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“Chu Sangwoo.”
“Hmm?”
“Warning.”
“What’s wrong?” Sangwoo lifts his head from the crook of Jaeyoung’s neck.
Jaeyoung glances at his watch. “23 hours, 59 minutes, 59 seconds.”
Sangwoo’s brows furrow. “What’s happening in 23 hours, 59 minutes, 59 seconds? You don’t leave for the airport for another 34 hours, and our anniversary has already passed.”
“23 hours, 58 minutes, 12 seconds,” Jaeyoung kisses the top of Sangwoo’s head and inhales deeply. Sangwoo probably smells of cigarettes. He used to try to wash his hair thoroughly of the smell of the other’s cigarette smoke, but constantly borrowing Jaeyoung’s hoodies meant that his vanilla shampoo would inevitably meld with the scent of tobacco. He stopped worrying about that long ago. “Don’t think about it. I know you don’t like surprises, so I’m giving you a heads up.”
“But,” Sangwoo sits himself upright amidst the pile of blankets and pillows on their shared bed. The lamp on their bedside table illuminates the concern on his face. “You giving me a ‘warning’ without explanation will only make me worry. What’s the point of a warning if I don’t know what the problem is?”
Jaeyoung chuckles and leans towards Sangwoo, pushing the excess pillows away. “Who said there’s a problem?” He kisses Sangwoo’s nose, then his cheeks, and then his lips until he’s laying on top of him.
This bastard . How is Sangwoo supposed to protest with Jaeyoung laying on his chest all doe-eyed and shrouded in technicolor hues. They’ve been together for several months now, eight to be exact, so Sangwoo has built up several defenses against Jaeyoung’s scheming tricks. If he didn’t, their project meetings would consist of less programming and designing and more making out on the couch and…
Jaeyoung looks up at Sangwoo and toys with his hoodie strings, heading rising and falling with each of Sangwoo’s breaths. He fully knows what he’s doing but feigns a look of innocence anyways.
“Fine, there’s no problem. I believe you. But it’s getting late. We have a full day tomorrow, and you still haven’t packed half of your luggage–”
“Sangchuuu,” Jaeyoung interrupts, pinching the other’s cheeks. His eyes twinkle from behind his bangs, and Sangwoo is lulled into a false sense of security, missing the mischievous glint behind Jaeyoung’s gaze.
What he doesn’t miss is Jaeyoung’s hand slipping beneath his sweatshirt, thumb brushing gentle circles against his hip bones.
“Packing!” Sangwoo says with faux sternness. There was a time when Sangwoo would scold and judge Jaeyoung for something like this. He’d take every chance to point out the little things that peeved him. You drink too much, your workspace is too messy, your laptop files are disorganized . Care disguised as reprimands – not that Sangwoo no longer chides him. He merely decided to let pieces of Jaeyoung into his life – a few spare throw pillows, an extra blanket because it was especially cold one night, a stack of art supplies in the corner of the living room (for convenience, obviously) – until his apartment became their apartment.
He no longer despises the color red.
Well, maybe he still isn’t fond of the color red because he knows something is up when a sly grin spreads across Jaeyoung’s lips.
“Don’t you-” Sangwoo protests, but it’s no use.
Before Sangwoo can defend himself, Jaeyoung straddles himself on Sangwoo’s hips and tickles him.
Terrible terrible man , Sangwoo curses, unable to think in full sentences. Jaeyoung knows full well that there isn’t a surface on Sangwoo that isn’t ticklish. Ever since Jaeyoung discovered this, Sangwoo’s life has been hell because it’s the quickest way to get Sangwoo to smile, and Sangwoo has long since stopped protesting physical contact from Jaeyoung.
Jaeyoung is relentless, quick hands and even quicker fingers making their way under Sangwoo’s sweatshirt and t-shirt to torment bare skin until Sangwoo’s smile covers his entire face.
“J- Jaeyoung!” He manages between gasps of air.
No, that won’t work. He tries something else.
“HYUNG!”
Finally, Jaeyoung stops, a satisfied look on his face.
Sangwoo’s shirt and sweatshirt have been pushed up, exposing his torso, and Jaeyoung’s hands haven’t left his skin.
“You’re going to disturb the neighbors,” Sangwoo says.
“But Sangchu,” Jaeyoung leans in close to Sangwoo’s ear, hands caressing the latter’s sides. It makes goosebumps rise on Sangwoo’s skin. “I’m pretty sure the neighbors have heard worse from us.”
“You!” Sangwoo’s cheeks warm at the implication. He knows Jaeyoung isn’t wrong, but he doesn’t want him to be right either.
Jaeyoung innocently pecks him on the lips. “You know I love you right?”
Sangwoo nods.
“And you know that I only have two more nights left in Korea including tonight?”
Sangwoo nods again.
“So can we pleeeaase not talk about packing?”
Sangwoo sandwiches Jaeyoung’s face between his hands. “Hyung. If you wanted to sleep with me before you left, you should just say so.”
Jaeyoung smiles, lips warped from Sangwoo squishing his cheeks. “You know I love you right?”
23 hours, 38 minutes, 26 seconds.
***
“Chu Sangwoo, your apartment is more of a pigsty than usual,” Yuna says with her hands in her cargo pants pockets, eyes scanning the room.
“I don’t know what you mean," Sangwoo fiddles with the hem of his shirt. "My apartment always looks like this. All we did was redecorate a little,” he follows her as she judges her way around the room, making sure she doesn't touch anything important. Things like their Lego collection, Sangwoo’s bookshelf organized by the Dewey Decimal System, or Jaeyoung’s mess of art supplies ("it's not a mess. They're organized piles," as Jaeyoung would say).
"Hmm," she nods her head at a stack of comic books on the coffee table. "You want me to believe that you – the person who almost exclusively wears neutrals, monochromes, blues, and greens – picked out this fluffy purple carpet and not Jaeyoung?"
"Actually," Jaeyoung walks out of their bedroom, hair slicked back and bicep tattoo exposed, and swings an arm over Sangwoo's shoulder. " We picked it out."
This earns an eye roll from Yuna. "No wonder why it looks twice as bad," she says before making her way to their fridge to grab a soda.
"Don't listen to her," Jaeyoung whispers into Sangwoo’s ear, the minty scent of his aftershave still present. "It looks great."
"Hey," Yuna points the bottle at them. "Jaeyoung, stop flirting and go finish packing unless you want Sangwoo to spend the night watching you cry into your suitcases."
"She's right," Sangwoo says before Jaeyoung can protest.
Jaeyoung gives an exaggerated pout. "I hate both of you," he kisses Sangwoo's cheek before locking himself in their room like an angry child to finish packing.
Yuna makes herself at home on their couch. "And how are you doing?" She motions Sangwoo towards the vacant half of the couch.
"I'm fine. A little tired," he says, sitting down next to her.
"No," she points the bottle at him again like a lie detector. "Your boyfriend is moving across the world, and your shirt is inside out. How are you really doing, Chu Sangwoo?"
Sangwoo reaches behind his neck and feels a tag where it shouldn't be. Ah, he’s been caught. He sighs, sinking into the couch. Leave it to Yuna to pick out his feelings in the most straightforward way possible. There’s no reason to hold back when Yuna will cuss him out for telling even half-lies. “I’ve never been in a long-distance relationship. I think I’ll miss him too much.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yuna gag but continues anyway. “I already miss him.”
Yuna rolls her eyes. “ You two are disgusting, you know that?”
Sangwoo chuckles. He knows. Of course he knows, but he doesn’t care. He and Jaeyoung regularly receive snarky comments from their friends or jealous looks from strangers in their department, but, at the end of the day, he’s the only person who gets to hold Jaeyoung’s hand and cuddle him to sleep. He’s the only person who knows that Jaeyoung enjoys tacky American pop music and once dreamed of becoming an astronaut (when he was five).
Yuna laughs along with him because she’s probably more familiar with their relationship than most – saw it from when Jaeyoung had such a bad crush on Sangwoo that he revamped his entire closet to when they finally started dating.
She flicks Sangwoo’s forehead just hard enough to get a point across. “Get out of your head, Sangchu. Look,” she grabs two photo frames from a small table by the couch and shoves them in Sangwoo’s face. They’re both pictures of Sangwoo and Jaeyoung – one from a trip they took to Jeju and one taken backstage after one of Jaeyoung’s theater performances. “He’s right here,” she says, shaking the frames for emphasis before setting them back down. “And here and here and here…” she stands and makes her way around the living room, pointing at all the pictures they have together. “And don’t forget,” she points to the wall separating the living room and bedroom. “He’s still here!”
“Thanks,” he says as Yuna collapses onto the couch, clearly exhausted from lecturing him.
She runs a hand through her hair. “I should get paid for this.”
“You do eat half the food in our fridge whenever you come over.”
“Damn, you’re starting to talk like Jaeyoung. With you around, it’ll be like he never left.”
Sangwoo smiles and takes the statement as a compliment.
Just then, Jaeyoung pokes his head out of their bedroom. “I heard someone talking about me?”
Yuna and Sangwoo look at each other before turning back to Jaeyoung.
“No,” they shake their heads in unison.
4 hours, 12 minutes, 03 seconds.
***
“Do you have all your clothes packed?” Sangwoo says, stepping over a suitcase.
“Yes, Sangchu,” Jaeyoung drawls from their bed.
“Art supplies? Passport? Coats? France is supposed to be cold during your stay.”
“Yes, Sangchu. I triple-checked the packing list you made for me, Sangchu. Can you come to bed, Sangchu?”
Sangwoo feels Jaeyoung’s arms wrap around his waist and his head nuzzle into the crook of his neck, hair slightly damp from the shower and breath laced with alcohol from the farewell dinner their friends held. “You should make sure you have everything now so we don’t have to panic tomorrow morning. What if you forget something?”
Soft lips graze Sangwoo’s neck, and he suspects that this is an argument he’ll have to forfeit (not because he wants to or anything…). “Sangchuuu,” Jaeyoung draws out his name, the vibrations tickling Sangwoo’s skin. “If I forget something and I can’t buy it in France, then I know my perfect boyfriend will mail it to me, right?” He places a chaste kiss on Sangwoo’s jaw.
Sangwoo rolls his eyes and turns around to look up at Jaeyoung. “Fine, but are you sure you checked over everything?” He asks.
“Of course, what do you think I was doing while you were telling Yuna all about how much you’ll miss me?”
Sangwoo’s eyes widen, and, unsure of what to say, he buries his face in Jaeyoung’s chest.
Laughing, Jaeyoung wraps a hand around Sangwoo’s shoulders and places another on his head. “Hey, it’s okay Sangchu. It’s not your fault that Yuna is loud,” he says, petting Sangwoo’s hair.
Too embarrassed to say anything, Sangwoo doesn’t move, breathing in the scent of Jaeyoung, hoping to save some face so he can look at Jaeyoung again. But Jaeyoung has seen him at his best and at his worst. Even in this unseemingly state, Sangwoo feels like he’s exactly where he belongs.
“Besides,” Jaeyoung continues. “It was kind of cute.”
“No it wasn’t,” Sangwoo mumbles.
“Yeah yeah whatever you say,” Jaeyoung says with more than a hint of satisfaction in his voice and kisses the top of Sangwoo’s head. “You know I’ll miss you too, right?”
Sangwoo nods.
He hugs Sangwoo a little tighter. “Good.”
An alarm on Jaeyoung’s watch goes off.
“Ah!” Jaeyoung separates himself from Sangwoo to turn off the flashing notification. He holds his wrist up for Sangwoo to see. “Zero hours, zero minutes, zero seconds,” he says with a smile.
Sangwoo’s heart beats a little faster. They’ve been so busy the past day, he hasn’t had any time to think about Jaeyoung’s “warning” which was probably for the best because Sangwoo would've come up with a mental list of 99+ possible "warnings" he should be worried about. He holds his breath as Jaeyoung reaches into his pocket and… pulls out a small box.
“Hyun-”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Jaeyoung stops him. “It’s not an engagement ring. I swear it’s not an engagement ring. Cross my heart! Just,” Jaeyoung places the box in Sangwoo’s hands. “Open it?”
Sangwoo looks at the black wooden box in his hands, runs his fingers across the seam between the two halves. Jaeyoung knows that Sangwoo doesn’t wear jewelry unless he really needs to, but this is clearly a jewelry box. He finds them distracting and never knows how to style them. Then again, knowing Jaeyoung, this could be anything – a flash drive, an SD card, some artistic concoction that Sangwoo doesn’t have the words for.
Sangwoo ditches the hypotheticals and opens the box.
Nestled in a bed of black velvet is a silver band with purple stone that resembles the night sky. The stone is inlaid around the entire ring. If he looks closely, there are flecks of red and blue in the ring.
“But,” Sangwoo says, still looking at the ring. “You said this isn’t an engagement ring.”
“It’s not,” Jaeyoung pulls out the ring revealing a long chain looped through it. “It’s a promise ring.”
“But,” but a promise for what? Was there something they had not promised each other that would require a piece of metal to solidify? What could–
“Sangwoo,” Jaeyoung snaps him out of his thoughts. “I’d marry you right now if I could, but I’m trying to be different. I’m trying to be less selfish and less rash. I don't want to do anything without your full consent. So,” he unhooks the chain and reaches around Sangwoo’s neck, securing the necklace where it was always meant to be. “I’ll wait for you if you wait for me. Whenever you feel like you’re ready, we can turn this,” he says, adjusting the chain and centering the ring on Sangwoo’s chest. “Into an engagement ring.”
Sangwoo runs a finger along the ring as if to check that it's really there. They stare at each other basking in the moonlight and lamplight of their bedroom. Sangwoo looks up into a pair of warm brown eyes that he won't be seeing in person for the next several months.
Jaeyoung parts his lips to say something, but Sangwoo stands on his tiptoes, cutting Jaeyoung off before he can say another word.
“Ridiculous,” Sangwoo says, digs his hands into the latter’s shirt, and pulls Jaeyoung into a kiss. He closes his eyes the second their lips touch because when someone loses a sense, the others become heightened, and Sangwoo wants to feel all of Jaeyoung.
This is far from their first kiss, but it still feels so visceral. Perhaps it’s because they both know that it’ll be one of their last in a while, so they take in as much of the other as possible like a diver gasping for one last breath of air before inevitably plunging back into the ocean.
Jaeyoung wraps his arms around Sangwoo’s waist, leans in, and kisses him back. He smells of tobacco, alcohol, and home – Sangwoo thinks he’ll miss this dearly.
Sangwoo breaks the kiss too early, and Jaeyoung is left with a dazed look in his eyes.
“You’re ridiculous,” Sangwoo says.
“Hmm?”
“Marriage is a pact between two people, so,” Sangwoo holds the ring up to Jaeyoung’s face. “You better put this on me when you come back from France.”
Jaeyoung stares at him, wide-eyed. Then he laughs. He laughs, and he hugs Sangwoo so tightly Sangwoo thinks he might run out of air at any moment. But Sangwoo doesn’t protest because this, being in his boyfriend's arms, is also something he’ll miss.
“You’re right, Sangwoo,” Jaeyoung says. “I’ll put that ring on your finger. Just you wait.”
Sangwoo smiles into Jaeyoung’s chest. “I will.”