Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Soobin didn’t hate a lot of people, he just hated him. Choi Yeonjun had this insufferable ability to exist like he owned whatever room he walked into. Loud laugh. Loud clothes. Loud personality. Even louder opinions. Everything about him was messy and animated and… just so damn loud.

And worst of all?

Soobin knew exactly how he kissed. Not because he ever kissed Yeonjun. God, no. But because the person Soobin once dated and heartbreakingly, once loved had bragged about it.

"You’re too boring sometimes. Yeonjun knew how to keep things exciting."

Those words had burned themselves into the back of Soobin’s skull. Every. Single. Fucking. Time he saw that smug bastard’s face.

“Staring again?” Yeonjun’s voice broke through the air like static. “You keep doing that, I might think you’re into me.”

Soobin didn’t even blink. “I keep doing that ‘cause I’m trying to figure out how you haven’t choked on your own ego yet.”

Yeonjun barked a laugh. “Charming as ever, Soobin-ssi. Did they teach you that at your Emotionally Repressed 101 seminar?”

“Only after I passed Dealing with Narcissistic Bastards with flying colors,” Soobin shot back, sharp like a switchblade.

They stood across from each other in the corridor of their shared department building, somewhere between Social Psych and the goddamn vending machines. The same spot they always, unfortunately, ran into each other. Apparently, God had a personal vendetta against Soobin’s peace of mind.

Yeonjun leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smile lazy. “Still bitter about Minho?”

Soobin’s stomach knotted. He hated that name in Yeonjun’s mouth. “You mean your sloppy seconds?”

Yeonjun’s grin faltered, just slightly. “Please. I left that trainwreck before he could even decide if he wanted to be loyal.”

“Didn’t stop you from fucking him before our relationship was cold,” Soobin said, and his voice was ice. His fingers dug into the strap of his messenger bag. “You two were made for each other. Congrats.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. “Jesus, are you still crying about that?”

“I’m not crying.” Soobin’s tone dropped. “I just don’t make it a habit to befriend the people who fucked my boyfriend while I was busy planning our anniversary.”

Yeonjun scoffed, straightening. “Newsflash: He lied to both of us. I didn’t know about you, and you didn’t know about me. So stop acting like I ripped off your damn promise ring.”

“That’s not the point—”

“No, you’re not getting the point,” Yeonjun snapped, finally showing a flash of real irritation. “I get it, you hate me and I hate you too. But let’s not pretend your heartbreak makes you some moral martyr. We were both played.”

Soobin opened his mouth. Closed it. The air between them fizzed, heavy and acidic.

Silence.

A few students passed by. One of them bumped shoulders with Soobin and muttered a half-hearted apology. He didn’t respond. He was still looking at Yeonjun, this version of him, all tension and slick sarcasm and rage hiding under his tone like a hairline crack in glass.

Soobin used to imagine punching him. Not even to knock him out. Just to feel something. Just to see what it would take for Yeonjun to finally drop the act.

“You know what pisses me off the most?” Soobin said after a while, low and quiet now, biting every syllable. “It’s that when people look at you, they don’t see the mess. They see the charm. The hair. The jokes. The effortless fun guy. And all I see is the reason I stopped trusting people.”

That hit something. Yeonjun’s smile dropped entirely.

“Cool,” he said. “Then keep seeing that.”

Soobin turned to walk away.

And Yeonjun called after him.

“But maybe,” Yeonjun said, voice raised and biting, “you’d trust people more if you stopped clinging to an ex that treated us both like shit!”

Soobin didn’t even turn around. He just flipped him off without breaking stride.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

Soobin didn’t talk to him for two full weeks. Not when Yeonjun passed him in the hallway. Not when he laughed too loudly in the quad with that theater kid entourage of his. Not even when they were assigned the same side of a research proposal board for their psych course—he simply handed the printout without a word and walked away like Yeonjun was just a breeze that didn’t matter.

And maybe that would’ve been fine.

If Yeonjun didn’t show up at the same coffee shop Soobin always went to when he needed to not be around people.

“You’re fucking stalking me now?” Soobin muttered from behind his laptop when Yeonjun slid into the booth across from him like he belonged there.

“Relax.” Yeonjun slumped into the seat. “I was here first. You’re just allergic to social cues.”

Soobin stared at him. “You’re sitting in my spot.”

Yeonjun grinned. “Aw. I didn’t know you were territorial. Cute.”

“I swear to God—”

“What, you’ll cry? Again?” Yeonjun said, with the kind of fake pity that could make a saint throw fists.

Soobin slammed his laptop shut. “You want to go there?”

Yeonjun shrugged. “We’ve already been. I’m just adding stops.”

There was a sharp silence. The kind that teetered between fight or flight.

Soobin leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you want from me?”

Yeonjun paused, then blinked.

That was the first moment it hit Soobin how tired he looked. He was still put-together, still wearing some designer jacket thrown over a sleeveless tee, but there was something different today. Less cocky. More... empty.

“I don’t know,” Yeonjun finally said. “Maybe just... a chance not to be the villain in your story for once.”

Soobin’s breath caught.

That wasn’t what he expected.

And God, he wanted to laugh. Because of course Yeonjun would turn it around like that like this was some tragic, misunderstood, enemies-to-whatever moment in a script he wrote himself.

“You know what?” Soobin said, quietly now. “Fuck your story.”

Yeonjun blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t care if you didn’t know about me. I don’t care if we were both played. You made your choice. You always make your choice. And it’s never to shut the fuck up and be decent for once.”

There was fire in his voice. The kind that had waited a year to burn.

Yeonjun didn’t respond right away. He just looked at him. Really looked at him.

Then, softly, "I didn’t choose to hurt you.”

Soobin felt like someone knocked the wind out of him.

Because that wasn’t what he expected either.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

That same evening, they ended up at the same fucking friend-of-a-friend’s group dinner.

Of course they did.

Of course Beomgyu would drag Yeonjun into it with a “he’s harmless!” and a wink, and of course Soobin would come along only because Kai had begged and the reservations were already made and he didn’t want to be the asshole who canceled.

And of course, of course, they were seated side by side.

“Switch seats with me,” Soobin whispered to Kai.

Kai just sipped his drink. “Consider it exposure therapy.”

Soobin looked ready to commit murder.

Yeonjun, on the other hand, seemed to have mellowed out. He made conversation with the others. Kept his jokes PG. Didn’t throw a single jab Soobin’s way.

It was... unnerving.

Even when Soobin accidentally brushed his knee under the table, Yeonjun didn’t flinch. Just shifted politely and kept talking about some indie film that got a standing ovation at a festival Soobin never gave a shit about.

It was worse than fighting. It was like pretending.

By the time dessert came around, Soobin stood up. “I’m leaving.”

Yeonjun caught his sleeve. “Wait—”

Soobin froze. Looked down at the hand. “Don’t touch me.”

“Okay. Okay.” Yeonjun held his hands up. “Just—wait. Please.”

Soobin didn’t know why he did. But he did.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Yeonjun said, voice low. “You don’t even have to like me. I just... I’m not the same guy I was when all that shit went down. You don’t see it, but... I’ve been trying. Maybe not the way you want me to. But I am.”

Soobin stared at him for a long time.

Then he said, flatly, “Why do you care what I think?”

Yeonjun didn’t answer right away.

Then, "Because for some reason, it hurts when you look at me like I’m a piece of shit.”

Soobin hated how that landed.

Because if he was being honest like really honest, there was a part of him that didn’t just hate Yeonjun. That part was curious. Maybe even drawn to the way Yeonjun wore his pain so loud, so obnoxiously, like armor that never really covered him up at all.

That part of him wondered what Yeonjun looked like when he was alone.

What he sounded like when no one else was watching.

It was fucking stupid.

Soobin left anyway.

But he didn’t sleep that night.

And the next time he ran into Yeonjun?

He didn’t look away.

Chapter Text

Soobin didn’t even want to go to the party. It wasn’t his scene, it never was. Crowded living rooms packed with too much perfume and people spilling cheap drinks on someone else’s carpet, someone always crying in the bathroom, someone always fucking on the balcony and someone trying to play a guitar in the corner like their music would stop the noise instead of add to it.

But Taehyun had been persistent. “You need to live a little.”

Soobin had blinked at him. “By subjecting myself to poor hygiene and worse music taste?”

“Yes,” Taehyun replied, unfazed. “And I need someone tall enough to help me reach the tequila from the top shelf.”

So here Soobin was, standing in the back corner of some off-campus house party, drink in hand, hoodie sleeves pushed up, and annoyance radiating from his spine like secondhand smoke.

He didn’t expect to see him here.

But of course, he should’ve.

Of course Choi Yeonjun would be here.

Of course he’d show up looking like he walked out of a music video, ripped jeans hanging off his hips like sin, red flannel shirt sleeves cuffed, and rings flashing against the warm party light as he grabbed a drink from someone who looked too eager to talk to him.

And of course he looked good.

Soobin’s jaw clenched as he looked away.

He told himself it was fine, he didn’t need to say anything, didn’t even need to make eye contact. He just had to stick close to the kitchen or the wall until Taehyun came back, then they could make up an excuse and leave.

But the universe hated him.

Because within five minutes, Taehyun was gone “just going to the bathroom, five minutes, I swear”and the girl Yeonjun had been chatting with was pulled into a different conversation, and suddenly Yeonjun was moving, scanning the room, and Soobin's nightmare started.

“Fuck,” Soobin hissed under his breath as their eyes met.

It was too late to look away. Yeonjun was already walking toward him.

He could’ve run. But Soobin didn’t run.

He braced himself.

“Wow,” Yeonjun said when he reached him. “Fate’s got a sense of humor.”

Soobin sipped his drink without answering.

Yeonjun tilted his head. “Didn’t peg you for the house party type.”

“I’m not.”

Yeonjun grinned. “Then what are you doing here? Hoping to pick up someone with daddy issues?”

Soobin side-eyed him. “You.”

Yeonjun laughed, head tipping back. “Shit. Okay. That was good.”

They stood in silence for a beat, the bass from the speakers thudding through the floorboards. Around them, people danced and shouted and tripped over each other and someone was loudly throwing up in the kitchen sink.

It was chaos.

And Yeonjun still didn’t leave.

Soobin narrowed his eyes. “Where’s your plus one?”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “Jealous?”

Soobin rolled his eyes. “No. Just didn’t think your type would leave you unattended.”

Yeonjun leaned against the wall beside him. “She saw her ex and dipped. I got ditched.”

Soobin almost snorted. “Karma.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yeonjun waved him off. “What about you? Where’s your emotional support introvert?”

Soobin frowned. “Taehyun. He’s in the bathroom. Probably regretting inviting me.”

Yeonjun looked at him.

Not in that dramatic, flirty way he always did.

This time it was... smaller. Calmer. And when he spoke, his voice was softer. “So... we’re alone.”

Soobin’s skin prickled.

Not because he was nervous.

Because he didn’t trust it.

“Don’t push it,” Soobin muttered, arms crossed. “I’m not drunk enough to tolerate you.”

Yeonjun chuckled. “I’m not drunk either.”

Soobin blinked. “Wait, you’re sober?”

“Cutting back.” Yeonjun shrugged. “Shocking, right? Turns out hangovers aren’t fun.”

Soobin stared. “Are you trying to impress me?”

Yeonjun turned his head, meeting his gaze. “Would it work if I was?”

Soobin’s mouth parted. But nothing came out.

Because for one terrifying second, he didn’t hate the way Yeonjun looked at him.

And it scared the shit out of him.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

The house was too loud.

Soobin hated that it made his skin itch. The noise, the shouting and the lights flickering in sync with whatever bass-heavy song was playing. He was seconds away from grabbing Taehyun and leaving when Yeonjun tugged at his sleeve.

“Come on,” he said, voice just loud enough over the music. “Back porch. Less noise.”

Soobin blinked. “Why the hell would I go anywhere with you?”

Yeonjun didn’t answer. He just looked at him like he already knew Soobin would follow.

Which was annoying.

Because he did.

The porch was quieter. Cooler. Lit only by the small string lights twisted around the railing. The city buzz in the distance was easier to listen to than whatever was playing inside. A few people milled about the yard, but no one paid them any attention.

Soobin leaned against the porch rail, finally breathing like he hadn’t since he got here.

Yeonjun sat on the steps, legs spread out in front of him. “You still look like you’re doing mental math every time I talk to you.”

Soobin didn’t look at him. “That’s because I am.”

Yeonjun huffed a laugh. “Are we always going to hate each other?”

“I don’t know,” Soobin muttered. “That depends on you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Soobin finally looked down at him. “You’re the one who keeps talking to me. You could’ve ignored me a long time ago. But you don’t.”

Yeonjun’s eyes flicked up to meet his.

There it was again. That shift.

Not playful. Not smug.

Just quiet. Honest.

“I don’t like the idea of being hated by someone who actually knows me,” Yeonjun said, voice low.

Soobin didn’t say anything for a while. “I don’t know you.”

Yeonjun’s lips pulled into a crooked smile. “Wanna change that?”

Soobin’s breath caught. There was a cup beside him on the porch rail, left by someone else. Half-full. He didn’t know what was in it, but he grabbed it and took a sip like it’d keep him from saying something stupid.

Yeonjun chuckled. “You’re not that slick.”

“Fuck off.”

“I will, eventually.”

Soobin rolled his eyes but didn’t move and didn't even leave. He stayed while Yeonjun leaned back, stretching his arms behind him to balance his weight on his palms.

“You ever get tired of holding grudges?” Yeonjun asked after a minute.

Soobin shot him a look. “You ever get tired of being an idiot?”

Yeonjun laughed again. Louder this time. It rang throug the air like wind chimes in the dark.

Soobin didn’t realize he was smiling—until he did.

And when he did, he cursed under his breath and turned his head away quickly.

Yeonjun noticed. Of course he did.

But he didn’t tease him for it and he didn’t say anything at all. Just leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I was gonna ask that girl to leave with me tonight,” he said suddenly.

Soobin blinked. “Cool.”

“But she left first,” Yeonjun added. “And now I’m here. With you.”

Soobin narrowed his eyes. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

Yeonjun didn’t answer.

Instead, he asked, “You still think I’m fucking around with everyone I meet?”

Soobin hesitated. Then, "I don’t know. Are you?”

“No.”

And for some reason, Soobin believed him.

“Not since that day you told me I was pathetic,” Yeonjun added, smiling faintly. “Apparently, my self-worth is directly tied to your insults.”

Soobin snorted. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Maybe,” Yeonjun said. “But at least I’m consistent.”

Silence again. Not heavy this time. Just... there. Soobin looked at him. Really looked. Past the flirt, past the history, past the stupid things their ex said and did to pit them against each other.

And saw someone who looked—lonely.

“I don’t think you’re as annoying as I used to,” Soobin said before he could stop himself.

Yeonjun’s head snapped toward him. “Holy shit. Did you just say something almost nice to me?”

Soobin groaned. “Forget I said anything.”

“No, no, no. You like me now. It’s canon.”

“Shut up.”

“You do! You—”

Soobin chucked the plastic cup at him, laughing in spite of himself when Yeonjun yelped and scrambled backward. And Yeonjun looked at him like he was seeing something new.

Like maybe, just maybe that this didn’t have to be in war forever.

Chapter Text

Soobin wasn’t supposed to be there. He didn’t even like arcades because the air always smelled like burnt circuits and over-sugared drinks, and there were too many flashing lights, too many kids and couples giggling in corners, too many memories from a time he’d rather leave untouched.

He was supposed to be at the boba place around the corner for a quick take out to devour, something sweet before heading home. But the line had been long, and the girl at the counter took forever with the whipped cream. So when he passed the arcade afterward, the loud clang of retro music and shouting teenagers was meant to be background noise.

And yet, there he was, standing still. Brows furrowed while mouth is slightly open.

Because across the sea of blinking lights and chaos stood Yeonjun. Alone. Slumped against a Dance Revolution machine, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Soobin frowned, he shouldn’t care. But he watched anyway, like it was out of curiosity and not something deeper. Yeonjun looked like he was waiting for someone. He had on a button-up, collar still crisp, a silver chain glinting under the neon. The kind of outfit people wore to impress someone. To charm. But he wasn’t talking to anyone and wasn’t smiling either. Just... existing. Alone.

Soobin was halfway to the door before his brain caught up. “Shit,” he muttered, then sighed and walked in anyway.

Yeonjun looked up when Soobin approached, blinking like he couldn’t believe it. “Hey.”

Soobin crossed his arms. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”

Yeonjun tilted his head. “Neither did I. My date bailed.”

“Left you hanging?”

“Didn’t even show up.”

A pause. Soobin should’ve said “sorry” or “sucks to be you.” But instead, he blurted, “Wanna play something?”

Yeonjun blinked again. Then grinned.

They started with the air hockey table.

And for the first few minutes, it was just noise of the slap of the puck, the screech of the table, Soobin pretending not to notice how Yeonjun leaned too close across the surface when retrieving the puck. He lost, badly. Yeonjun gloated with that stupid smile of his, and Soobin rolled his eyes but didn’t leave. Then it was the basketball shootout game. Yeonjun’s sleeves were rolled up, veins visible, tongue poking out at the side of his mouth as he shot basket after basket. Soobin accidentally got distracted, blamed the flickering scoreboard.

“You were staring,” Yeonjun teased when he won by 12 points.

“Maybe you just throw like a weird kid,” Soobin shot back. “All flair, no aim.”

They ended up in front of the claw machine eventually, and Yeonjun lit up like a kid on Christmas. “I swear I’m gonna get you one,” he said, voice serious.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re here,” Yeonjun replied, moving the joystick with intense focus. “And I don’t wanna go home empty-handed twice.”

Soobin didn’t respond. Not at first. Just stood there, watching the claw lower, grip a plush Kirby, and then—drop it again.

“Fuck!” Yeonjun groaned.

Soobin chuckled. “Maybe it’s karma.”

“For what?”

“For being charming and dumb.”

Yeonjun turned to him, his voice low but smug, “You think I’m charming?”

Soobin didn’t even bother looking at him. “No.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Delusional.”

Yeonjun let out a laugh, stepping in front of Soobin with a cocked brow. “You hesitated.”

“I did not.”

“You so did.” He leaned in a little closer, just enough for Soobin to shift back an inch—not because he was intimidated, but because the scent of Yeonjun’s cologne was starting to worm into his brain. “You think I’m charming,” Yeonjun repeated, this time almost in a whisper.

Soobin rolled his eyes, turning to walk away, but Yeonjun only followed him to the claw machine.

When Yeonjun finally won the plush on his third sweaty-palmed, overly focused attempt he turned with a glee lighting up his entire face.

“I did it!” he announced, grinning like a kid.

“You nearly broke the joystick,” Soobin muttered, but there was no bite in his voice.

Yeonjun didn’t reply. Instead, he walked straight up to Soobin, still smiling, and pressed the soft pink blob into his chest. “Here. For you.”

“What?”

“You’re holding onto this,” Yeonjun said simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Soobin glanced down at the plush in his arms, an oversized, squishy jellybean with eyes and a crooked little smile. He blinked at it.

Yeonjun leaned just a little closer, arms still outstretched from the hand-off. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Say thank you to your charming friend.”

Soobin looked away, but not fast enough to hide the ghost of a smile curling on his lips.

“It’s cute,” he said under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“No, no, you said it’s cute. You’re falling for me,” Yeonjun teased, clearly reveling in his win.

“Not in your dreams.”

Yeonjun was still beaming as he dramatically clutched at his chest. “Wow. This moment, I’m gonna treasure it forever. Soobin said something I gave him is cute.”

Soobin looked like he wanted to argue, he really wanted to but instead, he clutched the plush just a little tighter and turned toward the next game.

They didn’t leave the arcade until the neon signs flickered off one by one, the lights inside dimming around them as closing time quietly arrived. And even then, neither of them rushed to say goodbye.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

Yeonjun’s apartment was dim when he got in. He didn’t bother turning on the main lights, just dropped his keys onto the kitchen counter, toed off his boots, and collapsed onto the couch.

The plush Kirby sat on the table. Soobin had tried to give it back when they parted ways at the subway, but Yeonjun had shoved it back into his arms.

“Keep it. You won it,” Soobin said.

Yeonjun had just smirked. “You’re admitting I won something?”

Now, in the silence of his apartment, Yeonjun stared at the ceiling, fingers twitching over his phone. It had been fun. Unexpectedly fun.

He should’ve been drunk by now, sloppily texting Beomgyu like always after a bad date or some stranger who looked good in the dark, who tasted like cheap gin and even cheaper conversation. But tonight? There was no hangover. Just a lingering hum under his skin and Soobin’s laughter still echoing in his head.

He grabbed his phone to text his best friend, Beomgyu.

me

u up?

gyu the devil

it's 1am. make it juicy

me

i didn't hook up.

i didn’t even drink.

the guy ditched. blind date. total ghost.

but then soobin showed up.

gyu the devil

THE soobin? the “i will bite him if he breathes near me” soobin??

me

yes that one.

and we… idk. arcade shit. plushies. fucking mario kart.

he laughed. i laughed. it was fucking weird.

i can’t stop thinking abt his smile.

or how he smirked when he beat me in DDR.

gyu the devil

r u confessing to me right now or what

should i be honored or disgusted

me

shut the fuck up

no more blind dates

no more hook ups

no more parties where i end up half naked in a stranger’s bed

just… not worth it anymore

gyu the devil

wow. soft.

u got bitch slapped by the power of a pastel plushie and a 6ft walking silence.

this is insane. ur down BAD.

me

i think i’m screwed.

gyu the devil

no shit.

just don’t fall too fast.

remember, u used to hate him.

Yeonjun rolled onto his side on the couch, the apartment quiet except for the distant hum of the fridge and the occasional buzz of his phone, messages from Beomgyu lighting up the screen, teasing little things like “so?? was he hot at least” and “did u embarrass yourself or just a little”. But Yeonjun didn’t reach for his phone.

Instead, he pulled the Kirby plush to his chest, the one he’d spent three whole tries and a growing pool of sweaty nerves trying to win just to see Soobin’s reaction. He hadn’t expected Soobin to actually take it, hadn’t expected him to hold it like he meant to. And he definitely hadn’t expected him to say it was cute.

He buried his face into the plush, the faintest scent of the arcade still clinging to it... sugary air, dust, and something artificial like old popcorn. His arms tightened around it.

He muffled into the soft pink plushie, “I know.”

Because deep down, behind all the teasing and smirks, behind the “you think I’m charming”and the way Soobin rolled his eyes, Yeonjun felt it. That subtle shift in the air. That strange ache that only came when someone looked at you like they were seeing something you didn’t know you were showing.

And maybe… maybe falling wasn’t a dramatic thing. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be loud or fast or maybe it was just this—a quiet night, his chest heavy with something soft, and the echo of Soobin’s almost-smile stuck in his head like a tune he didn’t want to forget.

His phone buzzed again it was probably Beomgyu just teasing him but he didn’t check it.

Because maybe falling had already started. And maybe it had started the second Soobin turned to him and didn’t walk away.

Chapter Text

They didn’t talk about it. The way Yeonjun started arriving at campus earlier than necessary. The way Soobin began adjusting his own schedule, leaving home just a little earlier just in case. They didn’t coordinate it or acknowledge it. But somehow, they started bumping into each other at the front steps of the university library more and more often.

"Coincidence," Yeonjun said once, catching Soobin’s eye while pretending to check something on his phone. "This campus is tragically small."

"Then go study somewhere else," Soobin muttered, not really meaning it.

But Yeonjun didn’t. He kept showing up.

Most mornings, Soobin was already there, already sitting on the stone bench under the awning, earbuds in, bag settled neatly by his feet. Yeonjun would slow to a walk when he saw him, suppressing the stupid smile threatening to tug at his mouth.

Sometimes they sat together. Sometimes they didn’t.

When they did, it was quiet. Comfortable in a strange way, in that I don’t trust you but I might like you a little now sort of silence. They didn’t even look at each other most of the time they just listened to music, scrolled through notes and flicked through textbooks. But the space between them got smaller. And smaller.

Until one morning, Yeonjun’s knee brushed Soobin’s.

Neither of them moved away.

Soobin was the one who started talking first that day, surprising even himself. “What’s your major again?”

Yeonjun turned to him, a little too fast. “Media studies.”

Soobin nodded. “Right. You’re in that intro to film class?”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun said, shrugging. “It’s not bad. The professor’s obsessed with Kubrick, though. If I have to watch that 2001: A Space Odyssey one more time, I’ll combust.”

Soobin cracked a smile, unguarded, honest. “You don’t like Kubrick?”

“He’s fine. But he’s like the film version of when someone says their favorite book is The Catcher in the Rye.”

Soobin laughed like really laughed. It was small but real, his head dropping a little as he tried to hide the curve of his mouth. And Yeonjun didn’t say anything about it, but he stared. A little too long. A little too much.

They didn’t bring up the arcade, didn’t bring up the pink plush that is now sitting in Soobin’s dorm bed (though he hadn’t told anyone that). They didn’t talk about how the memory of that nigh kept replaying in Yeonjun’s head, especially when he saw Soobin tuck a piece of hair behind his ear or push his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

They just sat together.

A few mornings later, Soobin arrived and saw Yeonjun already on the bench. He was holding a cup of coffee, a second one resting beside him like it wasn’t meant for anyone but could be, if someone wanted it.

He looked up, saw Soobin approaching, and tried to play it cool. “I didn’t know if you liked it sweet, so I got it neutral.”

Soobin stared at the cup.

“I didn’t wait,” Yeonjun added, too quickly. “I just happened to be here.”

Soobin didn’t call him out.

He sat and took the coffee. He didn’t thank him out loud, but the way his hand wrapped around the paper cup felt like thanks enough.

That morning, Yeonjun stayed a little longer than he needed to. And Soobin left a little later than he should’ve. Neither of them said anything about that either.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

The rain started just as Soobin stepped off the curb. It wasn’t shy. No soft drizzle or polite warning it cracked down from the sky with urgency, thunder clouds split open like something impatient. He groaned under his breath, tugging his hoodie up as the mist began curling around his shoes and dampening the back of his neck.

He didn’t have an umbrella.

He didn’t have the energy.

All he wanted was to get home.

But the longer he walked along the familiar path behind the university library, the one with overgrown trees and patchy pavement, the more he started to feel it.

A shadow following him.

Not in a threatening way. Just… in that annoyingly familiar way. He didn’t turn around, but his ears were sharp. A rhythm in the footsteps behind his own, a bounce in the pace. Too light to be a stranger.

He sighed.

“Yeonjun,” he muttered under his breath, not even looking back.

No response.

Of course not. Because that would’ve made things too easy.

He picked up his pace slightly, shoes slapping the pavement. Took a sharp turn down another path that led behind the student café. It curved past the side alley where they usually dumped recyclables and no one went there, especially not in the rain.

But when Soobin rounded the bend, ready to spin around and say something to confront Yeonjun for trailing him again like some overly smug ghost, he stopped.

He stopped completely.

Because Yeonjun wasn’t behind him.

Yeonjun was in front of him.

And he wasn’t following Soobin at all.

He was dancing.

Out in the middle of the alleyway, soaked through, arms lazily spread to the sides. His hair clung wet to his forehead, his sleeves darkened with rain, his eyes fluttered shut as he let the storm coat him. The raindrops clung to his lashes like glitter.

He was humming something like maybe a melody from earlier or maybe just the rhythm of the sky. And his feet moved like he didn’t care who saw, like the water was an invitation rather than a bother.

He didn’t know Soobin was watching.

And for just a second—Soobin didn’t move. He just watched.

Watched Yeonjun let go in the softest, most disarming way. The rain fell like it was only meant for him. The whole world blurred at the edges, all color, all sound and Yeonjun was in the middle of it, smiling like he had everything.

Soobin's heart made a sound he didn’t know how to name.

And then, Yeonjun opened his eyes.

Caught him.

But he didn’t flinch.

He just tilted his head and grinned.

“You gonna stand there looking like a wet ghost,” he called out, “or are you gonna come dance with me?”

Soobin sputtered. “I thought—”

“C’mon,” Yeonjun said, stepping closer, hand outstretched.

“You were following me,” Soobin muttered, though his feet had already started moving forward.

“I wasn’t,” Yeonjun said easily. “I was just walking. The rain started. I was waiting.”

“For?”

Yeonjun gave him a look. “Take a wild guess.”

Soobin rolled his eyes, but the smile crept in anyway, small and crooked. By the time he stepped into the middle of the alley, the rain was soaking through his hoodie, sticking to his spine. His shoes squelched a little. His fingers were cold.

And yet,

“I don’t dance,” he said flatly.

Yeonjun just raised an eyebrow. “You do now.”

He reached out and tugged Soobin by the wrist, not hard but just enough to pull him into his orbit. Their shoes slid a little on the wet cement, arms bumping, breath close.

Soobin didn’t know how to move.

But Yeonjun didn’t seem to care.

He started swaying again, gently, no rhythm or pattern, just like he was made of sky. And Soobin just stood, still. Watched. Let himself be pulled in not just physically, but emotionally and dizzyingly.

“You’re insane,” he said softly.

Yeonjun smiled.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he said even softer.

Soobin’s breath caught.

Their movements were barely dancing it was just slow shifts, feet brushing puddles, hands nearly grazing. But their eyes met, and it felt louder than the storm around them.

A moment passed. Two. Then three.

And Soobin asked , voice barely above the rain “You were really just… waiting here? For no one?”

Yeonjun tilted his head, forehead damp, smile quiet. “I was hoping someone might find me.”

And Soobin did.

He didn’t know what to say and didn’t know what this meant. But as he stood there in the downpour with Yeonjun’s fingers brushing his, he thought maybe, just maybe he didn’t need to figure it out right now.

Because this? This moment?

It was already a kind of beginning.

Chapter Text

The rain didn’t stop. If anything, it softened, it grew quieter and warmer. Less like a storm, more like a hush.

The kind of rain you could almost fall asleep to.

They stood there in it, the two of them, Soobin and Yeonjun, barely moving. Their shoes half-submerged in thin puddles, their shirts clinging to their skin, water trickling in slow lines from the ends of their hair. The air was cold but not biting.

Soobin blinked rain from his lashes, heavy and wet, the world around him is blurry and silver-blue in the streetlight glow. The rain didn’t sting anymore. It had gentled, turned into something soft and steady like something that soaked you through without the violence of thunder. Something that let you forget time, just a little.

And Yeonjun…

Yeonjun was still close.

Too close. But not close enough.

He wasn’t touching him, not really but the heat from Yeonjun’s body cut through the cold like a secret. It curled in the space between them, subtle but alive. Soobin could feel it rising beneath the cling of his damp shirt, could see the way the rain had slicked the fabric against Yeonjun’s skin—outlining every slope and line, the gentle lift of his chest with each breath, the graceful pull of his collarbone, the subtle twitch in the muscle of his shoulder.

Soobin swallowed hard.

Yeonjun’s arm was still extended, hand open between them. The same quiet offer he had made minutes ago, no words, no pressure, just… there. Waiting.

And Soobin’s fingers were still laced with his. Barely. Not tightly. But enough.

Enough to mean something.

He didn’t know when they’d started moving again if they’d ever really stopped. There wasn’t a beat to follow, no song to sway to. But their feet shifted slowly, like instinct. A step to the left, a step to the right and soft glides over wet concrete.

It wasn’t dancing.

Not really. Just small, stupid steps.

To nowhere. For no reason.

Forward, backward. Close, then a little closer. In place. Then apart again by the barest breath. Like a pendulum of hesitation swinging between them. Soobin wasn’t sure what he was doing. Wasn’t sure what Yeonjun wanted from this. If he even wanted anything at all or if he was just always this kind. This gentle and open. But Yeonjun kept looking at him.

He’d turn his gaze toward the sky, or down at the puddle beneath their feet, or over Soobin’s shoulder like he was lost in thought, and then every time, he’d look back at Soobin.

Like Soobin was the part of the evening he didn’t want to miss. Like Yeonjun had all the time in the world, and he’d rather spend it watching him.

Soobin’s heart thudded. Loud enough to feel it in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t even know how to breathe without sounding like it meant too much.

But Yeonjun’s eyes kept returning to his.

Every time Soobin glanced away to the puddle, to the sky, to his own hands, Yeonjun would pull his gaze back with nothing but a glance. Gentle. Steady.

“I’m not good at this,” Soobin said finally, under his breath.

Yeonjun’s smile curved like a secret.

“You’re already doing it.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Soobin swallowed.

“Feels like it should.”

Yeonjun’s hand slipped down slightly, fingers brushing the inside of Soobin’s wrist.

Soobin froze. Not in fear. Not in discomfort.

Just, overwhelmed.

The kind of stillness that came when a dam cracked and everything inside you wanted to rush out at once but couldn’t find the words to do it.

“You always look like you’re holding your breath,” Yeonjun murmured.

Soobin looked up. “…What?”

“You always do, even when you’re talking. Like you’re waiting for someone to stop you.”

Soobin blinked. His voice caught in his throat.

Yeonjun took a small step forward, the slosh of his foot in the puddle soft and deliberate. He tilted his head a little just enough to let his hair fall messily across his forehead. Just enough that Soobin had to look at his mouth to avoid his eyes.

“You don’t have to hold it around me,” Yeonjun said.

Soobin didn’t answer.

He couldn’t. Not with the way Yeonjun was looking at him. Not with the way Yeonjun was now close enough that their soaked sleeves are brushed every time either of them breathed.

And then it came to the moment that didn’t feel planned at all. Yeonjun shifted again, like he was going to say something. Soobin did too.

They moved at the same time, slightly off, heads tilting forward, too far.

And their foreheads—Knocked.

Gently.

Just a soft bump, nothing sharp or loud. But it stunned them both still. The kind of contact that made Soobin’s eyes widen immediately, and Yeonjun let out a startled breath of a laugh, low and breathy. Neither of them moved.

Soobin's hands were still loose at his sides.

Yeonjun's fingers hovered just beside his.

And they stood there, forehead to forehead, rain dripping between them, eyes struggling not to close.

“I—” Soobin started.

“Shh,” Yeonjun whispered.

And they didn’t say anything else. For a long time.

They just breathed, just existed.

Soobin could feel the tremble of Yeonjun’s exhales against his mouth. His eyes fluttered open, and he saw Yeonjun looking at him like he didn’t know what would happen next, but he wanted it, all of it.

No one moved. No one dared to. Not yet.

The closeness was a kind of tether now. Like if one of them shifted even a fraction, it would either pull them completely together or unravel everything. And neither of them were quite ready for that.

But for now? This was enough. This was everything.

Two foreheads pressed together in the rain, with all the words unspoken between them, waiting to be said.

Chapter Text

The text came at 11:41 AM on a Tuesday.

yeonjunie

are u free friday night

actually doesn't matter. u are.

we're going to a halloween party

theme is villains. bring ur face. dw i got the rest.

Soobin stared at his phone for a solid ten seconds.

Then again, for another ten, like maybe it would vanish. It didn’t.

me

what

yeonjunie

you heard me

me

why me

yeonjunie

bc i don’t trust anyone else to match me and not look lame lol

also everyone else already has a plus one

and i want to win best costume

Soobin chewed the inside of his cheek. “This is a trap,” he muttered to no one.

But later that evening, when Yeonjun barged into his dorm room with two garment bags, a plastic bat, and a duffel full of hair products, Soobin just let him in. He didn’t even argue.

“I’m Harley,” Yeonjun said, dropping the bags on the bed. “You’re Joker.”

Soobin blinked. “Why am I Joker?”

“Because you’re quiet and have trauma,” Yeonjun replied without missing a beat, as he unzipped his own costume and pulled out a crop top that said “puddin” in sparkly pink letters. “And I look amazing in fishnets.”

Soobin opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “So this is just happening.”

“Yup,” Yeonjun said, grinning. “And we’re gonna slay.”

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

Friday arrived too fast. And now Soobin was in front of the mirror, eyeliner smudged under his eyes, green-dyed curls poking out from beneath a purple coat he never would’ve picked himself.

“You look like sin,” Yeonjun said, adjusting the pigtails on his own head and applying one final layer of red lipstick. “Hot sin. Like ‘stab me in an alleyway’ sin.”

Soobin scowled. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Yeonjun chirped. Then grabbed his wrist. “Let’s go.”

They left the dorm just before 9 PM. The house was already alive with music when they got there, bass rumbling underfoot, porch lights flickering above clusters of costumed students chatting, drinking, laughing.

Soobin swallowed. His nerves were taut.

But Yeonjun? He was electric.

He walked ahead like the world had opened just for him. Like he was born for the spotlight, dancing up the driveway, plastic bat in hand and fishnets catching light. And when people turned to look and they did, he only smiled wider.

“This is so camp,” Yeonjun said, spinning to face Soobin at the door. “You good?”

Soobin hesitated.

And Yeonjun, warm and fearless, reached for his hand.

“Come on,” he said, eyes alight. “We match.”

Somehow, that was enough.

They stepped in together.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

Inside was chaos but in the best way. Smoke machines, disco lights, someone pouring neon pink drinks into jello shot syringes. Villain-themed outfits everywhere: sexy Cruellas, multiple Evil Queens, a tragic couple dressed as Thanos and his Snap victims. Laughter burst over the music. Yeonjun didn’t let go of Soobin’s hand until they reached the kitchen.

He poured two drinks, Soobin watched him slosh fruit punch and vodka into plastic cups with a smile that screamed mischief. He handed one over, their fingers brushing.

“Cheers,” Yeonjun said. “To us.”

Soobin lifted his drink. “To... Joker and Harley.”

“To chaos,” Yeonjun grinned.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

And chaos followed. Yeonjun started dancing immediately and he dragged Soobin into a corner, where he swayed his hips shamelessly to the beat of something bass-heavy, crowd pressing in around them. Soobin, flushed and laughing, tried to keep up and didn’t even realize he was having fun until the third song kicked in and Yeonjun leaned in to scream, “You’re better at this than you pretend to be!”

Soobin only shook his head, drunk and warm and dizzy in the lights. "You’re just drunk!” he shouted back.

Yeonjun winked. “Exactly!”

More drinks and more dancing. Yeonjun’s pigtails loosened. Soobin’s jacket ended up unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Someone took a blurry photo of the two of them and posted it on Instagram. And in the back of Soobin’s mind, something tugged.

This was the most fun he’d had in months.

But it wasn’t just the party.

It was Yeonjun.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

Yeonjun just grabbed Soobin's hand as he said by his excuse that he wants to lay down as the alcohol were kicking him already. The guest bedroom wasn’t locked, but the way Yeonjun kicked the door shut with the back of his heel made it feel like it might as well have been, he locked the door.

Everything hit at once. The thud of the bass behind the door, the smell of cheap vodka and drugstore dye in their costumes, the sharp slam of silence that fell between them like something real.

Soobin was pressed up against it before he could blink. Yeonjun’s hands were on his chest already, warm and unyielding, palms flat like he was claiming territory. His lip was smeared red and his hair was wild, uneven pigtails falling in messy strands around his flushed cheeks.

And he was smiling but not the easy kind, but the kind that meant I know what I’m doing to you. I know you want me to.

“Say stop,” he said, voice low and close, “and I’ll stop.”

Soobin didn’t say anything.

Didn’t trust himself to. And Yeonjun took that as the answer it was.

He dragged Soobin down by the lapels of his purple coat, mouth crashing into his like they were starved for it or maybe just burning. Soobin groaned into him, finally grabbing his waist, grounding them both, but Yeonjun just gripped tighter and climbed higher, hands threading into Soobin’s hair, tugging, pulling, until Soobin was the one gasping against the doorframe, wide-eyed and breathless.

Yeonjun didn’t give him space to catch up.

He rolled his hips into Soobin’s once, slow and steady. And when Soobin hissed, grabbing tighter, Yeonjun smiled.

“Oh,” he said, sweet and fake-innocent, “you like it rough, huh?"

Soobin squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeonjun—”

“Mmh?” Yeonjun leaned in, lips brushing Soobin’s jaw now. “Say it again.”

“Yeonjun,” Soobin breathed, voice already low and hoarse. “You’re—”

“Driving you crazy?” Yeonjun giggled, then bit.

He bit right on Soobin’s neck, teeth sinking in just shy of cruel. Not enough to break skin, but enough to bruise, enough to make Soobin’s breath hitch in his throat and his knees falter just slightly.

Yeonjun tugged him again. “Touch me,” he whispered. “Do it right.”

Soobin’s hands trembled as they slid lower, not out of fear but out of the crushing weight of want , knowing this wasn’t just a drunk thing. Not for either of them.

He cupped Yeonjun’s hips, thumbs slipping just under the fishnet waistband, and Yeonjun moaned, high and satisfied.

“Good boy,” Yeonjun grinned.

Soobin groaned, his grip tightening.

Yeonjun kissed him again, but this time, slower. Less crash, more crawl. Like he had Soobin right where he wanted him and had no plans of letting go. And Soobin, breath caught, let him lead. Let him press forward until his back met the bed frame.

“You’re usually so bossy,” Yeonjun teased, voice warm and ragged now. “Not so loud now, are you?”

Soobin growled softly, eyes locked to Yeonjun’s lips. “I could flip this any time.”

Yeonjun’s smile widened, dark, electric, and daring. “So why haven’t you?”

Soobin stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast. “Because you want to ruin me.”

Yeonjun leaned down, lips brushing his again.

“Exactly.”

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

By the time they hit the bed, Yeonjun had shucked off the crop top and the bat was somewhere on the floor, forgotten. Soobin’s jacket lay in a pile by the dresser. Fingers traced over bare skin like they were spelling confessions, and every kiss felt like a threat to never be the same. Because it wasn’t just lust, it was loaded.

Every gasp, every whimper Yeonjun coaxed from Soobin’s mouth, every time Soobin caught Yeonjun’s hip in his hands like he might fall if he didn’t hold on, it all screamed that this wasn’t just about sex.

It was history and reputation. It was the I hated you because I didn’t know how to want you out loud. And now they did. And now they were.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

Soobin blinked up at the ceiling. His shirt was half off, one leg still tangled in the blanket. Yeonjun lay beside him on his stomach, cheek smushed into the pillow, hair sticking to his forehead, lipstick smeared across his chin like warpaint.

For a second, all Soobin could hear was the muffled beat of music through the walls.

Then, “...That was fun,” Yeonjun murmured, voice drowsy, casual and stupidly satisfied.

Soobin groaned and covered his face with one hand. “You’re unbelievable.”

Yeonjun peeked at him from the pillow. “What? You didn’t have fun?”

“You bit me.”

“You moaned.”

Soobin flushed.

Yeonjun smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

He stretched, catlike and unbothered before curling closer, arm thrown over Soobin’s chest. His fingers brushed lightly against skin, absentminded. Intimate.

Soobin didn’t move and didn’t say anything.

Because fuck, he didn’t want to ruin it.

Didn’t want to ask what it meant or didn’t even want to hear Yeonjun say it didn’t. So he lay there, breath even, chest warm, pretending this was normal. That it wouldn’t be weird tomorrow. That it wasn’t already too late.

Yeonjun’s voice came soft, almost sleepy.

“You’re not gonna run away, are you?”

Soobin hesitated. Swallowed. “...No.”

“Good.” A pause. “’Cause you kiss like you mean it.”

Soobin stared at the ceiling again, heart thudding and said nothing.

Chapter Text

Soobin avoided Yeonjun for three days.

Not out of pettiness, not even shame. He avoided him because everything about that night, the party, the makeup, the costume, the way their bodies had aligned like they belonged there were lingering in him.

The worst part wasn’t that they kissed.

It was that he liked it. It was that when Yeonjun’s lips left his, Soobin’s heart had followed. And that scared him more than anything. So he did what he always did with feelings too big for him, buried them. Deep.

He walked different routes through campus, ate his lunch in the music building instead of their usual bench, he ducked when he saw the glint of blonde through the hallway crowds. He spent hours doing assignments he’d usually procrastinate on, just to have an excuse to keep his phone out of reach.

But Yeonjun noticed.Of course he did.

The first day, it was just a ping:

1 new message from yeonjunie.

yeonjunie

binnie... you good?

Soobin didn’t reply.

The second day:

yeonjunie

i know ur not dead

ur active on beomgyu’s spam tf.

And then:

yeonjunie

okay. is this about the kiss?

or the fact i wore fishnets because either way i’m sexy and you can’t deny it

Soobin couldn’t help but smile at that one. A tight, reluctant smile, but a smile nonetheless.

It was so Yeonjun. The way he teased right on the edge of something serious, like he didn’t want to press too hard, but also couldn’t leave it alone.

On the third day, Soobin sat by the riverside where he used to bike as a kid, not out of nostalgia, but out of habit. He needed air. Needed space. Needed the sky to be just gray enough that he could convince himself this unsettled feeling was weather-related.

He sat on the concrete embankment with his legs drawn up, hood pulled low, headphones in but not playing. He stared out over the lazy current of the river, listening to the wind whip through tall grass on the opposite bank.

His thoughts refused to quiet.

Why did he let it happen? Why did he kiss back? Why did it feel like he wanted to again, even now?

Of course, that thought cursed it.

Because less than fifteen minutes later, Yeonjun appeared, a looming presence blocking part of the pale sky.

Soobin stiffened.

The blonde didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at him, sighed, and sat down slowly beside him, a few inches away but still too close for comfort.

“I knew you’d come here,” Yeonjun said after a beat. “You talk about this place when you’re sad.”

Soobin didn’t look at him.

He could feel Yeonjun’s eyes on his profile, but he kept his gaze glued to the water.

Yeonjun nudged his elbow lightly with a knee. “You’re not gonna say anything?”

Soobin pulled one earbud out , it had been silent for over an hour. “You’re not funny.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.” Yeonjun pulled his sleeves down over his palms and tucked his hands between his knees, voice gentler now. “I just… didn’t know if I was supposed to give you space or show up.”

Soobin kept his eyes forward. “You showed up.”

“Yeah. I hate being ignored.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” Soobin lied.

Yeonjun exhaled. “You were.”

A bird called in the distance, some lone thing perched on a fencepole downstream. The wind blew stronger.

“You disappeared like I hurt you,” Yeonjun said, almost too softly. “So if I did, I want to know how.”

Soobin’s hands curled in his sleeves.

“You didn’t hurt me,” he muttered.

“Then why—?”

“Because you kissed me like it wasn’t a joke,” Soobin interrupted, eyes still on the water.

Yeonjun blinked.

Soobin swallowed. “And it’s easier to forget things that feel fake. It’s harder when it doesn’t.”

Yeonjun was quiet and shifted closer. Just slightly like the space between them couldn’t stay wide for long.

“It wasn’t fake,” Yeonjun said.

“I know that now,” Soobin replied, and for the first time, he turned his head and looked at him. His eyes were sharp, searching. Not angry, not embarrassed but scared in a way Yeonjun had never seen before.

“You kissed me like you’ve done it before,” Soobin said, his voice barely above the rustle of river grass. “Like you knew what would happen next.”

Yeonjun held his gaze.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “I just hoped you’d kiss me back.”

Soobin stared at him a moment longer, then looked away not in retreat, but because if he didn’t, he might do something reckless like lean in again.

They sat in silence.

One heartbeat, then another, then a hundred more.

Until Soobin spoke, “…I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

Yeonjun turned his head slowly, lips parting.

Soobin added, quietly, “And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Yeonjun didn’t answer right away. His breath caught halfway out of his lungs at Soobin’s quiet confession. The words hung in the damp riverside air, fragile and trembling. And maybe Yeonjun should’ve played it cool or just teased him, deflected with something dry and stupid like, “Wanna make out again just to see?”

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Because Soobin was serious, and scared, and doing that thing again where his face looked composed but his fingers had curled in on themselves like he was holding back from shaking.

Yeonjun shifted, knees bending so he could face him fully. "Soobin,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it either.”

That got Soobin’s attention again. His head tilted, chin sharp beneath his hood. “Then why…” Soobin hesitated, eyes narrowing a bit. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Yeonjun exhaled hard, a little laugh in his breath but no real humor. “Because I didn’t want to scare you off more,” he admitted. “You act like this didn't happened. I thought if I pushed even a little harder, you’d vanish completely.”

Soobin blinked. “I wasn’t avoiding you because I hated it.”

“Then why?”

Soobin swallowed, then laughed humorless, like Yeonjun’s had been. “Because I was afraid it felt too good. And so, as if nothing had happened, you let me return home by myself.”

Yeonjun’s lips parted.

“You think I wanted to leave you alone after that?” he asked. “Soobin, your ex was at that party. He cornered me right after you walked off.”

That made Soobin’s whole body go still.

“…What?”

Yeonjun looked away, jaw tight now.

“I didn’t wanna bring it up because I thought it’d sound petty. But he came up to me drunk as hell, said something like, ‘So this is who Soobin downgraded to? and tried to put his hands on me. I told him to fuck off.”

Soobin’s brows furrowed in stunned silence.

“I didn’t want you to see that,” Yeonjun added. “Didn’t want it to ruin whatever just happened between us.”

“I didn’t even know he was there,” Soobin whispered. “I didn’t see him.”

“Well, he saw me.” Yeonjun’s mouth twisted. “Guess he still thinks you’re his business or whatever.”

Soobin stared at him for a long moment, and something like guilt crossed his face but it wasn’t about the ex. “I’m sorry I just left,” he murmured. “I didn’t know how to stay.”

Yeonjun shook his head, softening. “You didn’t owe me anything. But you should know… I wanted to stay with you. That night. After we kissed and did everything.”

Soobin breathed in. Then out.

And that was the moment. The one that felt like everything tilted, not dramatically, not loudly, but like the quiet click of a lock turning.

Soobin shifted, hesitated, then reached for Yeonjun’s hand, resting between them on the concrete. His fingers brushed against the other boy’s knuckles. Barely there a question.

Yeonjun looked down, stunned for half a breath, then flipped his hand over to lace their fingers.

“You still scared?” he asked.

Soobin nodded, just once, “But I’m here anyway.”

Yeonjun smiled faintly. “I’ve liked you for a long time, you know.”

Soobin tilted his head. “You never said anything.”

“You never looked at me like you do now,” Yeonjun said.

And then Soobin did it again, he looked at him like that. Quietly, surely, like he wasn’t afraid of his own want anymore. Yeonjun leaned in first, slow enough to give him room to back away.

Soobin didn’t.

Their foreheads bumped lightly before their lips met—warm, careful and lingering. It wasn’t messy or drunk this time, no fishnets, no costume makeup, no crowd outside the bathroom door.

Just them. The wind. The water.

Soobin sighed against his mouth, and Yeonjun tilted his head and kissed him again, slower this time, deeper, like he’d been waiting for this moment since the first time Soobin ever smiled at him from across a too-bright room. His hand hovered for a second before gently brushing Soobin’s jaw, thumb grazing the edge of his cheek like it was the most delicate thing in the world.

And this time, Soobin didn’t pull away.

Didn’t overthink. Didn’t flinch.

He leaned in.

His fingers found the fabric of Yeonjun’s hoodie and curled there, not tight, just present but like grounding himself in something real. Something warm. The kiss unraveled slow, not perfect but honest. A little too much teeth, a breath caught in the middle. But they didn’t stop.

When they finally did, Soobin stayed close.

Foreheads touching and eyes fluttered shut. His breath was warm between them, uneven. But steadying.

Yeonjun opened his eyes first.

And Soobin, he didn’t look away.

He looked at him like he was seeing him for the first time and all over again. Like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening, but didn’t want to look anywhere else in case it vanished.

Like maybe this could mean something.

Maybe it always had. Maybe that stupid party and the fishnets and the fake flirting hadn’t been so fake after all. Maybe the way Yeonjun looked at him like really looked at him had always been more than teasing. Maybe Soobin had been avoiding more than just a kiss.

“…I’m scared,” Soobin whispered.

Yeonjun blinked. “Of what?”

“That if I let this be real… I won’t know how to want anything else.”

Yeonjun didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease.

He just nodded, eyes glassy. Voice low.

“Me too.”

And for the first time since the kiss, the silence between them wasn’t heavy or sharp— It was hopeful.

Like something was finally beginning.

Chapter Text

The weeks after the lakeside confession moved quietly like leaves caught in a steady current. Neither of them talked about the kiss that lingered like wine on their lips, nor the words that hovered over them like the morning sun. But something had changed.

They started sitting beside each other in cafés more than across.

Soobin no longer hesitated to brush his fingers along Yeonjun’s wrist when handing over a pen.

And Yeonjun had stopped looking at other people like maybe one of them would make him feel more grounded than Soobin ever did.

Because he knew now, none of them ever would.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

Graduation came fast, too fast. Their robes were stiff, hats askew, diplomas crisp and impersonal in their hands. Yet, when Yeonjun turned his head to see Soobin’s dimpled smile across the crowd, something tightened and unknotted in his chest all at once.

They had done it. Side by side, or sometimes with one dragging the other through hell and hangovers, they had made it here. And now the future looked less like a foggy road and more like a streetlight shining on one another.

Soobin caught Yeonjun just after the ceremony—no words, just arms. The music was still playing faintly in the background, guests mingling, the soft clink of champagne glasses echoing like wind chimes. But Yeonjun didn’t care about any of that. Not the flowers, not the speeches, not the cake that someone had already taken too many photos of.

Just Soobin.

Just Soobin, who found him under the trees behind the venue, away from the lights and the noise, and walked right into his arms like he belonged there. Like he’d always belonged there.

Yeonjun let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and folded into the embrace without hesitation, pressing his face into the warm curve of Soobin’s neck. His fingers fisted lightly at the back of Soobin’s jacket, soft fabric bunched between them, grounding him.

Soobin smelled like cedar and cologne and something warm and familiar. And Yeonjun—who had made it through the entire ceremony without a single tear suddenly felt something tighten behind his ribs.

He blinked hard.

God, he was so stupidly emotional.

“I guess we’re free now,” Yeonjun mumbled, his voice muffled against skin. It came out hoarse, like it was catching on the weight of all the years before this, before them.

Soobin huffed a small laugh, not pulling away, arms still firm around him. “We’ve always been free.”

It was a kind answer. One that tried to pretend they hadn’t been shackled to fear and pride and timing for too long. That they hadn’t walked through years of misfires and missed chances and bruised feelings just to get here.

But Yeonjun lifted his head slowly, eyes damp but steady. "No,” he whispered. A small smile curved on his lips. “We’ve always been waiting.”

Waiting for this. For each other.

And when Soobin leaned forward and kissed him again, soft and sure, like they had all the time in the world—Yeonjun kissed him back like he believed it.

Because now, finally, he did.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

Moving in wasn’t as magical as Yeonjun had daydreamed it to be. There was no dreamy montage with boxes and fairy lights and kisses between shelves. There were stubbed toes. Sweat. An almost-broken bookshelf. A dropped jar of kimchi that stained the floor and their socks.

And arguments.

They argued about curtains.

Soobin didn’t want any, he liked light too much. He said it helped him feel awake. Present. Human. Yeonjun demanded blackout ones for “optimal drama binge-watching conditions and better Saturday sleep-ins,” quoting it like it was a legal clause in their shared lease.

They argued about whether mugs should be stored rim-up or rim-down, whether shirts should be folded or hung, whether the shoes at the door were "artistically scattered" (Yeonjun’s words) or "just a goddamn mess."

“Do you want ants?” Soobin had said once, exasperated.

“Ants have taste,” Yeonjun had replied, placing his sneakers right back in the same chaotic pile.

But then Yeonjun would come home to Soobin in the kitchen, shirt rumpled, hair pinned up with a pen, stirring something over a pot like he was born to do it. The scent of garlic, sesame oil, and home would drift into the hallway and wrap around Yeonjun’s spine like a hug.

And sometimes Soobin would find Yeonjun curled up asleep on the couch, TV playing some nonsense he wasn’t really watching, lips parted, head tilted back, arms wrapped around a throw pillow he swore he didn’t even like—yet somehow never let go of.

They bickered.

They laughed.

They fucked against the bedroom door one night when the groceries were still half-unpacked, rice rolling across the floor as Soobin groaned Yeonjun’s name like he was starved for it. The kind of kiss-heavy desperation that made time irrelevant.

They argued over whether their bed should have two pillows each or one big one.

Yeonjun said, “I want to cuddle you and the pillow.”

Soobin raised an eyebrow. “I am the pillow.”

Yeonjun flushed. “Exactly.”

They had early mornings where they brushed teeth side by side, yawning in unison. Late nights where one of them fell asleep mid-conversation and the other stayed just to watch them breathe.

They fought over ice cream flavors, laundry baskets and the right amount of hot sauce.

But they always made up before bed.

Always.

And they loved.

Quietly. Loudly. In small gestures and in every accidental shoulder brush. In tangled limbs and burnt rice, in scribbled notes on the fridge that just said “missed you today.”

Yeonjun once kissed Soobin mid-argument just to shut him up. Soobin didn’t even get mad as he kissed him back harder, shoved him into the fridge, and told him to argue with that.

He never did. Not really.

Not when love felt like this. Not when home looked like Soobin’s sleepy smile across the dinner table.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

One December morning, Yeonjun found himself on one knee, not with a ring, but with shaking hands. “I don’t want to be anywhere you’re not,” he said.

Soobin blinked, lips parting. “Junie, are you—”

“I’m asking,” Yeonjun breathed, “if we can do this forever.”

And they did.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

A year later. They didn’t want a flashy wedding. No grand ballroom, no formal sit-down dinners with name cards or awkward speeches from relatives they barely knew. Just their closest friends, a sunlit venue with too many flowers spilling out of every corner, and a playlist Yeonjun spent three weeks perfecting—half romantic classics, half shamelessly stupid pop songs they’d slow-danced to in their kitchen at midnight.

The ceremony started late, of course. Beomgyu forgot the rings, someone tripped over a flower stand, and Taehyun nearly strangled Hueningkai with his buttonhole while fixing it. But it was perfect in the way their life together had always been messy, ridiculous, and somehow full of the deepest kind of love.

Soobin wore a dark green suit, tailored just enough to make his shoulders look broader than they already were. No tie, just a silver pin over his heart that Yeonjun had gifted him the night before, engraved with the date they first met.

Yeonjun wore white. Crisp, elegant, with a structured jacket he kept adjusting nervously until Beomgyu slapped his hands away. His hair was dyed an obnoxious peach-pink for the occasion, not subtle at all, not for a second—and he wore it proudly because he knew exactly what it would do to Soobin.

And Soobin, predictably, rolled his eyes the second Yeonjun walked in.

But he also smiled.

That slow, heart-melting smile that took up his whole face, the one that made Yeonjun feel like twenty- one again, like he was falling in love for the first time. Like maybe he never really stopped.

Beomgyu cried way too early into the vows. He started tearing up when Yeonjun reached for Soobin’s hands, sniffled when Soobin began to speak, and full-on sobbed into Taehyun’s shoulder before Yeonjun even got through the words “for the rest of my life.”

Hueningkai filmed the whole thing with shaky hands and whispered commentary. Taehyun pretended to be annoyed but adjusted the mic for them anyway, just in case Soobin’s voice cracked.

And through it all, through the laughter and the tears and Yeonjun’s trembling fingers brushing against Soobin’s knuckles—they kept looking at each other like there was no one else in the room.

No one else in the world. Because, in that moment, there wasn’t.

Just the two of them.

Two people who had waited too long, hated each other a little, forgiven a lot, and found their way to this quiet, warm place in the end.

To each other.

Forever.

Yeonjun's voice barely rose above a whisper as he leaned in, their foreheads nearly touching.

“This is it, then. You and me.”

Soobin smiled—small, breathless.

“It’s always been you.”

And maybe it wasn’t part of the script. Maybe the officiant hadn’t even said “you may now kiss” yet.

But Yeonjun leaned in anyway, caught Soobin’s jaw like he’d done it a thousand times, and kissed him. Not rushed. Not shy. Just sure.

Soobin melted into it like a prayer answered. Like a promise sealed.

The guests clapped. Beomgyu cried again. But in that moment, there was only the two of them.

Mouths pressed together in the middle of too many flowers. Years behind them. A lifetime ahead. And a kiss that tasted like home.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

The hotel suite in Jeju smelled like sea salt and orange blossoms. Their bags lay forgotten by the door. The room was large, glowing gold from the late afternoon sun, but neither of them moved from the bed. their honeymoon

They had been there since they stepped in. Shoes kicked off and ties undone. Breath caught between kisses neither of them wanted to be the first to end. Soobin was still in his shirt, half-buttoned and wrinkled. Yeonjun had peeled off his suit jacket and slipped onto his lap like they had all the time in the world.

And maybe they did.

“Do you know,” Yeonjun murmured, cupping Soobin’s jaw with his thumb grazing the corner of his mouth, “how long I’ve wanted to be yours like this?”

Soobin leaned into the touch. “You always have been.”

Yeonjun smiled faintly. “But tonight… you’re mine, too.”

Soobin breathed out, a little shaky. And he nodded.

He didn’t need to say anything more as his eyes said it all and that he meant it. That he’d meant it for years, even when he’d been too scared to show it, even when his hands had pushed Yeonjun away instead of pulling him closer. Even when the world between them had been full of noise and pride and the weight of timing that never quite aligned.

But here they were. Finally.

Yeonjun kissed him again, slower this time. Not claiming. Not conquering. Just holding, knowing and choosing. Soobin’s hands cradled the back of Yeonjun’s neck, his fingers threading through his soft, peach-colored hair. He pulled him in like it wasn’t just about kissing, it was about grounding. About reminding himself that this was real. That Yeonjun was really here. That they’d made it.

“I don’t want to sleep yet,” Soobin whispered against his lips.

Yeonjun huffed a small laugh, eyes crinkling. “Good. I wasn’t planning on it.”

They stayed wrapped around each other in the dimming light, the bedsheets loose around their waists, the hum of the sea outside lulling them into a quiet kind of peace neither of them had known they’d needed this badly.

Yeonjun traced a fingertip over Soobin’s chest, drawing nothing in particular—just little circles, little lines. A language only they could read.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again, softer this time. “And I’m yours. All of me.”

Soobin’s throat bobbed. He turned his face, pressing his lips to Yeonjun’s wrist, right where his pulse fluttered. “Then stay mine,” he said, like a promise, like a plea. “For a long, long time.”

Yeonjun nodded, his heart stuttering. “Forever.”

And in that golden room, with the scent of the ocean drifting through the window and their bodies still warm from the way they’d come together, they kissed again.

Soobin let Yeonjun undress him slow, reverent fingers undoing each button like a secret only he was allowed to see. He kissed each new inch of skin he revealed, from collarbone to the line between his ribs, tracing veins and bone and soft warmth with his tongue. And Soobin let him. Let his fingers stay still on Yeonjun’s hips. Let Yeonjun take the lead, sink down on top of him like he was starving and holy all at once.

“Tell me what you want,” Soobin rasped, hand now at Yeonjun’s waist, gripping tight, grounding.

Yeonjun kissed his throat. “Want you to make me yours.”

He moved slow. They both did.

It wasn’t hurried, wasn’t frantic. It was long and melting and intimate. Yeonjun stayed on top, rolling his hips in a way that made Soobin lose breath and focus, eyes fluttering shut, mouth parting in pure surrender.

And Soobin, he guided. Kept his hands firm and his pace gentle. Murmured praise into Yeonjun’s skin as he rocked upward, eyes locked with his like nothing else mattered.

Yeonjun moaned his name and Soobin kissed it off his lips, tasting salt and something sweeter.

“Feels good?” he asked, almost shyly.

Yeonjun nodded, dazed. “You feel like home.”

They stayed like that after. Entwined and silent, skin warm against skin. Yeonjun was sprawled on Soobin’s chest, legs tangled. Their bodies were flushed and marked in soft red, little love bites blooming near hips and shoulders.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of you,” Yeonjun whispered, fingers playing with the chain around Soobin’s neck.

Soobin kissed his forehead, voice low. “You won’t get the chance.”

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

The morning after was gentle. Not in the way fairytales promised, but in the quieter, realer sense. The kind of gentle that came with sleepy smiles and legs tangled under the sheets, with cold fingers reaching across warm skin and the echo of laughter that didn’t need to be loud to be full.

They didn’t rush.

They lay there, curled up in the center of the bed, as if the rest of the world could wait a little longer. The sea breeze slipped in through the balcony door, tousling Yeonjun’s already messy hair and making Soobin’s nose scrunch up when it got too cold. Yeonjun just laughed and pulled the blanket higher, tucking them both underneath it like a secret.

They ate too much fruit in bed, feeding each other pieces of melon and chilled strawberries, their hands sticky and their cheeks even stickier from kisses between bites.

“Who loves who more?” Yeonjun asked, mouth still full of pineapple.

Soobin rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious.”

“Fine. Me.”

Yeonjun gasped, dramatic as ever. “Excuse me?”

Soobin licked his thumb, smug. “You heard me. I win.”

Yeonjun tackled him into the pillows, groaning. “That’s not how this works—”

“It’s exactly how this works.”

“Unfair,” Yeonjun pouted. “You’ve had more practice.”

Soobin kissed his forehead, then his cheek, then the tip of his nose. “And I’ll keep practicing for the rest of our lives.” (Soobin won. Barely. But Yeonjun let him.)

By the time they left the room, the sun had crept above the horizon, painting Jeju in shades of soft gold and sleepy coral. The city stirred, but they moved like the only two people awake. Two people who had made it, who had survived the noise and the heartbreak and the waiting.

Yeonjun slipped his hand into Soobin’s as they stepped onto the quiet street, the warmth of it anchoring him in ways he didn’t have words for. He looked down at their intertwined fingers and tightened his grip like it was something sacred.

Because it was. Because no matter how long it had taken, no matter how many false starts and fights and silences had nearly broken them—they had chosen each other.

Again and again.

Because now, they were each other’s gravity.

No more waiting. No more maybe.

Only us. Always.

Chapter Text

Two years after the wedding, their lives looked nothing like the polished photos in their hallway.

The kitchen table was usually a mess, the laundry basket never stayed empty. Yeonjun still hogged the blanket, and Soobin still forgot where he put his keys at least once a week.

But somehow, they had never felt more grounded. More real.

Soobin brings it up softly. They’re sitting at the kitchen counter on a slow Sunday morning. Pancakes going cold as sunlight crawling through the curtains.

“I think… I want to be a dad,” Soobin says, barely above a whisper.

Yeonjun stills, fork halfway to his mouth. He doesn’t respond right away, he just looks at Soobin, blinking slowly like he’s trying to catch up to the weight of the words that were just spoken.

There’s no joke in Soobin’s voice. No teasing smile. He means it.

Yeonjun lets out a short, surprised laugh, automatic, not mocking. More like disbelief. Because they just got here. Just got married, just got used to sharing laundry baskets and bickering over what side the coffee mugs go on.

He puts down his fork.

“You want a kid?” he echoes, like the words don’t quite land right in his mouth.

Soobin nods. “I think I’ve wanted one for a while.”

And that’s when it hits Yeonjun, a slow, unsettling ache in his chest. Something old. Something sharp. He never pictured this. Never imagined a stroller in their hallway or a crib beside their bed. He doesn't have warm memories of family growing up, not the kind that make you want to recreate them. His were messy. Tense. Sometimes lonely.

He’s scared he’d mess it all up and that he’s not enough.

“You’d be a good dad,” Yeonjun says after a long moment. His voice is quiet, honest. “Of course you would.”

Soobin tilts his head. “You would too.”

“I don’t know how,” Yeonjun says. And this time his voice cracks, just a little. “I don’t even know what that looks like. My dad… he wasn’t really around. And when he was—”

He swallows the rest.

Soobin steps closer. “Then we make it up. Together.”

And Yeonjun just stares at him like he’s trying to find the flaw in it. The trapdoor. The place where this whole thing might fall apart.

He wants to say no. Not because he doesn’t love Soobin, God, he loves Soobin.

But he’s terrified. Terrified of loving something that might one day think he wasn’t enough.

Soobin doesn’t push.

He just waits.

Quiet. Gentle.

And over the next few weeks, Yeonjun thinks about it. A lot.

He watches Soobin play with their neighbor’s kid at the park one afternoon, and something swells in his chest that he can’t name.

He catches himself staring too long at tiny shoes in a store window.

He starts dreaming about little hands tugging on his sleeves. A baby’s laughter echoing in their home.

And one night, a few weeks later he finds Soobin in their room folding laundry. The warm light makes him look soft, familiar, and safe. Yeonjun walks over and just hugs him from behind, pressing his forehead to Soobin’s shoulder.

“I’m scared,” he whispers. “But I want to try.”

Soobin freezes for a second.

And then he turns, eyes wide and hopeful and already brimming.

Yeonjun smiles through his nerves. “Let’s do it. Let’s… let’s have a kid.”

And Soobin kisses him, long and slow and full of something that feels like forever. That night, they fall asleep holding each other a little tighter.

And in Yeonjun’s dream, there’s a little girl with sleepy eyes and Soobin’s dimples.

He wakes up before he can hear her laugh.

But somehow, he already knows it’s the sweetest sound in the world.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

The apartment was quieter than usual. Not tense but just expectant. The kind of quiet before something big, where even the air felt like it was waiting. Yeonjun sat curled into the corner of their couch, blanket over his knees and a notepad balanced against his thigh.

His handwriting trailed down the page: names, crossed out, rewritten, circled, starred, circled again.

Across from him, Soobin flipped through a worn baby names book, his thumb tapping a soft rhythm against the edge. They’d been doing this every night for a week after dinner, after brushing their teeth, after laying side by side and realizing again that soon, they’d be three.

“Do you want something modern?” Soobin asked, voice quiet. “Or more traditional?”

“I don’t care as long as it feels like her,” Yeonjun said. “Like... we hear it and we just know.”

Soobin nodded, eyes drifting down the page. “She’s still a baby. Barely one year. I keep wondering if she’ll even feel real.”

“She will,” Yeonjun whispered, then looked up. “She already does.”

He held out the notebook.

Soobin took it, scanning through the scribbled names: Jisoo, Areum, Solbi, Yeona, Sori...

Then, “Yeonsol,” he read aloud.

Yeonjun watched him carefully.

“Yeonsol,” Soobin read out loud again. “It sounds like you.”

Yeonjun blinked. “Me?”

“‘Yeon from Yeonjun. And Sol...” Soobin smiled gently. “Like the sun and pine trees. Gentle. Quiet. Like home.”

Yeonjun looked at him, a little breath caught behind his ribs. “That’s you,” he murmured. “You’re home.”

Soobin’s fingers brushed over the notebook, landing on the name again like it was something fragile and sacred.

“Yeonsol,” he repeated, this time softer.

Yeonjun wrote it at the top of the list in all caps, circling it twice.

“That’s it,” he said, smiling. “Our little girl.”

Their daughter didn’t know them yet. But she already had a name, one made of warmth and light, of everything that had brought them here.

Of Yeonjun’s fire, and Soobin’s quiet home.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

The adoption center was quiet that day. It wasn’t like the movies, no bustling noise, no toys scattered across sunlit rooms. Just a kind woman with a clipboard and the soft smell of baby wipes and powdered milk in the air. Yeonjun kept fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. Soobin looked calm, but Yeonjun could see it, the slight tap of his foot, the way he kept glancing at the door.

They’d been waiting for this moment for weeks. Interviews, papers, late nights talking about parenting styles and sleep schedules and where to keep the nightlight. They didn’t tell anyone. Not even Beomgyu, Taehyun and Kai.

It felt too sacred.

“Are you ready?” the woman asked gently.

No. Not even close.

But Soobin nodded anyway. “Yes.”

And Yeonjun, almost on instinct, reached for his hand.

The hallway was short, but Yeonjun swore it stretched like a lifetime. Each step was a question. Each breath a promise he hadn’t spoken yet.

They stopped by the fourth door.

“She’s a little shy,” the woman warned softly, already turning the knob. “But she’s lovely.”

And then the door creaked open—and the whole world paused. She was there, sitting cross-legged on a play mat with a soft pink stuffed bear between her knees. Not even a year old yet. Small. Round cheeks. Big, sleepy eyes that blinked up at them, curious and cautious.

Yeonjun forgot how to breathe, because she looked exactly like the dream. Exactly like the echo of something he’d never touched before... a future.

Soobin dropped to a knee first, gently, keeping a safe distance. “Hi, baby,” he whispered.

She blinked again, lips parted. Didn’t smile. But didn’t cry either.

Yeonjun crouched beside Soobin, heart pounding too loud. “Yeonsol,” he said softly, the name they had written down together in quiet, candle-lit evenings. "Do you like that name?"

She tilted her head, looking between them both.

And then, the smallest thing. Her hand reached out. Clutched the corner of Soobin’s sweater.

Not Yeonjun’s. Not yet. But it was enough.

The woman smiled at them from the door, eyes already kind. “She doesn’t warm up fast,” she whispered. “But I think she likes you.”

Yeonjun felt like crying.

He didn’t. Not yet. But later that night, when he was brushing his teeth and saw the tremble in his reflection, he let himself cry quietly into Soobin’s chest.

Because the moment Yeonsol had looked up at them, he knew: She was already theirs.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

The apartment felt different with Yeonsol in it. They had spent weeks even months on preparing, built the crib together, folded baby clothes in silence, argued once over the color of the night lamp (Yeonjun won). But nothing truly prepared them for the moment they set her carrier down in the living room and realized: She was really here.

Soobin hovered. Yeonjun panicked over how warm the milk should be. The baby monitor refused to connect. She cried at exactly 9:13 pm, 11:25 pm, 1:29 am, and then again at 3:04 am, and this time, she didn’t stop.

Yeonjun tried rocking her, but his arms were sore. Soobin tried singing, but he was hoarse. They argued. It was stupid about feeding order, about sleep schedules, about who forgot the extra wipes. But then Yeonsol sneezed, just once, and both of them stopped fighting at once to check if she was okay.

They were exhausted. Terrified. Messy.

But when the sun peeked in at 6:17 am, she was finally asleep on Soobin’s chest, her tiny fist curled around Yeonjun’s pinky.

Soobin whispered, "We're so bad at this."

Yeonjun leaned his head against his shoulder. “We’ll get better.”

And they would.

Because loving her was the only thing that came naturally.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

They were on the couch, a cartoon playing low in the background. Yeonsol sat between them, clumsily holding her bottle, babbling nonsense.

Then, clear as day, she looked up at Yeonjun and said, “Appa.”

Time stopped.

Soobin’s eyes widened. Yeonjun blinked, stunned.

“Did she—?”

Yeonsol giggled, saying it again like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Appa.”

Yeonjun’s voice cracked. “Yeah,” he whispered, pulling her close. “Yeah, baby. I’m Appa.”

Soobin didn’t say anything. He just leaned in and kissed Yeonjun’s temple. And Yeonsol, their little sun, laughed between them.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

It was raining, a slow, sleepy kind of afternoon. Soobin was humming while folding tiny clothes on the floor. Yeonsol sat nearby, stacking blocks with intense concentration.

She suddenly looked up, eyes wide.

“Dada,” she said.

Soobin froze.

Yeonjun looked up from the kitchen, a knowing smile already forming.

Yeonsol said it again, this time louder. “Dada!”

Soobin let out a shaky laugh, blinking fast.

“Yeah?” he whispered, crawling over to pull her into his arms. “I’m Dada?”

Yeonsol nodded solemnly, resting her head against his chest like it had always been true.

Soobin held her tight, whispering her name like a promise.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

The afternoon haze in the city was sticky and golden when the three of them finally managed to sit together, Beomgyu slouched deep in the booth at the fast food place Kai worked at, sunglasses perched on his head like a tourist, Taehyun glued to his laptop with his usual programmer squint, and Kai sighing as he threw down his apron after the last table was wiped.

“You look like a washed-up idol,” Taehyun said, not looking up from his code.

“That's rich coming from a guy who hasn’t blinked in ten minutes,” Beomgyu shot back, cracking open a soda with one hand. “Besides, Busan was a whole cinematic arc. I suffered for my art.”

“You overslept through your own screening,” Kai pointed out helpfully, dropping into the seat next to Beomgyu.

“Exactly. Suffering.”

The tray between them was piled with fries, half-eaten burgers, and a single suspicious-looking peach pie. The usual mess of shared silence and friendly bickering hung in the air, comforting and normal.

Then, all at once, their phones buzzed.

First Beomgyu blinked down at his. Then Taehyun. Then Kai’s screen lit up while his mouth was full of fries.

Beomgyu, brow raised, read aloud:

bad bitch yj

gyu ya. are you done being dramatic in busan?

come to our place later. 7pm.

snacks required. bring your face and prepare to cry (yes it’s a threat) 😘😘

Kai held up his own:

soobin the ugly hyung

kai, off work soon?

drop by ours later—important. no it’s not a dog. no it’s not yeonjun bleaching his brows again.

tell the others too. 7pm sharp.

Taehyun exhaled sharply as he stared at his own phone:

soob (hyung unfortunately)

taehyun, don’t panic but you might tear up a little.

it’s not a wedding, i swear. just come by. tonight. 7pm (you can bring your laptop if you must lol)

“What is this, a joint cult invite?” Beomgyu frowned.

“They better not be renewing vows,” Kai muttered. “I didn’t emotionally recover from the first one.”

Taehyun just stared blankly. “I didn’t even cry at the proposal but I will cry if it’s another ballad duet. I can’t go through that again.”

Still, they showed up.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

The apartment door was the same as always, light wood, silver handle, the little wreath Soobin put up last season still hanging. But everything else felt different the moment they stepped inside.

Yeonjun greeted them at the door. “Take off your shoes, and your expectations.”

Soobin smiled softly from the kitchen, holding a warm bottle in one hand, like he’d been waiting. “You guys made it.”

The living room looked lived-in. Softer. Cozier somehow. A new blanket folded on the couch. A tiny jacket hanging on a hook by the door.

Beomgyu’s voice broke the silence first.

“Wait...”

But then the softest sound floated down the hallway, halfway between a squeak and a whimper. A baby’s noise, one that made everyone freeze.

Taehyun blinked. “No.”

Kai’s eyes widened. “Is that a cat?”

“Nope,” Yeonjun grinned, stepping aside.

And then there she was.

A sleepy little girl in yellow footie pajamas, hair ruffled like she just woke from a nap, rubbing one tiny fist against her eye while the other clutched a fuzzy elephant plush. Soobin scooped her up with practiced ease, like he'd done it a hundred times. She blinked at the guests in the doorway, big, curious eyes—and then nuzzled her face into Soobin’s shoulder.

Yeonjun said it like the most natural thing in the world. “Meet Yeonsol.”

There was silence.

Then, “Oh my god,” Taehyun whispered, stunned.

Beomgyu made a choked noise. “You’re… dads?”

“You—You adopted a whole human being?!” Kai screeched, hands flying to his head. “A baby?? A literal child?!”

Soobin chuckled. “She’s ours.”

“She’s… she’s small,” Beomgyu said, voice wobbling.

“She’s perfect,” Yeonjun whispered.

The three guests looked utterly wrecked. Beomgyu leaned against the wall for balance. Taehyun wiped at his eyes aggressively and Kai was already kneeling in front of the baby, whispering, “Hello, tiny sunshine. I will be your favorite uncle, okay?”

Yeonsol blinked slowly. Then smiled.

That’s when Beomgyu broke. “Damn it. I am crying.”

And just like that, Yeonsol had three more people who would love her endlessly.

Beomgyu didn’t mean to cry like that.

But there he was—arms thrown around Yeonjun’s shoulders like they were twenty again and Yeonjun just passed him tissues during a rough breakup, shaking with laughter and real, warm tears. “I hate you,” Beomgyu hiccupped. “You didn’t even warn us.”

Yeonjun laughed into his shoulder, voice a little tight. “I did warn you. I said you’d cry.”

“You undersold it!” Beomgyu wailed. “You gave us a human plot twist! A tiny squishy child who smiles! How dare you!”

Yeonjun just held him tighter. “She’s ours, Gyu. Can you believe it?”

“I hate how much I can,” Beomgyu sniffled, clinging to him. “God, you’re gonna be the worst stage dad.”

Meanwhile, Kai had already launched into uncle mode, arms out like a dramatic cartoon. “Come here, little peanut! Let Uncle Kai carry you—”

“No way,” Taehyun cut in, laptop tossed unceremoniously onto the couch. “She smiled at me first. I’m clearly the chosen uncle.”

“She smiled at everyone, Taehyun, don’t gaslight a baby—”

Yeonsol stared between them, mildly entertained as Soobin held her. When Kai reached out again, she slowly reached for his sleeve with one tiny hand, grasping a finger.

Kai looked like he was about to ascend to heaven. “She picked me.”

“Let me hold her,” Taehyun insisted.

“No.”

“Let me try, Kai, you’re hogging her—”

“Back off, Programming Nerd!”

“You two are going to traumatize her,” Soobin said dryly, but he was smiling, so much of it that it crinkled near his eyes.

“Let her witness love in chaos,” Yeonjun whispered as he pulled Beomgyu into the kitchen to grab tissues and drinks.

Eventually, they all calmed—sort of.

Kai was on the floor with Yeonsol in his lap, letting her gently slap at his cheeks while he pretended to faint dramatically each time. Taehyun sat beside them, typing something quietly on his phone, but the other hand rested near Yeonsol’s ankle, keeping her steady. Beomgyu curled sideways on the couch with Soobin’s hoodie thrown over his face to hide how hard he had cried. Yeonjun was on the armrest, a drink in hand, glowing like a man who just got everything he never thought he deserved.

And for a moment, they just talked.

“So when did this all happen?” Kai finally asked, quieter this time.

Soobin exchanged a glance with Yeonjun. “Almost six months ago. We met her at the center. She’s a year and three months old now.”

“And you just… knew?” Beomgyu asked from under the hoodie.

Yeonjun nodded. “She looked at us and reached up. Didn’t even blink. Like she already knew us.”

Taehyun leaned back, laptop forgotten. “That’s how I felt when I met Kai.”

Kai threw a fry at him. “Shut up, I’m having an emotional moment.”

Yeonsol let out a tiny sneeze.

Everyone froze.

Then five voices, overlapping:

“Bless you.”

“Oh my god.”

“Did you hear that?”

“She’s an angel.”

“She sneezed like a Disney character.”

They all burst into soft, ridiculous laughter.

And somewhere in the middle of it, Yeonsol reached up just once and touched the tip of Kai’s nose, then turned to Taehyun with sleepy eyes.

“She’s choosing us both,” Kai said triumphantly. “We’re co-uncles.”

“Fine,” Taehyun relented, nudging Kai. “As long as you don’t try to dress her in penguin onesies every day.”

“Already ordered twelve.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yeonsol loves me.”

From the couch, Soobin and Yeonjun exchanged the kind of glance that only people deeply in love and deeply content could understand.

Yeonjun whispered, “Told you they’d lose their minds.”

Soobin smiled. “And they gain a niece.”

Chapter Text

years later...

The house was already glowing by the time the sun properly rose, golden light spilling over freshly swept floors and a kitchen filled with the quiet hum of routine. The scent of warm eggs and buttered toast drifted through the air as Yeonjun carefully cut tiny star-shaped fruit to top off a tiny pink bento box.

"Banana stars for strength," he mumbled to himself. "Strawberry hearts for joy. A sandwich spell for good luck—"

“You’re talking to the food again,” Soobin called from the hallway, laughing as he balanced a freshly bathed Yeonsol in his arms, towel wrapped like a cloak around her tiny shoulders.

Yeonjun grinned, glancing over. “She deserves a magical lunch.”

“She deserves to not be late to her first day of school,” Soobin shot back fondly, disappearing into Yeonsol’s room.

While Yeonjun packed the last rice ball into place and sealed the box with a cartoon lid, Soobin sat Yeonsol down on her little chair and began the sacred morning ritual: gentle lotion on soft cheeks, tiny socks on dancing feet, a yellow dress she picked out herself. Her baby shampoo still clung to her hair, making Soobin breathe her in as he carefully brushed it through.

“Simple braid?” he asked.

Yeonsol nodded, blinking up at him with sleepy eyes.

Yeonjun joined them mid-braid, wiping his hands on a towel. He leaned against the doorframe, just watching. Soobin worked with quiet focus, like he was handling something fragile and priceless which, to Yeonjun, he was.

And yet, something felt… off.

It took a second, but then Yeonjun gasped.

“Wait—wait! She’s missing something!”

He bolted to the bedroom drawer, rummaged around, and returned victorious, holding up two tiny white ribbon bows like they were precious jewels.

“Appa almost sent you out there unfinished,” Yeonjun teased dramatically, clipping one on each side of her braid.

Yeonsol beamed. “Now I sparkle!”

“You always sparkle,” Soobin murmured, kissing her forehead.

Their morning would not be complete without one more thing—FaceTiming the uncles.

Yeonjun set the phone down on the kitchen counter and hit dial.

Kai answered first, hair wrapped in foil, bleach gloves still on. “She’s leaving already?! No! I didn’t even get to dye her tips pink!”

“Kai-yah, no.” Soobin said at once, already laughing.

Taehyun appeared next, sitting in a very clean, very modern New York office. “Tell her I said to walk away from anyone who eats glue. That’s a red flag.”

“Noted,” Yeonjun saluted, holding up the phone for Yeonsol. “Say hi to Uncle Taehyun and Uncle Kai!”

“Hi!” she chirped, waving. “Appa said I sparkle!”

“You always do, baby,” Kai beamed.

Beomgyu finally popped in with a bad signal from a festival tent, sunglasses on and voice crackling through. “Yeonsol-ah! Be good today! No fighting unless it’s for art!”

“I’ll draw,” she promised.

“You’re already the best student in the whole country,” Taehyun said, pretending to wipe a tear. “Make them proud.”

They each promised to call again after school. And just before they hung up, Kai made her promise not to let anyone bully her and Beomgyu told her to film everything in her brain like a little movie. Yeonsol giggled and gave them a thumbs up, all teeth and sunshine.

Soobin held her hand the whole walk to the car, then gently fastened her into the seat. He kept checking the straps like he had the first time they brought her home.

Yeonjun had to squeeze his hand before they started driving. “She’s ready,” he said softly.

Soobin only nodded, holding back something too full in his chest.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

The kindergarten building was bigger than Yeonjun remembered. It wasn’t that tall, not really but the crowd of parents made it feel like a full-on event. Dozens of families lined up at the gates, kids holding onto their grown-ups with varying degrees of enthusiasm and nerves.

Yeonjun parked, turned to look at their daughter. “Alright, Yeonsol,” he said dramatically, unbuckling her. “Today, you become officially a student.”

“I’m gonna learn to spell giraffe,” she said, determined.

“Better than me already,” he laughed.

Soobin helped her down, fixing her dress and smoothing her braid again for the fifth time. “If anything feels too big or too scary, you look for your teacher, okay? Or another classmate who looks nice.”

“I got this, Daddy,” she said with a little nod. “Like you taught me.”

He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until she stepped forward without reaching for his hand.

She waved. Just… waved. And walked ahead, hugging her bag to her chest, proudly marching into the gate with a bright smile like she’d been doing it for years.

Soobin didn’t move.

“Hey,” Yeonjun murmured, reaching for him. “Binnie.”

Soobin blinked quickly and turned away, but not before Yeonjun caught the quiet tear slipping down his cheek.

“She didn’t even look back,” Soobin whispered. “She used to cry when we left her with my mom.”

“She’s growing,” Yeonjun said, voice thick but warm. “She knows we’re not going anywhere.”

Around them, other parents were dabbing at their eyes, filming everything, whispering instructions. Yeonjun looked down at his husband's hand still clutched in his own and squeezed again. “You okay?”

Soobin nodded once. “Are you?”

Yeonjun made a face. “Not really. I’m just trying not to cry in front of the other cool dads.”

Soobin finally laughed.

“I’m proud of her,” Yeonjun said softly. “And to us.”

They stayed a little longer, watching through the slats in the gate until they saw Yeonsol settle down into her tiny desk. Then they left, a little lighter but with a space in their chest they’d never noticed until now.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

By the time Yeonsol got home, she was buzzing.

“She said my dress looked like the sun! Her name is Nari. She’s my friend now.”

“Wait, who said that?” Soobin asked, kneeling to help her take her shoes off.

“Nari! She gave me a sticker! And I gave her the strawberry one from my lunch. Then we played cooking but I was the chef and she was the cat.”

“Classic cat behavior,” Yeonjun murmured, following them to the living room.

“And then I learned to spell egg! E-G-G. Easy! But then I fell on the slide but I didn’t cry!”

Yeonjun leaned against the wall, smiling so hard his face ached. Soobin sat beside her as she continued talking, sentence after sentence, voice softer now as sleep slowly tugged at her. Yeonjun returned with her favorite plushie and the blanket she loved. He scooped her up gently.

She was half-asleep by the time they got to her room.

Yeonjun tucked her in first, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you so much, sunshine.”

Soobin came in next, brushing her hair back. “Goodnight, baby. We’re always proud of you.”

Yeonsol let out a tiny, happy sound, caught between dreaming and knowing. And then the two of them climbed into bed beside her, like they always did when she needed extra comfort. Yeonsol snuggled right in the middle, little arms tucked between their chests.

Soobin’s voice was soft. “Did you think we’d get this far?”

Yeonjun turned to him. “With you? Always.”

They met in the middle over her tiny form, pressing a kiss between each other’s whispers.

“I love you,” Soobin murmured.

“I love you more,” Yeonjun replied.

“I love you both,” came a tiny, sleepy voice from between them.

Yeonjun froze. Soobin looked down. Yeonsol, eyes still closed, a tiny smile on her lips. They both laughed—quiet, breathless, full of wonder.

And the lights dimmed slowly on the three of them, the sun setting on the first day of school, and the beginning of everything else.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

Yeonsol hated the idea of missing even a single day of school, such a little perfectionist. Meanwhile, it was Yeonjun and Soobin’s one-day love anniversary. Nothing grand, just a sweet excuse to slip away for a quiet lunch, fingers laced and hearts still soft, like teenagers pretending not to be married.

They asked Beomgyu and Kai to stay over for one night. Beomgyu was in town for the weekend, and Kai didn’t start his new job until next week. It felt like the perfect excuse to babysit.

“No glitter,” Soobin warned as he pulled on his coat.

“No ice cream before lunch,” Yeonjun added, glancing at Beomgyu.

Beomgyu saluted. “We’re professionals.”

The second the couple walked out, Yeonsol looked up from her sketchpad with hopeful eyes. “Can we get ice cream?”

Beomgyu sighed. “She asked nicely, Kai. What was I supposed to do?”

Kai was already grabbing the car keys. “You’re so weak.”

-🌞-

So now the three of them were sitting outside on a low bench, surrounded by the scent of waffles and sticky summer air. Yeonsol had a rainbow popsicle bigger than her head. Kai was working on a banana split. Beomgyu, somehow, ended up with melted vanilla dripping onto his wrist.

A stranger passed by and smiled warmly at them. “Your daughter’s adorable.”

Beomgyu blinked. “Oh, she’s not—”

Kai immediately burst into laughter, nearly choking on a cherry. “This is the best day of my life. You’ve got the dad energy, Beomgyu. Congratulations.”

Yeonsol, as if on cue, leaned into Beomgyu and whispered, “Appa Gyu.”

Beomgyu groaned. “You're enjoying this too much.”

Kai was still giggling when they got back to the house.

-🌞-

The next day. Morning started like most chaotic ones, with Beomgyu’s hair still damp from a rushed shower and Kai holding a juice box hostage until Yeonsol put her socks on. She, of course, was completely unfazed by the whirlwind around her.

“You have ten seconds to brush your teeth or I’m calling the royal dentist,” Kai threatened dramatically, waving a tiny toothbrush like a sword.

Yeonsol stood on her step stool, arms crossed. “Royal dentist can wait. This is my kingdom.”

“She gets that from Yeonjun,” Beomgyu muttered as he tried to wrangle her backpack zipper shut while simultaneously texting Soobin that yes, she was eating breakfast, technically.

In the end, they managed to get Yeonsol out the door, dressed, fed, brushed, and still humming something suspiciously dramatic under her breath. She marched ahead of them down the path like a little general, waving at passing dogs and announcing she would be “back before the moon blinks twice.”

“Is that supposed to be poetic or a threat?” Kai asked Beomgyu as they watched her greet the school gate with a curtsy.

“Depends,” Beomgyu said. “Does the moon owe her money?”

Kai laughed, rubbing at his eyes. “I can’t believe we do this before 8AM.”

“Honestly? She’s the only one thriving.”

That afternoon, after Yeonsol’s half-day schedule ended, Kai and Beomgyu picked her up again, this time with snacks and zero expectations.

By the time they got home, Yeonsol had already planned an entire fantasy mission involving dragons, royalty, and unfortunate costume choices. Beomgyu didn’t stand a chance.

It had started innocently enough.

“Wear the pink one,” Yeonsol said, holding up a tutu with glittery stars on it.

Beomgyu blinked at her from the couch. “No.”

Yeonsol tilted her head, lower lip wobbling ever so slightly. “But… but it’s for the kingdom.”

Beomgyu narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.”

"Pleaseee?..." She sniffled, just once. Barely. Eyes huge, clutching the tutu like it was spun from dreams.

Beomgyu groaned, already reaching for it. “Okay, okay fine. But if you cry, I cry, and it’s going to be very ugly.”

Yeonsol instantly beamed. “Yay! You’ll be the prettiest princess.”

“…I was emotionally manipulated,” Beomgyu muttered later, fluffing the skirt with a tragic sigh.

Kai grinned from where he was adjusting his cardboard armor. “More like violently guilt-tripped by a five-year-old. ”

-🌞-

When Yeonjun and Soobin returned, they expected calm or at the very least, a quiet room with maybe a few scattered toys. Instead, they walked in and immediately heard Kai’s dramatic voice booming from the living room.

“I, Knight Kai of the Sacred Noodle, have arrived to rescue Lady Yeonsol and Princess Beomgyu from the fearsome dragon that lurks in the basement!”

Yeonjun choked.

Soobin froze mid-step while getting his phone in his pocket to take a pic.

Beomgyu, seated on the floor in a fluffy pink tutu from Yeonsol’s dress-up trunk and a sparkly crown tilted too far to the left, gave them a long, tired look. Yeonsol was beside him with a clipboard, clearly taking this mission very seriously.

“Princess Beomgyu?” Yeonjun wheezed, bending forward with a hand on his knee. “You let him call you that?”

“I was blackmailed,” Beomgyu muttered, tugging the tutu back over his knees. “She threatened to cry.”

“I did not,” Yeonsol said, nose in the air. “I said please.”

Kai, still standing on the coffee table with a pool noodle raised like a sword, shouted, “Silence! The knight speaks! The dragon approaches!”

“You’re the only one making noise,” Beomgyu pointed out.

“And that,” Yeonjun said, wiping tears from his eyes, “is the most beautiful princess I’ve ever seen.”

Beomgyu scowled, cheeks burning, but didn’t take the crown off.

Yeonsol giggled and placed a toy ring on Beomgyu’s finger. “Now you’re married to the kingdom.”

Soobin blinked. “Wait, who officiated?”

Kai bowed. “I did. As Knight. It was part of my side quest.”

“I need a drink,” Beomgyu mumbled.

Yeonjun grinned, slinging an arm around Soobin. “We leave for one day and come home to royalty.”

Lady Yeonsol raised her wand. “And you're just in time for the tea party.”

They didn’t even take off their shoes before sitting down.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

Two nights without Yeonjun and the house already felt too quiet. Yeonsol, five, almost six but still small enough to curl herself into Soobin’s chest like she used to as a toddler and she wasn’t sleeping. She kept blinking up at the ceiling, whispering questions into the dark.

Would Appa be back tomorrow?

Did he remember to pack her a star sticker?

Was he missing her too?

Soobin tried stories, songs, her favorite stuffed seal, even warm milk. Nothing worked. And maybe Soobin missed him a little too much too. So he gave in, pulled out his phone, and dialed.

The moment Yeonjun picked up, there was a breathless, slightly panicked, “Is she okay?”

Soobin exhaled. “She’s just... not sleeping. She keeps saying she needs your voice.”

There was silence for a heartbeat. Then Yeonjun’s voice softened, full of guilt. “My poor princess.”

Soobin tilted the phone toward her, pressing the speaker button. “Yeonsol, Appa's here.”

“Appa?” she mumbled, eyes glassy, already drowsy but still stubbornly awake. “Sing the star song?”

Yeonjun’s smile was almost audible.

Then his voice so familiar, so warm it seemed to wrap around the room and he began to hum, before he started to sing.

Byeorui moksorireul ttara

(Following the voice of the stars)

Hamkke noraehaneun neowa na

(You and I singing together)

Seororeul gieokal yeongwonui noraenmal

(Lyrics of eternity that will remember each other)

Song of the stars, the stars with you…

Soobin tucked the blanket higher over her chest, brushing a curl away from her face as her lashes started to fall shut. Yeonjun’s voice continued, soothing and steady.

Natjame deun jeo byeolbit, honjara saenggakaetji

(I thought the starlight that fell asleep in the daytime was alone)

Sesangeun dabi eopgo nuga nal gieogeun halji…

(The world has no answers, and who would remember me?)

By the time he reached the chorus again, Yeonsol was breathing softly. Asleep at last, her hand half-curled toward the phone like she could still reach for him if she wanted.

Soobin stared for a moment, his heart full and aching. “Still got the magic,” he whispered.

“Only for you two,” Yeonjun whispered back. “Tell her I’ll be home before breakfast.”

“She knows,” Soobin smiled, eyes soft. “She always knows.”

There was a quiet beat, just the sound of Yeonsol’s sleepy breathing in the background.

“I love you,” Yeonjun said, voice barely above a hush.

Soobin’s gaze lingered on their daughter, peaceful now at last. “I love you too,” he whispered. “We both do.”

“I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

Soobin leaned back against the headboard, phone still close, like keeping Yeonjun there a little longer. “Hurry home, starboy.”

Yeonjun laughed softly, full of love. “Always.”

And so, wrapped in the memory of stars and lullabies, their little family stayed tethered, even miles apart.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

...

Yeonsol was now six years old, proudly six and a half, if anyone asked and she had a sparkly watch to prove it. She wore it every day, even though it was a little too big and kept sliding down her wrist. Her teachers knew she didn’t really know how to tell the time yet, but that didn’t stop her from loudly announcing, “It’s almost three!” whenever the sky started looking like sleepy gold. Usually, her school service dropped her off at 3:30 on the dot. Not earlier, not later. That was the rule. And Yeonsol liked the rules.

So when the van rolled up to her house at exactly 3:00, she blinked in confusion.

"Traffic was clear today, kiddo," her driver chuckled. "Surprise early dismissal!"

She smiled anyway, hopping out with her lunchbox swinging and her head full of sun-shaped doodles. “Okay! But I hope Daddy's not napping. Last time I knock so much that he thought I was arresting him”

She marched to the door and knocked. Hard.

-🌞-

Inside, the air was different. Still and warm. Somewhere between the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the golden spill of sunlight from the windows, two people were entirely lost in each other. One of them was pushed gently back against the couch cushions, legs half-sprawled across the other’s lap, fingers curled into a T-shirt like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

Their mouths met lazily... soft, open, and warm, again and again, like they had time to spare. Yeonjun hummed quietly against Soobin’s lips, tilting his head to kiss him deeper, one hand smoothing up his side, resting at the dip of his waist. Soobin’s hands slid under Yeonjun’s shirt in return, fingertips brushing warm skin like he needed to memorize it, like they hadn’t done this a hundred times already.

“I missed you today,” Yeonjun mumbled into his mouth, kissing him again before Soobin could answer.

Soobin only smiled, tugging him closer. “Then keep missing me like this.”

There was a shift, Yeonjun settling onto his lap, lips trailing down to his jaw, fingers playing with the ends of his hair, both of them too wrapped up in each other to remember what time it was or where they were or—Knock knock knock!

“Appa? Daddy? I’m home early! It’s me!”

Both of them froze mid-breath. Yeonjun practically flew off Soobin’s lap, eyes wide as he scrambled for the blanket.

“Why is it 3 already?! She’s not supposed to be here until—”

“Thirty, I know,” Soobin groaned, trying to fix his shirt inside-out. “I think I heard a van, but I thought it was a neighbor—”

Yeonjun was already half-crawling across the room. “We need to look normal. Fast.”

By the time they opened the door, panting, with hair sticking up in questionable places and Yeonjun’s lip balm clearly smudged down the side of his chin, Yeonsol just blinked up at them.

She tilted her head. “Why are your faces red?”

Yeonjun cleared his throat. “Because we were, uh, playing a game.”

“What game?”

Soobin crouched to pull her into a hug. “The quiet game. We lost.”

She nodded sagely, then reached into her backpack. “I got a sticker today. Wanna see?”

And just like that, the heat of the moment was traded for crayon-scribbled worksheets and uneven pigtails and the scent of strawberry shampoo clinging to a six-year-old who didn’t even realize she’d just saved her parents from emotional combustion.

Later, after bedtime stories and a surprisingly suspicious side-eye from Yeonsol about their “nap time,” Yeonjun collapsed next to Soobin on the couch.

“…We really need to do it at night,” he whispered.

Soobin just laughed and kissed his cheek. 

They didn't win the quiet game. But they’d take the chaos of early drop-offs and sunshiny daughters any day.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

It was a lazy Sunday, sunshine spilling through the windows and the smell of pancakes still hanging in the air. The house was quiet, except for the soft hum of music and the occasional giggle from the living room.

In the kitchen, two figures stood close, hands tangled, lips brushing in the kind of kiss that comes naturally after years of love and everyday mornings. It was soft. Familiar. Warm.

Until a tiny voice gasped from the doorway.

"Are you kissing again??" Yeonsol huffed, arms crossed over her favorite bunny pajama top. "That’s not fair. I didn’t get any kisses today!!”

They both turned, caught mid-smile, as she marched up with all the dramatic flair a six-year-old could muster.

“I want kisses too!” she declared, already lifting her arms like a little princess demanding tribute.

Yeonjun laughed, bending down to scoop her up, while Soobin leaned in to nuzzle her cheek.

And just like that—it was kiss attack time!

Three foreheads, six cheeks, a button nose, and a tiny belly got the royal smooch treatment.

Yeonsol giggled until her voice cracked, squished between two warm chests and an avalanche of love. “Okay, okay!” she squeaked. “I guess… you’re allowed to kiss. If I get the most.”

“Deal,” they both said, already leaning in for one more.

It was the best kind of Sunday.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

...

It had been years since she first walked through the kindergarten gates with a bow in her hair and two overprotective dads trying not to cry behind her. Time, gentle and fast, moved like sunlight across their living room floor—one day she was reaching for Yeonjun’s hand to help tie her shoelaces, the next she was reminding Soobin not to forget his keys.

From that first day of school to scraped knees and bedtime stories, to the way she would run into their arms after every school play, Yeonsol had become the rhythm of their lives. Their every day began and ended with her voice, her laughter, her quiet little yawns at night. She grew taller, smarter, braver and more loved than ever.

And now… now she's nine. A little taller than Yeonjun liked to admit. Still obsessed with glitter, still asking Soobin to braid her hair “like that one cartoon girl,” and still the best thing to ever happen to both of them.

Yeonsol’s ninth birthday was more than just cake and presents. It was a reminder, of all the little miracles stitched into their every day. Of how overwhelming love arrived in the shape of a little girl and never once left.

The backyard was dressed in pastel streamers and floating balloon clouds, a handmade banner that read “Happy 9th Birthday, Yeonsol!” hung with glittery pride over the cake table. Music from her favorite cartoon played faintly from a speaker, the scent of cotton candy and strawberry shortcake dancing in the summer air.

Soobin was holding a juice box in one hand and a half-inflated balloon in the other, looking like he hadn’t slept. Yeonjun had frosting on his cheek, arguing with a magician over a schedule he didn’t remember agreeing to.

And in the middle of it all was Yeonsol, twirling in her glittery dress, eyes wide, cheeks bright.

“Remind me again how we pulled this off?” Soobin whispered, finally settling beside Yeonjun with a sigh.

Before he could answer, a very smug Beomgyu appeared from behind a balloon tower, sunglasses on, arms crossed. “You're welcome.”

“Huh?” Yeonjun blinked.

“I paid for everything,” Beomgyu said dramatically, as if he were revealing he’d just saved the world. “The cake, the food, the bounce house. I even tipped the magician. You're both broke gay dads, remember?”

Soobin stared at him, then blinked. “You did what?”

Beomgyu grinned, then knelt down as Yeonsol came running toward him. “Happy birthday, sunshine,” he said, handing her a sparkly hair clip that shaped like a star.

Yeonsol hugged him tightly. “You're the best uncle ever!”

Kai groaned from the side. “She says that to all of us.”

Taehyun, tuning in via FaceTime propped up on the snack table, rolled his eyes. “Don’t be bitter just because you didn’t buy the magician.”

“You’re all jealous,” Beomgyu said, ruffling Yeonsol’s hair. “But deep down, we know who wins Uncle of the Year.”

Yeonsol beamed. “All of you do. But Beomie-oppa wins this round.”

Yeonjun and Soobin looked at each other with quiet smiles, warmth in their eyes. Their family, chaotic and loud and beautiful, just as it should be.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

The living room had slowly become a makeshift dance studio over the past week, the coffee table pushed to the side, a folded blanket acting as a makeshift stage, and Yeonsol standing in the center with determined eyes and a hairbrush mic.

"Five, six, seven, eight!"

She counted with all the seriousness of a professional, lips pressed in focus as her tiny feet shuffled and twirled. She stumbled once, groaned then went right back to the beginning, her little ponytail bouncing.

Yeonjun, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his chin in his hands, whispered to Soobin on the couch, “She’s so intense. It’s like watching mini-you with less emotional breakdowns.”

Soobin elbowed him, but his eyes never left their daughter. “She just wants to do well.”

"Of course she will," Yeonjun smiled softly. "She’s our kid."

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

The auditorium was buzzing. Parents with cameras, teachers with clipboards, kids fidgeting with bows and shoelaces. But amid the chaos, Soobin and Yeonjun sat quietly in the third row, not front, not back. No reserved signs, no spotlight but just a quiet kind of love tucked between folded programs and nervous heartbeats.

Kai arrived first, holding a gift bag that looked like it had been wrapped by a tornado. “I swear this has something sparkly in it,” he whispered. “Don’t ask me what it is.”

Beomgyu slipped into the seat beside Yeonjun, already dabbing his eyes. “I’m not crying, I just watched a sad ad on my phone before I walked in.”

And then to all of their surprise—Taehyun appeared at the aisle, suitcase still in hand.

“What!?” Soobin blinked, standing up immediately.

“I had a break. Took the flight last night,” Taehyun said, a soft smile forming. “Wouldn’t miss her first solo.”

Yeonjun gaped. “You literally didn’t tell anyone.”

Taehyun shrugged. “Wanted to see your jaw drop in real time.”

They laughed, all five of them finally together, warmth radiating even in the cool lights of the auditorium.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

The curtain rose.

And there, in the middle of the stage, Yeonsol in a soft yellow dress, with glittery shoes, her expression calm but glowing. The music swelled, and she began to move.

No one screamed her name. No one waved wildly or made a scene.

They watched in silence.

Soobin, hands clasped tight in his lap, didn’t dare blink. Yeonjun leaned forward, eyes shining. Kai had his hand over his heart like he was about to faint. Beomgyu was mouthing the steps in sync like he had memorized them too while recording on his phone and Taehyun, still jet lagged—sat with the softest smile, proud as ever.

Her movements weren’t perfect, a wobble here, a missed beat there but she danced like she belonged. Like the stage was made for her and all the love they poured into her had found its way into every step.

When she bowed at the end, cheeks flushed, their applause wasn’t the loudest.

But it was the fullest.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

“She’s getting so big,” Kai whispered on the way out, voice caught in his throat.

“She’s a star,” Taehyun added quietly, bumping his shoulder with Yeonjun.

“She’s ours,” Soobin said, pulling Yeonjun’s hand into his.

And Yeonjun, watching their daughter giggle with her classmates under the auditorium lights, just whispered, “She’s always been.”

Backstage smelled like hairspray and sweets. Yeonsol bounced in place the moment she saw them, a five familiar faces peeking through the side door, waiting with proud smiles and watery eyes. “Appa! Daddy!”

She sprinted into Soobin’s arms first, wrapping her small arms tightly around his neck. “Did I do okay? I almost slipped on the second spin…”

“You were magical,” Soobin murmured, voice thick, brushing a kiss into her hair. “Like a real fairy.” Yeonjun crouched beside them, hands out, eyes gleaming. “You owned that stage, sunshine. And the bows stayed put this time. I triple-knotted them.”

Yeonsol turned and launched into Kai next, giggling as he twirled her. “You sparkled,” he whispered dramatically. “Like Beyoncé at the Grammys.”

Beomgyu didn’t move. He just stood there frozen, blinking fast, eyes glassy.

“Beomie-oppa?” she called, confused.

Beomgyu knelt then, slow and careful. “You danced,” he whispered, voice breaking just a little. “You really danced…”

When she nodded proudly, he hugged her tight and didn’t let go for a long moment, arms snug around her tiny frame. “I remember when you couldn’t even reach the cupboard,” he muttered into her shoulder. “And now you’re on stage. I’m not okay.”

Everyone smiled, quiet and fond.

“Okay, mister emotional,” Yeonjun teased, nudging him gently. “We still gotta beat traffic.”

But Beomgyu just stood, one arm still under Yeonsol’s legs, holding her like he couldn’t bear to let her down. “I’m carrying her to the car,” he announced. “No one fight me on this.”Yeonsol giggled, looping her arms around his neck. “Okay. But only if I get sun cupcakes.”

“You’re getting twelve.”

Taehyun finally spoke through a quiet chuckle. “I thought you said you weren’t gonna cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Beomgyu sniffed. “I’m just… holding onto the moment.”

And so they walked out of the venue, Yeonsol in Beomgyu’s arms, the five of them trailing behind, hearts full.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

...

It was a quiet night, the kind where the stars looked close enough to touch and the house felt wrapped in a soft kind of hush. Yeonsol, nearly ten now, sat curled between her two dads on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, a cartoon playing quietly in the background that none of them were really watching.

She shifted, glancing between them with thoughtful eyes.

“Can I ask something?”

Soobin turned to her gently. “Of course, baby.”

Her voice was soft. Careful. “Is it okay that you love each other? Like… is it normal? You’re both boys.”

There was a pause. Not from hesitation, but from how carefully Yeonjun reached for words. Before he could speak, Yeonsol blinked up at them again, her brows furrowed, not out of confusion, but concern. “Because I think it’s really beautiful,” she said quietly. “And I hope people are always kind to you. And I hope you don’t stop loving each other, or me.”

Soobin’s breath caught. Yeonjun turned his face slightly, but not before Yeonsol saw the tear slip down his cheek.

“Oh Appa…” she whispered, immediately crawling into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Don’t cry!”

He laughed, breath shaky. “You’re too good to us.”

She hugged him tighter, then pulled Soobin into the mix with one arm.

“I love you both a lot,” she mumbled against his shoulder. “So, promise you’ll never stop loving me too, okay?”

They both held her like a promise. And Yeonjun kissed the top of her head, voice thick.

“Never, sunshine. Not in a million lifetimes.”

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

“Appa, can I wear eyeliner?” Yeonsol asked, holding up a dusty old pencil she found in the bathroom drawer.

Yeonjun barely looked up from his book. “No.”

“But why?”

“You’re nine.”

"I'm almost ten!"

Soobin, peeling an orange nearby, added, “When we first met, your Appa wore eyeliner like it was a personality trait.”

Yeonsol’s eyes widened. “Really?!”

Yeonjun sighed. “Soobin…”

“He had cat eyes sharp enough to kill a man. Looked like a villain on purpose,” Soobin continued, smirking. “Never lasted through the night, though.”

Yeonsol frowned. “Why’d it smudge?”

“Too much… enthusiasm,” Soobin said vaguely, then added under his breath, “Mostly after midnight.”

“Like dancing?”

“Mm. Sort of a full-body workout.”

Yeonsol, now thoroughly confused, grabbed Soobin’s phone and FaceTimed Beomgyu, "Beomie-oppa! Did you wear eyeliner when you were younger?”

Beomgyu picked up and grinned. “Of course. I was iconic in college. But no one beat your Appa’s era. Remember that night, Soobin?”

Soobin chuckled. “You mean the one where—”

“Don’t.” Yeonjun warned, already glaring.

Beomgyu winked. “When he looked like his eyeliner ran away from shock ? Yeah. Let’s just say Soobin wasn’t the only thing getting smudged that night.”

Yeonsol blinked. “What got smudged?”

Yeonjun stood up, took the phone, and pressed End Call with a sigh that sounded like it aged him five years.

“No eyeliner. Not until you’re at least seventeen. And I’m emotionally prepared.”

“Appa,” Yeonsol said sweetly, “why is your face red?”

“Ask Gyu-Oppa when you’re twenty-five.”

Soobin tossed Yeonjun an orange slice. “You’re glowing, love.”

Yeonjun threw it back.

“Oh really? Guess who's sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Yeonsol burst into giggles as Soobin immediately walked over, trying to drape his arms around Yeonjun like a koala. “Nooo, not the couch, babe. I’m too tall for it. My knees don’t bend like they used to—”

Yeonjun huffed, already stomping toward their bedroom. “Goodnight!” he called over his shoulder, dramatically pouty. “Even though it’s not even dark yet!”

Yeonsol kept giggling from the living room as Soobin chased after him.

In their room, Yeonjun was already hiding under the blanket with his back turned.

Soobin leaned over, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “You looked cute with eyeliner, by the way.”

There was a pause. Then a very soft, “...I know.”

And just like that, the pout melted.

✦ ˚₊ ☀️⋆｡˚🌼₊⊹💛｡⋆☁️ ˚₊ ✦

And maybe it wasn’t perfect.

There were fights. Mistakes. Too many sleepless nights. Fears that whispered at midnight, and hopes that trembled at dawn. But still, there was always love.

The kind that stayed. The kind that chose again and again.

Soobin and Yeonjun still bickered over grocery lists and who left the wet towel on the bed. Kai still showed up with glitter pens, pink scrunchies, and snacks only an uncle could justify buying. Taehyun still called every weekend like clockwork, pretending not to cry when Yeonsol told him about her week. Beomgyu still arrived with arms too full and jokes too loud, letting her paint his nails even when she mixed all the colors.

Yeonsol, from her very first gummy smile at one to her proud little walk in sparkly shoes at five, was never short on love. By eight, she was writing dramatic short stories about fairies and fire-breathing uncles. And by nine, she already had opinions on curtain colors, weekend cartoons, and which of her dads was the better cook.

On her tenth birthday, she blew out the candles with her hair a little longer, her gaze a little steadier. She didn’t tell anyone what she wished for—but Soobin swore he caught her smiling like someone who already had it all.

And maybe she did.

Because that night, when the party quieted and the stars glowed above her bed of stuffed toys and fairy lights, she curled up between her two dads again—just like always.

One arm left, one arm right. Kisses pressed to her forehead. A sleepy whisper of “We love you, sunshine,” wrapping her in a warmth no blanket ever could.

And in that quiet little space built from old love, found love, and chosen family, there was no question.

They were always going to be okay. They already were.

                - Even under the night sky, their little sun still shined the brightest. ☀️