Chapter Text
The first time Seungcheol held Jeonghan’s hand, they were only seventeen. Barely old enough to understand what they were feeling, but reckless enough to believe it didn’t matter.
It was a late Thursday afternoon and they had slipped away from class with the sort of defiant nonchalance that made the world feel like it belonged only to them.
They climbed the creaking stairs to the school rooftop, one after the other, their sneakers scuffing against the concrete. The metal door opened with a loud groan and the cool wind of October greeted them immediately as soon as they stepped out.
From up there, the city seemed peaceful, the buildings looked smaller, and the noise of their teenage lives faded somewhere below the clouds.
Jeonghan pulled his legs up to his chest as he sat, resting his chin against his knees. Seungcheol sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed against each other.
Neither of them said anything at first, letting the wind fill the space between them, letting all the things they hadn’t said yet settle like the dust on their shoes.
It was Seungcheol who reached out first.
His hand hovered in the air for a moment, as if he was unsure. His fingers curled and uncurled in the empty space between them, like he wasn’t certain if he had the right. Like even after months of shared looks across classrooms, bike rides home, half spoke confessions, and moments that lingered a little too long, he still didn’t know if he was allowed to want something this simple.
When Jeonghan didn’t pull his hand away, that already felt like an answer.
Seungcheol closed the distance, finally lacing their fingers together. It was almost hesitant at first, but when Jeonghan’s grip tightened in return, his hold got firmer.
They didn’t even have to say anything. Because sometimes, a single touch carried more than words ever could.
Jeonghan turned to him then and smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, long lashes catching the sunlight. Seungcheol returned the smile, squeezing Jeonghan’s hand.
At that exact moment, it felt like the world eased up around them. Like something had finally gone right.
Even seven years after that first touch and the first promise of forever, when everything else around them had shifted, when life grew harsher and love stopped being so simple, they were still tangled up in that same love.
A little older now, wiser maybe, but still utterly and irreversibly in love.
The apartment they moved into during their fifth year of being together wasn’t extravagant but it was comfortable. A space they could call their own. It had a cozy bedroom, a bright kitchen, a living area just big enough to stretch out in, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city.
But more than anything, it smelled like home. Like Jeonghan’s citrus shampoo and Seungcheol’s cologne. Like burnt toast and late night ramens. Like laughter and years spent learning each other by heart.
On one Sunday morning, Jeonghan was curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath him, a worn hoodie slipping off one shoulder. He was halfway through a book he hadn’t put down in two days when Seungcheol walked in from the kitchen, balancing two mugs of coffee and wearing nothing but gray sweatpants and a soft smile.
“Still reading that?” Seungcheol asked, passing him a mug.
Jeonghan looked up, eyes still lost from the story he was lost in. “It’s really good.”
Seungcheol slid into the space next to him, his arm finding its way around Jeonghan. “Better than me?”
Jeonghan glanced at him over the rim of the mug, “Not even close.”
Seungcheol laughed under his breath and pressed a kiss to the side of Jeonghan’s head. “That’s the right answer.”
Their love wasn’t the kind people write songs about. It wasn’t perfect, but it was simple in a way that made even the smallest moments feel like the whole point.
Over the years, they had been through just about everything two people could go through; late nights in cramped dorm rooms, the uncertainty of not knowing where they were headed to, the pressure of figuring things out before they were even ready. It didn’t always look like much from the outside, but it shaped them all the same.
When Jeonghan lost his parents when he was only nineteen, his entire world shark around him. He was still just a boy with nowhere to land, except with Seungcheol who had stayed. Jeonghan had to learn how to live with the absence his parents left behind, how to move forward when part of him felt stuck. While some days were easier than the others, some were so hard that Jeonghan almost wanted to give up, but Seungcheol was always there to hold him through it all.
They went to the same university together, taking two different degrees, but still went through the struggles of it all side by side. After college came long workdays and longer nights. They landed jobs at different companies, both starting from scratch, both trying to prove themselves. There were tense meetings, cold conference rooms, and the constant pressure to be taken seriously. There were arguments behind closed doors, stress that followed them home, and mornings when they barely spoke but still remembered how the other liked their coffee.
Outside of work, life was softer but no less real. They would have grocery debates over the best kind of ramen, too many take out meals eaten in silence after exhausting days, and quiet nights in bed when they didn’t even speak because being just there was already enough.
They fought sometimes, oftentimes over the simplest things, and they didn’t always know how to say sorry, but they always found their way back to each other. Somehow, they always did.
Then there was that year apart. A long aching stretch of time when Jeonghan temporarily had to move to Busan for a work assignment while Seungcheol had to stay behind in Seoul. At first, they told themselves it would be fine, and for the most part, they were. Busan wasn’t that far, just a couple of hours by train, but the distance wasn’t always about miles.
Their schedules rarely lined up. It got harder to find time, even harder to be present when they did. The missed calls started to pile up, some nights ended without a single word shared between them, and the space that started small and manageable began to stretch in ways neither of them noticed until it began to hurt.
That was one of the few things that almost broke them up. Not because they stopped loving each other, but because loving each other started to feel difficult in a way it never had before.
Still, they made it, but it wasn’t because fate was on their side or things got magically easier overnight, but because they wanted to. Even when things got too hard, when they were too tired or too angry or too far away to touch, they still chose each other.
People told them it was rare to last that long, to grow up together and not fall apart, to still laugh at each other’s dumb jokes, to still hold hands out of habit, to still be in love after all those years.
Maybe they were right, it was rare. Maybe most people didn’t get to be that lucky.
But for Seungcheol and Jeonghan, it never really felt like luck. It never felt like some miraculous thing they had to protect or explain or chase after. It was just what it was.