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The studio door doesn’t open until past ten.
Seonghwa knows because he’s been watching the clock on the wall for the last hour, trying to pretend he isn’t. Every tick makes his heart beat louder, every minute passed makes him rehearse again in his head.
But when he hears the soft creak of the door and the familiar sound of socked feet shuffling across the floor, his body goes stiff.
He can’t look up. Not yet. He’s afraid that if he sees Hongjoong’s face now—soft with exhaustion, maybe a little frown between his brows—he’ll cry before he even gets the damn box out of his pocket.
“Seonghwa?” comes the voice. A little groggy, a little confused.
He takes a shaky breath. “Out here.”
A pause.
Then Hongjoong steps out onto the balcony.
And he stops.
Eyes widening at the scene in front of him.
The small table has been pushed aside. The floor is covered in plush blankets and pillows in mismatched patterns. A single fat candle flickers in the middle of it all, wax already pooling on the ceramic dish beneath. There’s a plate of homemade japchae and grilled veggies, some rolled egg omelets, and a half-burnt cheesecake that Seonghwa tried to make look cute with too much powdered sugar.
The speaker plays faint jazz in the background.
And in the middle of it all—Seonghwa, kneeling with his hands on his lap, cheeks pink, hair fluffy from the shower, eyes wide and shining.
“I… made dinner,” he says, too quietly.
Hongjoong blinks at him. Then blinks again. “…Did I forget something?”
“No. No, it’s just… for you.”
His voice cracks slightly at the end, and Hongjoong finally moves forward, crouching down across from him with a gentle smile.
“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble, baby…”
“I wanted to,” Seonghwa says, and it’s the truth. He planned every detail—how he’d lure Hongjoong out of his studio without raising suspicion, how he’d have everything ready just in time, how he’d say the words perfectly and maybe, just maybe, make Hongjoong tear up a little.
But now?
Now his hands won’t stop shaking.
---
They eat. It’s warm and quiet and easy.
Hongjoong talks about his day, about how he’d been stuck on a single line for four hours before finally scrapping the whole verse. He complains about the new monitor setup. He compliments the egg rolls and scolds Seonghwa (gently, lovingly) for not letting him help.
“You’ve been acting strange,” Hongjoong says halfway through dessert.
Seonghwa nearly chokes. “Strange how?”
“You keep smiling like you’re gonna burst.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not—!”
“Babe.”
“…Okay, maybe a little.”
He bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to ruin the moment with nerves, but they’re building in his chest like a wave that won’t stop rising. He keeps fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. He wipes his hands on a napkin three times even though they’re clean.
And then—before he can overthink it—he reaches into the folds of the blanket and pulls out the tiny velvet box.
He doesn’t open it yet.
He just holds it in his hand like it’s made of glass, fingers trembling.
Hongjoong goes very still.
“…What’s that?”
Seonghwa breathes in.
And tries.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay, so I had this whole thing written out. A speech. It was really poetic. There were metaphors. A callback to our first date. I was going to say something like ‘you are my safest place,’ which is cheesy, but I meant it.”
He’s rambling. Fast. Breathless.
“But I forgot the paper somewhere, I think I left it in the drawer, or maybe the laundry—anyway, it’s gone, and now I’m—fuck—I’m just gonna talk, okay? I’m just gonna say it.”
He finally opens the box.
Inside is a simple silver ring, subtle and elegant, with a tiny engraved star on the inside of the band.
Hongjoong covers his mouth.
“I love you,” Seonghwa says, voice shaking. “I’ve loved you every day for years. Even when we were busy, even when you drove me insane with your three-day edits and forgetting to eat, even when you didn’t love yourself—I did. I do.”
He reaches across the blanket with his free hand.
Hongjoong takes it instantly.
“I know you work too much. I know you always feel like you have to give more, be more, do better. And I love that about you. I love that you care so deeply, and dream so hard, and fight so fiercely. But—”
His breath catches.
“—I want to be the one who gives you something. Just once. Something soft. Something still. A place you don’t have to earn. Just… a home. I want to be your home.”
The tears are already falling.
From both of them.
“I want to be with you in every version of forever,” Seonghwa whispers. “And I want to call you mine in every life. I want to marry you.”
He lets the words hang in the air, heavy and light all at once.
And then—
“Yes,” Hongjoong breathes. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes—”
He lunges forward, knocking the box aside as he throws himself into Seonghwa’s arms. Their knees bump, their heads knock together, but they’re both laughing and sobbing at the same time, clutching onto each other like they’ll fall apart otherwise.
“Yes, you idiot,” Hongjoong sobs into his neck. “Of course yes. I thought you were just buttering me up for a new skincare order.”
Seonghwa wheezes a laugh. “I was going to do that after.”
“God, I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“No, I love you more—”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“Says the man who just proposed with jazz music and a candle.”
Seonghwa sniffles, rubbing his cheek against Hongjoong’s damp one. “You’re crying so much.”
“You made me cry.”
“You like the ring?”
Hongjoong finally pulls back enough to look at it again. His hands tremble as Seonghwa gently slides it onto his finger.
“It’s perfect,” he whispers.
“You’re perfect.”
Hongjoong leans in again, cups Seonghwa’s face with both hands, and kisses him.
It’s not their first kiss, not by a long shot, but something shifts in this one. Something soft and solid. Something that feels like forever.
When they finally pull apart, cheeks wet, candles flickering low—
Seonghwa lays back on the blanket and pulls Hongjoong down with him.
They lay there side by side, fingers interlaced, staring up at the stars above the city lights.
No more nerves.
Just them.
Just love.
---
They don’t rush inside.
Not right away.
The balcony air is cool, scented faintly with jasmine from the neighbor’s garden, and their candle is still flickering, low but alive. Seonghwa lays on his back, Hongjoong curled up beside him, head resting on his chest, their fingers laced loosely together. The little silver ring shines every time the candlelight catches it.
Neither of them speaks for a while. Just soft breathing, fluttery exhales, and the sound of their hearts slowly settling after the chaos.
Then—Hongjoong shifts, turning onto his side, one knee sliding across Seonghwa’s thigh.
Seonghwa hums. “Comfortable?”
Hongjoong lifts his head just enough to look down at him. His cheeks are still a little pink, eyes glassy. “You really want to marry me?”
Seonghwa brushes a hand over his temple, pushing his hair back. “With everything I am.”
Hongjoong leans in—gently. He kisses Seonghwa’s jaw, then his cheek, then just under his eye, where a tear had dried.
“I love you so much,” he whispers.
Seonghwa exhales slowly. His hands move without thinking, one on Hongjoong’s back, the other curling under his chin.
And when they kiss again, it’s different.
Softer. Deeper. Slower.
Like they both know now. That this is the person they’ll wake up beside every day. That nothing is uncertain anymore.
Seonghwa tilts his head, parts his lips. Hongjoong sighs into the kiss and lets himself melt completely, crawling to straddle Seonghwa’s hips with slow, fluid movements. Their mouths move together—tender and wet, lazy but intentional, like they’re making love with every pass of their lips.
Hongjoong grinds down slowly.
Just once.
A gentle roll of his hips that makes Seonghwa groan softly into his mouth.
“Baby,” Seonghwa whispers, fingers clutching his waist.
Hongjoong smiles, but he’s flushed, shy even now. “I want to. I want to feel you. Let me?”
Seonghwa sits up just enough to press his forehead to Hongjoong’s. “Always.”
—
They don’t bother going far.
Just a few minutes later, the blankets are dragged inside with clumsy laughter, half the balcony left a romantic mess. Seonghwa closes the door behind them and turns off the living room lights until the room is lit only by the glow spilling in from outside.
Hongjoong’s back is to him when he reaches for the hem of his sweater and starts pulling it over his head.
Seonghwa watches, breathless. Watches the way his fiancé’s—his fiancé’s—shoulder blades move, the line of his waist, the little birthmark on his ribs.
“I’m gonna keep crying,” Seonghwa admits softly.
Hongjoong turns, shirtless now, cheeks warm. “Me too.”
They meet in the middle of the living room floor, arms around each other, noses brushing. Seonghwa’s fingers trail up Hongjoong’s spine, and Hongjoong kisses along Seonghwa’s neck, slow and reverent.
Clothes come off gradually. Carefully. Like they’re unwrapping something sacred. Seonghwa pulls off his own shirt first, then helps slide down Hongjoong’s pants. Hongjoong undoes Seonghwa’s belt with trembling hands, then presses a soft kiss to his stomach when the fabric falls away.
And when they finally sink down together, skin to skin, nothing is rushed.
Seonghwa lays Hongjoong down, hovering above him, brushing hair from his forehead.
“Touch me,” Hongjoong whispers. “Make me yours.”
Seonghwa does. With his mouth, his hands, his entire heart.
He trails kisses along his chest, over his ribs, down his stomach. He worships every inch, every sigh, every soft moan that spills from Hongjoong’s lips. When he slicks his fingers and gently presses one inside, Hongjoong’s back arches, thighs trembling, hands clutching at Seonghwa’s shoulders.
“You’re so perfect,” Seonghwa breathes, watching him fall apart.
Hongjoong pulls him in by the neck, kisses him through a whimper. “So are you.”
When he’s ready—panting, flushed, pupils blown wide—he pulls Seonghwa close and whispers, “Please. Now. I need you.”
Seonghwa enters him with slow, careful movements, never looking away from his eyes. Hongjoong’s breath catches, a soft gasp, but he nods—yes, yes, yes.
They move together like music.
No rush. Just rhythm. Just closeness. Just love.
Seonghwa leans in, kissing every sound from Hongjoong’s mouth. His hands hold Hongjoong like he’s the most fragile and beautiful thing in the world. Hongjoong clings to him like he never wants to let go.
And when they come—together, messy and overwhelmed—it’s with tears on their cheeks and “I love you”s whispered into each other’s skin.
—
Later, they lay tangled on the blanket again, breath still heavy, bodies pressed close. Seonghwa’s hand is on Hongjoong’s chest, and Hongjoong’s fingers are playing lazily with the silver ring.
“Did I say yes fast enough?” he murmurs.
“You tackled me,” Seonghwa laughs, still dazed.
“Good,” Hongjoong whispers. “I never want you to doubt it.”
Seonghwa leans in and kisses his forehead.
“I never will.”