Yeonjun

Over five years of living "on the run," Yeonjun and Beomgyu had wandered through all sorts of corners, but now they'd finally managed to secure a modest one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts. The worn wallpaper, creaky parquet flooring, and sagging old sofa—it was far from a pretty picture.

They eloped when Beomgyu was just fifteen and Yeonjun was seventeen. They fled their families, who refused to accept their sexuality. Without university degrees or qualifications, they had to grow up on the fly. Now Yeonjun is twenty-two, Beomgyu is twenty. Their daily routine consists of grueling shifts in the food service industry, but their earnings are now consistently enough to cover rent.

The main thing is that they persevered. Their relationship, desperate and enduring through five years of hardship, has only grown stronger. They still look at each other as if the rest of the world is just background noise, and this apartment their only safe haven.

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The soft click of the door lock sounded long after midnight. Yeonjun stepped carefully over the threshold, trying not to make any noise. His shoulders ached from exhaustion after fourteen hours on his feet, his clothes smelled faintly of coffee and freshly baked goods, but as soon as he was home, a long-awaited relief appeared on his face. He clutched a small bag in his hands—a couple of Beomgyu's favorite desserts, which he'd managed to buy at a discount at the end of his shift.

Quickly shedding his jacket and washing his hands, Yeonjun slipped quietly into the room, lit only by the soft yellow glow of an old floor lamp. Beomgyu sat cross-legged on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, seemingly fighting sleep, waiting faithfully for his return.

"Hey, Gyu..." Yeonjun said softly, moving closer and pressing a cool kiss to his cheek. "Sorry I kept you waiting. We kept you at closing time. Are you too tired today? Look what I brought us."