There's an inexplainable tenderness to Yeonjun's touches that Beomgyu cannot fathom. It's not something you can point at and stare in the face. It's subtle, almost goes unnoticed, and it's almost apologetic in a sense. It's in the way Yeonjun clings onto the back of his shirt, and the way he rubs the fabric in between the pads of his fingers. It's in the way Yeonjun rests his chin on his shoulder and inhales in soft hurried whiffs - you smell so warm, Beomie. Somehow it makes sense when Yeonjun says it like that, all gentle and certain that someone could smell... warm.

It's in the way the coldness of his hands lingers on Beomgyu's nape when he's fastening his necklace for him, or when he's putting the younger's lower helix hoop in. It's in the way his hands find purchase on every sharp corner before Beomgyu can bump into them, baby, careful. It's in the way he sleeps with his body tucked tight, sideways fetal position and all, instead of grabbing the duvet back from the younger when Beomgyu hogs it in his sleep.

"Hyung, why don't we just sleep with separate comforters?" Beomgyu had suggested one day. Yeonjun had clutched his chest, eyes widening to their farthest extent, so you're saying you want to break up? so the younger never brought it up again.

Every other day, the touches feel less apprehensive - like when Yeonjun grabs his wrist, and pulls Beomgyu into his space, too sure that the younger prefers being this close. Sometimes, Beomgyu swears he can see every freckle on his face, "Hyung, there's a heart-shaped one below your left eye." Or when Yeonjun slides a hand into the back pocket of Beomgyu's jeans, grip uninvasive but unyielding. There's barely anything to grab, he knows, but the touch weirdly grounds him and make him feel less anxious, so Beomgyu lets him do it in situations where they can afford to be discreet.

And sometimes it exceeds touches. and dips into being almost spiritual - like when Beomgyu asks too many questions about his lyrics, and Yeonjun bashfully admits, "I write about you all the time." Beomgyu knows he does, in fact, everyone does. But to know is one thing, and to hear about it from Yeonjun himself is completely different. It's exhilarating to be seen so thoroughly, and known so well, albeit it being humiliating at the same time.

But there was a time when Yeonjun couldn't hold his gaze, and his grip faltered like crumbling gravel. A time when he could only fasten his hands on Beomgyu's bag straps and couldn't ask to carry it for him in words. Beneath the bravado of extraversion and easy conversations is Yeonjun who has to wipe the sweat off of his palms when Beomgyu is in immediate vicinity. A time when he'd wake up an hour early, luggage ready and packed a day ago, skipping two steps a time just to be able to walk next to Beomgyu - who then would be half asleep and talking out of his mind. Yeonjun's favourite memories are made like that, with Beomgyu unable to differentiate between his dreams and reality - asking Yeonjun to hold his bags, asking to lean on his shoulder, asking to just be taken care of; things that Beomgyu functioning on a hundred percent consciousness would rather die than do.

There was a time when Beomgyu would find discarded scraps of paper in Yeonjun's bin - numerous numbers and wink faces and 'call me's. Beomgyu, two years ago, simply concluded they were for Yeonjun. So, thoughtlessly, he'd just clear it out along with the rest of the boys' and dump it outside. But one Sunday evening with Yeonjun on the doorway, straight out of the shower, and Beomgyu in his room, clearing out his bin and gathering scraps of paper off of the floor and into a disposal bag, had witnessed a pivotal moment in their relationship. Hyung why are some of them addressed to me, hyung what do you mean they're all for me, hyung stop saying "I can explain" and actually explain it to me! Everything else fell into place after that - Yeonjun was no longer allowed to accept any paper slips at music shows for the boy who was now his boyfriend.

"You do know what you did was kind of stupid, right?" Beomgyu had asked him over dinner. Yeonjun had groaned in retaliation, "In my defense, I thought the cleaner clears out my trash. I didn't expect you to be snooping around in there."

"Hey! I was just being nice. Besides, how long did you expect to hide it from me?"

"As long as I could," Yeonjun had admitted. "Plus, I kind of told everyone that you didn't like it when people came up to you in real life." Clearly, it worked.

But before that was the most terrible period of their friendship, when Beomgyu would move three paces back every time Yeonjun moved close. He didn't want to be a nuisance (Yeonjun's biggest mistake was calling him one as a joke) so he receded from being a friend, too. He knew he got clingy sometimes – he's like that to everyone but worse when it came to Yeonjun. Hyung, hold my bags for me. Hyung, tie my shoes for me. It's all fun and games until someone has to make a passing remark about pushing buttons and Beomgyu pulls so far back into himself that no amount of reassurance can bring him back out.

Beomgyu's withdrawal that said I don't want you to hate me and Yeonjun's dejected eyes that screamed do you hate me now? in every direction, where everyone except the two of them could see. A dance of one step forward, two steps back where Beomgyu bids the older boy goodnight at every emotionally-packed silence and Yeonjun shuts his mouth and doesn't bid him goodnight back in fear of blurting out I want to be everything to you. It was several rounds of pigtail-pulling and letting your pigtails be pulled.

There's a force that wrenches itself taut and only settles and levels around three centimeters away from each other - Beomgyu likes to think of it as a string, but Yeonjun imagines it to be much softer. Because during the worst tour of their lives with Beomgyu constantly being brought to the back, chest heaving and oxygen departing but never incoming, when the younger boy asked for a manager, Yeonjun couldn't let go of his hand... as if to say I'm not what you need right now but I have to be enough. Beomgyu had smiled with a strain and squeezed his hand back, and in that moment, Yeonjun realized that while the younger was struggling to keep his air in, he was the one who wasn't breathing. The unconscious devotion that happens between the two of them can only be called what it is - love. Yeonjun had sworn he was doing fine after, even if Beomgyu had to constantly remind him to breathe slower, and softer. "I'm sorry I scared you," Beomgyu had said, face guilt-stricken. "I love you," Yeonjun had replied, foregoing everything else that needed to be said, hoping it got his point across. It did.

There was a time way before they got together, about three years back, when Beomgyu had been feeling all sorts of off, choosing to lounge in the living room and was running his hands through the back of Yeonjun's hair. "Hyung, your hair is so long now," he had remarked, voice groggy from coughing and eyes hazy from his medication. Yeonjun had stared at him, then, too long and too close.

And later, at one in the morning, he had found Yeonjun cutting the back of his hair off in the bathroom. Beomgyu hadn't asked questions – just wordlessly offered to help. But the older boy still explained, short and curt, "I don't enjoy it. It's too much now." Beomgyu didn't realize they weren't talking about his hair.

"What are you thinking about?" Yeonjun asks him now, hand on Beomgyu's ankle and fingers fiddling occasionally with the stray thread at the hem of his joggers.

"The perpetuality of existence," Beomgyu snorts.

Yeonjun laughs along. "Okay. Not what I was expecting. But go on."

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

Yeonjun sighs and hits his exposed ankle gently, "Not this again! I've given you all the scenarios I could think of – I'm out of ideas." He pauses, "Wait, is this a trick question? Because the answer is yes, always." The older boy squints his eyes, gauging Beomgyu's reaction, "Unless you want me to say no."

Beomgyu knows the answer. It's barely his fiftieth time asking, so one would assume he does. But it helps to hear Yeonjun say it. It's no secret that they can't see eye-to-eye on most things; being in love doesn't magically change that. Beomgyu still can't help but react to Yeonjun the way he does with most things – retraction. Yeonjun still can't help but believe Beomgyu's withdrawal to be rejection.

And it's no secret that Beomgyu likes to assume and believe his own assumptions to be words of faith. Like when he broke Yeonjun's favourite panda mug and he couldn't stop crying on call, completely convinced that the older was going to break up with him. But Yeonjun had only asked him are you okay? repeatedly. Over and over, until Beomgyu stopped apologizing and said he was. Later, when he got home, Yeonjun had sat him down and explained very gently that other cups may break again but his priority was always that Beomgyu came out unscathed. Beomgyu has reasons to believe their conversation had less to do with cups than their words would make one believe.

They're different people who love in unidentical ways but cannot cease to emotionally worship each other. Like now, when Beomgyu is fully lying on the couch, feet on the lap of Yeonjun who is seated at the end of it, the movie he had picked out long forgotten. Beomgyu doesn't prefer blankets because he gets hot easily, but his feet get cold. Here, Yeonjun was, running warm hands over his ankles and feet for almost an hour now.

When he thinks about the mundanity of it, Beomgyu wants to pull out his hair. He doesn't have to ask for it; Yeonjun just does it. It took years to get here, while at the same time, it also feels like they've always been where they are now – in this comfortable silence where Beomgyu doesn't feel like he's taking up too much space, and Yeonjun doesn't feel like he's willing to give more than the other wishes to take. Maybe they learnt balance... or maybe they've always had it.

"You're not even watching the movie anymore," Yeonjun complains. Beomgyu believes he intended it to have more bite than it did. The older boy's hair is falling into perfect commas even when he's not trying; beauty is something Yeonjun has so easy that it's almost unfair to everyone else. From Beomgyu's line of sight, the afternoon sun hits the silver rim of his glasses, making them glint a little. Beomgyu likes the convince himself that the sun shines softer around Yeonjun.

"I'm just thinking."

"About?"

"You."

Yeonjun's next exhale comes out wrong, sputtering over the space in front of him. "Are you just saying that because it's Valentine's Day?" He asks, expression somewhat skeptical.

Beomgyu rolls to lie on his back. "No. I'm always thinking about you." Which is true. Even when Yeonjun is in front of him, he's still thinking about him. There are three vases of pink carnations (because Yeonjun didn't think one was enough), and a basket of hand-picked chocolates in his room (raisins don't belong in chocolate, hyung). His fresh laundry is on Yeonjun's bed because he didn't want to put it away just yet. He's wearing Yeonjun's Anpanman socks. It's impossible to not think about him.

"I think loving me isn't as difficult as I imagined," Beomgyu tells him, the look on his face pensive.

"Hm? Why do you say that?" Yeonjun replies, lying half-way on top of him, head resting on Beomgyu's stomach. He's tracing swirls and patterns by the younger's ribcage – Beomgyu imagines it's numerous smiley faces and his stomach flutters.

"Well, I'm stubborn, and I don't listen, and – "

"Yeah, you don't," the older cuts in.

"I will literally get up and walk to my room right now," Beomgyu threatens. Yeonjun concedes and gestures him to go on, lying back on the younger's tummy. Beomgyu can feel the softness of where Yeonjun's cheek squishes against his own body. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that you make it look easy, while I always imagined it to be terrible work."

Running fingers through the other's hair, he continues, "You know how people say two people are perfect for each other? Well, we aren't like that." Yeonjun's head whips up and gives him the nastiest side-eye he has ever seen.

"Let me finish!" Beomgyu laughs. "Most of the time we didn't know what to do with ourselves. It was just two people and a bucket-load of feelings. And we never strived to be perfect for each other, but I like that about us. Perfection is easy to accept. What counts is that you find me annoying but still love me, and I also find you annoying but I still love you."

When Yeonjun lifts his head this time, there's a twinkle in his eyes. "You're going to make me cry," he whines, even though there's a teardrop already threatening to fall by his left eye.

Basking in each other's presence wasn't always easy like it is now; they were terrible at it. Beomgyu with his fear of paying too much attention, and Yeonjun with his penchant for overthinking Beomgyu's nonchalance. A simple hyung, I didn't know you had blue hair during that and Yeonjun would brood the entire day.

They had to deal with softness reserved for each other only, while holding magnanimous refusal to ever be soft around the other. Yeonjun who was begging to be looked at, and Beomgyu who refused to look at him; two swollen peas in a tight-fitting pod.

Beomgyu almost withdraws again, fighting the urge to break eye-contact and just burrow his head into the pillows by his head. But Yeonjun looks heart-wrenching like this – so open, so wide and teary-eyed and so, so beautiful. He has the most beautiful boy in the world lying on his tummy; Beomgyu can't afford to screw this up. "I think I never truly thought about just how patient you've been with me," he tells the older, gaze locked and glimmering.

Yeonjun presses his lips onto Beomgyu's belly. "I don't think I'm patient, Beomie," he admits, catching the boy under him a tiny bit surprised. "I think I'm just in love with you."

Beomgyu swears there's choir music by his ears and a Yeonjun-shaped dent in his heart when he hears that. There's giggles and kisses that follow, along with an abandoned movie and Beomgyu's favourite activity – biting Yeonjun's bicep. Yeonjun simply lets him.

When it's just the two of them like this, they don't talk about music the way their jobs require. They don't talk about beats or what line comes in at the fourth bar. They talk about Beomgyu's favourite riff and Yeonjun's silhouette. They talk about the last time Yeonjun was at the hospital and Beomgyu's incredible resistance to breaking down. It's gratitude and devotion that fills the air, and not desperation and the hope of adequacy and fulfillment they cling to under flickering lights.

Later that night, the silence of Beomgyu's room is disrupted by Yeonjun telling him, "Happy Valentine's Day." It's almost midnight and the owls are hooting on the tree outside; it might seem late to anyone else. But Beomgyu knows it took him a whole day's worth of mustering courage to tell him that, silly as it may seem. A few years back, he would've called him out on it – because vulnerability isn't something he had learned to associate with Yeonjun just yet.

However, Beomgyu at present smiles and presses his lips to Yeonjun's own for a fleeting, soft moment, "Happy Valentine's Day, hyung." Because this is Yeonjun, who sulks in indignity and admits defeat when it comes to anything to do with Beomgyu. This is Yeonjun who holds him with unsure hands and wishes that everyone would see him as more than he is. This is Yeonjun who gets upset and refuses to say why, to the point where Beomgyu has to pry it out of him... you didn't call me baby all day.

This is Yeonjun with enough confidence to boost the ego of two grown men, but crumbles when he thinks he's not interesting enough for Beomgyu. This is Yeonjun who walks around in the shirt Beomgyu sleeps in – two holes in the back and one on the front lower hem.

This is his Yeonjun.

Eight billion people in the world and they found each other. Eight billion people and Beomgyu somehow found someone who eats everything he hates. Eight billion people and he found someone who ties ribbons in his hair for him. Eight billion people and Beomgyu gets to have Yeonjun.

The older boy is half-asleep, one eye cranked open with difficulty when he realizes Beomgyu isn't asleep yet. "What are you thinking about?"

It's somewhat the third time he's heard the question today. Beomgyu settles on, "Love." Because it is. It's all he thinks about when he's looking at Yeonjun. He'll be woken up by blaring alarms tomorrow, annoyance and frustration coursing his veins for a hot minute. Then, he'll look up at Yeonjun's sleepy face and he'll think of it again. Love.

Yeonjun's eyes crinkle into a smile, "Love you too, baby. Sweet dreams."

It has Beomgyu thinking about the perpetuality of existence again – how change comes, but nothing changes. The balance. Longevity. And again, love. All packed into one six-foot boy snoring in his arms. Beomgyu smiles to himself.

Sweet dreams, my love.