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The rain started halfway home—first a drizzle, then a full downpour that made it impossible to see more than a few steps ahead.
By the time they reached Seonghyeon’s house, they were soaked from head to toe.
Keonho was laughing, breathless, still holding onto Seonghyeon’s wrist like it was the only thing keeping him from slipping on the wet pavement.
“You’re insane,” Seonghyeon huffed, trying to sound annoyed, though the faint smile tugging at his lips ruined it completely.
“Maybe,” Keonho said, grinning, water dripping from his bangs. “But you’re the one who ran with me, so what does that make you?”
Seonghyeon rolled his eyes, unlocking the door. “Cold,” he muttered, pushing it open. “Very cold.”
The warmth of the house wrapped around them immediately, the air smelling faintly like detergent and rain.
Keonho kicked off his shoes and stood by the entrance, shaking his hair like a dog.
“Don’t—”
Too late. Water splattered everywhere.
“Keonho!”
His laughter filled the quiet room, bright and reckless and alive.
Seonghyeon wanted to stay mad, but he couldn’t—not when Keonho’s smile was that soft, that genuine.
He tossed him a towel instead. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet you let me in every time,” Keonho teased, rubbing the towel over his head.
“Yeah, well,” Seonghyeon said, turning away to hide the warmth creeping up his cheeks. “You can stay until the rain stops.”
Keonho looked toward the window. The world outside was all grey and silver, the rain steady and unrelenting. “Guess I’ll be here a while, then.”
Seonghyeon disappeared into his room for a few minutes, and when he came back, he tossed a neatly folded pile of clothes toward Keonho.
“Here. They might be a little big, but at least they’re dry.”
Keonho caught them with a grin. “Wow, your generosity knows no bounds, huh?”
“Just change before you catch a cold,” Seonghyeon said, trying not to smile—but his tone gave him away.
A few minutes later, Keonho emerged from the bathroom in one of Seonghyeon’s hoodies, sleeves hanging loosely past his hands.
The sight made something in Seonghyeon’s chest twist and soften at the same time.
“Fits fine,” Keonho said, tugging at the hem. “You’ve got good taste.”
“It’s just a hoodie,” Seonghyeon muttered, turning back toward the kitchen—but the corners of his mouth curved up anyway.
Seonghyeon returned with two mugs of cocoa, his sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy from the towel.
They sat close—close enough that Keonho could feel the heat of his arm even through damp clothes.
The rain became a rhythm in the background, soft and endless.
When Seonghyeon spoke again, his voice was quieter. “You can stay the night if you want. It’s late anyway.”
Keonho turned to him, smiling gently. “You sure?”
Seonghyeon nodded, gaze fixed on his mug. “Yeah. Stay.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Keonho leaned back against the couch, exhaling softly, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Okay,” he murmured. “I’ll stay.”
And maybe it was just the rain, or maybe it was the way Seonghyeon’s hand found his under the blanket later—but that night, everything felt a little quieter, a little warmer.
Like home.
They ended up back on the couch, the lights dimmed low.
The rain hadn’t slowed; it kept whispering against the windows, soft and steady. A blanket was draped over both their legs, and the room felt small in the best kind of way—quiet, warm, and safe.
Keonho stretched, head falling lightly onto Seonghyeon’s shoulder. “You’re comfortable,” he mumbled, half-asleep already.
Seonghyeon froze for a second before relaxing, his hand finding its way into Keonho’s hair. “You’re heavy,” he said, but his voice was softer than his words.
They stayed like that for a while. No words, just the sound of rain and the quiet rhythm of breathing—one slightly uneven, the other steady and calm.
“Hey, Seonghyeon?” Keonho murmured, barely above a whisper.
“Hm?”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For letting me stay. For … this.”
Seonghyeon looked down at him—the messy hair, the hoodie that looked better on him than it ever had on himself, the small smile that could probably outshine the morning sun. He exhaled slowly.
“You don’t have to thank me for that,” he said. “You’re always welcome here.”
Keonho’s eyes flickered open, soft and sleepy. “Always?”
“Always.”
A quiet beat passed, and then Keonho’s fingers found Seonghyeon’s under the blanket—just a light touch, enough to make his heart trip over itself.
The rain outside carried on, but neither of them cared.
By the time Seonghyeon realized Keonho had fallen asleep against him, the storm had quieted into a drizzle.
He brushed a strand of hair away from Keonho’s forehead and pressed a small, hesitant kiss there.
“Goodnight,” he whispered.
And maybe, just maybe, the rain lingered a little longer that night— because even the sky didn’t want to interrupt something that gentle.
Seonghyeon stayed still for a long time after Keonho fell asleep.
The weight on his shoulder was warm, steady—and for some reason, it made his chest ache in the gentlest way.
Outside, the rain had softened to a drizzle.
The sound was faint now, almost fading into the hum of the city.
He looked down at Keonho, at the way his eyelashes brushed against his cheeks, how his hand still loosely held onto Seonghyeon’s under the blanket—even in his sleep. And just like that, he remembered.
The first time it rained like this.
They weren’t dating yet. Just friends then—though even back then, the word friend had already started to feel too small.
Keonho had been standing under the awning outside the classroom, grinning like the storm didn’t exist.
“Come on,” he’d said. “It’s just rain.”
Seonghyeon had stared at him, expression flat. “It’s pouring.”
“Exactly! It’s fun.”
And before Seonghyeon could argue, Keonho had grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the rain—laughing, running, dragging him through puddles like the world wasn’t supposed to be serious all the time.
That night, Seonghyeon had caught a cold. But he also remembered the sound of Keonho’s laughter, bright and unrestrained, echoing in his head long after the fever broke.
It was probably around then that he’d realized: he was in trouble.
Now, sitting on that couch with the same boy—warmer, closer, real—Seonghyeon smiled faintly.
He brushed a hand through Keonho’s damp hair and whispered, just for himself, “You’ve always liked the rain, huh?”
Keonho stirred slightly in his sleep, leaning in closer as if answering without words.
Seonghyeon exhaled softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Guess I don’t mind it as much anymore.”
When Seonghyeon opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the light.
It poured through the curtains, soft and golden, casting lazy patterns across the room.
The rain had stopped sometime in the night, leaving behind the faint scent of damp air and something sweet—cocoa, maybe.
The second thing he noticed was Keonho.
Still asleep. Still curled up beside him.
Seonghyeon didn’t even remember when they’d ended up lying down, blanket half tangled around them. Keonho’s hoodie sleeves were bunched up near his face, his hair sticking out in every possible direction. He looked … peaceful. Too peaceful for someone who’d dragged him through a thunderstorm just last night.
Seonghyeon smiled despite himself.
Carefully, he got up, pulling the blanket back over Keonho before heading to the kitchen.
The floor was cool beneath his feet, the world outside washed clean and quiet. He moved without thinking—kettle, mugs, the soft clink of spoons—until the air filled with the smell of warm tea.
“ ...’Hyeon?”
The voice was rough with sleep.
Keonho stood in the doorway, eyes half-open, hoodie slipping off one shoulder.
He looked confused and soft all at once—like the personification of morning.
“You’re up early,” Seonghyeon said, pouring water into the cups.
“It’s not early. You’re just weird.”
Keonho shuffled closer, yawning. “What’re you making?”
“Tea.”
Keonho hummed in approval, then leaned against the counter beside him, head resting lightly on Seonghyeon’s shoulder.
For a few moments, neither spoke.
The sunlight spilled over them, warm and golden, and Seonghyeon thought he could get used to mornings like this—quiet, shared, unhurried.
Keonho finally broke the silence. “Hey.”
“Hm?”
“Remember last night?”
Seonghyeon glanced at him. “The part where you ran through a storm like a lunatic, or the part where you used my hoodie as a towel?”
Keonho snorted. “Both, maybe. But also …” He paused, his voice softer now. “Thanks. For letting me stay with you.”
Seonghyeon turned slightly, meeting his eyes. “I asked you to stay.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t have to.”
There was something in the way Keoho said it—simple, but heavy, like he wasn’t just talking about the rain.
Seonghyeon exhaled, reaching out to fix the messy hair falling over Keonho’s forehead. “I told you,” he said gently. “You don’t have to thank me for wanting you to be here.”
Keonho blinked, slow and soft, before a smile crept in. “You’re gonna make me like mornings, you know that?”
“Good,” Seonghyeon said, smirking lightly. “Maybe then you’ll wake up before noon.”
Keonho laughed, the sound bright and easy. “Not a chance.”
They stood there for a while longer, sipping tea as sunlight washed over the room. The world outside still glistened from the rain, but inside—everything felt warm.
And when Keonho leaned up, pressing a quick, sleepy kiss to Seonghyeon’s cheek before murmuring, “I’m really glad you stayed,”
Seonghyeon didn’t even try to hide his smile.
“Me too.”
Outside, the puddles reflected the soft morning sky—clear, calm, and new.
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