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Ricky didn’t say much as he followed Hanbin out of the building. The sun was starting to set, casting a warm glow on the quiet street. Hanbin walked a step ahead, hands in his pockets, occasionally glancing back to make sure Ricky was still with him.
They ended up at a small cafe tucked between two older buildings. It was the kind of place that barely had any foot traffic, which was exactly what Ricky needed right now. The air smelled like fresh bread and coffee, and the quiet hum of soft music filled the space.
Hanbin pushed the door open and nodded toward a corner table. “Sit. I’ll get us something.”
Ricky didn’t argue. He slid into the chair and stared at the table while Hanbin ordered. A minute later, Hanbin came back with two iced Americanos and a couple of pastries.
“Here,” Hanbin said, sliding one of the drinks toward him before sitting down.
Ricky murmured a quiet thanks, taking a small sip. The cold bitterness grounded him a little, but his mind was still stuck on the same loop—Gyuvin’s laugh, the casual way he brushed everything off.
Hanbin tapped the edge of the table lightly, breaking the silence. “You know…” he started, his tone calm but pointed. “If you like him that much, maybe you should just… tell him.”
Ricky’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Gyuvin.” Hanbin leaned back in his chair, looking at Ricky like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You should go for it.”
Ricky blinked, caught off guard. “I—he doesn’t… it’s not like that.”
“Maybe not.” Hanbin shrugged, his expression unreadable. “But maybe it could be.”
Ricky’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And if it’s not?”
“Then at least you’ll know,” Hanbin said softly, meeting his eyes. “But if you keep holding it in… it’s only going to hurt more.”
Ricky looked away, his jaw clenched. His heart was pounding louder than it should have been, but for a moment, he let himself wonder—what if Hanbin was right?
The cafe was quieter than Ricky expected. The low hum of conversation from a few tables away faded into the background as he stared down at his drink, ice slowly melting in the cup. He’d barely touched it.
Hanbin was watching him, patient as always, but Ricky could feel the weight of his words hanging in the air.
“Go for it?” Ricky finally said, his voice quieter than he intended. He shook his head, eyes fixed on the condensation forming on the cup. “Hanbin… he doesn’t see me like that.”
“You don’t know that,” Hanbin said, but his tone was gentle, not pushing.
“I do.” Ricky’s grip tightened around the plastic. “He jokes about it. About us. Like it’s nothing.” His jaw clenched. “If I say something and it ruins everything…”
Hanbin didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, Ricky thought that was it—that Hanbin had said his piece and was going to let it go. But then, softly, Hanbin spoke again.
“He’s not joking as much as you think.”
Ricky’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “What?”
Hanbin met his gaze, calm but serious. “Gyuvin.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “He’s mentioned it before. To me.”
Ricky’s heart skipped a beat. “Mentioned what?”
“That he…” Hanbin sighed, leaning forward slightly, his elbows on the table. “That he likes you.”
Ricky’s breath caught.
“You know him, he laughs things off because it’s easier that way. But it’s not just a joke to him, Ricky.”
Ricky blinked, his mind racing to process what he’d just heard. “You’re… serious?”
Hanbin gave a small nod. “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.”
Ricky’s thoughts were spinning. The idea that Gyuvin had ever—could ever—feel the same way felt impossible. And yet…
“Then why doesn’t he say anything?” Ricky’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Probably for the same reason you haven’t,” Hanbin said softly.
Ricky’s chest tightened. His mind was telling him to be cautious, to not get his hopes up. But his heart was telling a different story.
“Look,” Hanbin said, his voice steady but kind. “I’m not telling you what to do. But… I thought you should know. In case you’re holding back for the wrong reasons.”
Ricky didn’t respond, his thoughts too tangled to form words. But for the first time in a long time, the possibility didn’t seem so far out of reach. And that scared him just as much as it gave him hope.
They finished their drinks in quiet, the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. Hanbin didn’t push any further, just offered a reassuring pat to Ricky’s arm before they headed back.
The walk home was slow, deliberate, like Ricky was trying to hold onto the clarity that conversation had given him for just a little longer. But by the time they reached the dorm, that clarity had started to blur again—overthinking creeping in like fog on a mirror.
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗
Ricky’s steps slowed as they reached the hall. His eyes drifted toward Gyuvin’s door, slightly ajar. The familiar sound of Roblox echoed faintly from inside, a mix of clicking keys and the occasional frustrated mutter from Gyuvin.
He stopped in front of the door, heart racing.
He could walk past it. Pretend nothing had changed. Let the comfort of the almost be enough.
But Hanbin’s words echoed in his mind: If you keep holding it in, it’s only going to hurt more.
Ricky took a breath and pushed the door open.
Gyuvin was sprawled out on his bed, laptop balanced on his stomach, eyes glued to the screen. His fingers moved quickly over the keys, his expression one of pure focus.
“Bro, this dude keeps camping at the spawn—” Gyuvin’s words died mid-sentence when he noticed Ricky standing there. He blinked, surprised. “Oh. Hey.”
Ricky didn’t say anything right away. He just stepped inside, crossing the room, and held out a water bottle.
“Hydrate,” Ricky murmured, his tone softer than usual.
Gyuvin blinked again, taking the bottle with a grin. “Thanks.”
Ricky sat down on the edge of the bed before shifting to lie down, his head resting near Gyuvin’s legs. His eyes traced the patterns on the ceiling as silence filled the space between them.
Gyuvin didn’t say much after that, too focused on his game, but Ricky didn’t mind. He needed a moment to find the words.
“Hey,” Ricky said after a while, his voice quiet but steady.
“Mm?” Gyuvin didn’t look away from his screen, but Ricky could tell he was listening.
“That tweet…” Ricky’s voice trailed off, but Gyuvin’s hands froze on the keyboard.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“What about it?” Gyuvin finally asked, his tone more casual than it should’ve been.
Ricky’s eyes stayed on the ceiling. “You retweeted it.”
Gyuvin let out a soft chuckle, but it sounded forced. “Yeah, fans are wild. They love making stuff up.”
Ricky’s chest tightened. That same easygoing, playful tone. The one Gyuvin always used when he was trying to brush something off.
“But what if they’re not making it up?” Ricky’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the words hung heavy in the air.
Gyuvin’s fingers stopped moving entirely.
Ricky finally turned his head, looking up at him. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like Gyuvin could probably hear it.
“I just…” Ricky’s throat felt dry, but he forced the words out anyway. “I don’t think it’s that funny.”
Gyuvin’s expression shifted, his playful mask slipping just enough for Ricky to see the hesitation underneath. “Why?” Gyuvin asked softly, his voice barely above the hum of the laptop.
Ricky’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because… I don’t want it to be a joke.”
The silence that followed felt louder than anything. Gyuvin’s eyes met Ricky’s, and for the first time, neither of them looked away.
Gyuvin blinked, and for a moment, Ricky thought he was going to say something serious. But then, almost like clockwork, that familiar grin tugged at the corner of Gyuvin’s lips. “Ohhh…” Gyuvin dragged out, his voice teasing but just a little shaky. “Is that why you’ve been all serious on Twitter today?”
Ricky’s heart skipped.
“What?” Ricky’s eyebrows furrowed, caught off guard.
“You tweeted this deep quote earlier,” Gyuvin said, his grin growing as he sat up slightly. “‘If you don’t take a chance, you’ll regret it forever.’” He mimicked in an overly dramatic tone. “Bro, I thought you were going through a midlife crisis.”
Ricky felt heat creep up his neck. “I wasn’t—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Gyuvin’s eyes widened, and his teasing tone dropped just a little, though that playful smirk was still there. “Were you… tweeting about me?”
Ricky’s throat went dry. He opened his mouth to deny it, to come up with something, anything, but nothing came out.
Gyuvin’s eyes flickered with something—curiosity, maybe—but then, Ricky saw it. The faintest tinge of pink dusting his cheeks. It was subtle, barely noticeable if you weren’t paying attention, but Ricky was paying attention.
“Wait…” Gyuvin’s voice was quieter now, less playful—more uncertain. “Were you?”
Ricky’s gaze dropped, his lips pressing together. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, but he couldn’t look at Gyuvin.
“Ricky…” Gyuvin’s voice was softer, the teasing gone.
Ricky exhaled slowly, forcing himself to meet Gyuvin’s eyes. “Maybe,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
For once, Gyuvin didn’t have a comeback. He just stared at Ricky, the blush deepening on his face. And in that moment, Ricky didn’t know what scared him more—the fact that he’d finally said it… or the fact that Gyuvin wasn’t laughing.
“You’re serious,” Gyuvin said after a moment, but it wasn’t really a question. His voice had lost its usual lilt—this wasn’t teasing anymore. It was quiet, careful, like he was afraid of breaking something delicate between them.
Ricky didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling again, but his body was tense—shoulders drawn in, fingers curled into the blanket like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
Gyuvin sat up a little straighter. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
Ricky let out a breath, sharp and shaky. “Because you always laughed,” he said. “Every time someone hinted at it. Every time the fans said something, or the others joked about us. You laughed. Like it was ridiculous.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Gyuvin said quickly, but there was a tremor in his voice. “I didn’t think you’d ever— I didn’t know you were—”
Ricky sat up then, finally turning to face him. “You didn’t want to know.”
Gyuvin flinched, just slightly. Ricky’s eyes weren’t cold, but there was something raw in them—something Gyuvin had never seen before. Not directed at him.
“Do you know how many times I wanted to say something?” Ricky asked, voice tight. “But every time I got close, you’d make a joke, or change the subject, or pretend like nothing mattered.”
“Because I didn’t want to ruin this!” Gyuvin’s voice cracked. “I didn’t know how to deal with it, Ricky—I didn’t think I was allowed to.”
Ricky’s breath hitched, his expression flickering with something close to pain. “Allowed to?”
“I don’t know.” Gyuvin ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “I didn’t think you’d ever look at me like that. And when I started to hope you did, I thought—if I laughed it off, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if it wasn’t real.”
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with all the things left unsaid over the years. Neither of them looked away this time.
“So what now?” Ricky asked, voice quieter. There wasn’t anger in it, just exhaustion. Vulnerability.
Gyuvin’s hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for Ricky but didn’t know if he was allowed to. “I don’t want to mess this up,” he said. “But I don’t want to keep pretending either.”
Ricky’s heart was hammering in his chest, but he didn’t speak.
Gyuvin took a slow breath. “Can you just—give me a second? I need to— I just need to think.”
Ricky nodded once. “Okay.”
He stood up slowly, letting the moment settle between them without forcing anything more. But before he reached the door, Gyuvin’s voice stopped him.
“Hey.”
Ricky turned.
“I’m not laughing,” Gyuvin said softly. “Not anymore.”
Their eyes met, and something shifted—fragile, but real. Still uncertain, still tense, but no longer pretending.
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗
Gyuvin sat on the floor of the bathroom, legs folded under him like a sad little Sims character who’d lost all autonomy. The tiles were cold through his sweatpants. The light overhead flickered slightly, and for a split second he wondered if it was a metaphor for his sanity.
He was spiraling. Fully, completely, undeniably spiraling.
“‘Maybe,’” he repeated Rick's words to himself, mimicking his voice like it might somehow make the moment less real. “Maybe?! Bro, what the hell do I do with maybe?”
His mind had been playing it on loop since Ricky walked out of his room. Or maybe floated out. He wasn’t really sure. Time had stopped. Or sped up. Or both.
He let his head fall back against the wall with a soft thud.
He needed to scream into the void. Or into a pillow. Or into Gunwook.
As if summoned by the chaos gods themselves, a firm knock sounded on the door.
“Gyuvin?” Gunwook’s voice filtered through. “You’ve been in there for twenty minutes. Are you dying or just being dramatic?”
Gyuvin opened the door like a haunted Victorian child. “Both.”
Gunwook stared at him, unimpressed. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Worse,” Gyuvin said gravely, stepping out. “I’ve seen my own emotional repression reflected back at me in the form of a beautiful boy with very pretty hands and even prettier eyes.”
Gunwook blinked once. “So Ricky said something.”
“Maybe,” Gyuvin replied, throwing up his hands. “He said maybe.”
Gunwook tilted his head. “Maybe he likes you?”
“Maybe the tweet was about me,” Gyuvin snapped. “Which is obviously worse.”
Gunwook folded his arms, clearly trying not to look amused. “And… was it?”
“I don’t know! But he was blushing, and serious, and he looked at me like—like—like I was something breakable.”
“You are,” Gunwook deadpanned.
Gyuvin groaned and flopped dramatically onto the couch like he was in a telenovela. “I don’t know what to do.”
Gunwook moved to sit on the armrest, nudging Gyuvin’s leg with his knee. “You like him. He maybe-likes you. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I was supposed to be the chill one,” Gyuvin muttered into a pillow. “I was supposed to be cool. Aloof. Funny. And now he knows. Now I’m the guy who accidentally exposed his whole heart over a tweet and a bottle of water.”
“Yeah,” Gunwook said, drawing the word out. “You’re also the guy who’s been head over heels for Ricky since before we even debuted, so maybe it’s time to stop performing chill and start being real.”
Gyuvin peered up at him. “When did you become emotionally literate?”
“I’ve always been emotionally literate,” Gunwook replied, looking far too smug for Gyuvin’s liking. “You just never noticed because I let you clown around.”
“That’s on you,” Gyuvin muttered, but his heart wasn’t in it.
Gunwook nudged him again. “We’re going out tonight, remember?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Well, fortunately,” Gunwook countered, “because you now have the perfect opportunity to stop being a coward and make a move.”
Gyuvin groaned again, louder this time. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It is,” Gunwook said simply. “Just stop hiding. Stop trying to be whatever version of yourself you think he wants, and be the version you actually are.”
Gyuvin squinted up at him. “Okay, but what if that version is a complete disaster?”
“Then he’ll like you even more,” Gunwook said with zero hesitation. “Because Ricky doesn’t fall for polished. He falls for real. He’s the polished one.”
Gyuvin was quiet for a second. Then: “Okay. Okay. But if I do this, and it backfires—”
“I will personally call Hanbin and have him scold Ricky into submission,” Gunwook said.
That actually made Gyuvin laugh—briefly, but genuinely. “You think Hanbin would do that?”
Gunwook grinned. “Please. Hanbin’s been shipping you two since day one. He’d officiate the wedding if we let him.”
Gyuvin sat up slowly, pressing his palms against his knees. His heart was still racing, but there was something steadier beneath it now—like the edge of certainty trying to cut through the noise.
“Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll… try. Tonight.”
Gunwook nodded, his lips thinning into an approving smile.
Gyuvin stood up, wobbling slightly. “Okay, wait—what should I wear? Like, emotionally vulnerable, but still hot.”
Gunwook gave him a long-suffering look. “You have five shirts that aren’t oversized and at least two of them are clean. Figure it out.”
“Bro… rude,” Gyuvin muttered, but he was already heading to his closet, his hands a little steadier than before.
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗
The dorm was a chaotic swirl of cologne, hair gel, and missing accessories.
Hanbin was in the hallway, arguing with Hao about whether or not his shirt was too wrinkled. Jiwoong was hunched over the mirror, adjusting a delicate silver chain around his neck for the third time. Matthew was blasting music from the living room speaker—something with heavy bass and no discernible lyrics—while Gunwook moved between rooms like a mission commander, making sure no one was running late.
Gyuvin stood in front of his closet, holding up two different jackets. One was all black—safe, structured, boring. The other had tiny embroidered stars scattered across the sleeves.
“Too obvious?” he asked, turning toward Gunwook, who was sitting on the edge of his bed scrolling through his phone.
Gunwook didn’t even look up. “The stars one. Definitely. He’ll notice.”
Gyuvin narrowed his eyes. “You think?”
Gunwook looked up then, slow and pointed. “You want him to notice, don’t you?”
Gyuvin didn’t answer. He just pulled the jacket on and ran a hand through his hair.
Across the hall, Ricky was finishing his makeup in the bathroom mirror. Nothing dramatic—just enough to make his features pop under the low club lighting. A little gloss, a little liner. His hair was perfectly tousled, not that he’d admit to spending twenty minutes perfecting it. He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, then stared at himself for a beat too long.
He didn’t know what was going to happen tonight. But he knew it would feel like something.
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗
The car ride over had been loud and cramped, the nine of them squished into two black vans. The city lights passed in a blur outside, flashing blue and gold across their faces. When they pulled up to the event space—a trendy rooftop lounge downtown—the bass was already vibrating through the ground.
Everything inside glowed low and warm: amber lights, glass walls that looked out over the skyline, music that pulsed through the crowd like a heartbeat. There was a soft breeze slipping in through the open terrace doors, and a hundred people packed into the space dressed in half-laced boots and cropped jackets, barely hiding under the veil of effortlessness.
Gyuvin stuck close to the group at first, laughing too loud at Matthew’s jokes, letting himself blend into the noise. But then he looked across the room, his expression dropping.
Ricky was by the bar, a glass of something sparkling in his hand. He wasn’t looking around, not like he was trying to catch anyone’s attention—but Gyuvin’s attention caught on him anyway. His profile under the dim light, the way he kept tapping the side of his glass with one finger. The way his legs crossed at the ankle. Effortless. Elegant. Slightly guarded.
Ricky glanced up—just once—and his eyes met Gyuvin’s across the room.
Not long. Barely a second, but it lingered.
Ricky looked away first, but he sipped his drink a beat later, like the timing was off, like maybe he noticed it too.
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗
The night unfolded in a painfully slow burn.
Hanbin got pulled into a conversation with a producer he knew. Matthew and Taerae disappeared somewhere onto the balcony. Hao found a corner with Yujin and immediately started people-watching, narrating everyone’s outfits like it was the Met Gala.
Gyuvin hovered.
Ricky moved around the room with a kind of quiet grace, always in motion but never looking like he was trying. And yet, every time Gyuvin found him again—his eyes already searching—Ricky was already glancing back.
Once, Gyuvin brushed past him near the snack table, close enough that his shoulder grazed Ricky’s arm. Just the faintest touch. But Ricky froze for half a second too long before pretending to rearrange the napkins.
Another time, Gyuvin turned from talking to a friend-of-a-friend and caught Ricky leaning against a wall alone. Their eyes met, again.
Gyuvin raised one eyebrow. A silent, teasing What?
Ricky didn’t smile, but he didn’t look away either.
Gyuvin’s heart thudded once, hard.
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗
It wasn’t until later, when most of the group had started gathering on the upper deck, that Gyuvin finally stepped out into the open air to catch his breath.
The music was softer up there, replaced by the quiet hush of wind and distant car horns.
He leaned against the railing, staring down at the street. It felt like standing on the edge of something.
And then, like it was inevitable, he heard footsteps behind him.
He didn’t have to look to know it was Ricky.
Gyuvin let out a slow breath, steadying himself.
“You followed me,” he said softly.
Ricky’s voice came after a pause, low and honest. “You looked like you wanted me to.”
Gyuvin turned.
Ricky stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, wind tugging at the ends of his hair. His eyes were unreadable in the dark—but they were only on Gyuvin.
The moment stretched, heavy and real.
Neither of them moved. Neither of them laughed.
Gyuvin turned fully, expecting to see someone else lingering nearby—maybe Hanbin, maybe Hao, anyone. But the rooftop was empty now. Everyone else had drifted back inside, their laughter fading beneath the bass and chatter from below.
It was just them.
Just Ricky, standing beneath the soft glow of the overhead lights, his frame outlined against the night.
The wind picked up slightly, tousling Gyuvin’s hair and pressing a quiet hum into the moment.
Ricky stepped closer, his gaze drifting out over the city, then to Gyuvin, and then down, like he couldn’t decide where to land.
Gyuvin leaned forward against the railing, the cold metal grounding him. “Feels weird, huh?” he said, his voice just above a whisper.
Ricky mirrored the motion beside him, folding his arms and letting them rest on the ledge. “What does?”
“This.” Gyuvin nodded toward the skyline. “All of it. Being up here, the quiet, the… space.”
Ricky’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t look away. “Yeah. It does.”
There was a beat of silence. Neither of them filled it.
The city stretched out in front of them, glittering and wide. But the air between them was narrow—taut with the things they hadn’t said.
Gyuvin tilted his head slightly, watching Ricky in the corner of his eye. “So… you were tweeting about me?”
Ricky exhaled through his nose, a sharp little breath that could’ve been a laugh, if it weren’t so tight. “Seriously?”
“You brought it up,” Gyuvin said, his voice low but not teasing this time.
Ricky’s fingers curled against the railing. “Yes, Gyuvin. That tweet was about you.”
“You’re so readable,” Gyuvin said.
That earned him a glance—quick, sharp, like Ricky couldn’t stop himself. It turned into an eye roll.
Their shoulders were nearly touching now. The quiet buzz of traffic below was the only thing keeping them grounded.
Then Gyuvin straightened slowly, pulling back from the edge. “Come here,” he said, voice soft but firm.
Ricky blinked. “Where?”
“There’s this swing bench around the corner,” Gyuvin said, nodding toward the far side of the rooftop. “It’s a little tucked away. Still has a view.”
Ricky hesitated, searching his face, but then followed.
The swing was a curved iron bench hung between two wooden beams, nestled behind a tall hedge of ivy-covered trellises. Just enough privacy to feel hidden, but open enough to still see the lights beyond.
Gyuvin sat first, the seat creaking gently beneath him. Ricky sat a moment later, leaving a small but loaded space between them.
The view from here was quieter. The stars above them, the city flickering below, the dull throb of the party a distant heartbeat. Neither of them spoke right away. The swing moved gently under their weight.
Gyuvin leaned back slightly, arms stretched along the backrest, head tilted toward the sky. “I used to think stuff like this only happened in movies.”
“What, rooftop swings and city lights?” Ricky murmured.
“No.” Gyuvin’s voice was softer now. “This tension. The kind where… you know something’s about to shift. But no one wants to say it first.”
Ricky didn’t respond immediately. The wind brushed across his cheek, carrying Gyuvin’s words with it.
He finally looked over, eyes darker than usual. “What if we say it and ruin everything?”
Gyuvin turned his head, their eyes locking in the half-light.
“What if we don’t… and regret it anyway?”
That made Ricky go still.
The swing creaked faintly, swaying them both forward just a little.
Ricky’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “You’ve never said anything.”
Gyuvin shrugged, but there was no real weight in it. “You didn’t either.”
Ricky gave him a sharp look, but it didn’t last long. His eyes drifted down to Gyuvin’s hands, resting so close to his own.
“I was scared,” he admitted.
Gyuvin’s heart stuttered.
“So was I,” he said. “Still am.”
The silence between them thickened, more solid now. Not just unsaid feelings, but years of friendship hanging in the air like something about to change.
Ricky’s gaze lingered on him, mouth slightly parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. Then Gyuvin shifted his hand—just barely—letting his pinky brush against Ricky’s.
The swing creaked softly beneath them, swaying in a slow rhythm neither of them set.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—not exactly—but it pulsed with something thick and unspoken. The kind of silence that held too much. The kind that pressed against your skin.
Gyuvin leaned his head back again, eyes tracing a plane moving through the stars. “Okay, but hear me out,” he said suddenly, breaking the stillness like he couldn’t help it. “What if we just ran away and opened a bakery in the mountains?”
Ricky turned to him slowly, brow raised.
“Think about it,” Gyuvin said, lips quirking. “You’d work the front and decorate the cakes. You love strawberries, maybe that can be your signature thing.” Gyuvin smiled at him. “I’d do the baking. We’d be mysterious and cool and everyone would think we have tragic backstories.”
Ricky blinked, caught off guard—and then he laughed. A small, real sound that pushed out of him before he could stop it.
Gyuvin grinned, victorious. “See? That’s the first time you’ve laughed all night. I’m a hero.”
Ricky looked away, trying to hide it, but the smile still tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’re an idiot.”
“Bold of you to say that to your future business partner,” Gyuvin said, nudging his shoulder lightly.
Their arms brushed. Neither of them moved away this time.
The wind picked up again, brushing past them, lifting strands of Ricky’s hair. Gyuvin watched him for a moment, his grin softening.
The swing slowed.
The space between them didn’t feel so wide anymore.
Gyuvin’s fingers twitched slightly on the backrest, just behind Ricky’s shoulder. He let them inch forward—slow, casual. If Ricky noticed, he didn’t say anything. But his posture shifted almost imperceptibly, like he was leaning into it.
Ricky blinked. Slowly turned to face him.
Gyuvin was still smiling, but it was different now—smaller. Quieter. Like he didn’t need to push anymore.
“Y’know…” Gyuvin shrugged, tone easy but gaze steady. “I thought about tweeting something back in response. But, you know. Subtlety is kinda my thing.”
Ricky snorted, but the sound was nervous. “You’ve literally never been subtle in your life.”
Gyuvin tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Yeah, whatever.”
Their knees brushed. Neither of them shifted.
The air held. Tightened.
And then, before he could think better of it, Gyuvin leaned in—not all at once, just enough to be noticed. His forehead hovered close to Ricky’s, not touching. His breath was warm, soft between them. The kind of closeness that felt like gravity.
Ricky didn’t pull away.
Gyuvin’s voice was barely a breath. “If I kissed you right now… would you still want to open that bakery with me?”
Ricky’s eyes didn’t leave his. His lips parted—just a little. His voice, when it came, was a whisper. “Only if I get to name it.”
Gyuvin smiled. Not his usual big grin, but something smaller. Almost reverent.
And then, finally—he closed the distance.
It was gentle. Careful. Just the press of lips, soft and questioning, but sure enough to make Ricky’s breath catch. Sure enough to make the whole city fall away.
When he pulled back, their foreheads still touched. Ricky’s eyes stayed closed for a beat too long.
Neither of them spoke.
The swing kept moving, a lazy rhythm that didn’t match the pulse in Ricky’s veins.
He still hadn’t said anything. Not really. But he didn’t have to.
His eyes opened slowly, and Gyuvin almost regretted looking. They were darker in the low light, unreadable—but not empty. Not even close. They were full. And they were on him.
Gyuvin’s breath hitched.
Ricky’s gaze flicked to his lips, then back up. Barely a movement—but it sent something rushing straight through Gyuvin’s chest.
He let out a small laugh, nervous and light, like maybe he could cut the tension with it. But it didn’t work. Not even a little.
Because Ricky was moving.
Just a little. His knee bumped Gyuvin’s again—deliberately this time. His fingers lifted to gently, slowly, brush along Gyuvin’s arm, just below the sleeve.
Gyuvin’s heart was practically rattling against his ribs.
“Okay,” Gyuvin breathed, his voice higher than he wanted it to be. He blinked rapidly, trying to ground himself. “You must be trying to kill me to escape this.”
Ricky tilted his head slightly, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “Not on purpose.”
“Oh cool. So it’s just a side effect.”
Ricky didn’t answer. He was too busy looking at Gyuvin like that. With those eyes that weren’t saying anything out loud but were somehow saying everything.
Gyuvin swallowed hard. His fingers twitched again, then moved—this time with intent. He reached out and touched Ricky’s jaw, gentle and slow, brushing the hair back from his face. His thumb lingered at his cheekbone, and his palm stayed there, warm against skin that felt far too soft in the cool air.
Ricky leaned into it without thinking.
Gyuvin blinked again, and he was pretty sure he was blushing so hard he might pass out. “You can’t just do that,” he mumbled. “Lean in like that. With your stupid perfect face. And your eyes.”
“My eyes?” Ricky repeated, his voice low and almost amused.
“Yeah. Stop that.” Gyuvin said, barely audible.
“I’m not doing anything.” Ricky met his volume.
“That’s the problem,”
But he didn’t pull away. Not even close. He was leaning closer now, slowly, like he couldn’t help it. His fingers slipped to the back of Ricky’s neck, grounding himself there like it was the only thing that could keep him breathing.
Ricky didn’t flinch.
Instead, his hand slid over Gyuvin’s knee. Gentle at first. Then firmer. Slow, grounding pressure that made Gyuvin’s skin buzz under his clothes.
Gyuvin’s forehead bumped gently into his. He was sure Ricky could feel the heat radiating off him.
The kiss this time wasn’t shy. It was still soft—careful, even—but it carried something deeper now. Permission. Want. That unspoken question finally answered. And Ricky moved into it—closer, surer, his hand curling around Gyuvin’s wrist to keep him there, like he didn’t want the moment slipping away.
Gyuvin sighed against his mouth, dizzy and warm, overwhelmed but entirely focused on the way Ricky tasted, the way his hand felt tangled in the fabric of his sleeve.
Ricky pressed their foreheads together again, his hand still resting over Gyuvin’s. He was trembling slightly—but it wasn’t from nerves. It was the weight of finally letting go.
Gyuvin just stared at him. Eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, heart lodged in his throat.
Gyuvin didn’t pull away this time. Not after that kiss. Not after the way Ricky was still holding him, still watching him like he mattered—like all of him mattered.
He stayed close, his forehead brushing against Ricky’s. The swing creaked softly beneath them, but neither of them moved. Not really. Just breathing in the same air. Existing in the same, suddenly sacred space.
Gyuvin let his eyes close for a second. Just a second. And he melted.
Not just into the kiss. Not just into Ricky’s hands, which had found their way to the back of his neck, thumbs stroking softly like he knew Gyuvin needed grounding. He melted into the moment.
All the teasing, all the jokes, all the casual one-liners—it all felt far away now. He’d never been this quiet around Ricky. Never this still. But something about this… the way Ricky was watching him, the way the world felt so hushed and still around them—it made something shift.
Gyuvin opened his eyes slowly, gaze tracing every detail of Ricky’s face. The softness in his lashes. The sharp lines of his jaw, gently illuminated by the distant city lights. The way his lips were still parted, slightly swollen, waiting.
“You’re gonna ruin me,” Gyuvin whispered, not even realizing he’d said it out loud until Ricky blinked.
But he didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease.
He just looked at him with that same, unreadable intensity. Like he heard him. Like he understood.
“Okay,” Ricky said quietly, and there was a smile in his voice, but his eyes didn’t waver. “Then ruin me back.”
That was it.
Gyuvin surged forward, mouth catching Ricky’s again, but this time it wasn’t soft.
It was needy.
His hands slid into Ricky’s hair, tugging gently, guiding him closer as their mouths moved together, deeper, slower, more open. Ricky responded instantly, kissing back with a force that stole the breath from Gyuvin’s lungs. His hands gripped Gyuvin’s sides, sliding under his jacket, fingertips skating over the thin fabric of his shirt.
Gyuvin shivered.
Their knees bumped again, legs tangling more fully now as Ricky shifted on the swing to face him.
It was ridiculous—how natural it felt. How right. Like they’d always been meant to fit like this but were only now allowing it.
Ricky’s hands roamed slowly, deliberately—thumbs dragging over Gyuvin’s ribs, hips, waist. Not rushing. Just feeling.
Gyuvin moaned softly into the kiss, biting back a grin as he felt Ricky’s fingers tighten at his sides.
“You’re not playing fair,” Gyuvin murmured, lips brushing over Ricky’s again. “You keep touching me like you know what you’re doing.”
“I do,” Ricky said breathlessly, pulling him closer. “And you’re not stopping me.”
Gyuvin huffed a laugh, but it was shaky—more air than sound. “Yeah. That’s the problem.”
But it wasn’t. Not really. Because every time Ricky moved, every time he looked at him like that, Gyuvin felt more grounded. More here. Like the world had finally lined up the way it was supposed to.
He kissed him again, slower this time. Their lips moved like they’d done this a hundred times. Like they were learning each other with every breath, every brush of skin.
Gyuvin’s hands slid under Ricky’s jacket, fingers curling into the back of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. Ricky’s chest pressed to his, warm and solid, and their breathing synced—fast, shaky, urgent.
When they finally broke apart, it was only by an inch, foreheads pressed, both of them panting softly. Neither willing to move further than that.
They stayed tangled together in the swing, the city glittering beyond them and the party long forgotten.
Ricky’s phone buzzed between them—just once, a quiet vibration in the pocket of his jacket. He ignored it at first, too wrapped up in the warmth of Gyuvin’s breath against his jaw, the gentle weight of his hands resting on Ricky’s hips.
Another buzz. Then a third.
Gyuvin pulled back slightly, blinking like he’d just surfaced from deep underwater. “That yours?”
Ricky nodded, reluctant. “Yeah. Probably Hanbin.”
He slipped a hand into his pocket without fully pulling away, checking the screen. Sure enough, it was a text from Hanbin.
[Hanbin]: where’d u disappear to?
[Hanbin]: r u alive???
[Hanbin]: do NOT make me come find u like some worried parent
Ricky let out a soft breath, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “He’s looking for me.”
Gyuvin glanced over Ricky’s shoulder at the distant, muffled sounds of the party still happening below. Laughter, music, glasses clinking—it felt like a different world from the quiet bubble they’d just shared.
“I guess we should…” Gyuvin started, though his tone made it clear he wasn’t all that eager to leave.
“Yeah,” Ricky said, but neither of them moved just yet.
There was a pause. Something warm and slow still lingered between them.
Gyuvin leaned in and pressed a quick, final kiss to the side of Ricky’s mouth—soft and playful this time. “You owe me another one later.”
Ricky raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You planning ahead now?”
“Always.” Gyuvin winked before standing, brushing down his clothes as if they hadn’t just been tangled up and breathless under city lights. “Let’s go before Hanbin calls security.”
Ricky chuckled as he stood, fixing his jacket and running a hand through his hair. “I’d like to see him try.”
They slipped back into the party without much fanfare. The room was still buzzing—people dancing, lights dimmer now, voices louder, the whole place soaked in that late-night haze. No one really noticed them coming back in except Hanbin, who spotted Ricky from across the room and raised a pointed eyebrow.
Ricky gave a tiny shrug in return.
Gyuvin, ever the professional, immediately jumped into someone else’s conversation like he hadn’t just been making out on a swing two stories up. His laugh was a little too bright, his face a little too flushed—but no one asked.
Ricky stayed near the drinks, watching from a distance for a moment, feeling the way the air had shifted between them. It wasn’t awkward. Not tense. But it was different. In that good, scary kind of way.
They made glances all night. Just subtle ones. Ricky would be mid-conversation and Gyuvin would pass behind him, fingers brushing his back. Gyuvin would be talking to Gunwook and look up to find Ricky across the room, watching him—and he wouldn’t look away.
Every time their eyes met, something passed between them. Unspoken. Electric.
People trickled out as the night dragged on. Music turned from dance beats to lo-fi background hum. Eventually, Hanbin was yawning into his sleeve and rounding people up.
ᯓ★ˎˊ˗
Back at the dorm, everyone collapsed into their rooms one by one—Hao mumbling something about washing his face, Matthew vanishing without a word, Gunwook slapping Yujin on the back as he passed and whispered something about his bedtime.
Gyuvin looked over at Ricky across the hallway, both of them standing awkwardly in the quiet, empty living room. A lamp was still on. The room felt still again.
“You tired?” Gyuvin asked, voice low.
Ricky shook his head. “Not really.”
Gyuvin’s mouth twitched into a tired, crooked smile. “Same.”
They didn’t say anything else—just drifted toward the couch at the same time, collapsing into it with the kind of comfort that came from knowing they didn’t need to fill the silence anymore.
The living room was quiet, bathed in the soft golden glow of the last standing lamp. Everything felt hushed—like the room itself was holding its breath.
Gyuvin was curled up against the corner of the couch, one leg tucked beneath him, the other stretched out just close enough that his knee brushed against Ricky’s thigh. His head rested against the back cushion, eyes half-lidded, lashes fluttering now and then like he was blinking sleep away.
He looked soft like this. Hair tousled, lips a little swollen, cheeks still pink in the dim light. His usual energy had dimmed into something slower, lazier. Tender.
“I haven’t felt this tired in weeks,” he mumbled, barely above a whisper. His voice had gone all gravelly from sleep. “Like… my brain is melting a little bit.”
Ricky didn’t respond right away. He just turned his head slightly, watching Gyuvin in that quiet way he always did when he thought no one was looking. His fingers were resting against the seam of the couch cushion, but he could feel the warmth from Gyuvin’s knee close to his own. It was grounding.
“Then maybe you should go to bed,” Ricky murmured.
Gyuvin made a soft, disapproving sound. “Too far.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“You don’t mind.”
Ricky let a small smile curl at the corner of his mouth. “Unfortunately.”
Gyuvin leaned his head a little more in Ricky’s direction, eyes blinking open just enough to meet his gaze. His voice dropped, slower now. “Hey…”
“Mm?”
Gyuvin’s lips parted like he was about to say something else, but nothing came. Instead, he just looked at Ricky for a long beat, like that alone said more than whatever he was trying to put into words. He shifted slightly, and his hand came to rest gently on Ricky’s thigh, fingers splaying out lightly—absentminded but intentional.
Ricky felt his heart skip, then race. The touch wasn’t bold, but it sent a quiet heat crawling under his skin. He looked down at where Gyuvin’s hand rested, then back up into those half-lidded eyes, soft and hazy and open in a way that felt almost vulnerable.
“Are you always this clingy when you’re tired?” Ricky asked quietly.
Gyuvin smiled sleepily. “Only when I feel safe.”
That did something to Ricky—something low and aching and warm. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
Instead, he shifted closer.
Gyuvin didn’t move. He just blinked slowly, gaze dipping to Ricky’s mouth for half a second. It was enough.
Ricky leaned in, slow but sure this time, and kissed him.
It wasn’t like the kiss earlier on the swing—this one started soft, almost tentative, but it deepened quickly. Gyuvin melted into it immediately, his body leaning forward, hands sliding up to clutch at Ricky’s shoulders. His touch was eager but lazy, like he didn’t have the energy to hold back, didn’t want to.
Ricky parted his lips just slightly and Gyuvin followed without thinking, a quiet, breathy noise escaping him at the contact—almost a whimper, like he didn’t even realize it left his mouth.
The sound sent heat rushing through Ricky’s body. It startled Gyuvin too—he froze, just for a second, pulling back with a hand still on Ricky’s chest, eyes wide and cheeks flushing darker now.
“Shit,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—”
Ricky’s voice was calm, almost amused. “Gyuvin.”
Gyuvin swallowed, still not quite meeting his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Come to my room.”
Gyuvin’s gaze snapped up, caught somewhere between surprised and dazed. His breath hitched.
Ricky stood slowly, not breaking eye contact, then turned toward the hallway without another word. He didn’t need to look back to know Gyuvin was following—his footsteps were quiet, padding close behind like he was moving in a dream.
They slipped into Ricky’s room in silence, door clicking shut behind them like punctuation at the end of a sentence that wasn’t finished yet. The air between them was hot again, humming with something unspoken but loud.
Gyuvin hovered for a second just past the threshold, eyes darting toward Ricky, unsure but still waiting.
Ricky didn’t say anything—just stepped forward, reached for him, and kissed him again.
This time, Gyuvin sighed into it like he was exhaling all the noise from the party, the nerves from earlier, the confusion and wanting and hesitation. His arms wrapped around Ricky’s waist like instinct. He leaned in fully, pressing their bodies closer, and that same sound slipped out of him again—quieter, this time, but still unguarded.
Ricky’s back hit the mattress with a quiet thud, the room lit only by the faint glow of his bedside lamp. It cast soft golden shadows over everything, painting the walls in stillness. His breath caught when Gyuvin crawled on top of him, knees pressing into the sheets on either side of his hips.
They didn’t speak. They really didn’t need to.
Gyuvin’s fingers found the hem of Ricky’s shirt and paused there, eyes searching his face for a flicker of hesitation. There was none.
“Okay?” Gyuvin murmured, voice low and thick with something close to awe.
Ricky nodded, barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”
With a breath, Gyuvin lifted the shirt, tugging it over Ricky’s head. His hands were warm—shaky with nerves but reverent—and when the fabric was tossed to the side, he just sat there for a second, staring down at him. Like he didn’t know where to touch first.
Ricky reached up, brushing Gyuvin’s cheek with his knuckles. “You’re staring.”
“You’re hot,” Gyuvin whispered, the words almost involuntary.
Ricky’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile, but it faltered when Gyuvin ducked his head and pressed his lips to Ricky’s collarbone. Slow. Warm.
Gyuvin kissed his way down with no real rhythm—just instinct and hunger and too much feeling. His lips dragged over skin like he was learning it, mapping it, savoring every inch. His hands slid down Ricky’s sides, thumbs brushing bone and skin and the sharp lines of muscle like he was trying to memorize it all.
And when Ricky gasped, his back arching faintly into the contact, Gyuvin’s hand came up—fingers splaying gently across his mouth.
“Shh,” Gyuvin whispered, eyes fluttering up to meet his. “They’ll hear.”
Ricky’s breath hitched against his palm, eyes wide now—dark and blown and burning. He nodded once, almost helplessly, and Gyuvin leaned down again, mouthing at the center of his chest, his neck, his ribs—every spot he could reach. Slow at first, then deeper, more deliberate. The kind of kisses that left heat behind.
Ricky’s hands found Gyuvin’s shoulders, clutching lightly—not pulling, not rushing, just anchoring himself in the moment. His body trembled under the touch, quiet sounds muffled into Gyuvin’s hand when his mouth caught somewhere too sensitive.
Gyuvin chuckled softly against his skin, breath hot. “Don’t be so loud,” he teased, voice muffled where his lips pressed just below Ricky’s ribs.
Ricky shot him a look, half flustered, half exasperated. But he didn’t deny it.
Gyuvin grinned against his stomach, his thumb brushing gently along Ricky’s jaw, still cupping his mouth. “You’re lucky I like you.”
The tension was still there—buzzing between them like electricity—but it had shifted into something deeper now. Less frantic, more intimate. Every kiss, every glance, every muffled breath said things neither of them were brave enough to put into words yet.
Gyuvin’s hand moved slowly up Ricky’s side, careful but intent, fingertips tracing skin like he was drawing paths no one else had permission to follow. He glanced up again, eyes hooded but focused, searching Ricky’s face like he was looking for something.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low, breath ghosting across Ricky’s skin. His thumb rubbed just under his ribs, grounding. “I trust you to tell me if you’re not.”
“I’m okay,” Ricky whispered, his voice barely audible.
Gyuvin kissed the center of his chest again, then just below it. “Keep talking to me.”
Ricky swallowed, his fingers slipping into Gyuvin’s hair without thinking. “It’s good— I feel good…” he murmured.
Gyuvin hummed against his skin, clearly satisfied with the answer, but still not taking his eyes off him for long. He nudged Ricky’s legs open a little further and settled in between them like he belonged there. His hands were bolder now, warmer. Everything about him was careful, but not hesitant—like he knew what he was doing, he just didn’t want to miss anything.
Ricky’s breath stuttered when Gyuvin’s mouth dragged across a new spot—lower, softer, more sensitive. His head tipped back against the pillow, one hand clenching the sheet, the other tightening in Gyuvin’s hair.
“Okay?” Gyuvin questioned again, lips brushing his hipbone now.
Ricky nodded quickly. “Mm— Keep going…”
Gyuvin’s grin turned a little smug, but his voice stayed soft.
Ricky let out a quiet breath, nodding again, and said something back—low, steady Korean—but then Gyuvin’s mouth found a spot just under his waist, the kind of place no one had ever touched before quite like this, and Ricky’s breath caught.
A quiet, instinctive sound slipped past his lips—soft and breathy.
Gyuvin froze, eyebrows lifting as he glanced up. “Wait… what was that?”
Ricky blinked hard, dazed. “Huh?”
“That wasn’t Korean.” Gyuvin sat up slightly, hovering over him, curiosity written all over his face. “What did you just say?”
“I…” Ricky blinked again, cheeks flushing hard. “I don’t know, I’m sorry... I’m just—tired. I can’t think straight.”
Gyuvin let out a breathy laugh, delighted. “You’re tired, huh?” He leaned down, pressing a warm kiss to the underside of Ricky’s jaw. “Or maybe I just made you forget everything but your first language, mm?”
Ricky groaned softly, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Stop.”
Gyuvin nipped gently at the skin just below Ricky’s collarbone, lips curving into a grin. “You’re all flustered.”
“You’re annoying.”
“And you’re hot when you speak Mandarin.”
Ricky lifted his arm just enough to peek out from under it, shooting him a look. “Don’t say that.”
Gyuvin kissed him again, right over his heart this time. “Keep making sounds for me.”
Ricky’s entire body tensed, breath catching in his throat. “You’re—”
“Still listening,” Gyuvin cut in, voice muffled now. “Still touching you. Still here.”
The way he said it, half teasing, half sincere—it made something light in Ricky’s chest. And then Gyuvin moved again, this time hitting that spot with full intention, and Ricky arched, a choked-off sound breaking free.
Gyuvin didn’t stop. “There you go,” he murmured. “Just like that.”
His hands pressed gently against Ricky’s hips to steady him, his mouth trailing down again, hot and insistent and a little messy now. His hair was sticking to his forehead, and his breath was coming quicker, but he never once lost that sweet, attentive edge. Every time Ricky moved, he adjusted. Every time Ricky made a noise, he paused, like he needed to hear it again.
And when Ricky whispered something again—quiet, foreign, unfiltered—Gyuvin’s smile returned.
“God,” he breathed. “You really are tired.”
But he didn’t stop.
If anything, it just made him go slower. Deeper. Like he wanted to see what else he could pull out of him.
Gyuvin’s lips moved slow, but his hands were anything but idle—fingertips exploring Ricky’s skin like he was learning it, mapping every inch with quiet reverence. His breath was warm and heavy where it brushed over Ricky’s abdomen, chest rising and falling in uneven waves.
“Talk to me,” Gyuvin murmured again, voice gravel-soft, lips ghosting over the space just above Ricky’s waistband. “Tell me what you need.”
Ricky’s eyes fluttered open, dazed and hazy, the edges of the room fading behind Gyuvin’s face—so close, so focused, all that teasing energy pulled taut beneath the surface. Ricky’s fingers twitched where they rested on Gyuvin’s shoulders.
“I…” His voice caught, tongue dry against the roof of his mouth. “Touch me. There.”
Gyuvin’s brow arched slightly, not cruel, but intent. “Where, angel?”
Ricky flushed at the pet name, head turning slightly into the pillow. “You know.”
Gyuvin leaned in closer, lips brushing the curve of Ricky’s hip. “Maybe. But I want you to say it.”
Ricky whimpered softly, frustration curling at the edge of his voice. “Embarrassing…”
Gyuvin’s fingers skimmed just where Ricky was starting to ache, not quite touching. “Then whisper it. Just for me.”
Ricky’s breath hitched. His fingers curled tighter into Gyuvin’s shirt as he swallowed and whispered, “There… with your hand…”
And just like that, Gyuvin’s hand slid exactly where Ricky needed it, no hesitation. The contact was firm but careful, confident and slow, coaxing more breathy noises from Ricky’s parted lips. His back arched slightly, chest rising as he clung to Gyuvin’s arm, the tension in his thighs trembling with restraint.
Gyuvin was watching him like he was the only thing that existed. “Better?”
Ricky nodded rapidly, his head tipped back against the pillow, mouth parted. “Gyuvin… please don’t stop…”
Gyuvin didn’t stop. If anything, his touch got more precise, more in tune with every little shift of Ricky’s body. His free hand slipped under Ricky’s back, grounding him, anchoring him close.
“You sound so pretty,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss just below Ricky’s ear. “Saying my name like that… fuck.”
Ricky whimpered again, trying to muffle the sound into Gyuvin’s shoulder. His thighs trembled around Gyuvin’s waist, breath coming in ragged, broken pieces. But still, he kept speaking—soft, desperate, murmured between kisses and gasps, a mixture of Korean and Mandarin and half-broken syllables Gyuvin didn’t always understand, but felt all the same.
“Just like that,” Gyuvin coaxed, his lips brushing Ricky’s temple. “Tell me when it’s too much. Or not enough. I’ll give you anything.”
Ricky’s eyes fluttered open, dark and glassy, and for the first time, he looked at Gyuvin like he believed him.
Gyuvin’s fingers didn’t let up—if anything, they pressed deeper, more deliberate, more knowing. Ricky was already unraveling beneath him, hips twitching up into every pass of Gyuvin’s hand, body betraying just how close he was. The edge was sharp and hot, tugging tight through his spine, but just when it crested—
Gyuvin slowed.
Not enough to be cruel. Just enough to keep Ricky there, suspended, trembling with the effort not to fall apart.
“Qubing—” Ricky gasped, voice high and pleading, thighs tightening around Gyuvin’s waist. “Why… why’d you stop?”
“I didn’t stop,” Gyuvin said, low and coaxing, mouth moving along Ricky’s neck now, tongue flicking over his pulse point. “I’m getting you ready. Want you to feel everything.”
His fingers moved slick and easy now, teasing the sensitive skin behind Ricky’s length, gentle but firm as they traced lower. Ricky’s breath hitched—hips stuttering, thighs tensing—until Gyuvin found the spot he wanted and pressed slow, steady.
Ricky cried out, not loud but broken, his hands flying to clutch at Gyuvin’s wrist. “Oh my god—Gyuvin—”
“There you are,” Gyuvin whispered, kissing down Ricky’s chest, open-mouthed and warm. “That’s it, princess.”
The first finger eased in with care, and then another, working him open in patient circles, curling just right until Ricky was grinding down against his hand without even meaning to. Sweat beaded at Ricky’s temple. His legs trembled, and he bit down hard on his lower lip, trying to stay quiet—but Gyuvin noticed.
“Don’t hide now,” he said, voice tight with restraint, watching Ricky’s face as he worked him open. “You’re so good. So perfect like this. I want to hear you.”
Ricky could barely nod, let alone speak. His thighs kept twitching open wider, welcoming every pass of Gyuvin’s fingers, every slow curl inside that made him whimper and clutch the sheets. His cock lay flushed and leaking against his belly, twitching with each stroke of Gyuvin’s hand deeper inside.
He was unraveling. Slowly. Perfectly.
Ricky gasped, but the words slipped incoherently from his lips, like his brain had stopped bothering to translate thought into speech.
Gyuvin watched him closely, reading every tiny shift in Ricky’s body like it was his native language. “You feel that? How needy you are?” His fingers nudged that same sensitive spot again and again, until Ricky jerked with a sharp cry, hips leaving the bed. “I know, angel. I know. Let it happen. I’ve got you.”
Ricky moaned something half-formed, breath catching hard in his throat. His fingers tangled in Gyuvin’s shirt like he was drowning and needed something solid to hold onto. He didn’t even realize he was crying until Gyuvin leaned in and kissed the corner of his eye.
“Too much?” Gyuvin whispered, gentle. Ready to stop.
But Ricky shook his head wildly. “No, no—just—feels too good. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
Gyuvin didn’t. He took his time, worked Ricky open with aching patience, letting each movement build until Ricky was writhing under him, body begging for more with every stuttered breath and broken syllable. When Gyuvin finally pulled his fingers free, Ricky whimpered at the loss.
Then Gyuvin kissed him—slow, steady, grounding. “Ready?”
Ricky nodded again, but it was more instinct than thought. He couldn’t think anymore. His brain was static and fire and the sound of Gyuvin’s voice telling him he was good, that he was beautiful, that he was loved.
Gyuvin lined up and pushed in slow—inch by inch, not rushing it, letting Ricky feel every stretch, every inch. Ricky clutched at him with a strangled noise, eyes flying open wide, lips parting but nothing coming out but breath.
“That’s it, baby,” Gyuvin whispered, kissing across Ricky’s jaw, slow and open-mouthed. “You’re doing so well. Taking me so well.”
It wasn’t even about fucking, not really—not the way Gyuvin was looking at him. Not the way Ricky clung to him, panting into his shoulder like he’d break apart otherwise. It was too full, too deep, too much, and yet somehow not enough.
Gyuvin didn’t thrust right away. He stayed buried inside, holding Ricky’s hips, letting him adjust, kissing sweat from his brow. “Breathe with me,” he whispered. “We’re okay. I’m right here.”
Ricky nodded again, barely, and when Gyuvin finally started to move, it was slow and controlled—each roll of his hips careful, just enough to keep Ricky feeling everything without slipping too far too fast.
But even that was too much.
Ricky’s fingers clawed at Gyuvin’s back, desperate and aimless, his mouth dropping open around a gasp. “Gyuvin—too—feels—”
“I know, baby. Let it happen. Let me take care of you.”
Gyuvin’s pace stayed steady, not fast but relentless, angling deeper, pushing Ricky right back to the edge he’d been dangling over for minutes. Ricky’s thighs shook, his stomach tensed, every nerve ending wound tight. He wanted to beg for more, for less, for something he couldn’t name. But all he could do was cry out Gyuvin’s name, over and over, like it was the only word he still knew.
His orgasm hit without warning—ripping through him like a snap of heat, spine bowing off the bed, voice breaking apart mid-cry. He didn’t even touch himself. Didn’t need to. Gyuvin had wound him so tight that just the drag of his body and the sound of his voice was enough to make Ricky come hard between them, wet and hot across his belly.
But Gyuvin didn’t stop.
If anything, the sight of Ricky falling apart like that only made him fall deeper. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, hips stuttering now as he chased his own release. “So pretty.”
Ricky was boneless under him, breath shallow, skin flushed and damp. Gyuvin held him through the aftershocks, still buried deep but barely moving now, hips trembling with restraint. He let out a shaky breath against Ricky’s shoulder, then stilled completely.
After a few seconds, he started to pull out—careful, like he didn’t want to hurt him.
But Ricky’s hands slid down, fingers curling around Gyuvin’s hips.
“Don’t,” he whispered, voice raw and uneven. “Don’t go. Just… stay.”
Gyuvin froze, his breath catching. “I don’t want to push you too far. You’re still—”
“I want to feel you,” Ricky interrupted, eyes fluttering open, tired but focused. “Inside. Finish inside me.”
Gyuvin looked at him, hesitation flickering in his expression—care, caution, always watching for the lines. “Ricky…”
Ricky guided him back in, slow and steady, locking his legs gently around Gyuvin’s waist. “I want all of you. Please.”
And that was it—that soft please—that broke Gyuvin’s restraint. He pressed back in with a groan, slower now, deeper. His thrusts came shakier, messier, but still controlled, still reverent. Ricky’s hands roamed his back, grounding him, pulling him close as he whispered half-formed things in Korean and English, sweet and aching.
When Gyuvin finally came, it was with his forehead pressed to Ricky’s, their breath shared, bodies locked tight. He let out a quiet, broken sound, one hand fisting the sheets, the other clutching Ricky’s side like it was the only thing keeping him here.
They lay there afterward, tangled together in the stillness, bodies warm and sticky, chests rising and falling in uneven sync. Neither spoke at first. Gyuvin just kept brushing his fingers through Ricky’s hair, soft and slow, as if grounding both of them.
After a few minutes, Gyuvin murmured, “Shower?”
Ricky nodded sleepily, mouth brushing Gyuvin’s jaw. “Yeah. In a minute.”
Gyuvin smiled and kissed his temple. “Okay. Just stay like this a little longer.”
And they did—quiet and close, the rest of the world shut out, just skin and breath and trust.
Gyuvin shifted first, gentle as he unwrapped Ricky’s legs from around him. “Alright,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Ricky’s shoulder. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”
Ricky hummed something noncommittal and floppy, half-asleep against the pillow, but Gyuvin just grinned.
“Oh no,” he said softly, brushing sweaty hair from Ricky’s cheek. “You don’t get to melt into the sheets like that. You asked me to ruin you, and I did. Now I get to take care of you.”
He slid out slowly, drawing a soft, exhausted noise from Ricky, who winced just a little as the cool air hit his skin. Gyuvin kissed his thigh in apology, then stood up, stretching briefly before heading to the bathroom. The sound of the shower starting filled the room, and a minute later, Gyuvin returned—naked, a little flushed, holding out his hand like a prince.
“Come on, your royal highness.”
Ricky laughed lightly, eyes squinting open. “Dramatic.”
“You love it,” Gyuvin said, helping him sit up. He was warm, careful, supporting Ricky’s weight as he guided him off the bed. “Let me spoil you.”
Ricky muttered something under his breath in Mandarin that made Gyuvin grin even wider.
The shower was already fogging up the mirror, warm steam curling around them as Gyuvin helped Ricky step inside. The heat hit instantly, and Ricky sighed, letting it soothe the soreness in his muscles. He leaned against the tile for a second, eyes closed.
He stepped in behind him, arms slipping around Ricky’s waist, chest to back. “Let me,” he whispered.
He reached for the body wash, lathering it between his hands before starting with Ricky’s shoulders—slow, firm circles, rubbing into the knots there. Down his arms, his back, his sides. All while murmuring quiet nothings into his ear.
“‘M sore,” Ricky said, pouting a little but not moving away. “You did that.”
“Yeah, but I’m also fixing it. Princess service.”
Ricky laughed softly, but it was caught when Gyuvin knelt behind him and started washing his legs, tender and focused. “You’re—Gyuvin, you don’t have to—”
“Shh. Stay still.” Gyuvin looked up at him with mock seriousness, suds running down his forearms. “Your Highness, you’re being bathed. There’s no talking during royal treatment.”
Ricky blushed but obeyed, standing quietly while Gyuvin worked down to his ankles, gently lifting each foot like he was handling something delicate. He rinsed him off with a careful hand, then reached up to start washing his hair, fingers massaging into Ricky’s scalp with slow, indulgent movements.
Ricky leaned into it without meaning to, lips parted slightly as he fed into Gyuvin’s childish roleplay. “As you wish.”
Gyuvin chuckled low against his shoulder. “Generous of you.”
By the time they were rinsed off, Ricky’s limbs felt like jelly again, but in a different way—loose and clean and warm. Gyuvin grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Ricky like a cloak, pulling him into his chest and holding him there for a second.
They dried off together, playful touches and lazy smiles exchanged between soft kisses. Gyuvin tugged a brush through Ricky’s damp hair afterward, carefully, like he was scared of pulling too hard. And when Ricky finally curled up on the bed again, Gyuvin followed, wrapping around him, skin still warm from the shower.
“You still sore?” he asked into Ricky’s hair.
“Little,” Ricky said sleepily.
Gyuvin smirked, already pulling the blanket up around them. “Good.”
The room was dim when they slipped under the covers again, skin still damp in places, hair curling softly at the edges. Gyuvin curled around Ricky like instinct—one arm under his neck, the other across his waist, palm splayed against his stomach like he didn’t want to let him drift too far.
Ricky shifted just enough to reach toward the bedside table, flicking off the lamp. The soft click of it was the only sound for a while, plunging the room into a kind of hushed blue stillness. Outside, the sky was still dark, but just barely. The first hints of morning were starting to bleed in at the edges of the blinds.
Ricky let out a slow breath, chest rising under Gyuvin’s arm. His voice, when it came, was quiet. “Does this mean something to you?”
Gyuvin blinked up at the ceiling, eyes tracking nothing, fingers tracing idle shapes along Ricky’s ribs. “You mean tonight?”
“No.” Ricky paused. “I mean… all of it.”
Gyuvin didn’t answer right away, and for a second Ricky thought maybe he’d pushed too hard too soon. But then Gyuvin turned his head just slightly, nose brushing Ricky’s temple, his breath warm against his skin.
“Yeah,” he said. Soft. Honest. “Of course it does.”
Ricky swallowed, eyelids fluttering. “It’s not just something we’re doing because it feels good, right?”
Gyuvin’s grip tightened a little. Not possessive, just anchoring. “No. Not for me.”
There was another pause. Not tense—just quiet. Like neither of them wanted to mess up the shape of what they were building between them.
“I think…” Gyuvin started, then stopped. “No. I know I’ve felt this coming for a while. I just didn’t want to name it before you were ready.”
“I didn’t know I was,” Ricky said. “Until you touched me like that.”
He turned then, just slightly, enough to face Gyuvin in the dark. Their legs tangled together more securely. His voice was low, uncertain in that way that meant it was true.
“You made it feel safe.”
Gyuvin kissed him. Barely there. Just lips pressed to lips like a promise, not a question.
“You’re safe with me,” he said. “Even if this turns into something messy. Even if we figure it out one piece at a time.”
Ricky pressed his forehead to Gyuvin’s, eyes closed. “I don’t want to pretend this is just physical.”
“It’s not,” Gyuvin whispered. “Not even close.”
Outside, the sky began to lighten—barely. The navy bled into a dusty gray-blue, and the silhouette of the window frame sharpened. Birds hadn’t started yet. The world was still asleep.
Gyuvin’s thumb brushed just under Ricky’s eye. “Do you want this to be something?”
Ricky let the question hang for a second, then nodded, eyes still closed.
“Yeah. I think I do.”
They didn’t need to define it. Not right away. There was too much heat still cooling between them, too many racing thoughts slowing to a steady heartbeat. But they didn’t turn away, either. They let themselves rest in the in-between.
The sun cracked over the horizon slowly, spilling soft light across the bed. Ricky turned his face into Gyuvin’s shoulder, his voice just a breath.
“Will you still hold me like this tomorrow?”
Gyuvin tightened his arms around him.
“I’ll hold you like this every day you let me.”
And eventually, with skin warmed by light and breath syncing quiet between them, they fell asleep—tangled, bare, and held. Something beginning. Something real.