[Part 3: a realization under streetlamps, a magnet reminding of home, and their kitchen]
——————————
Later that night, Minchan tells him to park on the sideway and drags him into a convenience store. They grab armfuls of ice cream to stock up for the upcoming summer weeks, and because Minchan's bank account has already suffered enough, Hoyoung hurries to the cashier before he can say a word. He still protests afterwards, of course, and Hoyoung has to shush him by elbowing his side. Then, he runs.
They race each other back to the car. Airy laughter escapes Hoyoung's chest. Every time Minchan passes the spotlight of a streetlamp, the crown of his hair turns into gold like the stars are weaving a halo onto his head.
Spots of light are swirling in Hoyoung's chest, on his tongue. He wants to cry. He wants to trip and let the ground bury him underneath the weight of the world. Nothing makes sense when he looks at Minchan, but the funny thing is that even then, everything is where it's supposed to be, has fallen into place perfectly fine on its own: his hand finds Minchan's, and their eyes meet.
He doesn't cry or fall.
Instead, he flies.
*'☆°*
The drive back to their apartment is full of giggles and stupid, stupid conversations that Hoyoung treasures all too much. "Do you think flamingos have a favorite leg to stand on?" Minchan asks at one point. "Do you think it's more like a left-handed and right-handed thing or an ambidextrous-with-a-preference thing?"
"Maybe it's different for every one of them... like with humans. I don't know."
"I'd like to think they're treating their legs fairly. No discrimination."
Hoyoung is behind the steering wheel, so he only throws him a quick glance, but then — his heart surges. Minchan is grinning.
Despite the truly unserious things coming out of his mouth, Hoyoung wants to kiss him.
Oh.
He prays Minchan doesn't notice how he grips the wheel a little bit tighter and keeps his eyes fixed on the dim road a bit more firmly than usual.
It's a strange thought. It's strange because it feels natural more than anything. Hoyoung hasn't ever given romance much consideration in his life, and if he has ever kissed anyone when he was little, he doesn't remember it. When Minchan came out to him as graysexual two years ago, his only comment had been Honestly? Probably same. Then, Minchan said he was pan, and to that Hoyoung had merely shrugged. I figured. He hadn't been sure if he could relate to that as well.
Kissing is weird. Definitely nice in concept; Hoyoung sort of understands the appeal of it, but he doesn't think he'd ever get obsessed with it like most other people do. Hell, even Kangmin has kissed a friend in high school and when he shyly told Hoyoung about it, he had a soft glimmer in his eyes that felt almost wistful.
He doesn't want to have another tongue in his mouth. But a part of him now thinks that it yes, it would be...nice, to know how Minchan's lips feel on his. If they slot together just as well as their hands. Their gazes.
Streetlamps pass, halos appear. Beyond the tall building silhouettes, the stars sway in the tentative rhythm of a lullaby.
Maybe he should ask him. Later, tomorrow, somewhere this week. Minchan would probably...
Would he agree to do this?
The cold fingers of a doubt that feels all too familiar chokes him around his lungs and suddenly he's not so sure anymore. But Minchan keeps talking and smiling for the rest of the drive and Hoyoung can't imagine he'd say anything that would make him regret.
And if he wouldn't agree, he would listen and understand and that is just as good enough. All Hoyoung wants is for Minchan to know that he is so, so dear to him in ways he couldn't imagine if he tried to sketch it out for him and put it up on their refrigerator with the one pride magnet he brought from his parent's house.
His father might have never spoken a lot and his mother didn't listen much to what Hoyoung or either of his siblings said. However, that doesn't mean there has been no place for him at home at all.
The magnet reminds him to keep both sides of his childhood close to his heart. It also stands for another home. Another future, one where he doesn't get the urge to shut the door behind him anywhere he goes.
One where he won't be alone if he doesn't want to be.
His heart stutters. Vaguely, somewhere on the back of his mind, a revelation dawns on him with soft, hopeful rays of the most golden sunlight. Oh.
So this is it. It's you.
But what Hoyoung feels, Minchan has already been thinking about for ages.
He still can't bring himself to say the words, not quite yet, but he can say something else and mean it all the same. If he wants to put an end to the starlit midnight dance they've been doing around each other, he has to try.
He will try. For them. For him.
*'☆°*
Minchan's laughter bounces off the colorless cement walls of their apartment complex hallway, jumps up and down the staircase and probably squeezes itself through their neighbors' doors, and Hoyoung can only half-heartedly scold him to be quiet. His chest feels too light to give his words any weight. He rushes up to their floor, the plastic bag with their ice cream swinging in his hand, and arrives first to unlock the door.
"I'm putting these away," he says over his shoulder. Minchan hums, before a soft rustling of fabric swallows his voice. He's probably fumbling with his jacket, failing to pull his arms out on the first try.
Hoyoung doesn't bother reaching for the light switch, just peels his shoes off and slips past the mess of tote sacks and plastic bags he knows is pouring out of the box next to their feet. They've been talking about de-cluttering the apartment for a couple of weeks now, but even though he knows it will be good to reclaim some of the square meters they pay for, he kind of wants to keep the place eternally chaotic. It feels lived in. And when he comes home to it after an especially difficult day, it's a special kind of comforting too.
Things can be messy and beautiful at the same time. Minchan has taught him that on countless days, between cluttered counters and spilled cocoa on the floor.
The kitchen is not in its worst state when Hoyoung steps inside tonight, but he figures he should block out a day to clean up a bit here too. They need to unload the dishwasher, some silicon spatulas are aimlessly lying around on the counter, and there are two smaller, cherry themed plates on the stove with crumbs littered all over them. He's been trying to squeeze some baking into his free time, since Minchan is the cook in this household and he guesses that if he doesn't do it, Minchan will pick up the hobby sooner or later. And Hoyoung absolutely cannot have him glued to the kitchen every waking second he's home.
He hasn't made anything grand yet, nothing worth mentioning. Some chocolate chip cookies, and yes, he has tried his luck with a strawberry shortcake, but once he fed it to Dongheon for a first opinion and received a solemn vow of honesty and the glowing review pitifully dry in the same breath, he stuck to his cookies. At least those are supposed to be dry.
The door of the freezer makes enough creaking noises to chase the embarrassing memory away. He flips the bag, and the ice cream packs tumble into the empty space.
"Hey." Minchan's voice calls out to him from behind. It's soft, and endlessly warm, and Hoyoung feels his face melt into a smile.
He shuts the freezer. Minchan is leaning against the door frame, arms relaxed against his side, and it's so good to see him like this again. Carefree, like they're fourteen and lying on beanbags in their secret spot, on the pavement behind the abandoned warehouse. Summer heat burning blushes onto their faces. Filled water bottles and peaceful tapping-away on their phones.
"Hey." Hoyoung grins at him across the kitchen. Somewhere deep inside of him, his heart is glowing and smiling like the stars are still swirling all around them. "You...uhm, thank you for today. It was — nice. To spend the night with you like this."
Minchan hums. "Ah, no need. My wallet might still be crying though. Tragically, magic cannot fill my bank account."
"I'll buy you ice cream until the end of summer—"
"Woah, hold on. Never said it can't cry a bit more. It's okay. It was worth the money."
He wants to add more. Hoyoung feels the words hanging in the air.
But Minchan leaves it at that and looks at him, blinking slowly like tiredness is washing over him in calm waves. Perhaps this has been going on for so long that he doesn't even dare to try. Hoyoung sort of wants to slap himself for not realizing it sooner.
Will they be fine? They have to be.
He clears his throat. "Can you — will you be heading to bed?"
"Not if you wanna talk? Do you want me to stay?"
Always, he nearly says.
Minchan knows him too well.
"I'll stay," he decides before Hoyoung can come up with anything else. He takes a step closer, and a small frown settles on his face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing's wrong." Hoyoung does a dismissive hand gesture and looks away. But then Minchan moves again and catches his wrist. Careful like always, he wraps his fingers around it, like he's pleading with him to not fly away.
Hoyoung feels his heart leap.
"It's just..." He searches for the right words. Anything that can make him sound nearly as profound and beautiful like he feels. "Well, it's nothing just, it's probably a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it's also not? Not really?"
He laughs. "Fuck. I'm being incredibly cryptic."
"It's okay." Minchan smiles. Soft crinkles appear around his eyes and Hoyoung swears that if he were a withered bouquet of flowers, he would start blooming again, right there on the spot. "Continue. Reading cryptic textbooks is somewhat my expertise, remember?"
"Yeah. Right." He feels lighter. The whole ordeal does not become any less scary, though. He heaves a sigh. "God, this has no business being this difficult—"
"You're not moving out, are you?" Minchan bursts out and winces like he didn't mean to speak it out loud. "Ah. Sorry. My brain's being mean again."
Hoyoung frowns.
How long has he been struggling with that fear?
"Hey. Don't do that." He places a hand on his shoulder and gives it a little squeeze. "Don't apologize, okay? You are not your intrusive thoughts. And I want to stay with you even if either of us sets this place on fire. Or if the building collapses. Or — I don't know. Can you believe me?"
"How does the possibility of accidental arson come into your mind before anything else."
He shrugs. But Minchan has found his smile again, he's listening, and this — this has got to be it.
He lets his gaze wander for one last time. The plates and the crumbs are still there, as well as the green blinking light of the dishwasher waiting to get unloaded. This is their home. Their safe space.
And it's real.
He can't believe he's doing this.
There have to be so many better places other than in their messy kitchen well past midnight.
"Uhm, I... I kinda wish I had an emotional speech prepared but, y'know." He searches for Minchan's gaze. He feels a bit dizzy as he holds it. Stars are swirling in his eyes.
"I realized it on the way back from the convenience store and that's not really the best moment to whip out a bunch of poetry. I mean, it's not like I've ever made a good talker, anyway. To be fair."
He takes a deep breath. "I want to stay around until you don't want me to. And — and I want to kiss you. Kiss, as in I think it would be nice, and we don't have to do it 'cause I mean, I'm not even sure if you want to do these kinds of things at all. Kiss, as in I've never thought about this before, but it just sounds right to me. Do you, uh, get what I mean?"
This is possibly the longest Hoyoung has ever rambled. He hears himself breathing awfully loud through his mouth. Somewhere in another universe, one of their clocks is ticking away into early morning.
Minchan stares. And just for a moment, panic punches Hoyoung in the stomach.
What if he's got it all wrong? What if Minchan thinks he is throwing away everything they have for some useless romantic gesture he has no interest in whatsoever, what if he feels deeply and utterly disgusted and he doesn't want to talk to him ever again—
"You...you...huh?" Minchan sounds breathless.
Like Hoyoung has knocked the air out of his lungs.
*'☆°*
It snaps him back to his senses.
"Yes?" He laughs, because it just feels stupidly obvious. And because it's so incredible to put it into words; freeing, like spreading out a pair of wings he didn't know he possessed.
"You've considered us kissing? Today?" Minchan's voice is choking on something that sounds suspiciously like swallowed down hope. And Hoyoung thinks he might cry, just from that. They both just might. "You're not saying this out of pity for my sad, overthinking soul? And because I'm making a fool out of myself?"
"No! I mean yeah, I was guessing you've been overthinking about this for ages," Hoyoung mutters, "But I want it too. I really do."
Minchan still gapes at him, still processing, and yet, Hoyoung feels like his entire world has been turned inside out in the best way possible.
They are fine.
They will be fine.
He reaches out. Softly, carefully, he cradles Minchan's face in his hands. He almost immediately melts into the touch, and it takes all of Hoyoung's self-restraint to keep his gaze on him when Minchan looks at him like he has given him the universe. It's almost too much, too good. Everything is too good. How can this be his life?
But then he thinks about the crumbs. And the cherry plates. And their darn dishwasher. And as mundane as it must sound to anybody else, that's when Hoyoung decides that he wants to have faith in their own kind of happy ending.
Maybe it's more of a new beginning, instead.
He steps closer, closes his eyes, and lets out a little gasp when Minchan meets him in the middle.
For one painful heartbeat, everything freezes.
What is he supposed to do now? Tilt his head, move his lips, sigh into his mouth? It always looks so easy in the movies, but he doesn't feel like doing either of the above, if he's being honest—
Oh.
Minchan's hands wrap around his waist and the world fills with warmth again.
They stumble backwards. Minchan presses him against the fridge and then they're kissing. Lips moving, slotting together like hands intertwining on a late-night walk. Hoyoung doesn't sigh into his mouth, but instead he wants to smile. He thinks Minchan notices. Another moment and he pulls Hoyoung even closer until there is no space between them anymore.
Being held like this is most assuring, and earnestly calming gesture he has ever come to receive in his life.
It's nice, is the only thought in Hoyoung's mind. It feels nice.
Maybe he is supposed to be feel more, and maybe he would if he were like most people, who seem to get drunk on kissing alone and spend evenings making out with their partners and eventually falling into bed with them for something else. There are no grandiose fireworks painting his heart, or insects fluttering in his stomach, birds flapping inside of his ribcage. There is no big moment where his whole vision fills up with the colors of Undying Love or whatever. His mind isn't blown away.
The pride magnet presses into his back like a friendly reminder. If they shift just a little bit more to his left, he will end up with the handle in his side.
He feels pretty sane right now. He doesn't really know what to make out of this.
It's nice to be held, and it's nice to hold — knowing they fit together in ways more than one.
Minchan moves his hand up, gently threads his fingers through Hoyoung's hair. His knees turn into mere stilts of molten wax.
On the other side, maybe he's supposed to feel less. He has figured out that he is most likely on the asexual spectrum ever since Minchan came out to him. Does kissing count as sexual? He has no idea. He never did any kind of research and just hoped it would all just click at some point in his life.
But this doesn't feel wrong and neither does it feel bad. So he keeps kissing and running his hands through strands of Minchan's soft hair that he will absolutely insist on fixing it for him later.
Even after Minchan pulls away and doesn't come back, he keeps grinning like an idiot.
"Is this really okay?" Warm huffs of air tickle Hoyoung's nose.
"Yeah," he breathes out. "It's nice. It really is."
Then he opens his eyes. Minchan's face is so close to his own — he could count his lashes if he wanted to. Spots of pink are sprinkled across his cheeks like rose petals at a wedding and Hoyoung's stomach flips at the thought that he's the reason for this rare sight.
"The I'd-do-it-again-kind of nice or more of a that's-neat-but-one-time-is-enough?" Minchan laughs and leans a bit further away, gives him space to breathe. A wave of gratitude washes over Hoyoung.
"Either is fine, you know. I just need to know for future reference."
"I think it's both," he quietly admits. "I don't mind it. I enjoy kissing you, but I don't think I'll like, crave for it at any point. Does it make sense? And is this working with you or...?" He stares at his hands cupping Minchan's face. He never liked his fingers very much. They are too thin, too weak to hold anything properly. Though now, they look just fine.
It's scary, revealing this newly discovered part of himself.
Minchan waited years to be sure of his identity, and even then, he's told him one particularly cloudy Sunday afternoon, he was wondering if it would change again with growing age. And while Hoyoung is fairly sure the things he is feeling now aren't going to turn into something else soon, how can he ever know for sure...?
"We can make it work."
Minchan speaks with such a calm confidence that Hoyoung is willing to meet his eyes again. He finds nothing but understanding between the stars.
"We always do. And can I be frank with you?" Minchan starts to laugh. "You can't even imagine what unbridled joy I feel in the way we keep proving fifteen-year-old-Gyehyeon wrong. Do you still remember? He said he would catch us make out in the shower one day. I'm going to annoy him with this for the rest of our lives... ah, how the turns have tabled."
Hoyoung's mouth falls open. A thousand different emotions rush through his veins in that moment, and he is conflicted if he should laugh, punch him in the shoulder or break out into sobs because he feels so much, so loved. Minchan can't just do this to him. Why is he like this. Why are they like this?
"But — this was ages ago." He blinks his tears away. "How about you remember to put your books back into your shelf, so you don't almost break your neck every time you leave your room."
Minchan rolls his eyes. But there is no anger in his gaze and Hoyoung finds himself chuckling along as he reaches up to fix his hair.
He feels comforted to know that nothing has changed.
They are still Hong Minchan and Bae Hoyoung, two souls that have found each other in the shadows of a lonely scorching summer day and chose to stay together ever since. They might go at this differently than most other people would have in their places, but that doesn't matter.
If it works for them, they don't have to prove it to anybody else.
*'☆°*
They fall back into a calm silence. Hoyoung tugs the strands of black hair back to their place and Minchan doesn't even fight him.
It's not long until Minchan is the first to break into a yawn.
"Okay, you big bird nest," Hoyoung sighs. "Let's talk more about this tomorrow? Before you dramatically fall asleep in my arms and I have to dramatically carry you into your room. My noodle arms refuse to accept this behavior."
"Ugh. Fine. Sorry for being dramatically too cool for you, I guess." Minchan rolls his eyes again. Hoyoung finally gets the chance to punch him into his shoulder and then Minchan begrudgingly complies, lets Hoyoung shoo him into the bathroom.
When they've both changed into pajama shorts and a baggy shirt and are ready for bed, the time comes when they wish each other goodnight and disappear into their rooms to recharge.
Minchan, usually, doesn't linger.
Hoyoung, cross-legged on his bed and the phone in his lap casting the only stream of light into his room, watches him place a tentative hand on the doorframe. The hallway light casts blurred shadows onto his face. He looks hesitant to speak.
Hoyoung decides to give him a nudge.
"I love you," he whispers. The words easily fall from his lips, like he has said them to him a thousand times before.
Maybe he has.
Minchan's eyes widen. His jaw drops in a silent oh and he fiddles with the hem of his shirt.
Hoyoung can't make out the colors of his face, but he is hoping enough for some pink and red that he might just be imagining them over his flustered expression. He wants to remember this sight for the darker days.
Especially when it melts into the softest, most fond expression Hoyoung has ever seen — and it's dedicated to him.
All his doubts swept away, Minchan starts, "I love you too. And I think I'd like to marry you. Someday. Legally. If you want it too." He laughs. "Tax benefits and so on, you get the gist."
Hoyoung blinks. "Tax benefits." A grin forms on his face and he feels like his heart is glowing in the magic of a handful galaxies. "I think I'd like that."
He's still grinning when Minchan wishes him sweet dreams and bolts into his room where he is, most likely, screaming into his pillow. Not that he hears him through the thin walls. Okay, maybe a little bit. It's rather cute.
Living with Minchan is nice. Kissing Minchan is nice. But it's just being around him that makes his presence in his life so precious. Him, and his wonderful, kind, star-filled soul. That night, Hoyoung falls asleep with shooting stars flying before his eyes.
The dreams that follow are full of glistening waves and sparkling hope.
Hoyoung is holding Minchan's hand as they fly through it all, trusting and believing in more years to come and new memories to keep for as long as they breathe the same air.
With his other hand, he is reaching for the light.