the city breathed in dusk, exhaling light in flickering neon veins, the streets murmuring with the hum of life winding down. soobin walked with his hands buried in his coat pockets, shoulders hunched against the bite of early winter. beside him, yeonjun strode with effortless grace, as though the cold bent itself around him, reluctant to touch.

they had always been like this, walking parallel through the world, their footsteps almost synchronized, their shadows stretching long and merging beneath the glow of streetlamps. the air between them, thick with something unspoken, something neither had dared to name.

"you're quiet tonight," yeonjun mused, his voice slipping into the spaces between the city's distant horns and the shuffle of feet on pavement.

soobin huffed a breath that fogged in front of him. "just thinking."

"dangerous habit." yeonjun smirked, but his gaze was searching, glinting in the half-light.

soobin tilted his head slightly, as if considering. the truth was, he had been thinking too much. thinking about the way yeonjun's laughter curled around his ribs, how his presence felt like standing too close to a fire. warm, intoxicating, a little reckless. thinking about the brush of yeonjun's fingertips against his wrist earlier that day, an accident that had sent something sharp and shivering down his spine.

"wanna tell me about it?" yeonjun nudged his shoulder, a fleeting touch.

soobin hesitated, then exhaled. "it's nothing important."

yeonjun gave him a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. "you say that, but you're brooding. you do that thing where your eyebrows knit together, like you're trying to solve the meaning of life."

soobin rolled his eyes. "maybe i am."

yeonjun snorted. "well, let me know when you figure it out. i'll be here, waiting to benefit from your genius."

they turned a corner, the streets quieter now, the noise of the world dampened by distance. above them, the sky stretched deep and endless, a navy canvas pricked with stars.

soobin stole a glance at yeonjun, at the way his jawline caught the streetlight, the way his lips curved around a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"you're staring," yeonjun murmured, voice lower now, the teasing edge softened into something quieter.

soobin's pulse jumped, but he held his ground. "am not."

"liar." yeonjun stopped walking, and soobin, unprepared, stumbled to a halt beside him.

the space between them crackled, something electric in the air, something fragile. yeonjun tilted his head, studying him, the way a painter studies his canvas before the first stroke.

"soobin," he said, and the way his name curled in yeonjun's mouth felt like a question and an answer all at once.

soobin swallowed. "what?"

yeonjun stepped closer, just a fraction, close enough that soobin could count the constellations in his eyes. his voice, when he spoke again, was quieter still.

"what are we?"

soobin's breath caught. he had thought about this. endlessly, ceaselessly, in the hush of night and the quiet of mornings. the way their friendship stretched at the seams, threatening to become something else. the way yeonjun looked at him sometimes, like he was something worth chasing, worth keeping.

he didn't know what to say.

so he didn't say anything at all.

but he moved. a fraction, a breath, an inch closer. and yeonjun, who had always been braver, bolder, closed the distance between them with the ease of someone stepping into the inevitable.

his lips were warm against the winter air, soft against soobin's own, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the space they occupied, to the quiet press of their mouths and the way yeonjun's fingers curled at the hem of soobin's sleeve, as if anchoring himself.

when they parted, the silence between them was no longer heavy with uncertainty but something else, something sweeter.

soobin exhaled a small, breathless laugh. "guess that answers your question."

yeonjun grinned, eyes alight. "yeah. guess it does."

they kept walking, shoulders brushing, and this time, when yeonjun's fingers brushed against his, soobin didn't pull away.

"we should go back," soobin muttered at last, voice barely rising above the ambiance.

yeonjun's lips quirked. "why?"

soobin exhaled, watching the vapor dissipate. "it's late."

"and?" yeonjun turned to him then, eyes gleaming with something indefinable. teasing, perhaps. probing.

soobin didn't answer immediately, only kicking at a loose pebble on the pavement. it clattered forward, then stilled.

yeonjun sighed, feigning exasperation. "you always do this."

"do what?"

"shrink into yourself." yeonjun halted, causing soobin to stop a step ahead. when he turned, yeonjun was scrutinizing him, head cocked. "sometimes, i think you want to disappear."

soobin's jaw tensed. "that's ridiculous."

yeonjun hummed noncommittally, then resumed walking. for a moment, soobin hesitated before following. the weight of unspoken words thickened between them, but yeonjun, ever the provocateur, was not one to let things fester.

"do you ever wonder why we always end up like this?" yeonjun asked.

"like what?"

yeonjun gestured vaguely. "walking in circles. talking in half-measures."

soobin bristled. "we talk just fine."

yeonjun chuckled, but it lacked mirth. "sure."

the conversation lapsed again, but now it thrummed with an unignorable tension.

soobin thought about the years spent orbiting yeonjun. how his presence had become a fixed point in his life, constant yet impossible to grasp fully. yeonjun was sunlight filtering through dense foliage, illuminating only fragments. sometimes blinding, sometimes warm. always just out of reach.

he knew yeonjun felt it too, the precariousness of their closeness, teetering on an edge neither dared define. but yeonjun was reckless where soobin was cautious, always pressing at boundaries, seeing how far they would bend before snapping.

tonight felt no different.

they reached an intersection, the red traffic light casting a muted glow over their faces. yeonjun turned suddenly, stepping into soobin's space.

"tell me something true."

soobin's pulse stuttered. "what?"

yeonjun's gaze was steady, unwavering. "something real. not the half-truths you think i want to hear."

soobin swallowed. his throat felt tight.

the truth?

the truth was that yeonjun had always been a storm in his life, unpredictable, impossible to ignore. the truth was that he'd spent years pretending not to notice the way yeonjun's laughter settled in his chest, the way his absence left an ache. the truth was that he was tired of pretending.

but saying it aloud meant risking the equilibrium they had built, however fragile.

yeonjun's expression softened, as if sensing the war waging inside him.

"forget it," he said lightly, though his eyes betrayed something else. disappointment? resignation?

the light turned green.

yeonjun stepped forward, and soobin, rooted in place, watched him go.

soobin followed, though his steps felt heavier than before. yeonjun didn't look back, didn't wait, as if he already knew soobin would trail behind like he always did.

the walk home was quiet. the city stretched around them, its neon veins pulsating, casting flickering reflections onto the wet pavement. somewhere, a siren wailed, distant yet intrusive. the world moved, but inside this fragile bubble of silence, they remained suspended.

their apartment was only a few blocks away, a small space they had shared for long enough that it no longer felt borrowed. the familiarity of it—the scuffed wooden floors, the way the kitchen light flickered before stabilizing—welcomed them like a sigh.

yeonjun kicked off his shoes with careless ease and disappeared into his room without a word. the door didn't shut all the way. it never did.

soobin stood in the entryway for a moment, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. the air inside was warm, but he still felt cold.

his own room was neat, untouched except for the rumpled sheets on his bed. he shed his coat, draping it over his chair before sinking onto the mattress. he could hear yeonjun moving beyond the thin walls—shuffling, the rustling of clothes, the creak of bedsprings.

soobin exhaled and lay back, staring at the ceiling.

tell me something true.

yeonjun's words had burrowed deep, unsettling something inside him.

but what did yeonjun want to hear? the truth? or just proof that soobin felt the same inexplicable thing between them?

the hours slipped by. at some point, soobin must have dozed off, but when he woke, the room was still cloaked in darkness.

a faint sound.

he turned his head. yeonjun stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light from the hallway.

"you're awake," yeonjun murmured.

soobin didn't reply, just blinked sleep from his eyes.

yeonjun hesitated, then took a few steps inside. he was in an old sweatshirt, sleeves pulled over his hands, hair slightly mussed. vulnerable in a way that daylight never allowed.

"couldn't sleep," he admitted, voice quieter than usual.

soobin shifted, making space instinctively. he didn't have to ask. yeonjun had done this before—on nights when the silence was too loud, when something nameless clawed at the edges of his mind.

yeonjun hesitated only a second longer before slipping beneath the covers, settling beside him.

warmth bled into the space between them.

neither spoke.

it wasn't the first time, but it still made soobin's heart beat uncomfortably loud in his chest.

yeonjun turned onto his side, close enough that soobin could make out the curve of his jaw, the way the faint glow from the window outlined his features.

"you never answered," yeonjun murmured.

soobin swallowed. "answered what?"

"something true."

soobin's fingers curled into the sheets.

he could lie. he could deflect. he could pretend, like always, that this wasn't something more.

but yeonjun was staring at him, waiting.

soobin inhaled.

"i—" his voice faltered.

yeonjun didn't push, just watched, patient and devastating.

soobin let out a shaky breath.

"you," he said at last, the word barely more than air. "you're true."

yeonjun stilled.

then, slowly, something in his expression shifted—something raw, something real.

he reached out, hesitant at first, before his fingers found soobin's. a silent understanding passed between them, something fragile yet unbreakable.

the space between them no longer felt insurmountable.

soobin wasn't sure when warmth became synonymous with yeonjun, but lying here now, their fingers barely linked, he knew there was no point denying it anymore. yeonjun was warmth. the kind that seeped past his skin and settled deep, the kind that made the cold feel distant even when winter pressed against the windows.

yeonjun didn't pull away. he just lay there, close enough that soobin could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing, steady and real. his hand curled slightly, grip tightening around soobin's, thumb brushing over his knuckles absentmindedly. soobin swallowed, fighting the way his chest ached with something unnamed.

neither of them spoke. there was no need.

the silence between them had never been empty—not like the silences soobin shared with others, the ones that stretched awkward and brittle, waiting to be filled. this silence was thick, heavy with things unspoken yet understood.

after a while, yeonjun shifted, rolling onto his back, their hands still loosely intertwined. his voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

"you should've told me sooner."

soobin turned his head, watching him. the dim glow from the streetlights outside cast long shadows over his face, turning his features soft, almost delicate.

"would it have changed anything?" soobin asked, voice barely above a whisper.

yeonjun let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. "i don't know." he squeezed soobin's hand, then let go, only to shift closer, pressing his forehead against soobin's shoulder. "probably not. but maybe it wouldn't have felt like i was losing my mind every time i looked at you."

soobin's breath hitched. "yeonjun..."

"mm."

soobin hesitated, then moved carefully, slipping an arm around yeonjun's waist. he expected him to tease, to laugh, to make some sly comment about how soft he was being. but yeonjun only exhaled, long and slow, before melting into him.

soobin felt it then—the weight yeonjun always carried, the tension he hid so well behind easy smiles and careless words. here, in the quiet of the night, he let it slip.

soobin's hand settled against the small of yeonjun's back, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles. yeonjun made a small sound, barely audible, and pressed closer, tucking himself into soobin's space like he belonged there.

maybe he did.

soobin didn't know how long they stayed like that, tangled in the quiet, but at some point, his eyelids grew heavy. sleep pulled at him, soft and insistent, and with yeonjun warm against him, he didn't fight it.

just before he drifted off, he felt yeonjun shift slightly, breath ghosting over his skin.

"you're true too," yeonjun murmured, barely more than a sigh.

soobin's heart ached.

an hour passed, or maybe more—it was hard to tell with yeonjun nestled against him, warmth seeping through soobin's every pore. the world outside was distant, quiet, a low hum beyond the walls, but here in this small, shared space, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of yeonjun's breath against his skin, the steady rhythm of his pulse under his fingers.

soobin wasn't sure when it happened, but sometime in the middle of their tangled silence, yeonjun shifted again, his arm slipping across soobin's waist, pulling them even closer. soobin could feel the slight tremble in his movements, and for a brief moment, he wondered if yeonjun was just as overwhelmed by this unspoken, unacknowledged thing between them.

it was comforting in a way soobin couldn't explain. it wasn't just affection or companionship—it was something deeper, something that felt like it could become too much, too overwhelming to control, but neither of them seemed inclined to let go.

yeonjun's lips brushed over soobin's collarbone, a fleeting, almost careless gesture, and soobin shivered involuntarily.

"you okay?" yeonjun murmured, his voice muffled against soobin's skin.

soobin smiled softly, fingers carding through yeonjun's hair, tugging him closer. "yeah. just... just wanted to stay like this for a while."

yeonjun hummed in agreement, then suddenly shifted, pulling away just enough to look up at soobin. the space between them was thick with something unsaid. soobin could see the faint shadow of unease in yeonjun's eyes.

"i'm probably... being clingy, huh?" yeonjun muttered, pulling himself back slightly, his fingers now trailing the edge of the blanket in a distracted pattern. "you don't mind, do you? i mean, it's... it's fine if you do. i just... i don't know."

soobin's heart twisted. he reached out, gently cupping yeonjun's cheek, guiding his face back up. "you're not clingy," soobin said softly. "you're just... you."

yeonjun's lips twitched, like he didn't quite believe him, and before soobin could say anything else, yeonjun had shifted again, sitting up.

"i'm just gonna—" yeonjun started, but he didn't finish the sentence. instead, he grabbed his hoodie from the chair, moving toward the door with a determined, almost stiff gait.

soobin watched him, brow furrowing as yeonjun opened the door and slipped out into the hallway, shutting it quietly behind him.

soobin waited for a moment. the silence in the room felt unnerving now. the absence of yeonjun's warmth left a strange void in the air.

after a few minutes, soobin found himself sitting up, throwing the blanket off, and walking toward the door.

he didn't know what it was—maybe it was the way yeonjun had pulled away, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, or maybe it was just the fact that he couldn't stand the thought of being apart from him for too long.

he opened the door quietly, his bare feet padding across the hallway as he moved toward the staircase. yeonjun wasn't in their shared space, and soobin paused, taking in the faint glow of light from the hallway window.

and then he saw yeonjun, leaning against the wall outside, cigarette in hand, looking up at the night sky with a distant expression.

soobin hesitated. he'd never really been fond of the way yeonjun smoked, but tonight... tonight he didn't mind.

yeonjun's back straightened as he heard soobin's footsteps, and he glanced over his shoulder, a faint surprise in his eyes when he saw him standing there.

"you didn't have to follow me out here," yeonjun said quietly, his voice almost sheepish as he took a slow drag from his cigarette.

soobin shrugged, hands in his pockets. "i thought you'd be gone for longer."

yeonjun's gaze softened, and he took another drag, exhaling slowly. "i'm not running away."

"good," soobin replied, his tone steady, but his eyes lingering on yeonjun's face.

the air between them was thick again, and soobin took a few steps closer, standing just beside yeonjun. the night was still, save for the occasional gust of wind, but this—this felt different.

yeonjun flicked the cigarette away and turned to face soobin fully. his eyes met soobin's, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. the unsaid words hovered between them, weighty, like the anticipation before a storm.

soobin leaned in then, slow and deliberate. yeonjun's eyes widened, but he didn't pull away. when their lips met, it was tentative at first, a brush, like they were testing the waters. soobin's heart skipped as he felt the warmth of yeonjun's lips, the softness of his mouth, the faint taste of him lingering on the edges of his senses.

but then yeonjun responded, a soft sigh slipping from his lips as he leaned into the kiss, his arms reaching for soobin, pulling him closer. their bodies aligned effortlessly, as if they had done this a thousand times before. soobin's hands slid up to yeonjun's neck, fingers threading through his hair as he deepened the kiss, feeling the pulse of desire settle between them like an undeniable force.

yeonjun's grip on soobin tightened, pulling him flush against him, and soobin didn't resist. instead, he melted into the embrace, the heat of their bodies mixing with the cold of the night air. the kiss was messy, hungry in its desperation, but there was something tender about it too—something raw, unspoken.

when they finally pulled apart, breaths mingling, yeonjun's forehead rested against soobin's. his eyes were soft, almost vulnerable in a way soobin wasn't used to seeing.

"sorry if i'm... clingy," yeonjun murmured, his voice barely audible against soobin's skin. "but i don't really want to be apart from you right now."

soobin smiled, a small, quiet thing that only yeonjun would see. "you don't have to apologize," soobin whispered back. "i don't mind at all."

and with that, yeonjun let out a breath of relief, his arms tightening around soobin again. this time, it wasn't just the warmth of their bodies—it was something more, something real, something neither of them could run from.

they stood there for a while, wrapped in each other's presence, the night around them still and silent. it was a moment of peace, of understanding, of the kind of closeness neither of them had ever dared to name.

but it was enough. it always had been.

my yj drawing ↓↓↓