Ready to Love

[cauliflowerganache]

Fandom: Seventeen
Pairing: Jeongcheol; Yoon Jeonghan/Choi Seungcheol
Characters: Choi Seungcheol, Yoon Jeonghan, Seventeen ensemble mentioned.
Rating: E
Words:20339
Tags: Canon Compliant, idolverse, getting together, romance, friends to lovers, happy ending, mentions of recreational smoking and drinking, Bisexual Seungcheol, Seungcheol's pathological boyfriend urges
Note: Thank you to Rúna for the beta read. Thank you also to Hope_and_Hardship, Jude, and Soft_bro_fun for fact-checking, and Bee and Lea for reading it over!
Ao3 link: Ready to Love
Summary:

“Felt nice, right?” Jeonghan murmurs benignly. Warning bells sound in the depths of Seungcheol’s consciousness. He’s attuned to Jeonghan’s brand of troublemaking; nothing good could possibly follow that tone of Jeonghan’s voice.

The room Seungcheol finds is empty and dim, and that alone is enough to finally grant his throbbing head and straining eyes some relief. In the studio passageways, everything is glaringly bright. White overhead fluorescents bounce off the whitewashed walls and everywhere there is the crush of people.

The long tight hallways cramp with constant bowing and jostling and polite smiling as different teams of artists and managers and staff and crew traipse back and forth from stage to green room, from green room back to stage. Each person follows one behind the other like ants on a chemical trail, in a single-minded file.

Seungcheol had been enjoying it fairly well up until just now. He’d been able to catch up with Hyungwon a little, and Baekho, and the first round of recordings had gone off without major issue. He had been wide awake and wired since four this morning, but now, in the lull between performances, he was crashing. He’d peeled off from the rest of the group to hunt down exactly this- a quiet corner where he could rest undisturbed.

In an even sweeter mercy there’s an old couch pushed up against the back wall. Seungcheol keeps the light switched off and picks past scattered furniture and old set pieces. He flops down on the couch, knees spread wide, and his head rests all the way back. Seungcheol can feel the throb of his headache easing already.

Seungcheol is so tired. He can barely stand to look at his phone anymore for the burning of his eyes, but he opens one eye only to squint at his screen and text Jeonghan.

Hannie Seungcheol sends off, Come come I found somewhere nice

Left passage outside the green room

Door next to the stairs

with the poster on it

Just you though

Seungcheol pauses. Was that strange to say? He follows it up with a qualifier.

It’s quiet hhhh

Jeonghan doesn’t text back, but it’s only a few minutes before he appears in the doorway, creaking the door open tentatively. He opens it just wide enough to slip inside, then shuts it closed behind him. He’d come alone. Seungcheol opens both eyes then, to look at Jeonghan with a slow, pleased gaze. Jeonghan is looking alright- a little gaunt, but not as tired as yesterday. Beautiful, too, of course. He’s always so beautiful.

Jeonghan plops himself down on the couch next to Seungcheol, sighing dramatically. Seungcheol wants to ask Jeonghan how his back is feeling; but he’d asked so many times yesterday that Jeonghan had started getting actually annoyed with him, so he resists the urge. He’s been a lot more teasing today, too, which is what is most assuring. The air in here is dry- that isn’t good for their throats, but the concern gets summarily shunted to the back of his mind along with his headache, today’s cue sheet schedule, and the pending emails he hasn’t responded to. Jeonghan, all elbows, settles into his side, a dead weight.

Pre-recording days are like this- stretches of waiting and boredom in between frantic bursts of activity. Seungcheol had seen the chunk of open time and grabbed it while he could. He mentally rations them twenty minutes.

In the chinks of brightness shining in under the doorframe, little dust motes float. Seungcheol watches the dust drift and listens to Jeonghan’s steady breathing. There’s a spider web in one corner, and Seungcheol imagines the light and the hush and the dim spun into a web just like that, around the whole room, around them. Jeonghan is beside him, and Seungcheol wants to do nothing but drift. It is the best he’s felt all day.

Jeonghan pets idly at the back of Seuncheol’s head and neck, feeling under Seungcheol’s costume collar. The muscle tape on his shoulder had started peeling earlier, and Seungcheol had given up on trying to re-stick the edge. Jeonghan finds the curling corners and pinches them straight, tugging tight and sticking the tape back down securely.

“Thanks,” Seungcheol grunts. Jeonghan hums and pats Seungcheol’s shoulder in acknowledgement. Seungcheol smiles and grabs Jeonghan’s wrist, pulling him in closer just for the sake of it. Jeonghan’s hands aren’t too cold right now, but Seungcheol cups the one in reach anyway. He likes it. So what if he wants to hold Jeonghan’s hand.

Jeonghan visibly blinks through the slow pound of exhaustion, letting his head loll tiredly against Seungcheol’s shoulder. Seungcheol squeezes Jeonghan’s hand hypnotically.

“If Hyojin noona tells me the cue sheets changed again I’m quitting,” Seungcheol says.

“Hmm.”

“I mean it. I’ll go home.”

“Home’s nice.” Jeonghan humors. “Home has a bed.”

Seungcheol groans. A bed sounds nice, too nice.

“Don’t say such things to me Hannie-yah.”

“Oh?” Jeonghan says, levering his heavy head upright. Seungcheol slings an arm over Jeonghan’s shoulder to give him some neck support, and also to squash Jeonghan closer against his body. Jeonghan lets himself drape like that, flush with Seungcheol. Seungcheol loves this- having Jeonghan on top of him, all over him. He’s well aware that this is a privilege, that Jeonghan is letting himself be held.

“Does thinking about duvets get you hot, Cheol?”

Seungcheol cackles, laughter dredging itself up from the depths of his tired body.

“Mmmhmm. And pillows. Fuck.”

“Oho, of course, the pillows.”

Jeonghan plays with Seungcheol’s streaky hair extensions, trailing a fingertip along Seungcheol’s hairline and the skin behind his ear. All of Seungcheol’s attention zeroes in on the touch. Seungcheol holds himself still. He doesn’t want to appear too eager- that would never escape Jeonghan’s notice- but most of all he doesn’t want Jeonghan to stop.

Jeonghan grins a little- he definitely noticed Seungcheol’s deeper breathing and deliberate stillness- and gently pushes Seungcheol’s head to the side, exposing more of his neck to Jeonghan’s touch. Seungcheol grumbles a token protest, but lets Jeonghan move his head around how he wants.

It’s weird. Jeonghan is always weird, though. Seungcheol guesses that from the outside, people would think he appears weird towards Jeonghan too. But people on the outside don’t know them, so it’s really whatever. It’s how they are. Jeonghan just likes to tease. Seungcheol likes to tease back.

It's a little weirder than usual, right now. Seungcheol does register that. It’s getting kind of intense. He’s nervous, although he wouldn’t quite be able to name why. Seungcheol is squirming where he sits but Jeonghan doesn’t stop his hand, tracing patterns down Seungcheol’s neck.

To say the touch on his neck feels good would be an understatement. Jeonghan must know what he's doing. He must feel the air drawing tight, Seungcheol the bowstring that Jeonghan is drawing back and back and back. Jeonghan must feel the muscles jumping in Seungcheol’s neck, the goosebumps rising to his touch. Seungcheol tries to tamp down on the sudden swarm of butterflies in his stomach. His heart is beating so fast that he imagines Jeonghan can hear it, and the more he thinks about that, about his heartbeat, the harder it thunders. He imagines every possible way Jeonghan could be looking at him right now. Seungcheol is afraid to look.

When Jeonghan shifts, putting his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder and dropping his tickling hand to the safer position on Seungcheol’s chest, Seungcheol shudders. Both of his shoulders drop with cut tension. He finally dares to open his eyes, craning to look down at the crown of Jeonghan’s head.

“Felt nice, right?” Jeonghan murmurs benignly. Warning bells sound in the depths of Seungcheol’s consciousness. He’s attuned to Jeonghan’s brand of troublemaking; nothing good could possibly follow that tone of Jeonghan’s voice. He laughs, then tries to pull his arm out under Jeonghan, cursing and shoving, tilting his head all the way away.

Jeonghan just tsks, then suddenly grins, and Seungcheol realises the second after Jeonghan does that Jeonghan’s mouth is right by Seungcheol’s vulnerable neck. Two things happen in quick succession: Jeonghan licks him, a lingering touch with the wet tip of his tongue, all the way up Seungcheol’s jugular, and Seungcheol moans.

It’s a striking moan- full, felt in the chest, and attractively rough around the edges. It isn’t shrill, or squeaking- something either of them could easily make light of. It is, undeniably, erotic.

They freeze; both of them. Jeonghan pulls back, the tiredness gone from his eyes. All of his features remain carefully unchanged, giving nothing of his reaction away to Seungcheol. Jeonghan shifts back enough that Seungcheol could move away now, if he wanted to. It’s worse for Seungcheol, somehow, having that choice.

He doesn't know what to do. Seungcheol can’t pull himself back to examine this situation, can’t trust a single instinct, can’t get a read off of Jeonghan at all. He doesn’t know if he should laugh, or make a joke to break the tension, or if this might need an actual serious conversation. Jeonghan can’t know that Seungcheol has thought about this before. Seungcheol can barely acknowledge that he’s thought about this before.

Jeonghan has gone from soft to sharp. Seungcheol wonders if this is when he finds Jeonghan the most attractive- when his eyes glitter with challenge and hawklike scrutiny. He glances down at Jeonghan’s mouth. Oh fuck. Seungcheol drags his eyes away, heart pounding. Mistake, big fucking mistake. Did Jeonghan see that? Of course Jeonghan saw that. His mind scatters, panicking, unable to settle on a single coherent thought.

Jeonghan’s eyebrows shoot up and his surprise morphs at once into knowing. Seungcheol needs to salvage this situation before it fucks up the whole of everything: his life, his band, his incomparable friendship with Jeonghan. He tries to speak. He thinks he tries to say Jeonghan’s name- but his throat just clicks around air. Jeonghan smirks and Seungcheol wants to fucking die. Seungcheol’s face flames beneath his foundation. Jeonghan’s smirk widens; Seungcheol knows there is no escape.

Jeonghan’s long hair is pinned up elegantly for their performance, his sharp cheekbones look like the kind of rocks that ships wreck themselves upon. Slowly, eyes locked with Seungcheol, he leans towards Seungcheol. Jeonghan purses his lips and carefully blows a cool breath over the wet trail he left with his tongue. Seungcheol shudders. None of this is actually private; umpteen career-ending catastrophes could barge their way into this room right now. A tugging, insistent arousal sparks low in his pelvis. Seungcheol’s cock fills so fast that it’s painful.

Seungcheol’s vision is taken up entirely by Jeonghan. Jeonghan is at his most beautiful and terrifying- his mouth is alluring, his gaze dark and dangerous. The air between them feels viscous, humid with Seungcheol’s choppy breathing and his desire. He can’t hear a thing past the thunder of his own pulse. Seungcheol looks away, unable to take the pressure. Jeonghan clicks his tongue softly in annoyance. It works to draw Seungcheol’s eyes back to his.

Jeonghan looks approving and Seungcheol’s insides flood hot with the feeling. As usual, he will do whatever Jeonghan asks of him. He will stay where Jeonghan’s hand holds him, look to wherever Jeonghan calls him, and be duly chastened whenever Jeonghan scolds him. He baulks sometimes, at how easily he folds for Jeonghan.

He shouldn’t be this easy, but he is. It feels good to be. Pleasure twists guiltily, thrillingly in his stomach whenever Jeonghan receives something he desires.

Jeonghan doesn’t swoop in; which isn’t what Seungcheol expects at all. It’s almost like he isn’t moving himself on purpose, he just gets closer and closer. He moves like he’s being pulled along by a natural current. Seungcheol has all the time in the world to pull away. He doesn’t. Jeonghan flicks languidly from Seungcheol’s lips and back again; watching Seungcheol watch him. Seungcheol feels the full force of the pressure between them, ratcheting up and up. The inside of his mouth is dry. His heart kicks uncontrollably in his chest. Sweat springs to his hairline and his palms. Then Jeonghan is right there, skin to skin,their lips are brushing, and he is kissing Seungcheol.

Seungcheol expects to be eaten alive when Jeonghan kisses him, but no. Startlingly, Jeonghan kisses him sweetly. The touch is as gentle as a falling plum petal. Jeonghan’s lips are waxy with balm, Seungcheol feels it slide between them as Jeonghan eases up and presses back in. The sweet smell of hair product, of dust, of Jeonghan’s skin; a whole gust of petals then. This is a fantasy so wild and secret that Seungcheol feels delusional.

When he’d imagine this, hand on himself in his shower, Jeonghan would kiss him hard and dirty and a little cruel. Fantasies of Jeonghan kissing him tenderly would come after, in the dark, when he had been worn down to vulnerability. He would firmly dismiss such thoughts as meaningless, just his mind spinning its wheels from proximity or loneliness. By morning he would have them banished.

But this is real. The crumple of Jeonghan’s costume under his hand is real, the cling of his lips is real, the puff of his breath over Seungcheol’s cheek is real. Seungcheol couldn’t describe this stripped-raw sensation as happiness, exactly. It’s too much for that, it feels momentous, and it’s frightening. Right now he’s an exposed nerve, overwhelmed by every single touch. But he is happy, though. Happiness is lodged in his sternum, expanding.

Jeonghan is really kissing him. His lips are so curious. It’s so much like the way he taps Seungcheol on the arm to get his attention, it’s so much like the little sceptical hum Jeonghan makes in the back of his throat. It’s a complete contrast to the urgency from before. He’s asking something of Seungcheol. Seungcheol was not prepared for how much he could feel from Jeonghan, he was not prepared for how Jeonghan’s mouth would be so yielding. Jeonghan’s kiss is curious, a question plainly asked.

After a beat, Jeonghan withdraws. Jeonghan disentangles himself and slides back to standing. Come back, Seungcheol thinks madly. But he is still mute with shock. The cold is rushing in. Awareness is rushing back - the weave of the couch fabric under his arm is dry, the dust in the room is choking. The odor of hair product is suddenly too acrid. The bubble they’re in is dissolving. His body feels ungainly. The angle he’s sitting at tweaks his back uncomfortably. They’re in the middle of work, in the back rooms of a music show studio hallway. Jeonghan has just kissed him.

Seungcheol should get up too, maybe, but he’s reeling too much and his reactions are too slow. The best he manages is to rake his hand through his hair roughly. He regrets it immediately- he’d just fucked up the careful styling- but it’s the most he can do to try and pull himself together. Jeonghan has withdrawn all the way, his hand is on the doorknob. He’s leaving.

“Jeonghan, wait-” Seungcheol’s voice is rough and useless.

“Did you drag me into a closet to kiss me, Seungcheol?” Jeonghan interrupts with a little smile. He sucks his teeth in faux consideration “Isn’t that a little too on the nose?”

Seungcheol’s mouth drops open in protest, but Jeonghan unlatches the door. And then he is gone.

x

Seungcheol spends the rest of pre-recording staring at the back of Jeonghan’s head.

Seungcheol had sat there, spiralling, when Jeonghan left. His headache, his aching thighs, his exhaustion- all of it had been dispelled in the wake of Jeonghan’s stupefying kiss. He had burned through his break ration of twenty minutes just staring at the closed door of the back room. He makes himself late, to the ire of literally everyone. He gets chewed out for messing up his hair too, where he’d raked his hands through it. He apologises, telling them that he had fallen asleep, and gets whacked by no fewer than three different members.

“Hyung even went to look for you,” Seungkwan whines at him. The hyung who went to look for him was Jeonghan, obviously. “He said he couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Right. Of course. This was how Jeonghan wanted them to play it. He was being careful. Which is fine, good even. The thought trips Seungcheol up. Careful? Did they have to be careful now? Was this something to be careful about?

“Ah, sorry. That you couldn’t find me.” Seungcheol apologises. It’s the appropriate response. He’s being so casual right now. Jeonghan just waves him off and does not look at him. It sends unpleasant little twists of uncertainty all through him, even though Seungcheol knows he shouldn't be taking it personally. It was just now, just now, that Jeonghan had been pressed so tight up against him. It hadn’t been another one of his useless, swooning fantasies.

Seungcheol is summarily swallowed up in the swarm of black crew t-shirts, descended on by hair and makeup. Seungcheol surrenders to the usual prodding and pecking. He has to pull all of his focus towards keeping himself still for Jiwoo noona as she retouches his nose, his lips, and under his eyes. He can’t keep pressing his lips together, just to keep feeling the phantom press of Jeonghan there. So it hadn’t been a fantasy. But had it been a joke?

The thing was- did Jeonghan actually mean that last thing he had said? Seungcheol’s brain boils with it, with the need to catch Jeonghan by the arm and rebut him. It wasn’t a closet- it was just a room. Seungcheol hadn’t dragged him in at all, that text was an invitation. Jeonghan knew that. He was just saying that to get under Seungcheol’s skin, obviously. It’s not- that isn’t. He’s not even in the closet. Everyone important all knew he was bisexual. Jeonghan was saying shit just to say shit.

Still, it sits under Seungcheol’s skin like a splinter. He’s not closeted, what the fuck did Jeonghan even mean by that. Mingyu steps around him where Seungcheol is slouching on the floor, gnawing his way through an energy bar. He’s making a face and Seungcheol catches it out of the corner of his eye.

“What?” He grouches. Mingyu’s hands fly up to his chest defensively.

“Nothing, ohmygod, nothing. I’m not doing anything.” It’s a bit pitiful and Seungcheol is a little cowed.

“Sorry- that wasn’t. I’m just tired.” Mingyu regards him for a moment before sidling up next to him, and sitting down. He presses his shoulder into Seungcheol’s shoulder affectionately. It’s sweet. Seungcheol feels himself slacken. Mingyu is sweet.

“Don’t be grumpy, hyung.”

“M’not grumpy.” Seungcheol frowns. And then,“you know I’m bisexual, right?”

Mingyu stiffens a little, then looks comically over his shoulder, as though anyone might be listening in, or might even care. Seungcheol snickers.

“Yeah, hyung.” Mingyu continues low, when he thinks the coast is clear. “I mean like, yeah. I knew that -know that. That’s a thing.”

“It is a thing.” Seungcheol crunches down on the energy bar definitively.

“Did like- did something happen? Like something shitty?” Mingyu looks dismayed by the very prospect.

“No, no.” Seungcheol reassures him. “I’m just thinking. Maybe some people don’t know.” Mingyu stares at him, perplexed.

“I don’t mean like, people. The guys. The guys know, right?”

“Hyung, what is this about?”

“Nothing! It’s just. Maybe they forgot.”

Mingyu looks at him, amused.

“Oh. Don’t worry about that hyung.”

Seungcheol frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mingyu laughs, Seungcheol needles him in the side with his fingers.

“It’s doesn’t- ow, ow, hyuuung - I’m just saying you look at guys! So it’s fine!”

“Yah! I look at guys? Since when! What guys?”

“No one! Just guys!” Mingyu says, but his gaze falls surreptitiously across the room, clearly looking to where his thoughts stray.

Seungcheol tracks Mingyu’s gaze to where he’d glanced. Jeonghan, on the far side of the room, smiling over his shoulder at something Soonyoung is doing. Seungcheol’s stomach swoops.

“Fuck off.” Seungcheol rolls his eyes. He shoves at Mingyu, then he leans over and bites the ball of Mingyu's shoulder.

So it can’t be the closet thing. That is something of a relief, although Mingyu was being ridiculous. Seungcheol looks back over to where Jeonghan is standing, and finds him looking right at Seungcheol through the mirror. Their eyes meet, but Jeonghan turns away. Seungcheol is left staring at the back of Jeonghan’s head again.

What was worse, actually, about what Jeonghan had said, is that he had implied it was Seungcheol who had initiated the kiss. Jeonghan had been the one to kiss him. It had not been the other way around. So really, Jeonghan had dragged him into this. This was not on Seungcheol,whatever this was. Seungcheol’s stomach lurches. What was this, anyway?

Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s shoulders brush as they jostle past one another in the wings. All the members are mic’d up, waiting, only minutes left before their turn on stage. Chan is jumping in place to keep warm and limber. Soonyoung is playfighting with Wonwoo, who is smiling mild and tolerantly. Junhui is looking over at them in amusement, while Minghao looks on in mild consternation. Seungkwan has his eyes closed, lips moving soundlessly, going over lyrics in his head. Vernon stands next to him, eyes glazed over. Seungcheol is not sure if he’s deep in thought or not thinking a single thing at all. Mingyu is faffing unnecessarily with Jihoon’s fringe. Seokmin is over with Joshua and Jeonghan, recording for one of the camera operators capturing backstage footage. Cheers from the audience rise and spill into the dark of the wings, excitement cresting with them. The energy around them thrums faster.

Seungcheol flags them all in to huddle to chant their team cry. Jeonghan gets shuffled next to him and Seungcheol puts his arm around Jeonghan’s back, friendly, like he usually would. But he feels Jeonghan tense at the touch. Seungcheol doesn’t react, keeps his eyes on the rest of the members.

Seungcheol knew that kiss had been Jeonghan’s way of asking him something. He hadn’t answered, had he? Seungcheol had just sat there, too shocked to respond. Seungcheol hadn’t kissed back. Maybe that had been answer enough. Seungcheol’s insides knot themselves into a punishing cramp.

All thirteen of them link hands, gripping each other’s thumb to form an unbroken circle. There’s a camera over their shoulders, capturing the ring of their hands. Seungcheol leads them in, confident, easy. They chant all together, breaking the circle with a ‘fighting!’ If Jeonghan was tensing at his touch, and doing everything except looking at him, things were going to get out of hand. He shakes the thoughts from his head. They needed to perform. After that, he and Jeonghan needed to talk.

x

When they wrap and everyone begins collecting their detritus to troop back to the company cars, Jeonghan disappears; but Seungcheol knows his habits- Jeonghan made a head start to the cars so he could have a private cigarette in the parking lot. Seungcheol stuffs his jacket haphazardly into his duffle, swinging it over his shoulder without bothering to zip it up. He catches Minghao’s curious gaze as he does, freezing for a moment in embarrassment. Minghao looks toward the door, thinking, and then quirks his head to the side, questioning.

“Jeonghan hyung?” He mouths to Seungcheol. Seungcheol blushes but nods once. Minghao gestures with his head to the others behind him, nodding conspiratorially. Oh, that’s so nice of him. Seungcheol presses his palms together to return a silent thank you, then bolts.

He starts running as soon as he’s out of the green room, down the winding passages. He forgoes the lift to take the stairs. His stomps ring loud and hollow through the stairwell and his momentum propels him bodily around each turn. He opens the door to the basement parking lot with both hands, the murk of mould and petrol rising up like a cloud.

Seungcheol is correct. Jeonghan is slouching right by one of their black Mercedes company cars, smoking. He’s hidden away from the security cameras behind a concrete pillar. Seungcheol slows to a walk, trying to give himself a little time to think. Jeonghan has changed into sweats and a tshirt already, and is bundled up further in a huge grey cardigan. It hangs off his shoulders, the sleeves falling all the way to his fingers. He’s got one hand tucked under the opposite elbow, and the loose sleeve of his cardigan falls away from his knobby wrist when he raises his hand to inhale from his cigarette. He doesn’t look at all surprised to see Seungcheol.

Seungcheol rolls his shoulders back, once, then again, then a third time. What’s the matter with him? He’s not going into battle. Jeonghan gives him a once-over, toe to top. Actually, nevermind. He absolutely is going into battle.

“Hi, Coups.” Jeonghan greets him placidly, as though this is easy.

“Jeonghannie.” Seungcheol wrings his hands. Jeonghan watches the movement.

“Jeonghannie. We need to-” Seungcheol breaks off to breathe out, sharp. He breathes a deep breath in, slower. His chest is suddenly tightening. Jeonghan’s free hand darts out, clasping both of Seungcheol’s hands where he is still wringing them together viciously.

“Stop.” Jeonghan says it gently, worming his hand into one of Seungcheol’s and holding, squeezing his fingers. “We can talk, it’s okay.” There’s a crease between Jeonghan’s eyebrows, and he’s quickly stubbing out his cigarette to take Seungcheol’s hands in both of his. It helps. The peril banded around his chest and his thoughts loosens. Seungcheol takes another breath.

“Jeonghan-”Seungcheol starts and stops. Jeonghan is here, and he’s looking at Seungcheol, but he’s still waiting for Seungcheol to make his move before he makes any of his own.

Seungcheol rehearses it in his head- We can’t do this, Jeonghan. Or maybe it should be: I don’t want to jeopardise our friendship. Or I don’t see you like that, I don’t want you like that. Seungcheol wonders which of these he could learn to live with.

He hears Jeonghan’s easy smile and acid words: Just playing around, Cheol. A bad joke. My bad. I’m sorry. He’ll go with something like that. He’ll smooth this over in the way that he always does. Jeonghan will make it easy for him- for them. This doesn’t have to be a big deal or cause a problem. This doesn’t have to change things between them. Jeonghan won’t push- at least, he won’t push any further than he has already.

Everything will be fine. It’s just that Seungcheol will think, every day, about the kiss. He will think about the exact pink of Jeonghan’s mouth, of the exact pressure of Jeonghan’s lips and hands and body. He’ll turn the memory over in his mind until his remembering has worn it fragile and thin.

He’ll think about it over and over until the constant handling has creased it to the point of crumbling like a folded and unfolded and refolded photograph. He will think about it until it hurts, and thereafter, until it doesn’t hurt at all. Time will enfold the memory into a growing distant past, until he can look at Jeonghan and his first thought won’t be the kiss. He’ll remind himself not to think about the kiss, and then there will come a time where he won’t have to remind himself. It will just fade. Seungcheol will have moved on. He blinks down at Jeonghan’s hands in his.

Fuck it. Seungcheol thinks to himself. He kisses Jeonghan instead.

Seungcheol kisses him hard and desperate, an apology for even thinking about brushing this off. Jeonghan must know- he must. It’s in the sweetness of the kiss, in the smile that Seungcheol can, quite literally, feel.

Seungcheol pulls back to have the joy of pressing back in. He does it again, angling his face differently this time, thrilling as his mental tally racks up- two kisses, three kisses, five kisses.

“Cheol, wait-” Jeonghan says, at odds with how he’s wrapping his arms around Seungcheol’s back “Ah fuck-” Jeonghan produces a car key from his cardigan pocket, and thumbs at the button. The Mercedes bleeps and its lights flash, unlocking. Seungcheol looks between Jeonghan and the car. What the hell. Did manager hyung give him the keys? But Jeonghan is dragging him into the backseat, so he doesn’t bother to ask.

Seungcheol yanks the backseat door closed behind him and the cab lights go off. It’s their own world here, in the dim. Perfect privacy. Jeonghan is panting. He shakes the loose ends of his hair, falling from his ponytail, out of his eyes. Seungcheol shucks his duffle bag and sits. It’s pleasantly warm inside the car. The leather seats creak. Seungcheol’s eyes adjust to the gloom. A white flash of teeth- Jeonghan is grinning wildly. It sends Seuncheol's heart hammering.

Jeonghan reaches over. He finds a grip on Seuncheol’s neck and drags him forward. Seungcheol falls into Jeonghan, one knee on either side of Jeonghan’s hips. He catches himself by his forearm on the seat back beside Jeonghan’s head. Jeonghan is still grinning. Fuck. Seungcheol chases it with his mouth.

It’s the better choice than out in the parking lot, but they really shouldn’t do this in the car. It isn’t as private as it feels. Even if the windows are tinted, their team members will be spilling out of the building soon. The members, with all their managers, are no doubt making their way to the parking garage at this very minute. They absolutely cannot be doing this in the car.

Then Jeonghan gets his teeth on Seungcheol’s lower lip. Seungcheol groans brokenly, mouth falling right open. Jeonghan was evidently counting on him doing exactly that, because he licks into Seungcheol's mouth, urging his tongue inside. Jeonghan tastes awful; his mouth is bitter and he smells like cigarettes. Seungcheol wants him so badly he shakes with it.

“Hannie. Jeonghannie-” Seungcheol breaks away to pant.

“Mm?” Jeonghan says into his cheek, kissing Seungcheol up his jawline. Jeonghan keeps kissing upwards, until he gets his mouth right on Seungcheol’s ear, brushing his lips at the reddened, sensitive shell. It sends bright, flickering pleasure through him and leaves goosebumps running all down Seungcheol’s arms. Jeonghan traces the tip of his tongue in a wet path along the inside of Seungcheol’s ear.

What the fuck, what the fuck- It’s so hot and so wet. None of Seungcheol’s erstwhile partners has ever done that before. Seungcheol is shuddering against Jeonghan, completely overcome. Seungcheol squeezes his eyes closed, trying to find an anchor in the flood of sensation.

Jeonghan snickers at Seungcheol’s broken gasping. Seungcheol might feel wounded, were Jeonghan not switching sides, treating Seungcheol’s other ear to the same scorching hot licks. Seungcheol feels a shudder deep in his core at the sudden enormity of what they’re doing. Sex with Jeonghan is so much more than he’d imagined. All that thought and care and mischief, all that undivided attention- turned to him.

Seungcheol finds purchase with his teeth on Jeonghan’s collar and sucks. He is so hungry for it. Seungcheol’s hips stutter and Jeonghan’s hand slips underneath Seungcheol’s tshirt. Jeonghan’s touch feels illicit- it is illicit. They can’t be doing this; and the list of reasons why range from the asinine to the tragic. None of that matters, none of it stops the heat from flooding him. His cock throbs and fills faster. Seungcheol claws his mouth back to Jeonghan, kissing desperately.

Jeonghan laughs at him then, right into the kiss. And that’s new too, a delicate sensation in the midst of it all. Sharing breaths in the tiny gap between their lips and chins, the soft tip of Jeonghan’s nose brushing his cheek. Seungcheol feels giddy with each winded inhale and he rests there for a second. It feels even more profoundly forbidden.

Seungcheol pets over Jeonghan’s hair, stringy with sweat from the dancing and the long day. He thumbs at the skin at Jeonghan’s shirt collar. Jeonghan likes that. He presses up into Seungcheol’s pelvis and grips his back. Seungcheol grinds down and Jeonghan grunts, brows knitting tight with pleasure. Jeonghan is hard. It feels like a golden triumph.

Seungcheol wants to tell the whole fucking world that Jeonghan is hard for him. For him. Seungcheol wants to make him come. He wants - he needs to prove himself here. Jeonghan had been the one to kiss him. Jeonghan had taken that insane, brave first step. Seungcheol had to show his gratitude, his conviction. Jeonghan should know, without doubt, that Seungcheol wanted to receive everything that had been offered.

There’s no space for it, here in the car; Jeonghan and Seungcheol are both too tall and the footwell is cramped. Despite that, Seungcheol slides to his knees. Jeonghan’s eyes glitter, surprise and satisfaction on his features.

Seungcheol’s hands tug ineffectually at Jeonghan’s waistband; he feels a little crazed. Jeonghan snatches his wrist up, pulling it just out of reach of his crotch. But Jeonghan doesn’t look like he wants Seungcheol to stop touching him. He looks, rather, like he wants to see Seungcheol strain for it.

“Can I?” Seungcheol says, and then it registers to his own ears that he is begging. His cheeks burn and he licks his lips. “Please, I want to-” Jeonghan makes him wait. He brings a hand to Seungcheol’s lip, and brushes his fingertips softly over it, affectionate, thoughtful. Then Jeonghan taps a finger against Seungcheol’s full bottom lip. Open up, it means. Seungcheol whines, hiding his face then on Jeonghan’s thigh.

His cock is so hard it’s throbbing. The soft stretchy polyester of Jeonhan’s pants slides under his forehead. He knows what Jeonghan wants. He wants to slide his fingers into Seungcheol’s mouth. Seungcheol felt battered, like a small boat tossed about on the ocean. He’s at the complete mercy of the storm that is Yoon Jeonghan.

“Cheollie.” It’s so coaxing. Seungcheol looks up at him, eyes snagging on the tent in his pants. Seungcheol stares at the imprint of his dick; Jeonghan is so hard in his sweats, right there in front of him. Seungcheol wants the weight of his cock on his tongue, in his throat. He wants Jeonghan to twist and grimace in pleasure, he wants Jeonghan to come inside him. Jeonghan smiles and beneficently returns his fingers to Seungcheol’s lips.

This time, Seungcheol opens his mouth. Jeonghan pushes two fingers in slowly. Jeonghan’s gaze bores into him as his fingertips slide over the rough surface of Seungcheol’s tongue. They both breathe heavy and ragged. Seungcheol feels so filled. Jeonghan’s fingers feel so long and taste a little salty. When he drags them out past Seungcheol’s lips again, they’re slick. Jeonghan groans at the sight. Jeonghan is pushing them back in again, when the sudden bubble of chat and laughter bursts from outside the car.

They both freeze, then Jeonghan’s hand rips away from Seungcheol’s mouth. Seungcheol nearly brains himself on the roof of the car as he throws himself back to the passenger seat. He locks eyes with Jeonghan: his lips are red and wet and swollen, his hair is in complete disarray, his chest heaving.

Jeonghan scrunches his cardigan into his lap, hiding his crotch, and yanks at Seungcheol’s shoulder until he falls with his head against Jeonghan’s thigh. Seungcheol catches on when he sees Jeonghan leaning over his back, trying to drag Seungcheol’s jacket out from his duffle. Seungcheol grasps it for him, and Jeonghan hurriedly spreads it over Seungcheol like a blanket.

Jeonghan scrapes his fingers through his hair to set it to rights and Seungcheol feels dizzy. He slams his eyes closed, forces his body to lie lax, and pretends to be asleep.

In the next moment, there’s the scrape of feet outside the car and then the click of the doors unlatching. The doors open with a muted thwump and a rush of dank parking-lot air.

From the sound of it, the member sliding into the front passenger seat is Seokmin, manager hyung sliding into the driver’s seat. He feels Jeonghan lean over him to pass the car keys back to their manager. Seokmin immediately greets Jeonghan brightly, then cuts off to a hushed whisper- he must have spotted Seungcheol. It’s a good excuse, though, so Seungcheol feigns waking up dozily, and murmurs a hello to him.

Seokmin greets him apologetically. When Seungcheol looks up at Jeonghan, he looks totally composed. He has his phone in his hand, looking bored and tired and not at all like he had just been making out with someone.

“Cheollie’s not feeling well.” Jeonghan says smoothly, petting Seungcheol's fluffy hair in concern.

“Oh, sorry, hyung.” Seokmin says sincerely. "Your stomach?"

Seungcheol nods, letting Seokmin lead the lie himself.

“Was it the yoghurt?”

“Ah, mmm.” Seungcheol manages around his roughend voice. “Probably, maybe, I dunno.”

“Seungkwannie wasn’t feeling too good either, just now. Swears it was the yoghurt.” Jeonghan makes the appropriate noises of sympathy. Seungcheol just breathes, waiting for his heart rate to settle into something normal.

Their manager pulls the car out of the lot and Seokmin turns back to face the front. The car trundles gently onto the road, the glow of white street lights flick past the car window rhythmically. Seungcheol eventually pulls himself up to a sitting position and buckles himself in,keeping the jacket carefully over his lap.

Casually, Jeonghan slides an arm across to Seungcheol’s thigh. He slips his hand under the jacket. Seungcheol looks up at him in alarm, trying to be surreptitious- but Jeonghan isn’t even looking at him, he’s keeping up the conversation with Seokmin and their manager. Midway through a laugh, he slides his hand a little further in, right onto Seungcheol’s crotch.

Seuncheol’s chest hitches. Jeonghan gets his palm over Seungcheol’s cock, still plumped up in his track pants, and squeezes. Seungcheol chokes, and he hurriedly covers it up with a cough and a clearing of his throat. He turns to glare daggers at Jeonghan. Jeonghan cuts his eyes to Seungcheol and winks. Seungcheol bites the inside of his cheek to hide his smile.

x

Seungcheol floats through the next few days of schedule. He feels brand new. There is barely downtime, though, and finding time to have a life-changing conversation with Jeonghan proves impossible. After the pre-recording, their manager had dropped Seungcheol off at his apartment, wishing him well for his stomach.

Seungcheol had been so wiped that he could barely get his shoes off in the entryway before staggering his way to his bed and falling into a dead sleep. He’d had to rouse himself at five am the next morning, too groggy to be anything except normal when he’d greeted Jeonghan on set.

He does wonder if he should have said something, though, because Jeonghan doesn’t say anything either, and the both of them not having said anything sets the tone for the rest of the week.

It's not true, though, that he couldn't find time to talk to Jeonghan if he needed to.

But things feel alright between them, things feel good. He clings to Jeonghan even more than before- tucks his head into the crook of Jeonghan’s neck, collapses next to him on the practice room floor, walks with him to the vending machine and back, takes the cars back home with him. He and Jeonghan eat together so often that they no longer need to make plans to do so, and this remains unchanged. They still fall into step with each other after practice, after filming or recording. He’d worry that it was all forgotten, somehow, except that Jeonghan catches his eye in the tailend of strange moments, reminding him, with just the heat of his gaze, that they had kissed.

On Tuesday, they wrap recording work with Jihoon, Joshua, and Bumzu and head to dinner together. The restaurant is loud; steam billows from the kitchen. There’s the intermittent whoosh of an open flame catching on cooking oil. Everything that could possibly move is done up in plastic laminate and the menus have to be peeled off the tacky surface of the tables. Seungcheol orders soju. Jeonghan is at his elbow, pouring glasses for everyone, refilling his drink before Seungcheol even thinks to ask.

They order barbeque: bulgogi, short ribs and spicy pork. The table is laden with side-dishes; so full they have to seek out the gaps between plates to put their drinks down. Their waiter brings through the grill, burning with live coals, and sets it down in the middle of the table. Seungcheol’s hand darts out automatically to shield Jeonghan’s bare arm from the hot edge. Joshua eyes the movement, and tellingly, his look slides between Seungcheol and Jeonghan. Seungcheol withdraws his hand and shoves it under the table. Had Jeonghan said anything to Joshua? Maybe, it was possible. Seungcheol takes up his glass and turns away to drink.

He won’t say anything to Joshua- or to any of the others - without first okaying it with Jeonghan. He had sought out Minghao to thank him for allowing him and Jeonghan that brief head start, and could only do so in the vaguest terms, despite Minghao’s obvious dissatisfaction with his insubstantial story. It’ll be alright soon, though. They’ll be able to tell everyone after he and Jeonghan talked about it. Joshua first, of course.

Seungcheol wonders how Jeonghan would want to tell everyone. Maybe Jeonghan would want to make some kind of dramatic announcement. Maybe he’d want to send a photo to the groupchat of them together, something risque. Maybe he'd want to stage an argument with Seungcheol in the middle of next month’s group dinner, just for the shock of kissing him in front of everyone at the climax. Seungcheol chuckles at the thought.

Jeonghan leans into the table, says something pacifying in that affable tone he takes when the conversation gets a little too choppy. No, Jeonghan wouldn’t spring a relationship on the group like that. He’d be too aware of upsetting their dynamic, of hurting their friends' feelings. Seungcheol admires the line of Jeonghan’s back, tossing idle plans around; Seungcheol would call a group meeting for this- but not at the company. Something more laid back, at one of their places. Seungcheol’s place, perhaps, if Jeonghan didn’t want everyone hanging around in his dorm afterwards.

Joshua keeps trying to catch Seungcheol’s eye after that, but Seungcheol doesn’t let him. Jeonghan leads the conversation and Seungcheol interjects at the right moments. But mostly, he relaxes into the warm press of Jeonghan beside him, listing further and further sideways as the night rolls on. Eventually, he’s got his head all the way on Jeonghan’s shoulder, and Jeonghan is resting his hand on Seungcheol’s knee under the table. This is normal for them. Seungcheol refuses to interpret the look that Joshua is shooting him.

He has less accounting to do than he’d expected. His feelings, when he examines them, are old. He’s loved Jeonghan for a long time. What he wants with Jeonghan is everything and admitting that had been the hardest part. He’s free, now, to want him.

On Wednesday, Seungcheol decides that if they aren’t able to find time in person, maybe it's better to try and have the conversation on the phone. Or if not the whole conversation, at least start the conversation. Drop some hints. He finds time to call that evening, when he’s alone in his room and in bed already. Seungcheol taps through on Jeonghan’s contact. Jeonghan picks up immediately.

“Yah, S. Coups. It’s four in the morning, you know?” Jeonghan protests. Seungcheol pulls back his phone to check what he already knows- it’s barely 11pm. Seungcheol laughs on the other end of the line, doesn’t fight the huge smile on his face, completely at ease. The thought that Jeonghan might be bothered honestly hadn’t even crossed Seungcheol’s mind. Seungcheol shifts the phone a little closer to his ear. Jeonghan is still whining. “I was sleeping.”

“Sorry.” Seungcheol says unapologetically.

“You think I’m lying?” Jeonghan sniffs, incensed. It makes little sense to say. Seungcheol knows it’s just to get him to go along with whatever Jeonghan will say next. That’s alright. Seungcheol likes it when Jeonghan leads him around. “I’ll show you. Turn on your video.”

Seungcheol reaches over and turns on his side lamp, then props the phone up on his chest, tapping through to open video on the call. Jeonghan’s video stutters into frame. His hair is mussed, eyes a little red from tiredness. Seungcheol can see the moment his video feed connects for Jeonghan, because his eyes soften just a little and a crooked smile works its way across one side of his mouth. It’s annoying how that makes Seungcheol's heart flutter. It’s annoying how flattered he feels.

The tiny rectangle preview of his own face looks back at him, eyes heavy-lidded and face puffy with sleep. Jeonghan just takes him in, though, and Seungcheol feels good- handsome, desired.

“Am I pretty, Seungcheollie?” Jeonghan asks, lilting and musical.

“Why, suddenly?” Seungcheol shoots back, and then, without stopping, “Yes, you’re pretty.”

“Not handsome?” Jeonghan pouts. Seungcheol scoffs.

“Handsome too. So handsome.”

Jeonghan crows at him gloatingly. Seungcheol rolls his eyes and privately looks forward to the next time he can tell Jeonghan just how good he looks. Seungcheol doesn’t want to wait for an excuse, he doesn't want to compliment him only when it’s socially acceptable. Seungcheol wants to tell him he’s beautiful all the time.

They talk a little more. Jeonghan sounds like he’s smiling on the other end of the line, content to listen to Seungcheol launch into a monologue. Seungcheol watches the way Jeonghan plays with the strands of his hair, tugging it out with his fingers and letting it drop. He watches the light in Jeonghan’s eyes dance as he recounts to Seungcheol the chaotic meeting with a clothing brand manager. Jeonghan moans and whines that the phone is too heavy for him to hold it over his face, he turns on his side, lets his pillow prop his hand up.

Seungcheol rolls over on his side too. It’s like they’re in bed together, Seungcheol thinks. If Jeonghan was in bed with Seungcheol right now they’d have their feet tangled together. Jeonghan would sleep on Seungcheol’s arm the whole night and Seungcheol would have to hold dead still so as not to wake him. Seungcheol would complain the next morning about how heavy Jeonghan’s head was, how his arm went dead and he has pins and needles now. Seungcheol flexes his hand around his phone. He might say something stupid, like asking Jeonghan if he wanted to come over. He bites his tongue.

There’s a lull in the conversation. This should be the moment where Seungcheol broaches the subject of them kissing. He should clear his throat and put a little seriousness into his voice and ask ‘what are we?’ Seungcheol suddenly feels loath to burst this bubble between them, flirtatious and sweet. It’s not right to have this kind of conversation on the phone, anyway. And things are obviously fine between them. And Jeonghan is tired; he probably wants to head to sleep.

Seungcheol leaves the pause open to Jeonghan, so he can take it if he wants. It’s a good stopping point for them to say goodnight. Jeonghan doesn’t say goodnight, though, instead stuttering into a new thread of conversation. It warms Seungcheol all the way through; he feels so wanted. When they’re both yawning wide enough to crack their jaws, Seungcheol eventually concedes that they have to sleep.

“You should pull the blanket up,” Seungcheol tells him.

“Do it for me,” Jeonghan orders. Seungcheol dutifully reaches past the camera, mimes tugging at the duvet. Jeonghan shrugs the blanket up to his ears. Seungcheol fusses and pets through the screen. He pretends Jeonghan’s hand is his hand. Like they’re in bed together. Like he’ll wake up next to Jeonghan in the morning.

“There, much better.”

“And my goodnight kiss?” Jeonghan says, letting his voice drip with affected cuteness.

Seungcheol blushes. “Where?”

Jeonghan hums thoughtfully. He hovers his index finger undecidedly over his cheek, then his forehead, then his lips. Seungcheol’s eyes go a little wide; and tries to tamp down on the nerves lest they show in his expression. Jeonghan taps his lips. Seungcheol’s heart pounds. He brings the camera close and smacks a loud kiss sound. Jeonghan grins. Seungcheol doesn’t ask for it to be returned, but Jeonghan coyly kisses his fingertips and presses them to Seungcheol through the screen.

"Goodnight. I love you," Jeonghan says in a much more normal tone, light and sing-song.

"Mm, love you too. Bye."

Seungcheol wonders how this would go if there weren’t phone screens between them. If they’d carry on where they’d left off in the car. He wonders what it would be like to say a different ‘I love you.'

On Thursday, tensions boil over in dance practice and Soonyoung starts a fight. Seungcheol finds Soonyoung being consoled by Jeonghan in one of the empty conference rooms.

“Ahh,” Soonyoung moans, head hitting his knees. Jeonghan has his hand tenderly on Soonyoung’s shoulder, trying to soothe him. Soonyoung had gotten snappish at practice earlier and jumped down Chan’s throat. Chan hadn’t taken that lightly at all and had snapped right back. Now, Soonyoung was hiding out down the corridor, cooling off and feeling contrite. He’s frustrated. The rest of the team are frustrated too. Everything is frustrating.

It’s rare that Soonyoung gets like this; usually the one to bob right back to the surface like a cork, no matter how harshly the pressure shoves him down, no matter how deep the waters. But nothing is good right now. It’s one of those times when Seungcheol thinks the craziest thing anyone could possibly do is to pick a career in the entertainment industry. Being bewitched by the lure of fame was so dangerous. They were all certifiably insane. Seungcheol walks up to them then, and Soonyoung’s head doesn’t rise from its slump between his knees.

“I’m going, hyung. I’ll tell Channie I’m sorry right now. I am sorry.” Soonyoung says preemptively, Seungcheol scowls. He’s not here to scold Soonyoung.

“I know, Hoshi-ah. I know you are. It’s not that,” Seungcheol says seriously. “They need to lay off you. You’re doing enough.”

Soonyoung just shakes his head. Jeonghan’s eyebrows crease in concern. He shares a look with Seungcheol.

“Can we get someone else in to take some of the work? Just for a little while? What about Youngjae hyung?” Jeonghan says. “Would that help?” Soonyoung makes a face. Seungcheol knows how much he’d hate that, but he wonders if it’s not the right thing to do.

“No no, it’s fine, Youngjae hyung is already busy.” But Soonyoung is transparent no matter how he tries to put on a brave face. He had paused at Jeonghan’s suggestion, looking wistful before shaking it off. Jeonghan catches his eye, making sure that Seungcheol notices that too. Seungcheol has no idea how management hadn’t foreseen this. He thinks that if staff is spread so thin they should hire someone else- or pull back on some of the content releases. But they won’t. They just keep piling it on. He forces his anger down, lest he upset Soonyoung any further.

They talk in circles for a bit. Soonyoung grumpily unwilling to budge, Seungcheol and Jeonghan trying to wear his stubbornness down.

“And I want to do it anyway. It’s better if I can do it, right?” Soonyoung continues. Jeonghan and Seungcheol both protest at that but Soonyoung isn’t really listening. He’s trying to convince himself. “Tiger fighting. Tiger strong.” Soonyoung chants to his sneakers, slapping his cheeks.

Seungcheol scrunches up his face where Soonyoung can’t see it. It’s the saddest cheer he’s ever heard in his life. Jeonghan looks helplessly to Seungcheol while he rubs Soonyoung’s back some more, the same pained and amused grimace on his face. After a while, Soonyoung scrapes himself to his feet. Seungcheol tells him where to find Chan and sends him off to make up.

“Personally,” Jeonghan says to Seungcheol when Soonyoung has left, “I think PD-nim should fold the new work schedule into a swan and shove it up his ass.” Seungcheol chuckles.

Jeonghan continues, dour and vicious. He thinks that management knew exactly what they were doing when they presented the project lineup, when everyone was on the backfoot, and with the promise of another BooSeokSoon release laid tantalisingly as bait. Seungcheol agrees darkly. It’s true that no one else can do what Soonyoung does, but that should not be an excuse. Now, they were knee deep in comeback preparations and Soonyoung had, to his own horror most of all, started to buckle under the workload.

Seungcheol speaks to their producers that evening. He crosses his arms and stands tall and square. He’s used to this, to stepping in for his members, so why does it never get easier? But it goes fine, actually, even if it’s all a little tense. Seungcheol doesn’t let them push back on this one. They’ll get Youngjae in, or another of their staff, and let Soonyoung focus on the BooSeokSoon work.

Jeonghan materialises next to him right after. He’d been walking back from the bathrooms, but he tells Seungcheol he’d spied him through the side panel window and stopped to watch how the chat unfolded. Seungcheol puffs out a huge breath and knocks his forehead against Jeonghan’s shoulder. He’s relieved. Jeonghan just pets Seungcheol’s arm gently, telling him he did a good job. He looks up at Jeonghan and a look passes between them.

Maybe now would be a good time to talk to Jeonghan. He could take his hand, tell him how nobody had ever made him feel what Jeonghan makes him feel. He could tell him he wants to kiss him everyday, make whatever this is between them official. He doesn’t.

x

Seungcheol pins everything on the coming Friday. It’ll be their first full free day since this wave of preparations began. Seungcheol is going to buy chicken and beer and bring it over to Jeonghan and Seungkwan’s dorm. He and Jeonghan will eat, and laugh, and Seungcheol will lay his grateful heart on a plate with that chicken and push it across to Jeonghan. And then- Seungcheol can’t help but hope he’ll be devoured.

Seungcheol heads out to pick up the food at six in the evening. Dusk is falling later and later now as the spring days grow longer. It’s still light out, the streets still busy. It’s nice to be out, even for a little while. He wonders if he should think about this as a date, if it might turn into that. But they need to talk first and Jeonghan doesn’t like being put on the spot.

So, not a date. Just chicken and beer at home. Dating at fancy restaurants later. He parks his car and pockets his keys and wallet, pulls his mask up and his beanie low.

On the sidewalk, a grocer is putting out a wire rack filled with bouquets. They’re all marked down to sell quickly; fresh cut flowers don’t keep. Seungcheol doesn’t stop to look as he passes by to the chicken restaurant. He would get Jeonghan flowers for their first real date, though. Chicken and beer doesn’t count; they do this sort of thing all the time. All they’re going to do tonight is talk, anyway.

He wants to do their first date properly. Seungcheol knows what Jeonghan likes, knows that he’s not above the boyfriend experience. Seungcheol is excited, actually, so excited, to be his boyfriend. He wants to make it good. He’d been thinking about the new upmarket place in town; the one he’d bookmarked on Instagram. The photos were exquisite- it had all those lights strung up and the city’s best view of the river. He would dress up for that and he knows Jeonghan would too.

He imagines Jeonghan, pleased and teasing, taking Seungcheol’s hand, calling him corny. Seungcheol wants the private smile Jeonghan would send him across his glass of wine. He wants the cheeky foot trailing up his calf under the dinner table. He wants everything, if he’s being honest.

Chicken retrieved, he heads back up the street. There is a good bouquet in one of the grocer’s buckets. Classic romantic arrangement- red roses and baby’s breath. If he was remembering right, Jeonghan liked them both. So, that’d be a good choice- for next time, if he were buying. He heads past the grocer and into the Seven-Eleven for the beers.

When Seungcheol gets back to the car, he texts Jeonghan one last time.

On my way

He has to take a moment to centre himself. He lays his head on the steering wheel and breathes, feels the blood thrum in his veins. He can’t wait to see Jeonghan. He can’t wait to kiss Jeonghan again. The chirp of his message tone draws him back. On his lockscreen, he can see the notification for a reply from Jeonghan- a kaomoji smiley face, giving the thumbs up.

Seungcheol reverses out of his parking spot. Ten minutes and he’ll be there. Next to him on the passenger seat he’s stacked the two boxes of chicken, the six-pack of beer, and the bouquet.

x

Seungcheol lets himself in, putting the food and the flowers down on the step in the entryway so he can get his shoes off properly.

“Hey,” he calls into the apartment. A greeting floats back to him from somewhere in the house. Seungkwan’s house slippers are still on the rack, so he must be out.

“Seungkwannie here?”

“Nah,” comes the reply, closer as Jeonghan makes his way to greet Seungcheol “He’s out with Soobinnie.”

“Ah, nice.” Seungcheol slips his own pair of house slippers on and straightens just in time to see Jeonghan round the corner. He looks so good in a pair of old sweats and a white tshirt that hangs all the way to his thighs. His face is patchy red on the chin and cheeks- freshly washed- and his long hair is scraped back into a rough pony low on his head.

Seungcheol knows he’s staring, but he can now, right? Jeonghan knows how much Seungcheol wants him. He’d kissed him- twice. After all these years of suggestion and flirting, Jeonghan had finally kissed him. He can’t believe his luck.

Seungcheol picks up the packet holding the chicken and passes it over for something to do with his hands.

“Ah,” Jeonghan moans delightedly, opening up the packet and peering inside. “Chicken! I love you, Cheollie.”

Seungcheol nods, then picks up the beer and the flowers.

“And you got- oh.” Jeonghan peers owlishly at the proffered bouquet. Seungcheol passes it over and the cellophane crinkles loudly. Jeonghan takes it gingerly, like it might explode at any moment.

“Oh. This is- um, what’s this?” Jeonghan’s voice is strained.

“For uh, you.” Seungcheol bites the side of his tongue inside his mouth. This is so far from the suave romantic gesture he imagined in his mind. Cold unease creeps up his back.

“Oh.” Jeonghan has said ‘oh’ so many times now. “...Yeah, that’s- um. Thanks.”

“And beer!’ Seungcheol indicates with a little shake of his hand, trying to play it off. Jeonghan is still staring at the roses, shock plain.

“I’ll just uh, go put them, um, kitchen?”

Seungcheol gives him a winning smile and turns away as fast as he can. He brings the beer over to the living room table. With his back to Jeonghan he scrunches up his face in mortification. Jeonghan leaves him in the living room. He's gone a while longer than it should take someone to put flowers in some water. Seungcheol gets started on the beer immediately, cracking one can open and gulping down a third of it right away.

Jeonghan comes back with the chicken and some serviettes. He sits on the same couch, next to Seungcheol- he considers this a win- but far away, not close enough for their knees to brush- which balances it out again.

Things get a little easier with food in front of them. Seungcheol warms the conversation up on safe territory, recounting a passive aggressive fight he’d gotten into with his brother; to which Jeonghan magnanimously commiserates. Then Jeonghan launches into a story about Soonyoung losing his shoes that should, by all rights, be utterly mundane but instead has Seungcheol pealing with laughter. Jeonghan shifts closer when they’re finished eating, stretching out and throwing his feet into Seungcheol’s lap. It’s comfortable. Seungcheol’s anticipation builds.

It’s time, Seungcheol thinks as he makes Jeonghan laugh again. When Jeonghan gestures again with his hand, Seungcheol teasingly snags it out of motion and drags it into his lap.

Seungcheol plays with his fingers and lays Jeonghan’s hand on his knee. He strokes over it, petting it affectionately. Jeonghan goes quiet. When he looks up, Jeonghan is watching, expression guarded. Seungcheol picks up Jeonghan’s hand once more, stroking his fingers over Jeonghan’s knuckles. He clears his throat.

“Jeonghannie,” the words pour forth “I want to kiss you again.” His heart flips at his own boldness. Hope and terror flare and die in his chest in turns. “I’m in love with you.” Seungcheol feels immediately light and liberated. He sighs, suddenly so happy, and looks at Jeonghan.

Jeonghan is frozen. His eyes are huge, and his mouth has dropped open. Seungcheol wants to laugh- this surely hadn’t come as an actual surprise to Jeonghan. Not after everything. Not after how obvious Seungcheol knows he’s been.

Jeonghan looks like he’s running equations in his head with how hard he’s thinking. This is going to make such a funny story, Seungcheol thinks. Jeonghan will blush so much they tell it to everyone. Seungcheol does laugh, then, and tugs fondly on Jeonghan’s hand. This seems to remind Jeonghan that it’s even there.

Jeonghan’s face does something complicated. Then he suddenly laughs, a wry smile on his face. He pulls his hand out of Seungcheol’s grip.

“Ahh!” he screeches. “You really got me, Choi Seungcheol!” He balls up a serviette and lobs it at Seungcheol. “I really believed you! Wah, the roses, even. Wow, nice touch, nice touch.”

It’s Seungcheol’s turn to stare, taken aback.

“Jeonghan-” But Jeonghan is too busy cackling and huffing and shaking his head to hear him. Seungcheol’s ears are ringing. Ice creeps up his limbs with a deadening bite.

“I can’t believe you, seriously! Your acting has improved too much.”

Jeonghan slaps Seungcheol’s knee. The ringing in his ears gets louder. He can’t feel his fingers. He hears his own voice from the end of a very long tunnel.

“I’m not joking.”

Jeonghan just nods sarcastically. “Sure, sure.”

“I’m not,” Seungcheol says, voice quiet. “I’m not joking.”

Jeonghan pauses then, seemingly caught between his scepticism and the thick waves of unpleasant atmosphere now fogging the room. He looks around reflexively for a hidden camera. That punches Seungcheol in the gut.

“You’re not joking,” Jeonghan repeats to him distrustingly, bemusement still colouring his voice. “You’re in love with me.”

Seungcheol nods, once. “Yeah, I am.”

The smile drops from Jeonghan’s face. “Don’t do this, Seungcheol.”

The ice reaches his lungs. Seungcheol feels it all grind to a stop.

“What? Don’t do what?”

“This,” Jeonghan hisses, “this isn’t- don’t do this.”

“I’m not doing anything. I just- what the fuck, Jeonghan- we, I thought you knew. I- We-”

“We what?” Jeonghan says, and it’s mocking. Seungcheol feels like something rips in his chest.

“We kissed.”

“Did we?” Jeonghan says archly. Seungcheol flinches, shocked.

“The-” Seungcheol exhales hard through his nose. “The parking lot- the car-” He shakes his head; none of that is the point. “Don’t fucking play dumb.”

A muscle in Jeonghan’s jaw works. He turns his head hard and glares off to the right. Seungcheol gets up from the couch and paces. The room feels too wide and too narrow. He turns back. Jeonghan is still there, stone-faced and unreachable. Seungcheol tries to change tact.

“What happened? Is there something wrong?” He sounds the wrong kind of desperate. He feels so fucking small.

Jeonghan’s eyes fly to Seungcheol’s, he stands up from the couch, cold and angry. “I’m fine, thank you, actually.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Jeonghan scoffs at him and Seungcheol recoils at the venom. This is all spinning out of control so fast.

“Stop trying to make this into something it’s not. Things aren’t going your way, so something has to be wrong. You’re so vain.”

Seungcheol looks agog, right at Jeonghan’s shuttered expression.

“You fucking kissed me,” Seungcheol says, hoarse. Seungcheol can’t seem to muster the right anger, though. The words come out plaintively.

“And now suddenly you’re in love with me?”

Seungcheol can barely wrap his head around how dismissive that is. “That’s not- It’s not like that.”

“Oh, what, then? You think just because I kissed you that I’d fallen in love with you?”

Seungcheol takes a shocked step back. He feels immobilised- and every word out of Jeonghan is the strike of an axe. He feels himself splintering.

x

They have exactly one conversation about it, two days later at rehearsal. Jeonghan does not freeze when he sees Seungcheol across the room. He doesn’t act awkward at all; but he doesn’t greet him, either. Seungcheol walks right up to him because he has to. It’s the right thing to do.

“Let’s just work, okay?” Seungcheol says with no preamble. Jeonghan pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, then nods. This is at least better than the dismissal and the lying.

Jeonghan agrees, stilted and stiff and polite, that they won’t let this affect the team or the work. Seungcheol can’t hear the words, really. His ears are ringing too loudly.

Working through the agony is acute. It’s worse than he could have imagined. It’s kind of like playing Jenga. Or rather, it’s like losing at Jenga. Seungcheol’s pieces have been yanked from his core, gaping holes leaving him teetering and unstable. The conversation with Jeonghan is the fatal block pulled from the precarious tower, and Seungcheol is about to topple. He’s going to crash, in pieces, noisily and everywhere.

After practice he leaves to try and have his uncontrolled demolition in private. He ducks into the bathroom and regrets not packing a spare tshirt when he left home because this one is sweaty and disgusting. He pulls a sweater on, and then his bulky red jacket over that, zipping it up to his chin. He dons a face mask, pinching it closed around his nose. He pulls on a beanie and then tucks the sticking-out strands roughly up and into the brim until he looks like an egg.

When he checks himself out in the mirrors, his eyes and eyebrows are the only parts of him visible. It feels safer like this, less like he’s going to spill out of his edges and all over the floor. He leaves all the rest of his shit in his car and walks out with only his wallet and keys.

Spring has not yet fully thawed-everything is still too chilly for Seungcheol’s liking. He’s exhausted from crying- the first bout of tears had come during their lunch break. That had been several hours ago, and he’d cried twice more since. The joints in his hands creak as he flexes them in his pocket- he’s cold and sore already. That’s good. The pain keeps him tethered to the moment.

It’s sunset. The light, orange and burning, darts through the gaps between the high-rises. Gold, dying sun glances off the edges of glass buildings and slanted car windscreens. It stabs sharply into his eyes. Seungcheol blinks hard against the light, feeling a headache building in his temples. He walks. He turns into a kiosk, thinking to buy a flavoured water or a can of coffee just to keep his hands busy.

He trips up when he sees the wall of cigarette cartons behind the counter. He buys a pack of the brand Jeonghan smokes and a 1200 won lighter. The cashier rings him up in blessed silence, not even glancing up at him. It’s instantly his favourite human interaction of the day. He slides his cigarettes and lighter off the hard plastic counter into his jacket pocket. He steps off onto the street and walks some more.

He wanders a little, drifting closer to the water despite the fact that the cold is rolling up from the riverbank. It’s busy; there’s a lot of couples taking walks together, the odd group of people on their way to whatever next fun thing, going against the current of people flowing home late from work. It’s nice to watch for a while.

When he stops to sit, he scares a small flock of birds into scattering skyward with furious chirping. He pulls the cigarette box out of his pocket. He doesn’t smoke, generally. Nevertheless, he pulls his mask down just enough that he can get the smoke into his mouth. If someone were to photograph him right now- if he were recognized here, now- he’d be fucked. He flicks the lighter and cups his palm around the end of the flame, lighting his cigarette. What does it matter?

He smokes the cigarette down to the filter, then fishes out another. If Seungkwan were here he’d be upset with him. Seungcheol can visualise exactly the sad look and worried moue on Seungkwan’s face. He’d think that Seungcheol’s whole world was crashing down around him, for him to be smoking like this. It does feel a little bit like that, though. Seungcheol’s chest pangs.

The cigarettes smell like Jeonghan. They taste like Jeonghan, like the kiss. Or maybe they don’t, and Seungcheol’s mind is just hoping for a connection. Fruitlessly conjuring closeness after it’s been lost.

The light is waning faster now, the sun’s orange burnt down to an ashen purple. Seungcheol gets sick of smoking and watches the river while his head rushes from the nicotine. The river is like a great slick of black oil; and he watches the shadows shift and wobble on its rippling surface.

If someone were to ask if kissing Jeonghan was worth it- well. The relationship was in tatters. His own heart was a mangled mess in his chest. If he were to weigh the consequences against the actions, there was no question. It had not been worth it.

Except that’s not true at all. Seungcheol’s guilt gnaws in his gut. It was worth it. It was better and worse than wondering. Jeonghan had wanted him at that moment, even if Jeonghan didn’t want him now, even if he thought that Seungcheol wasn’t worth the trouble. He’d gotten to kiss Jeonghan at least once in his miserable life. Maybe Seungcheol would die incomplete, knowing and not having, but at least he’d know. Seungcheol knew he was being dramatic. But that was fine, the light and the water and the birds were letting him be so. He’d done this to himself. They had been happy and he ruined it. He deserved a bit of wallowing. It’s a selfish thought, but it had been worth it.

How was it going to be from now on? He tries to think rationally. He tries to lay it all out. Ignoring each other from other ends of the room? No warmth at his side, no more little whispers in his ear? No more of Jeonghan’s concern or attention?

Seungcheol’s stomach pangs so intensely that he doubles over on himself. He thinks in circles: Jeonghan’s sullen face- his raw expression. His flat, angry mouth, which Seungcheol now knows what it feels like to kiss. Jeonghan kissed softer than Seungcheol had thought he would; warm and easy amongst everything relentlessly hard and sharp.

He pulls his phone out, half thinking he should call someone- anyone in his band, any one of his friends. He skates over his contacts list and the message previews in his chat app, summarily dismissing each name as he scrolls past. It makes him feel worse, even more alone. Seungcheol twists his Seventeen ring around and around his pinky.

Asking someone to come scrape him off the floor of his misery is nauseating to contemplate. Calling his therapist feels excessive. He wants to call Jeonghan. He just wants to call Jeonghan.

He pulls his beanie right down when the tears return. He tries to cry quietly and fails, ruining the inside of his mask with slimy wetness. He pulls it off, catching his ear painfully on the string with his roughness and muffles his harsh sobbing by biting into his sleeve.

Seungcheol sits like that for a while, giving himself up to the sensations. His face swells from all the crying and his nose gets stuffed up. His fingers turn red from the cold, his ass goes numb from the hard bank under him.

He lets the cold and the hard and the sharp have him.

x

The monthly dinner rushes up towards him before Seungcheol can get his bearings. The days have all been one long indecipherable smear, if he’s honest.

It’s strange for Seungcheol and Jeonghan to not arrive together. It’s strange for them to sit at opposite ends of the table. Seungcheol is not naive enough to think the strangeness has gone unnoticed. Seungcheol studiously ignores Jeonghan as he slips into the bench next to Jihoon. Seokmin gives him a look, one that he thinks is probably subtle, but which makes Seungcheol feel demeaningly pitied.

Seungcheol tries his best to ignore the suffocating pressure of everyone’s eyes on him and picks up the menu to keep himself busy. Jeonghan is seated on the other side of the table, far away from him, closer to the head where Mingyu is, Joshua on his other side.

Seungcheol can’t help but remember the last time they’d gotten dinner together, just a few weeks ago, Jeonghan hanging off him, giggling into his ear. He can recall the citrus tang of Jeonghan’s aftershave with perfect clarity, because he’d had his nose buried right in the crook of his jaw at one point that night. Seungcheol watches as Jeonghan gropes for his phone in his bag and ropes Joshua into a selfie. He looks happy. He looks like he’s having fun. Watching Jeonghan be happy is like biting into an apple, expecting sweetness, but being met with curdling sour.

Seungcheol tries to focus on the food- on conversation with Jihoon and Vernon. He tries to laugh at the right moments. He remembers to cheer when Seungkwan starts singing impromptu. They make it a good way into the meal before the tenuous détente comes crashing down.

“Hyung,” Soonyoung says, the tankard of beer threatening to fall with his jerky movements. “Hyung,” he calls again, louder, and their heads collectively rise until it becomes clear that Soonyoung is addressing Jeonghan.

“Ah?” Jeonghan calls back to him with his mouth full from across the table.

“Please-” Soonyoung whines. “Aren’t you and Coups hyung tired of fighting?” A hush descends frighteningly quickly. “I hate it when you guys fight.” Soonyoung says, petulant and drunk. “We don’t even know what happened! You never tell us anything.” Jeonghan looks caught off guard, rigid and awkward. Seungcheol sits straight on the bench, waiting.

Seungcheol considers butting in, telling Soonyoung to lay off. His mouth opens and closes again as he thinks up and dismisses each response. The friction in the room is suddenly immense- every single one of his teammates expects him to do just that: jump right in at Jeonghan’s defence. But why should he make this easy for Jeonghan? Seungcheol folds his arms across his chest.

Jeonghan tries for nonchalant. “Don’t worry Hoshi ah, really. It’s not that serious.”

The Coke can under Seungcheol’s hands plinks under his grip. He frowns at the tabletop. Jihoon looks at him nervously.

“No, Hoshi is right, Jeonghannie hyung,” Wonwoo interjects seriously. “Something happened and neither of you have told us what’s going on.” It galvanises the rest of them. Agreements spill out from around the room. They’ve all noticed, and it’s not good to see them like this, and surely they want to make up by now.

“-Let us help, hyungs.”

“-Right? It’s just us here.”

“-You know it’s better to share these things.”

‘-We’re a team, aren’t we?”

Seungcheol sees Joshua’s eyes widen in alarm and he puts his hands out placatingly. He falteringly turns to Wonwoo, then to everyone.

“Maybe now isn’t- we should let them work it out themselves, right?” Ah. So Jeonghan must have told Joshua something. Maybe he told him how much of a fool Seungcheol made of himself. It stings, and he’s immediately resentful, because wasn’t Joshua his friend too? Joshua glances from person to person, trying to garner their agreement to let this go. Jeonghan tries again, throwing a laugh into the tense air.

“Guy, please, we’re not fighting!” And then Jeonghan turns to Seungcheol. Indignation, thick and greasy, slides into Seungcheol’s stomach. “Really, Seungcheollie- tell them. It’s fine, right?”

The whole table has gone quiet, waiting for him to speak. Seungcheol swirls the dregs of his drink around in the bottom of the can. How dare Jeonghan? he thinks.

At the bottom of the tin, there it is: he’s found his anger. All of a sudden, he’s disgusted by all the tears he’s been crying, disgusted by how miserable he’s been. His blood flushes hot with fury, and the urge to strike out at something rakes through his nerves and makes him shake.

“It’s not really fine, though,” Seungcheol scoffs, tossing the empty can to the table in contempt. “If you hadn’t noticed, Jeonghan, we are fighting.” The mood around the table plummets.

“I can’t believe this. Are you doing this right now?”

Seungcheol doesn't move, just juts his chin out in a move he knows is obstinate. Yes, they’re doing this right now. “Don’t look at me like that,” Seungcheol snaps. “I’m not going to step in and make nice.”

“This is between us. You said this wouldn’t affect the team.”

The eyes of their bandmates whip between them, swivelling from Seungcheol to Jeonghan like they’re watching a tennis match. Seungcheol considers his next words carefully, rolling them around in his mouth before he speaks.

“Fuck you.”

“You said you’d make an effort-” Jeonghan says pointedly. Seungcheol hates how calm Jeonghan is. He hates how steady his voice is. Hates that Jeonghan can just sit there and feign disaffection.

“As if you have been,” Seungcheol says, icy.

“I have been.”

“Oh, bullshit. You’ve been pretending nothing happened. That’s not the same thing.”

Jeonghan’s jaw drops. He stares at Seungcheol, eyes wide and incredulous. He’s angry too, Seungcheol recognizes. He almost wants to laugh. What the hell does Jeonghan have to be angry about?

“Okay. Fuck me. Fuck all of this, fuck our members and the staff and fuck our years of work because you want some attention?” There’s a collective wince. Seungcheol sees red.

“Don’t tell me shit about wanting attention, Yoon Jeonghan,” Seungcheol spits furiously. Seungcheol doesn’t want to do this here, really. But his anger has taken root, running along every vein and nerve in his body like a choking vine, clenching down tight. It’s ferocious and disorienting, so the words spill from his mouth.

“I run after you and do whatever it is you want me to do and you like it. I know you like it.” He points an accusing finger at Jeonghan and continues. “You’re a coward.” It’s cutting. Seungcheol watches Jeonghan take the blow, watches it sink right into his soft flesh. It feels good to watch him flinch.

“Guys-” Seungkwan tries to interject, upset plain on his face and in his trembling voice. Seokmin looks like he wants to interject too. Junhui grabs Seungkwan’s arm. Minghao has his hand to his mouth, looking incredulous at the escalation. Seungcheol ignores them all.

“I knew this would happen,” Jeonghan says, cynical. “This is exactly what I thought would happen. We were fine the way things were.”

“Then why did you kiss me?” There’s a series of gasps at that, a muted clamour at the revelation. But it’s not just the kiss. Why did Jeonghan hold him like that, why did he touch him like that?

They had something. They did. Everyone around this table knew it; and Jeonghan knew it best of all. Seungcheol feels his anger split open, red and wet and pulpy inside. The inside of his mouth tastes sour and dry. The satisfaction falters, cycling him rapidly into cold dread. What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he doing this? He’s making this worse. Sightless, frustrated terror rises up like a wall; one he is hurtling right towards. Hot tears press behind his eyes and spill down his cheeks. He makes no move to wipe them away.

“Were you just bored?” he chokes out. His chest caves in under the weight of his regret, his anger, his loss. His tears blur his vision. The cheery restaurant lights and the food and the faces melt into shapeless colour and form.

“Seungcheol-” Seungcheol doesn’t know if Jeonghan is warning or pleading. Seungcheol is on a roll, unheeding of the dozens of eyes on them and the consequences of his actions.

“Did you just want to fuck with me? Good job, by the way. You absolutely fucked with me-”

“Seungcheol-”

“I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” Seungcheol says, and it wounds himself to hear it. “You like that I am. The guy stupid enough to think we had something, the guy pathetic enough to fall in love with you.” Seungcheol stands, fighting the hands that come up to grasp at him. Seungcheol is forcing it all out here, all into the messy, ugly open. Seungcheol stops then, runs right out of breath. He waits for Jeonghan to say something.

“What do you want me to say, Seungcheol?” Jeonghan goes hard and shuttered and turns his cold gaze right on Seungcheol. “I was bored, I wanted to fuck with you. Believe whatever you want. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Do you need me to say that I regret it?” The air leaves the room. “Okay.” Jeonghan says evenly. “Then I regret it.”

The hands let him go this time. Seungcheol picks up his jacket and stumbles inelegantly over the bench, then yanks the door to their private room open.

“Liar,” Seungcheol spits at him. It lands as it’s meant to,because it’s true. Jeonghan doesn’t look at him.

“Sorry about dinner, everyone,” Seungcheol says. “I’m gonna go.”

Seungcheol makes a quick exit from the dinner party. Jihoon follows him to the nearest bathroom, as do Mingyu and Junhui. Seungcheol feels low enough that any discomfort at being taken care of by the younger members doesn’t even register. He feels sick with regret. His anger has burnt itself out and he sits in a toilet stall feeling empty and horrified. Everything he said was monstrous. He replays Jeonghan’s little flinch and feels appalled at himself.

Jihoon hovers in the doorway, an awkward sentinel deflecting various members who come to check in on Seungcheol. Mingyu yanks out far too many sheets of paper towels, and sprays water all over himself in his haste to dampen a thick wad and press it to Seungcheol’s blotchy cheeks. Junhui is the one who tries to talk it over with him, probing gently about what had happened.

It’s nice to be taken care of, to have three different people jostle to hug him close. It’s different from all the other times he’d had a breakdown in a public bathroom, because through all of those, Jeonghan would usually be the one at his side.That sets him off again, loss ripping through him like a jagged-toothed saw. Would Jeonghan ever forgive him? A second, caustic thought; would he ever forgive Jeonghan?

All three of them jump at the mangled sound that he makes. Junhui trades his flurry of questions for rubbing his back in slow circles. Mingyu hovers fretfully, mostly just keeping up a stream of consoling sounds. Jihoon wraps Seungcheol’s hand around a water bottle and coaxes him to drink.

When he’s composed enough, he lets the guys escort him to his car, but then shakes them off gently. All he wants now is to be alone, go home, and go to sleep. He promises to call them when he gets home and promises to take care of himself.

He drives around a little. It’s calming. He pulls over under the safe triangle of light below a streetlamp and grabs some food at a convenience store. He cranks his seat back and eats in the car. He stays in the cab, surrounded by the lingering smell of grease and salt, and calls his mom. He spends at least forty minutes chatting idly with his parents, being passed to his dad and then back to his mom again. When they ask after the members, Seungcheol keeps it vague and doesn’t mention Jeonghan. Eventually, Seungcheol feels like enough of a person again to drive home.

x

Seungcheol arrives home. He bows politely to his building security guard in the foyer, then quietly makes his way to the elevator. From the elevator, he can see all the way down the corridor. His apartment is two doors down.

A figure is seated on his doorstep, knees drawn up to their chin. Seungcheol’s heart lurches against his ribcage. It’s Jeonghan.

Seungcheol stops a few metres away, hands in his pockets. Even now, under the worry and regret and hurt, there’s the simple solace of seeing him. Jeonghan pulls himself to standing as Seungcheol approaches. Half of his hair is tied up in a small pony high on his head and he’d pulled the sleeves of his zip-up jacket all the way down over his fingers. He looks like he’s been crying. Seungcheol refuses to let that hurt him. So what? He’s been crying too. Jeonghan isn’t special.

“Move, please,” Seungcheol says when he reaches the door. Jeonghan chews on his lip but he doesn’t budge. Seungcheol just sighs.

“Can we talk?” Jeonghan says abruptly. His voice is wrecked, all rough and pitchy.

“No.” Seungcheol is tired of talking. Seungcheol is tired of crying. He gets his hand on his keypad and starts punching in his code. The pad bleeps in acceptance and the lock mechanism snicks open.

“Please, Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol closes his eyes, squeezes them tightly shut. He brings his head to the door and thunks his forehead against the wood a good few times. Seungcheol unlatches it, shouldering it open. Jeonghan shifts behind him.

Kkuma goes crazy when she smells- and then sees- Seungcheol. She yaps up a frenzy, tail wagging so hard that it shakes her entire tiny body. Seungcheol drops to a crouch to greet her; petting over her silky ears and stroking down her back. Her fringe is done up in a little bow atop her head; and it waves endearingly back and forth. It’s his favourite way to style her hair because it reminds him of Jeonghan. He stares blankly at the floor. Kkuma pushes her wet nose into his hand. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest, he already knows what he wants. Seungcheol is good at lying, when he wants to be, but not about this.

“Kkuma needs a walk,” he says over his shoulder, even though it’s past ten at night “you can come with.”

Kkuma barks and circles excitedly, pawing at Seungcheol’s shin when he picks up her leash and straps her into her harness. Jeonghan waits outside the apartment, eyes closed in obvious relief, even though there’s a pessimistic twist to his features.

Jeonghan falls into step beside Seungcheol as they walk. The moon is rising and the night is bright. Jeonghan suits the moonlight, Seungcheol thinks, heart bruised in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, Seungcheol watches how the silver light catches on the fine fuzz on Jeonghan’s cheeks and carves out the serious line of his brow and his mouth. It’s a familiar route; Jeonghan has walked this exact walk with him and Kkuma so often. That hurts. Seungcheol tracks the curl of Jeonghan’s shoulders and his slight shivering. He’s cold, obviously. Seungcheol isn’t going to mention it.

They come to a small green and perch on a metal rail, not quite sitting. Kkuma contents herself with snuffling and scurrying in the wide radius of her leash. Jeonghan swallows and coughs a few times. Seungcheol just looks at him, unwilling to carry this conversation. He scuffs the toe of his shoe on the grass. He’d said his piece at the restaurant, and before, in Jeonghan’s living room. It was Jeonghan who had shut him down and cut him out, so it’s Jeonghan’s turn now.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” Jeonghan says finally. Seungcheol breathes in.

“Which part?”

“I didn’t- I didn’t want to fuck with you.” Jeonghan shifts, sheepish. “And I wasn’t bored.”

Seungcheol looks away.

“I’m sorry I, like, got so angry. And said, like, all of that.” Seungcheol offers. Jeonghan shakes his head.

“You were right to be. I was- I’ve been-”

“Still.”

“I’m sorry for what I said that time, too,” Jeonghan says in a rush, eyes shut tight. He doesn’t need to specify when, they both know.

It looks like it’s taking everything in Jeonghan to dredge this up. He’s picking at his sleeves anxiously, shoulders curled in, body concave; like he can’t even muster the usual effort he takes to appear untouched and unruffled. It’s awful to see, actually. This is so unlike the Jeonghan he knows.

“Why did you kiss me, really? I just- I just want to know.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Jeonghan says helplessly. Seungcheol shoots him an incredulous look, annoyed immediately. He raises one eyebrow at him, as if to say ‘well, try.’ Jeonghan huffs.

‘No, I mean- fuck. Just hold on.” Jeonghan’s throat works, Adam's apple bobbing and forehead scrunched tight. “We were flirting, which, it’s not like we’d never flirted before.” Jeonghan looks to Seungcheol for affirmation. Seungcheol feels it wash over him, stress easing at the simple fact of that being acknowledged. He nods. Jeonghan continues. “But then you looked at me and it was like. Every single time I’d thought about it but never acted on it felt silly. You actually wanted me, and I- I couldn’t think. I just wanted you.”

“You thought about it?” Seungcheol can’t help but latch on to that. He’d thought about it. The words rattle around the inside of his skull. He’d never acted on it. He wanted him. Jeonghan had wanted him.

“All the time,” Jeonghan breathes, hushed, like he’s admitting to a long held secret. The air shifts. Seungcheol startles. That is exactly what Jeonghan is doing; he’s admitting a long-held secret. Something inside Seungcheol comes loose. He feels light-headed, giddy, like he could float away right now. But he can’t yet- he can’t float away just yet. Even so, he feels himself move closer to Jeonghan. Jeonghan notices the change, and a charged anticipation prickles all along Seungcheol’s skin

“But you said it was the 'stupidest thing you’d ever done in your life,’” Seungcheol prompts, a little pettily. Jeonghan cringes, apologetic.

“When I kissed you,” Jeonghan explains “I kept thinking- I’ve lost my mind, I’ve actually lost my mind.” Seungcheol laughs, dry.

“It was kinda crazy, not gonna lie.” Seungcheol offers.

Jeonghan smiles a little at that, bumps against Seungcheol in a show of affection. He looks emboldened. “Did you- before this- did you ever think about it?”

Seungcheol turns to look at him fully, frowning in surprise and confusion. Had he not been obvious? Like, painfully obvious? Not just lately, but before then. Hadn’t he been so obvious all this time? But Jeonghan is searching Seungcheol for a response. Seungcheol swallows.

“You know I have,” Seungcheol insists softly. How could Jeonghan doubt this? He tries to put the pieces together, tries to think about how Jeonghan might have felt. He pictures Jeonghan’s shocked face when he had proffered that reckless bouquet. “You thought that I showed up like that, that I said all that, on like, what? A whim?”

Jeonghan shrugs, bites his thumb. “You’re a romantic guy, so I dunno.”

“But you must have known how I felt, like, before that?” Seungcheol asks suddenly. He has to know. “Don’t tell me you didn’t.”

Jeonghan shakes his head, then nods, then his eyebrows do a complicated twitch.

“It’s always been like this with you.” He answers instead.

“Like what?" Seungcheol says, cagey.

Jeonghan reaches his hand across the gap to where Seungcheol’s hand is, the one not holding Kkuma’s leash. He touches his fingertips to the back of Seungcheol’s knuckles, asking quietly for permission to touch. It’s an echo of the way Seungcheol had taken his hand back in his living room. Seungcheol eyes the movement warily, still unsure and unsteady. He doesn’t shift away. Jeonghan pulls Seungcheol’s hand onto his knee and strokes over the bumps of Seungcheol’s knuckles. He doesn’t think Jeonghan holding his hand has ever felt quite like this.

“Close,” Jeonghan says finally. He swallows around a dry throat. “Intimate.”

“So you knew,” Seungcheol knows he sounds accusatory. Jeonghan just shakes his head again.

“Friends can be close.” Jeonghan shrugs. “Friends can be intimate.”

“As close as us?” Seungcheol frowns, chokes. “I’ve loved you all this time, Jeonghan. Since the beginning.”

Jeonghan looks at him, stricken. “Oh,” he says thinly. And then he’s crying. “Oh.”

Jeonghan’s hands come up to hide his face. Seungcheol makes an injured noise and fusses immediately. He comes around to stand in front of Jeonghan, grips Jeonghan’s wrists gently.

“Jeonghannie, Jeonghannie, don’t cry.”

But it’s as if something has cracked open in Jeonghan; the tears are a sudden deluge, racking him bodily, like a fever.

Seungcheol can’t help but hug him. He keeps crooning at him, but nothing is helping. Jeonghan is almost hiccuping with the force of his tears and he seems shocked at himself for it, shying away and embarrassed. Grasping at straws, Seungcheol begins to hum the hook to Don’t wanna cry. That makes Jeonghan burst out laughing, wet and surprised.

“There we go,” Seungcheol says as Jeonghan’s crying calms to sniffles.

“I’m sorry,” Jeonghan laughs and a few more tears fall anyway. “I don’t know why this is so hard for me.” Jeonghan spills more apologies against Seungcheol’s chest. He says sorry, over and over again. Seungcheol just accepts the flood. Doesn’t he know that Seungcheol has already forgiven him?

He brings his hands up to Jeonghan’s cheeks. Seungcheol wipes away the streaks under his eyes with his thumbs.

“See? This is what I mean.” Jeonghan groans, brow taut in equal parts delight and anguish. “You’re so romantic, Cheollie. What the hell?” Seungcheol grins at him, hope held taught all through his body.

“What do you want, Jeonghannie?” Seungcheol says tenderly. Jeonghan pouts, turns his sleepy eyes on him.

“You know what I want.”

“I don’t want to get it wrong.” Seungcheol tells him, rawer than he means to sound.

“I don’t want to lose this.” His gaze roves his face like Seungcheol is something precious. “Not you or the band. You’re all I have.”

“You couldn’t, you couldn’t lose them.” Jeonghan shrugs again, looks away.

“You could never lose me.” Jeonghan blinks, parts his lips to say something and decides against it. Seungcheol can see him fighting back fresh tears.

“What do you want, Jeonghannie?” Seungcheol repeats.

Jeonghan huffs a wry smile.

“Ey, Choi Seungcheol, you’re really making me work here.”

Seungcheol can’t help but laugh at that, ducking his head into the collar of his jacket.

“I want you.” Jeonghan admits. He takes Seungcheol’s hand in one of his, and interlaces their fingers. “Together- with you. That’s what I want.” Seungcheol sucks in all his breath at once, face lighting up. He turns his hand in the loose hold of Jeonghan’s to clasp tighter.

“Yeah?”

Jeonghan nods.

“Like, properly?

Jeonghan nods. “Yes. Properly. Like- Like, the whole thing. Being with you. Kissing you. And- and couple slippers.”

Seungcheol laughs. “Couple slippers?”

Jeonghan groans at him, laughing too. He swats Seuncheol’s side. Seungcheol pulls him back for another hug, and Jeonghan burrows in, the cold tips of his ears against Seungcheol’s cheek. This was everything Seungcheol had been waiting for, he knew.

“You’re cold,” Seungcheol says into Jeonghan’s neck. Without looking, he knows that the tip of Jeonghan’s nose is red. It strikes him as the most lovely thing. “You’re cold and I want to kiss you. Let’s go home.”

x

When his front door closes behind them, Seungcheol gets nervous. It’s the same sensation as learning to ride a bike: a fumbling for balance that sways him wildly from side to side. All he has to do is pedal though. He’ll find the force that will keep him steady. He hangs back after Jeonghan takes off his shoes, wiping Kkuma’s paws off diligently to keep himself busy. She speeds out of his grip fast, scampering off to the living room and jumping up to her favourite spot on the couch.

Jeonghan is dawdling, waiting for Seungcheol, his messenger-style bag still slung over one shoulder. Seungcheol steps out of the entryway, picking his house slippers up off the shelf; dawdling a little too. Jeonghan is pushing his sleeves up to his elbows and tugging them down again repeatedly. Seungcheol stops to stare at that. That’s really Jeonghan; face ruddy from crying and the cold, hair still up in that ridiculous little ponytail, waiting for him. He’s beautiful, of course he is. He’s always so beautiful.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to kiss me?” Jeonghan looks at Seungcheol from under lazy eyelids, voice turned smooth and beguiling as a polished gemstone. Seungcheol had called him a coward in anger, but really, he thinks Jeonghan is brave. He steps into the unknown like he owns it, curls the tendrils of uncertainty that reach for him around his fist; and grasps them, leashes them, to his own will.

Seungcheol steps forward like a fish being reeled in on a line. He drops his slippers carelessly to the floor, hands reaching for Jeonghan. He wants to be wrapped around Jeonghan’s fist too, wants to be leashed to Jeonghan’s will. He’s nodding, he thinks. He has no clue what his face is doing. He crushes their lips together.

The kiss is so frantic it hurts. His lips mash painfully against his own teeth. He gets one hand on Jeonghan’s jaw and threads the other immediately into the back of Jeonghan’s hair. His vision is a blur. Jeonghan opens his mouth and the touch of his tongue sets Seungcheol burning. Jeonghan’s mouth is perfect.

Jeonghan kisses back just as fiercely. He claws into Seungcheol’s jacket, the polyester scrunching dry and loud under his grip. Seungcheol staggers forwards, feels spit streak sloppily across the side of his mouth.

He can’t compare it to their kissing in the car. This kiss is magnitudes apart. It reaches right into his core, heavy-laden with intention. He moves even further into Jeonghan, because being closer is the only thing that can sate him. Jeonghan’s breath stutters on an exhale; the sound reverberates in Seungcheol’s skull.

Jeonghan’s bag slips to his elbow and knocks against Seungcheol’s side. Neither of them stop to adjust it. Seungcheol breathes in stolen sips, never letting their mouths truly part. If he lets Jeonghan stray even an inch too far he might die. He clutches at Jeonghan, uncoordinated; hand cupping Jeonghan’s cheek, down his chest, back up to his neck. Jeonghan arches into his hands, bites at him, greedy. Having the man he loves seeking his touch makes Seungcheol tremble. He feels like, with the barest push, he could cry.

Seungcheol runs his nose across Jeonghan’s cheek, licks the juncture of his jaw and rasps over the fine scrape of his stubble coming in. Seungcheol needs him. He doesn’t think he even understood what need felt like until right now, his mouth on Jeonghan, enveloped by his warm smell. Jeonghan tries to jerk the bag off of his arm just then, cursing and huffing softly. With a cat-like, frustrated growl, Jeonghan shakes his arm free. His bag tumbles to the floor, the bulk of it landing with a painful thunk right onto Seungcheol’s socked foot. Seungcheol yowls.

They separate in discombobulated stumble, Seungcheol hopping around in pain. Jeonghan gasps a little ‘oh’ in surprise, hand coming up to cover his mouth, wide eyed.

“Are you carrying bricks in there?”Seungcheol whines. Jeonghan blinks, then he snorts. A second later, he breaks into sudden uncontrollable cackles, his whole face lighting up with his grin. Seungcheol feels an instant, heady rush of pride- Jeonghan is completely dishevelled- collar askew, hair tangled from Seungcheol’s hands in it. His favourite part is Jeonghan’s eyes, all scrunched up from his laughing, invisible above the apples of his cheeks.

They come back together like that, Seungcheol joining in on the irrepressible giggling. Jeonghan murmurs an apology for dropping his bag on Seungcheol’s foot that Seungcheol waves off immediately. The fraught, tight tension evaporates, leaving behind just them, together, looking at each other like they’re in love. It feels easy for Seungcheol to take Jeonghan’s hand in his and lead him to the bedroom.

Jeonghan slumps his bag against the side of Seungcheol’s desk; shucks his jacket and tosses it over Seungcheol’s desk chair- the only free surface in the room. Jeonghan sits on his bed, one leg bent and the other hanging off the side. It’s such a familiar sight. He belongs here, in Seungcheol’s room, in Seungcheol’s life. It could be any other night, Jeonghan coming over to hang out, except for the fact that Seungcheol can still taste him on his tongue. Jeonghan is looking at him- actually, he’s checking him out. Seungcheol puffs up under Jeonghan’s gaze. Jeonghan beckons to him, breaking Seungcheol out of his stare.

Seungcheol sits himself in front of Jeonghan at the foot of his bed. Seungcheol strokes Jeonghan's bare forearm, trailing light fingers up the inside of his wrist to his elbow. The skin is thin here, it looks so soft. Seungcheol has always wanted to kiss him there, so he does, lifting Jeonghan’s wrist up to his lips, kissing over the jade of his veins. Jeonghan shivers like a tree shedding dead winter leaves.

They cling and part, tentative and a little fumbling, because every touch between them is new. Jeonghan palms Seungcheol’s knee, then slides a hand up his thigh. They kiss and kiss again, time spinning out behind them like a ball of yarn carelessly knocked off the table, unspooling unnoticed.

“Back then-” Jeonghan’s voice is low and scratchy. It pulls Seungcheol’s thoughts out of a lulling ocean. “I wanted to kiss you like this too.”

“Back then-?” Seungcheol asks late, caught in a daze. Jeonghan just nods. Seungcheol touches the soft lobe of Jeonghan’s ear, traces a fingertip over the bridge of his nose. Oh, back then- the car, the room, the music show- before. It feels like years have passed. He feels like an entirely new person. Seungcheol tries to remember who he was, how he felt. He had wanted to kiss Jeonghan like this too, but-

“I couldn’t.”

“No?”

“Was too much. Didn’t let myself go there.” A little sound punches out of Jeonghan, and he hurries to press another soft kiss to Seungcheol’s lips, consoling. Seungcheol is consoled; all the little nicks on his heart are stitching shut.

Jeonghan’s hands flit to his shoulders and he uses his grip to rise to his knees. Seungcheol shifts his legs so that Jeonghan can fit between them. They fall silent again. Seungcheol listens to Jeonghan’s breathing, winds his arms around Jeonghan’s waist and locks him there. Jeonghan is a little taller on his knees like this. Jeonghan strokes his hair back from Seungcheol’s face, kisses each eyebrow in turn, kisses his cheek, kisses his lips. Seungcheol basks in it, a flower soaking in the sun. Jeonghan calls him cute,then sexy, and plays at pulling just out of reach of Seungcheol’s kisses until they’re giggling.

Jeonghan’s body under his hands is weighty; in both the physical and figurative sense of the word. Important, profound. Seungcheol slides his hands under Jeonghan’s tshirt to feel the planes of his back, mapping a new landscape. He’s known Jeonghan’s body so well, after all these years, and yet he’s learning. This is the fit of him under his palms, this is the texture of his skin. Jeonghan sighs when he skates gently up his spine, gasps when scrapes across his ribcage. Jeonghan responds by sucking lovebites into his neck, and then, in a move that makes Seungcheol groan all the way from his belly, licks his ears.

“I remembered you liked that,” Jeonghan tells him smugly, pulling back as Seungcheol pants to catch his breath. Seungcheol nods. He likes it so much he feels emboldened.

“I thought about- about the car.”

“Oh?”

“We never got to finish what we started.” Heat rolls between them like the pressure of a gathering storm. Seungcheol can taste it crackling in the air, electric.

Jeonghan’s gaze is piercing. “You want to suck my cock?”

“Yeah, I really-” Jeonghan doesn’t let him finish, groaning loudly and latching his mouth to Seungcheol’s to suck indulgently on his tongue.

“I want that,” Jeonghan says, roughly. “I want you to suck me off.”

Seungcheol gulps his agreement against Jeonghan’s lips. Jeonghan skirts down Seungcheol’s front to get his hands on Seungcheol’s cock over his pants. Seungcheol rolls into his touch, surging up to sitting, hands hot and immediate on Jeonghan, stripping him of his shirt.

Seungcheol wriggles away, then pulls Jeonghan flat on his back by the grip on his waistband. Jeonghan falls ungracefully, fwumping to the pillows with a squawk. His laugh is free, a bird taking gloriously to flight. Seungcheol crawls up Jeonghan’s body on his forearms to kiss him in atonement.

Jeonghan grips his shoulders and Seunghceol strips his pants and socks for him. Jeonghan doesn’t help with the task at all, just nestles more comfortably into the bedding and lets Seungcheol toss the clothes over his shoulder to crumple wherever they land. He takes his bare foot and smooths it down Seungcheol’s chest, wriggles his long toes over Seungcheol’s soft stomach and kneads his heel into Seungcheol’s hard cock. Seungcheol matches his mischief, grinning wickedly as he grips his ankle loosely and holds it there, bucking up into Jeonghan’s foot.

It’s so much of themselves, when they’re at their very best: Jeonghan pushes and Seungcheol pulls. Jeonghan gets his briefs off and tosses them at Seungcheol. Seungcheol knocks Jeonghan’s legs apart and settles between his thighs. Sweat beads at the bend of Jeonghan’s knee over his shoulder. Seungcheol laps at the salt condensed on Jeonghan’s inner thighs, teasingly close to his cock. Saliva collects under Seungcheol’s tongue at the heavy smell of him, at the promise of the weight of Jeonghan’s cock in his mouth. Finally, Finally.

When Seungcheol gets his mouth on Jeonghan’s cock he goes brittle with want. The silken skin fills to hardness inside his cheeks. He hopes his mouth is soft enough, wet enough, hot enough for Jeonghan. He tries to make it good, but he can’t muster thoughts of technique- all he can do is drool, and suck, and slurp. He remembers at least to pay a little attention to Jeonghan’s sack- He pulls off and drops a sweet little kiss there, and Jeonghan shoots him a look so muzzy and befuddled that Seungcheol laughs.

But even as Jeonghan writhes against the sheets, even as he scrapes his nails against Seungcheol’s scalp and fists his hair, he thinks that Jeonghan is holding back. Seungcheol digs his tongue into Jeonghan’s salty cockslit, runs Jeonghan’s shaft into the pool of spit under his bottom lip. Jeonghan moans like he’s in pain and Seungcheol smirks right against his dick. Good. He wants Jeonghan to let go, he wants Jeonghan so desperate he forgets to be anxious and tentative.

Before Seungcheol can be certain he’s broken through Jeonghan’s hesitancy, Jeonghan’s cries reach a pitch, and he’s slapping at Seungcheol’s shoulders in warning. Seungcheol takes a gulp of air, noses all the way down into the thatch of Jeonghan’s pubic hair. He tries to take Jeonghan’s cock deeper into his throat, slurping and gagging messily. Jeonghan throws his head back when he comes, the ropes of his muscles standing out along every line of his body as he shakes and clenches. Seungcheol swallows artlessly, hungrily, as bitter, sticky come floods his mouth.

When he surfaces from between Jeonghan’s legs, it’s to Jeonghan’s fucked-out grin. He has an arm stretched languidly behind his head. He’s lounging like a king.

“So,” Jeonghan starts with a slow smile. “Did I taste good?”

Seungcheol yelps at him for that, kissing Jeonghan firmly on the mouth to make him taste for himself. Jeonghan laps up his own taste gladly, passing his little aftershocks on to Seungcheol, skin-to-skin.

It’s not long before Jeonghan is eyeing Seungcheol’s dick. Seungcheol had pushed his own arousal to the back of his mind, but with Jeonghan’s eyes on him his blood flares.

“How do you like to come?” Jeonghan asks, squirming into Seungcheol’s space, stroking across his flank and ogling the pull of his shirt over Seungcheol’s bicep. Seungcheol pulls back, studies the fall of Jeonghan’s hair over his face.

It’s not a strange question to ask. In fact, it’s considerate. And it’s not that he thinks Jeonghan isn’t considerate, but combined with how cautious Jeonghan had felt earlier, it feels a little like Jeonghan is walking on eggshells. Honestly, he hadn’t even pulled Seungcheol’s hair all that hard.

“Aren’t you being-? Hmm,” Seungcheol breaks off.

“Mm?” Jeonghan pouts. “How am I being?”

“A little,” Seungcheol considers. “Ah… gentle?”

“Oh?” Jeonghan’s eyes widen. This should be the part where he starts pushing back a little, pestering Seungcheol about what he means, chastising and reassuring him. He’s quiet, though, and he pulls his lip into his teeth subconsciously. So Jeonghan is holding back; him saying nothing solidifies Seungcheol’s hunch.

“You’re holding back,” Seungcheol says to him, hand soft on the bare curve of Jeonghan’s lovely shoulder. Jeonghan’s eyebrows twitch together.

“You want me to be rough with you?” And there’s enough of an invitation in Jeonghan’s voice that Seungcheol knows he could smirk right along with him, join in on the game.

That’s what Jeonghan does, that’s how Jeonghan makes everything easy. That’s why Seungcheol called him a coward, and why Seungcheol thinks he’s brave. But no. Seungcheol doesn’t want to start this- this relationship- with trepidation in Jeonghan’s heart, or any more feats of bravery.

“I want you to be yourself,” Seungcheol insists. Jeonghan looks like he doesn’t quite know what to do with that. Seungcheol watches him swallow a few times, Adam's apple bobbing. He nudges Jeonghan’s cheek, steals a quick kiss.

“I know you,” Seungcheol continues, “and I love you. And I’m with you.” He chews his bottom lip, not sure he’s expressing this correctly. Jeonghan studies him for a moment longer.

“You are, aren’t you?” Jeonghan says, half to himself. “You are.” They lapse into silence. Jeonghan is clearly thinking, so Seungcheol lets him think. Seungcheol mesmerises himself by feeling him up. He strokes up his arm and all the way down to his hip, up to the sensitive curve of his throat. Back again, over and over. To think he has this is astounding.

Still quiet, Jeonghan props himself up on his elbow and paws decisively at Seungcheol. He works off Seungcheol’s shirt, then his pants. Seungcheol’s clothes come off, dropping with purpose into the thickening silence. Jeonghan manoeuvres Seungcheol so that Seungcheol’s back is to Jeonghan’s front. Jeonghan settles with his lips next to Seungcheol’s ear, his hand spread wide on Seungcheol’s bare chest. His breath skitters up Seungcheol’s nape. Seungcheol’s shivers collect in his shoulders and spill over, lifting goosebumps all over his body. Jeonghan walks his fingers over the little hairs on his arm, all standing on end.

“Seungcheol,'' Jeonghan says, and the self-assurance that Seungcheol knows so well is returning to his voice, rich and velvet. He draws a single finger down the centre of Seungcheol’s chest, in between the meat of his pecs. Seungcheol’s stomach swoops. “I’m going to touch you how I want to.” Jeonghan’s hand squeezes roughly at Seungcheol’s chest. Sparks zing down Seungcheol’s spine, every nerve lighting up. He nods. “I won’t hold back.”

Jeonghan toys with his left nipple, circling it generously before pinching it sharply. Seungcheol gasps and reaches back, fumbling to find purchase. Jeonghan nips at Seungcheol’s earlobe.

“No, hands still,” Jeonghan says simply. Seungcheol’s blood pulses. Need tugs in his pelvis. He whines. He obediently lets Jeonghan reposition his hand against the pillow. It leaves his whole front exposed. He likes that, feeling laid out for the taking.

“How do you want to come, Cheollie?” Jeonghan asks again. The question is rhetorical this time. Jeonghan is gloating.

“Or do you just like the fact that I’m doing whatever I want?”

Seungcheol whines, eyes squeezing tight shut.

“You can,” Seungcheol says it like a complaint, “you can do whatever you want.”

“Good,” Jeonghan says, as though he doesn’t have his hands already wrapping around Seungcheol’s fattening cock. Jeonghan weighs his cock with his palm, offhandedly, like he’s testing ripe fruit at the grocery store.

“You’ve got such a thick cock. Should I jerk you off?” But Jeonghan doesn’t pause for an answer. Jeonghan strokes Seungcheol’s cock slow and tight, digs his thumb under the glans punishingly. Seungcheol throbs in his clutch, precome drooling from his slit. Jeonghan works Seungcheol up to a rhythm, then pulls off without warning, leaving Seungcheol’s hips pumping forward uselessly.

Jeonghan scrapes his nails over the fat of Seungcheol’s ass. He gropes across the jiggle and gets an insistent finger behind Seungcheol’s balls. He trails between his cheeks, up all the way. Seungcheol inhales sharply.

“Or here?” Jeonghan says, pressing dry against Seungcheol’s hole. Seungcheol holds himself so tense, racked with the burning need to have Jeonghan inside him. Jeonghan huffs smugly. “I think you want me in here. Lucky for you, I want to be in here too.”

Seungcheol groans when the sound of the lube cap opening cracks through the heavy air. Seungcheol waits for the squelch of Jeonghan squeezing it into his hand. Instead, shockingly cold gloop lands right on his bare thigh. He yelps, and Jeonghan cackles behind him.

“Jeonghan!” Seungcheol blinks through the haze of his arousal to see Jeonghan swipe his index and middle finger though the sticky dollop on his hip. Seungcheol can’t tear his eyes away from the glossiness, from Jeonghan coating his long, knuckly fingers until they’re glistening.

Jeonghan doesn’t wait, slides his fingers between Seungcheol’s asscheeks. The glide over Seungcheol’s hole sends a wracking shudder though him. He’s so hard that he can feel his own heartbeat thrum in the red head of his cock. When Jeonghan’s fingers breach his rim, he spasms. Jeonghan grins into Seungcheol’s shoulder, cooing and encouraging Seungcheol’s unbroken moaning and gasping.

Jeonghan fucks his fingers into Seungcheol. With every thrust, his cock slaps against his stomach, smearing his precome all over his abdomen. Seungcheol tastes the weave of the blankets under his open mouth, sodden from his drool. He bites down on the fabric. Jeonghan laughs to see it, peppers kisses where he can reach the side of Seungcheol’s face, licks stripes over the back of Seungcheol’s shoulder and neck, pushing Seungcheol higher and higher.

When the angle gets frustrating, Seungcheol urges Jeonghan to turn, and Jeonghan pulls his fingers out with a wet slurp. He gets Seungcheol on his back. Seeing Jeonghan’s face properly is sweat sticking his hair to his face, grin wide and toothy, looking down at Seungcheol like he’s about to devour him.

Every driving thrust inside him stokes him like a smouldering coal towards bursting flame. True to his word, Jeonghan doesn’t hold back, hooking his fingers forward to hit Seungcheol’s prostate mercilessly. He’s sharing Jeonghan’s breath, tasting his sweat and spit, surrounded by him, filled with his fingers. The grind on his cock from the Jeonghan’s body goads him unerringly towards orgasm. Seungcheol is breathless from chanting Jeonghan’s name, dizzy, vision spotting red and black behind his eyelids. Joy kicks violently in his heart.

Seungcheol makes a noise of want, drawing Jeonghan desperately in so that he can kiss him. He needs to come like that, kissing Jeonghan. He needs Jeonghan to feel it all too, just as Seungcheol feels; happiness so true it strips him raw. Jeonghan leans low on his elbow and obliges. Jeonghan rolls his hips, squashes his own arm under his weight to give Seungcheol something to grind on. There could never be anyone else, Seungcheol thinks suddenly. This is it for him. His whole body winds up and up. His cock ruts against Jeonghan’s arm, his rim stretched wide around Jeonghan’s knuckles. The feeling is enough. He comes with a gasp, cock jerking between their bodies.

In the moments after, ears ringing, Jeonghan flops down next to him on his back and sighs happily. They turn to look at each other, resting forehead to forehead. Jeonghan is so beautiful- maybe this is his most beautiful - when he’s just fucked Seungcheol. When he’s sated and smiling unselfconsciously. Seungcheol can’t stop smiling either. Mortifyingly, Seungcheol kind of wants to say thank you. He’d never live that down though, so he keeps his mouth busy with another kiss.

They don’t clean up much beyond the scrape of a tshirt over their cum-streaked stomachs. Seungcheol just lies there, spinning, sniffing at the sweaty reek of the room. He likes it, it smells like both of them. Jeonghan puts his underwear back on and helps himself to one of Seungcheol’s tshirts, ungainly with exhaustion. He clambers back into bed and gets his freshly washed, and therefore freezing, hands around Seungcheol's waist. Just because he can, just because it makes the both of them laugh despite their tiredness.

Snug under the covers, they keep trading kisses, the intervals between them lengthening with their drowsiness They slow together, warm choppy waters reaching gentle equilibrium. Seugcheol’s eyes shut without him knowing. He falls asleep like that, carried off by the tide, not being able to tell when their kiss ends.

x

Seungcheol wakes with his arm gone dead, pillowed under Jeonghan’s head. He’s got a whining complaint notched in his throat already when he stops and remembers. He’d dreamed of this, exactly this.

Seungcheol drags himself off to the bathroom. It takes him a moment on unsteady legs. He runs the warm tap over his washcloth, He takes a piss, wipes himself clean of dried cum and lube, and sticks his toothbrush in his mouth too, for good measure.

He gets a good look at himself in the bathroom cabinet mirror as he’s swishing mouthwash around in his cheeks. He’s the best kind of wreck. He likes this, what he looks like right now. After sex with Jeonghan. He ought to look more different, but apart from swollen lips, stubble-burn all over his chin, and purple bruising on his collar, he’s the same. He ought to look as changed as he feels.

Everything in the bathroom stands out to him, though, so maybe it’s that the rest of the world has changed. The edge of the plastic mould countertop is stained here and there with use. the white tiling is stark, the blue plastic mat in the shower is lying skew. It feels as though the air itself is new, blown in on the tide of this moment. Seungcheol pokes his own cheeks a little, turns his head this way and that, catalogues the bites and hickeys, spots the reddened scrape where four fingers dragged down his left thigh. He touches his sore lips tenderly. Jeonghan’s work, Jeonghan’s imprints left on his body.

Jeonghan trades off to the bathroom when he returns, and Seungcheol gets a few moments to stare at his phone, to connect last night to the rest of real life. Neither of them had updated the others, so the number of notifications that have racked up is nothing short of daunting.

They stumble out into a kitchen bright with noon-day sunlight, hungry and thirsty. Seungcheol hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt, and Jeonghan looks so long and hard at his bare torso that Seungcheol kicks him for it.

“I’m not a piece of meat.”

“You are though,” Jeonghan flirts. It's such a ridiculous line. Seungcheol is completely taken in by it.

They end up taking risque selfies too; wrapped around each other, scrounging for leftovers and making coffee. Jeonghan wants to immortalise his own ring of bruises. They do a cute pose- Seungcheol miming a kiss to Jeonghan’s cheek- then a sexy one - the lines of their necks exposed and eyelids hooded- and then one just for them.

Seungcheol calls a group meeting. Jeonghan peers over his shoulder, dictating the words for him to type. Their phones light up like Christmas trees. Jeonghan upends an empty bowl over them, shoving them out of sight and out of mind.

Jeonghan stops them before they can leave the kitchen. Jeonghan takes Seungcheol’s mug out of his hands and passes it to the counter. He takes Seungcheol’s hands again, clearing his throat to speak.

“I love you,” Jeonghan says. “I didn’t want to say it last night in case- in case you thought it was only the sex talking.” Seungcheol is a boat at the mercy of a storm, a fragile tower of blocks, a flower in the sun. Seungcheol is happy. He is also loved.

“I know you do.” Seungcheol gathers him up, nestles in comfortably, bathes in Jeonghan’s mellow post-sex smell.

“Say it back” Jeonghan squeezes him tight as a snake. Seungcheol says it back.