Most days, Jinho comes home between 6:13 and 6:15 in the evening.

He drops his keys on the kitchen table because he will have forgotten to hang them on the hook next to the door while slipping his shoes off, but he’ll remember and hang them back up once they’re eating dinner and Hongseok sees them and starts rambling about all the clutter on the kitchen table. Their counters are a mess of Hongseok’s supplements, Jinho’s prawn crisps, and other snacks that have moved out of cabinets for so long they look at home there and don’t get moved even when company is coming and the two are frantically throwing things into boxes to hide in the pantry. The kitchen table is off limits though; for them to cling to some semblance of something something. Hongseok is usually standing on the counter, on a chair, or some other surface, with a stringy taupe dish rag in one hand and old magazine curved in the other.

The sun is starting to set later and later; in the last month or so they have both started being able to eat dinner without any bulbs on. The horse flies are also out, sense impending warmth, which is one of Hongseok’s grievances in life. He’s not good at multi-tasking, which is why Jinho doesn’t greet him on his way in the door, lest Hongseok fall off the counter and fracture his shin again. Ignoring the incessant tremor of horse fly wings as they eat, talk, sleep, is also too much for the other, so he spends the brief window of time he has alone in the evening fly hunting.

“The rag is for cutting them off mid-flight.” Hongseok had explained one morning years back, while they were lying in bed, in a twilight-esque transition from slumber to wakefulness. He was leaning against their oak headboard, half sat up, checking emails. “I need the wide surface area to knock them out of the air, but the rag won’t kill them. That’s what the magazine is for. A book will work too I guess, but who has books lying around these days.”

Jinho had been half awake and his selective memory is bad enough as it is, so he doesn’t really recall anything else, but he had probably replied “You should get one of those electric racquet fly swatters” like he always does when Hongseok’s fly hunting at someone else’s house and they comment on his technique.

Everybody has their eccentricities. Hongseok catches horseflies with a dish tag; Jinho has three shoulders; it’s fine.

“Those seem dangerous.” Hongseok had probably responded, like he always does. “I’d end up electrocuting myself.”

Today Jinho is late, because he had yanked his phone off the charger at an inopportune angle, and the cord had detached from the USB outlet.

Hongseok insists on owning an Apple phone because nostalgia, habit, and the pressure of a Galaxy’s customisations being too much for him to handle, so Jinho can’t just borrow a charger for tonight. He remembers to text Hongseok that he’ll be late though, because he needs to grab a charger at a corner store on the way home, and does so during lunch so he doesn’t forget later.

There was this commercial for a new Samsung phone model that played when Jinho and one of the interns were watching Happy Together on YouTube during lunch break on Tuesday of this week, and it’s for a water proof model that doesn’t need even need a separate case.

“Maybe you’ll finally get Hongseok oppa to switch.” She pointed out, before Jinho could vocalise his thoughts. It was probably her malleable early-twenties frontal lobe that gave her these quick reactions.

“Maybe.” Jinho agreed, wondering when Hongseok will next be in a Happy Together mood.

“Isn’t your anniversary coming up?” Hwitaek had chimed in, joining them with a bowl of instant noodles. “Are you guys doing anything?”

“Why do you know when my anniversary is?”

“It’s close to your birthdays, which are also coming up, so your anniversary must be coming up.” Hwitaek responded easily. “Soojin, if you keep in touch with any of your sunbaes after your time here, make sure it’s not this one.”

“I resent that.”

“Especially with a starting salary working in an audio communications department, you’ll probably need to take out a loan with all the cash you drop on his household in April.” Hwitaek continued while laughing at Jinho’s annoyance.

“Hongseok oppa’s birthday is in April too?” She clarified, surprised.

ing Hwitaek.

“It’s actually-”

“It’s not just in April, it’s the exact same date.” Hwitaek replied, and soon Jinho was being patronised by a roomful of wiggly eyebrows.

“How long have you guys been together?” Soojin asked, tossing her instant noodles into the trash bin. ing twenty year olds; Jinho’s stomach would kill him if he ate that quickly.

“Twelve years.” Hwitaek replied before Jinho could. The problem with promotions was that until you made it into core management, every rung up just meant a wider scope of young people you had to work with.

“Thirteen.” Jinho corrected, just to see if he could get away with it.

“It won’t be thirteen until April.” Apparently he couldn’t.

“Since you started dating or after getting married?” Soojin questioned.

Most interns would definitely not have pressed further, but Hyunggu had probably shown her those photos of Jinho being forced into Disney themed headbands when they went on a group trip last year. People usually start respecting him less after those make their way around; Jinho makes a note to send out fake department evaluation forms to have everyone fill out over email.

“We’re not married yet.” Jinho shrugged, looking back down at his noodles and chewing.

Both of them regained some semblance of respect and changed the subject to Park Myungsoo’s ty wig.

With the side trip it’s 6:26 when Jinho gets home, but nothing is different because there are apparently three horse flies in their house, so Hongseok is still hunting.

Conversation of something something.

“Two out of three!” Hongseok calls, crouched over next to the oven with the appliance off but light on.

Jinho hums in lieu of a proper response, and when he sees the sink he’s reminded of how thirsty he is, but he doesn’t want to stir the fly, so he sits on the sofa in their studio until there’s a familiar thwack. Hongseok comes over moments later, glass of water in hand.

“Did you remember to get your charger?”

“Yeah.”

“I got takeout.” Hongseok isn’t really capable of really surprising Jinho anymore, but Jinho does find himself caught off guard on occasion. Hongseok doesn’t with his macros unless he’s stressed.

Jinho dances through different topics of conversation in his head as Hongseok goes to grab their food, Thai if Jinho’s olefactoury senses haven’t given out yet, and settles on that moon thing happening in the States next week. Maybe he’ll finally find some use for that single astronomy class he took fourth year of university, for a natural science requirement.

“Have you heard about the eclipse in the States?” Jinho asks, digging around his drunken noodles for a larger piece of pepper. He likes to eat the bell pepper first, because they’re juicy and he doesn’t like their shocks of hot juice if he accidentally eats one absentmindedly. “Apparently Amazon there recalled a ton of eclipse glasses there so people are selling them for up to 80,000 won a piece.”

“That’s crazy.” Hongseok nods, playing with his curry more than eating it. “My parents and aunt’s family are flying to Chicago to see it.”

That would be why they’re eating takeout then.

“Did your mom call?” Jinho asks, not hiding his annoyance.

“No, she sent out another one of those newsletters.” Hongseok sighs.

“Even if she won’t take you off the list for her emails, can’t you just set them to spam?” Jinho argues. “I don’t know why that crazy thinks people want to be updated on her shopping sprees. She should just make an Instagram account.”

“My grandma hasn’t been doing too hot recently.” Hongseok explains. “I wouldn’t… I would want to be there. If something happened.”

“Can you just ask your grandma to put you on her medical contacts list? So the hospital will call?” Jinho repeats; his jaw has the muscle memory to have this conversation in his sleep. “Your mom’s too self absorbed to mention anything actually useful in her newsletters.”

“I should do that.” Hongseok agrees, jaw in a similar state, and Jinho eats in silence for a little longer, waiting.

“How was your day? Sans charger struggles.” Hongseok asks after a few beats, eyes glittering again, and Jinho can’t help but smile, even now.

“I think Hyunggu’s spreading those photos of me from Disney again.” Jinho whines, narrowing his eyes. “I’m thinking about asking our tech guy for his login info to make sure the company email’s clean.”

“That’s probably illegal.” Hongseok laughs.

___

For the first four years of their relationship, Jinho felt like the universe had a countdown running. It was waiting for them to implode, burn, crumble, reduce back into dust and slowly drift back away to their separate orbits. A volatile little love that nobody thought would make it.

After those first four years, the timer seemed to change directions. It’s counting up now, all the years they’ve chosen to be together, stacking up and raising the expectations for an eventual wedding. Most of Jinho’s friends had lucked out, proposing early on, before friends and family started greeting them with “has he bought a ring yet?” instead of “hello.” At this point Jinho’s parents refer to Hongseok as their favourite son, and everyone at work refers to Hongseok as his husband on invitations to weddings or holiday parties. At this point there’s no more catalysts, no more signs, no more outside forces intervening, nothing to ease them into the transition.

Now that they’re pushing thirteen years, Jinho thinks they may have to wait for the Milky Way itself to capsize, in fiery smoke and flashes of light, to justify them tying the knot, right before their vessels liquesce and the star stuff that binds them together returns to space.

He doesn’t feel the weight of over a decade when they’re together, doesn’t think about where they used to be much. Jinho falls in orbit easily, engaging in surface level conversations and short-term concerns as he shuttles himself from home to work to home to play. Work has changed marginally over the years, with homes moving in accordance, and Hongseok just happens to be something that’s stayed the same.

Jinho doesn’t spend every second in reverence of this relationship; bigger picture thinking was a glimmer of hope for him to cling to in his twenties when he was crippled by university fees and working VJ jobs to try and move his way up the KBS social stratification. Now he’s settled into motion, and he’ll take everything for what it is. Hongseok has woken up next to him 4415 times, the moon has circled the Earth 177, the Earth the sun 13.

It takes outside forces to jilt him out of routine, to make him realise that Hongseok hasn’t moved but other things have, and Jinho thought these sappy, nostalgic realisations would hit him when they moved into double digits but it’s the baker’s dozen that actually does it.

Technically speaking, twelve years is more of an estimate than an statistic, because Jinho and Hongseok’s anniversary is more like a birth date you assign to a stray cat you adopt because you like celebrating than an actual beginning to their relationship.

Neither of them can actually remember the date of their first date, but it had been either February twelfth or nineteenth, on a Tuesday. They had sat across from each other, sat in a twenty four hour Thai restaurant, at four thirty in the morning. Exhaustion and fatigue should make them both look grimey, but Jinho remembers watching Hongseok eat, half his face dark because of the streetlights outside casting shadows and half of his face glowing in the brisk morning air.

April second, their actual effective first date, took on the significance it has now because that’s the day Jinho had put himself out there.

It’s summer, hot, and the pair of them are up early on a Saturday, walking through the stalls at a local farmer’s market. The sun had been nice and warm about two hours ago, but at this point it’s a prickly kind of burn and Jinho starts maneuvering himself into Hongseok’s shadow so he doesn’t spontaneously combust.

“The fruit smells more fragrant the warmer it gets outside.” Hongseok says, which Jinho thinks is bull but he’s not going to argue food with someone who went to culinary school.

“Meat just gets burnt.” Jinho says, still waking up.

Hongseok finds a nice older gentlemen selling peaches when Jinho’s responses start swerving from funny into mean, and he’s got the white fleshed nectarines for sale, which Jinho prefers, and these unnaturally large yellow flesh ones, which Hongseok grabs because they remind him of his time in San Diego. They grab three each, loaded into a inconspicuously ostentatious burlap sack Hongseok digs out of his back pocket, and find shade to eat.

The closest thing is a short, out of commission newspaper vendor; one of those old metal ones that takes cash and unlocks a latch for you to grab a copy. Jinho squats, making sure at least his face is shielded, and keeps his feet spread so none of the sugary juice dripping down his chin stains his white sneakers.

Hongseok takes out another burlap sack to sit on, leaned up against the old box with his legs comfortably spread and shirt free of peach stains.

“How do you do that?” Jinho can’t help but ask once he finishes his first nectarine, wiping his chin with part of his hand that should still be dry. It’s actually wet, and both parts of his body just end up feeling stickier. He’s hungry, but torn since he feels a little five.

“You have to when you bite.” Hongseok laughs, grabbing one of Jinho’s picks and sitting up to feed him. “Like those mini pudding cups. They always have that juice on the top that you have to off before you can eat.”

Jinho tries, making an ugly demon noise from he back of his throat the first time he tries, and nearly toppling Hongseok over in fits of laughter. After a few more fails attempted, where he ends up choking on a tiny piece of skin that he in, Jinho gives up and goes back to slobbering over the fruit, doing it quickly, to get it over with.

Hongseok is annoyingly put together when Jinho finishes, clothing unstained, no trail of sticky glucose water running down his forearm and dripping onto the dark asphalt under their feet. Jinho’s a bit peevish, until Hongseok starts sacrificing his clean limbs to wipe Jinho’s face down, the inside of his arms wiping against the damp mix of sweat and peach juice on Jinho’s jaw and neck.

It’s kind of gross.

“Hey.” Jinho says, once they’re done and both standing, grabbing the side of Hongseok’s shirt to make him turn around. He’s scoping out the remaining stalls they have to hit already, leaning into Jinho’s grip.

“Hm?” Hongseok replies, some cherries catching his eye.

“This is a date right? We’re dating.” Jinho clarifies, looking up.

Hongseok’s gaze is steady and answer on it’s own. He looks at Jinho confused, like he wonders if Jinho asks the sun to rise every morning, like he wonders if Jinho reminds the Earth to spin, like he wonders if Jinho reminds the moon to come back every night.

“Yeah.” Hongseok smiles despite himself.

They’re sticky, sweaty, baking outside, and Jinho feels a little dumb, a little happy.

“Good.” Jinho shrugs, dragging Hongseok off by the side of his shirt when the eye contact gets a little heavy.

They’re gross.

___

Even forever starts to feel tangible at some point. The closest star to Jinho is the sun; the closest star to the sun is Alpha Centauri A; Alpha Centauri A is 4.3 billion light years away. They’ll never meet, mesh, combine, but even with the cold vacuum of space in between them their light bridges the gap, photons traveling at light speed, meeting in the middle if need be.

How much closer can man be, then, even without ever being the same?

When you’ve been dating someone for ten years there are very few secrets left uncovered. Hongseok’s seen Jinho blackout wasted, seen Jinho half awake on the toilet because there’s where Hongseok sneak attacks with green juices that he makes in that goddam blender Jinho suggested Hwitaek purchase six years ago, seen Jinho feverish and looking a street dweller.

It’s not that they don’t get surprised anymore, don’t experience feelings anymore, it’s just that they run their course differently. None of that innocently hanging out with other people, innocently hugging other people, innocently forgetting birthdays, whoops accidental makeup nonsense. If Jinho plops himself down on someone else’s lap, it’s because they got into another argument about whether they should sleep with the fan off and no blanket, Hongseok’s idea, or fan on and with a cotton throw. And this argument was not borne out a genuine difference in opinion or any effort to compromise—when they had first moved in with each other it had been Hongseok’s moving into Jinho’s tiny studio, Jinho’s bed, Jinho’s rules. Hongseok had adapted and it’s been eight years of fan-on-light-throw, but when Hongseok’s had a particularly brutal customer at work, he just wants to be short with his words.

Jinho knows this, Hongseok knows this, but they’ve got their pride and finish the act anyway.

Makeup is still nice.

The last words Jinho’s kept in his throat meander out ten years later.

Jinho has this thing with Hongseok’s shoulder, specifically Hongseok’s left shoulder.

It is his.

So Jinho knows it’s not his shoulder, because it’s Hongseok’s shoulder, but Jinho doesn’t actually understand that it’s not his shoulder. It’s the left one specifically because Jinho sleeps on the left, and it’s the shoulder he’s greeted with every morning, Hongseok having a habit of inching up on the bed throughout the night until his head bangs into the headboard. It’s the shoulder Jinho hides behind when the sun is streaming in and he doesn’t want to wake up yet; it’s the shoulder Jinho favours when he’s rosy welts into Hongseok’s chest; it’s the shoulder at the perfect height for Jinho to nestle his head into when they’re watching TV and sinking into the couch.

Years of slicing, chopping, and whisking mean Hongseok’s entire right arm is a little rougher, muscles a little more inflamed inflamed, and the right shoulder just isn’t as comfortable. Jinho likes the left.

Jinho doesn’t really like other people using his shoulder. Hongseok’s shoulder. It feels like having strangers in his home, going through his stuff, moving into his space. That spot it his.

In later years, when both their social circles have higher coworker to friend ratios, it’s not really an issue, but when they first started dating Jinho had still been a student, and student’s are touchier. They sleep over regularly, get into full body contact fights over food crumbs, lean on each other when exhausted, and have no sense of personal boundaries.

When Jinho first brought Hongseok around, to their game nights, on their noraebang adventures, he had been accustomed to skin-ship monster ways, but it’s a little different watching his friends barnacle themselves onto Hongseok too. When they’re all singing and Jinho doesn’t want to ruin their move he’ll turn on a rock song, an English one like something by Green Day if Hongseok looks especially comfortable where he is, and drag Hongseok out inconspicuously to belt out 21 Guns with him.

It’s more of a non issue, and Jinho could have let it die if need be, but he’s too old to do things he doesn’t want to. They’re lying on a firm King sized mattress, cotton sheets, entangled under and with a down comforter, and Jinho remembers huddling together on his twin sized mattress nine years ago. He hadn’t been able to afford a bed frame or proper sheets, so the bed sat on the ground with a thrift store table cloth thrown over it, secured with staples on the underside. Hongseok hadn’t had anywhere else to turn and so he stayed, and they slept tucked into each other for two years.

The bed they have now could fit two more adults and three children, comfortably, but they meet in the middle anyway.

“Are you awake?” Jinho asks, rhetorically so he can muster the strength to verbalise this. He lies that this is the last time he’ll say something this stupid until his own mind is convinced.

“Yeah?” Hongseok asks, the grip his arm has on Jinho’s waist tightening for a moment as proof. “What’s up?”

“You know when Hyojong asked if we still get jealous last Tuesday?” Jinho asks.

“Vaguely.” Hongseok murmurs, after a moment of thought. “He has the strangest questions. Too many questions.”

“Well I was lying. It happens. Sometimes.” Jinho feels his spine physically curling with the effort it takes to say this out loud. “I don’t like it when other people use your shoulder.”

“My shoulder?” Hongseok repeats, intrigued. “Use them for what?”

“Use them isn’t what I mean.” Jinho sighs. “Touch? Them?”

“I need you to show me.” Hongseok is probably suppressing the eating grin on his face, but Jinho wants to punch him anyway.

“Just forget I said anything. It’s not a big deal.”

“I want to know!”

“It’s not important!” Jinho protests, but Hongseok is clinging onto this. He sits up, standing momentarily to lift Jinho until he’s sat up against the mattress too, and then throws an arm over Jinho’s shoulders.

“Like this?”

“No, I’m not twelve.” Jinho protests.

“This?” Hongseok repeats, pushing Jinho sideways a bit so he can administer a ty massage.

“No.”

“Is it-”

“Like this.” Jinho gives up, leaning his head on Hongseok’s shoulder, right into the groove his ear has probably dug out at this point, and meets Hongseok’s eyes because he’s thirty four goddammit he can have conversations like an adult.

“Ahhhh.” Hongseok replies, and Jinho doesn’t like the expression he sees so he shoves Hongseok half off the bed.

“Shut up. Turn the lights off; I’m going to bed.”

Hongseok has fun with it, asking Jinho if he needs to borrow a shoulder with increasing frequency through the next week, but the teasing dips off after a week and Jinho thinks it’s the end of it. Full disclosure reached. Level ten gay. The end.

He’s forgotten how dumb they are though, because maybe two months later Hongseok goes to a baseball game with Jinho’s old college gang and comes back with a tattoo.

“I did something stupid.” Hongseok prefaces, speaking as soon as he opens the bedroom door to change; Jinho could probably wake up if someone dropped too many cotton puffs. “I wasn’t wasted or anything, but I had a few beers during the game, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Does it still seem like a good idea now?” Jinho pries, wondering what kind of mess he’s in for. It’s just Hongseok, wearing more or less what he had on when he left, face a little sweatier, a little redder. No injuries, at least.

“I mean, if you think it’s a good idea?” Hongseok replies; it has been quite some time since he’s sounded so unsure.

“We’ll just have to find out, won’t we.” Jinho responds cryptically, hiding his face in the collar of his shirt when it’s too bright. He still smells like Hongseok’s favourite shower gel.

“Hyojong thought it was cute.” Hongseok adds, stripping his jeans off. This is the first suspicious sign, since Hongseok always takes his shirt off first. Or the second, actually, because first and foremost Jinho doesn’t trust anything Hyojong deems a good idea.

“What is it?”

“Maybe I should shower first?”

“What is it?”

“I smell really-”

“Yang Hongseok I swear to god.” Jinho groans, throwing his feet over the side of the bed to stand up. “Spit it out.”

Hongseok takes his shirt off in lieu of saying anything, meaning Jinho’s first reaction is the slew of dirty jokes that would be appropriate, and his second is that everything looks as usual. There’s something shiny on Hongseok’s shoulder, on Jinho’s side, and when Jinho squints and walks closer he sees it’s a band aid of some sort. If he’s going to be soullessly honest then he would prefer Hongseok get any accidental cuts on the other side, but it’s not bleeding or anything so Jinho’s just glad it’s not serious.

It’s not a cut.

“Okay to be honest I got it before the game.” Hongseok rambles, anxious as Jinho comes closer to inspect the design. “Hyojong and I had time so we were going to grab dinner with Shinwon beforehand but then Shinwon didn’t show up and Hyojong had been meaning to get another hole in his ear and I followed him to the shop and they did ink too and I was bored and it seemed like a good idea I don’t ing know Cho Jinho I swear to God if you don’t say anything soon I’m going to throw myself out the window.”

‘趙珍虎’ is what the ink reads, or how Jinho would have written his name before King Sejong.

He’s immediately taken back to fourth year, some girls in his class talking abo