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Whenever something catastrophically horrible happens in Beomgyu's life, it's almost always Soobin or Yeonjun's fault.
Mostly Yeonjun's, but Soobin was no angel either.
Just last month, Soobin decided to sign Beomgyu up for a speed-dating event because the bar was running a “bring your single friend and your second drink is free” promo.
It was ridiculous. The betrayal still stung.
Beomgyu lasted twenty minutes before hiding in the bathroom and googling how to fake his own death convincingly.
And Soobin had the audacity to knock on the door after, cheerfully calling out, "Come on, you're doing great! Just flirt with the guy in the red shirt!"
Beomgyu hoped he choked on that free drink.
Sometimes, or most times, Beomgyu was convinced his two best friends liked to merge their remaining brain cells into one singular chaos nucleus dedicated entirely to ruining his peace.
Last night, for example.
Beomgyu had been perfectly content lounging in his apartment, controller in hand, ready to lose himself in pixels and absolutely nothing else.
A quiet Friday night. His natural habitat.
Then Yeonjun barged in like a whirlwind, because apparently privacy is optional among friends.
"Get dressed," Yeonjun announced, already moving toward Beomgyu's monitor. "We're going to a party."
Beomgyu didn't even look up from his game. "And by we, do I get any say in this?"
"Of course not." Yeonjun reached over and switched off the monitor mid-boss fight.
Beomgyu stared at the blank screen. Then at Yeonjun. Then back at the screen.
"I was in the middle of something."
"You're always in the middle of something. It's called avoidance." Yeonjun grinned, entirely too pleased with himself. "Now get up. Bin’s already downstairs."
There was no point in resisting them. Beomgyu had learned that lesson back in high school.
He just sighed.
It was six in the evening. He figured he could go out for a bit, show his face, and be back before midnight. Maybe even sneak in an hour of gaming before bed. l
He’d just have to remember not to drink too much.
He really should’ve remembered that part.
He told himself he'd go easy on the drinks this time. But Beomgyu's self-control, much like his dignity, tended to dissolve the moment Yeonjun grinned and said, "One more shot won't kill you."
Except, it almost did.
He didn't remember much after that. Just flashes of laughter, music too loud to think over, Soobin taking photos instead of stopping him from doing whatever stupid thing he was definitely doing.
And now?
Now, Beomgyu swore he was never drinking again.
He woke up on his couch, head pounding like someone had taken a hammer to his skull and decided to go for a second round just to be sure.
Sunlight stabbed through the blinds, sharp and unforgiving, and his mouth tasted like regret and something vaguely fruity that he didn't want to identify.
He groaned dramatically and flopped an arm over his face.
If reincarnation were real, he'd like to come back as someone who drank responsibly. Preferably someone who'd never met Yeonjun and Soobin. Those traitors.
He didn't even know whose party it was. Or how they got invited. Or why he hadn't taken Yeonjun and Soobin's keys to his apartment yet.
This was how he'd die. Not from heartbreak, not from old age, but from tequila and poor life choices.
With a pained sigh, he fumbled around for his phone, praying he hadn't lost it to the chaos.
And miraculously, it was still in his pocket.
Dozens of unread notifications blinked up at him. Soobin's name sat at the top, followed by a concerning number of photo attachments.
Oh no.
As he pushed himself upright (carefully, because his skull felt like it was splitting in half), that's when he noticed the jacket on him.
Definitely not his.
Black. Sleek. A little too nice to belong to someone who'd just woken up on a couch in yesterday's clothes. It smelled faintly of something clean and woodsy and achingly familiar.
Beomgyu's brain, sluggish and hungover, took a full three seconds to place it.
Taehyun.
His heart did something stupid and complicated in his chest.
He stared down at the jacket, frowning.
He remembered Taehyun being at the party, though only vaguely, in that hazy, dream-like way memories surfaced after too much alcohol.
But when did this happen?
And more importantly, why did the thought of Taehyun giving him his jacket make Beomgyu's face feel warm despite the pounding headache?
Ah.
Who’s Taehyun? No one special.
Just a guy he shared a few classes with. Someone he definitely did not stare at during lectures, noting the way he tilted his head when he was thinking or the way his handwriting slanted left in his notes.
They were friends. Kind of.
The kind of friends where Taehyun always bought him coffee on Wednesdays and Thursday with the excuse, "So you can stay awake and distract me from this boring lecture."
The kind of friends where Taehyun always showed up to his band performances, always in the front row, smirking like he was daring Beomgyu to mess up.
"I want to see if you embarrass yourself on stage," he'd say, but he always cheered the loudest.
The kind of friends where Taehyun's smile made Beomgyu's chest do something that felt suspiciously like his heart pulling a muscle.
Friends.
Every time Beomgyu thought about it, he tried very hard not to sound disappointed.
He sighed, shrugging the jacket off his frame even though the lingering scent of Taehyun's cologne made his traitorous heart beat faster.
He'd deal with this particular crisis later. When the room stopped spinning and his brain started working again.
Right now, he had more pressing concerns. Like the fact that Soobin had apparently documented his entire downfall.
He tapped on the message thread with Soobin, and a flood of photo thumbnails filled the screen.
Beomgyu scrolled slowly, with the growing dread of a man betrayed by his two closest friends.
He didn't dare click on the photos yet, he wasn't sure if he was in the right mind to see just exactly how he had embarrassed himself.
He stared at his phone in silent despair, then locked it.
Nope. Future Beomgyu can deal with that embarrassment later. Current Beomgyu is clocking out.
He dropped the phone onto the couch cushion then forced himself to his feet.
His skull throbbed in protest. His stomach complained. His entire body felt like it had been through a blender.
But he had to move. Had to shower. Had to wash off whatever remained of last night's idiocy before he could even begin to process the fact that he had Taehyun's jacket and had no memory of how it ended up on his shoulders.
One crisis at a time.
That's all he could handle right now.
He stumbled toward the bathroom. He'd deal with it after he'd brushed his teeth. And maybe had some coffee. And possibly scream into a pillow for ten minutes straight.
Yeah.
That sounded like a plan.
An hour later, Beomgyu sat in his kitchen, significantly more human-shaped.
The shower had helped. The aggressive tooth-brushing had helped more. The coffee he was currently cradling like a lifeline was helping most of all.
He'd managed to make himself a sandwich purely through willpower and muscle memory, and now he sat at his small kitchen table, staring at his phone like it was a live grenade.
There was no avoiding it anymore.
He had to look at the photos.
For closure. For context. For the sake of knowing exactly how much apologizing he'd need to do when he saw everyone again.
He opened Soobin's messages, resolutely ignoring the string of texts that said things like "you looked sooo charming last night" and "morning, disaster" and "please confirm you're alive."
He clicked on the first photo.
And immediately wished he hadn’t.
His cheeks were flushed pink and his eyes were glazed. Though not in a tragic, poetic way but in a “there are no thoughts behind these eyes” kind of way.
He looked so far gone that his brain had probably started displaying subtitles for his own thoughts.
Beomgyu winced and swiped to the next one.
Somehow, it was worse.
There he was, intense and mid-conversation with a wall. He was gesturing animatedly, like the wall had just said something controversial and he needed to set the record straight.
The next photo showed him crouched on the floor, head in his hands, radiating pure existential regret in high definition.
He kept swiping.
One photo showed him dancing on top of a table, arms in the air like he was summoning spirits.
Another of him slumped on the couch, laughing. Another of him with a mic in his hand and a crowd around him.
Then he paused.
The next photo was a close-up. Him, smiling dopily at the camera, eyes half-closed, clearly already drunk out of his mind.
But there was something else.
He was wearing Taehyun's black jacket.
He scrolled forward, and in every photo after that point, he was wearing the jacket. And in every photo... Taehyun was there too.
Not just there. Close. Hovering. Present in a way that felt deliberate. Which only meant Taehyun had seen him in that embarrassing state.
Beomgyu’s stomach dropped.
He went back to the earlier photos, the ones before the jacket, scanning them more carefully this time.
When he'd been talking to the wall, Taehyun was leaning against it a few feet away. Not laughing. Not taking photos for blackmail. Just... watching. With a faint smile that looked almost fond.
Beomgyu swallowed hard.
How much had Taehyun seen?
He swiped again, to the one where he was dancing on the table.
Taehyun stood near the edge, one hand slightly raised, like he was ready to catch him if he fell. And when Beomgyu was on the couch, Taehyun was sitting beside him with a water bottle in hand.
Even in the photo of Beomgyu holding a mic in front of a crowd, Taehyun was there. Front row, of course. He always was.
But this time, his expression wasn't teasing or smirking. It was soft. Careful.
And in the photo where Beomgyu was pointing at something off-camera, mid-ramble about gods-knows-what, Taehyun stood just behind him. Close enough to reach out. Close enough to steady him.
His expression in that one made Beomgyu's chest ache.
Soft. Private. The kind of smile that didn't match the chaos of a party at all. The kind of smile that looked like it belonged in a quiet moment, not a loud room full of strangers.
Shit.
Had Taehyun been with him the entire night?
Beomgyu set his phone down and dropped his head onto the table with a soft thud.
His cheeks were burning. He didn't even need a mirror to confirm it.
Did Taehyun think he was a mess? Did he look like he needed babysitting? Was Taehyun going to bring this up in class and tease him about it for the rest of the semester?
Or worse, was he going to be nice about it?
Then another thought hit him like cold water.
Taehyun didn’t look drunk in any of the photos. Not once. His eyes were clear, steady. Beomgyu didn’t remember seeing a drink in his hand at all.
Had he stayed sober? On purpose? To... keep an eye on Beomgyu?
“Oh, gods,” Beomgyu muttered, thumping his forehead gently against the table. “Stupid.”
He sat up again, grabbed his phone, and zoomed in on the photo where Taehyun was looking at him with that soft smile.
The one that made Beomgyu's heart forget how to function like a normal organ.
He scrolled through the photos one more time, but this time he wasn't looking at himself.
He was watching Taehyun.
The way his gaze followed Beomgyu in every shot, even when Beomgyu wasn't looking at him or the camera.
The tiny crinkle at the corner of his eyes when Beomgyu was mid-ramble. The way his mouth curved like he was holding back a smile that wanted to be bigger.
Even under terrible lighting and Soobin's mediocre photography skills, Taehyun looked unfairly, devastatingly pretty.
Beomgyu's chest did that stupid pulling thing again.
He zoomed in on another photo. Then another. Noting details about Taehyun he had no business taking notes of.
The way Taehyun's hair fell across his forehead. The line of his jaw. The way his hand rested near Beomgyu's shoulder in one shot, not quite touching but close enough to feel intentional.
"Does he always look at me like this?" Beomgyu whispered to his empty kitchen.
His coffee had gone cold. His sandwich sat untouched.
And he still has Taehyun’s jacket draped on his couch, looking like it belonged there. Which was a problem. A big one.
Because ‘just friends’ shouldn’t feel like this.
Beomgyu tried distracting himself by cleaning.
Did his apartment need it? Not really. Yeonjun complained sometimes that Beomgyu's place made his and Soobin's look bad because of how neat it was.
"It's like you're trying to prove something," Yeonjun had said once, poking at a perfectly aligned stack of books. "It's unnatural."
But right now, Beomgyu needed the distraction.
He vacuumed in slow motion, wincing every time the machine whirred too loud, like it was personally attacking his soul. He stubbed his toe on the coffee table and muttered enough curses to worry Soobin.
And at some point, he gave up and started lint-rolling the floor instead.
He wiped down every surface. Folded things that were already folded. Tucked sheets that didn't need tucking and fluffed pillows that were doing just fine on their own.
He was pretending.
Pretending that everything was fine. That he wasn't suffering from a hangover and post-alcohol clarity and a deeply confusing spiral about Taehyun's actions and stares from last night.
He'd texted Soobin earlier, fingers shaking slightly as he typed “did i do anything illegal last night?”.
Soobin's response had come back almost immediately.
No crimes committed. But Taehyun babysat you like a champ all night lmao
Beomgyu had stared at his phone for a full minute. Then nearly threw it across the room.
Apparently, Taehyun had been the one to take him home. To make sure he got inside safely, like Beomgyu was some kind of disaster that needed protecting.
Which, to be fair, he was.
But still.
Taehyun had only been to his apartment once or twice before, and those visits had been strictly university-related.
Group projects. Study sessions that turned into playful arguments. Academic. Practical. Normal.
But last night?
Last night, Taehyun had to drag his drunk, incoherent mess of a self all the way to his apartment and made sure Beomgyu didn't choke on his own regret.
He groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “Gods, he saw me like that.”
Beomgyu wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
The jacket was still draped over the back of the couch. Mocking him. He didn't dare touch it again.
Every time he walked past, he caught a whiff of Taehyun's cologne. Which was entirely too distracting.
Every time he smelled it, his traitorous brain decided to replay a highlight reel of Taehyun's everything.
His eyes and the way they crinkled at the corners when he laughed. His laugh itself, sweet and unrestrained, the kind that always made Beomgyu want to laugh too.
The random noises he made in class when lectures got boring, the little hums and sighs that Beomgyu had absolutely not been thinking about. His smile, soft and fond.
"Stop it," Beomgyu muttered to himself, aggressively fluffing a pillow that had done nothing wrong.
"Stop thinking about him."
It didn't work.
Because now he was thinking about why Taehyun had stayed with him all night.
Why Taehyun had given him his jacket. Why Taehyun had looked at him in those photos like... that.
Beomgyu groaned and dropped face-first onto the couch.
Right by the jacket. Which smelled like Taehyun. Which made everything worse.
"I'm so screwed," he mumbled into the fabric.
The thing was, Taehyun was a good friend. A really good friend. And that was the problem.
Because Beomgyu had spent the last year trying very hard to convince himself that his feelings were normal. Platonic.
The kind of feelings you had for someone you respected and enjoyed spending time with and definitely didn't think about before falling asleep at night.
But good friends didn't make your heart do acrobatics every time they smiled at you.
Good friends didn't make you lose track of entire lectures because you were too busy watching the way sunlight caught in their hair.
Good friends didn't stay sober at parties just to make sure you got home safe.
Did they?
Beomgyu sat up, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
He could remember bits of the party now.
Small fragments that surfaced through the fog of too much tequila and poor decision-making.
Taehyun handing him water. The cool plastic pressing into his palm, Taehyun's fingers brushing against his for just a second.
Taehyun steadying him by the elbow when he stumbled. Firm. Careful. Like Beomgyu was something that might break.
Taehyun smiling up at him from the front row while Beomgyu yelled into a microphone about... something.
He couldn't remember what. But he remembered that smile. Warm and amused and impossibly soft.
The memories made his chest feel tight.
He was mortified. But also... fluttery.
Which was a deeply annoying combination of emotions to be experiencing simultaneously while hungover.
Sure, last night had been embarrassing. Sure, he'd made a complete fool of himself and probably said at least seventeen things he'd regret once his brain decided to unlock those particular memories.
But also.
Taehyun had been there. Not laughing at him. Well, maybe a little. But not meanly.
Not the way Yeonjun and Soobin had been, documenting his downfall like it was premium entertainment.
Taehyun had been... kind. Protective, even.
Beomgyu took his phone out of his pocket.
He should text Taehyun.
Just a quick message. A thank you. An apology for being such a disaster. Just something simple, normal, friendly.
Hey, thanks for last night. Sorry I was a mess.
His thumb hovered over the send button. Then he panicked and deleted the entire message.
Did that sound too casual? What if Taehyun thought he didn't care? He typed again.
I really appreciate you taking care of me last night. I owe you.
He read it back. Cringed. Deleted it.
You didn't have to stay sober for me but thank you
Too much. What if Taehyun hadn't stayed sober for him? What if he just didn't feel like drinking?
What if Beomgyu was reading way too much into this and was making it weird?
Delete.
Can I buy you coffee to say thanks?
That one felt better. Casual. Friendly. A normal thing friends did.
Except his heart was pounding like he'd just asked Taehyun on a date.
Which he hadn't. Because it wasn't a date. It was just coffee. To say thank you. As friends.
Beomgyu stared at the message for so long that his screen went dark. Then he locked his phone and threw it back onto the couch like it was radioactive.
"Nope," he said out loud to his empty apartment. "Nope. Not doing this."
He stood up and began pacing, running a hand through his hair like that could rearrange the chaos inside his skull.
The jacket caught his eye again. Still there. Still smelling like him. Still entirely too much.
He picked it up, planning to put it away (or possibly set it on fire), but the second his fingers brushed the fabric, he froze.
It was soft. Warm. Heavy with memory.
He just stood there, holding it like an idiot, remembering the way Taehyun had looked at him in those photos. Soft. Careful. Fond.
“I’m too fucked up for this right now,” he muttered.
No matter how many times he told himself that Taehyun was just a good friend, he knew that what he felt went past that. And last night, or whatever had happened last night, had made it more impossible to ignore.
Beomgyu sank back onto the couch, still holding the jacket, and dropped his head into his hands.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” he muttered into the air.
The jacket, traitorously silent, offered no advice.
But his phone buzzed.
One new message from Taehyun. Beomgyu’s pulse stuttered.
Speak of the devil.
Except, well, Taehyun looked more like an angel in Beomgyu's stupid eyes.
The way the soft glow of sunlight framed around him in class, the way his eyelashes fluttered shut whenever Taehyun got too bored and sneaked naps half an hour in, the way he wore those oversized sweaters that always made Beomgyu pause.
Beomgyu opened the message.
I’m at your door. I come bearing hangover soup.
Beomgyu stared at his phone.
Then at his reflection in the dark TV screen, where he looked like someone who’d been emotionally hit by a truck.
Taehyun was outside his apartment while he was currently having a full emotional crisis and clutching the jacket like a security blanket.
This was fine. Everything was fine. Beomgyu was absolutely going to be normal about this. (He was not going to be normal about this.)
"I’m going to die,” he whispered.
He had one minute.
One minute to pull himself together. One minute to look like a functional human being instead of a walking heart attack in pajamas.
One minute before Taehyun, gentle, absurdly good-looking, soup-bearing Taehyun, walked through that door.
Beomgyu looked down at the jacket again.
"...Fuck."
He quickly set the jacket aside again and stood up.
His brain short-circuited. He tripped over a slipper, smacked his shin on the coffee table, hissed like a cornered animal, and bolted to the door anyway.
He opened it far too quickly, far too wide, and froze mid-motion.
Because there Taehyun was.
Standing in the hallway with a plastic container of soup in one hand and a small paper bag in the other, looking maddeningly put-together in a soft gray hoodie and jeans.
His hair was slightly mussed, like he'd run his fingers through it on the way over, and there was the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips.
And Beomgyu, in his wrinkled bear-print pajamas, suddenly felt like a poorly drawn sketch next to a masterpiece.
"Oh. Uh. You. Hey. Alive?" he stammered, each word tripping over the last like they were all trying to escape at once.
Taehyun's smile widened, warm and amused.
"Barely. You?"
His gaze drifted down to Beomgyu's pajamas, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
Beomgyu wanted to sink through the floor. At least he was wearing his good pajamas today, the ones that said I may be a mess and they may be wrinkled but at least I have taste.
He cleared his throat and stepped aside. "Come in. Sorry, I wasn't expecting..."
"Company?" Taehyun finished gently, stepping past him. The movement brought them close for just a second, close enough that Beomgyu caught the scent of his cologne again. It was too distracting.
"Yeah," Beomgyu managed, closing the door. "That."
Taehyun moved through his apartment with an ease that made Beomgyu's chest do something complicated. Like he'd been here a hundred times instead of twice.
Like he belonged.
He paused at the sight of the black jacket draped carefully over the back of the couch.
Beomgyu noticed. Of course he noticed.
"Oh, yeah. Thanks for that too, by the way," Beomgyu said quickly, words tumbling out. "Sorry I didn't return it sooner. I was, um. Guarding it. With my life."
Taehyun turned to look at him, and his expression was soft. Fond in a way that made Beomgyu's heart stutter. "Don't worry about it."
He continued toward the kitchen, setting the container on the table along with the paper bag.
"I brought some bread too. In case you hadn't eaten yet."
Beomgyu blinked. "You... brought bread?"
"The good kind. From that bakery near campus."
The one Beomgyu had mentioned once, months ago, in passing. The one with the soft, slightly sweet rolls that he said reminded him of home.
Taehyun had remembered.
"You didn't have to do all this," Beomgyu said quietly, following him into the kitchen.
Taehyun glanced over his shoulder, already moving to reheat the soup like he'd done this a thousand times. "I know."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was warm and heavy in that way that meant something was happening beneath it.
Something shifting, settling into place.
"Sit down," Taehyun said, voice low and gentle. "You look like your brain's still rebooting."
Beomgyu obeyed, sliding into a chair at the small kitchen table.
He watched as Taehyun found a pot without asking, poured the soup in with careful hands, and adjusted the heat with practiced ease.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows now, and Beomgyu found himself staring at the way his forearms flexed with each small movement. The way he moved through Beomgyu's space like it was his own.
It felt intimate. Domestic in a way that made Beomgyu's throat tight.
"So..." Beomgyu started, grasping for something to focus on that wasn't the fact that Taehyun looked really good in his kitchen.
"Soobin sent me some photos from last night. Whose party was it again?"
"Kai's," Taehyun said, glancing over his shoulder with a fond smile. "My best friend. But I understand if you didn't remember. You were having... fun."
"Yeah, that sounds right." Beomgyu laughed weakly, fingers drumming against the table. Sure, maybe he'd had fun.
Too bad he couldn't remember most of it.
Taehyun turned back to the stove, stirring slowly. The spoon clinked softly against the pot.
"You didn't have to stay sober for that, though," Beomgyu added quietly.
Taehyun's hand stilled for just a moment. Then he shrugged, casual, but his voice was softer when he spoke.
"Didn't feel like drinking."
A beat of silence.
"Also," he added, even quieter, "I wanted to make sure you didn't get hurt."
The words landed somewhere deep in Beomgyu's chest, settling like stones in water.
When Taehyun finally placed the bowl in front of him, the smell rich and comforting, Beomgyu could barely remember how to say thank you.
But Taehyun just smiled and slid into the seat across from him, pulling out one of the bread rolls and setting it on a napkin between them.
"Eat," he said simply.
So Beomgyu did.
The soup was perfect. Warm and savory and exactly what his battered body needed. The bread was soft and slightly sweet, and when he tore off a piece and dipped it into the broth, it tasted like comfort itself.
They sat in easy silence for a while. Not awkward or heavy, just... present.
The kind of quiet that felt like coming home. The kind of quiet that felt dangerous, because Beomgyu might get used to it.
Halfway through the meal, Taehyun nodded toward the couch, on his jacket comfortably draped on there.
"You can keep it, if you want."
Beomgyu almost choked. "What? No, it's yours!"
Taehyun's expression didn't change, calm and steady as ever. But there was something in his eyes. Something warmer.
"It looks good on you."
Beomgyu's spoon froze midway to his mouth. His face felt hot. His heart was doing that stupid acrobatic thing again.
"You..." Beomgyu cleared his throat. "You shouldn't have had to babysit me last night. I'm a disaster."
"Yeah," Taehyun said lightly, lips curving into a small smile.
Then, with devastating softness, "But you were my disaster."
Beomgyu blinked.
The world tilted slightly.
Taehyun's eyes softened, the edges of his smile fading into something quieter. More real.
"Besides," he added, voice lower now, "I didn't mind."
And there it was, that shift. The air changed temperature. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to press closer, like it wanted to hear what would happen next.
Beomgyu's heart was in his throat.
"You really shouldn't say stuff like that to people nursing emotional and reputation damage," he managed, aiming for playful but landing somewhere near breathless.
Taehyun's smile was small, knowing. His gaze held steady on Beomgyu's face, unhurried and impossibly soft.
"Guess I'll have to say it again when you're not hungover, then."
Beomgyu laughed. Nervous, dizzy, the kind that left something trembling behind it.
And Taehyun kept looking at him like that. Like Beomgyu was something worth watching.
For the first time that day, Beomgyu forgot about his headache entirely.
After that, the apartment settled into a kind of hush that wasn’t awkward. Just full.
The soup was surprisingly good, though Beomgyu couldn’t taste much beyond salt, warmth, and the overwhelming awareness of Taehyun sitting across from him.
Neither of them made a move to leave to leave the kitchen at first. The sun had shifted lower, spilling a lazy kind of gold across the floor.
“Wanna put something on?” Beomgyu asked eventually, nodding toward the TV.
"Sure."
Beomgyu had migrated to the couch again, this time without the threat of a hangover-induced collapse.
Taehyun sat at the other end, one leg folded beneath him, looking maddeningly at ease in Beomgyu’s apartment like he belonged there.
Like he was meant to be in such a private space with Beomgyu.
They ended up watching a random comfort show. One of those old sitcoms where nothing truly bad ever happens and every episode ends with a group hug.
It filled the space with laughter tracks and gentle noise.
Beomgyu tried to focus on the screen, but his eyes kept wandering.
To the way Taehyun’s knee brushed his on the couch. To the faint smile tugging at his lips whenever he found something funny. To the way his lashes cast small shadows when he blinked.
Taehyun had that calm gravity about him, one that was quiet but steady. The kind of presence that filled a room without demanding it.
Beomgyu felt his own edges softening. His pulse slowing. The chaos in his brain easing into something like peace.
At one point, Taehyun murmured something about the show’s ridiculous plot twist, and Beomgyu laughed, a little too loud, too warm.
He felt himself lean in, unconsciously, drawn closer by the gravity he pretended not to notice.
He could feel the tension bleeding out of him, replaced by something gentler. Something that settled low and steady, like warmth spreading through cold hands.
Taehyun's face was turned toward the TV, but his expression was unguarded, gentle in the low light.
Beomgyu noted the way his mouth curved upward faintly, the way his hair was slightly messy from when his fingers had absently run through it.
Beomgyu found himself tracing those details quietly, the same way he'd memorize a melody he didn't want to forget.
He'd seen Taehyun a hundred times before. But never like this. Never in the stillness.
Never when the world wasn't demanding anything from either of them.
And in that stillness, a thought arrived. Clear and unhurried.
Love wasn't fireworks or confessions shouted over music. It wasn't the dizzy spin of tequila shots and blurred memories.
It was this.
The quiet care. The water offered after a long night. The jacket draped over his shoulders before he even realized he was cold. In gestures. In glances. In soup and bread.
Something in his chest went quiet. A slow, settling realization, as calm as it was certain.
But he must have been staring too long, because Taehyun turned his head.
Their eyes met. For a moment, neither of them looked away.
The TV played on, but the sound felt distant now. Muffled. Like the world had narrowed down to just the space between them, charged and waiting.
Taehyun's expression shifted. Something knowing flickered in his eyes, something soft and careful and maybe a little brave.
"If you keep looking at me like that," Taehyun said quietly, voice barely above a murmur, "I might start thinking you like me or something."
Beomgyu's breath caught.
His heart hammered against his ribs. Every nerve in his body lit up at once, screaming at him to deflect, to laugh it off, to do what he'd always done and hide behind a joke.
But he couldn't.
Not this time. Not when Taehyun was looking at him like that. Not when the words were right there, sitting on the tip of his tongue, begging to be said.
"And how..." Beomgyu's voice came out quieter than he intended. Smaller. "How do I look at you?"
Taehyun didn't hesitate.
"The same way I look at you."
The words settled between them like a confession. Like a promise.
Beomgyu's chest tightened. His breath stuttered. The world tilted again, but this time it felt less like falling and more like finally landing.
"Taehyun," he whispered, because he didn't know what else to say. Because his name was the only thing that made sense in this moment.
Taehyun's hand moved. Slowly. Deliberately.
He reached across the space between them, fingers brushing against Beomgyu's wrist first. Tentative, asking permission. Before sliding down to thread through his fingers.
The touch was warm. Steady. Real in a way that made everything else fade into background noise.
Beomgyu's hand tightened around Taehyun's instinctively, holding on like he was afraid this moment might slip away if he didn't.
"I've been looking at you like that for a while," Taehyun said softly, thumb brushing across Beomgyu's knuckles in a gentle rhythm.
"I was just waiting for you to notice."
Beomgyu let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. It came out shaky, somewhere between a laugh and a groan.
"I'm such a disaster," he said.
"Yeah," Taehyun agreed, but his smile was so fond it took the sting out of it. "But you're my disaster."
"Second time you've said that today."
"Getting used to it?"
"Maybe."
They sat there for a moment, hands intertwined, the TV still playing something neither of them was watching anymore.
Beomgyu's thumb traced small circles over Taehyun's hand, marveling at how natural it felt. How right.
"So," Beomgyu said, voice still quiet but braver now. "What happens now?"
Taehyun's smile softened. "Whatever we want."
"That's not very specific."
"Do you need it to be?"
Beomgyu thought about it.
About the jacket on his couch. About the soup and the bread and the way Taehyun had stayed sober just to make sure he got home safe.
About all the small, quiet ways Taehyun had been showing him this whole time.
"No," he said finally. "I guess I don't."
Taehyun squeezed his hand gently. "Good."
They stayed like that, fingers laced together, the afternoon sun painting everything gold.
And for the first time in a long time, Beomgyu wasn't overthinking.
Wasn't spiraling. Wasn't trying to convince himself that what he felt was anything other than what it was.
He just let himself feel it.
The warmth of Taehyun's hand in his. The way their shoulders pressed together now, no more space between them.
The quiet certainty that something had shifted, changed, become real.
"Next time I get drunk," Beomgyu said softly, "I'm going to remember everything."
Taehyun was quiet for a moment.
Then, voice soft and a little bit wistful, "I've been waiting for you to remember. Even when you're sober."
Beomgyu pulled back just enough to look at him. "What do you mean?"
Taehyun's smile was gentle, tinged with something that looked like relief.
"I've been looking at you like this for a while, Beomgyu. I was just waiting for you to see it."
The coffee, the front-row seats at his performances, the way Taehyun always seemed to be there, it had been there all along. He'd just been too scared to believe it.
Scared to think that they could ever move past just being friends.
"How long?" Beomgyu whispered.
"Long enough," Taehyun said.
Beomgyu let out a shaky laugh. "I'm an idiot."
"Yeah," Taehyun agreed fondly. "But next time you get drunk, I'm still staying sober."
"You don't have to-"
"I want to," Taehyun interrupted gently. "Besides, someone has to make sure you don't argue with any more walls."
Beomgyu groaned. "You remember that?"
"Soobin sent photos."
"Traitor."
Beomgyu smiled, closing his eyes, letting himself sink back into Taehyun's shoulder. Into the warmth of being wanted. Of being seen.
Into this. Into them.
And Taehyun's hand tightened around his, like a promise.
Like an answer. Like the beginning of something that had been waiting to happen all along.
Whenever something catastrophically horrible happens in Beomgyu's life, it's almost always Soobin or Yeonjun's fault.
Mostly Yeonjun's, but Soobin was no angel either.
Sometimes, or most times, Beomgyu was convinced his two best friends liked to merge their remaining brain cells into one singular chaos nucleus dedicated entirely to ruining his peace.
But maybe, just this once, he'd have to thank them for their latest scheme.
For dragging him to that party. For documenting his disaster. For letting Taehyun be the one to take him home.
Maybe some catastrophes were just blessings in disguise.
Terrible, hangover-inducing, dignity-destroying blessings.
But blessings nonetheless.
Beomgyu smiled against Taehyun's shoulder, fingers still laced with his, and thought that maybe, just maybe, Soobin and Yeonjun can keep their keys to his apartment after all.