82
In the Early Hours
Battle (Taehwa/Chris)
855 words. Third person. PG.
Chris collapses onto the couch like his legs can’t hold him up anymore, eyes half-closed, and he’s trying to remember Korean and land on the couch and not fall asleep all at the same time. It’s more difficult than otherwise expected.
“Ugh,” he says, his voice thick with exhaustion, opening one eye to watch Hwichan and Ryu retreat to their rooms, Lio heading into the kitchen. Kihyun disappeared almost before they entered the house, but Chris thinks he might be in the shower, washing off the filth of a fourteen hour rehearsal. It’s a pretty good idea, but at the moment he’s too busy trying to solidify his bones to think about moving that far - moving at all, really. He listens to Lio bang around in the kitchen, the clink of glass, the thunk of metal against the counter, and he watches Taehwa fidget. Standing in the doorway to the living room, fingers on the doorframe, Taehwa glances down the hall and back at Chris, vibrating with tension. Chris supposes that this is what he’ll have to get used to, living with five guys - new habits, new preferences, new rules - but he can’t imagine that he’ll mind much. He leans back against the couch and stares at the ceiling.
“You can come in, you know,” he says, listening to the slur in his vowels, the consonants that bleed together when he isn’t careful. Taehwa hesitates for a second, before shrugging and padding across the floor, sitting gingerly on the edge of the couch.
“I know, it’s just,” Taehwa says, trailing off, before cocking his head to the side and continuing, “you look comfortable.” Chris considers shrugging, but it’s more difficult to do lying down, and he judges that it’s not worth the effort. Instead he smiles, watching Taehwa shift in place restlessly.
“How is it that you have any energy left at all?” Chris asks, stretching out his legs, toes reaching, only pulling back when they hit the side of Taehwa’s thigh on the other end of the couch. Taehwa jolts, startled by the press of feet against his leg, but he laughs at himself, turning to look at Chris.
“I’m too tired to sleep,” Taehwa says with half a shrug, shifting again in his seat. Chris snorts, listens to the sharp defined edges of his speech and wishes for it, wishes his words didn’t run into each other, hurried and careless. He nods, letting his eyes slide closed, the faint sounds of Lio still in the kitchen, Taehwa moving, his own breath, until Taehwa speaks up again. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” he says, and Chris thinks he can hear the smile in his voice, “besides, if you sleep on the couch, you’ll be sore in the morning.” Fingertips brush his hair from his face, thumbs sliding over his forehead, and Chris opens his eyes to Taehwa leaning over him, grinning. “Hi,” he says.
“Mmph,” Chris says in return, curling up on his side, pulling his legs up to his chest, not caring at all about the way his knees hang over the edge. Taehwa’s fingers touch the back of his neck, slide down to the collar of his shirt and away. Taehwa giggles softly, and Chris wonders what he’s laughing at.
“Chris,” he says, stretching out the name, “Chris, are you still awake?”
“Ugh, yes, I’m awake, what?” Chris opens his eyes, turning his head to look at Taehwa, who has scooted closer.
“Don’t fall asleep.” Taehwa leans in to deliver these words, and Chris is jealous of his energy, the way he drinks in sunlight and uses it as fuel. Now, though, Chris can hear the tension in his voice, faint like the hint of a breeze. Chris yawns again, curls up tighter into his ball, back pressed to the sofa cushions behind him.
“You can’t stop me,” he says, voice drifting and mostly petulant. Taehwa laughs again, and Chris thinks that he likes the sound, up this close it doesn’t sound forced or fake.
“You’d be surprised,” Taehwa says, voice closer than Chris is expecting but not closer than he’s comfortable with. Chris can feel him lean closer, fingers falling to just touch Chris’s hip, baggy sweatpants low, having been tugged on hurriedly in an effort to leave the studio faster. Chris makes a noise in the back of his throat, stretching his legs out and holding out his hand.
“Just come here,” he says, waiting until Taehwa has grabbed his hand, twining their fingers together, before pulling Taehwa down next to him. “And be quiet,” Chris says, voice soft and amused, just on the edge of serious, curling his free hand into Taehwa’s shirt.
“Chris,” Taehwa starts, blinking but still smiling.
“Shut up,” Chris says, interrupting, “and go to sleep.” For a second, Taehwa looks likes there’s something he wants to say, but instead he just wriggles in closer to Chris, and closes his eyes. Chris watches him for a few moments before snuggling in and sighing deeply. Tomorrow, he has to get up a six, start this day over again, but now, now he’s warm and sleepy and that’s enough.
Battle (Taehwa/Chris)
855 words. Third person. PG.
Chris collapses onto the couch like his legs can’t hold him up anymore, eyes half-closed, and he’s trying to remember Korean and land on the couch and not fall asleep all at the same time. It’s more difficult than otherwise expected.
“Ugh,” he says, his voice thick with exhaustion, opening one eye to watch Hwichan and Ryu retreat to their rooms, Lio heading into the kitchen. Kihyun disappeared almost before they entered the house, but Chris thinks he might be in the shower, washing off the filth of a fourteen hour rehearsal. It’s a pretty good idea, but at the moment he’s too busy trying to solidify his bones to think about moving that far - moving at all, really. He listens to Lio bang around in the kitchen, the clink of glass, the thunk of metal against the counter, and he watches Taehwa fidget. Standing in the doorway to the living room, fingers on the doorframe, Taehwa glances down the hall and back at Chris, vibrating with tension. Chris supposes that this is what he’ll have to get used to, living with five guys - new habits, new preferences, new rules - but he can’t imagine that he’ll mind much. He leans back against the couch and stares at the ceiling.
“You can come in, you know,” he says, listening to the slur in his vowels, the consonants that bleed together when he isn’t careful. Taehwa hesitates for a second, before shrugging and padding across the floor, sitting gingerly on the edge of the couch.
“I know, it’s just,” Taehwa says, trailing off, before cocking his head to the side and continuing, “you look comfortable.” Chris considers shrugging, but it’s more difficult to do lying down, and he judges that it’s not worth the effort. Instead he smiles, watching Taehwa shift in place restlessly.
“How is it that you have any energy left at all?” Chris asks, stretching out his legs, toes reaching, only pulling back when they hit the side of Taehwa’s thigh on the other end of the couch. Taehwa jolts, startled by the press of feet against his leg, but he laughs at himself, turning to look at Chris.
“I’m too tired to sleep,” Taehwa says with half a shrug, shifting again in his seat. Chris snorts, listens to the sharp defined edges of his speech and wishes for it, wishes his words didn’t run into each other, hurried and careless. He nods, letting his eyes slide closed, the faint sounds of Lio still in the kitchen, Taehwa moving, his own breath, until Taehwa speaks up again. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” he says, and Chris thinks he can hear the smile in his voice, “besides, if you sleep on the couch, you’ll be sore in the morning.” Fingertips brush his hair from his face, thumbs sliding over his forehead, and Chris opens his eyes to Taehwa leaning over him, grinning. “Hi,” he says.
“Mmph,” Chris says in return, curling up on his side, pulling his legs up to his chest, not caring at all about the way his knees hang over the edge. Taehwa’s fingers touch the back of his neck, slide down to the collar of his shirt and away. Taehwa giggles softly, and Chris wonders what he’s laughing at.
“Chris,” he says, stretching out the name, “Chris, are you still awake?”
“Ugh, yes, I’m awake, what?” Chris opens his eyes, turning his head to look at Taehwa, who has scooted closer.
“Don’t fall asleep.” Taehwa leans in to deliver these words, and Chris is jealous of his energy, the way he drinks in sunlight and uses it as fuel. Now, though, Chris can hear the tension in his voice, faint like the hint of a breeze. Chris yawns again, curls up tighter into his ball, back pressed to the sofa cushions behind him.
“You can’t stop me,” he says, voice drifting and mostly petulant. Taehwa laughs again, and Chris thinks that he likes the sound, up this close it doesn’t sound forced or fake.
“You’d be surprised,” Taehwa says, voice closer than Chris is expecting but not closer than he’s comfortable with. Chris can feel him lean closer, fingers falling to just touch Chris’s hip, baggy sweatpants low, having been tugged on hurriedly in an effort to leave the studio faster. Chris makes a noise in the back of his throat, stretching his legs out and holding out his hand.
“Just come here,” he says, waiting until Taehwa has grabbed his hand, twining their fingers together, before pulling Taehwa down next to him. “And be quiet,” Chris says, voice soft and amused, just on the edge of serious, curling his free hand into Taehwa’s shirt.
“Chris,” Taehwa starts, blinking but still smiling.
“Shut up,” Chris says, interrupting, “and go to sleep.” For a second, Taehwa looks likes there’s something he wants to say, but instead he just wriggles in closer to Chris, and closes his eyes. Chris watches him for a few moments before snuggling in and sighing deeply. Tomorrow, he has to get up a six, start this day over again, but now, now he’s warm and sleepy and that’s enough.