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Chapter Text

Five weeks out.

Kang Taehyun kissed Choi Beomgyu for the first time the day after their World Cup match against the USA.

I considered it, He’d said of kissing Beomgyu right there on the field. And who wouldn’t have, after a goal like that--the kind of indescribably serendipitous blind kick that most players only experience once in their career?

I’d considered it, Taehyun had said. But he hadn’t done it, not then. He’d waited.

The problem with Choi Beomgyu is that he never really waits for much of anything. He never stops, never thinks, just runs.

The lights over this Chilean stadium cast a warm glow over the steadily dimming field. The last of the sun has disappeared below the stands, leaving a pink aura to mingle with the evening’s blue. It’s soft. Beautiful.

Silent.

This time, the sound never fades in.

Beomgyu sees the stands, sees a familiar ocean of red erupting into cacophony and disorder, sees his teammates kneeling in the grass and fighting remnant momentum towards the Chilean goal, but hears nothing but the sound of his own footfalls. He feels the heat below his skin, the sweat dripping from his hair, the wind pushing against him.

The timer reads 00:34 when Kang Taehyun scores the goal that just barely secures his team a spot in his second World Cup. Taehyun is moments away from being enveloped by a delirious, grass stained mess of red uniforms moving as one from all directions, but his gaze is up. Unmistakable.

Beomgyu runs towards him, and God only knows what happens next.

Three weeks out.

Contrary to all that he might say, Beomgyu isn’t quite invincible. The year he started to fall for Kang Taehyun, FC Daegu got destroyed 3-0 to Seoul in K-Leagues. He didn’t live that down for months.

Seoul and Daegu were both promptly humbled by Jeonbuk Hyundai, who’d been ranked first in League 1 for years even before that fateful season. Jeonbuk had taken one look at Daegu and decided almost to immediately buy up one lucky player for the whopping transfer amount of 65 trillion won.

That player was one Yang Jeongin, who now comfortably makes three times Beomgyu’s salary. He still texts Beomgyu his oceanside musings from the Busan McMansion he bought his parents.

For the vast majority of the club, however, a handful of losses didn’t change much. Sure, last year saw Yoongi’s enlistment (and far too many tears), but with Kibum accepting stand-in captaincy, FC Daegu lived to play another day. They’ve practiced non-stop on hard dirt and fresh grass for as long as Beomgyu’s loved the game, so he knows his team is bound to keep fighting forever. Stubborn and fierce as their strongest midfielder.

With the national team, however, Beomgyu has found that every game brings with it a new plethora of surprises. He’s lived through back-to-back matches and whirlwind trips from Madrid to New York to Qatar, through field injuries and locker room arguments, through countless nights lazing around on the cool tile of his Cheonan dorm.

Somewhere along the way, Choi Beomgyu turned 23. As old as the lovely Choi Yeonjun was when he played his second World Cup and won something a little better than a trophy.

Beomgyu himself has won his fair share of matches, accolades, and records over the past four years. There have been trends on Youtube, tens of thousands of Tweets, and--

“11.4 million likes,” Yeonjun says breathlessly, flinging open Beomgyu’s dorm door at 3 in the morning. He’s a dark, panting silhouette against the fluorescent glow of the corridor.

Beomgyu figures Yeonjun must have regressed back to his old methods of expelling anxiety, but this newfound obsession with TikTok was something he couldn’t have predicted at 19. Beomgyu rolls over to face the wall with an irritated sound.

Soobin lets out a musical snore, undisturbed by the intrusion, one of his arms dangling precariously over the tile floor.

“Beomgyu-yah, you’re fucking famous.”

“Can’t this--wait until morning?”

Yeonjun’s eyes widen, bright and sparkling even in darkness. Even the crickets must have silenced by now. “That’s more than the population of all of Seoul, you dimwit.” He clicks his tongue, slipping into satoori that’s somehow increased in fluency since he and Beomgyu stopped sharing a room. Now he’s just a few lessons short of cursing like a native. “It’s like… it’s like all of Seoul and all of Daegu put together.”

Beomgyu says nothing, chasing the fading dregs of a good dream.

Soobin snores again, and then again, and then the third time it’s cut short by a thud and a yelp. “Wh--Hyung, what th--fuck?” Poor guy. “Jesus--fuck!”

“Hi, Soobinie!”

“Are you drunk?”

“On life, baby!”

They’re going to wake up the entire floor. Beomgyu whisper-screams into the wall. “Can you guys shut up? Do you know what time it is?”

Soobin tries to squeak out an apology. “I don’t, Gyu, I’m sorry.” It’s all but swallowed up by Yeonjun’s faux-guileless laughter.

Not bothering to glance over, Beomgyu pulls his pillow out from under his head and tosses it weakly in the direction of the sound. Yeonjun reacts with a stunning impression of the Roblox death noise. “Darling Beomgyu,” he sighs after a second, only slightly strained. “How do you live with such hatred in your heart?”

Soobin makes a weak, conceding sound from under Yeonjun.

Beomgyu really does pity the guy. He can’t understand what it is about Yeonjun that has warranted eight years (and counting) of Soobin’s utmost love and affection. The mere thought makes Beomgyu feel a little nauseated.

He must verbalize this in some incoherent manner, because Yeonjun says, “Ouch,” and the resulting silence is more than enough to convey that he’s kissing Soobin.

“I’m still here,” Beomgyu wails, pulling his covers over his head. “You can’t sexile me from my own room.”

Unfortunately, saying that doesn’t quite make it true. A man can dream.

Beomgyu wishes almost every day that they hadn’t had the bright idea to rearrange their housing arrangement in this specific configuration, but after a week long feud with Yeonjun over something he’s since forgotten, and taking into account Kai’s adamant refusal to let the lovebirds cohabitate out of fear of discovery, this is what the five of them settled on.

90% of the time, Beomgyu loves living with Soobin. Their room is quiet but alive, with late nights colored by introspective conversations and K-Drama binges. They share secrets and laughter and huddle together against the winter’s cold like real brothers, and brother-figure status is an honor of the highest degree in Beomgyu’s book.

This moment is part of the other 10%. Beomgyu adores both Yeonjun and Soobin more than he’d care to admit, but lately, he can’t quite seem to cope with them being in the same place at the same time. Especially not in Beomgyu’s room at 3 in the fucking morning.

“No one’s sexiling you,” Soobin says, but his voice is shaking.

“I’m sexiling you,” Yeonjun says cheerily. “Get out.”

Beomgyu has toed the line before. He knows that when Yeonjun says to get out, he’s probably better off just listening. There are some things a guy just can’t unsee.

That doesn’t stop Beomgyu from whacking Yeonjun (and Soobin, inadvertently) with his fallen pillow just once more for good measure before he leaves. Pausing in the doorway, Beomgyu looks coldly at the pair of them--a single, unmoving blob in the darkness. “Choi Yeonjun, consider yourself warned,” he says quietly. “I’m gonna get you real good next time, just wait.”

Then Beomgyu closes the door and mindlessly shuffles across the glowing corridor to the room Yeonjun usually shares with Kang Taehyun.

He doesn’t knock. He just lets his head fall against the door with a thunk, and barely a second passes before it creaks open and Beomgyu is falling forward.

Taehyun catches him, as always, stumbling backwards into his room as Beomgyu melts into an incoherent, aggravated mess in his arms. “You look like you just got hit by a bus,” he says, quiet enough that it’s barely more than a reverberation through Beomgyu’s limp body. Then he kicks the door closed behind them.

Lazily, Beomgyu wraps his arms around Taehyun’s waist. He lifts his head weakly, not bothering to straighten up, and sees little more than the curve of Taehyun’s jaw in his blurred periphery. “I’m cute,” he says, voice still a little scratchy. “Did I wake you up?”

“Yes,” Taehyun says flatly. It’s a lie; the upturned phone screen on his bed and the undisturbed covers betray it.

Narrowing his eyes, Beomgyu squirms away to take a seat on the bed. Taehyun looks down at him curiously, his face just barely illuminated by the distant light of his phone and the few glowing buildings beyond the window. “What?”

“We should change rooms. We should…” There’s no articulate way to say it. I want to be with you.

Over the past four years, Beomgyu’s eloquence has taken a few hits as well. Perhaps it’s a product of spending most of his free time with someone who talks like a college professor.

(Well, they kind of switch speech patterns when they’re drunk, but that’s besides the point.)

Taehyun scrunches up his face. “Why?”

Beomgyu’s expression flattens. “Yah, Kang Taehyun. Do you want to get hit?”

“I could literally take you. We’ve been over this.”

“Fine, then. Let’s go.” Beomgyu shoves Taehyun away from him, delighting in how the shock widens Taehyun’s eyes to twice their usual size. Then Beomgyu gets knocked upside the head, and within seconds he’s dragging Taehyun down to the bed. They grapple at each other like kids, laughing soundlessly at missed punches and cursing like they’ve just learned how.

Before long, Taehyun exhales a sigh and falls quite unceremoniously on top of Beomgyu, who just curls his hair in Taehyun’s dark hair and breathes out a final laugh. He’s awake now, conscious of his every sensation, but he’s so warm that it’s only a matter of time before he drifts off again.

“You just can’t get enough of me,” Taehyun mutters against his neck, more a statement than a question.

“You really need to stop projecting, you know that?”

“Why else would you want us to room together?”

Beomgyu doesn’t answer, instead pushing Taehyun off towards the wall and rolling onto his side to face him.

Taehyun’s eyes are dark and undisturbed. He’s an insomniac--it’s one of the first things Beomgyu ever learned about him.

But when Beomgyu casts an arm carelessly over Taehyun’s waist and says, “Let’s go to sleep, man,” he knows he has nothing to worry about.

Taehyun may be an insomniac, but tonight, Beomgyu watches his eyes flutter closed and wonders when this became so easy.

I want to be there when you need someone, even if you can’t admit that you do. You’ve always been there for me, whether I like it or not.

There’s no articulate way to say it. Even historically, Beomgyu’s never been the best at Korean language.

For now, he lifts his hand to brush over Taehyun’s hair and watches his eyes open again.

“Taehyun?”

“Hm?”

“I just got sexiled. We need to get back at Yeonjun.”

“Beomgyu.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you shut up and let me sleep?”

Beomgyu smiles, holding Taehyun’s head to the crook of his neck. He’s incredibly warm. “My bad. Sleep well.”

---

It’s around 8 the next morning when Beomgyu’s reminded of a certain immutable truth: Kai is always right.

The door swings open with the sound of cracking thunder, and Han Jisung is breathless as he says, “Dude, Taehyun, you need to see--”

The rest of his sentence dies on his tongue as he catches sight of Beomgyu, curled into Taehyun like a cat with his long hair static-filled and haloed around his head.

Beomgyu stares at the white of the wall, playing dead. He’s suddenly conscious of everywhere he and Taehyun are touching--a warm arm cast over his chest, his head on Taehyun’s shoulder, their legs tangled under the sheets.

The door does not close. Neither does Han Jisung speak for a long five seconds, before he laughs anxiously and says, “That’s chill. Like, that’s cool. I’m cool with that. Not that you asked. Sorry, I’m gonna--”

Then the door slams shut and Beomgyu scrambles out of bed, tugging the sheets so harshly that Taehyun tumbles onto the wooden floor with a thud and a contented sigh.

Beomgyu races out into the hall to catch Jisung a matter of paces away. He feels the leg of his sweatpants bunched up around his calf, his hair wild, his throat dry. Jisung’s eyes are wide, but his lips are pressed together in something that’s half appreciative.

They both start to speak at once.

“Hannie hyung, I swear it’s not what you think--”

“Don’t even worry about it, Gyu, I love gay people--”

So Han Jisung wins. Beomgyu’s words catch in his throat, his mouth hanging open in shock.

Jisung too, looks a little caught off guard. His rounded cheeks begin to flush a pastel red. “What I--What I mean is, like, I’m not--gay, but--”

“Hyung, what?” Beomgyu blinks, quickly remembering the nature of his task. “I’m not--we weren’t--we’re bros.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. You can--yeah, sleeping with your bro isn’t gay.” Jisung exhales sharply. “I mean, I--I do it all the time, it’s not--”

Beomgyu’s mouth falls slightly open again. “What?” He repeats unintelligently. “What do you mean by… sleep--”

“I love gay people,” Jisung reiterates, holding his hands out in front of him for emphasis. The blush is starting to creep down his neck to the collar of his black T-shirt. “I just… at least I don’t think I’m gay--”

At a loss, Beomgyu slumps against the wall. “If you… ever need someone to talk to…”

“I don’t. It’s fine. I’m good.” Jisung is already starting to backtrack down the hallway, shooting a panicked pair of finger guns in Beomgyu’s direction. “Hey, I support everything. Um.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t?” Beomgyu almost asks, still stunned.

“You’re a saint, Beomgyu!” With another too-loud laugh, Jisung disappears out of the hall.

Beomgyu slides down the wall, blinking hard, slipping before landing hard on his ass on the floor.

The door opens, and Kang Taehyun is glancing down at him. He looks similarly rumpled, a cowlick standing almost perfectly vertical from the top of his head. “You… good?”

“Peachy.” Beomgyu extends a hand and Taehyun drags him up to his feet, his eyes creasing from behind a curtain of dark hair. He’s close enough that Beomgyu feels obliged to lean back against the wall again, threading their fingers together in silence.

Then another door creaks open, and Seo Changbin is rubbing sleep from his eyes as he glances out into the hall. He goes stock still when he sees the pair of them, hand still raised to his face, expression blank.

Taehyun freezes, glancing at Beomgyu, then at their joined hands. Then, with an apology in his glittering eyes, he yanks his hand away and mutters a curse before stalking back into his room and slamming the door.

Trying his damn hardest to look disgusted, Beomgyu makes a great show of wiping his hand on the fabric of his pants before yelping, “I didn’t ask for your help anyway!” He looks at Changbin, still scowling.

Changbin drops his hand and sighs after a long second. “Do you ever think about the number of problems that would be solved for all of us if you just kissed him?”

Beomgyu makes an affronted face. His ears probably have enough color to glow in the dark beneath his hair. “Hyung, why the fuck would you say that?”

He hears Changbin mutter a feelingless apology, and Beomgyu thanks every god that he at least makes back to his room before he can burst out laughing.

---

Practice that morning is a fascinating affair. Despite the security that Taehyun’s goal and their consequent win at the Chile match may have granted their team, the fact stands that they have one more qualifier before World Cup season properly starts up.

It’s against Indonesia. They’re a little nervous, as they are before every match, but Beomgyu wakes up every morning and thanks whatever God is up there that they’re not stuck in Group F with Spain or Argentina or something.

(That is, every morning that he’s not busy trying to convince his teammates that he is, in fact, a straight chad. Appearances often deceive, he must admit.)

The sun is high over the NFC field, distant but warm. A cool breeze ruffles through the grass and Taehyun’s hair as he sits, leaning back on his hands and watching Kai juggle the ball between his feet. The red “Assistant Manager” lanyard hanging from his neck bounces against his chest with every kick.

It’s close to noon. Break time. The five of them are shimmering with sweat and lazing on the near-abandoned pitch like school kids. Beomgyu is cross-legged, tying blades of grass in knots.

“So imagine I’m an Indonesian forward,” Kai chirps, spinning the ball against the grass. Ever since he got a permanent position with the team, his skills on the pitch have become yet another source of awe for the poor, still-girlfriend-deficient players. “And I’m meters away from the goal.”

Yeonjun scrambles up off the grass, and immediately occupies himself with trying to steal the ball from Kai. They set off on a chase around the perimeter of the field, laughter fading into the spring day’s static air.

“You’re a goalie!” Soobin calls to Yeonjun, rolling his eyes. He shows no sign of wear from the previous night.

Some people just have it too good.

Yeonjun flips Soobin off. The three of them have a dynamic that seems to get stranger with every passing day, but Beomgyu supposes he’s in no place to talk.

He wordlessly hands Taehyun a short chain of intertwined grass blades and watches him look up, his usually glittering eyes dull with confusion as he tosses it back. Beomgyu gives him a dirty look.

Neither of them really care. If they had a little more energy, maybe they’d bark at each other, but these sideways glances are as much as Taehyun and Beomgyu can manage right now.

Kai and Yeonjun return to the group, panting and shoving each other. The ball is tucked safely under Yeonjun’s arm, but he drops it into the center as he drags Kai down to sit in the grass. The pair of them complete the circle. “Why are you two looking at each other like that?”

“Like what?” Beomgyu says, tearing his gaze away from Taehyun’s unmoving but mirth-filled eyes.

“Like…” Yeonjun trails off and begins to hum a trendy girl group song. Kai bursts out in peals of high-pitched, disbelieving laughter. Even Soobin has to stifle a snort.

“What?” Taehyun asks blankly. “What are you guys laughing about?”

And so Yeonjun pulls his phone out of his pocket and Beomgyu and Taehyun finally bear witness to the TikTok that seems to have shaken their team to their core in the days after Chile.

Now, Beomgyu will be the first to admit he’s not the most intelligent person. That he’s impatient and impulsive and… and…

Taehyun buries his face in his hands.

The video is coverage from the final moments of the game, the aftermath of Taehyun’s goal. A single figure (guess who?) breaks away from the sea of red, pictured first from above, and races towards a stationary Taehyun before attempting to lift him off the ground. The same new girl group song starts playing, and a rosy filter complete with hearts and pixels frames the video’s sudden transition into one of those classic babygirl edits that Beomgyu saw about a million of back when he was at the height of his K-Pop phase as the pair on the screen fall in a tangle to the grass, laughing and struggling against each other before the rest of the team dogpiles over them.

It was posted by the official national team account.

In a split second, Beomgyu whips out his own phone.

boykisser
chaewon what have you done.

The reply is instantaneous.

girlfucker
????

PR Representative Kim Chaewon then sends him a gif of the thinking emoji rotating and multiplying into oblivion. Beomgyu tosses his phone face down into the grass.

“Almost 12 million likes,” Yeonjun says cheerily.

“Why would they do this to me?” Taehyun mutters into his hands.

“You?” Beomgyu scowls. “Bitch, what about me?”

“You kind of have to admit you walked yourself into this, baby,” Kai says gently.

Beomgyu does have to admit that. He squints at the video as it replays on Yeonjun’s screen, and concludes he should at least consider himself blessed that the rest of the team obscured them from view before he actually, you know, kissed Taehyun.

Taehyun doesn’t seem to have realized this yet. A violent blush is creeping down his neck.

“The traction this thing is getting is insane,” Soobin starts, vowels round and eyes wide. “Our PR team somehow convinced both K-Pop fans and yaoi likers to watch football with one video.”

“Joy,” Beomgyu says flatly. Obviously, all he’s wanted in his seven year long career was for those two specific demographics to watch him play.

Then again, it has to be a plus for PR. More popularity means more funding, meaning the government might be convinced to get them those snazzy hotel rooms for Canada this year the way they did in France at the last Cup.

Chaewon may be a weird, unsettling, and genuinely uncomfortable person to be around, Beomgyu considers, but at least she’s good at her job.

“It looks like being a flaming homosexual pays,” Yeonjun says matter-of-factly, no doubt having followed Beomgyu’s train of thought.

“It has its ups and its downs,” Beomgyu deadpans. Every now and then, he hears echoes of Yoongi’s voice in his head, calling him a dumb fucking bitch and saying things like, this is why we try not to fall in love with our teammates, Beomgyu-yah.

Yoongi’s got his priorities straight.

(One of them has to.)

Yeonjun retracts his phone, but the electronic beat of that girl group song continues to reverberate in the open air.

Again, Beomgyu will concede that there are a number of subtler ways he could choose to show affection. Things like Kai’s everyday texts, the photo albums on Soobin’s phone, Yeonjun’s closed, late-night pickup games. The lingering glances, the misplaced touches, the things that make Beomgyu’s ears burn like he’s seen something he’s not supposed to.

And of course, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that Taehyun is arguably the most skilled of the whole set of them with his just-out-of-place remarks, the never-ending excuses to hover a little closer, the inside jokes threaded into menial conversation.

How strange it is that he ended up with the single clumsiest lover the universe could have offered him.

Beomgyu watches the pink fade from Taehyun’s face, creeping back down the glittering alabaster of his neck as though retreating below his worn collar. His gaze is focused on the grass, irises sunlit to a warm amber.

It would be nice to claim Beomgyu knows what he’s thinking, that he can read Taehyun’s expressions like a book, but time isn’t magic. If anything, the time they’ve spent in this liminal space between friendship and love has rendered Beomgyu a little stupider than before.

As Soobin and Kai peer over Yeonjun’s shoulders, laughing at something on his phone, Beomgyu tilts his head and realizes he’s never really seen Taehyun embarrassed. He gauges this--this image of Taehyun, cross-legged in the grass, one he’s seen millions of times before, but still-eyed and set-jawed. Frozen.

“Hey. Kang Taehyun.” Beomgyu half-whispers, prodding at Taehyun with his finger until he jumps to look up, startled. “What’s wrong?”

“What?” Taehyun’s eyes widen. The sun isn’t hitting them the same way; now, they just look black.

Anger, Beomgyu knows. Happiness, Beomgyu knows. Fear. Fondness. Not this.

“You good?”

“Great.” Flat.

Alarms blare somewhere in the distance. Beomgyu loses his already-faulty grasp on the Korean language, and suddenly Kai’s dragging him off the grass and chirping something about the Indonesia game as Soobin and Yeonjun laze in his periphery, and the world around Kang Taehyun is just sound.

Beomgyu says nothing, just makes a face. If he had any more energy, they would probably fight and laugh and make up two days later, but for now it’ll have to wait.

---

It waits until 4 AM. Until after Beomgyu’s stress-worked-out for two hours and stood silently in the shower for another. Now his hair is dripping into his eyes and his limbs kind of feel like overcooked noodles.

Yeonjun’s in his room. Soobin is not. Beomgyu doesn’t want to know.

Freaks.

He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all as he shuffles back into his room in the dim corridor light, clothes sticking to his skin. It’s almost like the way things were before the last World Cup--Beomgyu losing sleep over Kang Taehyun while Yeonjun laughs at his plight from the other bed--except it’s really not.

Everything and nothing has changed.

At least, Beomgyu thinks as he flops face down on his bed, he’s in control of most of it. At 23, he’s starting to get a hang of this whole life thing.

Kind of.

Beomgyu screams into his pillow. The sound of dance pop from Yeonjun’s tinny phone speaker comes to an abrupt stop. “You’re going to wake up the whole hall, you realize that?”

Heaving in a lungful of air and flipping onto his back, Beomgyu runs his hands down his water-streaked face and looks at the offending boy, half crazed.

Yeonjun’s new-moon hair is tied into a messy ponytail at the crown of his head. It’s overgrown, bangs flattened against his forehead--a symbol of rebellion after his mother got sick of last year’s cotton-candy pink.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“Excuse me?” Yeonjun’s eyes widen at the affront, bright in the cool darkness. He takes this opportunity to flick on the lamp between them, and Beomgyu groans, slapping his hands over his face. Drama queen. “I haven’t done anything vaguely disruptive in the last 24 hours.”

“You fucking sexiled me!”

“Yeah, 24 hours ago! I’m basically celibate!”

Beomgyu gives him the stink eye. “I really thought your sex drive would go down to normal levels once you hit 25.”

“I’m so normal,” Yeonjun says through pursed lips. “You’re the weird one.”

“I’m very deeply not in the mood to talk about my sex life right now.”

“You started it!”

“This.” Beomgyu rolls onto his side, stabbing a finger into his bed so emphatically he risks breaking off one of his phalanges. “This is why we can’t room together.”

“Oh, come on.” Yeonjun scrambles up to a seated position, tossing his phone onto the bed. It slides before landing on the floor with a clatter. “You fight with your boyfriend more than you fight with me.”

Beomgyu looks at him sourly for about two seconds before raising his chin in defiance. “We fight in a… in a nice and kind way! In a, like, loving way.”

Uneasily, the recollection of cold shoulders and unsent texts creeps into the forefront of Beomgyu’s brain. He’s comforted only by the knowledge that every petty fight is followed by… overcompensating reconciliation.

Yeonjun looks at him blankly, eyebrows furrowed. His eyes are narrowed in fox-like disbelief. “Are you into that?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you into that? Because then you’ve got absolutely no right to call me a freak.”

“Yo-you--what?!” The plot is steadily slipping away from them. “Yeonjun, you have two boyfriends, how can you defensibly say you’re not a freak?”

“This isn’t about me, pipsqueak,” Yeonjun says snootily, despite the fact that he involved himself in the conversation precisely five seconds prior.

“Awesome! Now, since we’re not talking about my sex life, how about we shut up and go to sleep?”

“You’re the one who walked into the fucking room and screamed, baby.”

“You should really leave the platonic terms of endearment to Kai.”

“That’s actually really fair,” Yeonjun says quickly. “I just like him.” Cartoon hearts appear and explode over his head in Beomgyu’s vision.

“I can’t deal with any of the three of you. You should all just die.”

“Why? Because we never fight?”

Beomgyu scowls and rolls over to face the wall. For a moment, he swears he can hear the crickets chirping outside their window, but of course Yeonjun has to open his big mouth and ruin the serenity.

“... Are you alright, Gyu?”

His voice is a little quieter now, cracking on the first word.

Perhaps Beomgyu’s sense of serenity will persist even as his heart starts to sink. He rolls onto his back again, staring at the white of the ceiling.

As a rule, Beomgyu is alright. For all the petty arguments he has (and, despite how much he might deny it, enjoys) with Taehyun, nothing really serious has ever come between them.

There are some things they don’t dare to fight about: what’s too much, what’s not enough, what they feel for each other. How they express it. How they put it into words.

(Beomgyu has never been the best at Korean language. It’s only been getting harder with every new feeling he unlocks.)

Sometimes Beomgyu wishes they would fight about these things. Fighting means making up, means getting over themselves and going back to their strange sense of normalcy.

Fighting means talking.

(They’re figuring things out. It’s only been four years, and they have lifetimes to spend.)

“Beomgyu?”

“Nah.”

“Nah?”

“Not okay right now. But that’s fine.”

Yeonjun seems unprepared for such candor, but after all this time, he’s gotten pretty good at hiding his surprise. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope!”

“Gyu?”

“Nope!”

“You should talk to him.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Jesus,” Yeonjun breathes. “It’s like you get less mature with every passing day.”

“I’m literally so mature.”

“Then talk to him!”

“Why do you think my only problems have to do with Taehyun?” Beomgyu wails.

“Because they do!” Yeonjun presses his lips together and raises an eyebrow. “If you were a girl, you’d so not pass the Bechdel test.”

“Wh-what the fuck is the Bechdel test?”

“Talk to him!” Yeonjun turns off the light before Beomgyu can respond and slides back down under the covers.

Beomgyu stares into the darkness for a second, blinking incredulously. “Maybe I will,” he whispers, rolling over and picking up his phone, still scowling.

Well, at least Beomgyu understands that talking is in order. The real problem lies with finding the words.

beomgyu hyung 🤨
hey

taehyunahh 😸
hi

beomgyu hyung 🤨
hey (with rizz)

taehyunahh 😸
bro thinks he has to rizz me up

beomgyu hyung 🤨
no fucking way i get bro zoned after having your whole dick up my ass bruh

taehyunahh 😸
yeouchies !!

beomgyu hyung 🤨
why is everyone and their mama is talking like kai nowadays

taehyunahh 😸
listen that guy texts me way too damn much i’m gonna become him sooner rather than later

beomgyu hyung 🤨
that would not be good

taehyunahh 😸
there are probably worse people to become

beomgyu hyung 🤨
that would not be good

This is going about as well as Beomgyu expected it would.

taehyunahh 😸
beomgyu
sweetheart

beomgyu hyung 🤨
yeah

taehyunahh 😸
why are you texting me lol
i mean i literally live across the hall
and you only really text me when you’re upset with me

beomgyu hyung 🤨
i hope it is clear atp that i am not upset lmao

Beomgyu spontaneously forgets what he started this all for. He glances back up at the ceiling, but his phone screen glows in his periphery.

beomgyu hyung 🤨
you just. seemed a lil off today
i thought it was something i did
maybe that stupid tiktok video idk

taehyunahh 😸
no that was funny in hindsight
your friend on the pr team knows what she’s doing

Taehyun types for a while before the text bubble disappears. Beomgyu blinks a few times.

taehyunahh 😸
and i wasnt upset with you over that

Another long pause.

taehyunahh 😸
i could never be upset with you over something like that

The rest goes unsaid. That’s just who you are.

I like who you are.

Beomgyu wishes they could just come out and say it sometimes. 4 AM is easy when they’re exhausted, chasing sleep in each other’s arms, not worried about words or feelings.

beomgyu hyung 🤨
but somethings wrong

taehyunahh 😸
it’s crazy that you got that from looking at me for five seconds
you’re getting good at this

beomgyu hyung 🤨
thanks king im getting hella practice
you should tell me whats up 🙂

taehyunahh 😸
tell you what, i’ll talk to you tomorrow
after practice

beomgyu hyung 🤨
you promise?

taehyunahh 😸
i promise
you should get some sleep

beomgyu hyung 🤨
what about you doofus

taehyunahh 😸
bought melatonin 😍
should try it out yk

beomgyu hyung 🤨
oh!
well in that case Goodnight I Guess. Sleep Well Ugly

taehyunahh 😸
yea same to you Loser

Beomgyu can’t explain the pit in his stomach when he shuts his phone off and rolls over, his head pressed against his damp pillow, to go to sleep.

---

Practice the next morning goes about as well as can be expected. Beomgyu plays well, as always, fighting sleep through drills and racing across the field like he’s being chased. He does, however, launch a ball directly into Na Jaemin’s crown jewels, at which point Kai drags him off the field to force a much needed chill pill down his throat.

Practice doesn’t really go that well at all, but soon enough, it ends. It takes every ounce of willpower in Beomgyu’s body to resist marching up to Taehyun as soon as they’re set free, but he resigns himself to standing unmoving in the shower for 45 minutes before pacing the two-stride length of his dorm for another eternity.

The sun, barely just starting to set beyond the 8-by-12 frame of the dorm window, paints golden streaks in an unmoving Soobin’s hair as he lazes on his bed. The greater part of his face is obscured behind the pages of one of those obscenely gory mangas he’s been concerningly fascinated by of late.

Around the half-hour mark, he sets the book down on his bed and neatly folds his glasses before dropping them off the edge of the bed onto the tile. The clatter is enough to startle Beomgyu out of his daze.

“Hello?”

“Hello to you too, Choi Beom,” Soobin says gravely. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Beomgyu turns back to face him, affronted. “You sounded terribly Yeonjun-esque just now.”

“I think that’s just what happens when people spend extended periods of time with you.”

Now Beomgyu is bordering on offended. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Soobin rubs at his eye with two abnormally long fingers. “Why have you been walking back and forth for an hour?”

“It’s only been thirty minutes,” Beomgyu corrects, curling his lip.

“That really doesn’t help your case all that much.”

A moment of silence.

“I’m expelling anxiety.”

“And what do you have to be anxious about?” Soobin crosses his legs and leans forward, cupping his chin in a hand so as to appear as uncomfortably attentive as possible. “What plagues you, dear Beomgyu?”

Now Soobin sounds like Kai. Beomgyu hates people who are in relationships. He doesn’t even know how to respond to that. “I don’t even want to tell you anymore.”

Soobin downturns his lips in the most startling mimicry of the sad face emoji.

“I--fine. You know what? Fine. You should just--”

Beomgyu’s phone vibrates, startling both of them. Not even bothering to glance at his home screen, Beomgyu grabs it and races out of the room, door slamming against the wall.

“Beomgyu?!” He hears, muffled.

“Sorry!” He barks back without much feeling.

It’s at this point that Taehyun opens his door, mouth half open in half-awe and half-embarrassment. His eyebrows are knit in unquestionable concern. “I texted you one second ago.”

“And I live across the hall!” Beomgyu chirps back, bouncing on his heels. His face is warmed by the excess energy.

Taehyun’s eyes, however calm, are widened to a near comic size. Finally, his mouth falls closed. “You’re… obsessed with me,” he says with mock apprehension.

“Oh, shut up. You know I don’t do well with waiting for things.”

“Impatient. Stubborn. Your list of charms never seems to stop growing.”

Beomgyu narrows his eyes as Taehyun leans against the doorframe. “You were so much sweeter when you were 18.”

“Yeah? Back when we wanted to kill each other?”

“You have no idea how much time I wasted thinking violent thoughts about you back then.”

Taehyun raises an eyebrow. “And now?”

Beomgyu presses his lips together, not to be outdone. His heart still pounds the way it did when he was 19. “Now, my thoughts are a little too damning to be shared in a public hallway.”

Taehyun laughs an incredulous, breathy laugh before dragging Beomgyu into his room. “So?” He asks, watching in amused silence as Beomgyu locks the door behind him as subtly as possible. “Any plans to hear me out? Or do you just want me for my body?”

“I’m filled with incomprehensible lust for all 170 centimeters of you,” Beomgyu says airily.

“Very funny,” says a decidedly 177-centimeter Taehyun. He sits on the edge of his bed, leaning back on his hands. There is a very notable lack of Yeonjun in this room. Beomgyu doesn’t ask, mostly because he can’t be bothered to care.

There’s a sudden silence as Taehyun stares up at Beomgyu with his stupid unmoving doe eyes. The smile starts to fade from his cheeks.

“What?” Beomgyu asks, voice cracking imperceptibly. The 4 AM pit in his stomach quite suddenly returns, but far be it from him to let it show. “Hurry up and talk so I can fuck you.”

Taehyun laughs and cringes at the same time, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You like me at least a little bit.”

“I like you more than that.”

Now Beomgyu falters. He blinks the surprise away. “What’s wrong, Taehyun-ah?”

“I like you… a lot Beomgyu.” A dull unease swirls in Taehyun’s eyes.

Another pause.

“Are you going to ask me to marry you?” Beomgyu chokes out. “Because I mean, sure, but don’t you think we’re still a little young?”

Taehyun says nothing even as a dimple sets itself at the corner of his mouth. He just lowers his unblinking eyes to the ground just beyond Beomgyu’s feet.

Beomgyu doesn’t really like this anymore. “I’m going to sit down now,” he announces quickly before perching on Yeonjun’s unmade bed.

Taehyun is left facing the door. “Listen, I…” He still looks incredibly small. Perhaps a little stronger, but no taller. Hair a little longer, a lot darker. Yeonjun talked him into piercing his ears, but he never wears any earrings. He worries he’s secretly allergic to sterling silver, which is incredibly stupid, but Beomgyu never tells him that.

With every passing day, Beomgyu learns something more. Every passing day brings a little swell in that part of his heart that says, I know you.

He wants to throw up. He feels words building up at the base of his throat and doesn’t quite know how to stop them from rushing out. “Don’t break up with me.”

For someone who’s avoided labels like the plague for the past four years, this moment might be the clearest confirmation that Beomgyu wants this crazy whirlwind mess to last a little bit longer.

Every passing day, five more minutes.

Taehyun turns back to look at him in shock. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

“Good. Don’t.” Don’t leave me.

Well, that’s enough tenderness for right now. Beomgyu presses his lips together.

“I’m leaving FC Seoul,” Taehyun says all in one breath. Then he turns back to stare at the wall.

“O… kay,” Beomgyu says slowly. “So where are you going? Jeonbuk?” It’s not too much of a surprise; Taehyun’s been playing at a higher caliber each year, and this year’s K-Leagues were testament to that.

Beomgyu can’t fathom how a swap might impact him. He could probably traverse the entirety of Korea in a week.

“PSG.”

Oh.

Beomgyu laughs. “What?” He says, voice finally cracking up an octave like a middle schooler’s. “Where?”

Taehyun travels at a snail’s pace to sit across from Beomgyu, setting his jaw as if to steel his expression. His eyes, as always, betray him. “I got an offer last week, I--I still don’t know if I should--”

“Are you crazy?” Beomgyu’s the one who sounds a little crazy. “It’s fucking Paris Saint-Germain, like--like one of the best teams in the world?! What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know!” Taehyun yelps, standing up for half a second before sitting down again and burying his face in his hands. “I don’t fucking know.”

“... How much did they offer you?” Finally, Yeonjun has rubbed off on him. How proud he would be of Beomgyu right now.

Taehyun resurfaces just to glare.

“Okay. My bad.” Beomgyu looks at his lap. “So… when would they want you?”

“Immediately after this World Cup.”

Now Beomgyu has to swallow an expletive. “Don’t they usually give… more notice?”

“I don’t know! This is my first time being bought up, dude!”

“Have you told anyone else?”

“Who else would I tell before you?”

“I don’t know,” Beomgyu yelps. “Coach? Your parents? Anyone?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Taehyun says, still muffled. He doesn’t elaborate any further.

A moment of silence passes. No longer bothering to maintain a facade of calmness, Beomgyu reaches up and cards his fingers through Taehyun’s hair.

Taehyun looks up, curious.

“Dude, this is fucking amazing,” Beomgyu says gently. He’s trying his very hardest to quiet his mind. “I could act surprised, but I can’t think of anyone else they’d want more than you.”

A noncommittal sound is all Beomgyu gets in response. He rests his hand against Taehyun’s cheek and waits for him to lift his gaze.

“You want this, right?”

“Who wouldn’t?” This might be the quietest Taehyun has ever been.

“Then you’ll tell them yes. And after we get knocked out this year, you’ll hop on a plane to Paris and you won’t regret it for one second.” Beomgyu’s heart feels like it’s on vibrate mode.

“You’re taking this well,” Taehyun says flatly. “Won’t you miss me at all?”

“I won’t even think about you. I’ll forget you exist.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Come on, you dingbat. We don’t even see each other that much outside of the national team. It’ll be like nothing’s changed.” It’s the truth.

Taehyun curls his fingers around Beomgyu’s hand, but narrows his eyes. “I’m holding you to that.”

“You can hold me however you want,” Beomgyu says with an unintelligent smile.

Taehyun laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I think we’ll be fine.”

“Hey. We always are,” Beomgyu says, and leans in.

---

bbamgyu
hyunggv i miss you come hiome
hyyunngiiieieeee

yoongi hyung
what

bbamgyu
OMG YOU REMPLIED 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
i mis you dawg i cant believe thyv let you have yoru phone
thyemuch have jnwn i was in griefi

yoongi hyung
beomgyu i’m in the military not fucking prison

bbamgyu
WHWHYYYY DIDBTHEYMAKE YOU DO MILIATRRYY

yoongi hyung
if bts had to do it who am i to complain
plus i feel so patriotic recently
I ♥️ South Korea!

bbamgyu
nooNOOOOOOOOOO,
FUCKSOUTHKOREA
why is this f uckass countryijnmte mtiddle of knowwhere

yoongi hyung
what
have you opened a geography textbook at any point in your life
or seen a map
maybe i should have forced you to go to school more before letting you join the team

bbamgyu
kyskys die die die alreadyi cant t deal wi th yuou

yoongi hyung
whoa there gangster
let’s back up and think:
is it kind? is it respectful? is it necessary?

bbamgyu
dothey teach u senseof humor in mililirtary school

yoongi hyung
i’ve always been funny

bbamgyu
no youtube fukc have not

yoongi hyung
beomgyu are you drunk and be honest with me

bbamgyu
nowhwy do you sound scsary.
nowinmwill not tell yo u. you suck
bye

yoongi hyung
beomgyu your last qualifier is TOMORROW.

bbamgyu
noitthe fuck is notrk fucknhging liar
YEAHF UCK YOU IT’S DAYV AFTER 6 AM

yoongi hyung
beomgyu.

bbamgyu
STOPNEING SCARY IM S CARWRWEEEDDDDDDJFUFH STOP THAT

yoongi hyung
this better not be about that boy

bbamgyu
two day s untilwme ffin nsih qualifier s and then we got world cjp and then we get kno cked out and all o f this withi n two month and then i l i ve in ko rea in the middle of no w ere and i fucm ig DiE

yoongi hyung
can you guys at least win one world cup before you die
like i feel like that’s not much to ask

bbamgyu
ohdont get me wrong . im playing as h ard as fucking po ssi ble in this one. we are gong to go to fi nals and then get an other month h in can a da. instead of teo months we get th ree. and then i ca ne delay go in g to ko rea and dyibg.

yoongi hyung
can i ask why you’re dying

bbamgyu
TTAEH H Y U NN N I EE E 😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

yoongi hyung
that boy.

bbamgyu
shut up hy u ng you love him.

yoongi hyung
i can unlove him so fast. watch

bbamgyu
no don t do that .
i dont wan to talk to you an y more.
goodnigpt.

yoongi hyung
hello???
beomgyu????
fuck you kid idk why i try
bye.

yoongi hyung
get home safe and dont drive you dont have a license
hail a cab or something if you’re alone
and be careful
call chaewon if you need anything
fucking idiot

---

Seungmin and Hyunjin are preemptively setting up their shrine again, now complete with a screenshot from the famed tiktok. A pixelated heart hovers in the air between an airborne Beomgyu and a petrified Taehyun.

Beomgyu watches them Super Glue it to the back board with his lips set in a thin line.

“We’re updating it,” Seungmin says giddily, settling cross-legged on his bed with his leg bouncing. “See, look at Park Jisung.”

The old teenage selca of a frowning Park Jisung has now been replaced by an image of his 22-year old likeness, dripping in sweat. His abs are on full display as he wipes at his face with the hem of his shirt.

Beomgyu looks at it for a moment too long and kind of wishes he were never born. The hangover has been lingering over him all morning like a dark cloud, a consequence of one two many bottles of peach soju provided by a skeptical but forever inquisitive Soobin.

(They played smash or pass for two hours and then Beomgyu cried. Shit like this always seems to happen to him.)

Soobin, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to get hungover. Some people just fucking win.

He’s hovering on Beomgyu’s left side. Yeonjun’s on his right.

“You guys look like a lovely family,” Hyunjun says through a mouthful of corn chips. “Gay parents and emo son.”

Beomgyu wrinkles his nose. “I’m not emo.”

“Then cut your hair, dude,” Seungmin says gently.

“The hair comes in real handy sometimes,” Yeonjun chirps. Beomgyu elbows him in the stomach, relishing in his pained groan.

Soobin, on the other hand, seems to have chosen peace today. “I think the hair suits Beomgyu,” He says warmly.

Beomgyu looks back at him with something akin to repulsion. Soobin only smiles.

(He was of absolutely no help while Beomgyu was sobbing his eyes out on the floor.)

Hyunjin abandons the bag of corn puffs in favor of gluing a cutout of Yang Jeongin sporting sunglasses and a money gun to the board. It seems to get more and more cluttered with every passing season. Beomgyu can barely make out Son Heungmin anymore.

“Do you guys ever think about upsizing?” He asks, making a face. Out of the corner of his eye, Yeonjun stealthily grapes Hyunjin’s bag and pops just one corn puff into his mouth. The illusion of politeness. Instagram fame has changed him.

“Do you guys ever think about death?” Seungmin asks ruminatively, not quite in response.

Even Hyunjun has to stop and look at him, kneeled on the tile floor between their beds.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Sure, I think about death,” Beomgyu answers flatly. “And we better not die without having won at least one World Cup.”

“Amen,” says Hyunjin.

“How are our chances?” Soobin asks, finally sitting at the edge of a welcoming Seungmin’s bed and destroying his family portrait. “Have you guys asked Minho hyung yet?”

“Minho hyung is… busy with his own things,” Hyunjin says tentatively. He turns back to the board. “You guys aren’t the only ones with K-Drama lives.”

“And why do you think we have K-Drama lives?” Yeonjun says quizzically.

Hyunjin does not reply.

Seungmin holds a hand up to his mouth. “He wasn’t supposed to say that.”

“Do you guys gossip about us?” Yeonjun presses further.

Soobin almost says something, but instead looks very carefully at the floor. Beomgyu is left standing on the tile like a particularly tense NPC.

“Not you. You’re boring as fuck,” Hyunjun says candidly.

Soobin seems to relax. Yeonjun makes a disbelieving face.

Finally, the printed cutout of Jeongin crookedly finds its home on the board. Hyunjin hops back onto his bed, dusting off his hands and looking dead at Beomgyu.

A pause.

“Me?” Beomgyu squeaks miserably. “Why me?”

“You had mad sexual tension with Kang Taehyun for a bit there, don’t even deny it,” Seungmin says matter-of-factly.

Yeonjun chokes on air and coughs silently into the corner of the room. Soobin makes no movement.

Beomgyu just sighs. His job is so much harder than it has to be. “Don’t be weird.”

“No, like, it was chill. We’re good with gay people. It’s the 21st century,” Hyunjin says quickly.

“It was mad obvious,” Seungmin adds.

Beomgyu makes a great show of squeezing the bridge of his nose. Soobin looks up at him in wonder. Yeonjun continues to cough. “When do you think this was?”

“You know, that entire period where you two were warring. The two of us made a bed on you guys fucking. I was against, for the record.”

“I was for,” Seungmin says proudly.

“How much?”

“20,000.”

“Congrats, Hyunjin hyung. You’re now 20,000 won richer.” It’s almost comical how easy this is.

Boys care about two things, Kai told him not long ago. Their dicks and money.

This, unsurprisingly, was a reflection on the transfer value obsession characteristic of the very Choi Yeonjun who now turns to face them all with his face redder than a tomato.

Seungmin stares at Beomgyu with an affronted expression a moment too long as Hyunjin shouts and takes to parading around Seungmin’s bed in victory. Soobin, startled, stands and reassumes his position standing behind Beomgyu like his gay father.

“Godspeed, fellas,” Beomgyu says to really no one, and then walks out of the door at Olympic speed.

He’s followed quickly by his two hyungs. Dumb and dumber. “You’re good at this,” Soobin says.

“I kind of have to be,” Beomgyu deadpans. “You guys are lucky everyone thinks Yeonjun can’t pull.”

Yeonjun stills in the middle of the corridor as the remaining pair walk ahead. “What the fuck?”

Soobin laughs soundlessly. Beomgyu downturns his lips to keep from doing the same.

“Choi Beomgyu, you so had a crush on me five years ago!”

Now it is Beomgyu’s turn to still.

Half wiped out, Soobin continues unsteadily down the corridor to his room alone. He looks almost drunk, laughter now high-pitched and bordering on obnoxious. It echoes until he disappears from view.

Beomgyu turns on his heel. “Do you know how fucking loud you are?” He barks at Yeonjun from across the expanse.

“You’re not saying no!”

“Wh-Why are you bringing up something from five years ago?” Beomgyu storms up to him and is unpleasantly surprised to see the smirk writing itself across Yeonjun’s catlike features. “Are you in fucking middle school?”

“I was waiting for the right moment to tell you I knew.”

“And now is the right moment? Dude!”

“It’s hyung to you, kiddo.”

“You’re fucking delusional, hyung-nim.”

“You were 17, chill. I can’t even hold it against you. I was such a cutie patootie back then.”

Beomgyu wants to punch him just for the sake of punching him. He’s gotten used to Yeonjun’s smug look, but seeing it used against him feels like some kind of crime. And to think Beomgyu considered seeking solace in him.

“This is why I can’t fucking room with you.” The words to come are only half truth, but Beomgyu doesn’t bother with disclaimers. Yeonjun doesn’t deserve them. “You have the fucking maturity of a fucking 12 year old boy. And you so were not cute, you were fucking bitchless as fuck.”

Now Yeonjun’s eyes go wide, but his smile doesn’t quite fade. “Jesus. I didn’t know it was that deep.”

“It’s not!” Beomgyu throws up his hands. “I never even fucked with you like that!”

The goofy grin creeps back with full power onto Yeonjun’s face. “Liar.”

“I’m going to tell both your situationships you’re flirting with me.”

“Dude, gross.”

“That’s what I thought. Now go fuck someone, or like, die. I don’t know what you do.” Quite a bit shy of victorious, Beomgyu turns and walks away from him. “Oh. Wait.” He looks back. Yeonjun’s expression is faux-shocked. “Not Kai, please. I need Kai.”

God, does Beomgyu need Kai.

---

“I’m flattered that you think I’m normal,” Kai says softly, setting his iced coffee down on the flimsy plastic table. “But I feel like you’ve forgotten a good bit of our lore.” A car rushing by sends a wind that disturbs the bottle-blonde curls now creeping down the back of his neck.

It seems Cheonan, for all its flaws, has no small number of Instagrammable cafes with inconveniently placed patio seating.

At least Beomgyu’s company has much improved over the past few years.

(He hates Yeonjun with a passion so intense that it can only be attained after five years of dumb forever-enduring friendship.)

“‘Lore’ is crazy.” Beomgyu burns himself taking a sip of evidently shit-flavored hot chocolate. Today is just not his day.

“You’re crazy,” Kai mutters. He looks up with wide eyes. “Sorry. That slipped out.”

“Nah, man,” Beomgyu slumps back in his neon pink chair, abandoning his wasted 10,000 won in cup form on the table. “I need someone to keep it real with me.”

“Again, I don’t know if that should be me.”

“Well, Yeonjun always fucking sucks, and Soobin is impossible to read lately. I honest to god feel like he’s started being a huge bitch since he started reading Juijitsu Kaisen.”

Kai rolls his eyes, his smile mild. “We’re all kind of rubbing off on each other.”

“Ew.”

“Beomgyu, no. I mean, yeah, but--”

“Bro.”

“My fault.” Kai holds his green straw between his teeth for a second before giving Beomgyu a tilt of his head. “Be honest with me. The problem’s not with them. It’s with you.”

Beomgyu gapes. “What the fuck am I being honest about?”

“That was supposed to be a question. Sorry.” He doesn’t look apologetic in the slightest.

“You’re also biased as fuck.”

“Come on, darling. I like you just as much as I like them, it’s just in a different way.” Kai shrugs, smiling, and it’s hard to be mad at him. Beomgyu despises that.

“You know what? You also suck. This is the first time you’ve sucked ever--”

“Ooh.”

“--but you suck so fucking bad it’s preposterous.”

Kai lifts his hands in surrender, eyes glinting. “Just keeping it real, or whatever you said. You can’t hate all of us at once. We’re your best friends.”

“Actually, Kim Chaewon is my best friend.”

“Talk to her for five minutes and you’ll get mad, I promise.” Kai pauses, scrunching up his face. How does he look like that? “That wasn’t a dig at her.”

“Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” Kai preens for a second. There’s glitter at the corners of his eyes. He fucking knows.

“God, you suck.”

“We’ve established that. Now, my love, what’s wrong with you?” He leans forward and plucks one of Beomgyu’s idle hands off the table, threading their fingers together. “Those eye bags are telling me more than you are.”

Beomgyu stares at their joined hands before conceding. He slides so far down in the chair that he nearly falls on his ass on the concrete. “You’ll literally never guess.”

Suddenly, Kai drops Beomgyu’s hand. His eyes go wide. “Oh. Oh shit.”

“What?”

“Tell me you didn’t get dumped.”

“I didn’t get dumped!” Beomgyu wails loud enough to attract sympathetic looks from at least two passersby. “I didn’t.” He rights himself now, clasping one of Kai’s hands in both of his and turning it back and forth as though preparing to give him a manicure. “Taehyun’s just… moving.”

“So? You could probably get from one end of Korea to the other in, like, a day.”

Beomgyu almost laughs. “He’s moving to Paris.”

A beat.

“Oh!”

“Yeah!”

“Well, it--it has to be for a good club, right?”

“It is,” Beomgyu says curtly.

“How are you taking it?”

Beomgyu makes a wide variety of apprehensive expressions before saying, “‘Well.’ I--I just told him I wouldn’t miss him at all and we’d be chilling. You know.”

“Oh, honey.”

“Yeah, I know. Shut up.”

“You could have said anything but that.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, how are you really feeling?”

Beomgyu looks out into the road. Three cars pass in quick succession, whipping his hair into his face. “I don’t know.”

“Expert opinion, I don’t think that’s very good.”

Beomgyu sputters. Kai lifts his free hand to brush a curl out of his eyes.

“Be real with me, Beomgyu,” Kai says in a horrifyingly accurate impression of Beomgyu’s voice, complete with the 90% faded Daegu accent and exhausted vocal fry.

“You’re giving me the heebs and jeebs, dawg.”

“Thanks, baby. I try.”

The silence, despite the cacophony of nearby traffic and din, is deafening. Beomgyu sighs.

“We’re not good at this,” he blurts.

“Good at what?”

“This.” Beomgyu presses his lips together, letting his mind gloss over stolen glances and inside jokes in favor of settling on the quiet. The uncertain. “Being in a relationship.” The words feel heavy and unfamiliar on his tongue.

Kai opens his mouth as if to say something, but in a moment his lips fall closed and his brow furrows sympathetically. Beomgyu observes this in mild horror.

“How so?”

Beomgyu does not reply.

Kai gives him a wayward, knowing half-smile. “Do you talk to him?”

“All the time.”

“About anything important?”

Beomgyu stares blankly at their joined hands on the cool plastic table. “We fight,” he offers reasonably.

“B--”

“Fighting is, like, our thing. It’s never serious. We’re just… not the kind of people who need to say everything to know it,” Beomgyu blurts, rushing to defend himself. Thoughts of falling asleep intertwined and melatonin cover his mind in a purple haze. “It’s not like that.”

“Beomgyu, as romantic as that is, there are some things that can’t be conveyed without words. And those are usually important things. We both know it.”

“Like what?”

Kai looks at him like he’s stupid.

Feeling a rush of words and confusion, Beomgyu stutters out a further defense. “Listen, Kai. We talk. We just… use different words to say what we mean.”

“Evidently, you need to get better at Korean comprehension.”

“Dude, you can’t say that! You’ve seen my CSAT scores!”

“That’s exactly why I feel qualified to say that,” Kai says flatly, setting his lips in a thin line. “You guys need to learn how to communicate before he moves to the other side of the world.”

Beomgyu groans. “‘Communicate’ sounds so… official.”

“Beomgyu, I’m really sorry to say this, but you’ve been in a committed relationship for four years. You are official.”

“I don't feel like it.”

“Then you should fix that, baby.”

“Do you… ‘communicate’ with Yeonjun and Soobin?”

“The only reason we haven’t gone crazy and started killing each other is because we talk, Gyu. It’s actually impressive that you and Taehyun haven’t gotten to that point.”

Beomgyu feels a strange sensation in his heart. He yanks his hand away from Kai, crossing his arms and scowling like a toddler. “I hate this. I hate people in relationships.”

“Yet you want to be one.” Kai laughs privately, raising his eyebrows. “You’re 23, man. You’ve spent the greater part of your adult life pining after this poor guy.”

“I’m not pining anymore, bro. I haven’t pined in, like, years.”

“You’re going to pine forever if you’re not careful.”

“Don’t say that. I’m just a 23 year old teenage girl…”

Kai laughs, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, I love you.” He lifts a finger and gives Beomgyu a strong jab right in the middle of his forehead. Beomgyu yelps. “Make sure I’m not the only one,” Kai says lightly.

Beomgyu scoffs, but swallows it down halfway. “Enough about me,” he says, swatting Kai’s hand away. “How are you? How’s the promotion treating you?”

Kai makes a face. “You sound like my mom. Let’s go back to talking about men, please.” A beat passes. Kai takes a sip of his drink, eyes darting up to meet Beomgyu’s as he seems to consider something. Finally, he speaks. “I think being with you is the closest thing to a normal high school experience I’ll ever feel.”

“A little late for high school, dude.”

“My knowledge of high school comes from online classes and American TV shows. We look about the right age. Fuck just about as much too.”

Beomgyu laughs incredulously, looking skyward. Kai’s innocent smile is a sight to behold.

For all of Cheonan’s flaws, it’s peaceful. Familiar.

---

There are some pitfalls to having a young national team. First, that no one ever seems to leave.

Sure, Renjun and Chenle might be stuck in limbo between China and Korea since FIFA decided to crack down on player rules, but if anything, their numbers have only grown in the meantime

“You should bring the chicks next time, Heeseung-ah,” says Han Jisung, crossing his legs on Yeonjun’s bed.

The ‘chicks’, despite their name, are not women. They’re the season’s three new rookies, the youngest freshly 21. It seems Korea is getting a little more reasonable about the “teach ‘em young” thing.

(Beomgyu has a sneaking suspicion that they saw how fucking stupid the players turn out when their education is cut off halfway in favor of international play.)

Heeseung sighs as though the mere mention of the kids is spiking his blood pressure. He’s somehow wound up the mother hen--their official spokesperson and babysitter. It is not a title he wears with pride, but motherhood is oddly becoming on him. “We’re better off without them. Jake and Sunghoon are warring as of three weeks ago. Jungwon sat me down and caught me up like he was telling me someone died.”

“Man, I was rooting for them,” says Donghyuck, popping a veggie straw into his mouth. The group of them barely fit in this room--Donghyuck’s tucked into a far corner, knees up to his chest.

“All good things start with a little bit of war,” says Changbin profoundly, leaning against the door.

Taehyun, mostly concealed behind Yeonjun and pressed up against the wall, takes a sudden interest in the ceiling tile. Beomgyu, cross-legged on his own bed, takes a not-so-sudden but newly wary interest in Taehyun.

Even with their final qualifier a matter of hours away, all that’s bouncing around in Beomgyu’s mind is Kai’s eyeroll and unsolicited advice. He’s exhausted by the thought of it all, letting his gaze wash over Taehyun’s vacant eyes, the slope of his nose, his lips pressed together.

It feels almost natural. Almost.

Soobin closes the blinds over their tiny room window, concealing a navy sky dotted with quiet stars from view. Beomgyu now stares at the absence. Geonu is talking about their chances tomorrow. Felix prods at Minho. Minho offers a statistic. Park Jisung calls him a fraud and suddenly laments the loss of one Zhong Chenle.

Yeonjun’s looking at Beomgyu curiously. Maybe he’s reminded of the night before their first World Cup match, of the fireworks and opening music and the blankness in Beomgyu’s eyes. The pallor of his skin. Maybe he’s wondering when the 17-year-old kid with the bad bowl cut and the tan skin turned into this version of Beomgyu--jaded, lovelorn, and quiet.

Maybe he’s just staring for the heck of it. That’s probably it, knowing Yeonjun.

It’s half past 11, Soobin notes, staring down at his watch. He hasn’t moved from Yeonjun’s side.

Jeno wonders aloud what their lives might be like after they get too old to play any longer. Lim Jimin says that’ll never happen, and that seems an answer to satisfy all.

As the boys file out of the room with a final rallying cheer from a barely-visible Chan, Beomgyu feels no different than he did when they arrived an hour ago.

Yeonjun stands, still staring curiously at Beomgyu. He flicks Beomgyu on the forehead once, whispering something that’s tied three ways between an apology, a taunt, and a reminder of love. Soobin ruffles Taehyun’s hair, receiving nothing but distracted laughter in response.

Then they leave. Taehyun stays like part of the furniture, the same way he did all those years ago. Beomgyu thinks about that feeling, the way Taehyun looked with his shoulder against that floor-to-ceiling window, his face painted in Parisian city lights.

Hair a little darker, a little longer. Jaw a little stronger, eyes a little sharper.

Why does Beomgyu feel the same?

The sound comes in like a slow fade--laughter from the hallway, traffic from the streets below, crickets. Taehyun is looking at the ceiling.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Beomgyu exhales without meaning to.

They’re across from each other in this tiny room--two separate islands divided by a narrow strait. Taehyun looks down to him, eyes wide. His hair is standing in awkward directions, and he looks incredibly small.

“I--” Beomgyu’s breath catches. “I want you to go, of course, I do, but I don’t…” The Korean language has only been getting harder.

“We’ll be fine,” Taehyun says quietly, more air than sound. “You said it yourself, it’ll--it’ll be like nothing’s changed.

“But what if I don't want to be the same?” Beomgyu wouldn’t be himself if he thought before he spoke. He keeps thinking about Kai’s knowing smile and the way Taehyun looked at him on the field when he was 18 and didn’t know any better. “Do you, really?”

Taehyun doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak either. He moves his head half an inch, but it’s hard to tell in which direction.

Beomgyu looks at the tile floor between them and hopes the words force themselves out without his permission the way they’ve been doing all this time. “Taehyun, I like you. I've liked you for almost five years now, but I want--I want to love you.”

And that’s it, really. In its simplest form. That confession in Taehyun’s tiny Seoul apartment was a prophecy that was never fully fulfilled, and Beomgyu’s not a patient person.

“To love you, I need to know you beyond--beyond the layout of your apartment and your relationship with your parents and your favorite songs. I need to know what you like. What you dislike. What you want from... me. Not as Beomgyu, your low-maintenance high-commitment friend you make out with, but as…”

“My boyfriend?” There’s an incredulous half-smile in Taehyun’s voice, but his eyes are dull with confusion. Beomgyu knows this. He knows all of this. And yet it’s not enough.

He sighs. “I know we haven't done labels, because labels are exhausting, and I'm fine with that. I just want us to--to last. And I want you to know that I want to last with you.”

Crickets. There’s a long moment before Taehyun starts laughing, burying his face in his hands. Beomgyu looks up in alarm, heart racing in his chest.

“If I’m going to move halfway across the planet,” he starts, muffled before he resurfaces and looks at Beomgyu with soft eyes. “We need to learn how to talk to each other.”

Beomgyu nods.

“You could have just said that.”

Beomgyu feels his cheeks warm. “I’m a drama queen.”

“I love that,” Taehyun says, laughing again. It’s quiet, but a blush creeps down his neck and Beomgyu he might be able to get used to the sight of it. “I think it’s perfect for you. The way you talk without thinking, and act without talking, and pretend to be good at hiding how you really feel about things. The way you always look at me out of the corner of your eye whenever you’re afraid you’ve gone too far. Your gaze. Your awkward smile.”

“What are you talking about?” Beomgyu mumbles. He feels like his skin is on fire. It’s not that bad.

“You asked me to tell you what I like about you.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, you idiot.”

“I know. I’m trying to match your energy. Drama queen.” Taehyun leans back against the wall, hair finally flattening a bit. His eyes linger on Beomgyu’s for a moment, glittering, before he looks down to the floor. “I didn’t realize that we spent so long giving each other the cold shoulder that we never learned how to talk about things. I kind of thought we were too good for talking.”

“Same, dude.”

“Don’t ‘dude’ me, bro.”

“Don’t ‘bro’ me, man!”

Taehyun laughs like he doesn’t really know how he got here, brow furrowing and eyes curving. “Shut up, will you? Let me finish.”

“Fine.”

“For the record, I--we--yeah. I know what you’re saying, and I…” Taehyun inhales, hesitating. “I want to make myself easy to love.”

Beomgyu doesn’t know how to respond.

“Luckily for me, I’ve got a whole World Cup to figure out how to do that.”

“Look at us,” Beomgyu chirps, on the verge of an arrhythmia. “Always heading into a new adventure.”

“We need to stop doing this every four years.”

“Variety is the spice of life, Tyun.” Unceremoniously, he stands and deposits himself at Taehyun’s side on Yeonjun’s bed. Crossing the Rubicon. Beomgyu turns to look at him, and they’re inches away.

It’s just starting to feel like it.

“What about the other way around, though?” Beomgyu asks a little shakily. “Don’t I have to do anything?”

Taehyun looks away now, straight ahead to the far wall. “This is a two-way street, man. Team effort. If you’re asking, though, maybe we should stop fighting about every fucking thing.”

That’s our thing, some part of Beomgyu’s brain protests. But he supposes he has to grow up someday.

“You say this like I start all the fights.”

That day is not today.

“You totally start, like, 90% of them.”

“That’s such a fucking lie and you know it.”

“You’re in denial, you know that? You can’t take the blame for anything.”

“Why should I have to take the blame for things you do?”

“You know what?” Taehyun asks, suppressing laughter. “It’s no use talking to you. You don’t understand anything.”

Beomgyu doesn’t catch half of that. He’s too busy staring like an idiot. “Taehyun?”

“Yeah?”

He hopes this feeling will never go away. Only that it’ll change. “I’m, like, this close to falling in love with you.” Beomgyu raises two fingers so that they’re just touching. “So don’t worry too much.”

Taehyun looks at Beomgyu’s fingers, and then up at him. “We’ve got more important things to worry about,” he whispers, smiling. “Like the fucking qualifier we have at 6 AM tomorrow.”

“Fuck off,” Beomgyu drops his hand and looks back at the wall.

Wordlessly, Taehyun threads their fingers together. It still feels new. Someday it’ll be familiar. Comforting. “Play well tomorrow.”

“I always do.”

They both always do. They both always will.

Beomgyu turns away so Taehyun can’t see him smile. Taehyun knocks him upside the head. “Dumbass.”

That’s why they work.

---

Number order has become a thing of routine. Lee Felix in front, Kang Taehyun behind.

As the music and cheers wash over the dawn-lit field beyond, Beomgyu closes his eyes and believes for a second that they're crashing waves. Cool against his skin.

The sun is half risen. The grass is pale and cool, the air thin. Beomgyu's blood feels like fire, but his heart feels like ice. Calm. Ready.

Kai's smile glints in the sparse light, the early sun catching on the blonde of his hair and the brown of his eyes, near angelic.

Beomgyu feels his call coming, and allows himself to look back. Just for a moment.

Taehyun catches his eye and locks into his gaze like it's a new home. His eyes are dark, unexplored oceans, holding stars and planets.

In that moment, Beomgyu realizes that even the planets above must look like ice from far enough away. All it takes is a step forward. Five minutes under warm light.

Taehyun smiles. Beomgyu smiles back.

Kai's voice is clear as he sends them off.

The lights go up over Seoul World Cup Stadium, and Beomgyu loves many things. He loves football. His friends. The sound of the stands.

Best of all, he’s starting to love Kang Taehyun. It feels like how the stars love the sky.

Silent. Fervent.

Forever.