fic: like being in love
pairing: hongbin/taekwoon
word count: 7.5k
summary: “This place wouldn’t mean much to me if I hadn’t met you.” Hongbin says one night, lying down on Taekwoon’s bed, looking up at the ceiling.
a/n: for travis, also a fic mix yeee
like being in love
There’s a loud thud from the apartment upstairs. From where Taekwoon is sitting he could hear a door slammed, a chair screeching against the floor. He could probably hear a conversation in the hallway if he were to pay attention. The hazy sounds of the city through the balcony window in the main room, and the fluorescent lights flickering through. But inside the apartment the air’s filled with a suffocating stillness, an emptiness engulfing it like a blanket. Taekwoon feels the same way- tense; drowsy and strung out from waiting. He’s perched on the floor, knees hugged to his chest, socked feet drumming lightly to the ticking of the clock. He had been this way for a while now; waiting still. The table has been set up no less than an hour ago, empty glasses and a pot on the stove.
Listening carefully for the door, he senses a presence before three steady knocks come. His legs stretch out instantly, pushing himself up with nervousness, hurrying up to the door, only he takes a moment to loosen up before pulling it open in case it actually looked like he was in a hurry. On the other side of the door, there’s a big smile, a nice one, dimpled too. The boy looks past him, around the apartment, heedful and doe-eyed, and Taekwoon moves aside to let him in. He’s around the same height, perhaps a tiny bit shorter. His hair, nut-brown, long and pulled up in disarray. He’s dressed completely in black; an expensive-looking fleece overcoat hangs on broad shoulders. It makes Taekwoon uneasy when he sees him toss it to the cheap couch. He moves oddly; feather-like and unsteady, examines the book shelf behind the couch, knees digging deep into the couch and shirt riding up. It feels wrong, having him here at all; a celestial being such as himself in this boxy apartment, leaning on that worn out couch.
“Is this all yours?” He asks, a low and steady sound which Taekwoon only nods to. He touches a finger to the spines of books, tongue clicking, a dimple on one cheek. Taekwoon feels a slight dizziness, a need to exist the room; unable to breathe with this person’s huge enticement. He tips his head forward, feeling the heat in his own face spreading all the way to his ears.“This is incredible, how do you have so many first editions?” He spins around on one foot, looks at Taekwoon. At last.
“I’ve always collected books.” And Taekwoon, shrugs.
There, he nods, plops down on the couch, smoothes the fabric with dainty fingers. “I wish I read as much as I’d like to,” he turns to look at Taekwoon now, “I mean lately, it’s been good enough to just stay fucking alive.” He tips his head back, eyes darting around the room as if to inspect it further; getting the unfamiliarity out of the way.
It feels strange, the apartment, no longer quiet; his voice washing off the ghostly air. he speaks for a long time but even so, he doesn’t get too worked up. A hollowness behind each word; he speaks almost as if all of his bones have dissolved, all the blood in his veins has dried, like there’s a numbness somewhere deep within him. It looks exhausting; feeling nothing and everything at the same time. It also looks familiar.
The apartment might not feel empty anymore, but there’s a certain heaviness in the air that Taekwoon can’t seem to shake off. Propping himself down, only a few inches away from the boy, at the edge of the couch, really. If he were to make even the slightest of move, their knees would make contact.
“I am Hongbin,” He’s looking at him now, an arm resting at the back of the couch as he leans in closer “Are you okay? You’re too tense,” A hand on Taekwoon’s thigh, “Don’t worry, I am going to make you feel fucking incredible,” He says, a hoarse whisper that makes Taekwoon unintentionally tip his head to the front, face reddening. Hongbin sits back then, a sigh escapes his lips- the intensity in his voice only a second ago replaced with a skittish grin. “Can I use your toilet?” Taekwoon nods almost immediately, it’s a bit embarrassing but Hongbin doesn’t even notice, gets up from the couch and into the tiny washroom at the end of the hall.
In his haste to get the wine from the corner shelf, Taekwoon, complete with nervousness, knocks a chair down. He’s been nervous the whole day and it won’t stop, not even now. In fact, it had only gotten worse. Hongbin probably doesn’t know what being nervous is. He probably doesn’t even need to. It seems like an unnecessary emotion to people like Hongbin. People like Hongbin- are probably made of gold and stardust; unattainable, too ideal.
Taekwoon watches the door the entire time, decides to put on a Cocteau Twins song and forgets to turn up the volume until a full minute later with eyes still glued to that very door.
Moments later, Hongbin’s wandering into the hallway, there’s a sly look on his face, tongue clicking against white perfect teeth. He steadies himself, an arm around the frame of Taekwoon’s bedroom door. One feet up- on his toes, an artful smile, eyes wolfish and impatient. He’s swaying to the music, disappearing into the room.
And there’s Taekwoon waiting, the soup he’s made is over the stove- should he be getting it now? Or should he be-
In the room; a curious din.
There’s a low, flimsy sound of clothes being removed, fabric grazing skin. A slight grunt from Hongbin, a coarse noise. There’s a shirt flung across the room, the pair of leather pants he had been wearing, next. There’s that fuck-me groan, this time a lot more like a frazzled whine. Hongbin’s voice then, whiny and aggravated “You still haven’t told me your name,” It’s slightly muffled, and Taekwoon finds himself in the room with Hongbin there. He looks so defeated and small, with his back curled, rubbing a palm into his eyes as he sits at the corner of Taekwoon’s bed wearing nothing but a pair of lacy, black, underpants. He looks at Taekwoon and smiles- that awful smile; like he knows exactly what Taekwoon is thinking.
“It’s Taekwoon.” He squeaks as he picks up the discarded clothes, tosses them on a chair. “I’ve-”
“Come to bed, Taekwoon,” He says, there’s a giggle, “which one is your side?” he asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question, climbing into bed, by then, Taekwoon notices the slurring in his words, his feet unsteady and struggling to push himself up. “Need to keep me warm, Taekwoon-ah.”
“I made you soup,” Taekwoon blurts, embarrassed “and dinner- um.. I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I made ramyun, no one hates ramyun, usually. Do you? Hate ramyun I mean,”
Hongbin’s giving him a confused look, squinting his eyes as if struggling with a thought in his tipsiness. “I thought we were going to fuck, not play house.” he snorts, stretching across the bed, his hair in his face, feet dangling off the side of the bed. “You’re fucking adorable,” He tugs at the sheets, wraps them around his shoulder, and a huge grin. “No one ever actually made me dinner before we fuck. Or after.” His voice is lower, perhaps even more now that it’s being weighed down with sleep, “Or ever, really.”
It’s quiet for a while, Taekwoon standing by the door, unsure of what he should do next or if Hongbin is going to stop swaying to the music as he sits in his bed like that. There’s hardly a sound but that of the song vibrating around the apartment. But then Hongbin’s lying on his side, blanket pulled up over his head and a pillow instinctively lugged into his arms.
Switching off the light, Taekwoon closes the bedroom door, and pours himself some soup.
In the morning, when Taekwoon looks out of the balcony window, there’s a pink ribbon in the sky. He had only been able to get a few hours of sleep on the terrible couch; mind too preoccupied with Hongbin in his own bed.
Suddenly, there’s a pale light at the end of the hall and the faint click of the bedroom door. The neon numbers of the clock flicker 6:06 AM.
Coffee made, set on the counter. Awaiting Hongbin who comes out of the bathroom five minutes later, still undressed. Not completely awake either. He sinks down onto the couch and closes his eyes, looking so worn out and drowsy with sleep still, Taekwoon can’t help but feel like he doesn’t belong in this scene, familiar as it looks.
He pours Hongbin a cup of coffee, makes sure he’s had a sip and is holding it securely between twos hands before he goes for the bathroom himself. When he comes back, Hongbin is sitting upright, rubbing a sleepy eye and looking at Taekwoon. “I can’t go to class with my own clothes,” he’s sighing, fingers carding into his hair in frustration, “and by the looks of it I’d passed out way too fucking early.”
“You were tired.”
He snorts. “I still owe you, though.” he sets the cup on the table, “But I really do need a ride first… and something to wear.”
Taekwoon ends up lending him a white knit sweater that looks at least two sizes larger on him, sleeves too long, his fingers curling around their ends, scarcely visible- and though he won’t say it, Taekwoon thinks Hongbin looks sort of nice like that, but also too frail; like he’d break to even the slightest of touch.
Shoving his clothes from last night into the backpack he’s brought, the expensive coat draped over his shoulders, one last sip of the coffee on the counter (Taekwoon’s) and Hongbin’s out of the door, trailing behind Taekwoon and climbing into the front seat of his car.
The entire ride, a soothing trance; the radio barely turned up- 80’s popular tracks playing in the background just like in a movie. Taekwoon steals a glance to his right where Hongbin’s sleeping. He’s all puffy cheeks, and dark lashes against pale skin, his lips parted- mumbling something inaudible every other minute or so. His head tips over, shaking slightly, and eyebrows furrowing when Taekwoon takes a turn, or comes to a sudden halt.
In the end, nothing but fifteen minutes away from his apartment, Taekwoon stops at the entrance of the university Hongbin goes to. It gives Taekwoon a strange feeling; how ghostly this place looks. So early in the morning, in this particular area of the city; the air covered in layers of mist. It looks like a completely different place, quiet and tranquil; the people moving with leaden steps, perhaps a few cars parked by the gate, a grey tone filling the air. Where Taekwoon lives, is an always busy drift, especially at night; chain smokers outside his building, a group of young people always causing trouble to the short-tempered bartender at the end of the street, a boy and a girl who’re always looking for something new to do. It’s never the same, and it’s precisely why Taekwoon loves the city and the balcony window that allows him a glimpse at it.
Perhaps what struck him as strange was not how different it was, but rather, how familiar it felt.
When he moves to nudge Hongbin awake, he’s already wriggling out of his seatbelt muttering hurriedly and collecting his things.
“Look, I am going to see you later.” He’s stepping out of the car, leaning down so that he’s looking at Taekwoon. What he says next confounds Taekwoon a little bit. “This place’s terrible. I really hate it here.” A pause. Looking away, then back at Taekwoon again. “Not you, though.”
The door slams, he’s bouncing up on the steps -Taekwoon can see those dimples he’d grown too fond of, even when he’s not looking at him at all. There’s a tall boy by Hongbin’s side suddenly and they’re both smiling, nose-scrunched-up-eyes-squinted smiling. Hongbin slips out of his coat, helps the boy put it on, taps his shoulder once and then they’re gone.
Before he drives back to the apartment, Taekwoon stops by the grocery store.
-
In his history class, the last one on that day, Hongbin slumps down on the table with an exasperated sigh. It’s slightly cold, its glossy surface coming in contact with his face, a slight shiver. Hyuk, whom he’s known since middle school, is beside him, petting his hair and repeatedly calling his name in a soft sing-song voice.
“Hyung, you need to get proper sleep sometime.” Hyuk says, fingers laced in Hongbin’s hair. The professor announces himself, the hall fills up with students too eager to listen and write down what’s being told, and Hyuk plays with his hair still.
For the remaining hour, Hongbin drifts off, it’s only an elective anyways, and he’s only here because Hyuk didn’t want to stay alone through this. Hyuk takes note diligently, scribbles into his notebook studiously, but his other hand never stopped touching Hongbin; playing with his hair, stroking the back of his neck, soft, reassuring touches that make Hongbin feel a little bit sane.
It’s a reassurance Hyuk knows Hongbin damn well needs; he’s been away for three days, for the longest time, really. Hyuk doesn’t say anything about it, though. He knows Hongbin hates being asked. So he doesn’t. It’s not like Hongbin wouldn’t tell him if he did ask. But it’s also exactly that it’s Hongbin. Hongbin who tends to set out and disappear in the middle of the night too often, ignores his phone, way too often. Asking him questions, and waiting for answers, it ties him down.
Hongbin hates it the most.
He’s never belonged to anyone; hates being tied down to one place, takes off every time someone tries to make him.
In a way, Hyuk’s blithe like that. Which is exactly why Hongbin values his company, his child-like innocence and curiosity, along with his strange sense of loyalty- Hongbin cares for it a lot. He’s always been there for Hongbin, giving and never expecting anything back. Things like his lecture notes, his expensive clothes, his own very time, they’re all things he gives Hongbin without hesitation, always there whenever Hongbin comes back, making him feel good and less lonely.
In a way, he was his anchor.
They’re eating lunch outside, sitting on the steps, Hongbin’s leaning against the wall, rubbing his eyes and listening to Hyuk tell him about the sitcom he’s recorded for Hongbin the other night.
“I’m not coming tonight.” Hongbin says, taking a bite out of Hyuk’s sandwich nonetheless. “Don’t delete it though, I’ll watch it when I come over.” There’s a promise which Hyuk doesn’t hold him to. But Hyuk also never deletes these. When Hongbin does come, they binge watch episodes of things Hyuk’s pre-recorded, order take out -Thai, always- and stay up the entire night only for Hongbin to be gone when Hyuk wakes up from a strange dream at five in the morning.
“That guy came by the apartment last night as well,” Hyuk says, a minute after. When he says Hongbin’s scowl something in his stomach twists “I wish there was a way I could have intimidated him for you, but in the end he just said he’ll come back some other time.”
Hongbin snorts, “You couldn’t intimidate a cat if you tried.” He reaches for Hyuk’s face, tugs at his cheek, then sighs, “I feel bad whenever you get dragged into my fuck ups. That guy wasn’t supposed to find out where I live and I figured he’d just get bored eventually.” A pause, a quick apologetic look, “He probably will. But, I’ll be careful next time. Hyoggi.” Hongbin heaves another sigh then, leaning back, on his elbows, legs outstretched on the concrete steps, Hyuk shooting him a concerned look.
They stay that way for a while; exchanging a comfortable silence, an unspoken affinity.
While they’re walking on campus, Hongbin comes to the realization that later today, he’s going to have to take a cab to Taekwoon’s apartment or he’d have to hear how unhappy his boss is about this whole ordeal. The mere thought makes him irritated. He really has never met Taekwoon before last night, yet, Takewoon has given him his clothes, he’s given him a ride and he’s probably out there grocery shopping to cook him dinner tonight. It’s irritating and awkward as it is.
It’s not like this is the first time someone got clingy. It’s not anything like that at all, actually. Hongbin’s only doing his job, or at least he was supposed to. Yet he’s been made dinner he never asked for. It shouldn’t have gotten so complicated. Whoever got Taekwoon’s call clearly never made it notable enough he was paying for a fuck, not a boyfriend. But it’s things like Taekwoon’s morning coffee and Taekwoon’s shirt on his skin that dissolve all of his irritations; he thinks of Taekwoon fondly. He’s probably one of those people who only know to be this way (kinda like Hyuk). He’s probably just a legitimately good guy with no clear sense of threat.
Hongbin’s thoughts grow heavier after Hyuk leaves.
He manages to blow off seeing Taekwoon for four days straight though; discreetly hiding behind a large scarf when walking outside with Hyuk after class. Hyuk gives him a look but does as told nonetheless; blocks his way and slows down every time someone looking even the slightest like Taekwoon shows a long. “But you said he’s not a terrible guy? Like, from what you’ve told me at least, he isn’t.”
“Hyoggi, I just don’t have the capacity to face anything today. I still owe the guy, okay?” Hongbin says, huffing and prodding Hyuk to keep moving now. “It’d be so fucking awkward if I just ran into him, like, oh, hey, I still owe you but I am not in the fucking mood right now, see you when I start feeling like it again? It doesn’t-I can’t possibly tell you how many things could go wrong from it, Hyuk. Wonsik is already making me feel like shit about it. Plus, what if my boss comes to find this out? It’s not the first time I’ve pulled shit like this you know. He’d be more than pleased to let me off all together.”
Hyuk click his tongue in concentration, “Which is what I’m saying, if the guy was at all bothered, he’d have called him up already- your boss I mean. Maybe it was a friend of his who wanted to give him something nice- for this birthday? I don’t know? You’re paid to make people feel good, that night might have done it for him.”
Hongbin groans. “It doesn’t work that way, dumbass. No one ever expects anything less than sex from us.”
“People experience loneliness differently, Binnie-hyung.”
Hongbin thinks about what Hyuk said a lot, and if it were true, wasn’t it sad? He’s probably the last one to be thinking it, considering the way he dealt with it wasn’t exactly ideal, either.
They walk into a record store, Hongbin’s paranoia subduing when he sees a vinyl running on the record player, too pleased to notice his surrounding, trailing behind Hyuk, fingers running on dusty shelves. And only too late, he realizes the familiarity of the tune playing. In his panic, he scans the store for Taekwoon and feels reassured when the staff member who approaches them is a smiling tanned boy.
“Are you looking for something specific?” He asks and Hyuk rants off the list he’d had written down when they’d been watching a movie the night before.
When Hongbin moves down the next aisle however, sure enough, there he is, Taekwoon clad in black, eyebrows furrowing in concentration, arranging the vinyls onto their shelves. His eyes dart to the side, Hyuk, big and still growing as he is, nowhere to be found. He steals a glance at Taekwoon again, soft, fringe concealing his forehead, a beautiful contrast of black soft hair against pale skin. He takes a step back before skipping out of the store, and in his rush, Hongbin trips over his very own clumsiness. If Taekwoon hadn't noticed him there before, he probably has now.
“Sir, are you alrig-” Taekwoon’s voice soft and too familiar it makes Hongbin nerves swell up.
“Yes!” Hongbin screeches, scrambling up to his feet, making sure he’s looking ahead and scurrying away and out of the store faster than his feet could possible allow.
Later, Hyuk calls him to ask about what happened, and then, after hearing a detailed retelling from Hongbin about it he says “I saw him. He squirmed like a cat when the guy who helped me said he need to see what another customer wanted.”
Hongbin laughs, he can definitely affirm to the ‘squirming like a cat’ part. He have seen Taekwoon after all.
A few days of that incident, finds Hongbin at the bar at the street opposite to Taekwoon’s apartment, too self aware and calculating. From this bar and from where he’s sitting fifteen steps to the sidewalk, he’d have to cross the street, seven steps, to the apartment complex, four steps, climbing up twenty steps, to Taekwoon’s door, five. Hongbin’s kind of meticulous like that. Wonsik, who works as a bartender here on Tuesdays, a call boy on weekends (where Hongbin knows him from), pours him a drink when he asks, listens to him complain and all he could offer is just that, he listens. In the end, he tells Hongbin he probably doesn’t know enough, but gets the gist of it; leaving things unsolved for too long is never good, and that Hongbin should maybe get what’s bothering him out of the way as soon as he could. Wonsik doesn’t need to know what exactly it is Hongbin is talking about but Hongbin’s running. Sometimes running into what you’re running away from is the only way you can get away. Is what he tells him.
He’s probably right, too.
Hongbin’s throat hurts, his chest burns when he swallows, and he’s a bit too intoxicated, but better this way. He would rather be lost in a hazy envisage when it doesn’t mean anything.
He’s also still hesitant to see Taekwoon. Like, it’s gotten too complicated already and that bothers him to no end.
“Alright, alright. I am going to have to get it out of the way somehow, sometime. So why not now, right? Is what you’re saying?” Hongbin says, peering up at Wonsik who’s nodding at him.
Hongbin leaves, walking out into the cold air, steps somewhere between relaxed and rushed, only stopping once to catch his breathe. It gets kind of exhausting when it’s cold and everything sways too fast too much, so he bobs down for a minute. Humming that tune he’s just heard playing in the bar. It’s catchy and rolls easy on his tongue. He doesn’t notice it at first, but the sidewalk’s bustling with life. And it’s too astir for him to be sitting down on the sidewalk like this when everyone’s hurrying off somewhere, slamming into each other, wrapped in large scarves and overcoats, briskly moving, looking for something.
Running into something.
He feels like laughing, cowered at the corner of a sidewalk, legs too weak, too cowardly, to carry him where he has to be. He’s digging into his pockets for a pack of cigarettes but it’s empty and scrunched up and he tosses it aside with meaning. Resting his head against the cold concrete wall, fingernails running a long the gravel with a freakish sound. He’s starting to loose feeling in his legs but it’s cold and dark and he’s too tired to care.
“Hongbin?” a small voice, one he could distinguish anywhere though. Not many people sound like this. “Hongbin-ah, is that you?” He’s getting closer, and Hongbin finds himself turning his face towards the wall, away from the voice. There’s a sudden warmth over his shoulder, a cloth being draped over him, someone sitting down beside him. He doesn’t say anything for a while, making Hongbin itch with curiosity. Stealing a glance from under his bangs, a smile he can’t help keep off his own face.
Slowly, he turns facing Taekwoon full on. He’s so close there, feels like he’s hovering over Hongbin’s entire existence. There’s a tiny crease between his eyebrows, Hongbin notices. It’s cold and dark, flickering of neon lights around the streets illuminate his face curiously, he looks beautiful like that, and Hongbin is itching to touch him.
Wetting his lips, the fleeting thought of kissing Taekwoon occurs to him, and what his brain won’t shut up about is wanting Taekwoon closer, wanting Taekwoon’s hands under his shirt, and the warmth of his body against every inch of his being. He wants all these. He’s willing to discard his own ‘work ethics’ for as much as he wants Taekwoon.
So Hongbin presses flush against Taekwoon without hesitation, lips on his, pressing hard, a clank of teeth. It’s kind of messy, eager and wanting, fingers twisting and untwisting around the collar of Taekwoon’s shirt, the faint taste of blood ensuing on his tongue.
Taekwoon’s hands are on either side of his face, his fingers in a soothing motion, cupping his face, calming him down. When they break away, his skin glows bright with the fluorescent lights, and his lips are bloody and he looks beautiful.
When Hongbin tries to kiss him again, Taekwoon holds him still, so gently that he doesn’t feel the nasty sting of a rejection. He’s tugging Hongbin up, retrieving the coat that had fallen off his shoulder and holding it up for him to put on, one sleeve at a time. Hongbin slips his arm into one and twirls around, once, laughing full-heartedly when Taekwoon gets that strange look on his face. When he slips into the other sleeve, this time, he clasps against Taekwoon’s chest, arms around the small of his back and face nuzzling into his neck. He could probably feel a pulse there, and it’s so soft and tender, it could break easily. Probably.
“You’re warm.” He whispers against Taekwoon’s skin, feeling a sudden weakness and exhaustion. “So warm, mmm,” he’s struggling to keep up with Taekwoon who’s telling him they’re about to cross the street. Who’s got a hand firm around his waist, holding him to his side and walking them both fast, too fast for Hongbin, he can barely keep up with the how many steps they are.
He just wants to kiss Taekwoon. He just wants it to feel good and warm. He’d probably get away with kissing his neck for now, and as it seems, Taekwoon’s grasp tightens around his waist as if roused up from Hongbin’s touch.
More steps, he’s lost count of how many steps they were. They’re at the stairs of Taekwoon’s apartment complex. Taekwoon’s giving him a concerned look before telling him to be careful that they’re going to be climbing those. But Hongbin knows he’ll be alright, clung to Taekwoon’s side, he could take him anywhere and he’d know he’ll be alight.
And when they’re finally inside the apartment, a door shuts, Hongbin presses Taekwoon against the door, hands clasped against it. “I am going to kiss you for real now,” He says, not asking, merely informing.
Hongbin kisses the pulse on Taekwoon’s neck first, soft and nimble, sucking wet and hard, eager to leave a mark, and only feels satisfied when he feels the blood drawn up, tricking to purple bruises. He can feel Taekwoon breathe hitches, hands bracketing his hips, then sliding up his spine; he wants Hongbin closer just as much as Hongbin wants him. He’s marking the line of his jaw with a string of kisses, up his chin and the corner of his lips, until he has him full and completely on the mouth.
He’s got his fingers interlaced into Taekwoon’s hair, and he thinks about what sound Taekwoon will make if he tugs harder; how a groan from him would feel against his own mouth. He finds himself laughing instead, a nervous sound stirred with deep ache and yearning. He lifts himself off and up against Taekwoon, fitting their hips together, reeling them in a slow rhythm. He’s tugging once, but strong enough for Taekwoon to respond by stepping up on his toes, pushing against him, and kissing him harder.
Onto the couch, shirts off, Hongbin kissing on Taekwoon, hot blood whirling under their skins, fast breaths making them dizzy, and it feels so good, so fucking good.
Taekwoon’s head tips back against the couch, and his breath is hitched as it rushes out of him, Hongbin moving up to press their lips together and feel that groan vibrate against his tongue.
He looks up, and sees Taekwoon's glazed eyes sharpening on him. He feels his eyes burn, his mouth sore, his throat raw. Somewhere along the way, Hongbin didn’t mean to, but he’s probably got the same look on his face. It doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself.
It doesn’t mean anything. He just likes Taekwoon a little bit.
-
Hongbin wakes up to the smell of coffee, and finds himself on Taekwoon’s couch. Cold and undressed he steals a glance over his shoulder to find Taekwoon rustling in the kitchen. The ghost of a smile brushes his lips and he can’t say he didn’t see this coming, Taekwoon has been nothing but nice to him, it’s just absolutely predictable he’d be making breakfast the morning after. Wanting to go unnoticed, Hongbin carefully lifts himself off the couch, and tiptoes his way into the bathroom when Taekwoon’s not looking. When he clicks the door close behind him, he finds himself staring at his own reflection in the mirror across, hair a mess; disheveled and stuck to his neck from sweat, his skin is glistening with it too, so he walks into the shower and scrapes himself clean. Get any reminder of anything happening off. He’d have to if he wanted Taekwoon to be nothing more than a slight attraction to him. There’s a towel hanging off a rack when the water running, it smells of clean laundry and cologne, he wonders if Taekwoon put it for him or if it had always been there.
The smell of bacon and eggs wafts through the corridor the second Hongbin unfastens the lock on the door, waddling up to the kitchen and wolfing down his breakfast as Taekwoon pours them both coffee. There’s a song playing from the record player in the living room. He recognizes it as the song Taekwoon left on repeat the first time he’d been to his apartment.
Humming along, bobbing his head to the tune, Taekwoon tells him he could borrow his clothes again if he ever needed to. “Did I bring your other shirt back?” Hongbin asks, mouth full. “I am sorry, I forget most things.”
“I don’t mind,” Taekwoon says, drinking his coffee. A small smile which lasts only a second Hongbin thinks he imagined it. It’s a small thing really, but Hongbin feels a jolt of excitement run up his spine when Taekwoon asks “Can I text you later?”
On the next weekend, Hongbin finds himself going to Taekwoon’s apartment at his own accord. He’s smiling big when Taekwoon gets the door too fast, perhaps just as pleased as Hongbin is. He throws his arms around Taekwoon’s middle and they stagger to the couch, giddy and reeling steps as they fall into a heap.
“Hi.” He says, heedless and whimsy, once on top of Taekwoon, their noses brushing. A quick peck, on the lips, too sweet and teasing, just like Hongbin, really. Taekwoon smiles, it’s Hongbin’s favourite smile in the world. He hates how big his is, and how dimples appear no matter how small he smiles, practices in front of the mirror for a smile that won’t go from ear to ear, won’t make his eyes look small; he’s conscious like that. But Taekwoon’s smile was beautiful, small mouth curling up nimbly, and it looks like it’s a smile which belongs to only him. Like Taekwoon only ever smiles that way when he’s smiling at Hongbin; so special and personal.
They kiss for the longest of time, and once their clothes are removed and kisses travel on their writhing bodies lips swollen and still greedily wanting more-Hongbin shows off a frilly black underwear. Won’t let Taekwoon lay his hands on it despite all the whining and squirming under him; holding down onto Taekwoon’s wrists.
“I feel pretty in it.” He tells Taekwoon, even though he doesn’t exactly ask, aching with curiosity however, Taekwoon’s face heats up. “Doesn’t it look pretty?” And he nods, his hands wriggling out of Hongbin’s touch and onto Hongbin’s waist prodding him down towards him, close enough to be able to kiss his lips for as much as he needs to. Long enough to convey how much he really thinks Hongbin is beautiful to him.
And Hongbin kisses him because he likes the way he smiles and he likes the way his fingers touch on his skin, and he likes Taekwoon just all together.
For a while, he doesn’t realize it himself but it happens too fast and gradual. The moments he spent with Taekwoon were his favorite ones.
Going to class that day, the one thought Hongbin could not keep off his his mind were many and many ones about Taekwoon. When Hongbin thinks of Taekwoon everything starts to feel like he’s been on drugs, deliriously bringing bits and pieces of Taekwoon together; this tune, these warm clothes, and the window laying bare the bustling of the city, sirens and neon lights. Sometimes, it’s the couch, and their bodies; Taekwoon’s warmth and touch.
Taekwoon’s a warm person, and it’s a different kind of warm than the one Hongbin feels in his own apartment, in his own bed, covered up in blankets and away from prying people. It was a brand new feeling, one he only exclusively felt around Taekwoon. So when he kept coming back, no one could blame him.
It became a habit of Hongbin to stop by Taekwoon’s apartment after class, where Taekwoon would have dinner ready and they’d eat together listening to songs Hongbin has never heard before and later, he would sway to the music while Taekwoon does the dishes, Hongbin hurrying to help him only when he gets called a brat.
Sometimes, Hongbin’d get random texts when he’s at class, home in his bed or at the bar with Wonsik. They’re always short and to the point much like the way Taekwoon speaks. come here, i’m making galbi. or there’s a good movie it starts in 20 mins. but it’s almost always just this: i am bored when are you coming over. that Hongbin decides Taekwoon only needs to resend it and doesn’t actually type it every time. When he stays in on a week day, skipping class and hiding under the covers, he texts Taekwoon because he knows he’d reply in an instant, ask him how his day is, and Hongbin would lie about the class taking long and the professor giving so much homework. Talking to Taekwoon made it better. It was a short-lived happiness, away from any overthought he could have had when he was alone in his bed.
Hongbin comes in late some nights, still, somehow knowing Taekwoon would leave the apartment door open, they’d watch movies for hours, anything they could find on TV, even bad ones somehow bearable when they’re huddled up close, half watching, half touching and kissing one another. Sometimes, Hongbin would bring over a DVD, Hyuk has many of them he keeps recommending to Hongbin, they’d watch these attentively and once over Hongbin would go out on the balcony for a smoke, and Taekwoon would join, watching the city lights flicker, making peculiar shapes against Hongbin’s face.
Other times, Hongbin would walk in to an empty apartment and lots of homework to be done, Taekwoon still at work at the record store. He would wait, working diligently on his own essays till Taekwoon came home. Passed out, most of these times before Taekwoon would return, Hongbin would be on the couch, on the floor, on Taekwoon’s bed, hunched over the kitchen counter, just anywhere he had been restlessly thinking of Taekwoon before he got home. He’d climb into bed after a struggle, grumpily waking and complaining about how quite the apartment was, how he couldn’t remember what was that song he’s swayed to the other night. How he couldn’t concentrate without it turned up, without Taekwoon cooking up something in the kitchen, without Taekwoon talking. Without Taekwoon.
All that would make Taekwoon adore him a lot, crave him more, and love him most.
“This place wouldn’t mean much to me if I hadn’t met you.” Hongbin says one night, lying down on Taekwoon’s bed, looking up at the ceiling. Taekwoon’s just gotten back from work and is changing into something comfortable before climbing up into bed beside Hongbin who instantly wraps his legs around Taekwoon’s middle and pulls him closer into a hug. Taekwoon gets a whiff of his fragrance and then it’s Hongbin all around. The tang of his arrogance, his rebellion and his twisted affections all at once tearing at Taekwoon’s senses.
“It’s not so quiet anymore.” Taekwoon says, eventually, wrying his face away from where Hongbin’s holds it flush against his chest, close, too close he hears every heart beat of his.
“Yeah?” Hongbin who’s smiling wide now, dimples and all, “So it isn’t just me,” he buries his face into Taekwoon’s shoulders, and Taekwoon thinks he imagines it, but his eyes are overflowing with tears when he says. “I’m glad.”
Taekwoon kisses him then. He kisses him like he could not bear a life without him. Holds his face close and nuzzles his cheeks, thumb brushing his earlobe fondly, and eyelashes fluttering when he leans in. It feels like the longest of nights, their bones and sinews getting heavier by every touch, and Taekwoon’s whispers throb against Hongbin’s skin and mouth. And they sound like i love you’s.
Hongbin sighs into him and Taekwoon feels the stir of something grave deep within him.
So it happens without a warning. Without a text. Without leaving a note. Without one last call. Hongbin leaves.
Hongbin leaves and it feels like he took all the air Taekwoon breathed along with him. The apartment which only just started to feel like a home filled with an unbearable stuffiness. The record player untouched, no music, no Hongbin swaying to the melody, no reason for Taekwoon’s smile. Room’s empty, bed unmade, ingredients untouched in the kitchen. No one to make dinner for, no Hongbin who asks him to pack him the leftovers for his roommate. He’s felt a stuffiness he thought was long gone and no more; lying in bed wide awake, a second away from calling Hongbin’s number, he’d look at the last text he’s received from him.
You can do so much better than me. And he wants to say: there’s no one better than you. But knowing he won’t get an answer back makes it even worse. Living with sitting still because it will send Hongbin the other way. Chase him away instead of bringing him back.
Hongbin went and took along his youth and his arrogance and his rebellion and his twisted affections. And along, it felt like he took all of Taekwoon.
It catches Taekwoon off guard how empty he felt without Hongbin.
Perhaps it’s the way he looked at Hongbin. He shouldn’t have looked at him like that. He shouldn’t have looked at him like it was love. Hongbin wasn’t that sort of person, Taekwoon would do anything, he’d bring back time if he could. He won’t look at Hongbin that way if it were to chase him away. It wasn’t love. It was something like it. If it wasn’t quite it, just something like it, he could be here. Hongbin could still be here.
Still, he waits for the door to be swung open and Hongbin with a borrowed DVD, or empty-handed shrugging at Taekwoon.
Hakyeon, his friend of years, hauls him up and out of bed, tries to get him to do something, anything other than mop around all day-and night. At last. He gives up, offering to make Taekwoon something to eat and taking over his shifts at the record store. What he also does is listen. He listens to Taekwoon’s wordless anguish and offers a shoulder to lean on.
“I didn’t love him -I don’t think.” Taekwoon croaks one night, and Hakyeon, all too knowingly nods. “I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s okay.” he tells him “It’s okay to not know.”
-
One night when the clock reads 3:46,, Taekwoon drags his feet towards the bed. He could smell Hongbin on it; distinctly of leather and saccharine spice, it is just so Hongbin. And it makes Taekwoon’s head aches, burying his face in the jaggy fabric, pressing too hard he starts to see different colors against his eyelids.
4:05, the phone buzzes, and he scrambles up on the bed to get ahold of it, but it’s just a text from Hakyeon, confirming that he’s filling in for Taekwoon’s shift. He stares at his screen for a while. Hesitant and filled with worry and nerves.
I don’t love you. please come home.
He hits send.
Over the next few days, Taekwoon’s mornings go by the same way, waking up with a heaviness in his chest, pacing around the apartment looking for any trace of Hongbin, places he might have touched. He makes coffee then, sets it on the counter after pouring himself some and staying outside on the balcony for the longest time. It’s often still too early when he does, the sun not out yet and the city a grotesque tint.
On evenings, he takes a smoke outside, takes a couple of drags before stomping on the waning stick, and pulling out another. He’s not sure when had he started smoking, a packet of Hongbin in the inside of his jacket, most of his belongings ephemeral just like his memories. He stays out there for as long as the numbness in his veins allows, and mostly to the last dwell of dusk. His fingers are stained black with ash and dirt collecting under his fingernails, and he tries to wipe it against tattered jeans, just along the other stains from cigarettes’ butts, but it’s prominent and demanding like the inkling he feels in his chest.
And when he climbs into bed and ignores Hakyeon’s texts and calls, he finds Hongbin’s shirt on the chair in his bedroom, and his stupid handwriting on a tissue paper, from a long movie night. I had a dream you said you loved me. It sits there irking Taekwoon, making him angry and sad all at once, and the words he wants to scream at Hongbin are stuck right under the clump in his throat.
I don’t love you. please come home.
The phone doesn’t ring.
Hongbin doesn’t call.
Taekwoon, however, stills expects him.
Then, it’s one night when sirens are too loud and lights too bright and Taekwoon lies down on the couch with a throbbing pain his head and a heaviness in his bones. A drunken voice calls for him, he’s unsure for at least five minutes, until it registers with him, makes his heart beat faster as he stands way too quick.
He looks outside the balcony and it’s Hongbin yelling at him, a bottle caught in his hands, and eyes brimming with tears, nose runny as he wipes it against the sleeve of his shirt. Before he could make sense of anything else, Taekwoon’s running out of his apartment, down the stairs and then there he is outside the cold air thwacking against his face and Hongbin repeating those heart wrenching words he’s never wanted to hear. Not like this. Not when Hongbin’s drunk and angry and the air is tense and everybody’s watching.
“It’s okay to love me.” He keeps saying, and his voice is breaking every single time he tries to croak the words out. And Taekwoon, hesitantly reaching for Hongbin, holding his face closer so he wouldn’t have to yell so loud, try so hard to make Taekwoon realize.
“I don’t. Bin-ah.You don’t have to leave, I don’t love you, pleas-”
Then, a loud sob out of Hongbin, a frustrated gush, pink lights illuminating against his tear soaked face “No, you asshole. Just please fucking love me.”
fin.
word count: 7.5k
summary: “This place wouldn’t mean much to me if I hadn’t met you.” Hongbin says one night, lying down on Taekwoon’s bed, looking up at the ceiling.
a/n: for travis, also a fic mix yeee
like being in love
There’s a loud thud from the apartment upstairs. From where Taekwoon is sitting he could hear a door slammed, a chair screeching against the floor. He could probably hear a conversation in the hallway if he were to pay attention. The hazy sounds of the city through the balcony window in the main room, and the fluorescent lights flickering through. But inside the apartment the air’s filled with a suffocating stillness, an emptiness engulfing it like a blanket. Taekwoon feels the same way- tense; drowsy and strung out from waiting. He’s perched on the floor, knees hugged to his chest, socked feet drumming lightly to the ticking of the clock. He had been this way for a while now; waiting still. The table has been set up no less than an hour ago, empty glasses and a pot on the stove.
Listening carefully for the door, he senses a presence before three steady knocks come. His legs stretch out instantly, pushing himself up with nervousness, hurrying up to the door, only he takes a moment to loosen up before pulling it open in case it actually looked like he was in a hurry. On the other side of the door, there’s a big smile, a nice one, dimpled too. The boy looks past him, around the apartment, heedful and doe-eyed, and Taekwoon moves aside to let him in. He’s around the same height, perhaps a tiny bit shorter. His hair, nut-brown, long and pulled up in disarray. He’s dressed completely in black; an expensive-looking fleece overcoat hangs on broad shoulders. It makes Taekwoon uneasy when he sees him toss it to the cheap couch. He moves oddly; feather-like and unsteady, examines the book shelf behind the couch, knees digging deep into the couch and shirt riding up. It feels wrong, having him here at all; a celestial being such as himself in this boxy apartment, leaning on that worn out couch.
“Is this all yours?” He asks, a low and steady sound which Taekwoon only nods to. He touches a finger to the spines of books, tongue clicking, a dimple on one cheek. Taekwoon feels a slight dizziness, a need to exist the room; unable to breathe with this person’s huge enticement. He tips his head forward, feeling the heat in his own face spreading all the way to his ears.“This is incredible, how do you have so many first editions?” He spins around on one foot, looks at Taekwoon. At last.
“I’ve always collected books.” And Taekwoon, shrugs.
There, he nods, plops down on the couch, smoothes the fabric with dainty fingers. “I wish I read as much as I’d like to,” he turns to look at Taekwoon now, “I mean lately, it’s been good enough to just stay fucking alive.” He tips his head back, eyes darting around the room as if to inspect it further; getting the unfamiliarity out of the way.
It feels strange, the apartment, no longer quiet; his voice washing off the ghostly air. he speaks for a long time but even so, he doesn’t get too worked up. A hollowness behind each word; he speaks almost as if all of his bones have dissolved, all the blood in his veins has dried, like there’s a numbness somewhere deep within him. It looks exhausting; feeling nothing and everything at the same time. It also looks familiar.
The apartment might not feel empty anymore, but there’s a certain heaviness in the air that Taekwoon can’t seem to shake off. Propping himself down, only a few inches away from the boy, at the edge of the couch, really. If he were to make even the slightest of move, their knees would make contact.
“I am Hongbin,” He’s looking at him now, an arm resting at the back of the couch as he leans in closer “Are you okay? You’re too tense,” A hand on Taekwoon’s thigh, “Don’t worry, I am going to make you feel fucking incredible,” He says, a hoarse whisper that makes Taekwoon unintentionally tip his head to the front, face reddening. Hongbin sits back then, a sigh escapes his lips- the intensity in his voice only a second ago replaced with a skittish grin. “Can I use your toilet?” Taekwoon nods almost immediately, it’s a bit embarrassing but Hongbin doesn’t even notice, gets up from the couch and into the tiny washroom at the end of the hall.
In his haste to get the wine from the corner shelf, Taekwoon, complete with nervousness, knocks a chair down. He’s been nervous the whole day and it won’t stop, not even now. In fact, it had only gotten worse. Hongbin probably doesn’t know what being nervous is. He probably doesn’t even need to. It seems like an unnecessary emotion to people like Hongbin. People like Hongbin- are probably made of gold and stardust; unattainable, too ideal.
Taekwoon watches the door the entire time, decides to put on a Cocteau Twins song and forgets to turn up the volume until a full minute later with eyes still glued to that very door.
Moments later, Hongbin’s wandering into the hallway, there’s a sly look on his face, tongue clicking against white perfect teeth. He steadies himself, an arm around the frame of Taekwoon’s bedroom door. One feet up- on his toes, an artful smile, eyes wolfish and impatient. He’s swaying to the music, disappearing into the room.
And there’s Taekwoon waiting, the soup he’s made is over the stove- should he be getting it now? Or should he be-
In the room; a curious din.
There’s a low, flimsy sound of clothes being removed, fabric grazing skin. A slight grunt from Hongbin, a coarse noise. There’s a shirt flung across the room, the pair of leather pants he had been wearing, next. There’s that fuck-me groan, this time a lot more like a frazzled whine. Hongbin’s voice then, whiny and aggravated “You still haven’t told me your name,” It’s slightly muffled, and Taekwoon finds himself in the room with Hongbin there. He looks so defeated and small, with his back curled, rubbing a palm into his eyes as he sits at the corner of Taekwoon’s bed wearing nothing but a pair of lacy, black, underpants. He looks at Taekwoon and smiles- that awful smile; like he knows exactly what Taekwoon is thinking.
“It’s Taekwoon.” He squeaks as he picks up the discarded clothes, tosses them on a chair. “I’ve-”
“Come to bed, Taekwoon,” He says, there’s a giggle, “which one is your side?” he asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question, climbing into bed, by then, Taekwoon notices the slurring in his words, his feet unsteady and struggling to push himself up. “Need to keep me warm, Taekwoon-ah.”
“I made you soup,” Taekwoon blurts, embarrassed “and dinner- um.. I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I made ramyun, no one hates ramyun, usually. Do you? Hate ramyun I mean,”
Hongbin’s giving him a confused look, squinting his eyes as if struggling with a thought in his tipsiness. “I thought we were going to fuck, not play house.” he snorts, stretching across the bed, his hair in his face, feet dangling off the side of the bed. “You’re fucking adorable,” He tugs at the sheets, wraps them around his shoulder, and a huge grin. “No one ever actually made me dinner before we fuck. Or after.” His voice is lower, perhaps even more now that it’s being weighed down with sleep, “Or ever, really.”
It’s quiet for a while, Taekwoon standing by the door, unsure of what he should do next or if Hongbin is going to stop swaying to the music as he sits in his bed like that. There’s hardly a sound but that of the song vibrating around the apartment. But then Hongbin’s lying on his side, blanket pulled up over his head and a pillow instinctively lugged into his arms.
Switching off the light, Taekwoon closes the bedroom door, and pours himself some soup.
In the morning, when Taekwoon looks out of the balcony window, there’s a pink ribbon in the sky. He had only been able to get a few hours of sleep on the terrible couch; mind too preoccupied with Hongbin in his own bed.
Suddenly, there’s a pale light at the end of the hall and the faint click of the bedroom door. The neon numbers of the clock flicker 6:06 AM.
Coffee made, set on the counter. Awaiting Hongbin who comes out of the bathroom five minutes later, still undressed. Not completely awake either. He sinks down onto the couch and closes his eyes, looking so worn out and drowsy with sleep still, Taekwoon can’t help but feel like he doesn’t belong in this scene, familiar as it looks.
He pours Hongbin a cup of coffee, makes sure he’s had a sip and is holding it securely between twos hands before he goes for the bathroom himself. When he comes back, Hongbin is sitting upright, rubbing a sleepy eye and looking at Taekwoon. “I can’t go to class with my own clothes,” he’s sighing, fingers carding into his hair in frustration, “and by the looks of it I’d passed out way too fucking early.”
“You were tired.”
He snorts. “I still owe you, though.” he sets the cup on the table, “But I really do need a ride first… and something to wear.”
Taekwoon ends up lending him a white knit sweater that looks at least two sizes larger on him, sleeves too long, his fingers curling around their ends, scarcely visible- and though he won’t say it, Taekwoon thinks Hongbin looks sort of nice like that, but also too frail; like he’d break to even the slightest of touch.
Shoving his clothes from last night into the backpack he’s brought, the expensive coat draped over his shoulders, one last sip of the coffee on the counter (Taekwoon’s) and Hongbin’s out of the door, trailing behind Taekwoon and climbing into the front seat of his car.
The entire ride, a soothing trance; the radio barely turned up- 80’s popular tracks playing in the background just like in a movie. Taekwoon steals a glance to his right where Hongbin’s sleeping. He’s all puffy cheeks, and dark lashes against pale skin, his lips parted- mumbling something inaudible every other minute or so. His head tips over, shaking slightly, and eyebrows furrowing when Taekwoon takes a turn, or comes to a sudden halt.
In the end, nothing but fifteen minutes away from his apartment, Taekwoon stops at the entrance of the university Hongbin goes to. It gives Taekwoon a strange feeling; how ghostly this place looks. So early in the morning, in this particular area of the city; the air covered in layers of mist. It looks like a completely different place, quiet and tranquil; the people moving with leaden steps, perhaps a few cars parked by the gate, a grey tone filling the air. Where Taekwoon lives, is an always busy drift, especially at night; chain smokers outside his building, a group of young people always causing trouble to the short-tempered bartender at the end of the street, a boy and a girl who’re always looking for something new to do. It’s never the same, and it’s precisely why Taekwoon loves the city and the balcony window that allows him a glimpse at it.
Perhaps what struck him as strange was not how different it was, but rather, how familiar it felt.
When he moves to nudge Hongbin awake, he’s already wriggling out of his seatbelt muttering hurriedly and collecting his things.
“Look, I am going to see you later.” He’s stepping out of the car, leaning down so that he’s looking at Taekwoon. What he says next confounds Taekwoon a little bit. “This place’s terrible. I really hate it here.” A pause. Looking away, then back at Taekwoon again. “Not you, though.”
The door slams, he’s bouncing up on the steps -Taekwoon can see those dimples he’d grown too fond of, even when he’s not looking at him at all. There’s a tall boy by Hongbin’s side suddenly and they’re both smiling, nose-scrunched-up-eyes-squinted smiling. Hongbin slips out of his coat, helps the boy put it on, taps his shoulder once and then they’re gone.
Before he drives back to the apartment, Taekwoon stops by the grocery store.
-
In his history class, the last one on that day, Hongbin slumps down on the table with an exasperated sigh. It’s slightly cold, its glossy surface coming in contact with his face, a slight shiver. Hyuk, whom he’s known since middle school, is beside him, petting his hair and repeatedly calling his name in a soft sing-song voice.
“Hyung, you need to get proper sleep sometime.” Hyuk says, fingers laced in Hongbin’s hair. The professor announces himself, the hall fills up with students too eager to listen and write down what’s being told, and Hyuk plays with his hair still.
For the remaining hour, Hongbin drifts off, it’s only an elective anyways, and he’s only here because Hyuk didn’t want to stay alone through this. Hyuk takes note diligently, scribbles into his notebook studiously, but his other hand never stopped touching Hongbin; playing with his hair, stroking the back of his neck, soft, reassuring touches that make Hongbin feel a little bit sane.
It’s a reassurance Hyuk knows Hongbin damn well needs; he’s been away for three days, for the longest time, really. Hyuk doesn’t say anything about it, though. He knows Hongbin hates being asked. So he doesn’t. It’s not like Hongbin wouldn’t tell him if he did ask. But it’s also exactly that it’s Hongbin. Hongbin who tends to set out and disappear in the middle of the night too often, ignores his phone, way too often. Asking him questions, and waiting for answers, it ties him down.
Hongbin hates it the most.
He’s never belonged to anyone; hates being tied down to one place, takes off every time someone tries to make him.
In a way, Hyuk’s blithe like that. Which is exactly why Hongbin values his company, his child-like innocence and curiosity, along with his strange sense of loyalty- Hongbin cares for it a lot. He’s always been there for Hongbin, giving and never expecting anything back. Things like his lecture notes, his expensive clothes, his own very time, they’re all things he gives Hongbin without hesitation, always there whenever Hongbin comes back, making him feel good and less lonely.
In a way, he was his anchor.
They’re eating lunch outside, sitting on the steps, Hongbin’s leaning against the wall, rubbing his eyes and listening to Hyuk tell him about the sitcom he’s recorded for Hongbin the other night.
“I’m not coming tonight.” Hongbin says, taking a bite out of Hyuk’s sandwich nonetheless. “Don’t delete it though, I’ll watch it when I come over.” There’s a promise which Hyuk doesn’t hold him to. But Hyuk also never deletes these. When Hongbin does come, they binge watch episodes of things Hyuk’s pre-recorded, order take out -Thai, always- and stay up the entire night only for Hongbin to be gone when Hyuk wakes up from a strange dream at five in the morning.
“That guy came by the apartment last night as well,” Hyuk says, a minute after. When he says Hongbin’s scowl something in his stomach twists “I wish there was a way I could have intimidated him for you, but in the end he just said he’ll come back some other time.”
Hongbin snorts, “You couldn’t intimidate a cat if you tried.” He reaches for Hyuk’s face, tugs at his cheek, then sighs, “I feel bad whenever you get dragged into my fuck ups. That guy wasn’t supposed to find out where I live and I figured he’d just get bored eventually.” A pause, a quick apologetic look, “He probably will. But, I’ll be careful next time. Hyoggi.” Hongbin heaves another sigh then, leaning back, on his elbows, legs outstretched on the concrete steps, Hyuk shooting him a concerned look.
They stay that way for a while; exchanging a comfortable silence, an unspoken affinity.
While they’re walking on campus, Hongbin comes to the realization that later today, he’s going to have to take a cab to Taekwoon’s apartment or he’d have to hear how unhappy his boss is about this whole ordeal. The mere thought makes him irritated. He really has never met Taekwoon before last night, yet, Takewoon has given him his clothes, he’s given him a ride and he’s probably out there grocery shopping to cook him dinner tonight. It’s irritating and awkward as it is.
It’s not like this is the first time someone got clingy. It’s not anything like that at all, actually. Hongbin’s only doing his job, or at least he was supposed to. Yet he’s been made dinner he never asked for. It shouldn’t have gotten so complicated. Whoever got Taekwoon’s call clearly never made it notable enough he was paying for a fuck, not a boyfriend. But it’s things like Taekwoon’s morning coffee and Taekwoon’s shirt on his skin that dissolve all of his irritations; he thinks of Taekwoon fondly. He’s probably one of those people who only know to be this way (kinda like Hyuk). He’s probably just a legitimately good guy with no clear sense of threat.
Hongbin’s thoughts grow heavier after Hyuk leaves.
He manages to blow off seeing Taekwoon for four days straight though; discreetly hiding behind a large scarf when walking outside with Hyuk after class. Hyuk gives him a look but does as told nonetheless; blocks his way and slows down every time someone looking even the slightest like Taekwoon shows a long. “But you said he’s not a terrible guy? Like, from what you’ve told me at least, he isn’t.”
“Hyoggi, I just don’t have the capacity to face anything today. I still owe the guy, okay?” Hongbin says, huffing and prodding Hyuk to keep moving now. “It’d be so fucking awkward if I just ran into him, like, oh, hey, I still owe you but I am not in the fucking mood right now, see you when I start feeling like it again? It doesn’t-I can’t possibly tell you how many things could go wrong from it, Hyuk. Wonsik is already making me feel like shit about it. Plus, what if my boss comes to find this out? It’s not the first time I’ve pulled shit like this you know. He’d be more than pleased to let me off all together.”
Hyuk click his tongue in concentration, “Which is what I’m saying, if the guy was at all bothered, he’d have called him up already- your boss I mean. Maybe it was a friend of his who wanted to give him something nice- for this birthday? I don’t know? You’re paid to make people feel good, that night might have done it for him.”
Hongbin groans. “It doesn’t work that way, dumbass. No one ever expects anything less than sex from us.”
“People experience loneliness differently, Binnie-hyung.”
Hongbin thinks about what Hyuk said a lot, and if it were true, wasn’t it sad? He’s probably the last one to be thinking it, considering the way he dealt with it wasn’t exactly ideal, either.
They walk into a record store, Hongbin’s paranoia subduing when he sees a vinyl running on the record player, too pleased to notice his surrounding, trailing behind Hyuk, fingers running on dusty shelves. And only too late, he realizes the familiarity of the tune playing. In his panic, he scans the store for Taekwoon and feels reassured when the staff member who approaches them is a smiling tanned boy.
“Are you looking for something specific?” He asks and Hyuk rants off the list he’d had written down when they’d been watching a movie the night before.
When Hongbin moves down the next aisle however, sure enough, there he is, Taekwoon clad in black, eyebrows furrowing in concentration, arranging the vinyls onto their shelves. His eyes dart to the side, Hyuk, big and still growing as he is, nowhere to be found. He steals a glance at Taekwoon again, soft, fringe concealing his forehead, a beautiful contrast of black soft hair against pale skin. He takes a step back before skipping out of the store, and in his rush, Hongbin trips over his very own clumsiness. If Taekwoon hadn't noticed him there before, he probably has now.
“Sir, are you alrig-” Taekwoon’s voice soft and too familiar it makes Hongbin nerves swell up.
“Yes!” Hongbin screeches, scrambling up to his feet, making sure he’s looking ahead and scurrying away and out of the store faster than his feet could possible allow.
Later, Hyuk calls him to ask about what happened, and then, after hearing a detailed retelling from Hongbin about it he says “I saw him. He squirmed like a cat when the guy who helped me said he need to see what another customer wanted.”
Hongbin laughs, he can definitely affirm to the ‘squirming like a cat’ part. He have seen Taekwoon after all.
A few days of that incident, finds Hongbin at the bar at the street opposite to Taekwoon’s apartment, too self aware and calculating. From this bar and from where he’s sitting fifteen steps to the sidewalk, he’d have to cross the street, seven steps, to the apartment complex, four steps, climbing up twenty steps, to Taekwoon’s door, five. Hongbin’s kind of meticulous like that. Wonsik, who works as a bartender here on Tuesdays, a call boy on weekends (where Hongbin knows him from), pours him a drink when he asks, listens to him complain and all he could offer is just that, he listens. In the end, he tells Hongbin he probably doesn’t know enough, but gets the gist of it; leaving things unsolved for too long is never good, and that Hongbin should maybe get what’s bothering him out of the way as soon as he could. Wonsik doesn’t need to know what exactly it is Hongbin is talking about but Hongbin’s running. Sometimes running into what you’re running away from is the only way you can get away. Is what he tells him.
He’s probably right, too.
Hongbin’s throat hurts, his chest burns when he swallows, and he’s a bit too intoxicated, but better this way. He would rather be lost in a hazy envisage when it doesn’t mean anything.
He’s also still hesitant to see Taekwoon. Like, it’s gotten too complicated already and that bothers him to no end.
“Alright, alright. I am going to have to get it out of the way somehow, sometime. So why not now, right? Is what you’re saying?” Hongbin says, peering up at Wonsik who’s nodding at him.
Hongbin leaves, walking out into the cold air, steps somewhere between relaxed and rushed, only stopping once to catch his breathe. It gets kind of exhausting when it’s cold and everything sways too fast too much, so he bobs down for a minute. Humming that tune he’s just heard playing in the bar. It’s catchy and rolls easy on his tongue. He doesn’t notice it at first, but the sidewalk’s bustling with life. And it’s too astir for him to be sitting down on the sidewalk like this when everyone’s hurrying off somewhere, slamming into each other, wrapped in large scarves and overcoats, briskly moving, looking for something.
Running into something.
He feels like laughing, cowered at the corner of a sidewalk, legs too weak, too cowardly, to carry him where he has to be. He’s digging into his pockets for a pack of cigarettes but it’s empty and scrunched up and he tosses it aside with meaning. Resting his head against the cold concrete wall, fingernails running a long the gravel with a freakish sound. He’s starting to loose feeling in his legs but it’s cold and dark and he’s too tired to care.
“Hongbin?” a small voice, one he could distinguish anywhere though. Not many people sound like this. “Hongbin-ah, is that you?” He’s getting closer, and Hongbin finds himself turning his face towards the wall, away from the voice. There’s a sudden warmth over his shoulder, a cloth being draped over him, someone sitting down beside him. He doesn’t say anything for a while, making Hongbin itch with curiosity. Stealing a glance from under his bangs, a smile he can’t help keep off his own face.
Slowly, he turns facing Taekwoon full on. He’s so close there, feels like he’s hovering over Hongbin’s entire existence. There’s a tiny crease between his eyebrows, Hongbin notices. It’s cold and dark, flickering of neon lights around the streets illuminate his face curiously, he looks beautiful like that, and Hongbin is itching to touch him.
Wetting his lips, the fleeting thought of kissing Taekwoon occurs to him, and what his brain won’t shut up about is wanting Taekwoon closer, wanting Taekwoon’s hands under his shirt, and the warmth of his body against every inch of his being. He wants all these. He’s willing to discard his own ‘work ethics’ for as much as he wants Taekwoon.
So Hongbin presses flush against Taekwoon without hesitation, lips on his, pressing hard, a clank of teeth. It’s kind of messy, eager and wanting, fingers twisting and untwisting around the collar of Taekwoon’s shirt, the faint taste of blood ensuing on his tongue.
Taekwoon’s hands are on either side of his face, his fingers in a soothing motion, cupping his face, calming him down. When they break away, his skin glows bright with the fluorescent lights, and his lips are bloody and he looks beautiful.
When Hongbin tries to kiss him again, Taekwoon holds him still, so gently that he doesn’t feel the nasty sting of a rejection. He’s tugging Hongbin up, retrieving the coat that had fallen off his shoulder and holding it up for him to put on, one sleeve at a time. Hongbin slips his arm into one and twirls around, once, laughing full-heartedly when Taekwoon gets that strange look on his face. When he slips into the other sleeve, this time, he clasps against Taekwoon’s chest, arms around the small of his back and face nuzzling into his neck. He could probably feel a pulse there, and it’s so soft and tender, it could break easily. Probably.
“You’re warm.” He whispers against Taekwoon’s skin, feeling a sudden weakness and exhaustion. “So warm, mmm,” he’s struggling to keep up with Taekwoon who’s telling him they’re about to cross the street. Who’s got a hand firm around his waist, holding him to his side and walking them both fast, too fast for Hongbin, he can barely keep up with the how many steps they are.
He just wants to kiss Taekwoon. He just wants it to feel good and warm. He’d probably get away with kissing his neck for now, and as it seems, Taekwoon’s grasp tightens around his waist as if roused up from Hongbin’s touch.
More steps, he’s lost count of how many steps they were. They’re at the stairs of Taekwoon’s apartment complex. Taekwoon’s giving him a concerned look before telling him to be careful that they’re going to be climbing those. But Hongbin knows he’ll be alright, clung to Taekwoon’s side, he could take him anywhere and he’d know he’ll be alight.
And when they’re finally inside the apartment, a door shuts, Hongbin presses Taekwoon against the door, hands clasped against it. “I am going to kiss you for real now,” He says, not asking, merely informing.
Hongbin kisses the pulse on Taekwoon’s neck first, soft and nimble, sucking wet and hard, eager to leave a mark, and only feels satisfied when he feels the blood drawn up, tricking to purple bruises. He can feel Taekwoon breathe hitches, hands bracketing his hips, then sliding up his spine; he wants Hongbin closer just as much as Hongbin wants him. He’s marking the line of his jaw with a string of kisses, up his chin and the corner of his lips, until he has him full and completely on the mouth.
He’s got his fingers interlaced into Taekwoon’s hair, and he thinks about what sound Taekwoon will make if he tugs harder; how a groan from him would feel against his own mouth. He finds himself laughing instead, a nervous sound stirred with deep ache and yearning. He lifts himself off and up against Taekwoon, fitting their hips together, reeling them in a slow rhythm. He’s tugging once, but strong enough for Taekwoon to respond by stepping up on his toes, pushing against him, and kissing him harder.
Onto the couch, shirts off, Hongbin kissing on Taekwoon, hot blood whirling under their skins, fast breaths making them dizzy, and it feels so good, so fucking good.
Taekwoon’s head tips back against the couch, and his breath is hitched as it rushes out of him, Hongbin moving up to press their lips together and feel that groan vibrate against his tongue.
He looks up, and sees Taekwoon's glazed eyes sharpening on him. He feels his eyes burn, his mouth sore, his throat raw. Somewhere along the way, Hongbin didn’t mean to, but he’s probably got the same look on his face. It doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself.
It doesn’t mean anything. He just likes Taekwoon a little bit.
-
Hongbin wakes up to the smell of coffee, and finds himself on Taekwoon’s couch. Cold and undressed he steals a glance over his shoulder to find Taekwoon rustling in the kitchen. The ghost of a smile brushes his lips and he can’t say he didn’t see this coming, Taekwoon has been nothing but nice to him, it’s just absolutely predictable he’d be making breakfast the morning after. Wanting to go unnoticed, Hongbin carefully lifts himself off the couch, and tiptoes his way into the bathroom when Taekwoon’s not looking. When he clicks the door close behind him, he finds himself staring at his own reflection in the mirror across, hair a mess; disheveled and stuck to his neck from sweat, his skin is glistening with it too, so he walks into the shower and scrapes himself clean. Get any reminder of anything happening off. He’d have to if he wanted Taekwoon to be nothing more than a slight attraction to him. There’s a towel hanging off a rack when the water running, it smells of clean laundry and cologne, he wonders if Taekwoon put it for him or if it had always been there.
The smell of bacon and eggs wafts through the corridor the second Hongbin unfastens the lock on the door, waddling up to the kitchen and wolfing down his breakfast as Taekwoon pours them both coffee. There’s a song playing from the record player in the living room. He recognizes it as the song Taekwoon left on repeat the first time he’d been to his apartment.
Humming along, bobbing his head to the tune, Taekwoon tells him he could borrow his clothes again if he ever needed to. “Did I bring your other shirt back?” Hongbin asks, mouth full. “I am sorry, I forget most things.”
“I don’t mind,” Taekwoon says, drinking his coffee. A small smile which lasts only a second Hongbin thinks he imagined it. It’s a small thing really, but Hongbin feels a jolt of excitement run up his spine when Taekwoon asks “Can I text you later?”
On the next weekend, Hongbin finds himself going to Taekwoon’s apartment at his own accord. He’s smiling big when Taekwoon gets the door too fast, perhaps just as pleased as Hongbin is. He throws his arms around Taekwoon’s middle and they stagger to the couch, giddy and reeling steps as they fall into a heap.
“Hi.” He says, heedless and whimsy, once on top of Taekwoon, their noses brushing. A quick peck, on the lips, too sweet and teasing, just like Hongbin, really. Taekwoon smiles, it’s Hongbin’s favourite smile in the world. He hates how big his is, and how dimples appear no matter how small he smiles, practices in front of the mirror for a smile that won’t go from ear to ear, won’t make his eyes look small; he’s conscious like that. But Taekwoon’s smile was beautiful, small mouth curling up nimbly, and it looks like it’s a smile which belongs to only him. Like Taekwoon only ever smiles that way when he’s smiling at Hongbin; so special and personal.
They kiss for the longest of time, and once their clothes are removed and kisses travel on their writhing bodies lips swollen and still greedily wanting more-Hongbin shows off a frilly black underwear. Won’t let Taekwoon lay his hands on it despite all the whining and squirming under him; holding down onto Taekwoon’s wrists.
“I feel pretty in it.” He tells Taekwoon, even though he doesn’t exactly ask, aching with curiosity however, Taekwoon’s face heats up. “Doesn’t it look pretty?” And he nods, his hands wriggling out of Hongbin’s touch and onto Hongbin’s waist prodding him down towards him, close enough to be able to kiss his lips for as much as he needs to. Long enough to convey how much he really thinks Hongbin is beautiful to him.
And Hongbin kisses him because he likes the way he smiles and he likes the way his fingers touch on his skin, and he likes Taekwoon just all together.
For a while, he doesn’t realize it himself but it happens too fast and gradual. The moments he spent with Taekwoon were his favorite ones.
Going to class that day, the one thought Hongbin could not keep off his his mind were many and many ones about Taekwoon. When Hongbin thinks of Taekwoon everything starts to feel like he’s been on drugs, deliriously bringing bits and pieces of Taekwoon together; this tune, these warm clothes, and the window laying bare the bustling of the city, sirens and neon lights. Sometimes, it’s the couch, and their bodies; Taekwoon’s warmth and touch.
Taekwoon’s a warm person, and it’s a different kind of warm than the one Hongbin feels in his own apartment, in his own bed, covered up in blankets and away from prying people. It was a brand new feeling, one he only exclusively felt around Taekwoon. So when he kept coming back, no one could blame him.
It became a habit of Hongbin to stop by Taekwoon’s apartment after class, where Taekwoon would have dinner ready and they’d eat together listening to songs Hongbin has never heard before and later, he would sway to the music while Taekwoon does the dishes, Hongbin hurrying to help him only when he gets called a brat.
Sometimes, Hongbin’d get random texts when he’s at class, home in his bed or at the bar with Wonsik. They’re always short and to the point much like the way Taekwoon speaks. come here, i’m making galbi. or there’s a good movie it starts in 20 mins. but it’s almost always just this: i am bored when are you coming over. that Hongbin decides Taekwoon only needs to resend it and doesn’t actually type it every time. When he stays in on a week day, skipping class and hiding under the covers, he texts Taekwoon because he knows he’d reply in an instant, ask him how his day is, and Hongbin would lie about the class taking long and the professor giving so much homework. Talking to Taekwoon made it better. It was a short-lived happiness, away from any overthought he could have had when he was alone in his bed.
Hongbin comes in late some nights, still, somehow knowing Taekwoon would leave the apartment door open, they’d watch movies for hours, anything they could find on TV, even bad ones somehow bearable when they’re huddled up close, half watching, half touching and kissing one another. Sometimes, Hongbin would bring over a DVD, Hyuk has many of them he keeps recommending to Hongbin, they’d watch these attentively and once over Hongbin would go out on the balcony for a smoke, and Taekwoon would join, watching the city lights flicker, making peculiar shapes against Hongbin’s face.
Other times, Hongbin would walk in to an empty apartment and lots of homework to be done, Taekwoon still at work at the record store. He would wait, working diligently on his own essays till Taekwoon came home. Passed out, most of these times before Taekwoon would return, Hongbin would be on the couch, on the floor, on Taekwoon’s bed, hunched over the kitchen counter, just anywhere he had been restlessly thinking of Taekwoon before he got home. He’d climb into bed after a struggle, grumpily waking and complaining about how quite the apartment was, how he couldn’t remember what was that song he’s swayed to the other night. How he couldn’t concentrate without it turned up, without Taekwoon cooking up something in the kitchen, without Taekwoon talking. Without Taekwoon.
All that would make Taekwoon adore him a lot, crave him more, and love him most.
“This place wouldn’t mean much to me if I hadn’t met you.” Hongbin says one night, lying down on Taekwoon’s bed, looking up at the ceiling. Taekwoon’s just gotten back from work and is changing into something comfortable before climbing up into bed beside Hongbin who instantly wraps his legs around Taekwoon’s middle and pulls him closer into a hug. Taekwoon gets a whiff of his fragrance and then it’s Hongbin all around. The tang of his arrogance, his rebellion and his twisted affections all at once tearing at Taekwoon’s senses.
“It’s not so quiet anymore.” Taekwoon says, eventually, wrying his face away from where Hongbin’s holds it flush against his chest, close, too close he hears every heart beat of his.
“Yeah?” Hongbin who’s smiling wide now, dimples and all, “So it isn’t just me,” he buries his face into Taekwoon’s shoulders, and Taekwoon thinks he imagines it, but his eyes are overflowing with tears when he says. “I’m glad.”
Taekwoon kisses him then. He kisses him like he could not bear a life without him. Holds his face close and nuzzles his cheeks, thumb brushing his earlobe fondly, and eyelashes fluttering when he leans in. It feels like the longest of nights, their bones and sinews getting heavier by every touch, and Taekwoon’s whispers throb against Hongbin’s skin and mouth. And they sound like i love you’s.
Hongbin sighs into him and Taekwoon feels the stir of something grave deep within him.
So it happens without a warning. Without a text. Without leaving a note. Without one last call. Hongbin leaves.
Hongbin leaves and it feels like he took all the air Taekwoon breathed along with him. The apartment which only just started to feel like a home filled with an unbearable stuffiness. The record player untouched, no music, no Hongbin swaying to the melody, no reason for Taekwoon’s smile. Room’s empty, bed unmade, ingredients untouched in the kitchen. No one to make dinner for, no Hongbin who asks him to pack him the leftovers for his roommate. He’s felt a stuffiness he thought was long gone and no more; lying in bed wide awake, a second away from calling Hongbin’s number, he’d look at the last text he’s received from him.
You can do so much better than me. And he wants to say: there’s no one better than you. But knowing he won’t get an answer back makes it even worse. Living with sitting still because it will send Hongbin the other way. Chase him away instead of bringing him back.
Hongbin went and took along his youth and his arrogance and his rebellion and his twisted affections. And along, it felt like he took all of Taekwoon.
It catches Taekwoon off guard how empty he felt without Hongbin.
Perhaps it’s the way he looked at Hongbin. He shouldn’t have looked at him like that. He shouldn’t have looked at him like it was love. Hongbin wasn’t that sort of person, Taekwoon would do anything, he’d bring back time if he could. He won’t look at Hongbin that way if it were to chase him away. It wasn’t love. It was something like it. If it wasn’t quite it, just something like it, he could be here. Hongbin could still be here.
Still, he waits for the door to be swung open and Hongbin with a borrowed DVD, or empty-handed shrugging at Taekwoon.
Hakyeon, his friend of years, hauls him up and out of bed, tries to get him to do something, anything other than mop around all day-and night. At last. He gives up, offering to make Taekwoon something to eat and taking over his shifts at the record store. What he also does is listen. He listens to Taekwoon’s wordless anguish and offers a shoulder to lean on.
“I didn’t love him -I don’t think.” Taekwoon croaks one night, and Hakyeon, all too knowingly nods. “I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s okay.” he tells him “It’s okay to not know.”
-
One night when the clock reads 3:46,, Taekwoon drags his feet towards the bed. He could smell Hongbin on it; distinctly of leather and saccharine spice, it is just so Hongbin. And it makes Taekwoon’s head aches, burying his face in the jaggy fabric, pressing too hard he starts to see different colors against his eyelids.
4:05, the phone buzzes, and he scrambles up on the bed to get ahold of it, but it’s just a text from Hakyeon, confirming that he’s filling in for Taekwoon’s shift. He stares at his screen for a while. Hesitant and filled with worry and nerves.
I don’t love you. please come home.
He hits send.
Over the next few days, Taekwoon’s mornings go by the same way, waking up with a heaviness in his chest, pacing around the apartment looking for any trace of Hongbin, places he might have touched. He makes coffee then, sets it on the counter after pouring himself some and staying outside on the balcony for the longest time. It’s often still too early when he does, the sun not out yet and the city a grotesque tint.
On evenings, he takes a smoke outside, takes a couple of drags before stomping on the waning stick, and pulling out another. He’s not sure when had he started smoking, a packet of Hongbin in the inside of his jacket, most of his belongings ephemeral just like his memories. He stays out there for as long as the numbness in his veins allows, and mostly to the last dwell of dusk. His fingers are stained black with ash and dirt collecting under his fingernails, and he tries to wipe it against tattered jeans, just along the other stains from cigarettes’ butts, but it’s prominent and demanding like the inkling he feels in his chest.
And when he climbs into bed and ignores Hakyeon’s texts and calls, he finds Hongbin’s shirt on the chair in his bedroom, and his stupid handwriting on a tissue paper, from a long movie night. I had a dream you said you loved me. It sits there irking Taekwoon, making him angry and sad all at once, and the words he wants to scream at Hongbin are stuck right under the clump in his throat.
I don’t love you. please come home.
The phone doesn’t ring.
Hongbin doesn’t call.
Taekwoon, however, stills expects him.
Then, it’s one night when sirens are too loud and lights too bright and Taekwoon lies down on the couch with a throbbing pain his head and a heaviness in his bones. A drunken voice calls for him, he’s unsure for at least five minutes, until it registers with him, makes his heart beat faster as he stands way too quick.
He looks outside the balcony and it’s Hongbin yelling at him, a bottle caught in his hands, and eyes brimming with tears, nose runny as he wipes it against the sleeve of his shirt. Before he could make sense of anything else, Taekwoon’s running out of his apartment, down the stairs and then there he is outside the cold air thwacking against his face and Hongbin repeating those heart wrenching words he’s never wanted to hear. Not like this. Not when Hongbin’s drunk and angry and the air is tense and everybody’s watching.
“It’s okay to love me.” He keeps saying, and his voice is breaking every single time he tries to croak the words out. And Taekwoon, hesitantly reaching for Hongbin, holding his face closer so he wouldn’t have to yell so loud, try so hard to make Taekwoon realize.
“I don’t. Bin-ah.You don’t have to leave, I don’t love you, pleas-”
Then, a loud sob out of Hongbin, a frustrated gush, pink lights illuminating against his tear soaked face “No, you asshole. Just please fucking love me.”
fin.