EXO: Radio Sixty Five [Sehun/Lu Han]
Title: Radio Sixty Five
Pairing: Sehun/Lu Han
Rating: T
Author's Note: been working on this on and off for all of april. inspiration from a lot of things, um. yeah.
-
It’s only been a day since the international announcement of the world’s end and Sehun still hasn’t started panicking yet.
When he gets home, to his real home where his mother has kept his room clean for the past two years and not the cramped trainee dorm, he drops his backpack onto the floor and ambles into the living room to lounge on the couch, jacket and shoes still on.
College entrance exams are coming up soon, really soon, and his teachers have been really hard on him to pull his grades up. Being a trainee had caused him to let them slip a bit, but now that there would be no more training, there was no point in letting his grades fall.
He ignores the fact that there will be no colleges to attend either, and therefore, no reason to strive for 100%.
Sehun’s eyelids droop and he lets them slide shut as his breathing slows and he falls asleep. Homework can wait until later.
-
It’s darker than it’s supposed to be when Sehun wakes up and maybe his peaceful rest on the couch was longer than he thinks it was because it’s completely quiet around him, his phone tells him it is half past six, and it feels like the air conditioning has been left on all night.
Wary, he gets to his feet and stretches, groaning when his muscles pop. His feet take him into the kitchen where his mom should be, preparing dinner like she always does around this time, but she’s not there.
In fact, she’s not in the apartment as he quickly finds out after calling for her several times and making a thorough check in each of the apartment’s rooms.
“Huh,” he says, staring at the empty apartment from the front door and wondering if his family really means anything to him.
They don’t, he decides, picking his backpack up and slinging it over his shoulder before leaving the apartment and locking the door behind him.
Just because he doesn’t need anything right now doesn’t mean he won’t be back later. Besides, scavengers usually come around during the first week, right?
-
Most of the stores in Sehun’s area have been left unlocked and open to the public, or what’s left of it.
Sehun goes in and takes what he needs, enough food for three weeks tops, some water, matches, and a flashlight with batteries, stuffing these things into his backpack, before he leaves and continues on searching for someone he knows.
Surprisingly enough, he hasn’t run into anyone. That could, of course, be due to the fact that with the constant increase of chilly weather, the virus has only grown stronger. When it’s colder, the immune system isn’t as powerful and it’s easier to catch the virus, right?
Thoughts of stark white sheets and rooms with thin hypodermic needles flash through Sehun’s mind and he stops walking, falling to the ground on his knees because his head is pounding. He turns his head away from his beat up practice sneakers and vomits, hands shaking, and there’s this shiver that’s started at the nape of his neck, crawling down his body until it reaches his toes.
Making a face of disgust he gets to his feet, sidestepping the bile on the street, and resumes his search. There’s got to be someone else beside him left here.
-
Two long weeks pass and Sehun has reached the outskirts of the cities, where the buildings start to thin out and there is more grass than concrete.
Sehun hasn’t come across anyone else. Were evacuations really that fast? Did everyone really just pack up and leave their homes? Or-
More ugly pictures in his head, darker this time and more intense. People still locked up in their houses, scared of what might come. Bodies lying out on floors where the virus was quick or the people were just slow and they fell where they stood before they could get to anyone. Blood splatters across chipped tiles and pure white walls. Images of others doubled over in pain and coughing out their insides and-
Sehun comes to on the hard packed dirt, vomit smeared on his chin.
He thinks it’s time to go back home.
-
“Who are you?”
There’s a boy on his mother’s couch. He’s got huge, wide eyes and a small nose. There is a bit of hair that sticks up at the back of his head, reminding Sehun of the little kids that would watch him practice his dancing afterschool, with their dirty faces and encouraging smiles. Sehun thinks it’s a wonder the kid has survived this long being so young.
The door to his mother’s apartment is unlocked and there is this boy on his mother’s couch and he doesn’t look a day past sixteen.
Sehun doesn’t want to be here, in his mother’s place. In this place he used to call home. He doesn’t want to be here and there is someone else here. There is someone else taking his mother’s place. There is someone else.
There is someone else.
Rather than answer the question, the boy on the couch stares for a moment and then stretches back out on the couch, turning in towards the cushions.
Sighing, Sehun shuts the door and locks the deadbolt. The other lock is broken and there’s nothing he can do about it because he’s not a locksmith and there is no one else in the city.
But the boy on the couch. He’s the only person Sehun has seen since the announcements and he has to be the one to have broken the lock.
Exhaustion suddenly hits Sehun and he hoists his bag higher up onto his shoulders, shuffling down the hall and into his room. He throws himself down onto the bed, pulling the heavy duvet over him against the cold, and lets the dark blanket of sleep overtake him.
-
There’s a hand, warm and gentle, on his lower abdomen. His mind lets him believe that it’s the girl from his fifth period literature class, even though he hasn’t seen her in over a month now.
He groans when the hand trails lightly over his skin, fingers dragging with a touch as soft as feathers, dipping into the waistband of his jeans to the band of his boxers and-
It feels good, too good. Sehun hasn’t done this in the longest, let alone let anyone else, and he bites into his bottom lip, keeping his sighs in as he bucks his hips against the hand.
When Sehun comes, the hand pulls itself out of his pants, stickiness dragging on Sehun’s skin, and Sehun sits up, turning around.
“What are you doing in here?” he asks the kid from the couch and his heart is pounding hard in his chest and this is his room and he just got a hand job from a kid so why is his first question so irrelevant?
The kid has this dazed look on his face and he sits up, rubbing at his eyes with his other hand, thank god or Sehun might have had to run to the bathroom, and yawning.
“I’m Lu Han.”
He has an accent when he says it, and Sehun doesn’t know what kind of accent it is, so he doesn’t question it.
“Um, okay. Go wait in the living room,” he tells the kid and the kid listens, dragging his feet with his head hanging down and Sehun feels a bit like an ass, but that shouldn’t have happened.
That shouldn’t have happened because Sehun is supposed to be the only one left. The only one alive because he’s not scared of the end and he’s not afraid of being alone. He’s not afraid of living by himself, day by day in his mother’s apartment with husks and memories of nothing.
Sehun spends a good amount of time in the shower, jerking off again under cold water because the hot water seems to have run out weeks ago.
-
“I’m sorry,” the kid says when Sehun finally steps out into the living room in a different pair of pants.
Sehun stares. The kid’s hand, the one that was wrapped around his dick earlier, is curled in a tight fist and in the kid’s lap, as though the kid didn’t want it to stain the couch.
“I’m sorry that I broke into your house. And that I woke you up. I was cold. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, just,” Sehun tries to get out, but the kid is already on his feet and bowing to him in apology and where the hell did this kid come from?
When the kid is done, he sits back down on the couch and looks at Sehun.
Sehun is staring again and thinking about his mother and the girl from fifth period and how maybe he should get some hand soap on his next raid for the kid before he realizes he hasn’t spoken a word yet.
“I’m Oh Sehun. Uh, this is my apartment.”
Is it his apartment or is he just claiming ownership because his mother left him here to fend for himself? Sehun really doesn’t know what else to say. He guesses the kid can stay if he’d like to, if he really has nowhere else to go and what is he thinking? The kid is here because there is nowhere else.
“You can stay here if you want.”
-
After a few days that feel like a few weeks, Sehun has learned that the kid’s name is Han, Lu is his last name, and he’s an exchange student from Beijing, China. He’s also not a kid, being four years older than Sehun.
“I’ve been speaking Korean for years now,” Han tells Sehun as the younger boy boils some of their water for instant ramyun by the light of a few candles. Han’s candles, actually.
Sehun would normally eat it dry, but the temperature has definitely dropped and shows no signs of stopping, therefore he’s started boiling their precious water supply. Sehun has already gone through his mother’s closet and taken out the winter clothing so that he and Han can stay as warm as possible.
“I used your television while you were gone, until the news updates stopped,” Han is saying, and Sehun listens carefully as he pours water into two cups of ramyun. “I don’t think anyone else is out there.”
Sehun sits down to slurp at his soup, not replying because he already knows.
-
“What are you looking for?” Han asks.
Sehun ignores him and finishes lacing his shoes. He stands when he’s done and grabs his backpack, going into the kitchen to fill it with supplies and food.
All of the ramyun is gone. He and Han had finished it off just two days earlier, trying to warm themselves up with the hot broth and noodles and ignore the fact that it was damn near winter in the spring and it wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
“What were you looking for that first time? When you came back and found me?”
Taking only one can, because those can each last two and a half days once opened, and a small bag of crackers, Sehun counts the remaining cans. Six. Six cans left. If rationed even more, it’s enough food for one week between the two of them. A week.
“I’m going out,” Sehun tells Han, still ignoring the initial question and the thoughts it provokes in favor of thinking about food. Food. Food is good. They’re running low on food. They need more.
Sehun needs to go on another raid.
Han makes a noise, something between disappointment and worry.
Fright? Is Han afraid of Sehun leaving him and never coming back? Is he worried? That’s not right. Han can’t be that attached to Sehun because it’s only been…how long has it been? The days started blurring together awhile ago and Sehun can’t even remember the day of the week, let alone the date.
Suddenly, Sehun pushes the rest of the cans into his open bag.
“Get your shoes, you can come with me.”
-
Sehun only goes as far as the trainee dorms he used to live in, picking up some more food along the way, not wanting Han to exert himself further because he doesn’t know how far the older boy can go and he doesn’t want to find out the hard way.
“Sehun, let’s go,” Han is saying and Sehun is agreeing because there is no one in the building and Han is tired and it’s cold outside so-
“Let’s stay here for the night.”
Han agrees, curling up next to Sehun for the night.
-
It feels like it’s been years when Sehun and Han move into the trainee dorms while it could only at most be a week. Two maximum. They make one trip from the apartment and the dorms, wrapping blankets around their shoulders to keep warm as they travel. There would have been more trips, but Sehun figures everything in his apartment is pretty much useless, except for the food, clothing, and blankets. Han doesn’t object as they layer on jacket upon jacket before leaving the apartment for the last time.
The temperature has dropped even more since the week has passed, now greeting them every morning in the form of frost on the dorm windows and small puffs of carbon dioxide.
More than once Sehun has woken up to find Han’s warm arms wrapped around him or his fingers entangled with his own.
Later, when they’re both up and minding their own business, Han in the corner with a faded Rubik’s cube and Sehun with nothing but his thoughts, neither of them mentions it.
Sehun wants to say something though. Anything to keep his mind from drifting. The tickle in the back of his throat has him keeping his mouth shut and his words to himself.
-
“What was your mother like?”
It’s almost three in the morning and Han can’t sleep. Sehun can’t sleep either, but he’s at least attempting to, wrapping himself in his share of blankets and quilts and using his near empty backpack as a pillow.
Pillows. Sehun’s mother used to change his pillows every half year before he moved out, saying they carried old bacteria and disease in their threads. They didn’t bring any pillows with them.
“She was okay,” Sehun mumbles. There’s nothing else that he really wants to say. His mother was there for him when he needed her. She cooked for him and did his laundry, and she was there to support him when he moved out and into the trainee dorms.
But she wasn’t there when the announcements were made. She wasn’t there when he dragged his feet home for the last time. She wasn’t there to keep him alive.
“Oh.”
Han’s voice is tiny and small and Sehun knows that he feels bad he asked the question because Han’s voice is usually clear and strong and sometimes Sehun wakes up in the middle of the night and hears Han singing to himself. Songs in Mandarin, songs in Korean. Humming, and tapping gently against the floor sometimes.
Sometimes Sehun will accidently get caught up in listening and he’ll move. Han will stop and roll back over, curling his hand under the blanket beneath his head.
“Good night,” Sehun says, ending the conversation.
-
It can’t even have been an hour since Han asked about Sehun’s mother when Sehun begins to stir, barely opening his eyes as he registers that Han is next to him, his face hovering dangerously close.
Han’s lips brush against Sehun’s jawline, as though he’s trying to reach further, for Sehun’s lips maybe, but it’s just like the survivors outside who are reaching for hope and finding none.
So Sehun dips his head a little lower against his chest in his faux state of sleep.
Han presses his lips against his.
The carbon dioxide Han breathes out is warm and Sehun can’t help but open his eyes completely, ending the act so he can grasp Han and hold him tightly, kissing him within an inch of his life because it’s cold and that’s the only reason he would kiss another man right?
For heat and all it entails.
They keep their shirts and coats on as Han shows Sehun exactly how to move his fingers and where to touch and before long-
It’s not what Sehun expects. It’s not as wet, but it’s tight and hot and Han is gasping softly and Sehun doesn’t want to be hurting him and he doesn’t know what else to do because everything is Han and nothing is making much sense anymore.
-
Sehun is staring at the white walls hours later and wondering if there’s a way he can insulate them even more because sometime after they had both fallen asleep, the temperature dropped further and the room had grown so very cold.
Han coughs in his sleep and shivers against Sehun, tightening his grip on the younger boy’s arm.
Without much thought, Sehun pulls him closer, fixing the blankets around them. He looks down at Han, eyes roaming. This face that he’s seen every day for the past month or so, because who’s keeping count of the days anymore? The scar on Han’s cheek stands out the most, Sehun figures.
-
It’s quiet.
Neither of them bothers pulling themselves from the blankets when they wake up in the mornings. It’s far too cold for that now, so they stay huddled together with their bodies pressed to the others.
“Sehun,” Han whispers.
Sehun plays with Han’s hair, other hand find Han’s between their bodies so he can twine his fingers with him and hold on tight.
It’s quiet and Sehun can hear the faintest sound underneath the ever present silence.
It’s static.
Pairing: Sehun/Lu Han
Rating: T
Author's Note: been working on this on and off for all of april. inspiration from a lot of things, um. yeah.
-
It’s only been a day since the international announcement of the world’s end and Sehun still hasn’t started panicking yet.
When he gets home, to his real home where his mother has kept his room clean for the past two years and not the cramped trainee dorm, he drops his backpack onto the floor and ambles into the living room to lounge on the couch, jacket and shoes still on.
College entrance exams are coming up soon, really soon, and his teachers have been really hard on him to pull his grades up. Being a trainee had caused him to let them slip a bit, but now that there would be no more training, there was no point in letting his grades fall.
He ignores the fact that there will be no colleges to attend either, and therefore, no reason to strive for 100%.
Sehun’s eyelids droop and he lets them slide shut as his breathing slows and he falls asleep. Homework can wait until later.
-
It’s darker than it’s supposed to be when Sehun wakes up and maybe his peaceful rest on the couch was longer than he thinks it was because it’s completely quiet around him, his phone tells him it is half past six, and it feels like the air conditioning has been left on all night.
Wary, he gets to his feet and stretches, groaning when his muscles pop. His feet take him into the kitchen where his mom should be, preparing dinner like she always does around this time, but she’s not there.
In fact, she’s not in the apartment as he quickly finds out after calling for her several times and making a thorough check in each of the apartment’s rooms.
“Huh,” he says, staring at the empty apartment from the front door and wondering if his family really means anything to him.
They don’t, he decides, picking his backpack up and slinging it over his shoulder before leaving the apartment and locking the door behind him.
Just because he doesn’t need anything right now doesn’t mean he won’t be back later. Besides, scavengers usually come around during the first week, right?
-
Most of the stores in Sehun’s area have been left unlocked and open to the public, or what’s left of it.
Sehun goes in and takes what he needs, enough food for three weeks tops, some water, matches, and a flashlight with batteries, stuffing these things into his backpack, before he leaves and continues on searching for someone he knows.
Surprisingly enough, he hasn’t run into anyone. That could, of course, be due to the fact that with the constant increase of chilly weather, the virus has only grown stronger. When it’s colder, the immune system isn’t as powerful and it’s easier to catch the virus, right?
Thoughts of stark white sheets and rooms with thin hypodermic needles flash through Sehun’s mind and he stops walking, falling to the ground on his knees because his head is pounding. He turns his head away from his beat up practice sneakers and vomits, hands shaking, and there’s this shiver that’s started at the nape of his neck, crawling down his body until it reaches his toes.
Making a face of disgust he gets to his feet, sidestepping the bile on the street, and resumes his search. There’s got to be someone else beside him left here.
-
Two long weeks pass and Sehun has reached the outskirts of the cities, where the buildings start to thin out and there is more grass than concrete.
Sehun hasn’t come across anyone else. Were evacuations really that fast? Did everyone really just pack up and leave their homes? Or-
More ugly pictures in his head, darker this time and more intense. People still locked up in their houses, scared of what might come. Bodies lying out on floors where the virus was quick or the people were just slow and they fell where they stood before they could get to anyone. Blood splatters across chipped tiles and pure white walls. Images of others doubled over in pain and coughing out their insides and-
Sehun comes to on the hard packed dirt, vomit smeared on his chin.
He thinks it’s time to go back home.
-
“Who are you?”
There’s a boy on his mother’s couch. He’s got huge, wide eyes and a small nose. There is a bit of hair that sticks up at the back of his head, reminding Sehun of the little kids that would watch him practice his dancing afterschool, with their dirty faces and encouraging smiles. Sehun thinks it’s a wonder the kid has survived this long being so young.
The door to his mother’s apartment is unlocked and there is this boy on his mother’s couch and he doesn’t look a day past sixteen.
Sehun doesn’t want to be here, in his mother’s place. In this place he used to call home. He doesn’t want to be here and there is someone else here. There is someone else taking his mother’s place. There is someone else.
There is someone else.
Rather than answer the question, the boy on the couch stares for a moment and then stretches back out on the couch, turning in towards the cushions.
Sighing, Sehun shuts the door and locks the deadbolt. The other lock is broken and there’s nothing he can do about it because he’s not a locksmith and there is no one else in the city.
But the boy on the couch. He’s the only person Sehun has seen since the announcements and he has to be the one to have broken the lock.
Exhaustion suddenly hits Sehun and he hoists his bag higher up onto his shoulders, shuffling down the hall and into his room. He throws himself down onto the bed, pulling the heavy duvet over him against the cold, and lets the dark blanket of sleep overtake him.
-
There’s a hand, warm and gentle, on his lower abdomen. His mind lets him believe that it’s the girl from his fifth period literature class, even though he hasn’t seen her in over a month now.
He groans when the hand trails lightly over his skin, fingers dragging with a touch as soft as feathers, dipping into the waistband of his jeans to the band of his boxers and-
It feels good, too good. Sehun hasn’t done this in the longest, let alone let anyone else, and he bites into his bottom lip, keeping his sighs in as he bucks his hips against the hand.
When Sehun comes, the hand pulls itself out of his pants, stickiness dragging on Sehun’s skin, and Sehun sits up, turning around.
“What are you doing in here?” he asks the kid from the couch and his heart is pounding hard in his chest and this is his room and he just got a hand job from a kid so why is his first question so irrelevant?
The kid has this dazed look on his face and he sits up, rubbing at his eyes with his other hand, thank god or Sehun might have had to run to the bathroom, and yawning.
“I’m Lu Han.”
He has an accent when he says it, and Sehun doesn’t know what kind of accent it is, so he doesn’t question it.
“Um, okay. Go wait in the living room,” he tells the kid and the kid listens, dragging his feet with his head hanging down and Sehun feels a bit like an ass, but that shouldn’t have happened.
That shouldn’t have happened because Sehun is supposed to be the only one left. The only one alive because he’s not scared of the end and he’s not afraid of being alone. He’s not afraid of living by himself, day by day in his mother’s apartment with husks and memories of nothing.
Sehun spends a good amount of time in the shower, jerking off again under cold water because the hot water seems to have run out weeks ago.
-
“I’m sorry,” the kid says when Sehun finally steps out into the living room in a different pair of pants.
Sehun stares. The kid’s hand, the one that was wrapped around his dick earlier, is curled in a tight fist and in the kid’s lap, as though the kid didn’t want it to stain the couch.
“I’m sorry that I broke into your house. And that I woke you up. I was cold. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, just,” Sehun tries to get out, but the kid is already on his feet and bowing to him in apology and where the hell did this kid come from?
When the kid is done, he sits back down on the couch and looks at Sehun.
Sehun is staring again and thinking about his mother and the girl from fifth period and how maybe he should get some hand soap on his next raid for the kid before he realizes he hasn’t spoken a word yet.
“I’m Oh Sehun. Uh, this is my apartment.”
Is it his apartment or is he just claiming ownership because his mother left him here to fend for himself? Sehun really doesn’t know what else to say. He guesses the kid can stay if he’d like to, if he really has nowhere else to go and what is he thinking? The kid is here because there is nowhere else.
“You can stay here if you want.”
-
After a few days that feel like a few weeks, Sehun has learned that the kid’s name is Han, Lu is his last name, and he’s an exchange student from Beijing, China. He’s also not a kid, being four years older than Sehun.
“I’ve been speaking Korean for years now,” Han tells Sehun as the younger boy boils some of their water for instant ramyun by the light of a few candles. Han’s candles, actually.
Sehun would normally eat it dry, but the temperature has definitely dropped and shows no signs of stopping, therefore he’s started boiling their precious water supply. Sehun has already gone through his mother’s closet and taken out the winter clothing so that he and Han can stay as warm as possible.
“I used your television while you were gone, until the news updates stopped,” Han is saying, and Sehun listens carefully as he pours water into two cups of ramyun. “I don’t think anyone else is out there.”
Sehun sits down to slurp at his soup, not replying because he already knows.
-
“What are you looking for?” Han asks.
Sehun ignores him and finishes lacing his shoes. He stands when he’s done and grabs his backpack, going into the kitchen to fill it with supplies and food.
All of the ramyun is gone. He and Han had finished it off just two days earlier, trying to warm themselves up with the hot broth and noodles and ignore the fact that it was damn near winter in the spring and it wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
“What were you looking for that first time? When you came back and found me?”
Taking only one can, because those can each last two and a half days once opened, and a small bag of crackers, Sehun counts the remaining cans. Six. Six cans left. If rationed even more, it’s enough food for one week between the two of them. A week.
“I’m going out,” Sehun tells Han, still ignoring the initial question and the thoughts it provokes in favor of thinking about food. Food. Food is good. They’re running low on food. They need more.
Sehun needs to go on another raid.
Han makes a noise, something between disappointment and worry.
Fright? Is Han afraid of Sehun leaving him and never coming back? Is he worried? That’s not right. Han can’t be that attached to Sehun because it’s only been…how long has it been? The days started blurring together awhile ago and Sehun can’t even remember the day of the week, let alone the date.
Suddenly, Sehun pushes the rest of the cans into his open bag.
“Get your shoes, you can come with me.”
-
Sehun only goes as far as the trainee dorms he used to live in, picking up some more food along the way, not wanting Han to exert himself further because he doesn’t know how far the older boy can go and he doesn’t want to find out the hard way.
“Sehun, let’s go,” Han is saying and Sehun is agreeing because there is no one in the building and Han is tired and it’s cold outside so-
“Let’s stay here for the night.”
Han agrees, curling up next to Sehun for the night.
-
It feels like it’s been years when Sehun and Han move into the trainee dorms while it could only at most be a week. Two maximum. They make one trip from the apartment and the dorms, wrapping blankets around their shoulders to keep warm as they travel. There would have been more trips, but Sehun figures everything in his apartment is pretty much useless, except for the food, clothing, and blankets. Han doesn’t object as they layer on jacket upon jacket before leaving the apartment for the last time.
The temperature has dropped even more since the week has passed, now greeting them every morning in the form of frost on the dorm windows and small puffs of carbon dioxide.
More than once Sehun has woken up to find Han’s warm arms wrapped around him or his fingers entangled with his own.
Later, when they’re both up and minding their own business, Han in the corner with a faded Rubik’s cube and Sehun with nothing but his thoughts, neither of them mentions it.
Sehun wants to say something though. Anything to keep his mind from drifting. The tickle in the back of his throat has him keeping his mouth shut and his words to himself.
-
“What was your mother like?”
It’s almost three in the morning and Han can’t sleep. Sehun can’t sleep either, but he’s at least attempting to, wrapping himself in his share of blankets and quilts and using his near empty backpack as a pillow.
Pillows. Sehun’s mother used to change his pillows every half year before he moved out, saying they carried old bacteria and disease in their threads. They didn’t bring any pillows with them.
“She was okay,” Sehun mumbles. There’s nothing else that he really wants to say. His mother was there for him when he needed her. She cooked for him and did his laundry, and she was there to support him when he moved out and into the trainee dorms.
But she wasn’t there when the announcements were made. She wasn’t there when he dragged his feet home for the last time. She wasn’t there to keep him alive.
“Oh.”
Han’s voice is tiny and small and Sehun knows that he feels bad he asked the question because Han’s voice is usually clear and strong and sometimes Sehun wakes up in the middle of the night and hears Han singing to himself. Songs in Mandarin, songs in Korean. Humming, and tapping gently against the floor sometimes.
Sometimes Sehun will accidently get caught up in listening and he’ll move. Han will stop and roll back over, curling his hand under the blanket beneath his head.
“Good night,” Sehun says, ending the conversation.
-
It can’t even have been an hour since Han asked about Sehun’s mother when Sehun begins to stir, barely opening his eyes as he registers that Han is next to him, his face hovering dangerously close.
Han’s lips brush against Sehun’s jawline, as though he’s trying to reach further, for Sehun’s lips maybe, but it’s just like the survivors outside who are reaching for hope and finding none.
So Sehun dips his head a little lower against his chest in his faux state of sleep.
Han presses his lips against his.
The carbon dioxide Han breathes out is warm and Sehun can’t help but open his eyes completely, ending the act so he can grasp Han and hold him tightly, kissing him within an inch of his life because it’s cold and that’s the only reason he would kiss another man right?
For heat and all it entails.
They keep their shirts and coats on as Han shows Sehun exactly how to move his fingers and where to touch and before long-
It’s not what Sehun expects. It’s not as wet, but it’s tight and hot and Han is gasping softly and Sehun doesn’t want to be hurting him and he doesn’t know what else to do because everything is Han and nothing is making much sense anymore.
-
Sehun is staring at the white walls hours later and wondering if there’s a way he can insulate them even more because sometime after they had both fallen asleep, the temperature dropped further and the room had grown so very cold.
Han coughs in his sleep and shivers against Sehun, tightening his grip on the younger boy’s arm.
Without much thought, Sehun pulls him closer, fixing the blankets around them. He looks down at Han, eyes roaming. This face that he’s seen every day for the past month or so, because who’s keeping count of the days anymore? The scar on Han’s cheek stands out the most, Sehun figures.
-
It’s quiet.
Neither of them bothers pulling themselves from the blankets when they wake up in the mornings. It’s far too cold for that now, so they stay huddled together with their bodies pressed to the others.
“Sehun,” Han whispers.
Sehun plays with Han’s hair, other hand find Han’s between their bodies so he can twine his fingers with him and hold on tight.
It’s quiet and Sehun can hear the faintest sound underneath the ever present silence.
It’s static.