonjun’s worried eyes and the weight of everything he’ll have to explain. Or not. Maybe he’ll just say nothing. Maybe he’ll crawl into bed and stay there until he forgets what Beomgyu’s voice sounds like, but Kai knows better than that. He’ll remember. He’ll remember everything, and no matter how much he tries to hate him, no matter how much venom he spits in the quiet of his mind, his heart still whispers the same thing over and over again. I love him. I love him. I love him.  

His fingers tremble as he unlocks the front door, the quiet click echoing in the silence of the hall. He doesn’t even bother wiping his face. Doesn’t try to pull himself together before stepping inside. The moment the door closes behind him, he slides down against it, breath shallow, body heavy with exhaustion. Everything hurts. His chest, his throat, his head. His heart . He’s cried so much he doesn’t know where it begins or ends anymore. He wants it to stop. He wants to stop feeling, but the pain clings to him, thick as smoke, curling through every part of him until there’s nothing left untouched. He goes through the motions of taking off his shoes mindlessly, still crying despite how drained he feels.

Kai feels like his body is running on fumes. His chest aches, throat raw from crying, and every blink threatens another wave of tears. The air is heavy, like the sky itself might fall on him next. He just wants to get to his room, hide under his sheets and pretend he doesn't exist, but when he walks further into the apartment, the last thing he expects is to be greeted by the sound of muffled laughter and a soft, breathless “shh the neighbours will hear” from the living room.

He stops short.

On the sofa, tangled together in the dim glow of the TV, are Yeonjun and Soobin. Their lips are swollen, cheeks flushed, clothes slightly askew. They spring apart like teenagers caught fooling around by their parents, Soobin letting out a startled giggle, Yeonjun pressing a hand over his mouth to muffle a laugh. It might’ve been funny, should’ve been funny, any other day, but tonight, Kai just stands there, dripping heartbreak and misery onto the carpet, and watches the laughter die in their throats.

Soobin’s the first to notice. His smile falters, eyes scanning Kai slowly, as if only now registering the blotchy redness of his face, the way his shoulders tremble with each breath. And then Yeonjun turns. His amusement vanishes in an instant. “Kai?” he gasps, already on his feet, rushing to close the distance. “Baby, what happened?” His hands cup Kai’s cheeks gently, thumbs brushing away tears and snot with a tenderness that cracks something deeper open in Kai’s chest. “Are you hurt? Tell me, what happened?”

But Kai doesn’t look at him. His eyes are locked on Soobin.

“Did you know?” he asks, quiet and measured. Too calm, almost, but in reality he’s just drained beyond belief.

Soobin opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again, like he’s buffering. “Kai…” he says at last, tentative, cautious.

Yeonjun glances between them, confused. “What’s going on? What do you mean, did he know?”

Kai turns his head slightly, eyes still fixed on Soobin. “Soobin hyung,” he repeats, voice flatter this time, “did you know?”

Soobin stands now, hands raised slightly like he’s approaching something fragile. “Kai, listen, I promise you I tried to–”

“For fuck’s sake, just fucking tell me, Soobin hyung! Did you know this whole time?!”

The flat falls silent. Kai’s shout hits the walls like a physical blow. It echoes in the air, more jarring because it comes from him. Kai never yells. He never swears. Yeonjun is frozen beside him, wide-eyed, while Soobin stares like he’s just been slapped.

Kai’s chin trembles. His voice cracks when he pleads, “Please, Soobin hyung. Did you know?”

Soobin swallows, guilt written all over his face. “Yes.”

That’s all he says. One word. One word, and it feels like another knife in Kai’s back.

He nods. It’s small, barely a tilt. Then he reaches up and gently removes Yeonjun’s hands from his face. He doesn’t look at either of them as he turns and walks down the hallway. Yeonjun calls after him – his name, a breathless plea – but Kai doesn't stop. He doesn’t break stride.

Great. Brilliant. It wasn’t just Beomgyu. It was Soobin too. Soobin, who he trusted, who sat next to him every day in the library and gushed with him about anime, who smiled knowingly every time Beomgyu made Kai blush. All this time. All this time, and Soobin knew.

He slams the door shut behind him and locks it with shaking hands, his breath catching as everything swells and collapses inside him at once. What about Yeonjun? his mind whispers cruelly. Was he a bet too? Did Soobin have to sleep with him for a laugh, for some prize, for some stupid dare?

He hears Yeonjun’s voice outside the door, low and urgent. “Explain, Bin. Explain now.” Kai doesn't stay to listen. He slides down the door, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around himself like a makeshift shield, and he cries.

He cries until there’s nothing left but the sound of his own shallow breathing and the throb of his heartbeat in his ears. Until he’s too tired to keep his eyes open, too broken to fight the exhaustion that drags him under. The tears don’t stop. They just dull, slow to a quiet ache, seeping into the floor as he curls smaller and smaller.

Tonight, he finally gets the confirmation he’s always known.

Love was never for him.

Notes:

:D

so... that happened hehe :p

we finally got to this point after all this tension and all the anticipation omg!! so please let me know your thoughts in the comment section!!! i would loove to hear what you guys think of this chapter. and did you guys see it coming? hehe, from the comments in the previous chapter it doesn't seem like any of you caught on to the horrors that are lurking just beyond the horizon loooool

sorry for any potential emotional distress caused :^]

yell at me on my strawpage! | yell at me on twitter! | yell at me on alterspring!

Chapter 26: special chapter 🐰🦊

Summary:

Kai doesn’t resist when Yeonjun wraps his arms around him. He just melts into the hold, a shudder running through him, his face pressing into Yeonjun’s chest. Yeonjun says nothing, because Kai doesn’t need speeches or reassurances right now. He just needs someone to stay. Someone solid. Someone who won’t leave. So Yeonjun holds him. Just holds him. His chin rests lightly against Kai’s hair, his arms a firm circle of warmth, steady against the tremors that run through Kai’s body. He hopes the pressure of his embrace can stitch together at least a few of the pieces that have shattered inside Kai tonight. 

Notes:

hehe happy reading!!

🐰

 

Soobin and Yeonjun are still buzzing with the remnants of the spring festival joy, hands interlocked with each other as a means to keep the early spring chill away. The apartment is warm when they step inside, the amber light from the ceiling lamps pooling over the wooden floor and the lingering scent of fresh malatang drifting from the kitchen counter. It’s comforting after the adrenaline-soaked chaos of the festival, like walking into a soft blanket. Soobin sets the paper bag on the counter, the weight of the giant takeaway bowl making the wood creak faintly. He shrugs off his jacket, still buzzing faintly from the stage lights and the heavy thrum of bass that’s been vibrating through his bones all night. His fingers are sore in that pleasant way, calluses warmed from the strings.

Yeonjun doesn’t stop talking from the moment they shut the door. He’s practically glowing, his hair a little mussed from the crowd, cheeks still flushed from shouting. 

“You were insane out there,” he says, voice spilling over with the kind of excitement that’s impossible to fake. “Like, seriously, I thought I was going to combust. The way you were on that stage– God, Bin-ah, I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Soobin’s ears heat up almost immediately, the words hitting him harder than the cheers had. “Sit down over at the sofa,” he mutters, ducking his head as he pulls out bowls and chopsticks, trying to focus on the task and not the way his pulse jumps.

But Yeonjun is unstoppable, stepping closer to lean on the counter, eyes bright. “No, but really– you were so sexy. Especially when you did that slide into the bridge, you know? And your fingers… don’t even get me started on your fingers–”

Soobin almost drops the ladle. “Yeonjun hyung.” His voice comes out a little strained, the tips of his ears surely crimson by now.

“What?” Yeonjun grins, wide and teasing, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having. “I’m just saying, I was standing next to Kai and he was screaming about Beomgyu, but me? I couldn’t even look at anyone else. Just you. I tried to focus on my baby Tyunnie too, but fuck, the way you move when you’re playing, like you own the stage…” He lets out a low whistle. “If I weren’t already yours, I’d have been ready to throw myself at you right there.”

Soobin swallows hard, busying himself with untying the knot in the plastic bag. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m honest,” Yeonjun says, eyes glinting with mischief. “And you’re blushing. God, you’re so cute when you blush.”

The flush creeps further down Soobin’s neck. He tries to ignore it, focusing on pouring the steaming broth into the big serving bowl. The rich, spicy aroma fills the room, mingling with Yeonjun’s laughter.

Yeonjun leans back against the sofa now, still watching him with a fond smirk. “I could write a whole list of things I thought about you up there,” he says casually, though his voice dips low enough to make Soobin’s skin prickle. “Some of them… not exactly family-friendly.”

Soobin nearly chokes on air, swatting at him with the ladle. “Stop it.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Shut up .” He tries for stern, but his voice is too soft, too warm around the edges.

Yeonjun just grins like he’s won something. “Eyy, look at that smile. You love when I compliment you.”

Soobin presses his lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response, and instead carries the massive bowl over to the coffee table. The broth sloshes dangerously close to the rim, the tangle of noodles and meat swaying inside. He sets it down carefully, then places two smaller bowls beside it, followed by the chopsticks.

Finally, he hands Yeonjun a pair, not quite able to meet his eyes. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Yeonjun takes them with an easy smile, still looking at him like the stage lights never turned off. “Whatever you say, rockstar.”

Soobin can feel the warmth in his chest even as he ducks his head and digs into the malatang. The chopsticks hover in front of Soobin’s mouth, his lips parted wide as he leans forward, ready for the first bite. Steam curls up from the slick broth, fragrant and warm against his face. But just as the food is about to cross the threshold, Yeonjun suddenly bursts out–

“Wait!”

Soobin freezes mid-bite, eyes wide, chopsticks trembling dangerously close to spilling their precious cargo. “What? What, what, what?” His head swivels in mild panic, scanning the apartment like something might’ve gone horribly wrong.

Yeonjun, equally wide-eyed but not with fear, more with dawning horror, points a finger at the bowl. “You don’t even like spicy! You can’t even handle the littlest bit of spice and I ordered level four!”

Soobin blinks at him, the initial jolt of alarm quickly melting into stubborn pride. “No, I’m totally fine,” he insists, dragging the word out in the most unconvincing tone possible.

Yeonjun tilts his head, unconvinced, but shrugs. “If you’re sure…” he says slowly, turning back to his own portion. The quiet implication is that Soobin will regret this decision in approximately five seconds.

Well, Yeonjun’s not wrong.

The moment the first mouthful hits his tongue, Soobin’s entire body seems to revolt. Heat punches the back of his throat like a physical blow, and his eyes immediately start to sting. He coughs once, just a polite little cough at first, then it snowballs into a fit so violent he nearly drops the chopsticks. His free hand flails for the table, searching for something to save him.

“Soobin-ah!” Yeonjun is already up, darting to the fridge with a speed that suggests this is not the first time he’s had to rescue his boyfriend from self-inflicted culinary disaster. A moment later, a cold carton of milk is pressed into Soobin’s hand.

He takes it like a lifeline, downing mouthfuls between ragged breaths, the burning finally ebbing into something manageable. Yeonjun plops down beside him on the sofa, bottom lip jutting forward in a full-blown pout, his brows furrowed in soft disapproval.

Soobin, still gulping down the last of the milk, notices. He sets the carton down and reaches up to gently pinch Yeonjun’s pout between his fingers, the corners of his mouth twitching despite the lingering burn on his tongue. “What’s with the pout?”

“I’m a terrible host,” Yeonjun says, voice laced with exaggerated misery. “And an even worse boyfriend. I ordered spicy food knowing you can’t handle it.”

Soobin thinks he should probably reassure him, but his brain is far too busy cataloguing every detail of how devastatingly cute Yeonjun looks right now. The way his fringe falls slightly into his eyes, the faint crease between his brows, the soft curve of his mouth pushed into that overdramatic pout. It’s absurd, really, how someone can look like they’ve walked out of a photoshoot while fussing over something so small. There’s a kind of warmth blooming in Soobin’s chest that has nothing to do with the spice still lingering on his tongue, a giddy, ridiculous urge to lean in and kiss the apology right off Yeonjun’s lips. He settles instead for keeping his hand where it is, thumb brushing lightly over Yeonjun’s cheek. Soobin swears his chest is going to split open from how cute this man is.

“Hyung, it’s fine,” he says warmly. “I wanted to increase my spice tolerance anyway. You’re helping me train.”

But Yeonjun just keeps pouting, eyes soft with that impossible mix of guilt and affection. “Still…” he whines, the sound tugging at Soobin’s heartstrings. “I can’t believe I forgot. I should’ve gotten something we both liked.”

“I like malatang!” Soobin leans forward and presses a kiss right to the centre of that pout, smiling against his lips. “No more pouting. Just eat.”

Yeonjun sighs like he’s making some monumental sacrifice, but finally picks up his chopsticks again. “Fine,” he mutters, still looking faintly mournful as he swirls the noodles through the rich, red broth. “I’m sorry.”

Soobin just shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You don’t have to apologise,” he says firmly, leaning in to kiss him again, quick and light, but enough to make Yeonjun blink at him before he turns back to his food.

“Okay,” Yeonjun concedes at last, though it’s the least convincing okay Soobin’s ever heard.

The second he starts eating, though, it’s like a switch flips. Yeonjun hums on the first bite, a low sound of satisfaction that makes Soobin’s ears heat. On the second, he lets out a little groan, tilting his head back like the taste is nothing short of divine. By the third, he’s doing that little seated wiggle – hips swaying a fraction in his seat, shoulders bouncing – like his whole body is trying to celebrate how good the food is. 

Soobin can’t help smiling fondly. He’s seen it before, any time Yeonjun finds food he loves, it’s like he can’t physically contain it, every chew turning into a tiny performance. It’s ridiculous and adorable and makes Soobin feel warm in ways the spice never could.

For himself, he proceeds with extreme caution, picking up small bites and blowing on them before daring to put them anywhere near his mouth. Even then, the heat hits instantly; tongue prickling, throat burning, a slow lava pooling in his stomach. He sips the milk after every mouthful, ignoring the way Yeonjun keeps sneaking glances at him like he’s one bad swallow away from sprinting to the sink.

Yes, his mouth is on fire. Yes, his stomach feels like it’s plotting revenge for later, but watching Yeonjun – watching him do that little dance, cheeks puffed from stuffing them too full, making those pleased hums every time the broth touches his tongue – is worth it. Worth every tear threatening to sting Soobin’s eyes, every faint bead of sweat prickling his hairline.

Yeonjun catches him staring at one point, noodle halfway to his mouth. “What?” he says, suspicious and fond all at once.

Soobin shakes his head, smiling into his milk. “Nothing.”

Yeonjun doesn’t buy it for a second. He sets his chopsticks down with a little clatter, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t ‘nothing’ me,” he tuts, leaning over the table in one swift move and cupping Soobin’s cheeks in both hands. His fingers squeeze just enough to puff Soobin’s lips out, forcing a ridiculous fish-face. “Spill. What are you thinking?”

Soobin just blinks at him, caught between laughing and melting under the touch. He exhales slowly, the fondness in his chest threatening to spill over. “That I love you,” he says simply, the words warm and steady despite his distorted mouth.

Yeonjun freezes for half a beat, and then that inevitable flush creeps up his cheeks. “Ugh, you’re so annoying,” he grumbles, pulling his hands back and immediately shoving another mouthful of noodles in as if to hide behind them.

Soobin’s grin turns positively smug. “Who’s blushing now?” he teases, reaching across to poke at Yeonjun’s side.

Yeonjun swats at him with his chopsticks. “Shut up and eat your soup before it kills you.”

“It’s worth dying for if I get to watch you do your little happy dance,” Soobin shoots back, laughing when Yeonjun’s ears go pink.

“Stop making it sound weird!”

“It’s cute!”

They go back and forth like that, Yeonjun defending his right to enjoy good food without commentary and Soobin insisting he’s allowed to enjoy the view.

“Stop staring at me like I’m a show,” Yeonjun says around a mouthful of noodles, pointing his chopsticks accusingly.

“You are a show,” Soobin replies, slouching back in his seat like he’s settling in for the second act. “Front row tickets, best seat in the house.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes but can’t quite hide the upward twitch of his lips. “Says the man who practically made love to his bass on stage.”

“Says the man who hums like he’s recording a moan audio,” Soobin counters, nodding at Yeonjun’s bowl. “Go on, tell me how the broth made you come.”

Yeonjun smirks. “Mm, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

Soobin freezes mid-sip, eyes going wide before he chokes on his own spit, coughing violently into his sleeve. His ears burn crimson and the tips of his cheeks follow suit, betraying him completely. Between bites, Soobin keeps sipping at the milk, wincing through the lingering spice, while Yeonjun hums contentedly over every mouthful like he’s in his own personal mukbang.

At one point, Yeonjun catches him mid-wince and bursts into laughter. “You look like a bunny that just licked a lemon.”

“Shut up,” Soobin mutters, though the corners of his mouth betray him. “I’m suffering for love.”

“Don’t blame your bad spice tolerance on me,” Yeonjun says, grinning as he reaches to steal a piece of meat from Soobin’s bowl.

By the time the bowls are empty, Soobin’s lips are tingling, his stomach feels like it’s eating itself alive, and Yeonjun is leaning back on the sofa with that satisfied glow that makes the whole ordeal more than worth it.

The table is still cluttered with the aftermath of their dinner; empty bowls streaked with broth, chopsticks resting at odd angles, and the half-drained glass of milk that had been Soobin’s lifeline. Yeonjun stretches lazily in his chair before pushing himself up, already gathering the dishes in his hands.

“I’ll help,” Soobin says quickly, moving to grab the rest before Yeonjun could protest. It wasn’t just about being polite, he wanted this moment. The domesticity of it. The closeness.

They pad into the kitchen together, their footsteps muffled against the wood floor. Yeonjun sets the dishes down by the sink and rolls his sleeves up, exposing lean forearms. “Alright, you wash, I’ll rinse,” he declares with the casual authority of someone who had decided his word was final.

The dishes are stacked by the sink, steam curling off the still-warm bowls, and Soobin rolls up his sleeves with a little huff of determination. Yeonjun is already gathering the chopsticks and spoons, humming under his breath in that way he always does when he’s content. They fall into step easily, like they’ve done this a hundred times before, Yeonjun rinsing while Soobin scrubs, the clink of ceramic and the rush of water filling the cozy kitchen. Every now and then, Yeonjun brushes against him, accidental, probably, but each touch sends a warm shiver running up Soobin’s spine.

It doesn’t take long for playfulness to slip in. Soobin flicks a few drops of water at Yeonjun’s arm when he’s not looking, earning a sharp gasp and a betrayed glare. 

“Did you just–?” Yeonjun begins, but before he can finish, Soobin’s smirking, reaching for another splash. Yeonjun retaliates with a spray from the tap, and soon they’re laughing, dodging around each other like children, water pattering across the countertop. Soobin’s heart blooms with every sound Yeonjun makes, every flash of his grin.

This feels like a dream Soobin has carried for longer than he can remember. He’s wished for this, prayed for this, imagined it on the loneliest nights: the two of them, side by side, doing something as mundane and ordinary as the washing dishes, but it’s not ordinary at all. Not when it’s with Yeonjun. Not when Yeonjun is his.

When they finally calm down, Soobin can’t help himself. He leans in, kissing Yeonjun’s temple, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Each press of his lips draws another delighted sound from the older man, little squeals that make Soobin’s dimples ache from smiling so hard. “You’re obsessed with me,” Yeonjun laughs, but his eyes are soft, his hands stilling in the suds.

Before Yeonjun can step away, Soobin pins him gently against the kitchen island. The water drips from their hands onto the floor, but Soobin doesn’t care. He cups Yeonjun’s jaw and kisses him slow, deep, pouring every unspoken thought into the way their mouths move together. Yeonjun melts beneath him, fingers curling into the fabric of Soobin’s shirt, and when they part, they’re both a little breathless.

“I love you,” Soobin says, voice low but steady.

Yeonjun smiles, all warmth and quiet certainty. “I love you more.”

Soobin shakes his head, “Impossible.”

The words settle in Soobin’s chest like the last piece of a puzzle, and he takes Yeonjun’s damp hand, leading him out of the kitchen. They collapse onto the sofa, the cushions sinking beneath their combined weight, and Yeonjun grabs the remote. They flick through Netflix until something vaguely familiar starts playing in the background, but neither of them is paying attention. Soobin’s arm winds around Yeonjun’s shoulders, Yeonjun’s head rests against his chest, and the soft light from the television paints their living room in a gentle glow.

Soobin shifts slightly beneath the weight of Yeonjun’s arm draped over his middle, the flicker of the TV screen washing the room in soft, shifting colours. His eyes trace the line of Yeonjun’s jaw, the way the older man’s lashes fan out like soft brushstrokes against his cheeks. “Hey, hyung?” he murmurs, voice low.

“Mhm?” Yeonjun hums without looking away from the screen, though Soobin can tell his attention is already slipping from the plot.

Soobin tilts his head, keeping his expression infuriatingly plain. “You wanna make out?”

The ridiculous bluntness of it makes Yeonjun bark out a laugh, his whole body shaking. “God, you’re so stupid,” he says, but there’s no real bite in it, just fondness wrapped around every syllable, and then, still grinning, he shifts, swinging one leg over to straddle Soobin’s lap. “But… yeah. Sure.”

He lets his full weight settle down, smirking at the way Soobin immediately drops a hand to his hip, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his hoodie. Yeonjun leans in slowly, deliberately drawing out the moment until their noses are almost brushing, his breath warm against Soobin’s lips. The first kiss is deep from the start, Yeonjun tilting his head to slot them together perfectly, mouth moving with a slow, deliberate drag that sends a shiver straight through Soobin’s chest.

It’s only when Yeonjun scrunches his nose and pulls back with a faint grimace that Soobin blinks, dazed. “We taste like garlic and cilantro,” Yeonjun says, the words wrinkled with amusement and mild horror.

Soobin laughs, the sound rich and warm. “Don’t care,” he says simply, and pulls him back in.

Their mouths meet again with a quiet, wet sound, the kind that’s embarrassingly intimate in the stillness of the room. Yeonjun’s lips are warm and soft, yielding easily to Soobin’s, but there’s heat behind it too. His fingers sliding into Soobin’s hair, nails grazing lightly over his scalp in a way that makes him exhale sharply through his nose. Soobin’s hands travel, one resting at the small of Yeonjun’s back, the other cupping his jaw, thumb stroking absent patterns across his cheekbone.

The kiss ebbs and flows; sometimes lazy, just the faint press of lips, noses brushing; sometimes deeper, tongues meeting in a languid sweep that tastes faintly of dinner and something sweeter that’s just Yeonjun. The faint, wet sound of each kiss fills the space between them, broken only by the occasional soft hum from Yeonjun when Soobin pulls him closer, pressing them chest-to-chest until the world beyond the couch might as well not exist.

Yeonjun’s weight is grounding, heavy in the best way, as if he’s making sure Soobin knows he’s not going anywhere. The sofa cushions dip beneath them, and the flicker of the TV paints their skin in shifting shadows – brief washes of blue, orange, white – until Soobin closes his eyes again, sinking into the rhythm of their mouths moving together.

When Yeonjun nips lightly at his bottom lip, Soobin lets out a quiet, startled laugh against his mouth, only for Yeonjun to chase it with another slow kiss, one that leaves them both breathing harder than they probably should be from sitting perfectly still. Every now and then, Yeonjun pulls back just far enough to look at him, eyes crinkled, lips kiss-swollen and faintly shining, before leaning back in, as if the thought of stopping is ridiculous.

Soobin’s dimples show every time he smiles between kisses, and Yeonjun catches one beneath his thumb before kissing him again, deeper this time, the faint taste of cilantro be damned. The movie drones on somewhere in the background, a distant, irrelevant hum, because the only thing that matters is the warmth of Yeonjun in his lap, the slow press and slide of lips, the quiet, unspoken joy of being exactly here, exactly like this.

Soobin then starts to get handsy, fingers wandering boldly over Yeonjun’s thighs before cupping him through his trousers. Yeonjun moans loud and unrestrained, head tipping back against the sofa. The sound is almost obscene in the quiet of the room, and Soobin breaks into a cheeky giggle. “Shh, the neighbours will hear,” he teases, breath warm and smug against Yeonjun’s jaw. Yeonjun laughs too, the sound half–breathless, before dragging him in for another kiss.

Their clothes are a mess now; shirt hems bunched up, belts askew, hair mussed beyond repair. Their lips are slick and flushed, kiss-swollen and glistening in the low light. Then, without warning, Yeonjun freezes. He pulls back like someone’s just poured ice water down his spine, chest still heaving. His eyes flick past Soobin, landing on the doorway.

Kai is standing there.

They spring apart like guilty teenagers caught by their parents, both flushed and panting, trying to make themselves look less like they’d been moments away from doing something truly filthy. Soobin sits up, still catching his breath, lips shining with spit as he turns to face the newcomer.

And then he sees it.

The state Kai is in; eyes bloodshot, cheeks blotchy, hair sticking damply to his temples, tears drying unevenly on his face. He’s shaking faintly, like the only thing holding him upright is the sheer will to get through the next few seconds.

Soobin’s stomach drops clean out of him. He knows. He doesn’t even need to ask, there’s only one reason Kai would look like this. Beomgyu must have told him.

Yeonjun finally notices too, twisting around to follow Soobin’s line of sight.

From the moment Yeonjun says Kai’s name, Soobin’s stomach drops. He watches the way Yeonjun moves; sharp, immediate urgency, crossing the space like nothing else matters. His hands cradle Kai’s face, gentle thumbs swiping away wet streaks without hesitation. It’s such a warm, instinctive gesture that for a split second, Soobin wishes he could freeze the moment, because once it passes, something irreversible will follow. He can feel it.

And then Kai looks at him. Not at Yeonjun, not at the floor, not at the hands holding his face. He looks straight at Soobin. The stare is heavy, sharp in its stillness, like Kai is trying to pin him to the spot without moving a muscle.

“Did you know?”

The words are low, calm in that terrifying way where all the heat has burned away, leaving something brittle and dangerous.

Soobin has always thought of betrayal as an act: something deliberate, a choice made in the moment to harm. He never imagined that silence could be just as sharp, that standing by with his hands shoved deep in his pockets while everything unfolded could cut just as deep. He told himself he wasn’t part of it, that it wasn’t his mess to fix, that he was keeping the peace, but looking at Kai now, eyes glassy and full of a hurt that has his chest twisting, Soobin realises his own complicity is no different from Beomgyu’s lies. He let the truth fester in the dark because he didn’t want to deal with the fallout, and in doing so, he became part of the thing that broke Kai.

Soobin’s throat works uselessly. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, as if the right words are buffering somewhere in the back of his mind but keep failing to load. He tries again, barely managing, “Kai…” It comes out soft, cautious, and he hates how small it sounds.

Yeonjun’s head flicks between them. “What’s going on? What do you mean, did he know?”

The air feels suddenly thin, like he’s breathing through cloth, and every second he hesitates just tightens the noose. Saying it means stripping himself bare in front of both of them, letting Yeonjun see the rot beneath the surface. He’s afraid of that flicker of disbelief that might cross Yeonjun’s face, of the disgust that could follow, of the shift in the way he says his name. Afraid that once the words are out, Yeonjun will start piecing together every moment Soobin stayed silent, every choice he didn’t make, and realise that silence is just another word for permission, and Soobin doesn’t know if their love can survive the knowledge that he let it happen.

Kai doesn’t break eye contact. Doesn’t blink. Just repeats, flatter this time, “Soobin hyung. Did you know?”

His pulse spikes. He feels like he’s standing on a fault line seconds before it cracks open. Slowly, Soobin rises to his feet, hands raised slightly in a half-placating gesture, like he’s approaching something fragile and dangerous all at once. “Kai, listen, I promise you I tried to–”

The explosion cuts him in half.

“For fuck’s sake, just fucking tell me, Soobin hyung! Did you know this whole time?!”

It’s not just loud, it’s shattering. The sound ricochets off the walls, makes Yeonjun flinch, makes Soobin’s chest tighten like the air’s been sucked out of the room. Kai doesn’t yell. Kai doesn’t swear. Not like this. The force of it leaves Soobin momentarily winded, shame curling hot in his gut.

Kai’s chin trembles now, his voice fracturing under the weight of something too heavy. “Please, Soobin hyung. Did you know?”

And here it is, the part he’s been dreading. The part where there’s nowhere to sidestep, no way to soften the edges without lying. The guilt is thick, choking, pressing into every line of his face until he feels transparent. He swallows hard, wishing, stupidly, that he could hold onto the silence just a moment longer.

“Yes.”

And the word feels like a blade leaving his own mouth, cutting deep before it even reaches Kai.

Kai’s nod is so slight Soobin almost misses it, and for a second he lets himself believe it means something; acceptance, maybe, or at least a fragile truce, but then Kai’s hands are on Yeonjun’s, prying them gently away from his face, and the absence feels heavier than the touch ever did. He turns without a word, without even glancing at them, and each step down the hallway lands in Soobin’s chest like a dull, inevitable drumbeat. 

Yeonjun calls after him, voice sharp with panic, but Kai keeps going, and the sound of the front door shutting is louder than it should be. Then Yeonjun’s eyes are on him, hard and demanding, and his voice drops to something that leaves no room to hide. “Explain, Bin. Explain now.” 

Soobin’s stomach twists because there’s no universe where this ends cleanly.

 

🦊

 

Soobin doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even look like he’s capable of it. He’s frozen on the couch, shoulders bunched, eyes fixed on Yeonjun as though Yeonjun’s the only thing tethering him to the room. His lips are parted slightly, breath shallow, and Yeonjun’s already preparing to bite back a frustrated retort when he sees it: tears, gathering too fast to be blinked away, but that’s not what stops him cold. It’s the fear. Not just shame or guilt, but pure, unfiltered fear in Soobin’s gaze, as if he’s staring down something too big to outrun. It punches the air out of Yeonjun’s lungs because whatever this is, whatever he’s about to hear, it’s not just bad. Ot’s enough to have Soobin – steady, unflappable Soobin – looking like this. Which means something’s happened to Kai. Something really bad.

His heartbeat spikes, his own fear bleeding in before he even understands it, and the next thing he knows, he’s crowding into Soobin’s space. He doesn’t give himself the chance to think; his hands hit Soobin’s shoulders, pushing him back into the couch cushions, holding him there because he needs answers now. 

“What happened?” His voice comes out sharper than he intends, cracking at the edges. Soobin shakes his head – once, quick, almost desperate – and Yeonjun feels his temper surge with the panic tightening in his chest. “Don’t do that. Don’t you dare just sit there. Tell me what happened to him.”

“I–” Soobin swallows hard, eyes darting past Yeonjun like he’s searching for an escape route. “It’s not–”

“Don’t say it’s not your business,” Yeonjun cuts in, his voice rising, the words hot and fast. “Kai is my business. He’s my best friend. If something’s wrong, I need to know–”

“It’s not my story to tell,” Soobin blurts, louder now, but still without the weight to push Yeonjun back. “I can’t–”

“You can,” Yeonjun snaps, leaning in until Soobin can’t look anywhere else. His grip tightens on Soobin’s shoulders. “You can and you will, because you’re sitting here looking like you’ve just watched someone die, and Kai just walked out of here like–” He breaks off, too rattled to finish. Like he’s already gone. Like he’s already decided there’s nothing here worth staying for.

Soobin’s breathing starts to hitch, the tears in his eyes spilling over now, but still he shakes his head, frantic. “If I tell you, you’ll–” His voice cracks. “You’ll walk away. You’ll leave. I can’t–”

Yeonjun blinks at him, disbelief scraping against the rising dread in his chest. He cradles Soobin’s face as gently as he can, brushing away the hair that had fallen into the younger’s eyes. “Hey, hey. Calm down. What are you talking about?”

“You have to promise me you won’t,” Soobin says, his hands finally lifting to clutch at Yeonjun’s wrists, not to pry them away but to anchor himself. “Promise me you won’t walk away after I tell you. Promise me you’ll still talk to me. Please. Just– please. I had no part in this, I swear.”

And there it is, the sentence that makes Yeonjun’s entire body go cold. Because if Soobin thinks he needs to hear that promise before speaking, then whatever he’s holding onto is so bad, so irreversible, that even Soobin believes it could rip Yeonjun away from them both. That’s not just a red flag; that’s sirens screaming in his head, warning him that this is the kind of truth that doesn’t let you go back.

For a moment, he just stares at Soobin, frozen, because the thought of something so serious and so damaging being tied to Kai is unthinkable, but the thing about warning bells is that they’re only supposed to prepare you. They don’t tell you to run, and if there’s even the slightest chance Kai needs him right now, Yeonjun knows he’s not going anywhere.

“Fine,” he says, the word sharper than he means it to be, but his hands loosen on Soobin’s face. “I promise.” His voice softens on the second pass, but it’s still unshakable. “Now tell me, Bin-ah.”

Soobin closes his eyes like bracing himself for an impact, and Yeonjun’s gut twists tighter, because he’s suddenly not sure he’s ready for the answer even though he’s demanded it.

Soobin drags in a breath that sounds like it’s tearing something inside him, and when he speaks, his voice is thin, almost papery. “It was a bet,” he says, and Yeonjun blinks, as though the words are too absurd to process. 

“Six months. One million won. Minjun and Doyoon had made a bet with Beomgyu to–” his throat closes, the words lodging there like splinters, “–to sleep with him.” The disgust in his own voice makes his stomach churn. “I told him to stop. I tried, Junnie. I told him it was cruel, that it wasn’t going to end the way he thought, but–” He breaks off, shaking his head, eyes wet and unfocused. “I thought… I thought he’d tell Kai before things got serious. I didn’t want to take that from him. I didn’t want to be the one to… I wanted him to learn how to take accountability.” He swallows, hands twisting in his lap, knuckles white. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing, letting him handle the consequences of his own mistakes.” But even as he says it, the words sound hollow, pathetic. The kind of reasoning that rots in the light.

Soobin’s gaze flickers up, catching the sharp edge of Yeonjun’s glare, and he rushes on before the older boy can speak. “Hyung, listen– he loves him. I swear to you, it stopped being a bet for him a long time ago. Two months in, maybe less. Everything since then– everything he’s said to Kai, everything he’s done for him– it’s all been real. It’s all been him.” His voice cracks, desperation bleeding through every syllable. “I know how it started, I know how ugly it was, but that’s not what it is now. He’s not pretending. He hasn’t been for months. He’s–” Soobin’s throat tightens, and he forces the words out, “–he’s in love with him, Jun. Properly. And Kai… Kai makes him better. You can see it, can’t you? You’ve seen how they are together.” 

Yeonjun doesn’t answer, his expression unreadable, but Soobin leans forward anyway, as if willing him to believe it. “It might’ve started as a bet, but what they have now? It’s genuine. It’s the truest thing I’ve ever seen him hold onto.”

Yeonjun’s grip on Soobin’s shoulders slackens without him meaning to. The words seem to hang in the air between them, heavy and foul, and for a long moment he isn’t entirely sure he’s heard them correctly. His ears are ringing, the high-pitched whine of shock cutting through the pounding of his pulse, and it’s as if his own breathing has gone shallow just to make room for the enormity of what Soobin has just admitted. Six months. One million won. Beomgyu. The bet. The phrases loop uselessly in his head, fragments with jagged edges that catch on one another, shredding his ability to think straight. He’s staring at Soobin but he isn’t quite seeing him. He’s seeing Kai, standing there in the hallway just moments ago, quiet and small, nodding as if something had finally made sense to him, and then walking away without so much as a glance back, and now Yeonjun knows why.

His stomach twists, hot and sick. “You’re telling me,” he says slowly, the words tasting foreign in his mouth, “that he– Beomgyu was dared to…” He can’t even finish the sentence. The implication alone makes his voice falter, a fresh wave of disbelief crashing over him. “And you knew? You knew and you didn’t tell me?” His tone rises without his permission, not in a shout but sharp enough to cut.

Soobin’s hands are clenched in his lap, his head bowed like he’s waiting for the blow. “I tried to make him stop,” he says, his voice breaking halfway through. “I told him it was wrong, I told him–” He shakes his head, the tears on his lashes trembling but not quite falling. “I told him to tell Kai the second he told me he was falling for him, I swear! It wasn’t my place–”

“Not your place?” Yeonjun’s laugh is dry, humourless, almost bitter. He leans forward, his knees pressing into the couch cushions, his shadow falling over Soobin. “It was your place the moment you knew. You saw what was happening and you just–” He cuts himself off because his voice is threatening to break. His chest feels too tight.

“You have to understand,” Soobin says quickly, almost desperately. “I thought I was protecting him by letting Beomgyu do it, I mean, what good would it do by letting him know before I even gave Beomgyu the chance to make it right? I thought… I thought if it came from Beomgyu, it would mean more, that it wouldn’t destroy everything.”

Yeonjun stares at him, unable to comprehend how that logic could ever have made sense. “So instead,” he says, his voice low now, the kind of low that comes just before something snaps, “you let him fall for someone who was lying to him from the start.” The image of Kai’s smile – soft, trusting, unguarded – flashes in his mind, and Yeonjun’s nails dig into the couch fabric. “You let him think it was real, Soobin. And all this time, you knew.”

Soobin finally meets his eyes, and there’s no defense there. Only guilt, raw and unfiltered, and a flicker of something Yeonjun almost hates to recognise: fear. Not just fear of Yeonjun’s reaction, but fear of what this means for everything between them. And yet, beneath it all, there’s also this stubborn glimmer of conviction, like Soobin still believes that in some twisted way, his silence wouldn’t have an effect on them.

Yeonjun doesn’t move. It’s like his body has forgotten how to respond, locked in place with the weight of Soobin still beneath him. The room feels strangely muted, as if the air has thickened, every sound dulled except for the rush of his own blood pounding in his ears. He can vaguely register the movement of Soobin’s hands, slow strokes up and down his arms, the faint drag of fingertips over the thin fabric of his shirt, the gentle sweep across his waist and back like some unspoken plea to soften the edges of what’s just been said. Yet the touch doesn’t feel the way Soobin intends. It’s not comfort, not warmth. It’s a reminder that all of this has been happening under his nose while he let himself be distracted.

He can’t believe it. He can’t believe that this whole time, he’s been letting them so easily infiltrate their lives. Letting Beomgyu get close to Kai, letting him carve out a space in their circle, in Kai’s heart, only for it to be poisoned from the start. And what for? So that Yeonjun could bask in the dizzy, stupid thrill of falling for Soobin? So he could lose himself in dimples and bunny teeth and the warm flush of skin pale as milk under his hands? He’s sick at himself for the way he’d let his guard down, for the way he’d been so ready to hand over his focus, his attention, his instincts to someone who made his chest flutter. He’d let that flutter blind him.

If he’d paid attention, really paid attention, maybe he would’ve seen the signs that Beomgyu wasn’t being genuine. Maybe he would’ve spotted the tells in his behaviour, the moments where his eyes didn’t match his smile, the way his interest in Kai might have felt rehearsed if you looked closely enough. Maybe he would’ve had the chance to stop it before it went anywhere, before Kai…

Yeonjun swallows hard, his throat dry. The thought of Kai – his Kai, his sweet, careful, too-trusting Kai – being hurt like this makes something inside him twist until it’s almost unbearable. He should’ve been there. He should’ve protected him. That’s his job. It’s what he’s always done, without question, but instead, he’s here, stuck in this moment, his chest hollowed out, the guilt sitting heavy and corrosive.

And then there’s the other thought; the one he doesn’t want to touch, the one that feels like it’ll crack something in him if he holds it for too long. What if he was part of the bet too? What if all the soft smiles and lingering touches, all the things Soobin’s said about liking him since orientation, about noticing him before anyone else, were just lines? What if Soobin’s been playing him just the same, running a different kind of game while Beomgyu worked on Kai?

It makes his stomach turn. The story Soobin told him, that little confession about liking him from the very beginning, had felt real at the time. It had made his heart skip, had settled into him like something warm and certain. Now it flickers in his mind like a reel of film with too many missing frames, patchy and unreliable. Was it ever true? Or was it just another layer to whatever plan they’d been pulling?

Soobin’s hands keep moving, gentle and steady, as if consistency will anchor Yeonjun back into the moment, as if touch alone could overwrite the weight of the truth, but Yeonjun is frozen, caught between wanting to lean in and wanting to push away entirely. Every pass of Soobin’s palms over his back feels like a reminder of how easily he’s been handled, how willingly he’s let himself be softened and distracted while someone was hurting the person he loves most in the world.

He thinks about Kai’s laugh; that shy, quiet one he only ever hears when Kai’s truly comfortable. He thinks about the way Kai’s shoulders loosen when he’s safe, the way his voice changes when he trusts who he’s speaking to. Then he thinks about Beomgyu taking all of that, learning all of that, just to use it for something as cheap and ugly as a bet. Yeonjun feels the first real crack in his chest, sharp and deep. He should’ve stopped this. He should’ve noticed. He should’ve been the wall between Kai and anyone who could hurt him like this. Instead, he’s been lying here, letting Soobin touch him, kiss him, make him believe in something soft and steady, while the ground under Kai was being pulled away piece by piece.

Now he’s here, with no idea if anything he’s been feeling has been real. No idea if he’s just been another mark, another joke between them. The uncertainty rots at him, because if Soobin’s been lying to him too then he’s not just a failure as a friend, he’s a fool in every sense.

Soobin says nothing now, just keeps those hands moving over him in slow, looping patterns, like he’s afraid that stopping will shatter Yeonjun entirely, and maybe it would, because without that touch, Yeonjun would have to stand up, walk away, and face the reality that the last few months might have been nothing but a set-up. That every moment he thought was his might have belonged to someone else’s game, but the silence is worse. Because in it, Yeonjun’s mind won’t stop replaying everything. Every moment with Soobin, every glance at Beomgyu, every second he thought Kai was safe. And all he can think is: How could I have let this happen? How could I have let him down like this?

Soobin’s voice is quiet when it finally breaks through Yeonjun’s spiraling thoughts, a soft, “Please… say something,” that sounds more like a plea than a request. 

Yeonjun’s gaze stay locked on the floor between them, his chest heaving unevenly as the reality of everything continues to sink in like cold water filling his lungs. He swallows once, hard, and then asks almost hoarsely, almost afraid of the answer, “Was I a bet too?”

The words seem to shake Soobin, his eyes widening like he’d been slapped. “No. No, hyung, I swear–” He sits up straighter, desperate, his hands moving to cup Yeonjun’s face before hesitating at the stiffness in his shoulders. “I had nothing to do with the bet. Nothing. Everything between us… it’s real. The story I told you about liking you since orientation– it’s real, Jun. I’m not lying.”

Yeonjun wants to believe him. God, he wants to, but the words feel fragile in the air between them, flimsy compared to the brutal weight of what Soobin had kept from him all this time. “It’s hard to believe anything you say right now,” he mutters, pushing at Soobin’s chest until he slid back, the contact breaking like glass. “Get out.”

Soobin blinks, confusion and panic warring in his face. “What? No. No, you promised me you wouldn’t stop talking to me–”

“Well, I’m talking to you now, aren’t I? And I’m telling you to get out, Choi Soobin,” Yeonjun repeats, firmer this time, but his voice cracks around the edges.

“I’m not leaving you like this!” Soobin’s own voice pitched higher, his desperation spilling over. “I’m sorry, I am so sorry, Yeonjun hyung, but I can explain–”

“There’s nothing to explain.” Yeonjun’s jaw clenches, though his hands tremble. “You knew. You knew what Beomgyu was doing to him, and you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell Kai.”

“I thought–” Soobin’s breath hitches, his hands flying up in helplessness before they come together, knuckles pressed to his mouth. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want to hurt him, Jun. I didn’t want to take that choice away from Beomgyu. I thought he’d do the right thing! I–” His voice cracks and breaks entirely as he slides off the couch onto his knees in front of Yeonjun, looking up at him with eyes so wet and pleading that it physically hurt to look at them. “Please, Jun. I love you. I love you, and I would never hurt you. I swear to you, I never would have–”

“Stop.” Yeonjun’s voice shakes, not with anger, but with something worse… heartbreak. “You already did.”

Soobin’s hands curl against Yeonjun’s knees, his thumbs pressing lightly as though anchoring himself. He presses his face against Yeonjun’s thigh, body shaking with every sob. “Please, Jun, I’m begging you, don’t throw us away over this. Please, I love you so much, hyung, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I’ve been praying for this every single day of my life since the day I first saw you and now I finally get to have you. Please, Yeonjun hyung, I love you so much.”

Yeonjun’s chest aches. He can feel the sincerity radiating from Soobin, can feel the tremble in his hands and the genuine devastation in his voice. He knows this was real, that whatever they had wasn’t fake, that Soobin’s love for him wasn’t part of some ugly dare. But none of that erases the fact that Soobin had stood by in silence while Kai was made into a target.

And Yeonjun loves Kai more than anything. More than himself. Maybe even more than Soobin.

“I can’t,” Yeonjun whispers finally, the words tasting like blood in his mouth. “I love you, Soobin. I do. But I can’t be with someone who could stand by and watch that happen to him.” His voice breaks, and he pushes Soobin’s hands off his knees, ignoring the way Soobin flinches like he’d been burned. “Not after what you did. Or didn’t do.”

Soobin’s breath comes out ragged, his head bowing as though the weight of Yeonjun’s rejection has finally crushed him. “Please…” It was all he can manage now, the word nothing more than a cracked whisper against the silence.

Yeonjun had never imagined that ending things with Soobin would feel like this. Not just a clean, sharp cut, but a slow, brutal tearing, like pulling a thread from a sweater until the whole thing unraveled in his hands. In fact, he never imagined he’d have to end things with Soobin at all. Soobin is standing in front of him now, eyes wild and glossy, hands fisted in his clothes like a lifeline, and Yeonjun, who had once found comfort in those same eyes, can barely stand to look at them.

“Soobin,” he says, voice rough, “you need to go.”

“I can’t,” Soobin fires back instantly, desperate, as if the refusal is instinctive, muscle memory. He steps forward, but Yeonjun catches him by the shoulders and begins to push. Not hard at first, because old habits die hard, but with enough pressure to make him stumble back. Soobin twists against his grip, digging his heels into the carpet like a child refusing to be carried to bed.

“Don’t do this, Junnie,” Soobin begs, his voice breaking in a way that makes Yeonjun’s chest twist painfully. “Please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I didn’t–” He falters, stumbling when Yeonjun pushes again. “I had nothing to do with the bet. You have to believe me.”

Yeonjun says nothing. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, not with the tightness in his throat threatening to snap into something dangerous; anger, grief, or perhaps both. His fingers dig into the fabric of Soobin’s sweatshirt as he keeps pushing him toward the door, each step a battle against the weight of everything they’ve been.

“I’m sorry!” Soobin cries, resisting again, his body pressed stubbornly into the hallway wall as if anchoring himself there. “I didn’t tell him because I thought– God, I thought it wasn’t any of my business! I thought Beomgyu would tell him himself! I thought I was giving him the chance to come clean! I didn’t want to be the one to hurt him!”

Yeonjun’s jaw tightens so hard it hurts. He shoves again, harder this time, forcing Soobin away from the wall. Every inch toward the door feels like tearing his own skin away. He wants to stop – god, he wants to stop – wants to just sag into Soobin’s arms and pretend none of this has happened, but every time his resolve wavers, Kai’s face flashes in his mind. Broken unlike anything he’s ever seen before. Not even when he had realised his mother and sisters were never coming back.

“Please,” Soobin says again, his voice cracking on the word. “I love you, Junnie. I swear to you, I never want to hurt you or him–”

“Then you shouldn’t have stayed quiet,” Yeonjun rasps, finally speaking, his voice like sandpaper.

The look that flickers across Soobin’s face nearly makes Yeonjun falter but he doesn’t. He keeps pushing.

It takes everything in him to wrestle Soobin the last few steps, the two of them a tangle of limbs and desperate hands. Soobin clings to the doorframe when they reach it, fingers white-knuckled as Yeonjun pries them away one by one.

“Don’t do this,” Soobin pleads again, his voice gone hoarse from the effort. “Don’t throw us away like this.”

“You threw us away when you didn’t protect him,” Yeonjun bites out, shoving him past the threshold. His heart screams at him for the cruelty in his voice, but he knows if he softens even once, Soobin will be back inside before he can stop him.

The moment Soobin’s feet cross the doorway, Yeonjun slams the door shut with a final, gut-wrenching thud. His hands shake as he twists the lock, the sound of metal sliding into place somehow louder than Soobin’s voice on the other side.

And Soobin’s voice… God, it’s still there. Just inches away, muffled by the wood but no less desperate. “Hyung! Please, just let me make things right! I’m sorry! I’ll fix it, I swear I’ll fix it! I love you so much, please don’t do this to us!”

Yeonjun presses his back to the door, squeezing his eyes shut. The begging continues, each word pulling at him like barbed wire. He could open the door right now, pull Soobin inside, hold him until the world fades out and they can pretend. He wants to. Every part of him wants to, but Kai’s face comes back again. Kai, who has been ripped open by the truth. Kai, who had been wronged by the world over and over and over again. Kai, whose pain is ten times the size of Yeonjun’s.

Yeonjun forces himself to step away from the door. One step. Then another. The space between him and the wood grows, but the sound of Soobin’s voice still fills the flat like smoke. He walks into the living room, every muscle in his body taut, and sinks onto the couch like his bones have given out. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, willing the image of Soobin on the other side of that door to fade. It doesn’t.

His heart feels like it’s bleeding out in slow motion, but he knows this isn’t about him. Not right now. Kai needs him more than Soobin does. Kai needs someone who can be steady, someone who won’t crumble when things get hard. Someone who won’t fail him again.

Yeonjun inhales shakily, dragging his hands down his face. He tells himself the ache in his chest is something he can carry. He owes it to Kai to carry it.

The pounding on the door eventually quiets, replaced by silence that is somehow worse. Yeonjun sits there in the stillness, listening to the ghost of Soobin’s voice in his head, and forces himself not to be swayed. Not to look back. Not to unlock the door.

Because the truth is, if he does, he knows he’ll never be able to shut it again.

Yeonjun forces his feet to move, away from the locked door and away from the ghost of Soobin’s muffled pleas. Every step feels like he’s walking through wet cement, heavy and resisting, the echo of Soobin’s voice clawing at the back of his mind, but he doesn’t look back. He can’t. Not when Kai needs him. Not when his own guilt still sits like a lead weight in his chest. He moves down the hallway, the air thick and heavy, the silence almost ringing in his ears. His hand finds the handle to Kai’s door, hesitating just a fraction before he pushes it open and the sight inside knocks the breath right out of him.

Kai is curled up on his bed, looking smaller than Yeonjun has ever seen him. His hair is a mess, his cheeks blotchy, his eyes swollen from crying. His hands clutch at his Molang plushie like it’s the only thing keeping him from breaking apart completely. He doesn’t even look up when the door opens; he just stays there, trembling, each shallow breath a tiny fracture in the quiet.

Yeonjun’s heart feels like it splits clean down the middle. No words come, because what could he possibly say that wouldn’t feel useless? So he steps inside, silent, closing the door behind him. He crosses the room slowly, like approaching a wounded animal, and then slips under the covers without hesitation.

Kai doesn’t resist when Yeonjun wraps his arms around him. He just melts into the hold, a shudder running through him, his face pressing into Yeonjun’s chest. Yeonjun says nothing, because Kai doesn’t need speeches or reassurances right now. He just needs someone to stay. Someone solid. Someone who won’t leave. So Yeonjun holds him. Just holds him. His chin rests lightly against Kai’s hair, his arms a firm circle of warmth, steady against the tremors that run through Kai’s body. He hopes the pressure of his embrace can stitch together at least a few of the pieces that have shattered inside Kai tonight. 

And selfishly, he hopes it will stitch together some of his own, too.

Notes:

poor yeonbin falling apart as collateral :<

i'm curious about your thoughts tho!! did you guys think that their relationship could have survived despite soobin's silence or did you know from the very start that they'd fall apart once the cat is out of the bag? please let me know in the comments, i would love to hear your thoughts!!

as always, thank you so much for reading and thank you so much for being so patient with the updates!! <33 feel free to yell at me on any of the platforms below!!

yell at me on my strawpage! | yell at me on twitter! | yell at me on alterspring!

Chapter 27

Summary:

He barely has time to breathe before Soobin’s voice cuts through the quiet like a blade.

“What the fuck did you do?”

Beomgyu freezes. His best friend is already on his feet, face pale with fury, eyes sharp but swollen red. He’s never seen Soobin like this; at least not at him, not with this much fire. His stomach drops. He thought maybe he could just sneak in, collapse on his bed, pretend the night never happened, but Soobin’s expression tells him there’s no escaping this.

Notes:

sorry for the long wait, enjoy <3

🧸 

 

The clearing feels emptier than it has any right to. Beomgyu stands there with his hands hanging uselessly by his sides, staring at the picnic spread as if it’s a battlefield after the smoke has cleared. Plates empty, a thermos cooling on the blanket, fairy lights still glowing faintly in the dark; little reminders of what was meant to be perfect, what was meant to be his happiest night. Instead, the only thing echoing in his head is Kai’s voice, steady and trembling all at once. I’m in love with you.

The words carve themselves into his chest, deeper with every breath. He squeezes his eyes shut but it doesn’t stop the sting. If anything, it makes the silence around him feel heavier, like the whole world is waiting for him to break.

And then the sound of it breaking, the crack in Kai’s voice as he tore the necklace from Beomgyu’s hands and hurled it into the trees.

Beomgyu drops to his knees before he realises he’s moving, heart pounding, fingers scraping at the dirt and fallen leaves. He crawls blindly, scanning the ground, shoving aside branches and weeds, whispering Kai’s name like it’s a prayer. The blue velvet box. He has to find it. He can’t let it stay out here, abandoned like everything else he’s ruined.

Minutes stretch. His palms sting, his knees ache, but he keeps going, breath quick and shallow. For one awful moment he thinks he’s lost it forever, lost the only piece of Kai that had ever been truly his, but then his hand closes around something soft, damp with dew. He pulls it free from beneath a tangle of grass. The box.

It’s scuffed now, smudged with dirt, but it’s still intact. He sits back hard on his heels, clutching it to his chest as though it might vanish if he loosens his grip. His vision blurs with tears. He doesn’t even dare to open it, too afraid of what it will feel like to see the guitar pick again, their initials carved into it like a promise he’s already shattered. All he can do is hold it against him, trembling, whispering hoarse apologies into the night.

Only when the ache in his chest threatens to choke him does he finally move. He tucks the box carefully into his pocket, patting it once to make sure it’s safe, before turning back towards the picnic spread. 

He crouches down and starts to pack up. He doesn’t rush. His hands are unsteady as he starts to pack away, but the weight in his pocket grounds him, a reminder of what he’s lost, of what he never deserved in the first place. Every object he touches feels weighted with Kai’s fingerprints, Kai’s laughter, Kai’s heart. 

The blanket first. He shakes it out, watching crumbs scatter like dust across the grass, and folds it carefully, too carefully, as if the neat corners might undo what he’s just done. Then the fairy lights. They’re tangled, knotted, stubborn, but he works them free, winding the cord round his arm until it cuts into his skin. He welcomes the small bite of pain. At least that feels real.

By the time he’s finished packing everything into the basket, the clearing looks like nothing ever happened here. No blanket, no lights, no proof that Kai had once sat across from him, eyes soft, lips parted, giving him his heart without hesitation. It’s as if Beomgyu dreamt it all. He doesn’t move at first. He just stands there with the basket in his hands, staring at the ground where Kai had been. His legs feel rooted, heavy as stone, but he knows he can’t stay. If he does, he’ll break apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left of him but the guilt.

The walk back down the hill is slow. The remnants of the spring festival glimmers faintly in the distance, but he doesn’t look at it. He keeps his head down, watching his trainers scuff against the dirt path, each step echoing in his bones. His chest aches, a dull throbbing rhythm that matches the beat of his footsteps. He thinks of Kai walking away earlier, the look on his face when he turned back just once, eyes shining with hurt Beomgyu never wanted to see.

By the time he reaches the bus stop, his throat is raw. He doesn’t remember crying, but his cheeks are damp, his eyelashes clumped. He presses his fist against his mouth, biting down to stop the sound threatening to tear out of him. People wait around him, strangers wrapped in coats and scarves, and he feels their eyes flicker his way. He turns away, hunching his shoulders. They can’t know, no one can know.

On the bus, he takes the seat by the window and sets the basket on his lap. The city slides past outside, all neon and noise, but it blurs into nothing. His reflection stares back at him; red-rimmed eyes, skin pale, lips pressed tight as if holding in every secret he’s too afraid to spill. He sees himself and hates it. Hates the boy staring back, the liar, the coward, the one who couldn’t stop even when he knew he should.

You should’ve told him. You should’ve told him from the start. The voice is cruel, merciless, but it’s right. Soobin had told him too. Again and again, and he hadn’t listened, because he was selfish, because he wanted to keep Kai a little longer, because for once in his life he’d felt like he mattered to someone. And now Kai knows the truth, and that warmth is gone.

He presses his forehead to the glass. The cold seeps into his skin, grounding him for a moment. He thinks of Kai’s hands, gentle and warm, the way they’d hovered uncertainly over his own more times than he could count. He thinks of Kai’s laugh, quiet and rare, always blooming like something fragile. He thinks of Kai’s love, and he wonders if he’ll ever deserve to feel it again.

The bus jolts to a stop. Beomgyu doesn’t move at first, but then the driver calls out and he forces himself up, basket clutched against him. The streets near his flat are quieter, the air colder. He walks slowly, dragging his feet, as if every step is a punishment.

When he reaches his building, his heart feels heavier than the basket cutting into his fingers. He enters the lift, slowly climbing up to his floor, and pauses just outside the door when he arrives. The lights are on inside. He can see the glow through the crack at the bottom. His stomach twists. He doesn’t want to face Soobin, doesn’t want to face anyone, but he knows he can’t avoid it. 

The apartment door looms in front of him like it’s daring him to enter. Beomgyu stands there for too long, his hand on the knob, paralysed by a weight that isn’t physical but feels heavier than any load he’s ever carried. His pocket presses against his hip, the blue velvet box nestled there, an anchor and a curse. He swallows hard, forces himself to twist the knob, and steps inside.

He barely has time to breathe before Soobin’s voice cuts through the quiet like a blade.

“What the fuck did you do?”

Beomgyu freezes. His best friend is already on his feet, face pale with fury, eyes sharp but swollen red. He’s never seen Soobin like this; at least not at him, not with this much fire. His stomach drops. He thought maybe he could just sneak in, collapse on his bed, pretend the night never happened, but Soobin’s expression tells him there’s no escaping this.

“I–” His voice cracks, and he hates himself for how weak it sounds.

But Soobin doesn’t let him finish. He closes the distance in two long strides, hands trembling as they shove against Beomgyu’s shoulders. It’s not hard enough to knock him off balance, but the message is clear. “Do you even realise what you’ve done? If you had just been honest from the start, if you had never done that stupid bet, none of this would have happened!”

The words slice deep, sharper than any punch. Beomgyu staggers back a step, not resisting, letting Soobin’s anger wash over him because he deserves it. He deserves worse.

Soobin shoves him again, not violent but relentless. “You’ve ruined everything, Beomgyu. Not just for yourself, but for me too. Do you understand that? Yeonjun hyung–” His voice cracks now, fury splintering into grief. “I had him. For one moment, I thought I finally had him, and now he won’t even look at me. He won’t pick up my calls. Because of you.”

Beomgyu’s throat burns. He wants to say he’s sorry, but the words feel useless, empty. Sorry doesn’t fix Yeonjun walking away. Sorry doesn’t fix Kai’s face when he had told him about the bet. Sorry doesn’t fix the weight in his pocket, the scuffed box that holds everything he’s lost.

Soobin’s hands slam weakly against his chest this time, a hit that doesn’t hurt but still leaves Beomgyu breathless. “You’re so fucking selfish,” Soobin spits. “You never think about anyone else. It’s always your messes, your impulses, and now I’m the one paying for it too. I fucking hate you for this.”

That breaks him.

Beomgyu crumples where he stands, knees hitting the floor as the tears come in a rush. His hands clutch at Soobin’s shirt, fists tight like if he lets go then Soobin will really leave him too. His sobs tear out of him, raw and ugly, and he doesn’t care how pathetic he looks. “You can be angry, you can yell at me, blame me, hit me if you want. I deserve it, all of it, but please, hyung, please don’t hate me. You’re all I have left. If you hate me too then I… I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Soobin stares down at him, chest heaving, his own eyes glistening though he blinks hard to keep the tears from falling. For a moment he looks like he might shove Beomgyu away again, walk out, slam the door and never come back, and maybe he should. Beomgyu wouldn’t blame him.

But Soobin doesn’t move. His fists unclench at his sides. His breathing slows, though his jaw stays tight with anger. He looks at Beomgyu, sees the way he’s shaking, the way he’s clinging to him like he’s drowning, and something in him falters. He knows Beomgyu, has known him forever, and he knows what Beomgyu’s life is like, the kind of house he grew up in, the kind of parents who never once looked at him the way he needed them to.

It doesn’t erase the fury, but it makes it impossible to walk away.

“Damn it, Gyu,” Soobin mutters, voice rough. He exhales hard, then crouches down, arms sliding around Beomgyu’s shoulders. The embrace is stiff at first, reluctant, but Beomgyu collapses into it with such desperation that Soobin can’t help but soften. He holds on tighter as Beomgyu sobs against him, body shaking uncontrollably.

Beomgyu’s voice is muffled against his chest, broken by hiccups. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I didn’t– I never wanted to hurt him, or you, or anyone. I just–” His breath hitches. “I ruin everything. I always ruin everything.”

Soobin squeezes his eyes shut, his throat thick. He doesn’t want to forgive. He wants to stay angry, to protect what’s left of himself. But hearing Beomgyu like this, so small, so wrecked… it’s impossible not to feel his own heart twist.

He sighs, one long shaky breath, and strokes Beomgyu’s back in awkward, hesitant circles. “You’re an idiot,” he says, voice gentler now. “The biggest idiot I’ve ever met.”

Beomgyu lets out a wet, shaky laugh that dissolves into another sob.

Soobin keeps holding him, even though his knees ache from crouching, even though the anger still smoulders under his skin. Because right now, Beomgyu doesn’t need anger. He needs someone to keep him from falling apart completely, and despite everything, Soobin can’t bring himself to let go.

Beomgyu clings tighter, his breath hitching in Soobin’s shirt, dampening the fabric with tears. His voice shakes, cracked open in a way he can’t control. “You’re all I’ve got, hyung. You and Kai… you’re the only people who’ve ever really seen me, and I’ve already lost him. If I lose you too, then what’s left? Nothing. Just me, and I can’t– I can’t stand me.”

The words keep tumbling, jagged and breathless, like once they’ve started there’s no stopping them. “Maybe it would be better if you did hate me. My family were right, weren’t they? I’m just a burden, dragging everyone down with me. I ruin things just by being in the room. You’d be happier without me. Kai would be too. God, the world would’ve been better if I’d never been born.” His voice breaks on the last word, a strangled sound pulled straight from the hollow in his chest.

Soobin stiffens, pulling back enough to grip Beomgyu’s face in both hands, forcing him to look up. His eyes are wide, wet, blazing through the tears. “Stop it. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare say that.” His voice cracks on the edge of fury and heartbreak, the kind that comes when the person you love most tries to erase themselves. “You don’t get to talk about yourself like that. Not in front of me.”

Beomgyu shakes his head, trying to look away, but Soobin’s grip won’t let him. “It’s true,” he whispers hoarsely. “It’s all true. I’ve seen it in their faces, in my parents’. They never should’ve had me, hyung. I’m just this… mistake they’re stuck with, and now you are too.”

“Enough,” Soobin says sharply, the word trembling with anger he doesn’t even know how to direct anymore. His thumbs press against Beomgyu’s wet cheeks, holding him steady. “You think I’d still be here if you were just some mistake? You think I’d waste my breath screaming at you if you didn’t matter? God, Beomgyu, you drive me insane, you hurt me, you mess everything up–” His voice falters, thick with tears. “–but you are my best friend. My family. You hear me? Family. And I’m not letting you talk like you don’t deserve to exist.”

Beomgyu’s chest heaves, another sob rattling free. The words crash into him with an almost physical force, breaking something loose inside. He folds forward, forehead pressing into Soobin’s shoulder like he’s too ashamed to meet his eyes. “I don’t know how to fix any of this,” he whispers. “I don’t know how to stop hurting people.”

Soobin exhales shakily, his own tears falling into Beomgyu’s hair as he wraps his arms around him again. “Then let me help you. Even if I’m furious with you, even if I don’t forgive you yet–” He pulls him tighter, grounding him with sheer stubborn presence. “–I’m still here. I’m not leaving you, Gyu. So stop talking like you’d be better off gone, because I can’t–” His voice breaks, and he clutches Beomgyu as though he’s holding him together by force. “–I can’t hear that from you again.”

And in the silence that follows, Beomgyu only sobs harder, the weight of his own words hitting him anew, but Soobin doesn’t let go.

Thank god, Soobin doesn’t let go.

 

🧸

 

Beomgyu doesn’t sleep. The hours blur, thick and suffocating, his mind clawing at itself until morning creeps in through the blinds. He lies there in the silence of his and Soobin’s flat, listening to the faint rhythm of Soobin’s breathing from the other room, the occasional turn of bedsheets. It should be comforting, knowing he isn’t alone, but the comfort refuses to reach him. The weight in his chest only grows heavier with every second Kai’s absence stretches on.

By the time the sun climbs fully over the buildings, he can’t take it anymore. He needs to try again, needs to do something.

He picks up his phone for the hundredth time, thumbs hovering over Kai’s name in his contacts. The text thread is already flooded with his desperate messages from last night – apologies, explanations that barely hold together, please just let me see you, please don’t shut me out like this – but none of them have been read. His calls go unanswered, each one ringing out to nothing, leaving behind the hollow ache of voicemail.

He knows it’s pathetic, knows he’s crossing lines Kai has every right to enforce, but he can’t stop. The silence is unbearable.

It’s then, in the middle of that silence, that his gaze drifts to the corner of his bag slouched against the chair. A sudden memory strikes: bright colours of the spring festival, laughter threaded through the air, the warmth of Kai’s hand tugging him insistently toward the booth. Now you can listen to my voice whenever you miss me, Kai had teased, eyes crinkling as he pressed the penguin plush into Beomgyu’s arms. He hadn’t had the heart to admit how much that tiny gesture had meant, how it had soothed an ache deep inside his chest.

His stomach twists now at the thought. The penguin. The little button Kai had leaned down to record something into, his cheeks pink, brushing Beomgyu’s hand away when he’d tried to listen right then and there. Not yet, Kai had said shyly. Later.

And Beomgyu had let it go, trusting there would be time. Believing, stupidly, that they had all the time in the world.

His throat closes. He doesn’t know if he can handle hearing it now, doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to bear whatever Kai had wanted to say back before everything shattered, before Beomgyu’s lies ripped their fragile happiness apart.

But the silence is killing him, and he misses Kai’s voice too much.

His hands tremble as he drags the bag toward him, unzipping it with clumsy urgency. He rummages blindly until his fingers brush soft fabric, the familiar fluff of the penguin’s round belly. He pulls it out, cradling it like something alive, like something fragile that could slip through his fingers if he isn’t careful.

His heart pounds so loudly it feels like it fills the room, like it might drown out everything else. He presses his thumb against the small heart stitched into its chest. For a breathless moment nothing happens, and then Kai’s voice filters out into the empty room.

Soft, warm, and gentle in a way that claws at Beomgyu’s ribs and leaves him gasping for air.

“Um… hi, Beomgyu hyung. Is this thing on– oh, yeah it is.”

Beomgyu’s breath catches. He clutches the plush tighter, every nerve ending straining towards that voice, that familiar lilt, the way Kai says his name like it’s something precious.

“Ahh, this is so embarrassing,” Kai continues, a nervous laugh threading through the words. “But… I just wanted to say it anyway. Because I don’t say things enough when I should.” There’s a pause, the sound of him inhaling, gathering courage.

“I still don’t understand why you… why you even look at me. Out of everyone, out of all the people you could have, you chose me. I keep thinking one day I’ll wake up and realise it was just a dream. That someone like you could never really… want someone like me.” His voice trembles at the edges, but it steadies as he presses on. “But then you smile at me, or you make me laugh until I can’t breathe, or you sit next to me like I’m the only place you want to be, and I just… I feel like the luckiest person alive. To be yours. To have you all to myself.”

Beomgyu squeezes his eyes shut, tears spilling hot and fast down his cheeks. Each word feels like a knife and a balm all at once, cutting him open and holding him together in the same breath.

“You’ve been so kind to me,” Kai’s voice goes on, quieter now, almost shy. “Kinder than anyone’s ever been. You make me feel safe, like I can actually… exist without hiding, without pretending. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for that. For seeing me, for choosing me. For loving me the way you do.”

Beomgyu’s chest caves inward, his sobs muffled against the penguin’s soft fur. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve him.

“I love you, hyung,” Kai whispers at last, tender and unshakable. “I haven’t told you this yet but I’m planning to tell you later during our dinner. I love you so much. More than I can ever say. And if you’re listening to this, that means you miss me, so call me! I’m just a phone call away, and I’m sure I miss you too. I love you, hyung, and I’ll be waiting for that call!”

The recording clicks off. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by Beomgyu’s ragged breaths, his broken sounds as he rocks forward with the plush crushed against his heart.

He wants to scream, to tear the world apart, to turn back time and stop himself before he ruined everything. But all he can do is collapse into the words Kai left him, words too good for someone like him, words he’ll never stop aching over.

The words burn. They tear him open from the inside, filling the hollow parts of him with something too bright to hold. He gasps, a broken, choking sound, because he knows he may never hear them again. Never directly from Kai’s lips, never wrapped in the warmth of his eyes, never laced into the shy smile he used to hide behind.

So he plays it again. And again. And again.

Each time feels like drowning, dragged deeper under by the weight of Kai’s love. Each repetition is a knife twisted further in his chest, proof of everything he’s lost, everything he’s destroyed with his own hands. Yet he can’t stop, because the silence is worse, unbearable, and if this is the only way left to hear Kai say he loves him, then Beomgyu will bleed himself dry on it.

By the tenth listen, his throat is raw from sobbing, his hands trembling so hard the plush slips, tumbling onto the floor. He lunges after it like it’s a lifeline, clutching it back to him, pressing the button again through blurred vision.

“Um… hi, Beomgyu hyung.”

His cries tear out louder this time, strangled, animal. He buries his face in the penguin’s fur, rocking violently, whispering apologies into the fabric between loops of Kai’s voice. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you, I swear I love you, please don’t take it back, please don’t hate me, please–

But the only answer he gets is that soft, trembling declaration, again and again and again, until it becomes unbearable and addictive in the same breath.

Beomgyu can’t take it anymore. He can’t keep sitting here torturing himself with echoes, locked in this room like a coward. His hands shake as he clutches the penguin, pressing his forehead against its soft head, breath ragged and wet. I need to see him. The thought cuts through the noise of his grief, sharp and desperate. He needs to see Kai, to hear his voice not through this toy, not through a recording made yesterday when things were still whole. He needs to look him in the eye and beg, even if Kai spits in his face, even if he tells him to fuck off and never come near him again. Beomgyu will take it. He’ll take anything, as long as it’s real, as long as it’s Kai. Because living in this silence, with nothing but his own guilt and a stuffed penguin repeating I love you into the void, is already killing him.

 

🧸

 

Beomgyu doesn’t remember leaving his room. He doesn’t remember slipping on his jacket, or whether he even locked the door behind him. All he knows is the rush in his chest, the dizzying throb of adrenaline urging him forward like he’s running out of time. His legs carry him down the familiar streets towards Kai’s apartment before his head can catch up, the cold night air biting sharp into his lungs. Each breath feels like a punch to the chest, each step echoing with the certainty that he’s already too late, that Kai won’t even open the door if he knocks, but the need is louder. Louder than fear, louder than shame. He has to try.

The building looms up ahead, lights in a few windows casting faint glows against the dark. Beomgyu slows, his heart hammering violently as his gaze drags up to the third floor, to the balcony he knows is Kai’s. He can’t see anything, no shadow moving behind the curtains, no sign of life. He swallows hard, pressing his palm flat against the stitch in his side. The urge to run away hits him suddenly, sharp and familiar. He could turn back now, crawl into bed, let the silence bury him, but he needs to see Kai.

He doesn’t even get the chance to reach their door, though.

The sound comes first – sharp, purposeful steps echoing down the corridor – and then Yeonjun rounds the corner, phone in hand, his expression tightening the moment he sees him. For a split second, Beomgyu freezes, deer-like in the headlights, but Yeonjun doesn’t hesitate. He strides forward, jaw clenched, eyes burning with a fury Beomgyu’s never seen directed at him before.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Yeonjun’s voice slices through the quiet, low and dangerous.

Beomgyu opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His throat is dry, words lodged and useless.

Yeonjun doesn’t wait for an answer. His fist connects with Beomgyu’s cheek before Beomgyu can even blink. The blow knocks him back into the wall, the taste of iron flooding his mouth. His ears ring, pain blooming sharp along his jaw. For a moment, the world tilts.

“Stay the fuck away from him,” Yeonjun spits, breathing hard, fists trembling at his sides. “You hear me? You don’t get to show up here, not after what you did.”

Beomgyu raises a hand to his face, palm pressing into the ache, vision blurring. His heart stutters, panic clawing up his throat. “Yeonjun hyung, please–” His voice cracks, broken and pitiful. “I just need to talk to him. Just once. Please.”

“You don’t get to ask for that!” Yeonjun shoves him back when he tries to push forward, rage radiating off him like heat. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him? He hasn’t been eating, he’s not talking, he hasn’t even left his fucking bed! He’s been crying himself sick because of you. Because of your little game.”

Beomgyu flinches at the words, guilt splintering deeper. “It wasn’t a game,” he chokes out, though it sounds weak even to him. “Not anymore. I swear, I–”

“Swear what? That you love him?” Yeonjun’s laugh is sharp, bitter. “You don’t get to use that word. Not when you lied to him, not when you humiliated him like that. You ruined him, Beomgyu. And now you want to ruin him again?”

Beomgyu shakes his head violently, tears spilling unchecked. “No, no, I just– I need him to know I’m sorry. That I–” His voice breaks, raw. “That I can’t lose him like this. Please, hyung. Please just let me see him.”

But Yeonjun doesn’t soften. His expression only twists tighter, his jaw hard with fury, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Do you remember?” he demands, stepping forward, each word like a blade pressed to Beomgyu’s throat. “Do you remember when I asked you, that day at the library, what your intentions were with him? Do you remember how I looked you in the eye and said don’t you dare hurt him? That he’s been through enough already?” His voice cracks for a moment, the emotion breaking through, but then he surges on, relentless. “Do you remember what you said to me?”

Beomgyu swallows hard, his throat closing in on itself. He remembers. God, he remembers every second of it: Yeonjun leaning back against the vending machine, casual but not casual at all, eyes sharp and voice lower than usual when he’d asked. What are you trying to do with Kai? And Beomgyu, forcing a grin, hiding his racing heart, lying straight through his teeth because he was too much of a coward to admit the truth, too far gone in the bet to confess it but already too entangled with Kai to want to let go.

“I told you I’d never hurt him,” Beomgyu whispers, the shame hot and corrosive in his chest. His voice trembles. “I told you I cared about him.”

“You swore it,” Yeonjun snaps, his control slipping. “You swore you wouldn’t hurt him. And then you went and did the one thing–” His voice rises, then shatters, and he has to stop, breathing hard like the words themselves might choke him. He points a trembling hand at Beomgyu, eyes glassy with betrayal. “You looked me dead in the eye, Beomgyu, and you fucking lied. You let me believe you. You let me trust you with him. And now look at what’s left. He’s–” Yeonjun breaks off again, shaking his head like he can’t bear to finish the sentence.

Beomgyu’s stomach twists, violent and sharp. His knees feel weak, like they’re ready to give out beneath him. He drags a hand through his hair, gripping hard at the roots. “I know. I know, hyung. I ruined everything.” His words dissolve into a sob, ugly and desperate. “But I love him now. I swear to god, I love him. It’s not a lie anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time. Even since the day that you warned me.”

Yeonjun lets out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, one that cuts deeper than a scream. “Do you even hear yourself?” His hands shake, balling into fists at his sides. “Love isn’t supposed to make someone feel worthless. Love doesn’t come with a price tag, Beomgyu. And you–” His voice cracks again, raw with fury and grief. “You turned him into the fucking punchline of your sick fucking joke.”

The word slams into Beomgyu like a physical blow. The thing he can’t escape, no matter how badly he wants to. The thing that clings to him like rot, staining every good memory with Kai until he can barely tell if any of it was real. His chest heaves, his tears spilling faster, his whole body trembling. “I know. I know I don’t deserve him. I know it started like that. But please, hyung, please, you have to believe me. My feelings for him are real. Don’t let him believe I never cared.”

Yeonjun’s eyes flash, dark with an anger that looks close to grief. “What are you even talking about? He already believes it,” he spits. “Because what else is he supposed to believe? You made him think he was loved, and then you made him a fool. You don’t get to fix that shit with apologies. You don’t get to crawl back now because you feel guilty.” He takes a hard step forward, so close Beomgyu can see the way his chest rises and falls with fury. “You want to see him? You want to beg for forgiveness? Too fucking bad. You’ve done enough.”

The words land like a blade between Beomgyu’s ribs. His breath stutters, the fight draining out of him all at once. He sags against the wall, trembling, his vision swimming with tears he can’t blink away. He wants to argue, wants to scream that Yeonjun doesn’t understand, that he’s wrong, but the truth is heavy in his chest: Yeonjun isn’t wrong. Beomgyu did this. He broke Kai’s trust, shattered something fragile and precious that can’t just be glued back together with apologies.

Yeonjun steps back, chest heaving as he walks back into his apartment, and gestures towards the exit. “Get out. Don’t ever come here again. If I see you near him, if you so much as text him again, I won’t stop at one punch.”

The door is halfway closed before Beomgyu’s body moves on instinct. He darts forward, shoulder slamming against the wood, forcing it back open just enough for him to stumble inside. “Hyung, please–” His words dissolve into a sob, his lungs burning with panic.

Yeonjun’s reaction is instant. He grabs Beomgyu by the shoulders, shoving him back hard, but Beomgyu doesn’t stop. He pushes forward again, desperate, clumsy, his fingers catching the doorframe as he tries to swing himself deeper inside. “Let me see him, just let me talk to him–”

“Beomgyu, what the fuck, no!” Yeonjun’s voice cracks like a whip, his arms locking around Beomgyu’s middle to drag him back. The two struggle in the narrow entryway, Beomgyu twisting and shoving, Yeonjun holding firm, their bodies colliding against the wall. Beomgyu is smaller, weaker, but adrenaline surges through him, and he shoves with everything in him. His nails scrape across the wood, his foot kicking against the door as he tries to wedge it open.

“Stop– fucking– doing this!” Yeonjun snarls, each word punctuated with a sharp yank. He slams Beomgyu back against the wall, but Beomgyu just throws himself forward again, tears streaking down his cheeks, vision blurring. He can’t stop, not when Kai is just there, just beyond him, maybe close enough to hear.

“Kai! Please, I need to talk to–”

The sound of his name tears through the air, hoarse and broken, and it’s the last straw for Yeonjun. His fist comes up before Beomgyu can dodge, landing square against Beomgyu’s cheekbone. The impact is blinding; white sparks bursting behind his eyes, his head snapping to the side. He stumbles, almost goes down, his knees buckling beneath him.

“Get the fuck out!” Yeonjun roars, his face twisted with fury, hand fisted in Beomgyu’s shirt as he shoves him toward the door. “You’ve done enough, haven’t you? Get out before I–”

“Hyung.”

The single word cuts through the chaos like ice water. Yeonjun’s grip slackens, his head whipping around.

Kai stands in the hallway, hair messy from sleep, drowning in one of Yeonjun’s hoodies. His eyes, however, are anything but soft. They are sharp, cold, brimming with a fury Beomgyu has never seen in him before.

Beomgyu’s breath stutters. For a second, all he can do is stare, chest splitting open at the sight of him. So close, close enough to touch if only he could move past Yeonjun, so he does. He lunges forward, slipping out of Yeonjun’s loosened grip, and clings to Kai’s arm, fingers trembling as they clutch the sleeve of the hoodie.

“Kai, baby, please! Please, just listen to me,” Beomgyu begs, his words tumbling out in broken sobs. His cheek throbs where Yeonjun hit him, swelling hot and raw, but he doesn’t care. He only cares about the boy standing in front of him, the boy he’s losing. “I need you to let me explain, I can’t– I can’t lose you like this, not without–”

Kai’s arm stiffens beneath his grip, unmoving, unyielding. Slowly, his gaze drops to where Beomgyu’s fingers are clutching his sleeve, then back up to Beomgyu’s tear-streaked face. The glare he gives him is so cold, so cutting, it steals every word out of Beomgyu’s throat, rendering him speechless.

He has never seen Kai like this. Never imagined his sweet, sweet boy could look at him this way.

“Fuck off,” Kai snarls, voice low, lethal in its calm.

The words hit harder than Yeonjun’s punch ever could. For a moment, Beomgyu can’t breathe. He can’t even blink. He stares at Kai, heart splintering into pieces too small to ever put back together.

The next thing he knows, Yeonjun’s hand is back on him, shoving him away from Kai. He stumbles backwards, his back hitting the doorframe, and before he can find his balance, the force sends him spilling out into the hall. The door slams shut with a resounding bang, the sound reverberating through his bones.

And then it’s crystal clear silence.

Beomgyu stands there, numb, his legs barely holding him up, cheek throbbing, fingers still tingling from where they’d clung to Kai. He stares at the closed door, waiting for it to open, waiting for Kai to come back, waiting for anything, but nothing comes.

The corridor feels colder than it ever has before.

He sinks to the floor, back against the wall opposite their door, and lets the numbness swallow him whole.

Notes:

i managed to post edit i've written over the past few weeks, i wanted to add something to the chapter but figured since you guys have waited long enough, i'd just upload it as it is, which is why it's a little short.

things haven't been doing great where i'm from. if you guys follow me on twitter then you'd probably caught a glimpse of what's been happening in my country, so sorry if i haven't been able to focus on writing as much. i'm also sorry that the timing's been so crazy, last time i had my report to work on which impacted my writing speed, and now that my report is done, my country's basically falling apart lol

hopefully things can get better and i can finally start focusing on writing for you guys again. thank you so much for your understanding and patience, hope you guys like this chapter even if it's rushed! <3

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Chapter 28

Summary:

Kai feels smaller than the moment he understood his mother and sisters were never coming back.

Notes:

still keeping up with the angst hehe, enjoy

🐧

 

Kai feels smaller than the moment he understood his mother and sisters were never coming back.

It’s not that anything has changed – the curtains are still the same pale beige, the sheets still smell faintly of fabric softener, Yeonjun’s hoodie still hangs from the back of the desk chair where he threw it yesterday – but the air feels thicker. Every breath Kai takes feels shallow, as though the oxygen has been thinned out, stripped of warmth before it can even reach his lungs. He lies in bed beneath the duvet, staring at nothing, tracing cracks in the ceiling plaster with his eyes until they blur into formless grey.

He hasn’t cried since last night. He doesn’t even think he can. There’s just a kind of blankness, like someone’s taken a knife and carved everything out of him and left him hollow. He thought if Beomgyu ever hurt him, if he ever left, it would be loud. He thought it would sound like screaming, tears, his chest caving in around the absence, but it’s not. 

It’s quiet. It’s numb. A silence so thick he can almost hear it ringing.

Of course it turned out this way. He should have known better. He did know better. He doubted Beomgyu from the very start, doubted every smile, every touch, every word that seemed too good to belong to him. And he was right all along. Someone like Beomgyu – bright, magnetic, untouchable – would never want someone like him. 

The whole time, he was just the butt of the joke. The timid, quiet boy who thought he’d finally been chosen, finally been worth something. How stupid of him. How pathetic, to let himself believe it could be real.

Kai pulls the duvet tighter around his body, burrowing into the fabric until it’s all he can smell, all he can feel. The fabric scratches against his cheek, warm with his breath, but it doesn’t comfort him. Nothing does. There’s no space inside him for comfort, only the dull ache of defeat.

Maybe this is all he’s meant for. Maybe some people just aren’t built to be loved. Maybe he’s one of them, meant for loneliness, meant to be left behind. It would make sense. His mum left. His sisters left. Beomgyu, inevitably, is also gone. Everyone goes, eventually. Everyone realises he’s not worth staying for.

His phone lies on the nightstand, facedown. It hasn’t stopped buzzing since last night, the vibrations rattling faintly against the wood before silencing again. He hasn’t opened it. He doesn’t need to. He knows who it is. Beomgyu’s name, over and over, filling his notifications, his voicemail, his missed calls.

He could mute him. He could block him. That would be the sensible thing to do, the self-preserving thing, but Kai can’t bring himself to. As hurt as he is, as deep as this wound has cut, something in him still reaches and yearns for the boy. And if the only way he gets to feel that tiny, desperate thread of connection is through the sting of seeing Beomgyu’s name light up his phone, then he’ll take it. Even if it hurts. Even if it’s poison.

He doesn’t move. Hours pass like that, one bleeding into the next, time measured only by the way the light dulls behind the curtains. His body aches from lying still, but he can’t make himself shift. The thought of getting up, of standing, of doing anything, is too much.

Yeonjun tries. God, he tries. His voice filters through the fog, too bright, too loud, too alive for Kai to meet halfway.

“Ningie, come on, you have to eat something,” Yeonjun says, hovering by the bed with a plate that smells of reheated rice. “Just a little, yeah? For hyung?”

Kai doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look. His gaze stays fixed on the same point of the ceiling, unblinking, as though moving his eyes might shatter him completely.

“Okay… maybe not food yet. Water, then. Just a few sips. Please.” The sound of the glass setting down on the desk, the rustle of Yeonjun shifting nervously from foot to foot. “You’ll get sick if you don’t.”

Kai’s throat feels dry, his lips cracked, but the thought of swallowing feels impossible. His body doesn’t want it. His body doesn’t want anything.

“Ningie?” Yeonjun’s voice cracks. He sets the plate down on the nightstand and crouches closer, trying to catch Kai’s eyes. “Talk to me. Please. Just… say something.”

But there’s nothing to say. No words left inside him. What would he even say, anyway? That he’d been played all along? That he’s a fool, a joke, unworthy of the kindness he was given? That the one person he thought would stay has finally proven him wrong?

His chest feels heavy, pressing him further into the mattress. He closes his eyes, as if that will help, as if the world might vanish if he doesn’t look at it.

“Kai.” A hand hovers over his shoulder, warm and shaking with uncertainty. “You’re scaring me.”

Kai doesn’t respond. He can’t. It’s not that he doesn’t want to make Yeonjun feel better, doesn’t want to take away the panic etched into his hyung’s voice, it’s that he has nothing left to give. Every part of him has collapsed inward, hollowed out. 

Yeonjun makes a soft, broken sound, the kind Kai isn’t used to hearing from him. Then arms wrap tight around him, pulling him close against a chest that’s warm and trembling. Yeonjun buries his face in Kai’s hair, presses frantic kisses against his temple, his cheek, his forehead. His hands are everywhere at once; cupping his jaw, stroking his back, threading desperately through his hair as though touch alone might be enough to bring him back.

“Kai-yah, please,” Yeonjun whispers into his skin, voice muffled but raw. “Please don’t shut me out like this. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to fix it, but I’ll do anything if you just… come back to me a little. Just a little.”

The words sink in, but they don’t take root. Kai feels them pass through the shell of his body, distant, like they’re meant for someone else. He wants to move, wants to hold Yeonjun back, whisper something that will ease the panic in his voice… but his limbs are heavy, his chest hollow. Nothing answers.

Instead, guilt curls inside him like smoke. Yeonjun doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to have his voice break and his hands shake because Kai can’t muster the strength to breathe properly. He hates himself for it. Hates how selfish it feels, lying here like dead weight while Yeonjun tries to stitch him back together with nothing but trembling hands and whispered pleas.

But maybe this is better. Maybe it’s easier if Yeonjun sees him like this now, fragile and useless, so he can get tired and leave before it hurts more. That’s what people do, isn’t it? They leave. And if Yeonjun leaves now, if he decides Kai isn’t worth the effort, then maybe it won’t ache as much as it always does when it happens later. Maybe the sharp edge of abandonment will be dulled by the inevitability.

Kai closes his eyes against the warmth of Yeonjun’s touch, lets himself be held even as the thought gnaws inside him: let him go, let him get tired of you, let him leave like everyone else does. It’ll hurt, but not as much as pretending he deserves to be kept.

He drifts like that, half-asleep, half-numb, the weight of Yeonjun’s presence lingering nearby. Sometimes he hears him on the phone, low whispers from the other room. Sometimes he hears the fridge opening, the soft clatter of dishes, the restless pacing back and forth across the floorboards.

But Kai doesn’t move. He stays curled on his side, the duvet cocooning him from a world that doesn’t want him. And he thinks, maybe this is how it will be from now on. Maybe this is easier.

Because what’s the point in standing up, in fighting to keep going, when he knows how it ends? People leave. Love fades. And he… he isn’t meant for more than this.

Kai hears the scrape of a chair leg, the sound of his phone being unlocked, the tremble in his hyung’s breathing as he mutters under his breath. He doesn’t want to listen, but there’s nowhere for the words to go except into the hollow space of his chest.

“I can’t do this alone,” Yeonjun whispers to whoever is on the other end of the line, voice cracking. “He won’t eat, he won’t drink, he won’t even look at me. I’ve never seen him like this, Tyunnie. Never. I’m scared, I don’t know what to do. Please, can you come?”

The words hit Kai like a dull weight. He’s calling Taehyun. Of course he is. Yeonjun’s running out of options, running out of patience. It’s only a matter of time before he realises Kai isn’t worth this much effort. Maybe he already has.

Kai curls away from the door, listening as the room fills with silence again, then the faint sound of pacing resumes. His chest feels heavier with every second.

It doesn’t take long. The knock comes soft but insistent, Yeonjun rushing to the door in a flurry of relief. Then footsteps, lighter and careful, crossing the floor. The bed dips slightly as someone sits near his legs.

“Princess.” The voice is softer than Yeonjun’s, lower, familiar in a way that scrapes at something buried deep inside. Taehyun.

Kai doesn’t move. He doesn’t open his eyes.

There’s a pause, then a sigh, quiet and shaky. “It’s me. I’m here.” Fingers brush the duvet near his arm, tentative, as though afraid to scare him off. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But can you at least look at me? Just once?”

Kai keeps his eyes shut, keeps his back towards Taehyun. The effort it would take to open them feels monumental, impossible. And even if he did, what then? He’d see Taehyun’s face etched with pity. He doesn’t think he could survive that.

“You don’t have to explain, Princess,” Taehyun says, voice soft but steady, as though he’s choosing every word with care. “I just need to know you’re still in there. That you can hear me.”

Kai swallows against the dryness in his throat. He can hear him. Every syllable lands heavy. But answering or showing any sign feels dangerous, like it might shatter the fragile wall he’s built around the emptiness.

Yeonjun hovers nearby, shifting anxiously, but Taehyun doesn’t move. He stays there, patient, waiting.

“You don’t have to be okay right now,” Taehyun continues, quieter now, as though speaking only to him. “You don’t even have to talk to me. But don’t disappear completely, Princess. Please.”

Kai’s chest tightens, a faint sting rising behind his eyes. He hates how much of him still aches for those words, still wants to believe them. But he stays silent, locked in the cocoon of stillness, because silence feels safer than risking what little he has left.

Kai feels the mattress dip again, another weight settling on his other side. Yeonjun. Between them, he’s boxed in, a wall of warmth and desperation pressing close from both directions. Their hands find him almost at the same time; Yeonjun’s clumsy, restless fingers brushing through his hair, Taehyun’s touch softer, stroking over the blanket near his arm as if coaxing a frightened animal out of hiding.

“Ningie,” Yeonjun murmurs, his voice breaking in a way Kai’s never heard before. “You’ve gotta help me out here. Just… give me something. A word. A look. Anything. Please.”

Kai doesn’t move. The guilt curls deep in his stomach, sharper now, but still not enough to force him out of the paralysis.

Taehyun tries next. His tone is lighter, carefully measured, but Kai can hear the strain beneath it. “You know, I brought you your favourite egg tarts. Don’t make me finish them all.”

Yeonjun lets out a humourless laugh, swatting Taehyun’s shoulder. “Don’t joke about food, he’s serious about his egg tarts.” His voice doesn’t reflect the joke he’s trying to make. 

There’s a shuffle, the rustle of a packet being torn open. Taehyun waves an egg tart in front of him. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know it’s his favourite. He can smell it, and he can feel his stomach rumbling in hunger, but he still can’t be bothered to lift his head and open his mouth. 

“Here,” Taehyun says gently. “Just one bite. For me? Or for Yeonjun hyung, if you like him better. He’s been hovering over you like a mother hen all day.”

Yeonjun huffs, but his voice is tender. “Don’t make me start spoon-feeding you, Kai-yah. I’ll do it. Don’t test me.”

Normally, he might laugh at that, might even squirm away in embarrassment. But now, the words fall against the hollow space inside him and fade before they can take root. He doesn’t open his mouth. He doesn’t even twitch.

There’s a long pause. Then Yeonjun’s fingers are wiping at his cheek, as if brushing away tears that aren’t even there. His voice is low, cracked. “You’re scaring me, Kai. You’re really scaring me.”

Taehyun shifts closer, his hand slipping under the blanket to wrap gently around Kai’s wrist. “If you won’t eat, then at least drink something,” he says softly. “Just a sip. Please.” There’s the faint clink of a water bottle being uncapped. “You don’t have to do it for yourself. Do it for us.”

Kai swallows, throat aching with thirst, but still doesn’t move. The thought of lifting his hand, of forcing his body to respond, feels impossible. Yeonjun presses a desperate kiss to his temple, his cheeks, muttering over and over again how much he loves him, how he’s not going anywhere. Taehyun smoothes his hair down, whispers about how it’s okay, how they’ll sit here as long as it takes.

Kai lies still between them, feeling every ounce of their love and panic pressing down on him like a weight he doesn’t deserve. The guilt grows sharper, hotter. But even with it clawing at him, he stays silent, still as stone, because he doesn’t know how to be anything else anymore.

 

🐧 

 

When Kai wakes again, the room is quiet. The weight on either side of him is gone, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s finally succeeded; if Yeonjun and Taehyun have given up, decided he’s too much trouble to keep trying with. The thought is both relief and ache, leaving him staring blankly at the ceiling, the hollow in his chest spreading wider.

The blanket is tucked carefully around him, smoothed down the way Yeonjun always fusses over, and there’s a box of egg tarts next to a water bottle placed by the bed, condensation beading along the plastic. A sign that they hadn’t abandoned him in anger, just stepped away for a moment. Still, the silence presses in. He lies there, eyes half-closed, letting the emptiness pool in him, heavier with every second.

It isn’t until he hears the murmur of voices outside the door that his body stirs with something that isn’t numbness. His breath catches, chest tightening as a sound cuts through; deeper, warmer, achingly familiar. His father’s voice.

Kai freezes. He hasn’t seen his dad in weeks, only heard him over the phone when he made himself sound fine, when he carefully trimmed the truth down into something bearable. But now that voice is just on the other side of the door, steady and sure in a way it has always been, carrying that quiet authority that made everything feel safe when he was younger.

Yeonjun’s tone is tight, low, desperate, overlapping with Taehyun’s steadier murmur, but it’s his father’s voice that steals all of Kai’s focus. It rolls through him, grounding and solid, stirring memories he’s buried under everything else: safe mornings in the kitchen, the quiet clink of chopsticks, the way his dad always ruffled his hair before leaving for work.

His body itches to move, to push back the blanket, stumble across the room and fling himself into his dad’s arms the way he used to as a child. The instinct is sharp, visceral, like his muscles remember before his brain can catch up. Yet he doesn’t move. The same heaviness that’s kept him silent all this time pins him down now, chaining him to the mattress.

He listens instead. Listens to Yeonjun’s ragged breaths, to Taehyun’s soft words, to his dad’s voice, calm and unwavering, as though the world could collapse around him and he’d still stand firm. That steadiness makes Kai’s throat burn. He wants to run to him, to reassure him, to prove he’s still here, still breathing, but he remains still, the longing clawing at him from the inside out.

The door creaks faintly, the voices shifting closer. His pulse quickens, heart thudding in his ears. He knows it’s only a matter of seconds before his dad steps inside, before that presence fills the room, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it. He doesn’t know if he can bear to see the look on his dad’s face when he realises what Kai has become.

Kai doesn’t look, but he feels the shift in air, the presence that fills the room in an instant, familiar and anchoring. The footsteps are unhurried, measured, as if his dad knows exactly how fragile the moment is, how easily it could splinter.

Then the mattress dips beside him, just slightly, a weight settling without crowding. For a long beat, nothing happens, and Kai holds his breath, every nerve in his body taut. Then fingers brush lightly against his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead in the same absent, affectionate way his dad used to when he was small.

It’s such a simple touch, steady and unshaken, that Kai nearly comes undone. His chest feels too tight, like it might split open under the pressure. He wants to collapse into it, wants to turn his face into the warmth of his dad’s side and sob until there’s nothing left, but he can’t move. His body is locked in place, the weight of his own despair pinning him harder than ever.

His dad doesn’t push. He just keeps his hand there, gentle strokes through Kai’s hair, calm and unhurried. No questions, no demands, only presence. That steadiness speaks louder than words ever could: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

Kai swallows hard, blinking against the burn in his eyes. He doesn’t know if he can handle this quiet proof that someone still sees him, still stays, even when he’s at his worst. It feels too big, too heavy.

“Kai,” his father says finally, his voice quiet but firm. “My baby. I know you don’t feel like talking. That’s all right. But let me talk to you, then. Just listen, hm?”

Kai doesn’t move, but his throat tightens. His dad’s voice fills the silence, grounding in its steadiness, and Kai clings to it.

“You’ve always been strong,” his dad begins. “Even when you were little. Do you remember? Of course you don’t. You were only four when your mum left. But I remember. I remember how you tried so hard not to cry when your sisters were gone, when the house got too quiet. You’d sit there on the sofa with that old toy train, running it back and forth. You thought if you stayed quiet, I wouldn’t see you hurting.”

Kai blinks, eyes burning, his body curling tighter under the blanket. He does remember the train, red paint chipped at the edges, the wheels stiff. He remembers the ache, the silence, but he’s never heard his dad talk about it like this.

His dad’s hand smoothes gently over his hair again. “I’d watch you, and I’d think, how can a boy so small carry so much? And yet you did. You’ve been carrying things your whole life. More than you should’ve. More than I should’ve let you.”

The words scrape against Kai’s chest, equal parts comfort and pain. He wants to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he did his best, but his lips won’t move.

“You’ve always been my anchor, Kai. Do you know that?” his father continues, voice lower now, threaded with something fragile. “There were nights I thought I wouldn’t make it through another shift, mornings when the bills piled up and the weight of it nearly broke me. And then I’d hear you in the kitchen, trying to make breakfast with your little hands, burning toast, spilling milk everywhere. Do you remember how proud you were when you finally made eggs without breaking the yolk?”

Kai swallows hard, a weak sound catching in his throat. He remembers. He remembers standing on tiptoe at the stove, the way his dad had laughed softly and eaten every bite of those burnt eggs like they were a feast.

“You kept me going,” his dad murmurs. “Even when I thought I couldn’t anymore. Just seeing you try, seeing how much heart you put into everything, even the small things, it reminded me why I had to keep fighting.” His fingers pause, then resume their gentle strokes. “You’re stronger than you believe, Kai. You always have been.”

Kai’s chest shakes, breath unsteady. The words burrow deep, warring against the voice in his head that insists he’s worthless, that he ruins everything.

“I know you feel empty now,” his dad says softly. “I can see it. I can feel it in the way you’re lying here, shutting the world out. But you’re not empty, kiddo. You’re hurting. And there’s a difference. Hurt means you still care. Hurt means you’re still alive in there, still fighting, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

Kai squeezes his eyes shut, hot tears leaking despite his effort to stay still. He hates how much he wants to believe him.

His dad’s voice dips lower, warmer. “Do you remember the guitar? The first one we bought together? You begged me for weeks, said you needed it for music class, but I knew the truth: you just wanted to play. You didn’t stop until your fingers bled. And when I told you to rest, you looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘I’m not stopping until I get it right.’”

A shaky breath escapes Kai. He remembers the sting in his fingertips, the smell of metal strings, the pride in finally playing a full song.

“That’s who you are, Kai. The boy who never stops trying, even when it hurts. The boy who makes people proud just by being himself. You think you don’t deserve love?” His dad’s voice grows firmer, a rare edge breaking through the gentleness. “You’ve been loved from the moment I held you in my arms. You’ll be loved until the moment I take my last breath. You will continue to be loved even after I’m gone. And nothing changes that.”

The words slam into Kai, knocking the air out of him. He curls tighter, hands clutching at the blanket, trembling.

His dad exhales softly, his hand still steady in Kai’s hair. “I don’t need you to be perfect. I don’t need you to be strong all the time. I just need you to let me be here with you. Because I can’t lose you, Kai. Not like this. Not when you’ve given me every reason to keep living.”

His father pauses, and the silence that falls between them feels heavy and charged, weighted with everything he’s still holding back. The hand in Kai’s hair stills for a moment before smoothing down gently again, like the pause was only to gather strength.

“The truth is, I’m scared,” his father says quietly, the words sinking into Kai’s chest like stones. “I’ve been scared since Yeonjun called me. Scared because the last time I saw you like this… the last time I saw my son disappear into himself like this, was when your mother and sisters left. When you realised they weren’t coming back.”

Kai’s breath catches, his lungs suddenly too small for the air in the room. His mind flashes unbidden to those nights: his small body curled up on his bed, fists pressed against his eyes until they hurt, muffling sobs so his father wouldn’t hear. He remembers the hollow silence of their home, the missing laughter of his sisters, the closed door his mother had walked through and never opened again. The way the world seemed to end without warning, leaving him stranded in its ruins.

His dad’s voice doesn’t waver, though Kai can feel the weight behind every word. “I can’t go through that again. I can’t watch you fade away like that again. I need to know I haven’t lost you, Kai. That my son is still here with me. That you’re still here.”

Kai trembles, every muscle in his body straining against the walls he’s built. The steady warmth of his father’s hand on his head is the only tether holding him to this moment, and it burns because it’s love, raw and unshakable, something he can’t hide from even if he tried.

“I don’t want this shell,” his father whispers, his voice low but clear. “I don’t want the boy who shuts himself away, who believes lies about his worth, who carries pain he doesn’t deserve. I want you. My son. The one who laughed at the smallest things, who sang off-key with me in the car, who dreamed so big I worried the world wouldn’t be enough to hold it. I want him back. I want you back, Kai.”

The dam breaks.

It happens so suddenly, so violently, that Kai almost doesn’t realise it’s happening. His throat closes around a sob that rips itself free anyway, raw and broken. He tries to cover his mouth, tries to hold it in the way he always has, but it’s useless. The grief, the betrayal, the shame, all of it floods out of him at once, choking and unrelenting.

And his father is there to catch it all.

Kai falls sideways, collapsing into the solid warmth of his father’s chest. His hands clutch at the fabric of his dad’s shirt, desperate and clawing like if he lets go, he’ll drown. His sobs come in great, shuddering waves, his body wracked with the force of everything he’s been holding back for days, weeks, years.

His dad’s arms wrap around him instantly, pulling him in tight, unyielding. One large hand cups the back of Kai’s head, pressing him close, while the other rubs steady, grounding circles between his trembling shoulder blades. His father doesn’t flinch at the tears soaking through his shirt, doesn’t try to shush him into silence. He just holds him, steady as ever, murmuring words Kai can’t even hear over the sound of his own cries.

For the first time since Beomgyu shattered him, Kai lets himself unravel. He lets himself be small, lets himself collapse into someone else’s strength, lets himself be held.

And in his father’s arms, in that steady, unshakable embrace, he realises he isn’t lost. Because even if everyone else leaves, even if love feels like a cruel joke played at his expense, his father is here. Has always been here. And it hurts – it still hurts so much – but it’s real, and it’s tethered to the warmth of the one person who never left.

Notes:

dad's here to the rescue!! poor baby kai, unfortunately the angst is still going to continue on for quite a while so buckle up!

also, thank you so much for all the nice comments, things have gotten much calmer here, but it could definitely be better. at least our streets are no longer littered by the fuckass m*litary and c*ps😷

hope you liked the update! and please let me know your thoughts in the comment section or you can reach me in the following platforms!! <333

yell at me on my strawpage! | yell at me on twitter! | yell at me on alterspring!

Chapter 29

Summary:

He should hate him. He should be furious, like Yeonjun is, like Taehyun probably is too. And yet, somewhere beneath the ache, beneath the humiliation and the pain, there’s a part of Kai that still yearns for him. For Beomgyu’s voice, his laugh, the warmth of his presence filling the quiet corners of Kai’s life. That yearning feels like betrayal to Yeonjun, to Taehyun, even to himself, and the guilt of it makes his stomach twist until he can hardly breathe.

Notes:

enjoy the update~

🐧

 

The morning drapes itself over Kai like a heavy blanket, one that doesn’t warm him so much as press him deeper into the mattress. His body feels brittle, raw in ways he can’t name, as though he’s been hollowed out and left to echo. Every limb aches with exhaustion, his throat tight and sore from the storm of tears that finally ripped out of him last night. But for all that, he doesn’t feel quite as empty. Something softer lingers in the cracks of him, fragile as a flame but there all the same; his father’s words, his father’s touch, the way he’d held Kai like he was still small and still precious, not a burden too heavy to carry.

He blinks slowly, the faint morning light spilling through the curtains. His first instinct is to curl away from it, to retreat back into the dark space inside himself where nothing can reach him. Embarrassment prickles hot in his chest, the memory of how he’d sobbed in his dad’s arms making him want to sink through the floor, but beneath that is gratitude, too. He hadn’t realised until last night just how badly he’d needed someone to remind him that he wasn’t already lost.

Kai stares at the ceiling until the silence is broken by the sound of footsteps. His dad appears at the doorway, his voice steady but gentle. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you up.”

Kai shakes his head weakly, muscles heavy with resistance. He doesn’t have it in him to move, to drag his body anywhere beyond the safe cocoon of his blanket. He wants to stay here, where nothing can be demanded of him, where no one can look too closely at the cracks, but his dad doesn’t scold him. He just walks closer, sits on the edge of the bed, and rests a hand on Kai’s shoulder. The warmth seeps through the fabric of his shirt, steady and grounding.

“You don’t have to do much,” his father says, tone patient, as if coaxing a stubborn child. “Just a shower. Freshen up a little. That’s all I’m asking.”

Kai swallows hard, staring at the faint pattern in the duvet. Even that feels monumental, like climbing a mountain with no end in sight, but the way his dad’s hand squeezes gently at his shoulder, the way he waits without rushing him loosens something in him. Maybe his dad is right. Maybe he deserves to at least feel clean, to wash away the stickiness of yesterday’s tears.

His voice comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

His dad smiles, small but relieved, and helps him up with quiet hands. Kai doesn’t fight it. He lets himself be guided to the bathroom, the tiles cold under his bare feet, and when the water runs warm over his skin, he closes his eyes and breathes. The steam fogs the mirror, the sound of the shower head filling the room with something constant, something that drowns out the clutter of his thoughts. He scrubs gently, fingers shaky, and though his chest still feels bruised, the heat of the water unknots some of the tightness in his body.

When he finally steps out, damp hair plastered to his forehead, he feels a fraction lighter. Not healed, not fixed, but no longer stuck in the same stale air of yesterday. He pulls on fresh clothes, the fabric soft against his skin, and pads back into the bedroom.

His father is there waiting, sitting patiently on the edge of the bed like he never left. As soon as he sees Kai, he stands, arms opening without hesitation. Kai freezes for a second, caught off guard, but then he lets himself fall forward into the embrace. His dad’s arms wrap tight around him, solid and unwavering, and the press of a kiss lands warm against the crown of his still-damp hair.

“There you are,” his dad murmurs. “I feel like I haven’t seen you without a cloud above your head.”

The words sink into him like sunlight breaking through clouds. Kai blinks against the sting in his eyes, and for a fleeting second, he lets himself believe that he is still here, that he hasn’t been erased by the weight of everything that’s happened.

His dad pulls back just enough to look at him, brushing a strand of wet fringe from his forehead. “Let’s eat something, yeah? I made your favourite.”

Kai’s brow furrows faintly, the instinct to refuse curling at the edges of him. His stomach feels like stone, heavy and unyielding, but his dad’s expression is hopeful, soft in a way that makes it harder to say no. And then he catches the faint scent drifting in from the kitchen. Familiar, comforting, wrapping around him like the memory of simpler mornings. His dad’s miyeokguk.

It smells of home, of care, of something he hadn’t realised how badly he missed until now.

He nods faintly, the motion small but enough. “Okay.”

Relief flickers across his father’s face as he takes Kai’s hand, squeezing it lightly. “That’s my boy.”

Together, they walk out of the bedroom. His dad doesn’t let go, guiding him into the dining room with that same steady presence. The table is already set, steam rising gently from the bowl placed at the centre. The smell is stronger here, filling the space with warmth that pulls at something deep inside Kai’s chest. He sits down slowly, his dad’s hand brushing his shoulder before moving away to take the opposite chair.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Kai allows himself to look at the food in front of him. The broth glimmers faintly in the light, seaweed strands swaying gently in the surface. He lifts the spoon with trembling fingers, the warmth of it seeping into his skin, and takes a tentative sip.

It tastes exactly like it always has. Like home. Like love. Like his father still sees him, still knows how to take care of him when he can’t take care of himself, and for the first time since everything shattered, Kai swallows something that doesn’t burn on the way down.

The first spoonful sits heavy in his stomach, but it doesn’t make him recoil the way he thought it might. He forces down another, smaller bite, trying not to think about how shaky his hands still are. His dad doesn’t push, just sits across from him, watching with a gaze that’s steady but not suffocating. The quiet between them is soft, punctuated only by the faint clink of the spoon against the bowl.

It’s that quiet that breaks when movement stirs at the edge of his vision. Kai stiffens instinctively, shoulders hunching when Yeonjun emerges from the hallway, his hair messy from running his hands through it too many times, dark circles carved beneath his eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept all night, like he’s been carrying the weight of Kai’s silence on his back.

For a moment, Kai doesn’t breathe. Shame prickles sharp under his skin, crawling up his throat. He can’t stop replaying the way Yeonjun had begged him yesterday, coaxing, desperate, kissing his temple like that could anchor him back into the world. He hadn’t responded. He hadn’t even tried and now Yeonjun is here, seeing him like this, fragile enough to be steered to the table by his dad like a child.

Yeonjun hovers by the doorway, hesitant, like he’s afraid to step too close and risk breaking whatever fragile thread is keeping Kai upright, but when his eyes meet the sight of the half-empty bowl in front of Kai, a shaky smile flickers across his face, something like relief brightening the shadows of his exhaustion.

“You ate,” Yeonjun says softly, almost disbelieving.

Kai grips his spoon tighter, gaze locked on the surface of the soup. His throat closes, unable to form words, so he only nods faintly. It feels pathetic, but it’s all he can manage.

Yeonjun steps further into the room, then stops again, caught between wanting to close the distance and not daring to overwhelm him. “That’s good, Ningie. That’s… really good.” His voice wavers, the edges fraying with everything he’s held back over the last day. “I was so scared.”

The shame cuts deeper. Kai wants to tell him he’s sorry, that he didn’t mean to scare him, that he never wanted to be a weight dragging Yeonjun down. But the words knot up, thick and heavy. He can’t lift his head, can’t meet the eyes that have always looked at him with too much warmth, warmth he doesn’t deserve.

The air shifts again as the front door clicks open, the sound of light footsteps approaching. Taehyun’s voice drifts in, cautious but steady. “Hyung? I brought the things you asked for.”

Kai’s stomach lurches. Taehyun. He’d almost forgotten. The memory of Taehyun sitting by his bed last night flickers sharp in his mind. The way his friend had stroked his hair, whispered half-jokes that he hadn’t even flinched at. The way Taehyun’s hand had stayed on his arm like an anchor. Kai had given him nothing in return. Not a word. Not even a glance.

And now he has to face him.

Taehyun steps into the dining room, a bag in his hand, and his eyes immediately find Kai. They soften in an instant, all quiet concern, but there’s no judgement there. Only patience, only care. “You’re up.”

Kai’s grip on the spoon tightens until his knuckles pale. He can’t lift his head. He can’t look at him, can’t face the weight of Taehyun’s kindness when he feels so undeserving of it. His ears burn with the humiliation of being seen like this… weak, broken, barely able to manage the simplest things.

His father senses the shift, clears his throat gently. “He’s eaten a little,” he says, like it’s something worth announcing.

Taehyun’s lips quirk into the faintest smile, relief threading through his expression. “That’s good. That’s really good, Kai.”

Kai swallows hard, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He hates this, the way they’re all gathered around him, watching his every movement like he might collapse at any second. He feels like glass, fragile and see-through, and it terrifies him.

Yeonjun moves closer at last, crouching by the table so he’s in Kai’s periphery without forcing him to look. His voice is low, gentle. “You don’t have to say anything, Ningie. Not if you don’t want to. Just… don’t shut off on us, okay?”

Kai’s chest squeezes painfully. He wants to tell him he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve any of them. They shouldn’t have to waste themselves on him. He’s already ruined everything. His silence, his weakness, it’s only hurting them more.

His dad lays a hand over his, grounding. “You’re not a burden, kiddo,” he says, as if reading his mind. “Don’t ever think that.”

The words make Kai’s eyes sting. He blinks furiously, trying to shove the tears back down. But he still can’t look at Yeonjun’s trembling smile, at Taehyun’s quiet steadiness, at his father’s unshakable love. He feels too raw, too exposed, like every piece of him has been laid bare.

So he keeps his eyes down, keeps silent, lets them hover around him in a circle of support he doesn’t know how to accept yet. He hears Yeonjun shift closer, feels the faint brush of Taehyun’s hand against the back of his chair, senses his dad’s unwavering presence beside him. They don’t push, don’t force. They just stay.

And Kai, for all his shame, for all the humiliation burning in his chest, can’t bring himself to push them away.

His father doesn’t miss the way Kai’s grip on the spoon has gone stiff, his shoulders drawn tight as if every breath is a struggle. He notices the way Kai hasn’t touched another bite, the way his gaze has pinned itself stubbornly to the bowl as if looking up might shatter him. It’s enough. It’s too much.

“Yeonjun-ah,” his dad says gently, voice carrying a softness that still leaves no room for argument. “Taehyun-ah. Would you mind giving us a little space?”

Both boys look up instantly, startled. Yeonjun’s eyes dart between Kai and his father, guilt flickering across his face like he’s being pushed away, like maybe he’s done something wrong. But then he sees Kai’s trembling hands, the way his whole body seems coiled tight, and his jaw clenches. He swallows hard, nods quickly. “Of course. Yeah.”

Taehyun doesn’t even hesitate. He rises smoothly from where he’d been lingering by the table, setting the bag he brought down quietly in the corner. His expression stays calm, measured, but his eyes soften when they pass over Kai. “We’ll be in Yeonjun hyung’s room,” he says. His voice is steady, like a promise.

Yeonjun lingers just a fraction longer, reluctant to move, but Taehyun’s hand on his arm steers him gently towards the door. The two of them slip out into the hall, their footsteps fading, and the air shifts with their absence.

Kai exhales shakily, the tension in his chest loosening just a little. Without their eyes on him, the weight pressing against his ribs eases, though shame still hums under his skin. He slumps back slightly in his chair, hands falling limp in his lap.

His dad doesn’t speak right away. He just watches, steady and unhurried, letting Kai have the silence without filling it with expectations. The soft hum of the apartment replaces the pressure of voices, and for the first time this morning, Kai doesn’t feel quite so much like a specimen under glass.

Finally, his father leans in, his hand brushing against Kai’s arm. “Better?” he asks quietly.

Kai nods faintly, throat tight. It’s not much, but it’s honest.

“Good.” His dad gives his arm a small squeeze, reassuring but not heavy. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, Kai-yah. They just want to help. But I know it can be… a lot.”

Kai blinks, his eyes prickling. A lot. That’s one way to put it. Embarrassing, suffocating, unbearable – words he’d been biting back all morning – but somehow his dad makes it sound less like weakness and more like something human. He swallows hard, the knot in his chest shifting, loosening just enough for him to breathe again.

The silence that follows isn’t sharp anymore. It’s gentler, a blanket rather than a cage. His dad doesn’t push, doesn’t ask him to talk, doesn’t demand anything. He just stays there, steady and unshaken, the kind of presence Kai can lean against even when he can’t find the words.

His father waits until Kai’s shoulders have stopped their faint trembling, until the silence has stretched long enough to feel like breathing room rather than a burden. Then, with the kind of gentleness that seems woven into every syllable he speaks, he tries again.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his hand still steady against Kai’s arm. “How about this… just you and me today. A father-son day. No one else. We could go out, take a walk, maybe visit some of the places we used to back when we still lived here. Remember that park you loved with the koi pond? Or that bakery that always gave you an extra red bean bun because they liked how polite you were?”

The suggestion slips into the room like sunlight through a crack in the blinds; quiet, unassuming, but warm enough to nudge the shadows back. Kai blinks, his lashes damp, a lump forming in his throat. The thought of going anywhere feels heavy, daunting, but at the same time, something stirs at the memory his father pulls forward: weekends spent hand-in-hand, small trips when things still felt whole, moments when it was just the two of them against the world.

Kai swallows hard, his chest tightening. He wants to say no, to retreat into the cocoon of blankets and silence, but the words don’t form. Instead, something small and raw escapes him, so quiet it almost doesn’t sound like his own voice.

“Sure.”

His father freezes for a heartbeat, as though he’s afraid to believe what he’s heard. Then a soft, trembling smile spreads across his face, relief and love flickering in his eyes all at once. He doesn’t make a big deal of it, doesn’t tease or overwhelm, he simply squeezes Kai’s hand, steady and sure.

“Alright,” he says, voice low, warm. “Just you and me. Like before.”

The words linger, soothing something deep inside Kai. And though he still feels fragile, like a single wrong step could make him splinter apart again, the quiet promise of the day ahead settles into him like a thread of hope he hadn’t realised he was still holding onto.

 

🐧 

 

The city feels different when Kai walks through it with his father. The air is the same, full of exhaust and food carts and the muted chatter of strangers, but something about being beside him shifts the weight on Kai’s shoulders. It’s not gone, not by any means. The ache still lives in his chest, still drags him down with every ste, but it feels just a little less suffocating, a little more bearable, when his father’s steady presence is there to anchor him.

They start with the bakery, the one tucked into the side street with its chipped red awning. The smell hits him first, warm yeast and sugar, and Kai is dragged back to childhood in an instant. His father orders for him, placing a red bean bun into his hands like it's a ritual, and Kai stares at it for a long moment before taking a bite. The sweetness blooms on his tongue, simple and familiar, and for a moment the knot in his chest loosens. His father smiles at him, eyes soft, and it makes Kai’s throat ache more than the food.

From there, they wander. His father doesn’t rush him, never forces him to speak, just walks at his side with the quiet patience he’s always carried. They stop at the park, the koi pond still glittering beneath the sun, children crowding the railings to watch the fish. Kai leans against the rail, staring down at the flashes of orange and white darting through the water, and remembers hours spent doing the same thing years ago. 

His father leans beside him, voice low. “You used to say the fish were your friends. Said they were loyal because they never left the pond.” He glances at Kai, his hand brushing against Kai’s on the rail. “I think you were right. Loyalty is something you’ve always understood better than most.”

Kai’s chest tightens, his jaw locking as he swallows against the lump rising there. He doesn’t feel loyal. He feels like a fool who clung to someone who never really wanted him, who believed too easily and gave too much away. But his father’s words sink into him anyway, steady and unshakable.

Next is the bookstore on the corner, the one Kai used to beg to visit after school. The bell above the door jingles the same way, the scent of paper and dust familiar and grounding. His father lets him wander, doesn’t comment when Kai lingers too long by the shelves he used to love, and only quietly pays for the comic book Kai had once collected as a child. “For old times’ sake,” his father says when he hands it over, and Kai can only clutch it to his chest, unable to speak past the wave of gratitude that threatens to drown him.

They end at the river. The Han River stretches wide and endless, water glinting beneath the afternoon light. They sit on a bench together, the breeze cool against Kai’s face. For a while, neither of them speaks. Kai stares at the water, his fingers twisting in his sleeves, until his father finally breaks the silence.

“You don’t have to forgive him.” The words are soft, but firm, carrying the kind of weight that makes Kai turn his head, startled. His father meets his eyes, unwavering. “Not right away. Maybe not ever. That’s not something anyone else can decide for you. What he did… it hurt you. Deeply. And you don’t owe him anything for that.”

The words land like stones in Kai’s chest. His breath shudders, and he looks back at the water, blinking hard. He’d been afraid to admit that to himself, afraid that holding on to the anger and hurt meant he was weak or bitter. Hearing his father say it, though, loosens something inside of him, even if just a fraction.

“But you do owe yourself something,” his father continues, his voice gentler now. “You owe yourself care. Rest. Healing. You can’t let what he did take everything from you. You have to take care of yourself first. That’s what matters.”

Kai swallows, his lips trembling as he presses them together. He doesn’t know if he can. He doesn’t know if he even remembers how. But his father’s hand comes down on his back, warm and solid, and Kai leans into it, letting himself breathe in that steadiness.

“I hate seeing you in this much pain, Kai.” His father’s voice dips lower, rawer. “If I could take it from you, I would. If I could carry it so you didn’t have to, I’d do it without a second thought. But I can’t. All I can do is be here.” His hand squeezes Kai’s shoulder, grounding him. “And remind you of what’s still true. I’m proud of you. Proud of how big your heart is. You gave your love so freely, even when it cost you. That’s not weakness, Kai. That’s strength most people don’t have.”

The words strike something deep in him, so deep he almost can’t breathe. His vision blurs, his chest aches, but the warmth of them lingers even through the pain. He shakes his head, unable to believe it, but his father squeezes his shoulder again, as if he can anchor the truth into him by sheer force.

“You’re not broken for loving him,” his father says, firm now, unyielding. “You’re not less for hurting. You’re my son. And nothing– nothing will ever make me less proud of you.”

Kai bows his head, shoulders trembling, lips pressed tight to keep the sob from breaking loose. The world feels heavy and unbearably fragile, but for the first time in days, there’s a sliver of light piercing through the cracks. His father’s presence, his words, wrap around him like armour, and though Kai still feels raw and battered, he also feels that maybe he’s not lost entirely.

They sit there for a long time, the river stretching out before them, the air carrying the sounds of laughter, footsteps, life moving on all around. Kai doesn’t speak, but when his father slides an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in close, he lets himself lean into it, lets himself be held, because he isn’t sure he can hold himself together much longer.

By the time they return to the apartment, the light outside has already begun to shift, painting the hallways with that golden, late-afternoon glow. Kai feels drained again, but it’s different this time; not the suffocating emptiness that has kept him in bed for days, but a gentler kind of exhaustion, the kind that comes after walking through memories he thought were long buried. His legs ache faintly, his head is heavy, but there’s a smallness in his chest that almost resembles relief.

Yeonjun and Taehyun are still there, but when they see Kai’s dad guiding him back inside, neither of them says a word. Yeonjun gives him a tentative smile, Taehyun a quiet nod, but they don’t crowd him. It’s almost as though they’ve both silently agreed to give him space, to let his father remain the centre of his world for now. Kai is grateful. He doesn’t think he has it in him yet to face the worry in their eyes.

Once inside his room, his father helps him settle onto the bed. “You should rest a little,” he says, crouching down in front of him so their eyes meet. His voice is steady, calm, the way it’s always been; an anchor Kai can cling to even when he feels like the floor is falling away. “I have to leave for work soon. I stayed as long as I could.”

The words make Kai’s chest tighten. He doesn’t want to be selfish, doesn’t want to keep his father from his responsibilities – he knows too well how hard his father works just to keep their lives afloat – but the thought of him leaving, of being without his grounding presence again, makes his stomach clench with quiet fear. He looks down, fiddling with his sleeves, ashamed of the way his throat burns.

His father must notice, because he reaches out, cupping Kai’s jaw in his calloused hand, gently lifting his chin until their eyes meet again. “I’ll come back,” he says firmly, like he’s sealing a promise. “As soon as possible if you need me. You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll be here again before you know it.”

Kai swallows hard, eyes stinging. He nods, but it feels too small, too inadequate for everything he wants to say. He wants to apologise, to tell his father that he knows how much effort it took to come here, that he’s sorry he couldn’t be more… more present, more cheerful, more like the son his father deserves. The guilt simmers in his chest, heavy and unshakable.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts finally, his voice small and raw. He drops his gaze again, ashamed. “You came all this way, and I… I wasn’t really there. I just… wasted your time.”

There’s a brief silence, then his father lets out a soft laugh, almost too tender. He leans forward, pressing his forehead lightly against Kai’s. “Wasted my time?” he repeats, his tone incredulous. “Do you know what it did to me just to see your face again? To sit with you, walk with you, hear your footsteps beside mine?” His hand squeezes Kai’s shoulder. “You don’t have to give me anything, Kai. Just you being here… that’s more than enough.”

Kai’s throat closes, his breath hitching as fresh tears spill over. He tries to blink them back, embarrassed, but his father pulls him into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around him with a strength that makes Kai feel both small and safe at once.

“I don’t need you to perform for me,” his father murmurs into his hair. “I don’t need you to smile when you don’t feel like it, or pretend you’re fine when you’re not. I just need you. My son. My little baby penguin. However you are, whatever you’re feeling. That’s all I’ve ever needed.”

The words land heavy, searing into Kai’s chest, and he clings to his father, his wet hair dampening the fabric of his shirt. He hates that he can’t seem to stop crying, hates that his father has to hold him like he’s still that boy who fell apart the day his mother left, but at the same time, the warmth of those arms is the only thing keeping him from shattering completely.

When they finally pull apart, his father cups his face again, thumbs brushing over damp cheeks. “I have to go now,” he says gently, though his eyes linger as though reluctant to leave. “But remember what I said. I’ll be back soon. And until then, you’re not alone. You’ve got Yeonjun, Taehyun. You’ve got people who care about you more than you realise.”

Kai nods, his chest heavy but steadied by the reassurance. He tries to form words, but nothing comes out, so instead he throws his arms around his father one last time, holding him as tightly as he can. His father hugs him back just as fiercely, pressing a kiss onto the top of his hair.

“I love you, Kai,” he whispers against his crown. “Don’t ever forget that. Not even for a second.”

Kai bites back a sob, nodding into his shoulder. “I love you too, Dad,” he manages, the words muffled but true.

When his father finally pulls away and heads toward the door, Kai watches him go with a hollow ache in his chest, but this time, it isn’t the ache of abandonment. It’s the ache of longing, of missing someone who has reminded him that he’s still worth loving. That even at his lowest, he’s never truly alone.

As the door closes softly behind him, Kai curls back onto his bed. He still feels raw, still feels like the world has sharp edges pressing against him, but something inside has shifted. The echo of his father’s embrace, his words, his kiss on Kai’s hair lingers, wrapping around the broken parts of him like a promise he can almost believe in.

The silence after his father leaves stretches heavy in the apartment. Kai stays on his bed for a while, curled into the dent his body has carved into the mattress these past days, staring at the faint crack in the ceiling. The echo of his dad’s words still vibrates in his chest, fragile but steady enough to hold onto. He knows if he closes his eyes, he’ll picture his father’s face, that firm but gentle expression, and he’ll fall apart again. So instead of lying there, he forces himself to sit up, palms pressed to his knees, heart thudding.

He owes them.

He swallows hard, legs trembling as he pushes himself up from the bed. His body feels heavier than it should, each step like wading through thick water, but he manages to shuffle to the door. His hand hovers over the knob, hesitant, but then his father’s voice whispers in his mind – you’re not alone – and he twists it open.

The living room is quiet. Yeonjun and Taehyun are seated on the couch, talking in low voices that cut off the second they notice him. Both of them look up at once, their faces flickering from surprise to something soft like relief, maybe, or worry they’re trying to hide. Neither of them move. Neither of them speak. It’s as though they’re afraid of scaring him back into silence.

Kai’s throat tightens. He hovers in the doorway, fingers twisting in the hem of his shirt, cheeks heating with embarrassment. He can’t bring himself to meet their eyes for more than a second.

“I…” His voice cracks, so he clears his throat and tries again, softer this time. “I’m sorry.”

Yeonjun is on his feet immediately, eyes wide. “Ningie, no,” he says, shaking his head as if the word itself is unbearable. “Don’t you dare apologise.”

Taehyun rises more slowly, his expression gentler, but he echoes the sentiment. “You don’t need to say that. Not to us.”

Kai blinks at them, confusion knotting with the guilt in his chest. “But I… I didn’t talk, I didn’t do anything… You were both trying so hard, and I–” His breath hitches, the shame spilling out with every word. “I ignored your efforts. Like a burden. Like you were wasting your time on me.”

Yeonjun makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, running a hand through his hair as he crosses the room in quick strides. He stops just short of touching Kai, like he’s waiting for permission, but his voice is steady when he speaks. “Kai. You could never be a burden. Do you hear me? Never.”

Taehyun steps closer too, his hand brushing lightly against Kai’s arm, grounding him. “We stayed because we wanted to,” he says simply. “Not because we expected you to do anything. You don’t have to do anything for us. Just let us in.”

The sincerity in their words unravels something tight inside Kai. He squeezes his eyes shut, tears welling unbidden, and shakes his head weakly. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, the words trembling out before he can stop them.

Yeonjun’s hand finally lands on his shoulder, warm and firm, pulling him a little closer. “Maybe you don’t see it,” he says softly, “but we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t think you deserved us. We love you, Kai-yah. That’s not going to change just because you had a hard time.”

Taehyun nods, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “We’re not going anywhere. So stop apologising for hurting. That’s what we’re here for. To stay, even when it’s hard.”

Kai’s chest constricts, and suddenly he can’t hold himself upright anymore. His knees buckle slightly, and Yeonjun catches him without hesitation, pulling him against his chest. The warmth is overwhelming, the steady heartbeat under Yeonjun’s shirt thudding in his ear. Kai lets himself sag into it, trembling with quiet sobs he thought he’d run out of.

Taehyun’s hand stays at his back, rubbing gentle circles. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just let it out. You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

Kai buries his face against Yeonjun’s shirt, ashamed but desperate, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “Thank you,” he whispers, voice shaking. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

Yeonjun kisses the top of his head, quick and fierce, as if the gesture itself is a vow. “Never,” he says firmly. “Not in a million years.”

Taehyun crouches slightly so Kai can see his face when he finally pulls back. His eyes are steady, his smile faint but sure. “You don’t owe us apologies, Kai. You don’t owe us anything. Just… let us stay. That’s all.”

 

🐧

 

Yeonjun doesn’t let him go far. From the moment Kai makes it out of his room, Yeonjun keeps close, hovering just enough that Kai feels the weight of it on his shoulders. Every time he so much as shifts on the couch or stands to get a glass of water, Yeonjun is right there, intercepting with a hand on his arm or a quiet, “I’ll get it for you.” At first Kai lets it happen, grateful for the steadiness of his presence, but as the hours pass, the protectiveness edges into something heavier, almost smothering.

Yeonjun doesn’t say Beomgyu’s name. Not once. It hangs in the air, an unspoken boundary Kai can feel pressing against the walls of the apartment. Even when Taehyun tries to carefully tread around the subject, Yeonjun cuts him off with a look or a quick change of topic, as if the syllables themselves might reopen a wound Kai can’t survive. Kai understands. He knows Yeonjun is angry– more than angry, even. He’s seen the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands curl into fists when he thinks Kai isn’t looking. But knowing doesn’t make it easier. Because every time Yeonjun shuts down the possibility of Beomgyu’s name entering the room, Kai feels the conflict tearing through him all over again.

He should hate him. He should be furious, like Yeonjun is, like Taehyun probably is too. And yet, somewhere beneath the ache, beneath the humiliation and the pain, there’s a part of Kai that still yearns for him. For Beomgyu’s voice, his laugh, the warmth of his presence filling the quiet corners of Kai’s life. That yearning feels like betrayal to Yeonjun, to Taehyun, even to himself, and the guilt of it makes his stomach twist until he can hardly breathe.

That night, when the apartment has gone quiet and Kai sits curled up on the edge of his bed, he hears it. Taehyun’s voice, low but sharp, spilling through the crack of the door from the living room.

“He tried again.”

The words hit Kai’s chest like a fist. His heart stutters.

Yeonjun’s voice follows, softer, but no less weighted. “I know. But we can’t let him–”

Kai leans closer, barely daring to breathe. The rest of their words blur into muffled tones, too quiet to catch, but he doesn’t need to hear every detail. The fragments are enough. Beomgyu tried to come back. Again.

His stomach churns, a sick mix of fear and something else he doesn’t want to name. His chest aches, sharp and unrelenting, and he doesn’t know if it’s anger or longing or both tearing him apart from the inside. The thought of Beomgyu close by again, trying to push his way back into reach… it unsettles him, makes him want to run and hide, and yet, beneath all that, there’s an ache that feels almost like relief. Like the part of him still tethered to Beomgyu is whispering, he didn’t give up on you.

Kai presses a fist against his sternum, as if he could quiet the storm inside. His eyes sting, his throat burns, and for the first time in days he wishes he didn’t know. Wishes he could still pretend that silence meant distance, that absence meant closure. Instead, the wound feels raw all over again, Beomgyu’s shadow stretching across the fragile progress he thought he’d made.

It’s only after sitting in the heavy quiet for what feels like hours that Kai’s mind wanders, unbidden, to the back of his closet where his bag still lies slumped against the wall. The thought is faint at first, passing like a whisper he tries to ignore, but it circles back until it sticks. He remembers. The teddy bear. The one Beomgyu had made for him at the spring festival, grinning like a fool while he stuffed the toy and dressed it in a tiny replica of his band tee. Kai hasn’t touched it since everything fell apart, hasn’t even wanted to look at it, because he was afraid of what it might do to him. And yet now, that memory gnaws at him, soft but insistent, pulling him toward it.

Tentatively, as though the weight of his body might betray how badly his hands are shaking, Kai pushes himself up from the bed. Each step toward the bag feels like stepping into dangerous territory, like approaching something that could undo the fragile balance he’s been clinging to. His fingers hover for a long moment before finally reaching inside, brushing against notebooks, spare clothes, until they catch on the familiar soft fur buried at the bottom. The second his skin makes contact, his breath catches in his throat. He pulls it out slowly, carefully, like it’s something fragile, and there it is… the teddy bear, waiting for him, as if no time has passed at all.

Kai’s fingers tremble as the bear’s fur presses against his palm, the soft plush warming slowly under his touch. He smoothes over its head, his thumb brushing the little round ears, and then lets his hand drift down to the tiny shirt it’s wearing. Black cotton, faded at the seams from being stuffed into his bag all this time. His chest tightens at the sight of it. The fabric looks absurdly familiar, like it belongs draped across Beomgyu’s own shoulders instead of stitched onto a toy, and for a second, it almost feels like Beomgyu is right there in front of him.

A smile breaks through before he can stop it, small and fragile. The first real one he’s felt in what feels like forever. It doesn’t last long, though, because the second it blooms, so does the ache in his chest. His heart twists painfully as he carries the bear back to bed, hugging it against himself. He buries his face in the fabric, inhaling deeply. It still carries the faintest trace of Beomgyu’s perfume, warm and sweet with that subtle sharpness he always associated with him. The scent is faint, nearly gone, but it’s enough to unravel him. Enough to make the hole inside him ache all the more.

Kai presses the bear tighter against his chest, his chin resting on its head, and for a moment he just holds it, as though the stitched seams might keep him from falling apart. Then, almost without thinking, his fingers wander to the little box sewn into its belly. The voice box. He remembers it now, the way Beomgyu had insisted on adding it when they were at the booth together, grinning like it was the best idea he’d ever had. Kai hadn’t pressed it since, too shy, too embarrassed to hear whatever Beomgyu had recorded for him. But now, staring at it in the dim light of his room, with his heart already aching beyond repair, he wonders if it’ll hurt any more than he already does.

He swallows hard, the lump in his throat refusing to budge. His finger hovers over the button, hesitating. Part of him screams not to do it, not to reopen something he’s been trying desperately to stitch closed. But the other part, the one that still reaches for Beomgyu even when it shouldn’t, wins out. He presses down.

A soft click. 

“Hey.”

Beomgyu’s voice fills the silence, warm and clear, as if he’s sitting at the edge of the bed right now.

Kai’s breath stutters. His chest caves in.

“If you’re hearing this, I guess it means you’re holding that bear tight. That probably means you’re missing me. Which… if I’m being honest, I hope you do. Just a little. Because I miss you all the time, even when you’re right next to me.”

Kai squeezes his eyes shut, tears slipping past his lashes before he can stop them. His arms curl tighter around the bear, desperate, as if pressing hard enough could bridge the gap between the recording and reality.

“I know that sounds ridiculous,” Beomgyu’s voice continues, soft and almost shy, “but you have this way of filling up my whole heart and somehow still leaving me wanting more of you. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone.”

Kai’s throat burns. His breaths come shallow, uneven, as the words dig deep into the tenderest parts of him.

“You make things feel light, even when the world’s heavy. And I’m not always good at saying things when I should, but… I want you to know that I love you. Really. I love you, Kai.”

The words are a knife, sharp and beautiful all at once. His heart squeezes until it hurts to breathe, until he’s clutching the bear so tightly he’s afraid he’ll rip its seams.

“You bring out all the parts of me I thought I lost. So keep this bear close, okay? And if it ever feels like I’m far away, just press play. I’ll always find my way back to you.”

The message ends with a faint click, plunging the room back into silence.

Kai breaks. His tears come heavy now, soaking into the bear’s fur as he curls himself around it, pressing it into his chest like it’s the only thing holding him together. Beomgyu’s voice lingers in his head, wrapping around him like an embrace he can’t push away, no matter how much it hurts. And it hurts. It hurts so badly, but underneath the pain is that pull, that unrelenting rope that refuses to let him go.

He doesn’t know if he hates him or loves him still, doesn’t know if he should throw the bear across the room or keep it pressed to his heart forever. All he knows is that even now, with everything broken between them, Beomgyu still has the power to reach him, and that knowledge comforts yet terrifies him more than anything.

 

🧸

 

Beomgyu’s surroundings feel quieter than usual, or maybe it only feels that way because of how loud everything inside him is. His head won’t shut up, a relentless loop of Kai’s voice in his memory: Kai laughing, Kai singing under his breath, Kai whispering I love you into the hollow of his throat, Kai telling him to fuck off with a glare so cold it still stings in his chest. Beomgyu feels like he’s been torn apart and stitched back together wrong, every seam pulling painfully with each step he takes. He doesn’t even know how he ended up here, only that his body kept moving long after his mind had given up trying to steer.

By the time he slows to a stop, he’s staring at a familiar door. His stomach lurches. Of all the places he could have gone, why here? He doesn’t even know what he’s hoping for; redemption? comfort? forgiveness? Maybe just someone who won’t look at him like he’s the monster he already knows he is. He stands there in front of the door, frozen, every thought colliding into a wall of shame. His hands shake at his sides, useless things that only know how to hold and hurt.

The door is close enough to touch, but he doesn’t move. His chest heaves as he stares at it, debating whether knocking would be selfish, reckless, pathetic. He knows the answer is all three. He knows the person on the other side has every reason not to open, not to want anything to do with him ever again. He ruined everything. He took something pure, something that could have been beautiful, and dragged it through the mud until it shattered. And for what? A stupid dare? A million won that he doesn’t even want anymore? The thought alone makes him feel sick, bile crawling up his throat.

He presses his forehead briefly against the cool wood, closing his eyes. “You’re pathetic,” he whispers to himself, the words sharp as knives, words he’s repeated so many times they’ve carved grooves in his skull. “You don’t deserve to be here. You don’t deserve anything.” His voice cracks, barely audible, but the truth of it hammers down all the same.

It takes every ounce of strength he has left to lift his hand and curl it into a fist. His knuckles hover in the air, hesitant, suspended in that limbo where backing out still feels possible. But then, before he can talk himself out of it, he knocks just once, soft and trembling, the sound barely louder than the pounding in his chest. The hollow echo of it makes his stomach twist.

He waits. A few seconds stretch into a minute, then two, the silence stretching taut enough to snap. No footsteps approach. No handle turns. No voice tells him to go away. The door stays firmly shut.

And really, what did he expect? That after everything, anyone would want to face him? That they’d see him on the other side and think he was worth the trouble? Beomgyu huffs out a bitter laugh, though it’s too shaky to hold. He drags both hands down his face, nails biting into his skin as though pain will ground him. It doesn’t.

“Of course,” he mutters, sinking back a step. His voice is small, swallowed by the night. He feels like a child again, rejected and invisible, waiting for someone who was never going to come. He told himself he was done with this, done waiting for scraps of affection, done hoping someone might look at him and not immediately regret it. Yet here he is, stupid enough to hope, stupid enough to knock.

With nowhere else to go, he lowers himself onto the floor outside the door. The chill of the tiles seeps through his jeans, but he barely registers it. He draws his knees up to his chest and folds his arms around them, curling in on himself as though he can make his body smaller, quieter, easier to ignore. Maybe if he stays still long enough, the guilt will stop gnawing at his ribs. Maybe if he closes his eyes, the memory of Kai’s face won’t look so vivid in the dark behind his eyelids.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, hunched and trembling. He tells himself he’s just resting for a moment, that he’ll get up soon, that he’ll figure out where to go next, but there is no next. Every option has burned out, every bridge crumbled into ash, and he’s left clutching the ruins like they mean something.

The exhaustion is heavier than his shame. It pulls at him with insistent fingers, dragging his head down until it rests against his knees. His breaths even out without him meaning them to, his body taking what it needs even as his mind fights it. His thoughts blur at the edges, fragments of Kai’s voice flickering like broken glass; laughter, song, love. The ache of them follows him down into the dark.

And before he knows it, Beomgyu falls asleep outside the door.

 

🧸 

 

Something warm nudges his shoulder, gentle but insistent, dragging him up from the heavy, dreamless dark. For a second he thinks it’s the wind, or maybe just another cruel trick of his imagination, but then the touch comes again, firmer this time, paired with a voice; low, soft, achingly familiar.

“Hey, Beomgyu, wake up.”

His lashes flutter, heavy with sleep, and the world swims into focus. The first thing he sees is the outline of a face, blurred at the edges by the lingering fog in his head. Then clarity hits, and his stomach plummets. He knows this face. He knows this voice.

Panic shoots through him like lightning. He scrambles upright too fast, his back smacking against the doorframe behind him. His legs are unsteady, rubbery from sleeping curled on the floor, and his palms are slick when he drags them over his jeans, wiping sweat that feels like shame more than anything else. He can’t bring himself to look up properly, not when his chest is a drumbeat of dread. Every nerve in him screams to run, but his body won’t move.

“You’re shaking,” the person says, voice laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

Beomgyu lets out a ragged laugh, too broken to sound like anything but a sob. He shakes his head violently, hands trembling harder as he curls them into fists. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he croaks, the words scraping his throat raw. “I’m so sorry. I– I don’t know where else to go.” His voice cracks on the last word, small and desperate, like a plea he has no right to make.

For a moment there’s silence, the kind that stretches tight enough to hurt. He braces for rejection, for the door to slam in his face, for the final blow he knows he deserves, but it never comes. Instead, warmth wraps around him. Steady arms pull him in, holding him together when he’s certain he’s about to fall apart.

Beomgyu stiffens at first, shocked, before his body sags into the embrace, every muscle unravelling with trembling surrender. His face presses against a shoulder that smells faintly of soap and something faintly familiar, and it guts him, how kind it feels.

No words, no judgement. Just that same quiet care that he’s never deserved.

Then he’s being guided inside, footsteps soft, the door closing behind them with a hush.

Notes:

sorry for the long wait!! i went on holiday to bangkok last week hehe it was so fun i wish i could stay there forever😭😭

but anww how’d you like the update? sorry for all the angst… we’re gonna be here for a while hehe

also!! please comment your predictions as to who beomgyu went to at the end of the chapter hehe

thank you so much for reading and please let me know your thoughts in the comments or feel free to reach out to me on any of the following platforms <333

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