It had been a long day — the kind that leaves your feet sore and your heart full. The café had closed an hour ago, and the last light of twilight faded behind the city skyline. Now, soft jazz hummed from a small speaker, blending into the low rustle of fabric and the clink of mugs being washed in the kitchen.
Kai emerged from the shower, his hair still damp, dressed in a loose cotton shirt that hung off one shoulder. He found Soobin sitting on the couch, thumbing through a book he wasn't really reading, his body tired but his eyes alert — waiting.
"Still awake?" Kai asked softly, approaching from behind.
Soobin smiled faintly, not looking up. "I was waiting for you."
Kai walked around the couch and sat down beside him, pulling his knees up and resting his chin on them. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to."
There was a pause. The moment hung quietly, the air warm with something unspoken.
Soobin closed the book and set it aside, then reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from Kai's forehead. His fingers lingered — grazing skin, then drifting down to trace Kai's jaw. Kai leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.
"I like you like this," Soobin murmured.
Kai opened one eye lazily. "Like what?"
"Softer. Bare. Yours."
Kai's lips curved into a slow smile. "Then come closer."
Soobin leaned in. Their foreheads touched first — a moment of stillness, a breath passed between them — before their lips found each other. The kiss was unhurried, like they had all the time in the world. It was sweet, familiar… but quickly grew deeper, their connection growing heavier with every second.
Soobin's hands slid around Kai's waist, pulling him into his lap. Kai's legs straddled him without hesitation, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he kissed him again — slower this time, more deliberate. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of years, of knowing every scar and loving it anyway.
"You make it so hard to be patient," Kai whispered against Soobin's lips.
"You never were patient to begin with."
Kai laughed, a soft huff against Soobin's neck. "Shut up."
Their laughter gave way to breathlessness as hands explored — fingertips gliding over ribs, brushing over the nape of a neck, tracing down the curve of a back. Every touch felt like poetry. Every sigh was a lyric.
Soobin stood, carrying Kai with him, their bodies pressed together. He brought him into their room, the lights dimmed to golden warmth. The world outside faded — there was only the soft rustle of clothes being discarded, the warmth of bare skin against skin, the whisper of Kai's name on Soobin's lips like a prayer.
They sank into the bed like it had been waiting for them all day. There was no rush — no frenzy. Just the quiet, aching way two people love each other after everything they've been through.
Kai ran his fingers down Soobin's spine, slow and reverent. "You always hold me like I'll disappear."
"Because I'm still afraid," Soobin admitted softly, leaning down to kiss Kai's collarbone. "Of losing this. You."
"You won't," Kai whispered, cupping his face. "I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."
Soobin's hands trembled slightly as they laced with Kai's. They moved together in a rhythm that wasn't just physical, but deeply emotional — a silent conversation between their bodies. It was warmth, forgiveness, longing, and surrender all wrapped into one.
Later, tangled in blankets, their chests pressed together, Soobin buried his face into Kai's shoulder, breathing in his scent like it was the only thing grounding him.
"I love you," Soobin said against his skin.
Kai pressed a kiss to his temple. "I know."
"No. I mean it… I love you in a way that makes everything else feel small."
Kai smiled, eyes soft. "Then keep loving me. Even when I burn the coffee. Even when I talk too much at night."
"Even when we're wrinkled and grey."
They laughed, noses brushing.
"Promise me something," Kai said quietly.
"Anything."
"Don't shut me out when you're scared."
Soobin nodded. "Only if you do the same."
They sealed it with another kiss — gentle, slow, and sure.
That night, the stars blinked quietly overhead while two souls held each other close, safe in the warmth of a love that had weathered the storm and only burned brighter through it.
+×+
The hilltop was quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves brushing against one another in the midnight wind. The world below sparkled with city lights—thousands of them—blinking like fireflies trapped in a glass jar. Above, the stars spilled endlessly across the velvet sky, a canopy of light stretching beyond forever.
Beomgyu stood at the edge of the hill, his arms folded, the wind playing with the hem of his coat. His breath came out in faint clouds, and his heart was beating in a strange rhythm—steady, yet uncertain.
Behind him, Yeonjun emerged from the car, carrying a thermos of warm cocoa and a blanket tucked under one arm. "I hope you're not freezing to death up here."
Beomgyu turned slightly, lips tugging into a small smile. "I'm not made of paper, you know."
Yeonjun laughed softly as he walked over and stood beside him. "Just wanted to be sure. You bruise easily."
Beomgyu huffed. "Says the guy who cried over a paper cut."
Yeonjun chuckled again, shaking his head, then held out the thermos. Beomgyu took it with a soft thanks, letting the warmth seep into his fingers.
For a moment, they both stood in silence, drinking in the view. The city stretched far and wide beneath them—so alive, so full of noise and light. And yet, here on the hilltop, it was peaceful. Removed. A world apart.
"I used to come here alone," Yeonjun said, his voice quieter now. "Back when everything hurt too much. When I didn't know what to do with all the guilt."
Beomgyu looked at him from the corner of his eye.
"I'd sit right there," Yeonjun nodded toward a patch of grass nearby, "and imagine what I'd say to you if I had the chance."
Beomgyu swallowed. "And now that you do?"
Yeonjun's gaze turned to him, soft and searching. "I'd say I'm still sorry. And that I love you more than I ever did before. I'd say I never stopped."
The air between them shifted—gentle, crackling with something old but still breathing.
Beomgyu turned to fully face him. "I wanted to hate you forever."
Yeonjun's jaw tensed, but he didn't look away.
"I tried to move on," Beomgyu went on. "Tried to live without you. But you were everywhere. In the coffee I drank. In the songs I avoided. In the dreams I didn't ask for. You haunted me."
Yeonjun stepped closer. "I haunted myself."
Beomgyu's voice cracked. "You hurt me. More than I can explain."
"I know." Yeonjun's eyes shimmered in the moonlight. "I wake up every day knowing that."
"But…" Beomgyu's throat tightened. "You saved me. You bled for me. You would've died for me."
Yeonjun didn't speak—he just looked at him, completely bare.
And then Beomgyu whispered, "You made me feel like I mattered again."
There was no warning. No dramatic pause. Just Beomgyu leaning in, bridging the final space between them, and pressing his lips to Yeonjun's.
It wasn't fiery. It wasn't desperate.
It was home.
Yeonjun wrapped his arms around Beomgyu slowly, like he didn't want to startle a miracle. The kiss deepened, warm and tender, their noses brushing, breaths shared like secrets. The world below didn't matter. The stars above watched in silence.
Yeonjun pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead against Beomgyu's.
"You're sure?" he whispered.
Beomgyu cupped his face gently. "I don't think I've ever been more sure."
Yeonjun laid out the blanket over the soft grass, and they sat together, wrapped in it, shoulders pressed. The thermos forgotten beside them.
As they lay back, side by side, Beomgyu turned to Yeonjun, studying him in the moonlight. "Ever wondered what would've happened back then if we were just happy without anything else to worry about?"
Yeonjun smiled softly. "We would've made lots of memories together. Just the two of us."
Beomgyu smiled, touched. "I had a feeling."
There was silence again, but this time, it was content.
Eventually, Yeonjun turned on his side, brushing his fingers gently through Beomgyu's hair.
Beomgyu leaned in and kissed him again—longer, deeper. When he pulled back, his voice was quiet but certain.
"I'm scared."
"I know."
"But I want this. With you."
Yeonjun smiled softly. "Then take it. Take me."
Beomgyu leaned in again, this time slower, more deliberate. Their bodies came together gently—exploring, rediscovering, trembling at the rediscovered trust.
They kissed like they were rewriting every memory.
Touched like they were reclaiming what was lost.
Undressed like they were finally shedding the last layer of pain.
And when they made love beneath the stars, it wasn't just physical—it was sacred. It was years of tears, forgiveness, yearning, and belief wrapped into the most intimate dance two souls could share. Every sigh was an unspoken promise. Every whisper a vow to never let go again.
And later, tangled in the blanket, Yeonjun kissed the top of Beomgyu's head and held him close.
A long silence followed, and Beomgyu pressed his face into Yeonjun's chest, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
"I couldn't be happier with you," Beomgyu whispered.
Yeonjun kissed his temple. "Me too."
They stayed like that until dawn — the city still sparkling, the stars fading one by one, and a new day beginning. Together.
The End.