Chapter Text
Yeonjun hasn’t been to Daegu in years.
When his parents had decided they wanted to move to Seoul, back when Yeonjun was 15, he’d been devastated. Daegu was Yeonjun’s whole life—he was already one of the best players in his high school’s soccer team and a sure candidate for captain in the coming years, he was his teachers favourite student in the dance studio he’d been taking classes at since the age of seven, and he’d made a habit of spending the weekends playing video games in Soobin’s room and indulging in his mom’s cooking—which was leagues ahead of Yeonjun’s own mother’s, but don’t tell her that. Daegu, small and cozy and close knit, was Yeonjun’s whole world (not that he’d seen much else).
Yeonjun had everything he needed in Daegu—his best friend Soobin; his cousin Taehyung, who lived down the street and bought him and his friends alcohol and cigarettes whenever they wanted; his dance teacher Jimin, who doted on him like Yeonjun was his own son; a soccer team filled with members he loved; a dance class filled with peers he respected, and basically everything else a teenage boy could want. That being said—leaving Daegu hadn’t actually ended up shifting Yeonjun’s world too much.
Yeonjun had never been an ugly duckling or a black sheep by any measure, but Daegu and the people there had seen all of Yeonjun’s awkward-middle-school-puberty phases. Like the summer he turned 13 and decided he would grow a moustache. Or the time he had very unintentionally and very publicly pined after his babysitter, Kim Jisoo—4 years older than him, utterly out of his league, and also a very out and fairly loud lesbian—for a good 3 years. In contrast, by the time Yeonjun’s parents packed up and moved the whole family to Seoul, Yeonjun had more or less grown up. His skin had cleared, he’d grown into his long, gangly limbs, he’d lost most of the baby fat from his cheeks and he’d figured out that no, Yeonjun, you cannot pull off a moustache. (Or successfully grow one for that matter.)
Because of this—and Yeonjun’s killer charm, mountains of talent, and undeniable good looks, thanks—when Yeonjun started his last few years of school in Seoul, it was like he was a celebrity. Gyeonsin Boy’s High School, the school he’d attended back in Daegu, had been small and close knit. It was filled with boys who’d all more or less grown up together, and while they hadn’t all been best friends, they’d certainly all known each other. Seoul Global High School was not Gyeonsin. For starters it was co-ed, and sure Yeonjun had interacted with girls back in Daegu—mostly girls that attended the same dance studio as him and, of course, Jisoo. He'd even dated one of them, but he certainly hadn’t been as exposed to them as he was now. Second, Seoul Global was at least four times the size of Gyeonsin, filled with tons and tons of students and, therefore, tons and tons of new people to gawk at Yeonjun when he’d stepped into school on his first day.
Yeonjun wasn’t an anxious person, born naturally with what more than a few people would say was a little too much confidence, but he certainly hadn’t expected the reception he’d gotten upon stepping into SGHS’s long, cream coloured halls. Girls and boys and literally everyone else had flocked to him, complimenting his looks and asking him about his interests and wondering if he wanted to come to a party someone was having at their massive mansion this weekend. As a result, Yeonjun had made friends quickly. Many were a means to an end, people who were little more than an invitation to a party or a quick fuck, but just as many were people he really, truly, loved. And while they hadn’t quite replaced Soobin—who, thankfully, Yeonjun managed to keep in touch with, Changbin and Wooyoung were still some of the best friends Yeonjun could ask for.
As a result, Seoul had, a little too quickly, eclipsed Daegu. Seoul was bigger and brighter and grander and so quick to absorb unsuspecting young people like Yeonjun, itching for action and ready to dive headfirst into anything the city threw at him. Soon enough, Soobin became his only remaining link to his birth town—even his cousin, Taehyung, moved to Seoul to get his masters degree. Yeonjun even unfollowed Kim Jisoo on Instagram (she’d never followed him back).
And then, last September, Yeonjun’s very last link to Daegu moved into his college dorm room.
Soobin and Yeonjun had both been accepted into SNU—this was of course a planned decision, Yeonjun and Soobin had even opened their decision emails on video call together before both of them had said hasty, excited goodbyes and rushed off to tell their parents. It was perhaps the most excited Yeonjun had ever been—especially given that neither boy had seen the other in well over 3 years, ever since Yeonjun had moved to Seoul before they began the ninth grade. They’d pulled some strings, begged administration, and managed to get a dorm together, with Changbin and Wooyoung and a good chunk of Yeonjun’s other friends just a couple buildings over. It was perfect, even though Soobin spent most of his time at home watching anime and playing video games and Yeonjun went out every other night to go to a house party or some new club Changbin wanted to visit. They were deeply different in an inherent sort of way—but Soobin would still be up when Yeonjun got home drunk, taking a break from his video games to let Yeonjun into their room, ready with a pack of Advil Nightime and and plastic bin in case Yeonjun needed to throw up. In return, Yeonjun made sure to get Soobin out of the house at least once in a while and made him ramen when Soobin’s pre-med classes started to really kick his ass.
With Soobin moving in with him though, thoughts of Daegu completely left Yeonjun’s mind. Before, Yeonjun had thought about visiting, maybe between the end of high school and the start of college. He’d have crashed at Soobin’s place for a week or so—Soobin’s mom wouldn’t mind, Aunty Sandara loved Yeonjun, and boy had Yeonjun missed her cooking. Soobin’s dad loved him just as much and everyone in Daegu knew about the massive (entirely unreciprocated, thank you very much) crush Soobin’s little brother, Beomgyu, had harboured for Yeonjun when he was a kid. They’d let him crash there no problem.
But then Soobin had moved to Seoul right along with him, and Yeonjun hadn’t thought about visiting Daegu since. The city, as much as Yeonjun did love it, stayed cradled in the back of his mind. A comforting little notion, but not one Yeonjun dwelled on regularly. He remembered it fondly, just not often. And then, the day Yeonjun sat for his final exam for his History of World Dances class, Soobin asked him the question.
Yeonjun had been lying flat on his bed, scrolling through his phone. He’d just finished taking a cigarette break and the headrush was quickly wearing off. Soobin was sitting at his desk, still pouring over his organic chemistry notes—Yeonjun was so far the only one done with his exams, the only reason he’d stayed at home tonight instead of going out to celebrate having (probably) successfully finished his first year of college. He’d celebrate for real this weekend when their whole friend group would officially be done with finals.
Yeonjun remembers the moment rather clearly: the room had been silent, save for the squeak of Soobin’s chair as he shifted nervously. One moment he was muttering under his breath about "carbon compounds" and "hydrogen particles" and a hundred other things Yeonjun didn’t know nor care about, and the next Soobin was swivelling around in his chair, so fast and so suddenly it actually got Yeonjun to look up from his phone.
“Do you want to come to Daegu with me for a bit in the summer,” Soobin said, he had the kind of crazed look in his eyes one can get when one has spent several days reading about Alkyl Halides and Nucleophilic Substitution, whatever that was. “I was talking to mom when you were at your exam and she said she missed you! Apparently no one has an appetite for her cooking like you do—Beomgyu eats like a bird and I’m, well, here, and all that stuff.” He pauses for a minute, looking up at Yeonjun with crazed, wide, sleep-deprived-caffeine-fuelled eyes (there’s an entire wall in Soobin’s side of the dorm room dedicated to his steadily growing collection of monster energy). “You can crash at our place, obviously.”
The answer had been obvious.
The drive to Daegu is familiar in a bittersweet, nostalgic sort of way. After begging and pleading and finally convincing Soobin to beg and plead with him, Yeonjun's mom had let them borrow her truck for the trip—on the condition that Yeonjun bring it back without a scratch and under no circumstances drive it intoxicated. Now, Yeonjun is 2/3rds of the way to Daegu. Soobin doesn't drive unless he's absolutely forced to, and can admit he's not the best driver either, and is instead nestled in the passengers sheet nervously checking and rechecking google maps like a crutch—they literally cannot take a wrong turn, they still have a while to go on the highway, there is literally no other road for miles. Unfortunately, when Yeonjun voices this (along with a warning about how Soobin's phone is going to run out of battery if he keeps checking it this often and how we only brought one cable and we need it for music and you refused to drive which means I have to do it and everyone knows the driver gets to pick, Soobin-ah), Soobin ignores him. Maybe it's Yeonjun's fault for being best friends with someone chronically anxious.
Yeonjun has only driven down this road once before, and it's been ages since he did it, but something about it is achingly familiar. They'd taken the same route when they came to Seoul from Daegu, and Yeonjun from five years ago had spent the entire car ride pressed up against the window, staring behind him at his old hometown long, long after Daegu had faded completely from view. This time he's driving down the opposite direction, and something about it feels both brand new and like coming home for the first time in years. Both their parents call intermittently throughout the journey—far too often for what is, really, a three hour drive. Yeonjun's mom calls twice to make sure the car is okay, Soobin's mom calls once to ask what time they were going to reach and wether Yeonjun and Soobin wanted to share a room like they did back when Yeonjun used to live in Daegu or if Yeonjun would prefer sleeping alone in the guest room. Yeonjun says either is fine and Soobin cuts the call quickly.
Yeonjun hums, eyes fixed on the road. "Did you guys always have a guest room?" He asks, "I could have sworn you didn't, I can't remember one at all."
"Oh!" Soobin exclaims, "I forgot that you were already gone when we remodelled the house!" Yeonjun hums to show that he's listening and Soobin continues. "Yeah, a little after you left, Dad decided he wanted to make use of his interior design degree or whatever and redid a bunch of the house. Then Beomgyu rewatched Little Women and decided he wanted to live in the attic because Soarise Ronan's character used to write there and shit, so dad turned his room into the guest room."
Yeonjun whistles, thoroughly amused, “Huh. Same old Beomgyu, then?”
"Eh," Soobin says, his hand moves back and forth in a ‘neither here nor there’ movement, “I mean, kinda? He’s still a pretentious little brat, but thankfully he's all grown up now and probably too busy to give us any trouble." Soobin pauses for a minute, thinking. “He’s also taller—like, not anywhere near me, and probably still you, but he’s definitely taller than when you were last here.”
Yeonjun snorts. Choi Beomgyu—he remembers Choi Beomgyu.
The last time Yeonjun had seen him, Soobin's little brother had been twelve or thirteen. Although their age gap wasn't too big—he was just a year younger than Soobin, two grades below him and Yeonjun at school—it had been big enough for Soobin's parents to pawn Beomgyu off on his older brother and his friends, and it was big enough for it to feel like they were babysitting him. In Yeonjun's memories Beomgyu is a lightning flash, all over the place, at once both too shy and too loud for his own good. Yeonjun remembers him as a gangly little thing, small and skinny, still not tall enough to have grown into his too long limbs. He was always a cute kid though, with big brown eyes and an an even bigger smile, a tad too excitable. He was a series of extremes Yeonjun had never quite managed to wrap his head around, sometimes he'd be too shy to talk to Yeonjun, peering at him from behind his big brother, sometimes he'd follow both of them around with stars in his eyes, ignoring Soobin's pleas for him to go away.
Yeonjun hasn't seen him in ages—he’s heard Soobin talking to him on the phone every once in a while, but that’s mostly just them arguing with each other, Beomgyu’s voice is whiney and exaggerated and somehow still endearing, coated in static as it fills their dorm room. It's a good few octaves deeper than Yeonjun remembers it being, he finds he quite enjoys it when he hears it echoing through their room. Soobin and Beomgyu don’t video call ever so Yeonjun has no clue what the younger boy looks like, but he can’t look all that different from the last time Yeonjun had seen him. He was cute, the kind of little boy mothers cooed at and older siblings (save for Soobin) doted on—eyes too big for his face, cheeks still carrying baby fat, a head of short, brown hair combed back neatly, and dressed up in Mrs. Choi’s affinity for little sweaters and smart slacks, the same way Soobin had dressed until he’d come to college and escaped his mother’s clutches (and the financial backing she provided for his closet).
It had also been fairly clear, especially in the early days, that Beomgyu had had a bit of a crush on Yeonjun—an echo of Yeonjun's own childhood crush on his babysitter. Yeonjun remembers thinking it was mostly cute and mildly annoying, and he has rather distinct memories of placating Beomgyu's pouty attention seeking face with head pats and promises of telling him where Soobin kept his secret stash of gummy worms (in his desk drawer, directly under a packet of sharpies that had long since dried up). But Yeonjun hasn't seen Beomgyu since he left, and he really has no clue what the younger boy is like now—he's sure Soobin's mom isn't too different from when he'd last seen her, but (almost) five years can mean a world a difference when one is a teenager. Yeonjun's exposure to Beomgyu since leaving Daegu has also been limited more or less entirely to sometimes hearing him on the phone with Soobin and the fact that Yeonjun still follows him on Instagram—except Beomgyu is chronically offline and only posts pictures of the sky and his pet parrot, Toto, so this isn't very helpful. Even the family picture Soobin keeps on his desk is from years ago, and features a rosy cheeked, gap toothed, 10-year-old Beomgyu and a barely older, 11-year-old, equally gap toothed Soobin.
"That takes me back," Yeonjun whistles, the trees speed past him in a haze of green, “what’s he been up to? I feel like I haven’t seen him in ages.”
“That’s because you haven’t,” Soobin teases, eyes back on his phone, google maps still plastered across his screen. “He’s good though, I think. He’s probably going to be in Seoul with us next year, trying to get some sort of fine arts degree, I don’t really know the nitty-gritties.” He says, “he’s good at it, though—god knows I don’t know anything about art but I know he’s talented enough to get in anywhere he wants to if he actually tries.” Soobin sounds at once proud and exasperated, it’s moments like these that had a younger Yeonjun cursing his parents for him being an only child. Soobin continues, “oh my god, and he got, like, annoyingly popular once he got to high school. I had people asking me about the fucker like that isn’t the most humiliating thing you could do to an older brother—”
Yeonjun hums, tuning Soobin out as he continues his tirade. He's excited to meet Soobin's family again—it feels like a long awaited reunion and Yeonjun is itching to get out of the car.
They pass the rest of the drive in relative silence, alternating between Yeonjun and Soobin's playlists. It's a stark mix of alternative rap and r&b, courtesy of Yeonjun, punctuated with Soobin's collection of 2nd and 3rd generation kpop classics—Yeonjun doesn't think he's ever listened to this many K-ara songs in one go before. It's comfortable, like everything about Soobin and Yeonjun, the way it has been for as long as he can remember.
Yeonjun knows they've finally arrived when The Daegu 83 Tower comes into view, towering high over the rest of the city. Almost immediately, familiarity hits Yeonjun like an off target bullet barrelling past him at full speed. The memories come crawling out of some long forgotten recess of Yeonjun's mind, and Yeonjun remembers everything—the trees that line the street they're driving down, the 24/7 convenience store that has stayed dependably open since Yeonjun was a child, the way the colours pop off the sprawling murals near Bangcheon Market, the animal shaped flower arrangements that can be seen as you drive passed the Daegu Arboretum, Soobin's favourite cafe complete with colourful interiors and macadamia-nut-white-chocolate-chip cookies, everything, exactly how he remembers it.
Yeonjun had forgotten that he remembered any of it at all. Suddenly, he's 15 again.
Soobin had mentioned they’d redone the house, but from the outside it’s just as it is in Yeonjun's memories. All white wall and exposed brick work with large windows, the whole house covered and crawling with sprawling ivy, as if Aunty Sandara’s garden was going to swallow it whole. It’s slightly smaller than Yeonjun remembers it being, or maybe he’s just bigger now, but it still inspires the same excited comfort it did all those years ago—and before they’ve even parked the car, Soobin’s mum comes barreling out.
Despite Soobin’s frankly ridiculous height, Choi Sandara stands at just barely 5 feet, with a wide, heart shaped smile and soft features, eyes crinkling at the sides as the car pulls to a stop. She’s on him the second Yeonjun’s out of the car, limbs wrapped around his shoulders. “Yeonjun-ah, gosh, I haven’t seen you in ages!” She says, “oh my, you’ve gotten so big and strong—I’m glad you’re keeping healthy! How are you? How have you been? How was the drive over—“
“I’m here too, Ma,” Soobin pouts sulkily, getting ready to unload their luggage from the car.
Sandara rolls her eyes teasingly and lets go of Yeonjun with a final pat on the shoulder. "Yes, yes, you big baby,” she says, walking over to Soobin to engulf him in a hug. It’s rather funny really, Soobin is well over a foot taller than his mother is, Sandara stands up on her tippy toes as she tries to to hug him and Soobin has to bend down so she can.
They grab their suitcases and follow Mrs. Choi indoors. Despite her small stature, she’s quick and moves rapidly—Soobin’s clearly used to it, using his stupidly long legs to his advantage, but Yeonjun finds himself having to jog lightly to keep up. The inside of the Choi Household has in fact changed since Yeonjun had last been there, the house looks modernised and elevated, the frilly lamps and floral prints Yeonjun remembers have been replaced by sleek overhead lighting and prints that are less akin to what your grandma may have at home and more to what you’d expect to see on the next edition of architectural digest. Still, some things remain the same—the walls are plastered with art, many that Yeonjun remembers from his time spent in the Choi Household as a child, and more that are brand new. Sandara’s plants still take up nearly every empty spot the house may have had, and Mr. Choi’s massive, room spanning record collection has only grown. Even though Yeonjun has never seen this room in this avatar, it feels like coming home.
“Since you’re going to be spending a whole six weeks here I thought it’d be better to set you up in the guest room than in Soobin’s, figured you two could use a break from living in the same room,” Mrs. Choi says. Just as Soobin had mentioned, it’s the door he remembers as being Beomgyu’s. This room, by far, is the one that has changed the most (in contrast, Soobin’s is the one that’s changed the least, looking more or less identical except with a fresh varnish and a new coat of paint). Gone are the emo band posts and fairy lights and silly polaroids that Yeonjun remembers, instead replaced with a nice sage green wall, a densely patterned ornate carpet, and a distressed wooden desk facing a large, sunny, window with a view of the large acorn tree in the Choi’s backyard. The window is the only remnant of Beomgyu’s time in this bedroom, adorned with an attempted stained glass piece that, despite being made by a 12 year old Choi Beomgyu, really was rather nice—bright, hazy colours depicting a sun framed by a pair of simply drawn clouds, gazing down at a city skyline.
It’s nice, the room, and after spending years in a cramped Seoul apartment and then an even more cramped college dormitory, Yeonjun can more than get used to it.
“Now, the room doesn’t have an attached bathroom, so you’ll be sharing with Soobin and Beomgyu—I’m sure you remember where it is,” Sandara says, and she’s right, he does, “oh, and speaking of Beomgyu,” she says, ducking out of the room and motioning for Yeonjun to follow, “I should get you familiar with the attic.”
Yeonjun drops his suitcase on the ground and immediately follows Sandara outside, where she’s staring up at the ceiling. He follows her gaze and notices a large, square, access door above him. Sandara huffs as she gazes up at it. “I’m not sure if Soobin told you already but when we were renovating Beomgyu asked if he could live in the attic and, well, you know how Jiyong is, he can’t say no to the kid.” Her words are exasperated, but the smile on her face is large and happy and genuine. “Anyway,” she chuckles, pointing up at the hatch, “Beomgyu lives up there now, so if you ever open your door and see someone crawling out of the ceiling just know that it’s him—if you ever wanna get up access is pretty easy, you just pull down the hatch using this,” she grabs a thin, steel rod with a hook attached to the end from the supply closet beside Soobin’s room. She makes quick work of pulling down the hatch and a black, steel ladder emerges from the ceiling—Yeonjun wonders how Beomgyu lives like this, but he’s always been a little odd. “The process is pretty simple, just be careful when opening the door to your room ‘cos it’s directly in front of the where the ladder will be if someone’s trying to get in or out, god knows how many times Soobin has rammed the door into it—just open the door carefully and you’ll be fine.”
“Thank you,” Yeonjun says, when Mrs. Choi is done with her demonstration and the ladder has retracted from the hallway back safely into Beomgyu’s attic, “I’ll try my best not to knock Beomgyu off his staircase.”
“That makes one of us,” Soobin says, appearing from his own room to stand beside Yeonjun. He just barely evades the smack his mother sends his way and says, “where is he anyway?”
“Oh, he’s with Heeseung-ah, said he’ll be back by tomorrow morning,” she turns on her heel, seemingly unbothered by the complete mystery that is Beomgyu’s location, and gestures for them to follow. “Now come along, I’ve laid out lunch in the kitchen. I’m sure you two are exhausted from the drive!”
As they follow Mrs. Choi down the stairs, Soobin nudges at Yeonjun’s side. “By the way “with Heeseung-ah” is Beomgyu for “going out tonight and coming home plastered at ass o clock in the morning”—just so you know,” He whispers, so quiet Yeonjun would miss it if he hadn’t been trained in all things Soobin since the age of 3. “He usually sleeps in the guest room when he pulls this shit, but he’ll probably figure out how to scramble into the attic tonight so don’t worry about that. Just know that if you hear, like, strange noises at 4am, it’s Beomgyu trying to climb into his room.” Soobin pauses for a second. “Probably.”
The rest of the day passes easily. Soobin and Yeonjun decide to spend it at home catching up with Mrs. Choi, telling her about college and answering each and every one of her innumerable questions to the best of their abilities. Soobin’s dad comes home around dinner time and gives Yeonjun a hug just as big and warm and familiar as his wife had. Choi Jiyong is the mirror image of his oldest son, tall and lanky with bright eyes and deep dimples. His hair’s grown greyer since Yeonjun had last seen him, and he certainly wears his age more than his wife does, but he still looks solid and dependable and comforting, the way he always had to Yeonjun growing up.
“Look at you, bulking up and hitting the gym for the summer, huh?” Mr. Choi jokes when he first sees Yeonjun, patting his bicep appreciatively. “Beomgyu’s friend Taehyun keeps coming over trying to get Beomgyu to the gym with him, but Beomgyu somehow manages to switch it up and convince the poor kid to stay at home and play video games with him instead," He says, warm eyes tinted with a spark of mischief. "Can’t say I blame him, I’d do the same!” He laughs, wrapping his free hand around Soobin and laughing freely, “Chip off the old block, both of ya,” he laughs, ruffling Soobin’s hair.
“The gym is gross and smells like sweat,” Soobin says plainly, wrinkling his nose. Mr. Choi laughs, nodding wholeheartedly in agreement—his wife huffs, mumbling under her breath about how they’re both getting old and maybe going for at least a walk or two every once in a while is a good idea.
Dinner is delicious. Soobin’s Mom is perhaps the best cook Yeonjun has ever met and she defends this title to the best of her abilities, producing a massive pot of Yukgaejang and a tray of Bossam which Yeonjun all but inhales after two semesters of SNU cafeteria food. The whole day is light and easy, Yeonjun gets to talk about himself—something that he admittedly quite enjoys doing, telling Mr. and Mrs. Choi about his dancing and that no, he isn’t seeing anyone right now and yes, his parents are doing well.
When they wrap up and go to bed, Yeonjun is still buzzing. He takes a quick shower and helps Mr. Choi clean up in hopes of expelling some of his leftover energy, but it’s still barely past 11 and college has all but completely fucked up his sleep schedule, so really he doesn’t get anywhere close to sleepy until 3 or 4 in the morning. Still, despite having driven for three hours, Yeonjun had spent the rest of the day doing more or less nothing, so he isn’t too tired out either. He’d go bother Soobin but Soobin crashed the second they got to their rooms, already passed out in his childhood bed when Yeonjun had let himself in after his evening shower. With no social gatherings to attend and no more work left to finish—the semester is over, thank god— Yeonjun’s not entirely sure what to do with himself. Now that there aren’t a 100 assignments breathing down his neck, Yeonjun finds himself at a bit of a loss. He’s not bored, that isn’t the right word for it. But he is restless, itching for something exciting.
He finds ways to entertain himself; goes out for a little walk around Soobin’s neighbourhood before sneaking back into his bedroom, walking up the stairs as quietly as he can; catches up on some drama he’d stopped watching a while ago mid way through; makes a new playlist for the summer. It’s almost nice, having nothing to do, and then finally around 2 a.m the day starts to hit him. He’s not nodding off to sleep just yet, but the bed seems to suck him in deeper and deeper as the minutes pass, and the off switch on his bedside lamp looks more and more enticing.
Around an hour later, just after Yeonjun’s turned off the light but before he’s fully fallen asleep, scrolling through TikTok in the dark, the door opens.
The silhouette at the door is tall and slim, haloed by the light leaking in from the hallway. Yeonjun can’t make out a face, and he’d be scared if Soobin hadn’t mentioned Beomgyu’s habits of returning home and heading straight to this very room earlier in the day. The younger boy hasn’t noticed him yet, even when he closes the door behind him—Yeonjun doesn’t clue him in, amused by Beomgyu drunken staggering and the curse he lets out as his hand wanders the door blindly, trying in vain to find a light switch. It’s an odd situation, one reminiscent of Yeonjun’s own drunken arrivals late at night, on days when Soobin hasn’t stayed up studying and the dorm room is dark upon his return. Beomgyu’s movements are hazy and sluggish, Yeonjun can tell he’s drunk even without being able to see him. Something falls to the floor with a halfhearted clang and Yeonjun picks up a softly murmured “fuck!” Yeonjun, thoroughly amused, decides to take pity on him.
When he switches the light on, Yeonjun is the one that’s surprised.
He’d conjured an image of a fully grown Beomgyu in his head, the same face he remembered growing up but on a taller, older body, with neatly cropped hair and a cute little cardigan. The way Beomgyu had looked in most of Yeonjun’s memories, even after turning thirteen and discovering My Chemical Romance and The Perks Of Being A Wallflower.
This Beomgyu is anything but that.
His eyes are hazy and his eyebrows are pinched in confusion, he’s noticed the light but in his drunken haze has yet to notice Yeonjun. The expression is familiar. Yaeonjun’s seen sleep hazy Beomgyu before and his expression now is definitely reminiscent of those early morning memories in the backseat of Yeonjun’s moms car, when they used to carpool together to school—but that’s about where the similarities stop.
This Beomgyu is tall and impossibly lithe, waif-like in his build, wearing a figure hugging black satin blouse and a pair of form fitting, velvety, brown pants with some sort of animal print on them. He’s covered in glitter, remnants of a long night out, it catches in the lamplight and bathes him in a light shimmer.
His face has traces of the Beomgyu Yeonjun remembers, large eyes and a straight nose, but everything else is different.
In Yeonjun’s memories Beomgyu’s eyes are bug-like in their largeness, now, even droopy with drunkenness, they’re wide and luxurious, lined with smokey kohl and framed by long, dense eyelashes so perfect that, for a moment, Yeonjun wonders if they’re false. His face used to be full, in Yeonjun’s memory Beomgyu looks all too much like a circle, now his cheeks are still plush but his jaw has sharpened so much Yeonjun worries that, were he not careful, he’d cut himself on it’s edges. His nose is straight and elegant, and Yeonjun remembers it as looking out of place on Beomgyu’s boyish face. Here, it’s impossibly perfect. The kind of nose people show they’re plastic surgeons. His hair, that had previously been kept short and neat and boyish, is so long it’s starting to graze the skin of his shoulders, thick and shiny and begging for Yeonjun’s hands to grab at. His lips—Yeonjun has no specific memory of Beomgyu’s lips, now he wonders why. They’re lush and pink and doll like, softened around the edges by fading gloss, so plush and shiny that the light catches here too. When Yeonjun looks closer, they look swollen, like Beomgyu’s been thoroughly kissed.
There’s more still, things that had escaped Yeonjun’s memory and now come barrelling at him with full force. Like the delicate little mole by the side of Beomgyu’s lips, or the perfect arch of his dense, dark eyebrow. The little heart tattooed on his neck, so small one might easily mistake it for a mole or a birthmark. The glittering silver rings that run up his ears. The way his shirt wraps around his waist, so small that if he were to try, Yeonjun thinks his hands alone could wrap themselves all the way around it. Yeonjun feels vaguely like he’s tied to the tracks, about to be run over by a speeding train.
He gulps so hard he worries Beomgyu can hear it.
The boy has yet to notice his presence, confusion from the sudden light melting into a dismissed relief as he closes his eyes and stretches his arms high over his head, working out the kinks and aches from what has clearly been a long night of drinking and probably dancing. Yeonjun can’t look away from him. Beomgyu tilts his head to the side, working out the long, graceful arch of his snow white neck, and opens his eyes, immediately meeting Yeonjun’s.
For a second he’s scared, then confused, then a look of realisation melts onto his face and a bright, pretty, embarrassed pink settles onto the apples of his cheeks.
“Oh,” Beomgyu slurs, voice heavy with drunkenness. “It’s you.”
Yeonjun gulps once again. Beomgyu’s arrival is still sinking into him, electric deep in his bones. His mind is reeling—of all his thoughts about reuniting with Choi Beomgyu, never even once had he entertained the possibility of being attracted to him. Yet here he is, Choi Yeonjun, all but speechless at the sight of his best friend's little brother. His best friend's incredibly hot little brother, who Yeonjun has known since before he could form complete sentences.
Soobin had lied, Beomgyu was decidedly not "more or less the same" since the last time Yeonjun had seen him.
He clears his throat, trying his best to break out of the stupor Beomgyu—and probably sleeplessness—had just put him in. “H-hey,” he croaks, wincing at the near prepubescent break in his voice. “Been a while.”
Beomgyu, still hazy, stays silent for a moment, taking him in. Yeonjun squirms under his gaze, his black tank top and plaid Uniqlo pyjama pants at any other occasion would serve to only enhance Yeonjun’s confidence—his tank may be old and ratty, but boy do they make his arms look good. But here, with Beomgyu looking down at him dressed to the nines with club mussed hair (and, realistically, probably sex mussed as well) and a sheen of glitter, Yeonjun feels small and naked and unworthy to be basking in the newfound glory that is Choi Beomgyu.
The pink is still bright on Beomgyu’s cheeks, getting darker and spreading wider the longer he stares down at Yeonjun. His eyes wander the room, alternating back and forth between the floor, Yeonjun, the desk, Yeonjun, the cupboard, Yeonjun. “Yeah, been forever,” he mumbles eventually—there’s a shyness to his words which, coupled with the way Beomgyu looks away from Yeonjun’s eyes hastily, turning to face the lamp instead (which only serves to illuminate his impossibly pretty, impossibly pink face further) makes something in Yeonjun’s chest clench. “Sorry for, uh, intruding,” Beomgyu continues bashfully, hands twisting together by his stomach. “I drunk I’m a little think right now and I forgot you and Hyung were back—wait, fuck, I-I mean, uh, sorry, you get it, I’ll get out of your hair!”
His words slip slide over each other, breaking Yeonjun out of his frozen state. Except now, instead of awe, he’s drowning in what can only be described as cuteness aggression, thoroughly amused and bone deep endeared by the younger boy. “Don’t worry about it,” he says softly. “You going to be able to get up to your room okay?”
Beomgyu’s already opening the door when he replies. “I’ll, uh, probably just crash on the couch tonight, don’t worry. Good night. Talk to you tomorrow.” And then the door slams shut behind him and he's gone as suddenly and surprisingly as he arrived.
Yeonjun remains frozen for what feels like hours afterwards, staring at the phantom of where Beomgyu had been by the door, heart beating faster than it has any right to be. When he manages to collect himself enough to turn off the light and pull the covers over himself, panic settles into his bones. He’s hit by the jarring, sudden, and rather devastating realisation that Choi Beomgyu may just be the most beautiful person Yeonjun has ever laid his eyes on. He’s then hit by several realisations that are rather worse.
1) Choi Beomgyu is stunning.
2) Choi Beomgyu is Soobin—Yeonjun’s best friend’s little brother.
3) Choi Beomgyu is therefore 100% off limits.
And 4) despite this, Yeonjun really, really, badly, shamefully, desperately, wants him.
The final realisation is that, by his own doing, Yeonjun is stuck in The Choi Household for a month and a half. With Choi Beomgyu.
Yeonjun really needs another fucking cigarette.