when the warmth holds you

content warning: jakehoon/sungjake, bxb, boys love, fan fiction, alternate universe—canon compliant, slow burn, mutual pining (at first), sensory intimacy, kissing, perfume as metaphor, tension, longing through scent, mild sexual tension (non-explicit), suggestive undertones, grammar mistakes, english isn’t my first language

sunghoon had a way of treating perfume the way other people treated their favourite records. it’s curated, cherished, worn until they became part of the bloodstream of memory. he didn’t flit from one bottle to the next on a whim, nor did he pick up scents because they were new or fashionable. each one was chosen as if it carried a small piece of a life he wanted to remember. sometimes it was a passing season, sometimes the aftertaste of a city, sometimes, jake suspected, it was a person. he never spoke of it directly, but the quiet deliberation in the way he tested a scent, closed his eyes, and let it rest on his skin told jake it wasn’t just collecting.

jake noticed. not in the casual, offhanded oh-he-smells-nice kind of way, but in the way a scent could insinuate itself under your skin, the way music does when you’ve heard it enough to hum without realising. it wasn’t a single, striking moment, but a slow accumulation like brushes past in narrow hallways, leaning in to share a headphone, laughing too close in the van.

some days it was little more than a ghost in the air when sunghoon passed him by, other times it clung, warm and steady, to the sleeve of a hoodie they had swapped after rehearsal, as though the fabric had memorised him.

it was always there, unshakable, always him.

the first time it struck him cleanly though, cut through the noise and lodged itself in his senses, was 2023, during a fansign.

a girl stepped forward with an album cradled in her hands. she leaned in just enough for the air between them to change, and before he could name it, the scent was there, warm and ambered, full without being heavy.

it was the sort of fragrance that seemed to breathe, unhurried, as though it might linger in the air long after its wearer had passed.

the words were out before he could think.

“you smell really good.”

she laughed, lowering her gaze with a shy, almost embarrassed pleasure. “thank you! it’s the one sunghoon’s using! bombshell!”

“oh right!” jake replied, smiling as if that explained the tug of recognition in his chest. “that’s why it’s familiar.”

it was later that night, in the quiet that comes after a day spent on display, when he smelled it again.

this time not in passing, not in the thin, perfumed air of a fansign, but in the dim hush of their room. sunghoon was beside him, head tipped into the crook of jake’s shoulder as if he’d wandered there without thinking.

the scent was deeper now, softened by the heat of his skin, the intimacy of proximity. jake felt it more than smelled it. he felt it in the weight of him leaning close, the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“you’re warm… and smell nice,” jake murmured, the words slipping out in the same unthinking way they had that afternoon.

sunghoon’s quiet laugh brushed the side of his neck, but he didn’t move away.

the words stayed with jake, stubborn as the scent itself, lingering long after the moment dissolved into sleep.

by 2024, it was worse, or better, depending on how you cared to frame it. the line between indulgence and quiet obsession had long since blurred for jake, though he never named it as such.

one late winter afternoon, with the wind pressing pale light through the windows of their shared hotel room, sunghoon returned from somewhere without announcement. in his hand, he carried a small cream-coloured box tied with a ribbon so neatly knotted it seemed almost a pity to undo it. he set it on the couch beside jake as though placing down something breakable.

“try this,” he said, the words low, unhurried, as if he were offering a secret meant only for him.

jake took the box, turning it in his hands before pulling the ribbon loose. inside, nestled in its packaging, was a bottle of jo malone english oak & hazelnut cologne.

the glass caught a sliver of winter light, the label printed in neat, unfussy letters. he took off the cap and pressed the nozzle once, just enough for a thin thread of scent to rise. it was crisp, woodsy, green in a way that brought to mind wet bark and cold air. on his skin, it opened up warmer, with a faint, nutty sweetness, like roasted chestnuts, unexpected and almost edible.

he inhaled again, slower this time. “you think i’d like this?”

“you’ll love it since it smells like home,” sunghoon replied, a small smile flickering across his mouth without lifting his gaze from whatever he was scrolling through. there was no persuasion in his tone, just certainty, as if the matter had already been decided.

days later, during a casual live stream, a fan in the comments asked for perfume recommendations. jake’s mouth curved before he even thought about it.

he stood, disappeared off-screen for a moment, and came back with the same bottle in hand. leaning towards the camera, he turned it so the label caught the light.

“this one? sunghoon recommended it,” he said, warmth edging his voice. “turns out—” he grinned, teeth flashing in that easy, lopsided way that made the chat quicken. “it’s the same perfume his mom wears.”

he paused just long enough for the teasing to land before adding, with a soft laugh, “so i guess now i smell like sunghoon’s mom.”

the comments exploded instantly. jake only shook his head, chuckling, his shoulders loose with the kind of fondness he didn’t bother to disguise.

he didn’t tell them the truth, that when he wore it, the scent didn’t conjure up images of anyone’s mother. it was always sunghoon. the trace of him in every thread, the memory of him folding into hotel couches, laughing too quietly at his own thoughts.

scents could be anchors. they could steady you when you didn’t even know you were drifting. this one was exactly that.

later, when the live had ended and the evening deepened into the soft, blue quiet of night in japan, there was a knock at his door. jake opened it to find sunghoon, hair slightly mussed from the wind outside.

“did you tell the fans,” sunghoon began, stepping inside without waiting for an answer, “that the perfume is the same as my mom’s?”

jake only smiled, catching his wrist gently as he passed. he tugged him toward the empty sofa and sat him down. the space between them closing without effort. sliding an arm around his shoulders, jake leaned in until their foreheads almost touched.

“yeah,” he said, his voice low, a faint grin still caught at the corner of his mouth. “you said it yourself, so i’d smell like home.”

sunghoon stilled, his eyes searching jake’s, something unreadable flickering there before he let out a quiet laugh, softer than the one jake had heard before.

it wasn’t so much a laugh of amusement as it was one of giving in, like he’d been holding something in for too long and finally let it slip, warm and easy, into the space between them.

jake felt it in the way sunghoon’s breath skimmed his skin, warm against the faint chill the winter air had left there. his hand moved from sunghoon’s wrist to his jaw, fingers tracing the smooth line where cheek met ear, catching the small twitch of muscle under his touch. he didn’t hurry. there was a steadiness to it, like he knew the moment would hold, no matter how long they stayed there.

“you’re dangerous when you say things like that,” sunghoon murmured, his voice low enough that jake almost wondered if he’d imagined it.

jake’s thumb traced a slow line along his cheekbone. “and you’re dangerous when you like this.”

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for a moment neither moved, the pause stretched thin but never snapping. jake leaned in first, closing the space in a breath, until sunghoon’s lips were just there, warm and still, his eyes half-lidded.

the kiss wasn’t sudden. it was a lean, a tilt, a meeting that felt inevitable the way tides meet shore. jake pressed in gently, his mouth brushing over sunghoon’s with a patience that made it almost unbearable. testing, tasting, letting the rhythm settle.

sunghoon exhaled, his fingers curling into the sleeve of jake’s shirt. jake breathed it in like it might not be there tomorrow, his hand sliding to the back of sunghoon’s neck, anchoring him there.

when they pulled back, it was only far enough to rest their foreheads together. jake could feel the shape of sunghoon’s smile without needing to see it.

“see?” jake whispered, his breath feathering over sunghoon’s mouth. “home.”

sunghoon didn’t laugh this time. he just kissed him again.

and by 2025, jake didn’t even have to think about it anymore. the recognition came on its own, slipping into his awareness.

houston was still buzzing from the show. heat clinging to skin, the sharp tang of sweat softened by the starch of stage outfits, a blur of fans pressed close at the barricade. a hundred perfume scents were tangled in the air, each one vying for attention. most melted into nothing.

then it happened. quick, bright, clean, with a dry sweetness and that faint, powdery softness like warmth distilled into scent. it cut through the haze so sharply that jake almost stopped mid-sentence.

he turned to the fan in front of him, grinning without thinking. “someone smells really good here!”

she laughed, eyes widening. “is it me?”

jake tipped his head, playful but distracted, the scent still tugging at him. “maybe… but i think i’ve smelled it before.”

the moment passed with signatures, photos, and more laughter. but even as he moved along the row, he caught it again in snatches, just enough to keep it in the back of his mind.

backstage was dimmer, the noise stripped down to footsteps, low voices, the clatter of cases being rolled away. jake was still trying to place it when sunghoon appeared from the hallway, hair damp, sticking in soft strands against his forehead. his shirt clung faintly to his back.

sunghoon passed close, too close, and the scent hit him full, warmer now, laced with heat and the salt of skin.

jake stopped, staring after him. “ah it’s you.”

sunghoon turned halfway, brows lifting. “what’s me?”

“that smell,” jake said, closing the distance between them by a few steps, his voice lower now, as if the words might break the spell if spoken too loud. “i caught it during send-off… from a fan.”

sunghoon’s mouth curved, not in the broad grin he wore onstage, but in that quieter, private sort of smile that always made jake feel like he was standing too close to something dangerous.

“oh?” he murmured, head tilting just slightly. “maybe you just missed me.”

jake scoffed, though it came out softer than he intended. “don’t flatter yourself.”

the air between them seemed to hold for a moment, neither stepping forward, neither stepping back. then sunghoon’s lashes lowered for a fraction of a second, as though deciding whether or not to hand him the answer.

“it’s byredo,” he said at last, his tone almost conversational, yet carrying that faint thread of mischief. “mojave ghost. i think i told fans about it a long time ago.”

jake repeated the name under his breath, mojave ghost, testing how it felt in his mouth, as if scent could be spoken into existence. he lingered over the syllables, like they carried a weight only he could feel. “figures it’d be something from you.”

something shifted, so slight he might have imagined it, in the way sunghoon’s smile tilted.

then, without a word, sunghoon moved past him, disappearing into the dressing room, leaving nothing but a faint, vanishing trail in the air.

later, when the day’s noise had finally thinned into silence, jake sat cross-legged in the soft collapse of his hotel bed, the city pressing faintly against the window in a blur of neon and far-off traffic. his body ached in the way it always did after a show, pleasant and weighted, but his mind was restless, circling the same thought as if turning it over might reveal something new.

it struck him how certain smells never truly leave you. how they lodge themselves deep, beyond skin, beyond thought, into that quiet part of you where breath becomes memory. you could carry someone in your lungs without meaning to, breathe them in once and find them still there, hours or days later, unshaken by distance. some people didn’t just leave memories, they left atmospheres.

and sunghoon… sunghoon was an atmosphere.

jake thought of the sweetness that seemed to bloom unexpectedly in crowded hallways, the grounded breath of rain-soaked wood, the pale, dry brightness that lingered like sunlight caught in cloth. it struck him then, it wouldn’t matter if he never owned a single bottle or traced the notes to their names. he would know them anywhere, without effort, the way one knows the curve of a familiar voice in the dark. because they weren’t just scents anymore.

they had become something else.

they had become him.

and jake knew, without needing to test it, that he could pick sunghoon out anywhere. in a crowd, in a whole city, in a lifetime. even blindfolded. even without laying a hand on him.

the doorbell rang, sharp enough to cut through his thoughts. for a second, he thought he might’ve imagined it. until it rang again, clear over the low hum of the air conditioner.

he padded over, bare feet silent on the carpet, and opened the door.

sunghoon stood there, hair still damp from a shower, in a black sleeveless shirt and sweatpants. that small, maddening smile was on his face, the one that always made everyone flutter.

“you took long enough,” jake murmured, though his voice lacked any real bite.

sunghoon didn’t answer. at least, not with words. he stepped past the threshold, closing the door behind him, and in the same movement closed the space between them.

the kiss landed like a delayed heartbeat. soft at first, then deepening without ceremony, as if they were making up for all the seconds lost to airports and soundchecks and the endless stretch of stage lights between them. jake tasted warmth, and faintly, the ghost of mojave ghost, threaded through with something far more intoxicating: the simple fact of him here, now.

they kissed until the air between them was unsteady, until jake forgot entirely what he’d been thinking about moments before, except that this, too, would stay with him. in his lungs. on his skin. in that quiet place where certain things, certain people, live forever.

it was only when sunghoon pulled back, breath still uneven, that he murmured, “we didn’t post anything on weverse after the concert.”

jake blinked, dazed. “…right. that’s what we’re doing now?”

sunghoon’s smile was small and utterly unrepentant. “well, maybe after one more kiss.”

note: no idea why i ended up speed-writing this, but i just needed a little self-comfort because the timeline’s been way too hot lately. hope it cheers you up too if you’ve made it this far. have a good day, mwah 🩵