Archive of Our Own

Jake and Sunghoon met in college, which already explains a lot.

College has a way of throwing people together in the most inconvenient, unavoidable ways – shared classes, shared deadlines, shared kitchens that always smelled like burnt toast and regret. They ended up as roommates mostly because neither of them got into the dorms and they found each other on one of those online forums – where Jake was panicking loudly about searching for a roommate and Sunghoon replied only with his phone number and a photo of himself.

It stuck.

At some point, “roommate” turned into “best friend,” but no one can really pinpoint when that happened either. Sunghoon learned Jake’s schedules before Jake did. Jake learned which days Sunghoon needed silence and which days he needed noise. Sunghoon learned the cadence of Jake’s sleep-talking. Jake memorized the way Sunghoon’s jaw tightened before an exam. They started existing in each other’s space like it was an extension of their own.

Sunghoon was slightly bigger – broader shoulders, taller frame, a presence that filled doorways. Jake wasn’t small, exactly, but next to Sunghoon, he fit. That became a running joke early on.

“You’re basically portable,” Sunghoon said once, watching Jake steal his hoodie for the third time that week.

Jake never gave it back.

Sunghoon never asked.

By second year, Jake’s side of the closet had migrated. By third year, Sunghoon’s clothes lived on Jake’s body more often than in his drawers. It was practical, mostly. Sunghoon ran warm. Jake ran cold. Science.

They picked up friends along the way – Jay first, then Heeseung, then Sunoo and Jungwon, and eventually Riki, who somehow became part of the group without anyone remembering how.

They studied together. They complained together. They survived finals together. After graduation, they didn’t stop. Same city. Same couch. Same group chat that never shut up.

Movie nights turned into weekly rituals. Someone always brought snacks. Someone always forgot plates. Jake always ended up half-reclined against Sunghoon by the end of the night, legs thrown over his lap.

No one commented on it.

They went out drinking. They took up entire booths. Jake leaned into Sunghoon when he laughed too hard. Sunghoon’s hand would find the curve of Jake’s waist, fingers splaying over his hip, holding him steady.

“Can you two stop rearranging yourselves like furniture?” Heeseung complained once.

They didn’t.

At some point, the touching stopped registering as touching. Hands at waists. Fingers hooked into belt loops. Palms resting on thighs or chests mid-conversation. Jake sitting on Sunghoon’s lap when there weren’t enough chairs. Sunghoon holding Jake steady when he leaned back too far.

It wasn’t something they talked about. It was just… them. The others noticed, obviously. They just stopped noticing out loud. When you see something every day, it becomes background. Normal. White noise.

Jake and Sunghoon never announced anything. Never defined anything. Whatever this was, it worked. It always had.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because when something feels this normal, you don’t realize how strange it might look from the outside – or how impossible it becomes to untangle later.

Not when you’ve already built a life around it and put a big best friends label on it.

ೃ࿔₊•

There aren’t enough chairs in their kitchen. There never are.

Jake doesn’t even look around this time, as he just steps closer, turns sideways, and sits down on Sunghoon’s lap like it’s the most obvious solution in the world.

Sunghoon’s hands come up automatically – one settling with a heavy warmth on Jake’s waist, the other resting against his lower ribs, steady and familiar. He shifts slightly to give Jake more room, like he’s done this a hundred times before.

Because he has.

Jay keeps talking mid-sentence, leaning back against the counter. Jungwon nods along, elbows on the table. Heeseung laughs at something Sunoo says, and Riki’s already half sprawled on the floor, phone in hand.

Jake leans back without thinking, his shoulder pressing into Sunghoon’s chest and he can feel the steady thump of Sunghoon’s heart against his spine. Sunghoon’s chin brushes the side of Jake’s head when he exhales. Absent-mindedly, Jake’s fingers curl into the soft fabric of Sunghoon’s shirt at his side, clinging. Sunghoon’s thumb traces a slow, unconscious circle at Jake’s side.

“So anyway,” Jay continues, glancing over at them for half a second before looking away again, “that’s why I said no.”

Sunghoon hums in acknowledgment. Jake nods too, even though he only caught half of it.

Someone hands Jake a drink. He takes a sip, makes a face, then immediately passes it back over his shoulder without looking. “Too sweet.”

Sunghoon takes the glass. His lips close exactly where Jake’s were a second ago. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I’ll get you something else.”

He doesn’t move yet.

Sunoo smiles at them from across the room. “You good like that?” he asks casually.

Jake tilts his head back just enough to look up at Sunghoon. “Yeah.”

Sunghoon’s gaze drops to him, as he nods. “Yeah.”

That’s it.

Jake turns back toward the conversation, one hand drifting up to rest flat against Sunghoon’s chest, fingers spread. He can feel the powerful drum of his heartbeat under his palm. Sunghoon doesn’t look down, but his hand slides from Jake’s waist to his stomach, pressing him back more firmly, holding him in place.

And later when someone finally drags over another chair, Jake doesn’t move.

Neither does Sunghoon.

ೃ࿔₊•

The Korean BBQ place is packed in that end-of-the-week way; tables too close together, smoke clinging to everyone’s clothes, the hum of conversations stacked on top of each other.

They’ve already been seated for ten minutes and are still rearranging themselves.

“I’m telling you, it used to be cheaper,” Jay insists, flipping the menu shut.

“You say that about literally everything,” Heeseung says.

“That’s because everything did used to be cheaper,” Jay argues.

Sunoo laughs. “This is what getting old sounds like.”

Jake is sitting next to Sunghoon, shoulders brushing. Someone kicks the table leg by accident. Drinks wobble. No one apologizes properly.

They order fast, half the table not listening.

When the food starts coming, Jungwon immediately rearranges the side dishes and Riki immediately messes it up.

Jake pushes his empty plate forward without looking, still arguing with Heeseung about whether rewatching the same movie five times in a row counts as a personality trait.

Sunghoon flips the meat when it’s ready, cuts it, and slides the plate into the middle of the table.

Jake grabs a piece mid-sentence. “That’s on you for bad taste.”

“That movie is a classic,” Heeseung says.

“It’s aggressively mid,” Jake replies.

Sunoo groans. “Why are you guys like this every time.”

Sunghoon listens, half-smiling, adding another batch to the grill.

Conversation jumps – work complaints, someone’s manager being weird, Jungwon’s neighbor who keeps vacuuming at midnight.

Jake leans forward to listen to Jungwon, his elbow digging into Sunghoon’s thigh. Then he shifts, leaning his entire weight back against Sunghoon’s chest. Sunghoon adjusts seamlessly, one arm coming around to brace Jake’s side, his hand a warm brand low on his abdomen.

Jake leans back, laughing, his shoulder bumping into Sunghoon’s. Sunghoon steadies him without thinking, then goes back to what he was saying to Jay.

Riki knocks his cup over this time. Everyone yells at once. They eat. They talk. Plates move around the table. Someone steals meat and gets immediately called out. Jungwon is explaining something about his neighbor again. Riki is half listening, half watching videos on his phone.

“I’m just saying,” Jungwon says, “if you vacuum at midnight, you lose the right to complain about noise.”

“That’s fair,” Sunghoon agrees.

Jake tilts his head slightly, resting it against Sunghoon’s shoulder while he laughs at something Jay says. Sunghoon turns his face just slightly, his lips almost touching Jake’s hair. He breathes in.

The grill gets refilled. Plates migrate. Jake steals food off Sunghoon’s plate this time.

“Hey,” Sunghoon says, more amused than annoyed.

“You were too slow.” Under the table, Jake’s knee finds its way over Sunghoon’s.

“Lies.”

Time stretches.

By the time dessert menus come out, everyone’s looser, louder, warm from food and proximity. Jake’s knee is hooked over Sunghoon’s under the table, his foot swinging idly. Sunghoon’s hand has drifted lower, his fingertips stroking the hem of Jake’s shirt, brushing bare skin.

“What are we doing after this?” Jay asks.

“Karaoke,” Riki says immediately.

“Absolutely not,” Jungwon replies.

Jake perks up. “Absolutely yes.”

Sunghoon huffs a laugh. “I’ll go if you promise not to make me sing first.”

Jake grins. “No promises.”

They bicker about it until the waiter comes back.

ೃ࿔₊•

They’re late.

Not late-late, but late enough that the group chat has already devolved into pictures of drinks on a table they’re not sitting at yet.

The plan was simple: weekend getaway, rented house, everyone gone by Friday afternoon.

Reality, as usual, was less cooperative.

Jay and Sunghoon had both gotten stuck at work. Jake and Jungwon, naturally, weren’t going to go without them. Riki didn’t care either way – he was out for work dinner late last night and slept through his alarm so he texted the groupchat he’ll be going later with Jay’s car.

So now Heeseung and Sunoo are already there, and the five of them are finally piling into the car sometime before sunset.

The car smells like coffee, air freshener that’s trying too hard, and whatever snack Riki opened ten minutes ago and already forgot about.

Jay’s driving with one hand on the wheel, the other draped lazily over the gear shift, sunglasses on even though it’s cloudy. Jungwon sits shotgun, phone in hand, legs tucked neatly together, navigation app open like he actually trusts it.

“I’m just saying,” Jay says, merging onto the highway, “if this takes us through another toll road–”

“It won’t,” Jungwon says calmly.

“It literally always does.”

“That’s because you ignore it when it tells you to turn.”

Jay scoffs. “I do not.”

Jake, in the backseat, leans forward between them. “You absolutely do.”

“Traitor,” Jay mutters.

Riki is pressed up against the door on one side, stretching his legs out obnoxiously, hoodie half-zipped, scrolling through playlists like he’s on a mission to annoy everyone equally. Sunghoon is on the other, legs tangled in the awkward way backseats force on you when there are three grown adults crammed into them.

The space is… tight.

Jake ended up wedged between them, knees angled awkwardly, one shoulder brushing Sunghoon’s arm every time the car changed lanes. Sunghoon doesn’t complain. He just shifts his knee a little to give Jake more room.

“Can we put something on?” Riki asks. “This is boring.”

Jay glances in the rearview mirror. “You said that about silence.”

“Exactly.”

Music starts – too loud, immediately.

Jake winces. “Why does it sound like it’s yelling at me.”

Riki switches tracks without looking. “You just don’t get it.”

“Because it’s bad.”

Sunghoon laughs quietly. “Give it a minute.”

Jake groans. “You’re siding with him?”

“I’m neutral,” Sunghoon says. “For now.”

They drive like that for a while, windows cracked open, wind noise filling the gaps in conversation. Jungwon gives directions in short, precise sentences.

“In two kilometers, stay right.”

Jay nods. “See? I listen.”

“You’re still in the left lane,” Jungwon points out.

“…I’m preparing.”

Jake shifts in his seat, stretching his legs out as much as the space allows. His shoulder bumps Sunghoon’s. He doesn’t move away.

Riki switches the music again. Something louder. Faster.

“Okay, this one’s worse,” Jake says.

Sunghoon tilts his head slightly, listening. “It’s not that bad.”

“You’re both wrong,” Jay says. “Put on something with a beat.”

“It has a beat.”

“It has noise.”

They argue about it until Jungwon sighs and takes the phone out of Riki’s hands.

“My turn,” he says.

The music that comes on is calmer. Familiar. Something they’ve all heard a thousand times.
Jake relaxes against the seat, head tilting back. The road hums under them, steady and rhythmic. Sunghoon’s shoulder is warm against his arm, solid in a way that makes it easy not to think.

They settle into the drive – talking over each other, cutting in mid-sentence, letting topics die and revive ten minutes later. Jungwon corrects Jay’s lane choices. Jay ignores half of it out of principle.

Jake’s rambling about something that happened at work, hands moving as much as the limited space allows.

“And then he says–”

The car hits a bump or Jay changes lanes a little too fast and Jake jolts sideways, his head knocking lightly against Sunghoon’s shoulder.

“Oh–” he starts, then stops. He lets his head stay there, his cheek pressed to the soft cotton of Sunghoon’s shirt. “…and then he says it’s my fault,” Jake finishes, his voice muffled against Sunghoon’s shoulder.

Sunghoon exhales a laugh. “It’s never your fault.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday.”

“That was different,” Sunghoon replies easily. “Yesterday you were wrong.”

Jake scoffs, shifting his weight slightly – but not his head. “Wow. Betrayal.”

Riki leans forward from the window seat. “You’re both wrong.”

“Stay out of it,” Jake says.

Sunghoon tilts his head just enough to look down at him. “You comfortable?”

Jake answers without hesitation. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Sunghoon hums, and goes right back to the conversation, his hand high on Jake’s far thigh, a heavy, comforting weight.

Jay glances at them in the rearview mirror, then back to the road. “If we miss another exit, I’m blaming all of you.”

Jungwon sighs. “You’re not missing it.”

“I like to prepare excuses in advance.”

Jake laughs, the sound vibrating faintly against Sunghoon’s shoulder. Sunghoon keeps talking, his thumb keeps stroking slowly on the inner seam of Jake’s jeans, and keeps being exactly the same – shoulder steady under Jake’s weight.

The road stretches out in front of them, headlights cutting through the dark, the hum of the car filling the spaces between voices.

By the time they’re halfway there, Jake’s still there, head tipped against Sunghoon like it’s the most natural place it could land.

They arrive late enough that the house is already loud. Lights on, music somewhere inside, drifting out into the driveway as Jay pulls in and kills the engine.

Jake stretches the second the door opens, stepping out stiff-legged. “Oh my god,” he says. “I need to lie down horizontally for at least an hour.”

“You’ve been sitting for three,” Jay replies. “You’ll survive.”

“Debatable.”

The front door opens before they even reach it.

“You’re alive!” Sunoo calls out, grinning, already holding a drink. “We were about to assume you died on the highway.”

“We talked about doing that,” Jay says. “But Jungwon wouldn’t let us.”

“It was hard,” Jungwon says, stepping past them with a bag.

The house is bigger than Jake expected – open living room, long couch already claimed by Heeseung, bags and duffels everywhere. Someone’s shoes are in the wrong place. Someone else’s jacket is definitely not theirs.

“This is nice,” Jake drops his bag near the stairs and exhales, looking around. “Who picked this?”

“Me,” Heeseung says. “You’re welcome.”

They mill around for a few minutes – hellos, overlapping stories, someone immediately asking about food.

Eventually, Jungwon claps his hands once. “Okay,” he says. “Rooms.”

Groans all around.

“Why do you sound like a camp counselor,” Riki asks.

“Because if I don’t do this now, it’ll be chaos,” Jungwon replies, already pulling up the booking on his phone. “There are three bedrooms and the couch.”

“I’m not sleeping on the couch,” Jay says immediately.

“You say that every time,” Sunoo replies. “And every time you fall asleep there.”

Jungwon scans the list. “Okay. Two room has a double bed. One has a bunk and a single.”
Riki perks up. “Bunks.”

“Of course you want the bunks,” Heeseung says.

“They’re fun.”

“Bunks are yours,” Jungwon says. “You and–” he glances at Sunoo, “–you said you don’t care.”

“I thrive anywhere,” Sunoo replies.

Riki and Sunoo look at Heeseung then, who just shrugs. “Okay.”

“That leaves the two doubles,” Jay says, glancing around. “I don’t care which.”

Jungwon looks at him. “I want the one with the little balcony.”

“Works.”

Jake’s been half-listening, leaning against the wall, scrolling through the group chat notifications they missed on the way. Sunghoon ends up next to him, looking at his screen from above Jake’s shoulder.

Jungwon looks over at them last, like he’s finishing a checklist. “Jake and Sunghoon, the other double.”

“Okay,” Jake says immediately, tucking his phone into his pocket.

Sunghoon nods. “Yeah.”

It’s never really a thing. On trips like this, it just… happens. Somehow Jake and Sunghoon always end up in the same room – sometimes the same bed – and no one even pauses over it. The others sort it out automatically, like it’s the most obvious pairing in the world.

Jake doesn’t mind. Sunghoon doesn’t either. After years of living together, shared spaces, shared routines, the occasional stolen hoodie, two nights in one bed barely registers. It’s just how weekends like this go.

Jay is already complaining about bathroom logistics. Sunoo is asking where the snacks are. Riki is halfway up the stairs.

Jake grabs his bag and heads down the hall, Sunghoon right behind him. The room’s simple – bed in the center, window on one side, faint smell of some floral air freshener.

Jake drops his bag on the left and sits down on the bed, bouncing once. “Not bad,” he says. “Decent mattress. I approve.”

Sunghoon sets his bag down on the other side. “You approve everything.”

“That’s not true.”

“You approved the gas station sushi last year.”

Jake grimaces. “Okay, most things.”

Voices drift in from the hallway – laughter, footsteps, someone yelling about chargers. Jake lies back for a second, staring at the ceiling, then turns his head.

“Window side’s yours,” he says casually.

Sunghoon hums. “You sure?”

“You hog the blanket otherwise.”

Sunghoon’s lips curve into a small smile. “Fair.”

Jake doesn’t really think about it as he says it. The bed’s already been divided in his head, of how they usually fit. He knows which way Sunghoon sleeps, how far he drifts during the night, where the blanket inevitably ends up by morning. They’ve slept like this before. Curled around the same familiar presence, half-awake in the early hours, adjusting without thinking when Sunghoon shifts. It never felt strange. Just another part of their routine that doesn’t need naming.

He doesn’t linger on the thought. There’s unpacking to do – which takes approximately three minutes for him. He dumps his clothes into the drawers with zero organization, kicks his shoes next to the foot of the bed, and calls it a day. He straightens up, stretches once, then glances over at Sunghoon.

Sunghoon’s sitting on the floor with his back against the bed, legs bent, a small pile of folded clothes already stacked neatly beside him. He’s moving slower, methodical – smoothing fabric, aligning edges, like he’s giving each piece the respect Jake skipped entirely.

Jake watches him for a beat. His attention just lands there and stays. The steady rhythm of Sunghoon’s movements, the care he puts into something as mundane as folding shirts. It’s familiar enough to fade into the background, until it doesn’t.

He realizes, distantly, that this is one of those moments he’d never remember later. Not because it’s unimportant, but because it’s too normal. The kind of thing that happens all the time and therefore never gets catalogued as a moment at all.

He thinks that Sunghoon has always been like this. Careful without making a show of it. Consistent in ways that don’t ask to be noticed.

The thought slips away as quickly as it came.

“Overachiever,” Jake says.

Sunghoon snorts. “I just don’t like wrinkled shirts.”

“You’re literally going to wear a hoodie all weekend.”

“Still.”

Jake wanders over and stops behind him. He watches for another second – the way Sunghoon’s shoulders flex slightly as he folds, the way he pauses to decide which drawer something goes into.

Then, without thinking about it, he leans down.

He rests his chin on top of Sunghoon’s head, light, careful not to put his weight there, and drapes his hands over Sunghoon’s broad shoulders, palms warm through the fabric of his shirt.

Sunghoon relaxes into it immediately. His hand comes up automatically, fingers brushing over one of Jake’s, a soft squeeze that isn’t even really conscious. He goes right back to folding.

“You done already?”

“Obviously,” Jake says. “I’m efficient.”

“You’re lazy.”

Jake grins, tightening his arms briefly. “Tomato, tomato.”

Sunghoon smiles to himself, thumbs smoothing down the last crease. Jake stays where he is, weight forward, cheek resting comfortably, breathing even.

Outside, someone laughs loudly. A door slams. Music changes tracks.

“Did you bring the charger?” Sunghoon asks.

Jake hums. “Yeah. It’s in my bag.”

“Good. You forgot last time.”

“You forgot last time.”

Sunghoon tilts his head just slightly, bumping Jake’s chin. “I asked you to bring it.”

“And I did.”

“So proud of you,” Sunghoon says, deadpan.

Jake grins, tightening his hands briefly on Sunghoon’s shoulders. “I’m evolving.”

Sunghoon finishes the last shirt and sets it aside, leaning back a little more fully against Jake.

“Can you hand me that?” he asks, nodding toward the drawer.

Jake shifts, reaches past him with one hand, careful not to move away entirely, and passes it down.

“Thanks.”

They stay like that for another moment – Sunghoon putting the clothes away, Jake still draped over him. Sunghoon slides the drawer closed and leans back just a little farther, enough that Jake has to adjust his balance. He does, easily, shifting his weight, hands draped across Sunghoon’s chest.

The doorframe fills suddenly.

“Wow,” Riki says, tone completely neutral, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Dinner’s not that intimate yet.”

Sunoo appears next to him, peering in. “Are we interrupting?”

Jake lifts his head. “We’re done.”

Sunghoon tips his head back slightly, glancing up. “You need something?”

Sunoo grins. “Food. And your presence. Jay’s already acting like he knows what he’s doing with fire.”

“That’s dangerous,” Jake laughs immediately.

“Exactly,” Riki agrees.

Jake finally straightens, hands sliding off Sunghoon’s shoulders as he steps back. Sunghoon gets to his feet, brushing his hands on his jeans.

“We’re coming.”

They follow Sunoo and Riki out, the house louder again the second they step into the hallway. Voices echo, music drifting from somewhere in the garden. Outside, the air’s cooler. The patio lights are on, casting everything in a soft yellow glow.

Jay’s already out there, sleeves pushed up, standing in front of the grill like he’s about to give a TED Talk on barbecue technique. “I need everyone to know,” he announces, tongs in hand, “that I am not responsible if this goes wrong.”

“You volunteered,” Jungwon says, standing next to him with a bowl of something that looks like it’s meant to be a marinade. He’s clearly been recruited against his will.

“I was pressured.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘How hard can it be?’”

Jay points at him. “Taken out of context.”

Heeseung is a few steps away, wrestling with a folded lawn chair, brow furrowed. “Why is this fighting me,” he mutters.

Riki wanders over and kicks one of the legs. The chair collapses immediately.

“…Oh,” Heeseung exhales.

Jake laughs, leaning against the railing. Sunghoon ends up next to him again, shoulder to shoulder, easy. On the other side of the patio, Jungwon pokes at the grill like it offended him.

Jay sighs and adjusts the heat. “Don’t turn it all the way up.”

“I’m not.”

“You just did.”

“I’m testing.”

Jake watches this with mild amusement. “How long until we eat?”

“Give it twenty minutes,” Jungwon says.

“Give it forty,” Jay corrects.

Heeseung finally manages to open a chair and drops into it triumphantly. “I win.”

“No you don’t,” Sunoo says. “You still have to sit through dinner.”

They spread out slowly – chairs scraping, people leaning, settling into the space like they’ve claimed it already. The grill crackles. Someone’s phone connects to the speaker.

Jake rests his forearms on the railing, looking out at the dark trees beyond the yard.

ೃ࿔₊•

After dinner, no one really feels like going inside yet.

The plates disappear in uneven waves – Jay carries a stack in, Jungwon follows with cutlery, someone gives up halfway and leaves the rest on the table with a promise to deal with it “later.” The grill clicks softly as it cools, the heat fading into the night air.

They pull the lawn chairs into a loose circle on the patio.

Heeseung opens the cooler to pass around beers. Jay opens one immediately and gets a look for it.

“It’s the weekend,” Jay says, dropping into a chair with a satisfied sigh. “Don’t judge me.”

Jake grabs a chair, drags it a little closer, and sits down next to Sunghoon without thinking about it. Their chairs end up angled toward each other, close enough that their knees almost touch.

Riki stretches his legs out and nearly kicks Sunoo.

“Don’t,” Sunoo says. “I’m right here.”

“That’s on you,” Riki replies.

Heeseung takes a sip of his beer and exhales. “Okay. So. Tomorrow.”

A collective groan goes around.

“Why are we planning things,” Jake says, extending his hand to Sunghoon for a sip of his beer. “I thought we agreed weekends were for vibes only.”

Sunghoon laughs quietly, handing the bottle to Jake. “You can’t just do nothing all day.”
Jake shrugs. “Watch me.”

“We should sleep in,” Sunoo says. “Like, actually sleep in.”

“Yes,” Jungwon agrees immediately. “Nothing before ten.”

Jay raises an eyebrow. “You’re optimistic.”

“I said nothing scheduled,” Jungwon corrects.

The conversation drifts easily – ideas thrown out, immediately shot down, resurrected halfway through another sentence. Someone suggests going into town. Someone else mentions a lake. No one commits.

Jake leans back in his chair, tipping it slightly, eyes on the dark line of trees beyond the patio.

Sunghoon nudges his foot lightly against Jake’s. “You’ll end up coming along.”

“Probably,” Jake admits. “I complain, but still.”

“Consistently,” Sunghoon says.

Jake grins at him, then looks back toward the group.

At some point, Jake’s chair tilts a little too far back. Instinctively, his hand shoots out and lands on Sunghoon’s knee to steady himself.

Sunghoon glances down, then back up. His own hand comes to rest atop Jake’s, lacing their fingers together loosely. He gives a gentle squeeze. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Jake says easily. “Just gravity.”

Sunghoon hums, accepting that explanation.

The air cools. The house behind them is quiet now, lights glowing softly through the windows. They sit like that for a while – beers slowly emptying, voices softer, plans for tomorrow staying vague.

Jake yawns, rubbing at his face.

Sunghoon notices. “Tired?”

“Just full,” Jake says. “And very aware that beds exist.”

“Beds are tempting.”

“Dangerously so.”

Eventually, Jay checks his phone. “Okay. I’m done. If I don’t get up now, I’m not getting up at all.”

Chairs scrape against the patio. Bottles get collected. Jake stands, stretching, then waits half a beat for Sunghoon before heading inside with him and the others.

The house is quieter now, the loud parts of the night left out on the patio. Inside, lights are dimmed, voices naturally lower, movements slower.

They split off without discussion.

Sunoo and Riki disappear toward the bunk room, arguing about who gets which outlet. Heeseung follows, already yawning, phone in his hand. Jay and Jungwon head down the hallway, Jungwon reminding Jay–again–not to forget his toothbrush.

Jake and Sunghoon drift back to their room last. Jake grabs his toiletry bag and heads for the bathroom first. The shower runs hot, steam fogging the mirror almost instantly. He goes through it on autopilot – shampoo, rinse, conditioner he definitely didn’t buy but uses anyway. By the time he’s done and steps back into the room, his hair’s still damp, towel slung loosely around his neck.

Sunghoon goes to shower after him, towel over his shoulder, scrolling through something on his phone.

“I’ll be quick,” he says.

“Take your time,” Jake replies, digging through the drawer without looking and pulling out a shirt. It’s soft, worn thin, black with a faded graphic across the front. Old. Comfortable. He tugs it on without thinking, the fabric hanging loose on him, sleeves falling just past his elbows.

While Sunghoon’s gone, Jake collapses onto his side of the bed, scrolling idly, legs tangled in the sheets.

The door opens again not long after.

Sunghoon steps out, hair damp, a white t-shirt and sweatpants, comfortable and loose. He’s halfway through drying his hair when Jay wanders past the open door, clearly on his way to the kitchen.

He stops dead. “Woah.”

Jake looks up. “What.”

“That shirt.” Jay points at him.

Jake glances down at himself. “This?”

Sunghoon laughs immediately, muffled as he turns off the hairdryer.

“No way,” Jay continues, stepping closer like he needs to verify it. “That’s the band shirt.”

Jake squints. “What band shirt.”

Sunghoon leans against the doorframe, amused. “You don’t remember?”

“No.”

Jay looks genuinely offended on Sunghoon’s behalf. “He won that at a concert. Like, years ago. Limited run. He stood in line for three hours.”

Jake’s eyebrows lift. “You did?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “It was raining.”

“And,” Jay adds, “he refused to let anyone touch it. Ever. It was like museum rules.”

Jake looks between them. “You’re telling me this is that shirt?”

Sunghoon grins. “Yeah.”

Jake looks down again, then back up. “It’s very comfortable.”

Jay laughs quietly, shaking his head and disappears down the hallway.

Jake waits a beat, then looks at Sunghoon. “You were protective of this?”

Sunghoon shrugs again, easy. He steps closer and reaches out to run his fingertips down the faded graphic on Jake’s chest. “Not anymore.”

Jake smiles, satisfied, and flops back onto the bed.

They finish up without hurry – phones plugged in, lights turned lower, the house settling further into quiet.

They slide into bed without ceremony. Jake turns onto his side, facing Sunghoon, knees drawn up slightly. Sunghoon lies on his back for a moment, staring at the ceiling, then turns too.

“Tomorrow,” Jake murmurs, voice already slower, “no alarms.”

“Agreed,” Sunghoon hums.

“And if someone suggests hiking–”

“I’ll stop them.”

Jake hums, eyes closing. “Hero.”

Sunghoon shifts slightly, the mattress dipping. Their shoulders brush.

“Night, Jake,” he says.

“Night, Hoon.”

Jake falls asleep fast, breath evening out within minutes.

ೃ࿔₊•

Morning comes in quietly. Just the pale light slipping through the curtains and the soft, unfamiliar creaks of a house settling around them.

Jake wakes first.

He doesn’t move right away.

Because during the night, they have entangled completely. Sunghoon is still asleep, breathing slow and even, turned toward him. One arm is wrapped around Jake’s waist, holding him flush against his side, hand warm against his skin where the hem of the shirt has ridden up sometime during the night. Jake’s head is pillowed on Sunghoon’s shoulder, his own hand resting flat against Sunghoon’s chest, fingers curled slightly in the fabric. One of Jake’s legs is thrown over Sunghoon’s thighs.

Jake blinks, letting himself wake up properly.

He watches Sunghoon for a moment. The way his lashes rest against his cheeks. The familiar slope of his nose. The small mole near his cheekbone that Jake has traced more times than he can remember.

Sunghoon shifts in his sleep, breath hitching once before evening out again.

Jake’s thumb moves without thought, brushing lightly over the fabric at Sunghoon’s chest. He stops himself before it turns into anything more than that. He just… looks. There’s something about mornings like this that feel softer than the rest of the day.

Sunghoon stirs again, a low groan vibrating in his chest. His brow furrows, lips parting slightly as he wakes, but he doesn’t open his eyes right away. Instead, his arm tightens around Jake’s waist, pulling him even closer until Jake is half lying on top of him.

Jake exhales, surprised but smiling, letting himself be drawn in until there’s no space left between them.

Sunghoon’s eyes finally open. They are dark, blurry with sleep, and instantly focused on Jake’s face mere inches away.

“You’re staring,” Sunghoon murmurs, voice still rough with sleep.

“You were there,” Jake whispers back.

Sunghoon huffs a soft laugh and shifts again, forehead pressing gently against Jake’s. His hand slides a little higher at Jake’s waist, thumb tracing a slow, absent arc.

“Still tired,” he says.

“Same,” Jake replies.

Sunghoon closes his eyes again, just for a second, then tucks his chin slightly, holding Jake there like he belongs.

Which he does.

They stay like that for a while longer.

Not asleep, not really awake either – just breathing together, bodies still fitted the way they found each other in the night. Sunghoon’s hand remains steady at Jake’s waist, warm under the edge of the shirt. Jake’s palm rises and falls faintly with Sunghoon’s breathing.

Jake shifts his head just enough to get comfortable again, careful not to break the shape they’re in. One of Sunghoon’s hands comes up to Jake’s jaw. His thumb strokes Jake’s lower lip.

Jake stops breathing.

Then, from elsewhere in the house, a door slams. Voices erupt – loud, chaotic, breaking the spell.

Sunghoon lets out a soft sigh, his thumb pausing its motion. “And there it is.” He doesn’t let go, though. He holds Jake there for one more second, before reluctantly, his arm loosens.

Jake smiles against his chest. “So much for a peaceful morning.”

“I knew it wouldn’t last,” Sunghoon replies, amusement creeping into his voice. He opens his eyes and looks down at Jake. “They can’t stay quiet for more than five minutes.”

Jake hums. “We had a good run.”

Another noise – footsteps this time, then Sunoo’s unmistakable voice drifting down the hallway.

Sunghoon exhales, tightening his arm on Jake’s waist once more before loosening it. “Okay,” he says. “We should probably move.”

Jake makes no attempt. “Define move.”

Sunghoon smiles, thumb brushing lightly at Jake’s side. “Eventually sit up.”

They linger for another beat anyway, like neither of them wants to be the first to fully break it. Then Jake shifts, stretching slightly, still close. Sunghoon follows the movement without thinking, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Coffee?” Jake asks.

Sunghoon nods. “Desperately.”

Jake grins. “Race you to the bathroom.”

Sunghoon snorts. “You cheat.”

“I win,” Jake corrects.

ೃ࿔₊•

Breakfast is over by the time it happens.

Plates are stacked unevenly in the sink, someone forgetting their mug on the counter, crumbs everywhere no matter how careful anyone pretended to be. It was loud and chaotic and ended with Jay declaring he needed to move his body or he’d die on the spot.

Which is how they ended up outside.

Jake, Sunoo, and Jungwon settle on the terrace with their drinks, chairs pulled into a loose half-circle. A few steps away in the yard, the others find a random soccer ball like it’s a gift from the universe. It takes about thirty seconds for it to turn competitive.

Jake watches from the terrace, bottle resting against his knee. Sunghoon’s already moving faster than everyone else, focused, laughing when Jay tries to block him and fails. Riki’s shouting commentary. Heeseung trips over nothing and complains loudly about it.

Sunoo scrolls through his phone, sighing dramatically. “I swear, this is why I can’t listen to my coworker’s voice notes anymore.”

Jake looks over. “What did her man do now.”

“Nothing,” Sunoo says. “That’s the problem.”

Jungwon glances up from his drink. “That bad?”

“She asked him if they could do something together this weekend,” Sunoo continues. “Like, literally anything. And he said, ‘We’ll see.’”

Jake groans. “I hate ‘we’ll see.’ That’s not an answer.”

“That’s a delay tactic,” Jungwon says.

“Exactly,” Sunoo replies. “And then– get this– when she asked again, he said she was ‘putting pressure on him.’”

Jake turns his head fully now. “Pressure for what? Existing?”

“That’s what I said,” Sunoo says. “Like, sorry you have a girlfriend?”

From the yard, someone yells in triumph. Jake glances over just in time to see Sunghoon score, Jay groaning dramatically in the background.

Jungwon hums. “Some people really act like relationships are optional side quests.”

Jake laughs. “Yeah, until they’re surprised when someone gets annoyed.”

Sunoo shifts in his chair. “She keeps trying to be ‘understanding.’ Gives him space. Doesn’t push.”

“And does he use that space to actually show up?” Jake asks.

“Nope.”

Jake shakes his head. “Then what’s the point. If you never plan anything, never initiate, never decide– you’re basically outsourcing the entire relationship.”

Jungwon nods slowly. “That gets exhausting fast.”

Sunoo points at him. “Yeah. That’s exactly how she feels.”

Jake leans back, arms folded, eyes drifting back to the yard without meaning to. Sunghoon’s bent over slightly, hands on his knees, listening to Riki talk animatedly.

“I don’t even think it’s about big gestures,” Jake says. “It’s just… effort. Like, doing one thing without being asked.”

“Or paying attention,” Jungwon adds.

“Yeah,” Jake agrees. “Paying attention. Knowing what the other person likes, what stresses them out, when to step in.”

Sunoo watches him for a beat. “You have strong opinions about this.”

Jake shrugs. “I just don’t get acting clueless all the time. You don’t need instructions for everything.”

Jungwon nods. “Some people pretend they do.”

Jake scoffs. “Weaponized incompetence, but make it emotional.”

Sunoo laughs. “I’m stealing that.”

They fall quiet for a moment, the sound of the game filling the space between them – Jay arguing, Riki laughing, Sunghoon calling something out that Jake doesn’t quite catch.

Jake picks at the label on his bottle. “Like– planning one date isn’t hard. You just… do it. If you know the person, you already know what works,” his eyes are unconsciously tracking Sunghoon in the yard as he moves during the makeshift soccer game.

Sunoo nods. “Yeah, like your boyfriend does.”

Jake opens his mouth to reply automatically. “He always–” The word catches in his throat. “…My who?”

Sunoo turns to him, blinking. “Your boyfriend.” He gestures casually toward Sunghoon.

Jungwon follows Jake’s gaze to the yard, then back. “Sunghoon.”

Jake stares at them, his heart beginning to pound a frantic rhythm against his ribs. “Why are you saying that like it’s… obvious.”

Jungwon shrugs. “Because it is.”

Sunoo smiles fondly, “He literally plans around you all the time.”

Jake looks away, then back at the yard, where Sunghoon’s laughing now, hands on his hips. “That’s just… how he is.”

Sunoo just shrugs. “Exactly.”

The conversation drifts after that – back to nothing, to the game, to whether they should make lunch soon. Jake doesn’t really hear it. He’s too busy realizing he didn’t even notice the word when it was said, only when it was already too late to pretend it hadn’t been.

Boyfriend.

The game winds down the way it started – loud, messy, everyone talking over each other.

Jay finally kicks the ball too far and declares a timeout like it was his plan all along. Heeseung drops onto the grass, Riki argues that it still counts and Sunghoon just laughs, hands on his hips, a little out of breath.

They wander back toward the terrace in no particular order.

Jake’s still sitting where he was, bottle balanced loosely in his hand. He doesn’t think about what he’s doing when Sunghoon steps up beside him – he just tilts the bottle up and holds it out.

Sunghoon takes it, their fingers brushing, and drinks from the same spot Jake’s lips had been, then hands it back.

“Thanks,” he smiles down at Jake.

Jake nods, automatic. “Yeah.”

Sunghoon stays right there, close enough that Jake can feel the warmth coming off him, the faint pull of shared space. His shoulder bumps Jake’s lightly as he settles in, one hand resting on the back of the chair.

The others spread out again – someone grabbing a drink, someone flopping into a seat, someone immediately starting a new argument about whether the score actually mattered.

Jake barely hears it.

Because something has shifted. He notices things he’s never consciously clocked before.

The way Sunghoon doesn’t ask before taking the bottle. The way Jake didn’t think twice about offering it. The way Sunghoon always stops just a little closer to him than to anyone else.

Sunghoon leans down to listen to something Jay says, nodding along, expression focused. When he straightens, his hand finds Jake’s shoulder again before dropping back to his side.

Jake’s chest tightens, just a little.

He starts replaying the last five minutes in his head like a highlight reel he didn’t know was recording.

Sunghoon handing the bottle back.

Sunghoon staying.

Sunghoon not even glancing around to see where to stand.

Because he already knows.

Jake swallows and looks away, then back, like maybe if he catches it in motion it’ll explain itself.

Sunghoon laughs at something Riki says, head tipping back slightly and Jake watches the line of his throat, the familiar curve of his jaw.

Like your boyfriend does.

Jake shifts in his chair, suddenly aware of how his knee is angled toward Sunghoon, how open his posture is, how little space there actually is between them.

Sunghoon glances down at him. “What?”

Jake shakes his head quickly. “Nothing.”

Sunghoon studies him for a second, like he knows something’s off but doesn’t feel the need to press. He just hums and looks back to the group.

Jake exhales slowly.

He hadn’t noticed before because it never felt like there was something to notice. It felt like living. And now that he’s really looking, he’s not sure how he ever missed it.

Sunghoon reaches down again, squeezing the back of Jake’s chair absently as he shifts his weight. Jake’s heart does something stupid, and he knows, that this is only the beginning.

ೃ࿔₊•

They end up walking to the small grocery store down the road – close enough to be a walk, far enough that it feels like a plan.

The air’s cool, the road quiet. They spread out naturally; Jay and Riki argue about whether instant noodles count as lunch. Heeseung complains about carrying the bag even though it’s empty. Jake falls into step next to Sunghoon without thinking about it.

For a while, he doesn’t think about anything at all. He listens to Sunoo and Jungwon talking about some show they’re halfway through. He notices a dog across the street. He kicks a loose stone along the pavement. Life fills the space where his thoughts were starting to spiral earlier, and it’s a relief.

By the time they reach the store, the word boyfriend feels distant again. Unimportant. Just something that got said.

Inside, it’s quiet and fluorescent and vaguely too warm. They split up immediately. Jungwon heads for the baskets. Jay and Heeseung disappear toward the drinks. Sunoo drifts off to look at snacks with Riki.

Jake and Sunghoon end up in the produce aisle.

The store is narrower than it looked from the outside. One of those places where aisles were clearly added as an afterthought, shelves too close together, people constantly stopping in the worst possible spots.

Jake’s walking a step ahead of Sunghoon when someone suddenly backs out of a freezer door.

“Sorry–” the guy mutters.

Jake sidesteps instinctively, turning just enough to pass in front of Sunghoon instead of bumping into the guy. As he does, his hand slides briefly along Sunghoon’s forearm.

Sunghoon’s reaction is immediate.

His hand comes down, palm warm, gliding along Jake’s side to splay his hand across Jake’s lower back, steadying him, guiding him through the narrow gap without even looking.

It lasts maybe three seconds.

Jake keeps walking and so does Sunghoon. It’s only when they’re past it – when the aisle opens up again and there’s space to breathe – that Jake’s brain catches up to his body.

Oh.

That wasn’t conscious.

That wasn’t something he decided to do.

He slows just a fraction, then glances back.

Sunghoon’s already looking at the shelf, comparing labels like nothing happened. His hand has dropped back to his side, the moment finished as cleanly as it started.

Jake turns forward again, heart thudding a little harder than it needs to. Because this – this exact thing – is what he meant earlier. Not words. Not labels. This. This unconscious, effortless knowing of where the other person is without looking. Just touching without thinking.

Jake swallows and reaches for the next item on the list, forcing himself to focus. But the warmth of Sunghoon’s hand lingers at his waist long after it’s gone. And this time, Jake notices.

Sunghoon pauses, then looks at him. “You okay?”

Jake blinks. “Yeah. Why?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “You spaced out.”

Jake laughs lightly. “Did I?”

“Little.”

Jake shakes it off. “Just hungry.”

They keep moving.

At the checkout, Sunghoon automatically steps a little closer when the line shifts. Jake adjusts with him, basket bumping against his leg. Neither of them comments, and the cashier rings them up without looking twice.

Outside again, bags rustling, the sun a little higher now, Jake exhales like he’s been holding his breath. The walk back is louder – Riki running ahead, Jay talking over everyone, already planning dinner.

Jake carries one of the bags. Halfway back, his fingers start to ache from the thin handles. He doesn’t say anything – just shifts the bag slightly in his grip.

“Here,” Sunghoon says, reaching out.

Jake hands it over without argument, their fingers brushing again. Jake just stares straight ahead, heart doing something annoying in his chest. Because that – that right there, he hadn’t even realized they were doing it.

From that point on, Jake’s day doesn’t change.

They eat. They talk. They argue about music and dinner plans and whether anyone actually needs dessert. Life keeps happening at the same pace it always does.

The only difference is that Jake notices, with a low-level awareness humming in the background. Little things start lining up where they didn’t before. How often he ends up next to Sunghoon without consciously choosing it. How his body adjusts first and his brain follows later. And how Sunghoon does the same.

It’s a spiraling that comes in waves.

Sometimes Jake forgets about it completely – laughing too hard at something Riki says, zoning out during a story, getting distracted by food. Then something small happens and the thought nudges its way back in.

Oh. Right. That.

ೃ࿔₊•

By late afternoon, the house has split itself into quieter corners. People drift in and out, phones in hand, energy tapering off as the day cools with the light.

Jake finds himself at the far end of the yard with Sunghoon, sitting on the low wooden steps near the fence. The grass smells warm and green, the air calmer now. Somewhere behind them, Jay and Heeseung are still bickering about something, but it’s distant enough to blur into background noise.

Sunghoon’s laughing about something Jake said, shoulders shaking slightly. “You’re actually impossible.”

Jake grins. “You say that like it’s new.”

He leans back on his hands, then shifts without thinking, scooting a little closer so their shoulders touch. His knee angles in, resting lightly against Sunghoon’s thigh.

They sit like that, easy, comfortable.

Jake’s always liked this part of the day best. When everything slows down just enough to blur at the edges – the noise, the people, the constant back-and-forth of the day.

He realizes, that he hasn’t checked his phone in a while. That he doesn’t feel the need to. His attention keeps settling back on the same place without him directing it there.

Sunghoon, close. Solid. Familiar in the best way possible.

Jake reaches out to grab a blade of grass, twirling it between his fingers. It breaks, and without really thinking about it, he brushes the little green pieces off Sunghoon’s sleeve.

Sunghoon glances down, then back at him, amused.

Jake’s fingers linger half a second too long.

There it is again.

That stupid tightening in his chest.

Just enough to make him aware of himself in a way he wasn’t a second ago – of where his hand was, how easily it had landed there, how natural it felt.

Jake’s had this feeling a few times today already. Each time it faded before he could grab onto it properly, slipping away the moment something else demanded his attention.

This one lingers longer than the others.

He pulls his hand back, suddenly hyper-aware of the motion, of the fact that he’d done it without asking, without checking, completely absent-minded.

He exhales and laughs a little too quickly. “Sorry.”

Sunghoon tilts his head. “For what?”

Jake opens his mouth, then closes it. He doesn’t actually have an answer that makes sense.

Sunghoon studies him for a second, the smile on his face softening into something more curious and Jake catches it – the way Sunghoon’s attention sharpens, just slightly. He’s always been good at that. At noticing shifts without making them a problem. It’s one of the things Jake’s relied on for years, even if he’s never put it into words.

“Okay,” Sunghoon starts gently. “What’s up with you today?” His expression is open, attentive in that quiet way he has when he knows something’s off but isn’t pushing yet.

Jake swallows.

The day hums behind them. The sky’s starting to shift toward evening. Whatever he answers next is going to matter in a way the rest of the day didn’t.

And for the first time, Jake isn’t sure how to answer.

“Nothing,” he says first, automatically.

Sunghoon hums, clearly not buying it, but not calling him out either. “Okay.”

Jake exhales, fingers digging into the wood beneath him. “I just… talked to Sunoo and Jungwon earlier.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jake repeats. “And now I can’t stop thinking about this one thing.”

There’s a pause.

Sunghoon waits.

Jake lets out a small laugh, nervous and shaky. “Do you ever think we act… weird?”

Sunghoon goes still beside him. “Weird how?”

Jake shrugs, eyes fixed on the grass. “I don’t know. Like–” He gestures vaguely between them.

Another beat of silence.

Sunghoon leans back on his hands, looking out at the yard. “I think we act like ourselves.”

“Yeah,” Jake says quickly. “That’s what I thought too,” he swallows. “But apparently,” he continues, voice a little quieter now, “everyone else thinks we act like we’re together.”

“Together?”

Jake nods, still not looking at him. “They said–” He stops, then forces it out. “They said you’re my boyfriend.”

The word hangs between them.

Jake waits for something to follow – embarrassment, denial, the urge to laugh it off. None of it comes. The word doesn’t feel wrong. That’s the unsettling part. It just sits there, neutral, like it’s been waiting to be said out loud.

Sunghoon doesn’t react right away and he doesn’t even look that surprised. He just processes it, eyes tracing the line of the fence, then fixing on the distant trees.

“Huh,” he says eventually.

Jake risks a glance at him. “That’s it? ‘Huh’?”

Sunghoon meets his eyes. His expression is unbearably open and tender as he smiles softly at Jake. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Jake admits. “I didn’t even realize they were saying it until I was already answering like it made sense.”

Sunghoon searches his face. “Did it?”

The direct question steals Jake’s breath. He looks away, then back, helpless. “That’s kind of the problem.”

Sunghoon nods slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” Sunghoon shifts, turning fully toward him now. Their knees brush together intimately. Jake studies his face, searching for something – discomfort, deflection, anything – but he doesn’t find it. “We don’t have to figure it out right now.” Sunghoon leans closer, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for Jake. “But for the record… I don’t think we act weird.”

Jake lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Yeah?”

Sunghoon shakes his head, smiling. “I think we act honest.”

They sit there as the light fades another shade, the world still moving around them, slower now. Whatever this is, it hasn’t broken anything. If anything, it’s just been named out loud for the first time. And that feels… manageable.

Jake huffs out a quiet laugh. “Honest,” he repeats. “That’s one way to put it.”

Sunghoon tilts his head. “You don’t agree?”

“I mean,” Jake says, glancing at him, “I was thinking more… accidentally confusing.”

Sunghoon snorts.

“That tracks.” He shifts, turning slightly so he’s facing Jake more instead of the yard. “Look… if we’re actually weird, people would’ve stopped assuming a long time ago.”

Jake raises an eyebrow. “That’s your logic?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon says. “We’re consistent.”

Jake laughs, the tension in his shoulders finally loosening. “Great. We’re predictable.”

Sunghoon grins. “Predictable.”

He leans back a little, stretching his legs out, then nudges Jake’s foot with his own. Jake adjusts automatically, shifting closer so their shoulders line up again.

“See?” Sunghoon says lightly. “That.”

Jake looks down at where their knees are pressed together now. “What about it.”

“You didn’t even think about it,” Sunghoon says. “You just moved.”

Jake’s mouth opens, then closes again. “Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds very weird.”

Sunghoon laughs softly. “I’m just saying – if this was a problem, it would’ve been a problem already.” He leans a little closer, lowering his voice like it’s a shared secret. “And if people think I’m your boyfriend…” He shrugs, playful. “Could be worse.”

Jake’s heart skips, annoying and obvious.

“Yeah?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

Sunghoon bumps his shoulder gently into Jake’s. “Yeah. At least I’d be a good one.”

Jake scoffs, immediately. “Wow. Humble.”

“I’m just being realistic,” Sunghoon grins, completely unbothered. “I already put up with you.”

“That’s not a qualification.”

“It absolutely is.”

Jake laughs, shaking his head, then leans back on his hands again. “You say that like I’m difficult.”

Sunghoon looks him up and down, slowly on purpose. “You are.”

Jake points at him. “You choose this.”

“Every day,” Sunghoon says lightly.

That makes Jake pause for half a second – but Sunghoon doesn’t let it sit there. He nudges Jake’s knee with his own again, more pointed this time. “Also, you steal my clothes. That alone is boyfriend behavior.”

Jake snorts. “You never ask them back.”

“Because you look better in them,” Sunghoon replies without thinking.

They both freeze.

Just a flicker.

Sunghoon clears his throat, glancing away toward the yard. “I mean– they stretch out anyway.”

Jake’s heart does that stupid thing again.

“Uh-huh,” he says, voice carefully casual. “Sure.”

Sunghoon smirks, clearly relieved the moment didn’t implode. “Plus,” he adds, “you’re impossible to get rid of. You follow me everywhere.”

“I do not.”

Sunghoon lifts an eyebrow. “You walked to the store with me. You sat next to me. You’re literally leaning into me right now.”

Jake looks down.

He is, in fact, leaning into him.

“That’s just efficient positioning,” Jake says.

Sunghoon laughs, warm and familiar. “See? You already have excuses ready.”

Jake grins back, the edge of nerves smoothing into something easier. “So what, you’re saying you wouldn’t mind?”

Sunghoon tilts his head. “Mind what.”

“People thinking you’re my–” Jake gestures vaguely, then trails off, lips pressing together.

Sunghoon watches him, expression softening again. “I don’t mind.”

Jake swallows. “Yeah?”

Sunghoon shrugs with a spark in his eyes, shoulder brushing Jake’s again. “I’ve been called worse.”

Jake laughs quietly. “You’re impossible.”

“Still choosing it,” Sunghoon reminds him.

Jake huffs out a laugh, but it comes out softer than before. He looks at Sunghoon like he’s seeing the familiar lines of his face with slightly new focus. The years of casual intimacy that were never casual at all, the terrifying want he could never articulate – it surges to the surface in a dizzying wave.

“Okay.”

Jake realizes, suddenly, that he’s stopped trying to categorize what this is. Stopped measuring it against words he doesn’t fully understand yet. All that’s left is the space between them – small enough now that it feels right.

Sunghoon lifts an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Jake repeats. He shifts, turning fully toward him now, knees knocking together properly. He hesitates, then adds, half-smiling, half-nervous, “Then let me test something real quick.”

Sunghoon doesn’t pull back. His gaze sharpens, focusing entirely on Jake with an intensity that steals the air from Jake’s lungs. He looks curious, calm, and utterly certain, like he’s already decided he’s not going anywhere.

“Alright,” he says, his voice a low thrum that vibrates in Jake’s bones. “Test away.”

Jake’s heart is definitely doing something stupid now. He swallows, eyes flicking down to Sunghoon’s mouth – that familiar mouth he’s seen laugh and talk and frown for years – and now all he can think about is how it would feel against his own.

“Jake,” Sunghoon exhales quietly.

Jake nods once. “Yeah.”

That’s all it takes.

Sunghoon leans in first – giving Jake time to bail if he wants to. Jake registers the movement before he processes it. The shift of weight, the subtle change in distance. Time stretches just enough for him to realize he could pull back.

He doesn’t.

He leans in too, meeting Sunghoon where he already is. It feels less like crossing a line and more like stepping into a space that’s been there the whole time.

It’s warm. Familiar in a way that shouldn’t make sense and somehow does anyway. Not fireworks – something steadier. The kind of closeness Jake has always known how to exist in, just shifted a few degrees to the left.

His breath stutters, barely noticeable. He feels it everywhere before he understands it anywhere. It’s soft at first, then Sunghoon makes a sound deep in his throat, a raw groan – and everything ignites.

Sunghoon’s hand flies up to cradle Jake’s jaw, angling his head perfectly. The kiss deepens instantly, turning hot and wet and desperate. It’s not gentle exploration anymore; it’s a claiming long overdue. Sunghoon licks into Jake’s mouth with a hunger that steals his breath, tasting him deeply as if memorizing his flavor.

Jake whimpers, his hands flying up to fist in the front of Sunghoon’s hoodie, clinging for dear life as he kisses back with equal fervor. It feels like coming home and discovering a new country all at once – familiar yet explosively new. The scratch of Sunghoon’s stubble against his skin, the sheer size of him as he crowds closer, the taste of him – it overwhelms every sense.

They kiss until they are breathless, and when they finally break apart for air, they stay forehead-to-forehead, panting harshly into the small space between them.

Jake’s eyes stay half-lidded for a beat too long before he blinks, stunned, like his brain is a second behind his body. “…Okay,” he breathes out, dazed.

Sunghoon searches his face, eyes blown black. “Okay?”

Jake nods, feeling delirious and anchored all at once. “Yeah.”

Sunghoon smiles. “Good.”

They sit there for a moment longer, foreheads almost touching, the world still very much existing around them – distant voices, the house behind them, the sky dimming toward evening.

Nothing feels broken.

If anything, it feels like something finally clicked into place.

Sunghoon bumps his nose lightly against Jake’s. “So?”

Jake exhales, laughing softly. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“About what.”

“You’d be a good one.”

Sunghoon’s smile widens, just a little. He stays where he is, close enough that Jake can still feel his breath, the warmth that hasn’t quite faded yet. Jake realizes, that this is usually the part where he jokes again. Where he fills the space, resets things back to familiar ground.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he lets the quiet sit between them.

Sunghoon shifts first, leaning back just enough to give them both room without really creating distance. His knee stays pressed to Jake’s.

“Guess that answers that,” Sunghoon murmurs lightly.

Jake snorts. “Yeah. Scientific method.”

“Very thorough,” Sunghoon agrees.

Jake thinks of the years of easy touches and shared spaces. He thinks of this new fire between them. He wants it all.

He glances at Sunghoon, then away, then back again. “So… do we do anything different now?”

Sunghoon considers that for a second. “Do you want to?”

Jake thinks about the day – the way everything already felt natural, the way his body kept moving before his brain caught up.

“No,” he admits. “Not really.”

Sunghoon smiles, soft. “Me neither.”

They sit there a little longer, the light dipping lower, the sounds of the house drifting closer again – someone calling their names, laughter spilling out from the patio.

Sunghoon nudges Jake’s knee gently. “We should probably go back before they send a search party.”

Jake exhales, nodding. “Yeah.”

Neither of them moves for another long moment.

When they finally do, it’s together – standing up at the same time, brushing shoulders, falling back into step like they always have. Sunghoon immediately laces their fingers together, their palms fitting together perfectly as they always have. They walk back toward the noise hand-in-hand, the final piece clicking irrevocably into place.

Only now, Jake notices the difference.

And lets it be.

The living room is just as loud as it was before. Jay and Jungwon are lecturing Heeseung about a new series that Heeseung doesn’t want to watch. Sunoo’s half on his phone, half in the conversation. Riki’s sprawled across the rug like he owns the place. Nothing has shifted. Nothing feels paused or delicate.

Sunghoon drops onto the couch and tugs Jake down with him by their linked hands. Jake goes willingly, collapsing half on top of him, fitting into the space between Sunghoon’s arm and his body, one leg tucked in between Sunghoon’s knees like it’s always been the easiest place to land.

Sunghoon’s arm comes around him immediately, settling at his waist. His other hand finds Jake’s thigh where it rests over his own and squeezes gently.

No one looks twice.

The conversation flows around them; someone laughs, someone throws a pillow.

Jake blinks.

It hits him in a way that’s almost funny. How obvious it all is, once he actually sees it. How his body has been doing this on autopilot for years. How this has been happening the whole time. Right in front of him. How his body has always known exactly where to go, who to lean into, long before he ever stopped to question it.

He exhales, something between a laugh and a breath.

Sunghoon glances down at him, already grinning. “You’re smiling.”

Jake doesn’t look up. He shifts a little, settling more comfortably against him. “Am I?”

“Yes,” Sunghoon says. “And it’s weird.”

Jake snorts. “Wow. Thanks.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Sunghoon adds, still smiling. “You don’t smile like that for no reason.”

Jake shrugs, casual. “Maybe I’m just having a good time.”

Sunghoon studies him for a moment longer, still grinning like he knows exactly what’s happening and is enjoying it.

“Sure you are,” he says lightly.

He lets it drop, arm staying right where it is around Jake’s waist, like the conversation never happened.

Jake exhales softly and stays exactly where he is. He turns his face into Sunghoon’s neck, breathing him in – pressing a soft, little kiss to the warm skin under his jaw.

Sunghoon tenses for a second, then relaxes into it with deep contentment. His hand on Jake’s thigh slides higher, fingers tracing idle patterns through the denim near his hip.

Jake looks at him – at his best friend, his partner in chaos, his boyfriend – and he sees Sunghoon’s expression soften into something so profoundly tender it makes Jake’s heart ache. Sunghoon doesn't say anything else. He just leans down and presses one more soft, lingering kiss to Jake's smiling lips right there in front of everyone.

And this time, someone does notice.

But it doesn't matter.

Nothing matters except this.

Them.

Finally, honestly, together.