Archive of Our Own

The first thing Park Sungho learned after moving in with Kim Donghyun was that personal space was, apparently, a negotiable concept. Not because Donghyun was particularly demanding, and not even because he was especially clingy —although Sungho would concede, privately, that his boyfriend had a tendency to gravitate toward him with the reliability of a compass finding north—rather, it was because Donghyun seemed fundamentally incapable of existing in the same apartment without eventually ending up within arm’s reach of him.

If Sungho was making coffee in the kitchen, Donghyun would wander in still half-asleep, in his silly pyjamas that Sungho secretly adored, lean against his shoulder, and mumble mundane observations about the weather or recount his dreams all while stealing sips from his mug—as if Sungho wasn’t already preparing Donghyun’s own mug of tea. If Sungho was answering emails on the couch, Donghyun would somehow fold himself into the space between him and the arm of the couch, legs draped across his lap and Hana curled contentedly in his arms as though the new seating arrangement had been carefully planned. When Sungho was brushing his teeth before bed, Donghyun always appeared moments later, grabbing his own toothbrush, bumping their shoulders together as they stood side by side at the sink. And every single time their eyes met in the mirror, Donghyun would glance at him with the same small, delighted smile, as though he still couldn’t quite believe this was real—that they lived together now, that they belonged to the same home, that Sungho was his. Sungho understood the feeling better than he ever admitted.

—

Living together had revealed a lot to both of them. Donghyun couldn’t pass a claw machine without trying it, meaning he often came home from their dates with his arms piled high with all sorts of prizes. Sungho, every Thursday night, would walk through the front door with a fresh bouquet of daisies and a packet of Donghyun’s favourite gummies. Donghyun liked to collect little trinkets. Sungho collected stress. Somehow, they balanced each other out. On Thursday evening, Sungho arrived home after a gruelling twelve-hour workday. Being a department head at a very successful marketing firm sounded impressive to most people. In reality, it mostly meant meetings. Meetings about meetings, meetings that could have been emails, meetings where people forgot why they were meeting in the first place. Today was one of those days. Sungho was exhausted by the time he entered the elevator in their new apartment complex with a sigh. He stood silently, the crinkling of the gummy packet and the smell of daisies filling the small space, watching the floor numbers rise slowly as the elevator reached his floor.

He made the slow trek up the hallway to the front door. By the time Sungho punched in their door code, he felt like a dead man walking. However, the second he stepped inside, something launched itself at him. A helpless smile grew on his face. Sungho barely caught Donghyun before both of them toppled over. The bag of sweets fell with a crash onto the floor of the entryway.

“You’re home!” Donghyun giggled, delighted. He was wearing one of Sungho’s old university sweatshirts and his favourite blue-and-yellow pyjama pants. His usually tamed hair was fluffy and curly, like he’d just showered.

Sungho laughed despite himself. “There you are.” Sungho automatically rested a hand on the back of his head as Donghyun wrapped his arms around his waist, peering up at his boyfriend. The stress of the day melted instantly.

“Bad day?” Donghyun asked softly. Sungho let out a tired sigh. “A little.” He carefully untangled himself from his boyfriend's embrace and handed over the bunch of daisies.

A sweet smile made its way to Donghyun’s face. “Thank you, Hyung. They’re beautiful.” he looked down at the flowers adoringly, the same as every other time.

“Don’t forget your gummies, either,” Sungho called to Donghyun, who had made his way into the kitchen, already refilling the vase for his new bouquet.

Sungho placed the discarded gummies on the countertop. Donghyun hummed a thanks, then he reached into his pocket. “I got you something today,” the brunette said.

Sungho sighed fondly. “Jagiya. You know you don’t have to buy me things all the time, right?”

“I know,” his boyfriend responded. Donghyun grabbed Sungho’s palm and placed something in the centre of it. A tiny, plush keychain. “But I couldn’t help myself,” he pouted.

It was a little orange cat figurine holding a fish. Sungho stared at the plush cat in his hand. “It’s you and me! See?” Donghyun pointed at the tiny orange cat, then at the even tinier blue fish it was holding, his big, brown eyes sparkling with joy.

Sungho down looked at the ridiculous keychain. Then at Donghyun’s hopeful face. He immediately spun around and attached it to his work bag, the once plain brown leather now decorated with a token of Donghyun’s love. Donghyun looked delighted. Sungho thought he would probably carry this thing until it fell apart if it meant seeing Donghyun’s smile every time he got home.

—

When the couple first finalised the decision to move in together, Sungho had begged his boyfriend relentlessly to adopt a cat. He had spent weeks sending Donghyun videos of cute cats and links to animal rescue centres that had the most adorable cats he’d ever seen. It didn’t take long for the younger man to fold. Not when his gorgeous boyfriend would look up at him with sad, desperate eyes matching the felines on his phone screen. Once the two had settled into their new apartment—pet-friendly, of course, that was on the very top of Park Sungho’s list of must-haves—they finally made the trip to their local cat rescue centre to have a look. It was there that they found their forever baby, a sweet little calico cat that had the roundest face they’d ever seen. Sungho fell in love with her at first sight, nose practically pressed up against the glass enclosure, making little “ pspsps ” noises to entice the kitten over. Donghyun had seen the look on his Sungho-Hyung’s face and asked the shelter volunteer for the take-home paperwork right then and there. However, there was one small problem.

Their precious feline daughter, Hana, loved Donghyun most. This was obviously a source of endless betrayal for Sungho. " I’m the one who feeds her," Sungho whined. The blond was sitting next to Donghyun on the couch, dangling a mouse toy in front of Hana’s face, trying desperately to get her to play. Hana ignored Sungho completely. "I clean her litter box," he continued, “I even paid her adoption fee.”

Hana sniffed and curled tighter into Donghyun’s lap, and Donghyun giggled. “I think she’s made her choice.” He stroked her back softly, trying not to jostle the baby too much. Sungho narrowed his eyes at Hana.

“Traitor,” he said petulantly, lips protruding in a pout. Hana blinked.

Donghyun scratched behind her ears. “Maybe she’s just intimidated by how handsome you are,” he teased.

Sungho snorted. “Nice save, Donghyun-ah.”

“I’m serious!” Donghyun retorted, smiling cheekily up at his boyfriend.

Sungho scoffed, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. “You’re impossible.” he replied, trying and failing to hide his blush behind his hands.

“And yet, you’re blushing.” the younger teased, dissolving into laughter. Sungho couldn’t even argue because he was laughing too. His boyfriend was just too cute. A moment later, Donghyun stretched out across the couch and rested his head on Sungho’s shoulder.

Without thinking, Sungho pressed a kiss into his hair. Donghyun smiled brightly, eyes scrunching up into little half moons. Sungho could spend forever watching his Donghyun’s sunshine smile.

—

The couple had met because of their mutual friend, Sanghyeok. Or rather, because Sanghyeok had become tired of listening to both of them go on and on about being single and oh so lonely. So he’d decided to put them, and himself, out of their misery and invited them both to his birthday celebration. Sanghyeok had later told Sungho that he’d had a sneaking suspicion that he and Donghyun would get along swimmingly, with Donghyun’s most peculiar, endearing charm and Sungho’s endless patience and quiet attentiveness.

He was right.

Sungho remembered that evening with startling clarity, as though the memory had been pressed between the pages of a book and preserved exactly as it had happened.

Sanghyeok’s birthday dinner had already been well underway by the time the restaurant door swung open again, the little bell chiming overhead, signalling a new arrival. Conversation around the table barely faltered, but Sungho’s gaze lifted on instinct.

That was when he saw him. Donghyun stood in the doorway, slightly breathless, his cheeks dusted pink from hurrying across the city after finishing up at the aquarium. His dark hair had fallen messily across his forehead, as though he’d run his hands through it more than once on the way over, and he offered the table an apologetic smile as he bowed quickly.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he’d said, still catching his breath. “One of the fish tanks needed cleaning before I could leave, and I couldn’t just leave it half done.”

There had been something almost embarrassingly earnest about the explanation—as though, in Donghyun’s mind, there had never been another option.

Sungho had simply stared. Not for long enough that anyone else seemed to notice, but long enough for the rest of the room to blur into the background. Long enough that the only thing he could properly register was the brightness of Donghyun’s smile, the warmth in his big, doe eyes, and the inexplicable feeling that someone had quietly reached into his chest and rearranged something vital. He’d always thought people exaggerated when they talked about love at first sight. As it turned out, they weren’t exaggerating nearly enough.

Donghyun had taken the conveniently empty seat across from him, laughing easily with Sanghyeok as he settled in, thanking everyone for waiting despite the fact that nobody had actually been waiting. Every few minutes, Sungho found his eyes drifting back to the brunet without permission, catching the way he smiled with his whole face or gestured animatedly as he spoke to the people around them.

He spent the rest of the evening pretending to be perfectly normal, all the while carefully cataloguing all the little things he noticed about the charming boy in front of him. Years later, curled up together in their bed with Hana asleep between them, Donghyun had confessed that he’d been doing exactly the same thing as Sungho, and that every time Sungho had laughed a little too loudly at someone’s joke, he’d stolen another glance, convinced that the blonde man across the table was far too handsome to ever be interested in someone like him. Sungho had scoffed indignantly at that comment. “You thought I was too handsome for you? You looked like a painting come to life when you walked through the door!” Donghyun grinned shyly at his boyfriend’s words, tangling their legs together under their ivory sheets. “You seriously took my breath away, Donghyun-ah.”

Sungho makes a note to thank Sanghyeok later. Just because.

—

Saturday mornings belonged to neither of them. It had become an unspoken rule somewhere between unpacking the last moving box and learning each other’s routines. Mondays through Fridays belonged to deadlines, too-early commutes and hurried breakfasts eaten standing together in the kitchen.

But Saturdays belonged to slow mornings, drawn curtains, and the luxury of nowhere to be. Sungho woke first, as he almost always did.

The bedroom was quiet, washed in soft morning light that filtered through the curtains and painted a pale gold across the rumpled duvet. Beside him, Donghyun was still fast asleep, thoroughly tangled in the blankets after another night of somehow stealing more than his fair share. One arm lay loosely across Sungho’s stomach, warm and comfortably heavy, while Hana had claimed her usual spot curled against Donghyun’s chest, rising and falling gently with each sleepy breath. His hair was a complete mess. It always was in the mornings. Several of the dark strands fell across his closed eyes, and Sungho knew from experience that Donghyun would spend the next hour insisting it wasn’t that bad before eventually giving in and letting Sungho smooth his curls back into place.

For a long while, he simply watched. The apartment was silent save for the distant hum of the refrigerator and Hana’s faint purring, and there was something almost sacred about the stillness of it all. These were the moments Sungho found himself committing to memory without even trying—the warmth beneath the blankets, the sleepy weight of Donghyun leaning against him, the quiet certainty that this was home. Sometimes, even after all this time, it caught him by surprise. There had been years when the future felt hazy, more obligation than possibility. He’d pictured promotions, meetings, maybe a nicer apartment if he worked hard enough. But whenever he tried to imagine what happiness looked like, the image had always come out a little bit blurry. Now it had a face. A face that was messy-haired, blanket-stealing, impossibly affectionate, and currently drooling ever so slightly onto Sungho’s T-shirt. The thought made him smile. As if sensing the movement, Donghyun stirred with a sleepy little hum, his nose scrunching before finally blinking one eye open. “…Hyung?”

His voice was rough with sleep.

“Good morning,” Sungho murmured. Donghyun didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shuffled closer, tucking his face beneath Sungho’s chin as though he’d always belonged there.

Sungho let out a quiet laugh. “Jagiya.”

“Mmm?” the younger hummed.

“I know you’ve been awake for twenty minutes.”

Another hum. “I’m deciding whether I want to get up.”

Sungho smiled knowingly. “And how’s that going?”

Donghyun considered the question with exaggerated seriousness before tightening his arms around Sungho’s waist. “…I’ve decided not to.”

“You’ve reached a decision already?” Sungho questioned, dragging his fingers up Donghyun’s arm, goosebumps appearing in their wake.

Donghyun’s lips turned up into a pout. “It was a difficult decision, Sungho-Hyung.”

“I can tell.” Sungho brushed a few stray strands of hair away from Donghyun’s forehead before pressing a lingering kiss there.

Donghyun smiled immediately, eyes crinkling into those little half moons. He craned his neck to reach his lips up to Sungho’s own, planting a chaste kiss there.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled against the older's lips. Sungho shook his head fondly, wrapping an arm around his waist anyway.

Neither of them moved after that. There was no reason to. Sungho’s usual coffee and Donghyun’s too-sweet tea could wait. The pile of laundry in the corner could wait. Even the morning sun seemed content to linger beyond the curtains a little longer. For now, the world was no bigger than their bed, a sleepy cat, and the sleep-rumpled boy in Sungho’s arms.

—

It had become something of a routine.

Every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday evening, Sungho would leave the office just before six, drive the familiar route across town, and stop by the aquarium to pick Donghyun up from work. More often than not, he arrived with forty minutes or so still left in Donghyun’s shift.

He’d wander slowly through the exhibits, drink in hand, occasionally pausing to read information plaques he’d already read a dozen times before, all while waiting for a glimpse of his boyfriend through the glass. He never minded the wait. If anything, those forty minutes had quietly become one of his favourite parts of the week.

The aquarium itself had grown on him over the months, but not because of the fish—although he had reluctantly admitted they were more interesting than he’d once given them credit for—no, it was because of Donghyun.

There was just something so mesmerising about watching him at work. The sleepy, blanket-stealing boyfriend who mumbled incoherent good mornings into Sungho’s shoulder somehow transformed the moment he stepped onto the aquarium’s floor. His smile grew brighter, his movement more confident, and he carried himself with an easy enthusiasm that seemed to ripple outwards to everyone around him. Children followed after him with wide-eyed curiosity, parents listened just as attentively, and even his coworkers couldn’t seem to pass him without stopping for a quick chat. It wasn’t difficult to understand why. Donghyun had a way of making people feel welcome. Sungho liked to think he knew every version of Donghyun by now. The sleepy morning Donghyun, the affectionate, clingy Donghyun who insisted on standing impossibly close whenever Sungho cooked dinner, the giggly Donghyun who somehow always came home with another tiny trinket because “ It reminded me of you, Hyung!”

But Work Donghyun… Work Donghyun still managed to make Sungho fall a little bit harder every time. Whenever Sungho visited, he resigned himself to learning at least three new facts about marine life before they went home together. Donghyun would happily explain fish behaviour, coral bleaching, water chemistry or tank maintenance with animated gestures and boundless enthusiasm, speaking so quickly that his words sometimes tumbled over one another. If Sungho was being completely honest, he probably understood barely half of it, and he was fairly certain Donghyun had explained the nitrogen cycle to him no fewer than six times. Sungho still couldn’t explain it back, but he listened anyway. Not because he particularly cared about water filtration systems, but because Donghyun’s eyes sparkled whenever he talked about something he loved.

Today, however, was different. As Sungho stepped through the aquarium’s entrance, fully expecting to spend the next forty minutes wandering the exhibits on his own, he barely had time to pocket his phone before an all-too-familiar voice called out across the lobby.

“Hyung!”

He looked up just in time to see Donghyun jogging toward him, still wearing his staff uniform, minus his name tag, a grin already spreading across his face, his brown curly locks falling over his eyes. Sungho couldn’t help smiling back.

“I thought you’d still be working.”

“I finished early.” Donghyun rocked back on his heels, looking pleased with himself. “I got all my tanks cleaned, the afternoon feeding’s done, and my manager said I could leave a little early.” He reached for Sungho’s hand as naturally as breathing, their fingers slotting together comfortably. “So,” Donghyun continued, giving his hand an excited little tug, “today I get to show you around!”

Sungho let himself be led deeper into the aquarium with a soft chuckle. “As opposed to all the other times you’ve shown me around?”

Donghyun gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Those were completely different tours.”

“Were they?”

“Obviously, Hyung.”

Sungho raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been here at least thirty times.”

“And yet,” Donghyun replied with unwavering confidence, “You’ll still listen to everything I say, won't you, Hyung?”

Sungho, ever endeared by the younger’s antics, agreed. “Of course, I will, Jagiya.”

The couple continued their journey through the walkways and tunnels of the aquarium, Donghyun announcing little sea-life facts every so often. Blue light spilled across the hallway as they wandered toward one of the largest exhibits, schools of silver fish gliding overhead while the water cast mesmerising patterns across the floor beneath their feet.

They had barely made it halfway through the largest exhibit before Donghyun slowed to a stop so suddenly that Sungho nearly walked straight into him. “There you are,” Donghyun murmured, his entire face lighting up. He stepped closer to the glass, one hand resting lightly against it as a small sea turtle drifted lazily past, its flippers carrying it through the water with an effortless grace that made it seem almost weightless. Sungho smiled to himself before joining him.

“You know that turtle?”

“Mhm.” Donghyun nodded without taking his eyes off it. “His name’s Dori.”

Sungho blinked.

“…His name is…Dori?” He looked over at his boyfriend, intrigued, before continuing. “I wasn’t aware turtles introduced themselves.”

That earned him a quiet laugh. “They don’t.”

“So how do you know?”

Donghyun finally looked over, his smile impossibly fond. “I helped rehabilitate him.” Sungho’s teasing expression softened immediately, gesturing for his boyfriend to continue. Donghyun turned back toward the tank, following Dori’s slow path through the water. “He came in a few months ago after getting tangled in fishing line,” he explained, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. “He was really shy at first. Wouldn’t eat if anyone was watching.”

Sungho listened, as he always did. He made sure not to interrupt the younger’s story; he simply watched Donghyun speak with that unmistakable light in his eyes—the one that only ever appeared when he was talking about something he loved. “But look at him now.” Donghyun smiled proudly as the turtle glided closer to the viewing window. “He’s so confident.”

Almost as if on cue, Dori swam directly toward the glass before making an easy turn in front of them, his flippers cutting lazy arcs through the blue-tinted water.

Donghyun gasped quietly, pressing his palm flat against the glass as if he could bridge the distance between them. “He remembers me!”

Sungho looked from the turtle to his boyfriend, one eyebrow lifting as he took in the sheer delight lighting up Donghyun’s face. He leaned back against the railing, arms still loose at his sides, clearly settling in for whatever came next.

“…Jagiya.”

“What?” Donghyun didn’t even turn around, too busy watching Dori drift past again.

“I think he was just swimming.” Sungho’s mouth twitched, betraying him before he could fully commit to the deadpan.

“He came over on purpose!” Donghyun insisted, tapping the glass lightly, like that might summon the turtle back for an encore.

“I think he was already heading this way,” Sungho said, tilting his head to follow the turtle’s path with exaggerated scepticism.

“No.” Donghyun shook his head with complete conviction, turning to face Sungho fully now, hands on his hips. “He recognised me.”

Sungho folded his arms, doing an admirable job of hiding his smile behind a mask of polite consideration. “And this conclusion is based on…?”

Donghyun didn’t hesitate, stepping closer until they were nearly shoulder to shoulder. “He looked at me.”

“So did I,” Sungho said, and this time the smile broke through despite his best efforts.

Donghyun turned, blinking innocently up at him, the picture of wounded logic. “You always look at me.”

“I do,” Sungho agreed, unbothered, watching him with open fondness.

“Exactly,” Donghyun said as if he’d just won a debate, chin lifting slightly.

Sungho laughed under his breath, the sound low and warm in the quiet of the empty aquarium hall. “I’ve just been compared to a turtle.”

Donghyun grinned, clearly not the least bit sorry, bumping his shoulder against Sungho’s. “It’s a very handsome turtle.”

Sungho stared at him for a long moment, taking in the smugness written all over Donghyun’s face, before shaking his head in quiet resignation. “I don’t know how you always win these conversations.”

“I don’t,” Donghyun said, even as his grin suggested otherwise. He reached over, slipping his hand into Sungho’s with practised ease, fingers folding together like they’d done this a thousand times before, because they had. “I just distract you.”

Sungho looked down at their intertwined fingers before giving his hand a gentle squeeze, the motion small and automatic and entirely unthinking. “…You absolutely do.”

Donghyun’s smile only widened, unrepentant and glowing under the soft aquarium light. He looked impossibly pleased with himself, and somehow that expression made Sungho’s heart feel just a little lighter. Sungho shook his head fondly as Donghyun turned back toward the tank, already distracted by another fish swimming past. God, he was adorable.

Five minutes later, while Donghyun crouched beside a little boy and enthusiastically explained why starfish weren’t actually fish at all, Sungho quietly slipped his phone from his pocket. He framed the picture carefully before pressing the shutter. Donghyun didn’t notice. He was too busy smiling—bright, genuine, completely at home. The photo joined hundreds of others hidden away in Sungho’s camera roll. Most people filled their galleries with sunsets or holidays.

Sungho filled his with Donghyun.

He’d never needed anything more beautiful than that.

—

There was one habit of Donghyun’s that Sungho had never quite managed to get used to. He loved to compliment Sungho. Not the occasional “You look nice today, Hyung!” or “That colour suits you.”

No, Donghyun complimented him with the kind of unwavering sincerity that made Sungho’s heart squeeze with a feeling he couldn’t quite name. Maybe something close to a mix of embarrassment and adoration.

It happened at the most inconvenient times.

“Hyung.”

Sungho looked up from the chopping board where he was carefully slicing vegetables for dinner. “Hm?”

Donghyun had wandered into the kitchen with Hana tucked comfortably against his chest, his arms cradling her like a newborn baby. He leaned against the counter, studying Sungho with narrowed eyes. “You know…” Sungho didn’t immediately become suspicious. Donghyun was a thinker, after all and often came to his boyfriend with all sorts of thoughts and questions that filled his mind.

“Yes, Donghyun-ah?”

“I think you’re the most handsome person I’ve ever met.” Sungho paused his ministrations against the cutting board, feeling the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks, but didn’t look up from the carrots. “You told me that this morning.”

“I know.”

“And yesterday.”

“I know.”

“You’ve made your point, Jagiya.” Sungho acquiesced, continuing to cut the vegetables. “You think your Hyung is the most handsome in the whole world.” He half-joked.

Donghyun smiled to himself. “I don’t think I have.”

Sungho sighed, though there wasn’t an ounce of real annoyance behind it. “Jagiya.”

“What?”

“You know you don’t have to tell me every day.”

“I know, Sungho-Hyung.” Donghyun’s smile softened. “I want to,” he added with a shrug.

“You…” Sungho paused again for the briefest moment before resuming his chopping. He could definitely feel that his cheeks were a vibrant shade of pink now. “…You’re unbelievable.”

Donghyun giggled quietly to himself, ever pleased to fluster his lovely boyfriend. — It didn’t stop in the kitchen, of course. It never did. Whether Sungho was making coffee before work, reading through emails on the couch or simply existing somewhere within Donghyun’s line of sight, a compliment was never far behind.

“Hyung, your hair looks nice today.”

“Hyung, you have really pretty hands.”

“Hyung, have I ever told you that your smile is my favourite thing? It’s sooo pretty!”

By now, Sungho had accepted there was no arguing with him. Every attempt to wave the compliments away was met with complete sincerity, as though Donghyun genuinely couldn’t understand why Sungho found them embarrassing in the first place.

—

Later that evening, they found themselves curled up on opposite ends of the sofa, a familiar K-drama playing quietly in the background. Sungho wasn’t entirely sure what exactly was happening in said K-drama; he was too busy trying—and failing—to avoid his boyfriend’s stare. Donghyun hadn’t looked at the television in nearly ten minutes. To his credit, he was trying his best to be subtle, but Sungho has known Donghyun for long enough to know when he isn’t really paying attention.

“…You’re doing it again, Donghyun-ah,” Sungho said before turning his head to face the brunet boy, whose features were illuminated by the pale glow of the TV.

“Hm?” Donghyun responded, eyes sparkling with curiosity and mischief tangled all in one.

“You’re staring at me.”

“I wasn’t.” Donghyun insisted, though it was futile.

“You absolutely were.”

“I was admiring you, Hyung.”

Sungho glanced sideways. “There’s a difference?”

“A huge one.” Donghyun shuffled across the sofa until he was pressed comfortably against Sungho’s side, the elder's arm lifting to drape across Donghyun’s shoulders, Donghyun’s hand coming up to grab at Sungho’s, a position the couple was accustomed to by now. “I just…” he murmured, tracing lazy circles over Sungho’s knuckles with his thumb. “I still get a little excited that you’re real,” he revealed shyly.

Sungho looked down at him; the words, while not quite a shock, were definitely not what he was expecting. Donghyun wasn’t teasing anymore; his expression had gone soft in that quiet, earnest way it always did whenever he spoke without thinking.

That, however, did not mean that his words were not sincere.

“I spent ages having a crush on you,” he continued with a sheepish laugh. “Sometimes I still look at you and think… oh.”

“Sungho’s my boyfriend.” His ears were beginning to turn pink. “I know we’ve lived together for like, months now, but,” Donghyun ducked his head with an embarrassed smile. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking you’re really cool, Hyung.”

Sungho’s heart fluttered in his chest. How could his boyfriend get any more adorable? Sungho moved his arm that was wrapped around Donghyun’s shoulders to around Donghyun’s waist, pulling him closer and closer until Donghyun was practically fused against him.

He smiled down at the brunet. “There.”

Donghyun looked up, cheeks puffed up like a startled blowfish. It suited him, Sungho thought absently-mindedly.

“There what?”

“If you’re going to spend the rest of the evening staring at me,” Sungho said, brushing a kiss against his temple, “you might as well do it from right here.”

Donghyun’s sweet smile spread so quickly it was impossible not to smile back. “Okay.” he agreed.

Sungho responded with his own smile, glad to see his boyfriend so giddy over something as simple as being able to stare at him more closely. “Happy?”

“Mhm.” Donghyun agreed. “Very happy.”

Sungho chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm, before resting his cheek lightly against Donghyun’s hair. “You know,” he murmured after a comfortable silence had settled between them, “for someone who insists I’m handsome every five minutes…” He paused, letting the words trail just long enough for Donghyun to look up expectantly, curiosity flickering across his face. “…you’re awfully cute yourself.”

Donghyun froze. His eyes widened, and for a moment he simply stared, as if the words needed time to land. Then, very slowly, he buried his burning face against Sungho’s shoulder, his ears flushing a telltale pink.

“…Hyung,” he mumbled, voice muffled against fabric.

“What?” Sungho’s tone was all false innocence, though the smile in it was unmistakable.

“You can’t say things like that,” Donghyun whined. “It’s not fair.”

Sungho couldn’t help laughing, the sound rumbling gently through his chest. “I thought you liked compliments.”

“I do.” The reply came quickly, almost defensive, still muffled against his shoulder.

“Then what’s wrong?” Sungho asked, tilting his head slightly to catch a glimpse of Donghyun’s hidden face.

A pause. Then, quieter, almost like a confession: “It’s different when they’re from you.”

Sungho smiled to himself, rubbing slow circles against Donghyun’s back as Hana leapt onto the couch and promptly claimed both of their laps as her own.

“I suppose,” he mused, “I’ll just have to tell you more often.” Donghyun made a tiny, delighted, embarrassed sound that was suspiciously close to a squeak. Sungho smiled into his hair, delighted at the mess his boyfriend had become. For all of Donghyun’s teasing, all of his relentless affection and endless compliments, he was wonderfully easy to fluster in return. Sungho didn’t tell him nearly enough how lovely he was. Perhaps, he decided, he could stand to indulge him a little more.

—

One night, long after midnight, Sungho woke to the feeling of emptiness behind him; Donghyun’s warmth seemingly disappeared. He furrowed his brow, still half asleep and reached back behind him, only to find Donghyun’s side of the bed empty and cold. It immediately set off alarm bells. Donghyun, for one, was no light sleeper; it usually taking Sungho multiple tries in the mornings to wake him. He also, in his own words, despised sleeping without Sungho in his arms.

After discovering his partner's absence, it was then that Sungho registered the faint glow of their living room lamp. Sungho, in his half-asleep state, followed the light, his socks muffling his steps against the floorboards. He turned the corner into their living space, and there he found Donghyun curled up in a blanket from their couch, sitting on the floor, watching the little fish swim around in his beloved fish tank, his face accented by the purple and blue lights of the tank and the glowing lamp in the corner.

Sungho let out a small sigh, a helpless smile growing on his face. He sat down beside Donghyun. Careful not to disturb the calm atmosphere, he whispered quietly. “You okay?” It was only then that the younger noticed his presence, though he didn’t look surprised to see him.

Donghyun nodded, eyes full of sleepy gratitude. “Couldn’t sleep.” He said, his head immediately finding Sungho’s broad shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” Sungho asked.

Donghyun was quiet for a moment, then—

“I’m happy.”

Sungho blinked, not expecting that answer. “What?”

Donghyun smiled softly. “I’m just happy.”

The apartment was silent except for the gentle hum of the tank filter.

“I always wanted this.”

Sungho’s chest tightened.

“This?”

“Coming home to someone.” Donghyun reached for his hand. “Hana.” A pause. “Our fish.”

Another pause.

“You.”

Sungho peered down at him and looked. He looked at the sleepy eyes and the messy hair. The long limbs and the silly pyjama pants decorating his legs. He looked like the epitome of home. He looked like Kim Donghyun, in all his amazingly cute glory.

His Donghyun.

Without thinking, Sungho lifted Donghyun’s hand and kissed each of his knuckles. “I always wanted this too.”

Donghyun’s smile softened even further. It was the kind of smile that made Sungho wonder, not for the first time, what he’d ever done to deserve being looked at like that. Without another word, Donghyun shifted closer until their knees brushed.

Then, with the sort of quiet confidence that came only from years of loving someone, he climbed into Sungho’s lap as though it were the most natural place in the world to be. To him, it was. Sungho took the change in position in stride, adjusting his arms around Donghyun’s waist on instinct, steadying him and pulling the since-forgotten throw back around Donghyun’s shoulders.

“…Comfortable?” he asked, unable to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“The most.” Donghyun hummed contentedly, resting his forehead against Sungho’s shoulder.

“You know,” Sungho murmured, gently smoothing a hand up and down his back, “most people use couches.”

Donghyun considered that for all of two seconds before nestling impossibly closer. “I like you better.”

Sungho let out a soft, helpless laugh, the sound warm against Donghyun’s hair. “I thought as much.” The couple sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes, watching the many fish swimming about in the small tank, when Donghyun spoke up once again.

“I missed you today,” he said bashfully.

Sungho chuckled. “You saw me three hours ago, Jagiya.” Sungho continued, “We spent the whole afternoon together.”

“I know.” Another content little hum. “I still missed you.”

Sungho’s heart ached in the gentlest way imaginable. “So clingy.” He tutted, affectionately.

Donghyun smiled against his shoulder. “Only with you.” Sungho didn’t have a single argument for that.

Instead, he slipped a hand beneath Donghyun’s chin, gently coaxing him to lift his head from where it had been tucked against his chest. Donghyun followed the movement without hesitation, his eyes finding Sungho’s almost immediately, as they always seemed to, flickering down to his lips. The corner of Sungho’s mouth lifted into a slight smirk. Donghyun’s lashes fluttered, his pupils widening ever so slightly as Sungho’s other hand came up to cradle his jaw, his thumb brushing absentmindedly across the curve of his top lip. It was a touch he’d memorised months ago, one that never failed to make Donghyun soften beneath his hands.

Sungho felt it happen now. The tension eased from Donghyun’s shoulders, replaced by quiet anticipation, and his eyes drifted closed with complete trust, leaning forward the smallest amount as though drawn there by instinct alone. For a heartbeat, Sungho simply looked at him. Looked at the boy who had somehow turned an apartment into a home. The boy who filled quiet evenings with boisterous laughter, who brought home little trinkets simply because they reminded him of Sungho, who loved him so openly that, even now, it could leave him momentarily breathless. His heart gave the same familiar flutter it always did. He wasn’t sure it would ever stop. Not when it came to Donghyun, anyhow. Then, closing the remaining distance between them, Sungho pressed the gentlest of kisses to Donghyun’s lips. It was unhurried and oh so tender. It was the kind of kiss that wasn’t meant to steal anyone’s breath, but only to remind them they were loved. Donghyun sighed into it, a barely audible sound that made warmth bloom through Sungho’s chest. His fingers found the fabric of Sungho’s shirt, curling there instinctively, not to pull him closer—they were already impossibly close, as close as they could get, really—but simply because he liked having something of Sungho’s to anchor him.

The kiss lasted only a few seconds before Sungho drew back, though not very far. Their foreheads rested together naturally, breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. Donghyun opened his eyes first. There was still that unmistakable softness in them—that same quiet wonder Sungho caught from time to time, as though Donghyun still couldn’t quite believe this was his life. Sungho understood the feeling. For all the kisses they’d shared over the years, for all the mornings and evenings and ordinary moments woven between them, there was still something wonderfully surreal about loving Donghyun.

It had become the most familiar, most amazing thing in the world.

—

Eventually, the gentle hum of the tank filter and the quiet warmth of the apartment began to coax them both toward sleep. Sungho pressed one last lingering kiss to Donghyun’s lips before carefully disentangling them from their nest of blankets on the living room floor. Donghyun protested with nothing more than a sleepy little sound, already halfway asleep again as Sungho slipped an arm beneath his knees and another around his back. “You’ve got legs, you know,” Sungho murmured under his breath as he walked them back through the apartment, smiling to himself when Donghyun instinctively curled closer instead of answering.

By the time they reached the bedroom, Donghyun hadn’t opened his eyes once. Sungho eased him beneath the covers before climbing in beside him, expecting a few blissful seconds of personal space, now that Donghyun was back asleep soundly in their bed. He should have known better.

The mattress had barely dipped before Donghyun, who was seemingly still asleep, shuffled across the bed in search of him, intuitively. One arm found its familiar place around Sungho’s waist, his forehead tucked beneath Sungho’s chin, face nestled into his chest. Content once more, he let out the faintest sigh and completely fell into sleep. Sungho smiled into his hair. Some habits, it seemed, even sleep couldn’t break. He wrapped an arm around Donghyun in return, listening as Hana leapt gracefully onto the end of the bed with the confidence of a cat who believed herself to be an essential part of the nightly routine. She would be right.

The apartment settled around them. The soft glow of the fish tank spilled faintly into the bedroom doorway as the refrigerator hummed somewhere in the distance. Rain tapped gently against the window, a soothing lullaby for the night ahead.

Sungho had once imagined love would arrive greatly and all at once. Like fireworks, maybe; bright and loud and colourful, or like the final scene of a romance film, triumphant and grand. Instead, it had arrived quietly, disguising itself as ordinary days. It came as packed lunches with little handwritten notes tucked between the containers. It came as tiny cat keychains that somehow ended up attached to his work bag. It came as listening to twenty-minute spiels and excited explanations about fish he still didn’t fully understand, simply because Donghyun’s eyes lit up whenever he talked.

It came as sleepy Saturday mornings, and the familiar weight of a hand finding his without thinking about it. It lived in grocery lists stuck to the refrigerator, paper littered with doodles of fish and cats and everything in between. In absentminded forehead kisses while waiting for the kettle to boil. It came in every small ritual they’d built together without ever meaning to.

Perhaps that was the thing about loving Donghyun. It happened quietly and constantly, in hundreds of little moments that, on their own, seemed almost insignificant. Yet somehow, stitched together day after day, they had become a life. A wonderfully ordinary, extraordinarily precious life.

Sungho had never truly understood what it meant to be adored until Donghyun. He’d spent so much of his life trying to become someone worthy of love that he’d never considered the possibility of simply being loved exactly as he was.

Except Donghyun did. Wholeheartedly.

Every single day, he made sure Sungho knew just how much he loved and cherished him. As Sungho looked down at the beautiful boy sleeping peacefully against his chest, his hair hopelessly messy and one hand still curled loosely in the fabric of Sungho’s shirt even in sleep, he felt that familiar ache of gratitude bloom quietly beneath his ribs. It was the same thought that found him almost every day—whether he was watching Donghyun laugh at the aquarium, humming to himself while watering their house plants, crouched on the floor talking to Hana sweetly, as though she could answer back, or asleep in his arms like he was now.

How did I ever get so lucky?

Donghyun stirred ever so slightly, unconsciously nestling just that little bit closer, his breath tickling Sungho’s neck.

Sungho’s answer came as easily as his next breath.

He wasn’t sure.

He only knew that, somehow, he had.