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the door opens with the quiet scrape of a key turning in the lock, followed by the soft shuffle of shoes against the wooden floor. dongmin barely registers it at first, eyes still fixed on the screen in front of him, the glow of the monitor washing over his face in cold blue light. a track loops endlessly in his headphones, the same few seconds of sound playing over and over as he fine-tunes it, adjusting levels, layering effects. he’s been at it for hours, lost in the work, his fingers aching from the way he’s been tensing them over the mouse and keyboard.
a familiar scent drifts through the open door of his workspace—saltwater, faint but distinct, lingering in the fabric of clothes worn in the presence of the ocean.
fish are notably not something that carry a pleasant smell, but dongmin’s come to welcome the way donghyun carries the sea home with him.
he looks over his shoulder just as donghyun lifts a takeout bag, the plastic rustling as he gives it a little shake. “you have to eat, han dongmin.” his voice is warm, edged with amusement, but there’s something firm beneath it—an unspoken you’ve been in here too long again.
dongmin exhales, drags a hand through his hair. he has half a mind to tell him he’s almost done, just a few more adjustments and then he’ll come out—but he knows donghyun too well by now. knows that if he doesn’t move, donghyun will walk right in, close the laptop, and drag him to the kitchen himself.
so instead, he sighs like it’s a great inconvenience, makes a show of stretching his arms above his head, and rolls his chair back from the desk. “yeah, yeah.” he stands, glancing at the bag in donghyun’s hand. “what’d you get?”
“don’t you already know?” donghyun tilts his head toward the kitchen, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small, satisfied smile.
they settle on the floor in front of the coffee table, cross-legged, packages of food spread out between them. the tv hums softly in the background, playing some variety show neither of them are really watching but reminds them of home.
there must be some psychological research out there done on what it does for your brain to hear your native language after listening to one that still feels foreign all day, but dongmin hasn’t remembered to look that up.
he picks at his food at first, still half caught in the work he left behind, but donghyun keeps talking, filling the space in a way that slowly pulls him back into the present.
he assumes the same study could be done on donghyun’s voice.
he’s telling some story about a guest lecturer at the aquarium, a marine biologist who went on some research trip to the arctic and now won’t shut up about narwhals. something about how it’s a myth that their tusks are used for stabbing—how they’re actually full of sensory nerves, how they can feel the movement of the water, the shifting of the tides.
dongmin listens, resting his chin in his hand, half a bite of rice forgotten between his chopsticks. he wonders if donghyun knows that he does this, that his voice has a way of grounding him when he doesn’t even realize he needs it.
the night unfolds in these small, easy moments—dishes stacked in the sink for later, tv still murmuring as they settle into bed. the rain has started up again, light against the windows, a rhythmic sound that folds itself into the quiet.
donghyun changes first, pulling one of dongmin’s old band shirts over his head. it hangs loose in a way that looks comfortable. it’s one of the ones dongmin used to be particular about, the kind he wouldn’t let anyone borrow because he knew he wouldn’t be able to replace it if it got messed up. he doesn’t bother saying anything now. it’s much more irreplaceable like this.
dongmin watches as he pushes his hair back, flopping onto the bed without much care for how the blankets twist under him. there’s something about the way he makes himself at home so effortlessly, how he takes up space in a way that never feels invasive, only natural. dongmin spent a long time thinking that he wasn’t the kind of person people stayed for. that love was something fragile, conditional—something that would never last for him even if he got a grasp of it.
but donghyun sleeps in his shirts and holds onto him even in his sleep and dongmin knows now that sometimes it’s okay to blame someone else for when things were unfair.
***
it’s cold outside, the kind that slips under layers, settling deep in the bones, but neither of them mention it. the air is crisp in a way that makes everything feel sharper, the sky a washed-out shade of blue, winter light stretching long across the pavement. the café is warm, though, the scent of coffee thick in the air, wrapping around them as they step inside.
dongmin orders first. it’s a little easier now, the words coming more naturally, but he still stumbles sometimes, the syllables feeling strange in his mouth. the cashier doesn’t seem to mind, nodding along as he finishes, but when donghyun steps up beside him to order, his voice is smoother, unhesitating, and it makes dongmin’s own stilted speech feel more obvious by comparison.
he doesn’t think much of it until they step outside, cups warm in their hands, steam curling into the cold air between them. they fall into step side by side, slipping back into the rhythm of each other, the way they always do.
“you used the wrong tense,” donghyun says after a moment, his tone casual, like he’s mentioning the weather.
dongmin exhales, glancing over at him. “i did?”
“yeah.” donghyun takes a sip of his coffee before tilting his head, eyes crinkling a little in amusement. “but at least you didn’t mix up ‘chicken’ and ‘kitchen’ again.”
dongmin makes a face, jabbing an elbow into his side. “fuck off.” and then, because it feels like the natural response, he adds, “니 뭐라카노*.”
(*busan dialect: what are you talking about?)
donghyun chokes on his drink, laughter spilling out around it. “you can’t just—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head, eyes shining as he looks at him. “you picked up busan satoori faster than english, you know that?”
dongmin shrugs, feigning indifference, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “easier to understand when it comes out of your mouth.”
he doesn’t say it like it means anything, just a passing observation, but something shifts in the air between them, something unspoken but understood. donghyun’s smile softens, fingers tightening slightly around his cup.
they walk along the river after that, even if it’s too cold to be out for long, their free hands laced together between them. it’s not the han, but it’s starting to feel familiar in a way that’s newer.
the wind picks up now and then, threading through dongmin’s hair, sweeping it into his eyes, and he keeps pushing it back, huffing when it falls forward again.
“you need a hat,” donghyun says eventually, reaching over to brush the strands aside for him.
“you keep saying that.”
“because it’s true.”
dongmin exhales, long and slow, but doesn’t argue. not when donghyun’s hand lingers just a little longer than necessary, his fingers brushing warm against his temple before retreating. not when their hands tighten around each other’s in the chill, finding warmth in the space between them.
the moment settles, easy and unhurried, the kind that stretches out in the quiet comfort of knowing they don’t need to fill it.
then, suddenly, donghyun’s phone buzzes in his pocket. he pulls it out, glancing at the screen, and lets out a small, knowing sigh. “my sister.”
dongmin hums, barely reacting, already used to it.
donghyun answers, balancing his cup in the crook of his arm as he holds the phone up. “noona, it’s late for you.” his voice is warmer, tinged with the casual fondness he only ever uses for her. whatever she says on the other end makes him huff a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly.
dongmin listens absently, gaze drifting over the water, the way the sky reflects off its surface in muted, shifting colors. it’s familiar by now, this sound—the distant hum of donghyun talking to his sister comfortably.
dongmin doesn’t talk to his own family anymore.
it isn’t something he thinks about often, not in a way that lingers, not in a way that makes him ache. he’s gone too long without their voices in his life for it to feel unnatural.
but donghyun’s sister calls at least three times a week, steady and unyielding, like clockwork.
and when they see each other, she hugs dongmin just as long as she does donghyun.
dongmin keeps his gaze on the river, watching the way the light shifts on the surface, rippling and bending with the current. the phone call goes on beside him, donghyun responding in easy tones, letting his sister talk as much as she wants.
sometimes, he wonders if she worries about them. not in the way family worries about money or jobs or practical things, but in the way that lingers beneath the surface, quiet and unspoken. like she still sees donghyun as the boy who ran away to another country, as the little brother she should’ve protected from things she hadn’t seen coming.
he never asked what she thinks about him. how much she knows—if she ever wonders how much of it was his fault.
but she never treats him like a mistake. never looks at him like something unfortunate that happened to donghyun.
when donghyun passes the phone to him, he takes it without hesitation.
“dongmin-ah,” she greets, her voice familiar even through the thin speaker. “are you keeping yourself warm? donghyun told me you still don’t own a proper coat.”
dongmin exhales slowly, rolling his eyes even though she can’t see him. “i have a coat.”
“not a real one.”
there’s no edge in her voice, just exasperation laced with amusement, and dongmin shifts his grip on the phone, huffing out a small laugh. “it’s not that cold.”
donghyun snorts beside him, but doesn’t interrupt.
“i’ll send you one,” she says, not bothering to argue. “you’ll wear it if it’s a gift, won’t you?”
dongmin presses his lips together, resisting the urge to sigh. he’s known her long enough now to understand that this isn’t about coats. it’s about something else, something that would be too obvious if she put it into words.
he isn’t alone. he isn’t without people who care about him.
she doesn’t say it, but she doesn’t have to.
when he hands the phone back, donghyun glances at him, something knowing in his expression, before bringing it back to his ear. “see? he’s fine.”
dongmin exhales, shaking his head as he tugs at donghyun’s sleeve, urging him to keep walking. donghyun hums a response to whatever his sister says next, his fingers still wrapped around dongmin’s as they continue down the path, moving in sync without thinking about it.
the city is quiet in this pocket of the evening, the cold thinning out the crowds, leaving only a few others walking along the river, bundled up against the wind. but dongmin doesn’t feel the cold as much now. the warmth of their voices and laughter mixes into the air around them and dongmin’s cheeks don’t feel the cold when he’s been smiling for so long.
donghyun’s hand is warm in his, steady and solid, like something that’s always been there.
dongmin used to think love was something uncertain. something that could slip away the moment he got too used to it.
but some things, he’s learned, don’t disappear just because he expects them to.
some things, no matter how long it takes, stay.
***
the pub is warm, dimly lit, the kind of place that always smells faintly of fried food and cheap beer, no matter the time of day. it’s familiar now, their usual spot when they all manage to find time between work and school, a place where the conversations flow easy, looping over each other like overlapping waves.
it still surprises dongmin sometimes, how they ended up with this. new friends, new routines, a life that feels fuller than he ever imagined life could be.
he and donghyun weren’t trying to meet people when they first got here. they hadn’t gone out of their way to find community, hadn’t made any particular effort to build something outside of each other. but somehow, it had happened anyway.
sungho started as a friend of a friend from back home, someone who was supposed to be a one-time introduction but ended up sticking around. woonhak had come along with him because apparently he has a shadow that even he doesn’t always seem to realize.
it’s different, having them. it’s not jaehyun, not the same years of history, the same unspoken understanding, the same kind of bond that came from surviving each other for so long.
dongmin feels the empty space at times like this, the way jaehyun’s presence should fill the air, the way he should be talking over everyone, eating half of woonhak’s chips, slinging an arm around donghyun’s shoulder like he owns him. but it’s hard to really miss him when he’s never not there—texting, calling, dropping into their inboxes with unsolicited opinions on things that don’t concern him. and of course, when he does show up, it’s never alone.
it’s somewhat convenient that their best friends ended up in a relationship and somewhat grating that jaehyun usually gets what he wants when he puts his mind to it.
they visit often, never needing much of an excuse. jaehyun would probably move in if he thought he could get away with it.
woonhak is already deep into a story, hands moving animatedly enough as he talks enough that donghyun has to move his drink out of the way before it spills, the basket of chips in front of him rapidly disappearing between sentences. “—and then the professor turns around just as i’m trying to get my bag, and he steps directly onto my sketchbook. full weight. the guy’s, like, eighty.”
“so your professor destroyed your sketchbook.” donghyun tilts his head, sipping his drink. “i feel like this is a recurring theme.”
woonhak groans, slumping forward dramatically. “i swear, the world is against me.”
dongmin, who has been listening with barely concealed amusement, reaches over and ruffles his hair. “you should carry your stuff better, dummy.”
woonhak swats at him, but he’s grinning, clearly unbothered. “what am i, five?”
“yeah, aegi.”
sungho snorts, raising an eyebrow. “okay, so he gets hair ruffles, but when i tried to hug you yesterday, you shoved me away?”
dongmin barely glances at him. “you were wet.”
“it was drizzling.”
“you dripped on me,” dongmin leans closer to woonhak, attempting to pinch his cheek as he gets pushed away. “and he’s cute, you’re not.”
donghyun watches this exchange with increasing scrutiny. the way dongmin is so casual about it, ruffling woonhak’s hair, leaning into him a little, indulging him—it’s a little too effortless.
it’s subtle, the way he doesn’t speak, the way he leans just slightly into dongmin’s space, the way his fingers tap idly against the condensation on his glass. he doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t say anything, but dongmin has known him too long now—he can feel the shift in the air.
he shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. “you never pat my head.”
dongmin exhales, slow and steady, then turns his head slightly, just enough for his voice to be low when he says, “what? jealous?”
donghyun ignores him, tilting his head at dongmin expectantly.
dongmin rolls his eyes, but there’s a small tug at the corner of his mouth, like he’s holding back a smile. with exaggerated slowness, he reaches out—barely pats the top of donghyun’s head, so light it’s almost mocking.
“there.”
donghyun stares at him, unimpressed. “that wasn’t anything.”
“you get what you get.”
but when donghyun keeps looking at him like that, expectant, almost smug, like he knows exactly what he’s doing—dongmin sighs through his nose, then leans in, brushing a hand through his hair properly this time. letting his fingers linger, just for a second.
“satisfied?”
donghyun doesn’t react at first, just blinks at him, face unreadable. he leans in and rests his head on dongmin’s shoulder, but then, so softly it barely registers—he tilts his head, just enough for his breath to ghost warm against dongmin’s skin, and murmurs, “hyung.”
his voice is drippingly sweet, and dongmin’s hand stalls in his hair, his breath catching before he even realizes why. the heat creeps up his neck slowly, insidious, spreading through him before he can stop it. donghyun stays where he is, comfortably pressed against him, like he isn’t fully aware of what he’s doing—except dongmin knows he is.
he exhales sharply, forcing himself to school his expression into something unimpressed, something indifferent, something not affected. but before he can respond, woonhak is quick to make a disgusted noise, shoving the last of his chips into his mouth.
“why am i involved in this?”
dongmin seizes the distraction immediately, turning to him with a wide smile, fingers darting out to pinch at his cheek. “you’re my favorite.”
woonhak yelps, swatting him away. “don’t lie to me.”
but dongmin is barely paying attention, too aware of the solid warmth of donghyun pressed into his side, of his knee still nudging against his under the table, of the easy way their bodies fit together without a second thought.
everyone knows it isn’t technically true, that he has a favorite.
but love feels warm, all the way down to his bones, and dongmin lets himself feel lucky that it’s enough to be shared.
***
the rain has been falling steadily since they got home, a quiet, rhythmic patter against the window, filling the silence between the low hum of the beatles’ rubber soul spinning on the turntable. it’s something warm, the kind of music that lingers in the walls long after the song has ended.
the lights are dim, casting everything in soft, muted gold. the air smells faintly of rain, of whatever candle dongmin had burned earlier, of the scent that clings to donghyun’s clothes after a long day.
they’re in bed, stretched out across the sheets, close enough that every shift brings them together again—donghyun’s leg hooked loosely over dongmin’s, dongmin’s fingers tracing idle patterns against his side.
it’s slow, the way they kiss, drawn-out and lazy, like there’s nothing else in the world but this. donghyun’s lips part under his easily, breath warm, body pliant against him, and they don’t rush because they are allowed to kiss for as long as they want, to let their hands wander without urgency.
donghyun sighs into him, his fingers threading through dongmin’s hair, his body arching subtly at every touch, and it makes dongmin’s head spin, how easy it always is.
he deepens the kiss just because he can, his hand slipping under the hem of donghyun’s shirt, brushing up along his ribs, slow and deliberate. donghyun makes a quiet sound against his mouth, a small, pleased noise that goes straight to dongmin’s stomach. he presses in closer, feels donghyun smile against his lips before tilting his head to kiss him deeper.
the rain doesn’t let up, the record keeps playing, and nothing outside of this room matters.
life without donghyun in it—without him like this, his, fully and completely—feels like something distant, something that happened to someone else.
because this warmth, this certainty, this love that doesn’t ask him to be anything other than what he is is something that belongs to him.
they’ll take the train to paris over the weekend where they’ll share croissants in the morning and donghyun will watch as dongmin disappears into every vintage store they pass, trying on coats that swallow him whole and sweaters that fit just right. he’ll put back the records he lingers on too long when he sees the price, and donghyun will buy them anyway, slipping them into his bag before dongmin can protest. he’ll only huff briefly about it before he smiles once it’s finally in his hands again.
when they’re back in their rented room with the city humming outside the window, donghyun will drape himself across dongmin’s lap, twirling a loose thread on his sleeve, and dongmin will call him mon petit amour from then until forever because french comes easy when it’s about donghyun.
for now, they kiss until they’re breathless, until their hands start to wander in ways that could go somewhere but don’t have to—but probably will.
there’s no rush.