When Wonshik and Taekwoon finish their coffee and get up to bus their table, Taekwoon's sure he's heard everything there is to know about neo-graffiti and street art, and Wonshik is positive that if Taekwoon showed any emotion, he'd be crying from boredom. Wonshik shoulders on his backpack as they stand at the edge of their table after picking up dishes, mentally exhausted. Taekwoon has his eyes fixed on the snow outside, and when Wonshik looks up from adjusting his hat, Taekwoon points with a slim finger.

While Wonshik was busy chattering away, the snow had piled up to two—no, three, or perhaps more—inches. Wonshik gasps.

"I can't drive home in this," Taekwoon mumbles, looking down and rummaging in his pocket for a black beanie. (Comme des down*, Wonshik notices as Taekwoon pulls it low over his ears.)

"Do you not live on campus?" Wonshik asks as they step out of the café and stand under the storefront's vinyl overhang.

Taekwoon holds out his hand to catch a stray snowflake, an exact repeat of his motion when it first started snowing. "No," Taekwoon answers simply, watching his caught snowflake melt. "Ah, I'm always getting stranded." With a disgusted noise, Taekwoon curls his hand into a fist.

Wonshik can tell that Taekwoon is frustrated, but he can't help himself from turning an embarrassing shade of pink from just how… cute Taekwoon sounds. He clears his throat and crosses his arms. The awkwardness between them still hasn't dissolved, Wonshik can feel it. "If you need somewhere to- um, until the snow… you know, stops- uh," Wonshik stutters, and he can feel Taekwoon's iron gaze on his cheek. It burns a little. "My flat's not too far from here," Wonshik finally spits. "You can wait there until the streets are clear, if you'd like."

Taekwoon remains silent.

"You don't have to." Wonshik looks down.

"Why are you so kind to me?" Taekwoon's question comes as a surprise, and its end is swallowed up in a gust of howling wind.

Somehow, Wonshik's heartbeat doesn't skyrocket, and he calmly meets Taekwoon's eyes with his own. They keep the eye-contact for a good minute before Wonshik looks away with a heated face. "You seem lonely," Wonshik says.

It'd be quiet if it weren't for the sweeping wind.

"I guess I do seem that way," Taekwoon says at last. "If…" Taekwoon turns to Wonshik with a sigh. "If it's okay with you, can I…"

"Of course," Wonshik says, a little quickly. "Of course. I didn't offer for no reason." Wonshik chews on his lip yet again.

Wonshik thinks Taekwoon might've smiled, but Taekwoon ducks his head, hiding his face into his chest. Feeling ruffled and unnecessarily warm, Wonshik starts walking in the direction of his apartment, Taekwoon trailing just half a step behind. They can barely see a few feet in front of themselves, and the sidewalk is growing increasingly treacherous. A few times, Taekwoon slips and catches himself and Wonshik reaches out to help. But each time, Taekwoon refuses his help.

At last they reach Wonshik's apartment building, and Wonshik ushers Taekwoon towards the elevator instead of taking the stairs, which are outside and thus covered in snow. Taekwoon and Wonshik are both relatively big people; and as a result, the cramped elevator feels much too hot and excessively humid. It's incredibly stifling, and Wonshik can tell that Taekwoon feels it too.

They step off on the fourth floor, and Wonshik's flat is the first one on the right. As Wonshik puts his key in the lock, he closes his eyes and prays to no one in particular that Hakyeon isn't inside making some kind of horrific mess. The tumblers click and shift inside the lock as he turns the key, and Wonshik pushes the door open. He sighs a breath of relief. Hakyeon's not there.

Taekwoon steps inside just after Wonshik, stomping the snow off his shoes on the landing before stepping into the puny mud-room. Wonshik toes off his Doc Martens and slips out of his backpack and jacket, leaving them in a pile by the threshold. He expects Taekwoon to follow after as he steps into the living room, but Taekwoon's frozen at the doorstep. Wonshik hopes he isn't appalled at the disarray in the living room.

"You can take your shoes off and come in," Wonshik says, tidying a pile of textbooks and magazines on the coffee table. Is it the paint smell? Wonshik wonders.

"Did you do all this?" Taekwoon asks. His eyes are fixated on the walls.

Right.

His art.

"Oh," Wonshik chuckles abashedly. "Yeah. What do you think?"

Taekwoon sighs delightedly. "I didn't think you were this good," he says as he shucks off his shoes, hat, and parka, leaving them beside Wonshik's. Wonshik doesn't understand why, but he likes the way Taekwoon's things look when they're piled next to his own.

Carefully, Taekwoon picks his way through Wonshik's flat—with expert precision, it seems—to take a closer look at the one wall with a giant aerosol art mural.

Everything seems a little too right to Wonshik, as though Taekwoon is meant to be standing in his living room. It's not uncomfortable or nerve-wracking for Wonshik like he'd expected it to be, but rather quite natural. Wonshik watches as Taekwoon runs a slim pointer finger over the painted wall, along a black outline. Quietly, Wonshik settles into the couch, allowing for Taekwoon to tour himself around the living room and look at each piece of art with squinted eyes.

"Can I get you anything?" Wonshik asks after a few long minutes.

Taekwoon shakes his head. "Do you smoke?" Taekwoon changes the topic abruptly and moves aside the same French art anthology that's always in the armchair, sitting down.

"Does it smell too strong?" Wonshik frets. He can feel his shoulders begin in seize up with anxiety. "I've been trying to quit."

Taekwoon folds his legs up into a cross-legged sitting position, constricted somewhat by the chair's arms. "It smells like my house."

Wonshik can't shake his surprise at just how much Taekwoon is talking right now—and in his own home! It must be comfortable for him. Wonshik can't stop fidgeting; he thought Taekwoon would be even more uncomfortable here than he was at the café. And the scent of his apartment… Wonshik is so used to Hakyeon saying how much it stinks that he's blown away by the idea that Taekwoon's home smells the same. "Do… do you smoke, too?"

Taekwoon hides an embarrassed and guilty smile in his hands. "On and off. I've been trying to quit too, since it's bad for the vocal chords."

Wonshik smiles, too. "Ah. Makes sense." He rubs his sweaty hands on the knees of his jeans. His nerves are killing him, and for no good reason. "Are you sure you don't want anything?" Wonshik asks again. He wishes Taekwoon would accept his offer so he'd have something to get up and do.

"Besides a cigarette? No."

Wonshik in a breath, glad to remember the only ashtray is in his room. "I can go get the ashtray," Wonshik says, standing up.

"Is it okay to smoke inside?" Taekwoon asks as Wonshik shuffles down the hall to his room. Taekwoon's voice is so quiet from far away.

Wonshik shrugs when he returns to the living room with a box of cigarettes and his black plastic ashtray. "The landlord never says anything, and I'm okay with it." Wonshik offers the open package to Taekwoon, who takes a cigarette with those elegant long fingers of his. Wonshik's about to offer Taekwoon a lighter, too, but Taekwoon has already produced a gold Zippo from his pocket. It's so much fancier than Wonshik's cheap plastic corner store lighter. Wonshik puts a cigarette in his mouth and lights it as quickly as he can and speedily re-pockets the thing. Taekwoon's gold Zippo speaks to his true self, Wonshik thinks. Quality and much, much better than Wonshik.

Sighing, Wonshik sets his ashtray down on top of a pile of textbooks with a small tak. He flops down onto the couch again. Through half-lidded eyes, Wonshik watches Taekwoon snap open that shiny Zippo and light his cigarette, guarded eyes trained on its end, watching the flame catch. The fire's dimly reflected in his eyes, and Wonshik decides he likes the way it looks. He glances away when Taekwoon exhales a (sultry) blue-grey cloud of smoke.

There's a surprisingly comfortable silence that follows before Wonshik gets up to crack open the window a hair's breadth to let out some of the smoke but no snow in. Taekwoon reaches for the ashtray to tap the ashes off the end of his cigarette.

"So how long have you been in music?" Wonshik asks, breaking the quiet.

Taekwoon fingers his cigarette contemplatively. "All my life," he answers plainly.

Wonshik nods. "Do you ever do collaborations? I-"

Wonshik's cut off when the front door bangs open. He looks up, surprised, and Taekwoon whips his head up from looking at the floor—the fastest Wonshik's ever seen Taekwoon move.

"Ah, cold, cold," a complaining voice mutters.

Shivering, Hakyeon shuts the door behind himself, and looks up to see the scene before him. His jaw falls open a bit and he stops mid jacket removal. Coughs a little when he inhales the second-hand smoke.

To Hakyeon, he sees his roommate and the pretty boy his roommate painted a few weeks back lounging in the living room in a cigarette haze, probably sharing some kind of intimate moment. The first thing to come to his mind is "y". Feeling as though he's interrupting, Hakyeon snaps into double time. He kicks off his shoes and gives up on taking off his jacket, leaving it half hanging off his frame. "Just here to get my laundry, hope I'm not interrupting anything!" Hakyeon blurts as he hustles back into his room.

Taekwoon turns his eyes on Wonshik.

He doesn't even need to say anything for Wonshik to understand. "Roommate," Wonshik clarifies with a sigh, and Taekwoon nods incredulously.

Hakyeon comes rushing out of his room with a laundry basket that's only half full, and Wonshik can tell that Hakyeon's making up an excuse to leave he and Taekwoon alone together. "I'll be gone for a few hours, so don't wait for me if you want to eat dinner," Hakyeon says, voice booming in the tiny apartment. Awkwardly, Hakyeon bows at Taekwoon and stuffs his feet back in his shoes. Then he flicks a glance at Wonshik, and cups a hand around his mouth so that Taekwoon can't see his lips. "He's hot!" Hakyeon mouths. "Good luck," he gives a thumbs-up and a corny grin.

"Hey," Wonshik spits threateningly, holding up a hand as if he were going to karate-chop Hakyeon. "It's not like that!" Hakyeon laughs giddily and slips out, ignoring Wonshik and shutting the door quickly behind himself. "That ," Wonshik mutters. "Sorry about that," he says to Taekwoon.

"No apology needed," Taekwoon replies, reaching to tap his cigarette again. "What were you talking about?"

Wonshik notices the careful wording of Taekwoon's question and grimaces inwardly. Still unwilling to talk. "I was asking if you do musical collaborations." Wonshik sets his cigarette down on the edge of the ashtray and gets up to mosey into the kitchen for a bottle of water. "Because I write lyrics occasionally," Wonshik continues, stooping to open the fridge, "Maybe we could work together sometime, or you could look at my writing."

When he straightens and turns around with water bottle in hand, he's met face-to-face with Taekwoon. Wonshik gasps, his heart thundering in his ribcage and rattling all his bones.

"I like it here," Taekwoon says impulsively.

Wonshik's heart constricts in a way it never has before. "I'm glad," he chokes out. He meets Taekwoon's eyes and they hold eye contact; Wonshik can tell it's taking a lot for Taekwoon. His brown eyes are b with diffidence and all Wonshik wants to do is shut those shy, shy eyes with a sweep of his hand. Something feels different, though. Taekwoon's let his barriers down. And Wonshik can almost see right through him, now.

"Kim Wonshik," Taekwoon utters quietly, and Wonshik takes the moment to do something more than a little stupid.

He doesn't notice the water bottle falling out of his hand—he notices only how sturdy Taekwoon's shoulders feel in his hands, the shape of Taekwoon's red mouth, and the way Taekwoon's fine china voice is swallowed up when their lips meet. It's not the most graceful kiss, and Taekwoon's rigidity immediately makes Wonshik feel like the dirtiest man in the world. But almost in the same instant that Taekwoon seizes up, Taekwoon relaxes, melting into Wonshik. Like in slow motion, Taekwoon reaches his arms up to envelop Wonshik, pushing Wonshik's hands off his shoulders so he can wrap his arms around Wonshik's neck.

Now it's Wonshik's turn to stiffen. He never thought he'd experience feeling Jung Taekwoon soften in his arms—never thought he'd want to—and Taekwoon's sudden boldness is the last thing Wonshik was expecting. Well, truthfully, he hadn't been expecting anything at all. He barely even knew what he was doing. Taekwoon finds his fingers tangling in the short and soft hair on the back of Wonshik's head, and Wonshik inhales sharply, goose bumps covering his entire body. This must be what heaven feels like, Wonshik thinks. Taekwoon's eyelashes brush his cheek and Wonshik's stomach swarms with butterflies. "I'm sorry," Wonshik rasps when Taekwoon pulls away to breathe. Mindlessly, Wonshik lets his hands wander to Taekwoon's waist, fingers latching onto his belt loops.

"Shut up," Taekwoon whispers, and Wonshik obeys, immediately closing his lips. Wonshik can't take his eyes off Taekwoon's flawless pink just-been-kissed lips as they lean in for another touch.