Jeonghan lost count on the number of times he received shocked looks when he told people that Mingyu is his boyfriend. Too many that he learned not to be offended—when someone would hit on the other even though he’s already on his side. Present and a tangible entity—someone who already has Mingyu’s heart and would not give it to anyone no matter what the price is.

Maybe it’s because they weren’t really an obvious couple. They were built on playful banter. Sarcasm. Pretend annoyance on questionable humor. Just brunt affection—too easily mistaken as a jab from a friend to another. They were never direct words, not fond of flowery declarations of love but more on shared laughter on something they both understood. They were made of a hard pinch on the cheek, or a mischievous slap on the , usually followed by an offended gasp from the other. Yet, they were peppered with understanding, of sparkling eyes, and the underlying fondness felt deeply more than what the eyes can visibly see.

Maybe if they see them on night time--when the world was closed for debate and all that were left were a short blanket and  a single bed to be shared by two people—they’d understand. If they take sight of the tangled limbs--like a ball of yarn--no clear distinction on where something starts or end. Or have heard of the soft murmurs, like lullaby, sometimes a spontaneous ode filled with joyful words or just a mindless chatter like this night, savoring the feeling of consciousness, the soft caresses on each turn of trail less topics before sleep takes over. They would have to see.

“Hyung…” Mingyu crooned, soft and familiar, and feeling like home.

“Hmm?”

There were a few beats before the other answered and when he did he took a long sniff first, so random that Jeonghan can’t help but look up to him. “You smell like me.”

Jeonghan’s confused express