true blue

hanbin's laugh (glossy, stitched together with too much sunlight) spills out before he can stop it. it folds into the room, soft enough to pass as grace if you weren't listening closely. his fingers tighten around sojin's, a reflex born from possession and want, knuckles pale where the light hits them. "three generations," he repeats, whisper dressed in velvet. "that just means we've got an audience worthy of the show."

there's a glimmer to him now, the kind that looks expensive even when it's just pure freaking adrenaline. the wine on sojin's breath feels like something sacramental. "you'd sit through every flower arrangement meeting?" he murmurs, lashes lowering like a curtain. "you'd let me pick the color palette? the music? sitting arrangement? the cake?" his grin widens, dimples, teeth, trouble. "i'd make it couture, hyung. no lilies. no lace. only gold dust. something divine enough to make even your mother forget propriety." he glances toward the head of the table, where the matriarch's laughter curls through the air like the most exquisite perfume, then back at sojin, a little too fast, a little too much. "and your dad," he adds, quieter, "if he's pretending, let him. i don't mind being the scandal he can't quite name. we have the same type of dad."

for a heartbeat, the air feels charged, cinematic, like the whole villa's been suspended between breaths. hanbin's thumb ghosts over sojin's palm again, a tiny circle that feels like both promise and plea.

"you think i'm my own genre," he says, "but you're the only one who speaks it fluently. and understands it." and maybe it's the wine or just the impossible gravity between them, but hanbin swears everything else dissolves (the laughter, the clinking glasses, the polite coughs) until there's just this: the boy he loves, the ghosts of a thousand chandeliers, and the quiet, impossible thought that forever might actually look like this.

for a second, the whole room goes gauzy - just chandelier light and the ghost of hanbin's words looping in his head like a dangerous song. he's always been good at slipping into roles, but this one feels too close to the bone. he can feel it in the way his pulse stumbles, in the way hanbin's fingers map constellations against his skin.

"gold dust, huh?" he murmurs, tone balanced somewhere between challenge and awe. his lips twitch, not quite hiding the fondness that threatens to spill over. "you'd have my mother convinced it's avant-garde before dessert." there's laughter in his voice, but softer now - almost reverent. "and for the record, if you ever tried to sneak lace in there, i'd walk out mid-vow. scandal or not."

he leans back just enough to breathe again, to let the world slip back into focus: his mother's amused glances, his father's orchestrated ignorance, the subtle hum of wealth and expectation that always fills these walls. but hanbin's still there, a quiet rebellion at his side.

"you talk about forever like it's a dare," sojin says, fingers brushing over hanbin's wrist before settling, warm and sure. "and maybe i'm stupid enough to take it." his gaze drifts toward the far end of the table - then back, anchored, unshakable. "but if we're making this a show, we do it my way next time. i'll write the script, direct the lighting, maybe even give you a rehearsal cue before you decide to make a scene."

he pauses, eyes catching the shimmer in hanbin's, and something unspoken flickers there - something dangerously sincere.

"and you," he adds, voice dropping low, "you'd still steal the spotlight anyway."

sojin exhales a quiet laugh, the kind that folds itself between affection and disbelief, and taps his glass lightly against hanbin's. "to couture weddings and scandalous genres," he says, eyes gleaming. "and to pretending - until it doesn't feel like pretending anymore."

＠𝐬𝐨𝐣𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 ─

loft's too quiet

#배소진 | sns

hanbin, in his natural habitat (that is, within a six-inch radius of his boyfriend's personal space) looks like a boy who's never been told the word decorum. or maybe he's just forgotten it, along with the idea of brunch being anything other than a stage play starring him, his dimples, and the world's most patient leading man. the bae family dining room gleams like money, chandeliers dripping crystal, sunlight pooling over silver cutlery polished to a kind of moral superiority few understand. somewhere near the head of the table, sojin's mother is orchestrating polite chatter like the goddess hera, the kind that sounds rehearsed even when it isn't. hanbin wants to be her. but he is too busy tracing invisible patterns against the inside of sojin's wrist, studying the pulse there like he's a rare creature of folklore that might vanish if he blinks too long.

"you say lucky," hanbin murmurs, lips close enough to brush the shell of sojin's ear, "but i think your mom just likes me more than you." it's said with a smile so sweet it could ruin teeth. there's a pause, of course, long enough for hanbin to lean back and survey his boyfriend the way a scientist might examine a particularly fascinating chemical reaction.

he catches the faintest twitch of sojin's lips, that you're-being-impossible twitch that hanbin loves collecting like trophies. "and your dad pretending not to see?" he continues in a whisper, "that's basically giving us his blessing. if anything, i'm being very polite."

he does get the hint, and chills. under the table, their fingers stay laced though, thumb to thumb, heartbeat to heartbeat. he doesn't even try to tone down the grin when sojin calls him obsessed and dramatic. both true, both compliments in his book. "oh trust me, i'll make them plan the wedding and the honeymoon before dessert's even out. efficiency, babe. efficiency."

and with that, he presses a last kiss to sojin's cheek (reverent, ridiculous, and utterly sincere) while somewhere few seats from them, an auntie clears her throat in what can only be described as moral defeat.

the pointed cough rippled through the table like a cue line, and for a heartbeat, even he almost breaks. almost. the corner of his mouth twitches - not quite a smile, not quite a smirk - as he tips his glass toward her in silent apology, the picture of polite charm his mother worked years to perfect. it lasts all of three seconds before hanbin's last words replay in his head, and the grin comes back, dimples deep enough to make the whole act collapse into quiet laughter.

"efficiency, huh?" he says under his breath, eyes flicking to where hanbin's still got that grin - shameless, soft-edged, impossible to fight against. "you really are your own genre, you know that?" he tilts his head, pretending to study him like he's an alien artifact that somehow crash-landed in the middle of the bae family dining table.

then, with the same deliberate calm he uses before an audition, he leans in until his voice barely carries across the inch of air between them. "for the record," he murmurs, thumb brushing a line across hanbin's knuckles, "if my mom does start planning that wedding, i'm making you sit through every flower arrangement meeting."

there's mischief glinting behind his lashes now - not anger, not warning - just the gleam of someone who knows exactly how to match hanbin's chaos with his own brand of controlled mayhem.

he straightens up, takes a sip of wine, and lets his gaze wander toward his father, who's still pretending to care deeply about some stock report on his tablet. "you were right, though," sojin admits quietly, amusement curling through his words like smoke. "he's definitely pretending not to see. probably hoping this is all part of my 'method acting.'"

and then, because hanbin's cologne and that stupid grin make it impossible to stay composed for long, he gives in - just enough to nudge their knees together again. "guess you're stuck with me, hera's favorite and all."

he smirks in confidence. "but next time," he adds, tone dropping to something teasing and dangerous, "maybe we save the dramatics for when there aren't three generations of baes in the same room."

still, he doesn't pull his hand away.

love louder than the room —

written for bae sojin (@lgcsoji) ♡

hanbin is the kind of boy who doesn't notice the audience until he's already knee-deep in a performance. that's how it feels right now, wedged into the gilded dining room of the bae villa, walls echoing with chatter that belongs more to a wedding reception than a "quick family brunch." sojin's mother has a flair for exaggeration, and hanbin would laugh at the audacity of calling this intimate if his mouth wasn't too busy pressing against sojin's shoulder every few seconds, teeth catching on the expensive cotton of his shirt like he can't help himself. he knows people are watching. grandkids running under the table, an uncle with too much wine already in his hand, old friends of bae byung-chul whispering at the far end of the table, but none of it really sticks. not when sojin's here, right here, after weeks of being away on set, after the trip they stole for themselves on some impossibly blue slice of indonesia, where hanbin got a little too sunburnt and a little too spoiled. and they're family. everyone is too busy in their own world.

still, hanbin hasn't stopped touching sojin since. a hand curled around sojin's wrist under the tablecloth, brushing his thumb back and forth against the vein, his a rosary bead. his knee pressed flush against sojin's thigh. head tipped, lips brushing words against the slope of his ear that aren't meant for anyone else: you're so late, i missed you so much, i feel like i haven't breathed in weeks. i’m not letting go of you today, can you buy me this new game?

it borders on shameless, the way he tilts sojin's face toward him with two fingers just to kiss him again, quick but hungry, all soft mouth and dimples flashing after. hanbin knows the room hums louder for it, a chorus of curious stares and stifled laughs, but he doesn't care. he never does, not when sojin's the only person in technicolor and everyone else is just black-and-white background noise.

he leans in, voice a messy half-whisper, half-whine, "i don't care if your dad's friends think i'm obsessed, i am. you should've never left me that long after our trip. but i'll make sure you never do again."

sojin's laughter catches somewhere in his throat - half a chuckle, half a quiet breath he's been holding ever since hanbin leaned in the first time. the villa's dining room feels smaller than usual, like the walls have shifted closer just to listen in. his mother's voice carries from the head of the table, lilting with politeness and power, but it all fades into a warm blur when hanbin's knee presses into his, when those words slip like silk against his ear.

"you're lucky my mom likes you," he murmurs, low enough that it gets lost under the clatter of cutlery and a cousin's laugh from down the table. his hand moves without thinking, fingers threading between hanbin's beneath the linen drape, thumb drawing lazy circles against his palm - reassurance, affection, warning all at once.

he turns slightly, just enough for their shoulders to brush, for the scent of hanbin's cologne to cut through the sweetness of the wine. "you're also lucky my dad's pretending not to see any of this," he adds, voice edged with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. his dimples appear anyway, that telltale flicker of mischief that says he's not actually mad - not really - just hopelessly caught somewhere between pride and fond disbelief.

when hanbin steals another kiss, sojin doesn't push him away. he just hums, a quiet, dangerous sound that's half amusement and half surrender. "you keep this up, and they'll start planning our engagement before dessert," he teases, leaning in until their foreheads touch.

his voice drops, soft and warm enough to undo whatever space was left between them. "but i missed you too, idiot. so if you're gonna be obsessed and dramatic—" his fingers squeeze once, deliberate. "—make it worth the trouble."

lgcakio

akio watches the ball drop through the hoop and groans, dragging a hand down his face. “alright, i’ll admit, that was pretty,” he calls out reluctantly, as if praising sojin is the very last thing he wants to do. he jogs over to retrieve the ball, spinning it in his hands as he eyes sojin warily. “snow bunny? really? that’s the nickname we’re going with?” he snorts. “careful, hyung. you keep talking like that and i will make you follow me down a halfpipe this winter.”

still grinning, akio backs toward the edge of the court, planting his feet just beyond the free-throw line. “anyway, if you’re writing history, i hope you’ve got room for a plot twist.”

he takes the shot with all the confidence in the world.

it arcs high, perhaps too high, and lands with a dramatic clank off the backboard, rolling off the rim like even the ball is embarrassed to be seen with him. akio watches it bounce across the court and holds up his hands in defeat, laughing as he calls out, “looks like the plot twist was: tragic downfall of the rookie player.”

he runs over to retrieve the ball again, tossing it lazily toward sojin. “fine. you got chapter two. but don’t get comfortable just yet. snow bunnies are fast and vengeful.” if only he had the level of skill to back it up, he could hope to turn things around. he winks, breath still a little short but seemingly undeterred by the mishap. “you so owe me dinner for this. only a real friend would accept the invitation knowing they’re about to be humiliated.”

sojin snatches the ball out of the air mid-toss with an easy clap of palm on leather, barely breaking stride. "dinner?" he echoes, eyebrows lifting like akio just asked him to donate a kidney. "bro, i'm over here giving you free lessons in greatness and you're invoicing me?" the ball rolls around his waist from hand to hand, a lazy figure-eight that looks more like showing off than warming up.

"tell you what—" he spins the ball once, dimples flashing. "if you manage to get one clean stop on me before I hit ten, I'll buy you dinner. BUT if you don't…" his grin widens, teeth catching the last smear of sunset. "you're carrying my gym bag back to the loft. snow bunny mascot privileges."

he steps back into position, low and loose, eyes glittering with challenge. "and don't even start with the halfpipe threats. i've seen videos of you face-planting. i'm not trusting my life to a snowboarder who can't land a basic ollie."

then he dribbles once, twice - sharp and quick now, energy shifting from playful to predatory. "ready?" he calls, voice dropping into that cocky drawl again as he fakes a drive right, feints left, then pauses just long enough to smirk at akio. "history's waiting for its next chapter, snow bunny. you gonna write it, or you want me to keep ghostwriting your L's?"

#배소진 | threads #lgcakio

lgcakio

akio lets out a short laugh. he doesn’t even try to hide the smile that pulls at his lips, even as he raises his eyebrows in mock offense. “one point? one? oi, that’s it, i’m picking the sport next time. i’ve had it with you!” he doesn’t mean it one bit, but it makes it all the more fun. he steps back, rolling his shoulders out, shaking the tension from his arms as he eyes sojin’s stance.

“i’ll give you basketball,” akio says, his tone light but sure. “i’ll even let you have your little moment up here, with those fancy dribbles you have going on.” he gestures vaguely in sojin’s direction as if he’s thoroughly unimpressed by whatever trick he just did. “but if you think you’re beating me in my element? for someone who can’t even beat me at mario kart, you talk a whole lot of trash.” he mirrors sojin’s grin just then, because he’s definitely talking crap too. he’s missed this. the banter, the fresh air, the permission to unwind and not have to pretend to be a polished, careful idol for once.

he didn’t physically flinch when sojin suddenly cut close to him, but his expression did for a split second. he doesn’t know if sojin noticed and quite frankly, his pride is now getting in the way of letting him win without trying to make it difficult for him. chances are he’ll get humbled, but it doesn’t matter, not when it’s with a close friend. “prove it, huh?” he repeats then, head tilted to the side. with the ball now in hand, he drives toward sojin with a sudden burst of speed. it’s nothing flashy, but it’s clean, intentional footwork. there’s no hesitation this time. with anyone else, akio would probably be considered a pretty good player. he’s got speed, he’s light on his feet, good coordination. sojin is just, unfortunately, a level above.

he uses the split-second window to slip past him, pivoting low and fast. it’s not how a basketball player moves, but it’s how a dancer adapts. with precision, rhythm, control. his body shifts like he’s making a choreography in real time and somehow, it works. it won’t for long though, once sojin catches up. he dribbles towards the free-throw lane and shoots. the ball bounces once against the board, once against the rim… and goes in. when he turns back toward his friend, a smug smile is plastered across his face. the victory — short-lived, no doubt about that — tastes incredibly sweet in that moment. he points at sojin, all grin and no shame now. “i want it noted for the record: first shot, first point. you’re witnessing history, bae. you try beating that.” and sojin absolutely will beat that, which akio knows all too well.

sojin throws his head back with a laugh that echoes over the rooftops, loud enough to make the netless hoop rattle in sympathy. "history?" he repeats, incredulous, dimples flashing as his hands plant on his hips. "bro, that was the messiest shot i've ever seen. i swear the rim did half the work for you." but there's no bite to it, just pure amusement laced with something softer - he's genuinely proud akio sunk it.

he jogs forward, scooping the ball with a smooth one-handed grab, letting it roll across his knuckles like a coin trick before palming it again. "you know what i saw?" he teases, stepping in close enough that their sneakers nearly overlap. "a dancer trying to cosplay as an athlete. cute footwork, i'll give you that. but you're about two seconds from turning this into a full-on choreo."

with an exaggerated sigh, he backs up toward the three-point line, spinning the ball lazily on his finger. "first point or not, i'm still about to run the scoreboard. you just bought yourself bragging rights for—" he checks an invisible watch on his wrist, glancing up at akio with mock solemnity. "—forty-five seconds. enjoy it while it lasts."

then, without warning, he launches into motion: crossover dribble, sudden acceleration, a fake left that has his shoulder brushing akio's again. he doesn't push past this time, though - he stops just shy of the key, pulling up for a clean jumper. the ball arcs high, cutting through the evening air before it swishes straight through the hoop. no rim, no backboard.

sojin turns, jogging backward, arms spread wide with a grin so smug it could power the rooftop lights. "see that? that's history, akio. chapter one: humble beginnings. chapter two: bae sojin schools his best friend into early retirement." he points a finger at him, clicking his tongue. "your move, snow bunny."

#배소진 | threads #lgcakio

lgcakio

akio had just scoffed at the mention of treadmills. “what can i say? i’m a man of nature and fresh air,” he’d claimed, dropping his own bag to the ground with a small thud. it sounded slightly ironic, considering they’re in the middle of a polluted city and surrounded by cement. but the point still stands.

he grabs the ball, letting its weight settle in his hands before spinning it once. he hasn’t played in a while. basketball isn’t exactly his preferred sport, but he never minds playing with sojin. not that he ever wins, but he likes to believe he puts up a decent fight. “why are you acting as if i ever knew how to play before?” he calls back, brushing a fringe out of his face with a grin. “can’t wait to see how you keep up with me when i drag you snowboarding this winter,” he adds, with a glimmer of challenge in his eye.

his gaze scans the court before settling on his friend again, who’s still lounging against the fence like he owns the space. he catches the caring edge of his words, even underneath all the friendly banter and teasing. “are you going soft on me, bae sojin? right before beating my ass on the court? the break up allegations can finally be put to rest,” he says with a chuckle. when he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “but seriously... yeah. it has been a minute.”

he follows sojin’s gaze flicking to the ball in his hands, letting bounce a few times against concrete before looking back up with a smirk. “what stamina? if anything, those festivals just taught me how to survive on adrenaline, granola bars and less than three hours of sleep. which, honestly, is impressive in its own right.” he laughs it off, but the ugly truth remains that his health has indeed declined these past months. not because of the festivals, however. just because he’s been depressed and neglecting himself, which he never did before.

there’s a pause, then a flash of mischief in his eyes. “and now that we’ve established i’m tragically out of shape, you’re legally obligated to go easy on me. at least for the first five points.” akio dribbles the ball once, then tosses it toward sojin with a flick of his wrist. “come on, hyung. let’s see if you still got it.”

sojin catches the ball one-handed, palm slapping leather with an echo that bounces across the rooftop. he spins it on his fingertip for show, dimples deepening at akio's "go easy" plea. "first five points? nah, you’ll be lucky if i let you score one." the words come with his trademark lazy drawl, cocky on the surface but softened by the kind of warmth only close friends get.

he drops into a loose dribble, sneakers squeaking against the cracked pavement as he sizes akio up. it clicks in the back of his head that basketball was never akio's first pick - not really his thing - and yet here he is anyway. the thought makes his grin tilt into something quieter, almost fond. sojin would've strapped on skis, a harness, hell, even tap shoes if it meant getting akio out of his own head for a while.

"snowboarding, though… that's cute. i'll give you two runs before you're face-down in the snow, crying about frostbite." he flashes teeth, sharp with amusement, though the mental image already has him looking forward to it more than he'll admit.

he lunges forward, cutting closer than necessary, half to test akio's defense and half just to see if he still flinches when someone presses hard. "you think europe made you fast, huh?" shoulders brush as he drives toward the faded paint of the key. instead of taking the shot, he bounces the ball back to akio with a quick, controlled flick.

"prove it," he says simply, stepping back with arms spread wide. the challenge glints in his eyes, but under it runs something steadier: he's just glad they've finally found the same court again, no matter what game they’re playing.

#배소진 | threads #lgcakio

allmypoetry

🖤

#배소진 | visual

hanbin tips his head like he's thinking about laughing, but it comes out quieter, like he's saving it for himself. greedy, he mouths back without sound, just the curve of his lips, all teeth and gloss and no apology. he doesn't move from the press of sojin's hand at his hip, either, if anything, he leans into it. like he's letting himself be pinned, on his own terms. "edit the copy?" he hums, tilting his face just enough that the strobe cuts a jagged highlight across his cheekbone. "funny. you always make it sound like i don't write my own.” there's no bite in it, just that sly, sweet burn he wears like perfume, cloying and intentional. hanbin knows exactly how much space he takes up. knows when sojin's covering him, shielding him, turning him into smoke. he doesn't call it out. he just lets his grin sharpen at the edges, proud of the trick, proud to be the trick.

his fingers hook tighter in the blazer lapel, not loosening even when sojin gives that subtle tug. "paywalled," he repeats, rolling the word lazy off his tongue, eyes glittering with something darker, stickier. "sounds like i'm premium content." his lashes dip, a mock-demure blink, before he tips forward, brushing his mouth against sojin's jaw instead of his lips, close enough for the cameras to miss, too close for him not to feel the heat of it.

he pulls back half an inch, grin lazy, eyes still locked on his. "fine," he says, like he's already signed the deal, like he's the one in charge. "let them eat rumors. they wouldn't know what to do with the full story, anyway."

hanbin's voice drops, quieter than the bass but sharp enough to cut through it, sugar-cruel and amused: "besides. i only do subscriptions for people who can actually afford me."

sojin's laugh comes quick, sharp around the edges, then fades into something quieter, more private. "premium content," he repeats, like he's just filing the phrase away for later, rolling it between his teeth without giving too much back. the strobe catches the cut of his profile in flashes - jaw, dimple, the curve of his grin - before losing him again to shadow. "you really think i'd sign up blind? i do my research."

his thumb shifts higher at hanbin's hip, steady but not claiming, like he's testing how close he can press without turning the touch into a headline. "rumors," he says, low, pitched casual enough to pass as banter, "are just copy with the byline missing." the words brush against hanbin's ear before he leans back again, like he hadn't meant for them to land that close.

the next smile is crooked, brief, almost swallowed by the lights. "uncut version reads better, though." he lets his hand fall, fingertips brushing hanbin's thigh in a way that feels accidental, deliberate only in how fast it disappears - nothing left but the space it should've filled.

sojin angles himself just enough to block a camera's line, his shoulder taking the shot instead. "play the subscription game if you want," he adds, light, like it doesn't matter either way. "just don’t expect me to sign up twice."

and then he's leaning. close, not close enough - mouth stopping a breath shy of skin, grazing air instead of jaw. when he pulls back, it's clean, all innocence, except for the way his eyes cut sideways like he's watching for the aftershock.

"your turn," he murmurs, nothing loaded in it but the weight hanbin will put there himself, dimples shallow like he's keeping the better grin to himself.

lgcmilan

she has a bit of time to kill for once, a bit of time to breathe, time that she would've liked spending in the company of a certain someone. but getting to mingle with people without cameras on her face or (almost) anyone being oblivious to her presence is refreshing in itself. soon, nova will be promoting again, and moments like these will become just a memory. she's here to buy fresh produce to cook later, but the fun of markets is wandering around and finding little treasures.

hearing her name makes her freeze. seems like hiding under a bucket cat hasn't served its intended purpose of going unnoticed. it's only when she turns her head and recognizes who calls her that her shoulders visibly relaxes and a smile blooms on her face. "sojin!" she exclaims, just as surprised to meet him here.

"nope! i'm here to get fresh crabs to cook tonight!" she replies, though her hands are currently empty. "but i've been checking things around, first." she admits "what about you?"

his compliments make her laugh and she dismisses it with a wave of the hand. these words used to make her blush, however, she's come to realize that this is just how sojin is. "well, the funny coincidence is that we always run into each other like this right before our comebacks. do you have a radar or something?" she questions him playully, eyebrow raised.