Chapter Text
You put a shirt on the ceiling light
So the room won't be too bright
You give me time to be what I can be
You're never ahead, never behind me
- "All Night", Men I Trust
Seungmin's phone lit up—the clock read 01:52 a.m.
The faint blue light emitting from the screen couldn't compare to the lights of the tunnel he was standing under.
Its walls arched above Seungmin, colossal and immense. He felt small in the presence of such a monumental build—an awe-inspiring feeling. One that sat heavy within him and deepened his breaths.
The bright lights hung like watchful eyes, the air gusts—hands that pulled him in to marvel at the endless road ahead.
He had to call Changbin.
Well, he didn't have to, Seungmin corrected himself. There were some things to address before they could move on. There were things Seungmin had to let go of before he could ask him for... what, exactly?
Seungmin thought about the cross-listed elective he chose to participate in for this semester: Communication Studies. The communicative process could be regarded as successful only when certain factors are fulfilled. Fascinating stuff, Seungmin reminisced with a focused expression.
One of the factors was the existence of a message. A point to make.
Seungmin looked up at the rows of intense warm lights and stared until his eyes hurt.
After a moment, he sighed and squinted at his phone.
Seungmin held onto unnecessary baggage. Would that be the subject of their talk? Would Changbin forgive him for his absence? Why would he have that conversation on the phone?
He breathed in and recalled how easy it was to call Changbin. Even without a point to make, just to call him and feel heard. It was easy to hang out with him.
It was easy until Seungmin became too comfortable.
It's strange and disappointing—he continued to stare at Changbin's contact information—that we were so powerless to what we felt. How easy it was to spiral into fear and distress when you realized you ached to be with someone.
When you start to become too comfortable. Too loved, and to never find the strength to admit it to yourself.
Friends don't act this way, Seungmin considered when Changbin would prepare him coffee after waking up at his place. I'm so grateful that he is in my life, Seungmin thought when he sat outside the balcony with Changbin until the sun peeked behind towering buildings in the distance. I need to confess before it starts to hurt, Seungmin realized when they fell asleep upright on the couch and woke up in each other's arms.
They didn't grow apart, Seungmin argued with no one. He glanced at the colossal walls around him for support. The two kept in touch, somewhat.
They used to have those calls, for example.
Seungmin used to call Changbin during the night, always late in the evening. Changbin even said he integrated them into his nightly routine—somewhere around after brushing his teeth, he would scroll on his phone for some time, and Seungmin would call him. They talked at different lengths each night. Seungmin would pace around the room, while the only sound on the other line would be the soft shuffling of sheets and deep, slow breaths.
He knows, but won't tell me. He doesn't feel the same, Seungmin once tried explaining to himself what was happening. Each interaction, each call, each sleepover felt tenser than the last.
He doesn't like me in that way, he concluded, glancing somewhere beyond his dark ceiling one lonely night. He curled up and sniffled as he hugged his blankets closer.
I have more important things to deal with, anyway.
Seungmin stopped calling. Around the start of his first semester a lot of things piled up—that was the excuse at his disposal.
Changbin never called. He never brought it up, either.
Seungmin used to be the one to hang up—he would hear a faint snore on the line in the middle of retelling his day. He sat down each time—every time he heard it, and put him on speaker. When he closed his eyes, he imagined Changbin beside him—resting beneath Seungmin's heavy blankets in a position that takes way too much space on his tiny bed. He would hang up only when he imagined himself snuggling up next to him, intertwined.
The break between semesters began, and he did not call him then, either.
It's better this way, Seungmin reasoned. He ached every time he got reminded of this crush of his, but it was better this way—unspoken. They've already got solid footing. They were good friends.
They couldn't be more. And that hurt.
Only if Seungmin admitted to holding these feelings within him would they affect him. Yes, he was overpowered by them, but only in theory.
This night felt different. This night he felt different—as the breeze nipped at his ears, the cold entered his limbs, and his gaze still lingered on Changbin's number.
He had waited for Changbin long enough—he never said anything.
Seungmin's thumb hovered over the dial button.
His mind was filled with rushing thoughts, but one stood out. Communication Studies again.
Thoughts that are kept within us...
He pressed the dial button frantically as he tilted his head to the tunnel lights.
Everything you keep and hide within yourself is lifeless, and is up to you to breathe life into it.
For a moment it was still. The gust of wind flowing through the tunnel continued to test Seungmin's balance.
A tone rang. It beeped once and stopped.
The grip on his bike—
"Hello?"
Seungmin flinched at the sudden answer—at the immediate answer, more so. The wind intensified in his direction, but he stood tall, eyes squinting.
Seungmin plugged his ear so he could hear himself mutter, "Hi, hyung. I'm..." he looked further into the tunnel, beyond the vacant road. "Not waking you up, am I?"
"No, no," Changbin mumbled—and Seungmin heard his smile through the line. He forced himself to frown and look at the ground. "Ah, Seungmin, it's good to hear you."
A beat passed, and Seungmin found the strength to speak—despite the softness in Changbin's voice, his obvious drowsiness, and his audible breath cycle. If he closed his eyes, he could— No.
Seungmin spoke, "I just got back from the bar with my colleagues. I mean, I'm still out. I'm with my bike... and I was wondering if I could sleep over at your place tonight."
Wow, Seungmin thought before he could curse himself. Exceptionally brave. And out of nowhere.
But he did start to wonder why he felt the need to grow cold, to secure himself behind an already present wall. Changbin couldn't see him through the phone, nor could he hear the way his heart thumped at such a simple request.
Seungmin chose to believe what he heard from the end of the line was a small gasp. It sounded like Changbin was seating himself up.
"Sure, yeah."
"Okay, thank you," Seungmin perked up and reached into his bag. "I’m going to connect my headphones, do you want to continue... talking?"
"Always," Changbin's voice became clearer, deeper. "You can talk about your day while I tidy around for you."
"You don't have to," Seungmin replied after putting on his headphones and getting on the bike. He turned his volume up. "Keep it as it is."
"You know that's not happening."
"Fine," Seungmin glanced around, capturing the serenity and scale of the empty tunnel. Only a few taxis had driven past him since the beginning of the call. He breathed in deeply, fixed his gaze ahead to the narrow road, and began pedaling.
The bike was creaky and quite neglected, but succeeded in taking him to his lectures every day—it gets a pass.
"Well, I can hear everything," Changbin huffed out a laugh as Seungmin accelerated. "It's so immersive!"
"I'm going to hang up, then."
"I’m going to sleep, then," the audio quality dropped as Changbin moved around.
Seungmin scoffed audibly. Secretly, as he moved further down the road, he felt a laugh bubble up. It was sincere, and caused by the memory of their nightly talks.
He cleared his throat and sped up. His racing thoughts would catch up later.
"Ah, seriously," Changbin breathed, seemingly pacing around his house, "I might fall asleep if you don't start talking."
Seungmin pondered the fact that it used to be the exact opposite. He wondered what that meant now.
☆
Seungmin's path diverged from his usual commute. He took a left turn and he would have to continue down for only a couple of minutes to reach Changbin's apartment.
That was all it took—a single turn from his usual ride home, and he would be at Changbin's doorstep.
Something so accessible felt so distant. And so difficult. Tonight, he found, it didn't have to be.
The roads to his left narrowed as the amount of streetlights decreased. On the dark horizon on this familiar street, a series of apartment buildings towered over him. One was higher than the rest, down the very center of the road.
"I’m currently in view of a very famous building, actually."
"Oh?" Changbin replied. His tone conveyed a mild interest in the conversation, but a physical inability to keep his eyes open. He pictured Changbin in bed, phone placed in the center of his pillow.
The image made him hurry up, bike creaking beneath him.
"Yeah. It's the only apartment complex in town with blazing yellow lights turned on the third floor at 2 a.m."
"That's not even true!" he exhaled something between a groan and a laugh. "Warm lights help me fall asleep."
"I also need to sleep in an oven to fall asleep. Very immersive."
"I'll get ready to buzz you in," the connection of the call dropped again.
The road was even and in complete darkness. He tilted his head up. A deep, vast, boundless sky with dim stars stretched above him, far beyond this town.
Seungmin's eyes stained to look right above him, balance wavering.
One of his arms fell from the bike's grips in amazement and he continued to glide over the quiet street. He blinked and inhaled slowly and fully.
The lit window in his view acted as a beacon, a lighthouse. His mouth opened slightly as his feet stopped pedaling.
Seungmin's ears buzzed with the noise of clinking keys, the thud of a door, and quick steps on polished stairs.
And yet he continued to stare above. His momentum was slowing down, but he kept approaching the yellow window.
The window that reminded him of a lighthouse, a refuge. Something monumental, something to bow down to.
Something warm and brightly lit.
The soft night surrounded the familiar street, and by the end of the road—the end of Seungmin's horizon—a singular entrance light shone.
Seungmin continued looking up, unbothered.
"Hey, eyes on the road," Changbin's voice on the other line startled Seungmin, but not as much as seeing Changbin's illuminated frame by the door, waiting in the distance.
Seungmin saw how his phone dropped slowly and he heard the beep that signifies the end of the call—a noise he didn't catch often.
There was something enchanting about this moment. Intimate, and consuming. A stranded sailor coming back home—having successfully avoided the jagged shoreline thanks to the omnipresent lighthouse. A wounded messenger returning back to base camp.
He pressed his back wheel's brakes for a smooth stop, having the time to admire the smile that grew on Changbin's face each second he got closer.
A real, tangible smile. Not just the promise of it through the phone.
Seungmin returned it—although his appeared tenser.
When he stopped decisively, and when Changbin allowed him a moment to get off the bike and put away his headphones, his body remained calm.
Just as his racing thoughts and doubts caught up to him. His brain was trying to taint this moment of comfort.
But before his thoughts could exhaust him, Changbin reached for Seungmin's stiff figure and pulled him into a tight embrace. His arms wrapped Seungmin's upper body and tightened their hold.
Seungmin reached his trembling hands around Changbin.
He felt winded after rushing to the end of the street, so his unsteady breathing made him catch the soothing scent of Changbin's sandalwood fragrance. He inhaled around the hem of his loose bedtime shirt.
This should be awkward, or tense. This should feel unfair, Seungmin thought as he leaned into the touch further. Changbin wasn't letting go of him, and he didn't want to pull away.
He wanted to be held forever, just like this—under the focused light above, faintly breathing in the scent of forest summits, crisp mountain air and earthly solace.
Each hoodie or shirt Changbin used to lend him had this fragrance ingrained. It became a natural part of his clothing, and eventually the rich scent alone brought the memory of Changbin.
Changbin drew in a breath and leaned away, "Everything okay, Seung?"
His voice held no distress, only reassurance and stability.
I really hope so, Seungmin meant to say.
Instead, he nodded and replied a quiet ‘yeah’.
"Then let's head up," Changbin's smile reached his drowsy eyes—his tone sounded airy and composed. His gaze shot beside Seungmin. "Wait, let me help you with your bike first."
Seungmin stepped away and held the entrance door as Changbin carried his bike with ease to the underground level of the building. He had a designated spot for it—down the long, thin corridor, lit by a series of hanging lights. The dark walls around them reminded him of the tunnel.
Seungmin followed behind Changbin, observing how his arms moved and shifted with the weight in his hands. The shadows around his triceps trembled each time he lifted the bike. He nearly bumped into his back wheel several times, mesmerized by a view he used to be so familiar with.
Now he was deprived of it. The ghost of the loose fabric under his palms and fingertips he just felt lingered.
But for now, he followed along and stopped once they reached the end of the corridor.
Changbin placed it down and turned around with a passive smirk.
"Thank you, hyung," Seungmin shyly said. Gratitude came easy to him, but he realized he hadn't expressed this once. He wanted to breathe life into this gratitude, for it to be heard. Thank you for letting me stay here. Thank you for picking up. Thank you for being here.
Sometimes their moods would not align—sometimes Changbin felt sincere and spoke softly, while Seungmin was ready to tease and bully him; other times Seungmin allowed himself to be vulnerable, thankful, and earnest, and Changbin would giggle at how polite he was.
This night united them with its calm and familiarity. Their gazes held more than they let on, Seungmin could feel it. Tonight they aligned.
Changbin's smirk turned brighter and he made a grab for Seungmin's nape, applying faint pressure while Seungmin wriggled and started walking backwards.
"Always so well-mannered, Minnie," Changbin cooed mockingly and nudged him ahead.
Maybe they weren't as aligned, but he certainly didn't mind. Seungmin smiled.
Welcome home, he thought to himself as they started heading back.
☆
When they entered the apartment, Seungmin immediately noted how much he missed this layout. The nicely lit corridor, the open living room and kitchen plan, the spacious bedroom that hid behind a sturdy, modern door.
Everything was as he left it. Changbin stood radiantly in front of him as Seungmin took off his shoes, and passed him a pair of beige slippers with a path of paw prints.
Seungmin placed his backpack on the wooden floor carefully—so as to not cause a thud on this sanctified space, and slipped on his designated footwear indoors.
"Anything to drink?"
After flicking the lights to a neutral white shade, Changbin strolled towards the kitchen, keeping his steps slow so he could catch Seungmin's response.
"No, thanks."
"Not even post-game?" Changbin reached the kitchen and opened the fridge, then looked down at the various items next to it. "Or the two stacks of your beer that you have to dispose me of?"
Changbin used to stock Seungmin's favorite beer when he'd come and stay for the night. He'd always have too much to finish—he would be in the mood for two beers at most, and Changbin would've stocked with a whole stack.
Seungmin promised him that someday they would run out, and the only time he had begged Changbin ever was for him to stop buying a 12 pack whenever he slept over.
Seungmin stopped coming over as frequently.
He stopped coming over altogether.
The heaviness in his chest started rising and expanding. He looked at the ground, burdened by this thought.
…The sight of his paw print slippers grounded him immediately and he focused on calming his breath.
"I’m taking that as a no," Changbin called out as he peeked to find Seungmin's gaze.
Seungmin hadn't realized he was waiting for an answer. "You want water?"
"I’m fine," he stood still, now in the middle of the living room. His limbs weighed him down directionlessly. "Really. Come sit on the couch with me."
"Only if you promise to help me get rid of your beer," Changbin approached the couch, moving past Seungmin's standing frame.
"I already have promised."
"Promise again," he sat down with a huff.
Promise me you'll come back here again, Seungmin interpreted.
He inhaled, "I promise, hyung, to help you get rid of the beer you kept buying, even when you knew you had a full stack available," he deadpanned, hovering over Changbin's seated frame.
Changbin crossed his arms and relaxed his weight onto the sofa. His annoyed expression looked more like endearing grumpiness in the soft overhead light.
"Ah, at least you promised. Now tell me even more about your night out.” Changbin patted the space next to him and shifted towards it.
"I think I overstayed my welcome."
Seungmin plopped down on the couch at last. His destination had been reached and he let himself fall back into the soft cushions.
Changbin sympathetically made a tutting sound.
He seemed to disagree, but asked, "Why'd you stay so long, then?”
Seungmin asked himself that question multiple times before he even called Changbin—and just couldn't answer. You sometimes just... overstay your welcome. Stay longer than you need.
"I don't get enough sleep anyway, I guess. I doubt going home an hour early would have fixed my schedule."
It was impressive how fast the night with his colleagues got overshadowed by this moment with Changbin.
Recency bias, he labeled it.
All of the emotions from the bar caught up to him, but he felt comfortable to experience them in this space.
Too comfortable.
Seungmin continued meekly, "The talking and socializing were definitely tiring."
"Coming from someone whose major is only talking..."
He suppressed a giggle, but in his fatigued state he failed. It wasn't just talking, it was lots more listening and absorbing, but he reckoned that was pretty much all majors. In his lectures so far, he has had to listen and interpret world views and opinions he did not treat as his own. That was his current process—selective listening. Selective absorbing.
He thought back to his night out and realized he let himself take everything in passively. He shared stories and anecdotes, his colleagues listened to him, nodded along, laughed—but he still felt like an observer at most points. It was nice to stand back and follow the group's conversation, to track each thought and where it would lead, to look at laughter and excitement while sipping his beer. In the last hour of his stay at the bar he felt obligated to sit it out and leave with the group.
He was very grateful that he chose to go home early—as early as you could call 2 a.m.—and go home to Changbin, he reminisced.
Seungmin's eyes landed on him.
Changbin sat slightly bent, a passive smile on his plush lips. The warm lighting overhead softened all shadows around his face—it gave his already kind expression a benevolent glow.
Seungmin allowed himself to stare for a moment longer before continuing.
"The company was pleasant," he concluded eventually.
"Yeah?" Changbin leaned back into the sofa, flushing his back against the support. His hand reached for Seungmin's forehead to fan out his bangs. "I'm glad to hear."
Seungmin stood still. With an exhale, he closed his eyes in bliss at the soft gesture. His head tilted towards Changbin's hand. The strands grazed his eyelids.
"It’s nice to know you're popular," Changbin continued.
He tucked a part of Seungmin's hair and pulled his hand away. It slid shyly to the top of Seungmin's thigh.
"You deserve it," he ended off, barely above a whisper.
Seungmin's heavy eyelids opened to find Changbin ready for sleep—his head was entirely supported by the cushion of the sofa behind them and his eyes barely stayed open. He selfishly thought he's forcing them open to look at Seungmin for a while longer like this.
Seungmin even more selfishly took some notes of the sight before him.
Changbin's hand was still on his thigh, idly moving his thumb in miniscule circles. His weight was falling to Seungmin's side, meaning any moment now Changbin's head would fall right on his shoulder.
Seungmin wondered if they were meant to fall asleep like this. His gaze lingered on Changbin's neck and assumed it would be strained in the morning in this position. He wanted to run his fingers along the side of it, to let his palm stay there and pull him closer.
No, their place wasn't here. He decided to do the brave thing.
"Hyung," he said softly. He reached for his shoulder and Changbin opened his eyes instantly.
Closed mouths don't get fed, Seungmin thought. He prepared his serious, low tone as he uttered, "Don't fall asleep yet, you have to carry me to the bedroom."
Changbin blinked. A smirk flashed across his face and his sleep daze was gone.
His smirk became a grin as he grabbed Seungmin by the wrist and got up. Seungmin followed, ascending a bit slower, which gave time for Changbin to reach for the back of his neck and squeeze firmly.
The contact was delightful—he meekly leaned into it.
He shouldn't act so familiar, it shouldn't feel so familiar. Seungmin was guilty; he intentionally kept Changbin at a distance, and continued to act cold over the phone.
And yet Changbin still hadn't said anything.
And yet Seungmin fought lazily while being pushed to the bedroom, a big smile plastered on his face.
As they entered, Changbin slowed his step and leaned against the door, almost in admiration.
"Here we are," he looked around his own space meekly.
Seungmin moved towards the broad bed, the cool air from outside airing the freshness of the sheets.
He heard Changbin behind him say, "I've got your spare clothes on the bed. And the most uncomfortable pillow in the entire world."
The pillow on Seungmin's designated right side of the bed was as thin as the blankets. It laid neatly next to Changbin's block of a pillow.
"Shut up," Seungmin approached the stiff pillow on the left and half-slapped it, half-punched it. "It's not healthy to sleep on this thing at your mature age."
He quickly scrambled before Changbin could catch up and twist his wrist, grabbing the neatly folded pajamas and heading to the bathroom.
The half-yells, half-giggles got muffled with the click of the bathroom door. Seungmin looked at the clothes in his grasp—every time he slept over, he got a different pair of loose sweatpants and a shirt that sat nicely on his shoulders.
As he shimmied out of his hoodie, he glanced at the sink on his left—it occupied a good amount of the bathroom, with various products placed in rows along the edges. In the center stood a tall cup for toothbrushes.
He finished putting on his sleepwear, the cool fabric now resting against his skin. Seungmin stepped closer to the large mirror.
When he looked at his scattered bangs he still felt the warmth of Changbin's fingertips against his forehead. Seungmin ruffled the back of his hair, scratching at his scalp, and carefully moved the strands out of his eyes.
He looked towards the two toothbrushes: wrapped around one of the handles was a small tag that read 'Seung'.
A sigh escaped him. His gaze slipped down, feeling a deep stretch in his neck, and all he could feel was fondness.
Seungmin knew he was only hurting himself by doing this—by restraining, bullying himself. By not letting his feelings prosper.
He thought about what happens when we don't breathe life into our views and notions. Their time comes and eventually they're forgotten, unexpressed. They linger and become corpses.
Seungmin learned that nobody wants to hold onto dead things. Nobody wants to carry corpses after themselves.
His gaze remained down, his head just as heavy. He closed his eyes for a moment.
Some say there is magic in the unspoken. When the mood is just right. When a look holds more weight than words. When both people simply know.
These phrases, this mindset—they ruled over Seungmin and anchored him into his obedient, stoic nature. Only when the time was due would he have to act. And yet something unleashed itself within him during that lecture—a floodgate of emotion. Something ignited.
In an instant, he found that every moment is right when you treat it as such. He remembered every clichè slogan he used to scoff at, and something changed.
He sat in the lecture hall, overcome with mental clarity. The unrelated words for the next couple of moments glided right past him—he had to absorb this moment completely and treasure it.
This inner power within him—he thought maybe that was the same power that made him call Changbin tonight. The realization that every moment with him is the right one was comforting, and affirming.
But it was still not enough. Everything was aligned for him, but he still believed he wasn't strong enough.
Tonight, he brushed his teeth with a toothbrush that was designated for him. He wore clothes that were not his own, but sat just as nicely. Seungmin ran his hand over the material of the shirt—these clothes were even nicer than his own.
Before he exited the bathroom, he took a moment to breathe and listen to slow footsteps that approached the bedroom. He cherished this noise—it felt domestic.
He felt the soothing material on his back and shoulders, and gently tilted his head down to catch the faint scent of sandalwood. Earthy, stable.
The bathroom door behind him closed with a click. Seungmin ruffled his hair again and let his yawn sound in the room. Changbin, who was fluffing the flat pillow by punching and poking its sides, looked back and flashed a smile.
Seungmin sat at the edge of the bed, contemplating how he should start the conversation. He actively tried to stop himself from overthinking and to just talk, for fuck's sake.
It just wouldn't be fair to stay quiet.
And, actually, the lecture summary he just had with himself may have helped. He sucked in a breath.
"This may come out of nowhere, but," there was no use carrying corpses. It wouldn't be fair to Changbin. "I wanted to thank you for your kindness," Seungmin searched for Changbin's gaze.
He immediately found it, and kept talking. "You're always so welcoming and take such good care of me whenever I come here. Everything you prepare for me reminds me I'm welcome here," despite the lovely surprise written on Changbin's face—one that affirmed to keep going—he felt a pressure build up in his sternum. "Your home is a kind of sanctuary to me, I always leave feeling my best and can't wait to come back."
A voice haunted him—then why didn't you come back?
The pressure continued to push down. Everything within Seungmin was screaming to look away, to hold his head down and fidget.
This was uncrossed territory. The magic of the unspoken had worn off and he was responsible for it.
Feeling bashful, he finished talking with a quieter tone, just audible enough to be heard between them, "You make me feel safe and seen."
Seungmin persevered and kept a soft gaze up at Changbin, whose brows had slightly lifted and his lips stayed parted.
"Wow," he chuckled breathlessly, "No, I don't think it was that unexpected. I appreciate it, though," Changbin's smile grew as he took a seat next to Seungmin. Seungmin's display of vulnerability was all worth it for this sight alone. But it was still not enough. "I also appreciate you—y'know, for being here... Ah, I'm too tired to say something as touching as you."
There was so much more Seungmin could share and he wasn't planning on shutting it within himself. Not anymore, he hoped. He thought he possessed the strength to keep sharing, but... Nothing was clear yet.
Changbin placed his hand on Seungmin's shoulder and gave it a little squeeze before pulling him into a hug. The embrace was pure, the pressure wasn't too tight, and Seungmin relaxed immediately into it.
He imagined how confusing this must be for Changbin, and quickly stiffened up. He felt dizzy.
"That's the least I can do as a response. Now come here—!” Changbin sang playfully as he thumped their bodies towards the bed and dragged Seungmin with ease to the top where his pillow laid. He giggled at the smile that formed on Seungmin's lips in an instant.
Seungmin exhaled slowly and found his way under the heavy blankets, the smile sitting idly on his lips. Without looking, he felt Changbin stand up from the bed to turn the overhead lighting off. A small click echoed through the room as he turned on the small lamp on his bedside. The warm glow of it reached him, even behind tired eyelids.
He thought of the tunnel lights. They were very similar.
A weight next to him appeared gradually, but quickly stumbled and twisted into the sheets. It caused a deep creak from the bed and Seungmin fluttered his eyes open.
"Sorry," Changbin huffed out quietly.
"No," now was not the time, Seungmin thought, but it was inevitable. "I’m sorry," he muttered, half-hidden from the blanket in his face.
Changbin furrowed his brows with a chuckle.
After a moment his expression turned contemplative and distant.
…His mouth fell into a tight smile, dark tired eyes observing Seungmin.
A blink, then Changbin continued his descent beneath the covers like normal. After some shifting around, a silence sounded above them.
"Uh," Changbin began, as if to change the topic, "have any plans tomorrow? Or lectures?"
The light disappeared behind his eyelids. Seungmin exhaled serenely; Changbin positioned himself on his side, facing Seungmin.
The rich scent of sandalwood surrounded him again. It paired perfectly with the soft, clean smell of his pajamas and the breeze from the cracked window.
Seungmin let out a small sound that resembles a barely audible 'no'.
His only plan was to find out how Changbin felt about him, but that was an issue for tomorrow.
"Mm, we can wake up whenever we want," Changbin's breathing began to steady.
"I’m making it my life goal to wake up before you."
"Whoever wakes up first, Minnie, makes the other coffee. I hope you remember how I like it."
Seungmin had to go through many trials and conquer many impediments to find out how his fucking coffee machine functioned. Never in his life had he witnessed such a pretentious and complicated piece of machinery.
He figured it out in the end, though. And figured out what singular kind of coffee capsules he used amongst the sea of half-empty boxes around the kitchen. It was worth it.
"I don't even know where the sugar is," Seungmin murmured.
Second cabinet on the upper left, first shelf, usually obstructed by the aforementioned box of capsules.
He continued, "I guess I'll have enough time to wreck your kitchen and find out."
"That is if you do wake up before me."
"You're on."
Changbin chuckled and breathed out loudly.
The opened blinds let in no light, only the muted hue of blue. Seungmin blinked his eyes slowly and focused on the faint outline of Changbin in front of him.
Changbin yawned and buried his face in his firm pillow as he hummed. "We'll see in the morning."
"Good night, hyung. Thank you for today."
"Sweet dreams, Min," maybe he imagined it, but Seungmin felt Changbin snuggle closer. "Hope you rest well."
Seungmin grew accustomed to the light exhales coming his way from across. The rhythm soothed him, and he fell asleep to the thought of hilltops, soft cushions, and steady breathing beside him.