(no subject)
¶ Corrupted
History; Pairing: Kyungil/Dokyun
Genre: angst
Rating: PG-13 to PG-15
Warning: mentions of cheating and alcohol
Word count: 3791
Summary: Dokyun is in a relationship, but starts cheating on his significant other with Kyungil
Dokyun doesn't really know how or when he has started to stop caring, but he just know he does.
The thing he also knows is that Kyungil's mouth is way too addicting for him to stop kissing, to stop wanting those hungry lips for himself. He's way far too infatuated by the older-by-four-years man to care anymore at that point, and so he lets himself being held and kissed, and led to his bedroom at the far end of the flat, without doing as much as struggling.
He lets himself getting lost in those strong arms, this warm comfortable embrace and those deep dark eyes looking right back through his with intensity, unfaltering. He lets himself getting lost in those moments, in the rough yet pleasant hands running all over his body and the kisses dropped behind his ear, on the side of his neck, or in the hollow besides his collarbone. He bites his lips with every rustling of the sheets, sweat rolling down his forehead and temples, and for every time he feels cold lips on his burning skin, he finds himself caring less and less. The kisses feel like a aid to his wounded heart, like every of his touch, as if every hint of fingertips upon his body is fixing something where it lands.
Dokyun lets himself getting lost in those moments, pleas quiet, as it feels as if time has stopped flowing by with their mingled breathes.
And what could possibly go wrong, when everything just feels so right?
Ø
“You should stop this.”
Dokyun looks up from his book to meet his friend's eyes.
“I know.” he replies back, tone rather sharp.
They're sitting at the table of a coffee shop, hot drinks and sweets on the neat surface. There isn't a lot of people at this hour of the day and so it is rather quiet. Dokyun likes this place: it allows them to relax once in a while and discuss about anything.
Except today he has planned on reading instead of talking and he's really not up to discuss about anything.
The boy that is facing him though, hints of blonde hair flashing from underneath his beanie, doesn't seem quite ready to give up.
“I'm telling you this as your friend, hyung, you should really st-”
“I know.” the tone is a lot harsher now and his eyes are full of annoyance. “I already know all of what you're trying to say Jaeho, and I know what I'm doing, so save your saliva and be quiet for a while, I can't read if you're talking.”
He sees the deeply hurt look his friend is showing for half a second, but doesn't say anything about it. He's not used to be that mean, but really, he knows.
And Dokyun doesn't need anyone to remind himself of something he already knows.
Ø
They meet on a early Spring day, months before it happens. Months before Dokyun feels like his heart is aching every single day when he come back to a empty house. The sun is high and the sky is clear above their heads, as if no one would ever have to worry.
It's Jaeho that introduce them to each other.
(Jaeho that has asked Dokyun to accompany him on this little outing with his friend Yijeong and a bunch of other people, so he wouldn't feel too lonely, and being the good -really- good friend he is, Dokyun has accepted.)
Kyungil -the tall guy with a smothering stare- is Yijeong's hyung. They used to be neighbours when the youngest was a child and the oldest a teenager, and from what Dokyun had made out of the discussions between those two, Kyungil has always taken care of the other really well: as if he was his real dongsaeng.
He can easily decipher the true affection in those sharp eyes, softening at their edges, and Dokyun can as easily understand it. Yijeong is really an adorable and precious young man, and even him who barely knows the boy, is tempted to ruffle the brunette's fluffy hair.
They don't really talk before a few hours in the afternoon, when the sun is slowly setting down from its highest spot and Sihyung -another one of Yijeong's friend- is playing -or just being?- dumb, on his own, making everyone laugh to tears and roll into the green grass. Kyungil sits besides him and Dokyun doesn't turn his head to acknowledge his presence because he's not really sure he can confront those deep dark eyes, but the oldest of the two starts to speak and mock Sihyung and from this, flows a simple and nice discussion.
They talk for around a hour at least about only themselves and their surroundings, nothing out of the ordinary, solely getting to know each other. They talk about what they do for a living, with who they are staying -Dokyun learns that Sihyung is actually Kyungil's embarrassing roommate-, their friends, what they like to do, and realize that they share the same passion for music as well as a lot more things than what they would have ever expected. Dokyun also notices that the older's laugh is quite pleasant to his ears, and when they must eventually part ways because it's time to get home, he doesn't find his eyes as frightening as he used to, for they shine as much as his bright smile.
They don't really keep in touch after this though. He only gets some news from Jaeho from time to time, and mainly when they're all hanging out with Yijeong and his friends. But Dokyun would just rather stick at home, because home is warm, comfortable and loving, and he has never been much of someone who goes out anyway.
Their little and nice afternoon in each other company is almost forgotten over the following weeks, settling itself in a corner of Dokyun's mind, far away in his memories.
Ø
Dokyun doesn't even feel the need to turn on the lights when he steps into his flat.
He kicks off his shoes instead, lets his bag drop to the floor in the small dining room and makes it to the couch in the middle of the room. He lies down there, eyes twitching, threatening to close because of the tiredness which seems to overtake every inches of his body and soul.
The silence around him is almost perfect, only shattered by his shallow breath and the regular tickling of the clock resonating in the whole place, unnerving. The lack of light -the only source being the moon, rays filtering from the window- and absence of sound almost makes him sick. And if the flat is a lot warmer than the winter weather outside, Dokyun feels as if a icy water is slowly eating his innards, invading his bones and freezing his skin. All attempts at making himself warmer, at grabbing a comforter and wrapping it around his own figure, only seem to leave him even colder.
The couch is incredibly uncomfortable and itchy, but he's too exhausted to move. He's not sure he even wants to.
He's tired of finding his own bed cold and half made, the closets of his room a quarter empty, reminder of someone who's not even there. Reminder of someone who used to be here with him, who used to enlighten the place, warm it up and make himself heard. Reminder of someone who used to take all the place in his heart.
(Reminder of someone who might not even be in there anymore.)
Ø
The first time it happens, Dokyun kind of wants to puke when he gets back home to their shared yet almost always empty flat. He has half the mind to turn on the lights before stumbling to his bathroom and holding himself upon the white cubicle in case his organism eventually decide to reject all of what is left in his stomach.
It's probably mostly because he's drunk that he feels this urge to throw up his whole dinner into the toilets, though it might also be related to the growing guilt tearing his guts and eating at his insides like acid, rushing back, back, back.
He does not feel any cleaner after throwing up.
His mind is still in a haze and his head dizzy as he lies flat on his bed later that night. He specifically turns his back to the organized, untouched other side of the bed. He squeezes his eyes hard, remaining unmoving as if afraid a simple brush would taint the empty place that has not even be used for he doesn't know how many days. He tries to get the pictures out of his head, tries to forget the taste of those lips against his and the muscled arms holding him. The feeling only gets stronger and doesn't seem to even start to falter. It settles down in the darkest pit of Dokyun's stomach and he almost feels like throwing up all over again.
Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.
As if with every tickling of the obnoxious clock -loud and clear in the silence of the apartment- the word is being uttered again.
Dokyun falls asleep to this excruciating inner melody.
Ø
They meet months later, at the end of the summer, when things already started going down and Dokyun feels more worn out with every passing second. He hides his exhaustion between smiles and pouts and puffy cheeks and Jaeho is supposed to be the only one who knows.
They stumble upon each other in the Coffee Shop Dokyun usually goes to with his friend on Saturdays' afternoons, between the time he orders and goes back to his seat. Kyungil asks him if he can sit across from him for a while and he nods silently with a smile, because, why not?
They catch up on each other but the smiles he gives the older man must be strained somehow, because the latter -even though they don't know each other that well- asks him if he's ok, and he replies back with a smile again, yes fine, totally, why would you even ask. And maybe Dokyun isn't that much of an actor if the look on Kyungil's face, and his thick eyebrows furrowing are anything to go by.
But he doesn't really care. He's not going to take things deeper and he doesn't expect the oldest to do so either. Right now he only wants to forget the loneliness which seems to spread through his heart, and Kyungil's company seems to be perfect to fulfil this particular purpose.
He feels a tiny bit better by the end of their discussion, his mug left half filled with the now cold drink.
A small yet genuine smile might be stretching his face when they exchange phone numbers and promise to meet again.
Ø
“Hyung, we'll eventually have to talk about it, really.”
His grip gets tighter on the cover, making his joints turn white under the pressure.
“No, we don't have to. Why would you even want to talk about it?”
“But I didn't introduce him for this t-”
Dokyun snaps, cutting his friend immediately with harsh and unthoughtful words.
“I don't care! I don't freaking care, Jaeho, ok? You're not my mom and you introducing Kyungil to me has nothing to do with anything! Take care of your business, and let me deal with my problems on my own!”
There's a short silence and he doesn't miss the expression on his friend's face: defying and meaningful. He prays for it to last: he can deal with the blonde's disdaining stare, but isn't sure he can handle more words coming from his mouth. (words reminding him of all the things he's doing wrong, reminding him of all the mistakes he has yet to fix.)
He almost believes it will but to his despair Jaeho still ends up whispering a few minutes later.
“Then you do admit that you have some problems to take care about.”
Dokyun slams his book on the table with full force, takes his jacket and only has it half worn on his back by the time he steps out of the coffee shop without a word.
Ø
Kyungil finds him sitting at the counter of a bar on a cold evening of mid-November.
Dokyun is already drunk by the time he sits down besides him, asking what's wrong -because you rarely go drink on your own in a bar around midnight if you don't feel the slightest bad-.
He looks up to the older with these hurt eyes, ones which only translate loneliness and weariness, and it's really not the image he would want to show to Kyungil, but he's far too numbed to even care at that point. He's just so tired of drowning his sorrow in alcohol but he can only try to drink more and more and again and again so everything will fade. So the ache pulling at his heartstrings might be washed away.
(it apparently isn't)
His colourful and expensive drink is being put away on the other side of the counter, but he doesn't find it in himself to care.
When he meets the genuine caring stare, Dokyun can't help from breaking down in front of the older, the borders of his faked happiness showing up as clear as the day. His voice is hushed, cracking up as he holds back a sob and swallows the lump in his throat -or is it his heart?-.
He doesn't really know what makes it out of his mouth anymore. He doesn't really know where he finds the strength to explain everything to Kyungil or why he even feels the need to.
But the oldest of them has a reassuring voice and deep concerned eyes, and the light yet warm hand tugging at his own is comfortable and a welcomed presence.
He spills everything out under the influence of the alcohol: the emptiness of his flat when he comes back home, the long hours spent by the phone waiting for a call or at the airport, and the apologetic texts he gets when he wakes up in a freezing bed.
He feels someone embracing him and listens to the small comforting words being whispered in his ear, before looking up.
And here it is again, this smothering stare. Dokyun feels as if he's being sucked in by Kyungil's whole existence.
Ø
By the end of October, Dokyun has learnt that he likes being around the older a lot. Kyungil is funny, mature, he smoke on some days when he feel the need to relieve stress but not on a regular basis. He's manly in ways the younger can not fathom, and attractiveness seems to leak from every of his pores. They get along really well, and spending time with the other has soon became a habit while the weather is getting colder and colder. They go to the museum together -because Jaeho never wants to go and Dokyun has not been able to go there for months-, concerts or even the park around his neighbourhood. Everything is fine as long as they're able to discuss and laugh and smile. They meet at least once a week to share a hot drink at the coffee shop they both know so well, and talk for hours about anything.
“How is your boyfriend doing?”
Dokyun is taken aback by the question, because he didn't see it coming, hadn't expected it at all. He would never have thought that Kyungil would even one day mention him, but he's visibly been mistaken.
It takes him a few moments to think about it, and what makes the taste of the answer even bitterer on his tongue, is the fact that no matter how he thinks about it, he doesn't even know it himself.
“Great. Yeah, Great.” he takes a deep breathe before going on. “He's just really busy these days, it's a bit hard to get to talk to him since he's currently in Japan on a business trip, but he's doing great.”
He tries to forget about the time he has spent waiting for someone to get home and never witnessing it or the smiles that he can only see in old photographs by his bed.
“Great.” he whispers, more for himself than for anyone else.
Ø
They kiss for the first time under colourful lights, soft music playing in the background, surroundings all blurred, drinks nearby on the counter, in the darkest hours of the night.
It's Kyungil who leans first, and Dokyun doesn't respond, doesn't let himself drown in those lips before a few minutes of complete stillness. However he has had far too many drinks that he can account for, and soon enough the alcohol takes over what is left of his reason and values, and he opens his lips for Kyungil to invade his mouth and his whole being.
And that's all it takes. The guilt that should be ever so present in the back of his mind is fading away with the intensity of their session. Kyungil's hands settled on his thighs and the messy kisses being shared ignite a fire in Dokyun's stomach that he had thought long since forgotten -but apparently isn't-, devouring his entrails like a beast and only leaving him asking for more more more. The neon green lights are lighting up only half of Kyungil's face, dancing in the penumbra and he can't tell where they are coming from as they all seem to twirl. The world is a black hole which swirls and swirls and Dokyun is sucked in it, washed away in the persistent hurricane that is his mind and Kyungil's touches.
He snaps back to reality when he feels Kyungil's hands running up his thighs and starting to crawl under his shirt. It's as if with the cold touch on his warmed up skin, the guilt and reason came back rushing to him, stinging.
Before Kyungil can even open his mouth, Dokyun is out of the bar, running away in the dark freezing night of November.
Ø
The second time it happens is later, around Christmas's Eve and the New year. This period of the year is a promise to a lot of parties, of blinding lights shining through the city, golden garlands displayed to everyone on the streets and snow falling down from the sky to the earth.
But to Dokyun, it only means more ache. It's only a mere and bitter promise of what's to come, of being faced by an empty flat and a neat bed because his lover is too far away, would rather spend celebrations at work on the other side of the world than at home with the person who is waiting for him. To Dokyun, the snow is not only hovering over the city, covering the ground with thick sheets of sheer white. It's also making its way through his veins, icing his blood as if he wasn't cold enough already, and the blinding lights and golden garlands are looking back as if mocking him for being alone on these important days of the end of the year.
The dull light in their flat has never made him feel as sick as when the winter season has finally settled itself.
So when he gets a gentle message from Kyungil just before he starts eating his way too lonely and fancy dinner on Christmas, tears might be shedding on his cheeks. And when he opens the door only to find the older one on his threshold on New Year's eve, he might be kissing him back as fingers are making their way through his hair.
It's not even midnight yet and there's no mistletoe above their head, but it all doesn't matter.
What only matters for now is that Kyungil is comforting and warm and reassuring and all that he has ever looked for, and he makes him melt everywhere, from the icy blood running through his veins to his frozen heart.
He makes Dokyun feel loved and not as lonely as he's used to and he's not sure he's quite falling in love, yet, but falling, sure he is.
Ø
It happens one more time. And then again, and again, and again.
Because he's not yet mended, still lonely, and his “lover” is never there, always away, far far away from Dokyun's mind, body, and heart.
(And Kyungil is far far closer from everything.)
(Kyungil is intoxicating and makes him smile and laugh and makes his heart miss a beat, and Dokyun can't seem to find a way to stop.)
Somewhere along the lines, Dokyun stops caring and doesn't feel as guilty as when they have started. They are even times where he finds the whole thing thrilling. It's exhilarating, really, how many loving bites Kyungil can leave on his flushed skin, the secrecy about their whole relationship, or the adrenaline that rushes through his veins when they are feverishly kissing in his own flat, days or hours before his lover is supposed to get back home.
(He never knew he had a thing for danger.)
Ø
It happens again and again, and yet, Dokyun knows it's not quite right.
There are still some days where he finds himself caring. When he gets lovely and heart-warming texts from his love when he wakes up, when he falls upon the same-coloured mugs only meant for two left on the side of the kitchen or when he sees the bright smile on his boyfriend's pictures on instagram.
The guilt is also still eating at his insides: especially when his lover is finally there with him and talking about settling down more seriously, talking about sharing bank accounts or savings for a future house and he smoothly avoids the subject as if it had never been brought in the first place. It still makes him sick when he has to cross his fingers behind his back when he's replying to loving words or making promises he's not even sure he can -wants to- hold now. He always want to throw up about his own being when he has to bit his lips to supress another name to fall from his mouth or when he can only picture Kyungil's face behind his eyelids when his lover is kissing him.
(Guilt is never as strong as when he somehow finds himself counting the days until his boyfriend depart the house again, some time around mid-may.)
He knows that it's not even right at all, but he doesn't know how to make it stop.
Dokyun only knows that he can't help going back to Kyungil.
A/N: Initially posted on nuguseyo for the exchange ♥. experimented a lot in this fic but it was quite interesting and fun to write ~
History; Pairing: Kyungil/Dokyun
Genre: angst
Rating: PG-13 to PG-15
Warning: mentions of cheating and alcohol
Word count: 3791
Summary: Dokyun is in a relationship, but starts cheating on his significant other with Kyungil
Dokyun doesn't really know how or when he has started to stop caring, but he just know he does.
The thing he also knows is that Kyungil's mouth is way too addicting for him to stop kissing, to stop wanting those hungry lips for himself. He's way far too infatuated by the older-by-four-years man to care anymore at that point, and so he lets himself being held and kissed, and led to his bedroom at the far end of the flat, without doing as much as struggling.
He lets himself getting lost in those strong arms, this warm comfortable embrace and those deep dark eyes looking right back through his with intensity, unfaltering. He lets himself getting lost in those moments, in the rough yet pleasant hands running all over his body and the kisses dropped behind his ear, on the side of his neck, or in the hollow besides his collarbone. He bites his lips with every rustling of the sheets, sweat rolling down his forehead and temples, and for every time he feels cold lips on his burning skin, he finds himself caring less and less. The kisses feel like a aid to his wounded heart, like every of his touch, as if every hint of fingertips upon his body is fixing something where it lands.
Dokyun lets himself getting lost in those moments, pleas quiet, as it feels as if time has stopped flowing by with their mingled breathes.
And what could possibly go wrong, when everything just feels so right?
Ø
“You should stop this.”
Dokyun looks up from his book to meet his friend's eyes.
“I know.” he replies back, tone rather sharp.
They're sitting at the table of a coffee shop, hot drinks and sweets on the neat surface. There isn't a lot of people at this hour of the day and so it is rather quiet. Dokyun likes this place: it allows them to relax once in a while and discuss about anything.
Except today he has planned on reading instead of talking and he's really not up to discuss about anything.
The boy that is facing him though, hints of blonde hair flashing from underneath his beanie, doesn't seem quite ready to give up.
“I'm telling you this as your friend, hyung, you should really st-”
“I know.” the tone is a lot harsher now and his eyes are full of annoyance. “I already know all of what you're trying to say Jaeho, and I know what I'm doing, so save your saliva and be quiet for a while, I can't read if you're talking.”
He sees the deeply hurt look his friend is showing for half a second, but doesn't say anything about it. He's not used to be that mean, but really, he knows.
And Dokyun doesn't need anyone to remind himself of something he already knows.
Ø
They meet on a early Spring day, months before it happens. Months before Dokyun feels like his heart is aching every single day when he come back to a empty house. The sun is high and the sky is clear above their heads, as if no one would ever have to worry.
It's Jaeho that introduce them to each other.
(Jaeho that has asked Dokyun to accompany him on this little outing with his friend Yijeong and a bunch of other people, so he wouldn't feel too lonely, and being the good -really- good friend he is, Dokyun has accepted.)
Kyungil -the tall guy with a smothering stare- is Yijeong's hyung. They used to be neighbours when the youngest was a child and the oldest a teenager, and from what Dokyun had made out of the discussions between those two, Kyungil has always taken care of the other really well: as if he was his real dongsaeng.
He can easily decipher the true affection in those sharp eyes, softening at their edges, and Dokyun can as easily understand it. Yijeong is really an adorable and precious young man, and even him who barely knows the boy, is tempted to ruffle the brunette's fluffy hair.
They don't really talk before a few hours in the afternoon, when the sun is slowly setting down from its highest spot and Sihyung -another one of Yijeong's friend- is playing -or just being?- dumb, on his own, making everyone laugh to tears and roll into the green grass. Kyungil sits besides him and Dokyun doesn't turn his head to acknowledge his presence because he's not really sure he can confront those deep dark eyes, but the oldest of the two starts to speak and mock Sihyung and from this, flows a simple and nice discussion.
They talk for around a hour at least about only themselves and their surroundings, nothing out of the ordinary, solely getting to know each other. They talk about what they do for a living, with who they are staying -Dokyun learns that Sihyung is actually Kyungil's embarrassing roommate-, their friends, what they like to do, and realize that they share the same passion for music as well as a lot more things than what they would have ever expected. Dokyun also notices that the older's laugh is quite pleasant to his ears, and when they must eventually part ways because it's time to get home, he doesn't find his eyes as frightening as he used to, for they shine as much as his bright smile.
They don't really keep in touch after this though. He only gets some news from Jaeho from time to time, and mainly when they're all hanging out with Yijeong and his friends. But Dokyun would just rather stick at home, because home is warm, comfortable and loving, and he has never been much of someone who goes out anyway.
Their little and nice afternoon in each other company is almost forgotten over the following weeks, settling itself in a corner of Dokyun's mind, far away in his memories.
Ø
Dokyun doesn't even feel the need to turn on the lights when he steps into his flat.
He kicks off his shoes instead, lets his bag drop to the floor in the small dining room and makes it to the couch in the middle of the room. He lies down there, eyes twitching, threatening to close because of the tiredness which seems to overtake every inches of his body and soul.
The silence around him is almost perfect, only shattered by his shallow breath and the regular tickling of the clock resonating in the whole place, unnerving. The lack of light -the only source being the moon, rays filtering from the window- and absence of sound almost makes him sick. And if the flat is a lot warmer than the winter weather outside, Dokyun feels as if a icy water is slowly eating his innards, invading his bones and freezing his skin. All attempts at making himself warmer, at grabbing a comforter and wrapping it around his own figure, only seem to leave him even colder.
The couch is incredibly uncomfortable and itchy, but he's too exhausted to move. He's not sure he even wants to.
He's tired of finding his own bed cold and half made, the closets of his room a quarter empty, reminder of someone who's not even there. Reminder of someone who used to be here with him, who used to enlighten the place, warm it up and make himself heard. Reminder of someone who used to take all the place in his heart.
(Reminder of someone who might not even be in there anymore.)
Ø
The first time it happens, Dokyun kind of wants to puke when he gets back home to their shared yet almost always empty flat. He has half the mind to turn on the lights before stumbling to his bathroom and holding himself upon the white cubicle in case his organism eventually decide to reject all of what is left in his stomach.
It's probably mostly because he's drunk that he feels this urge to throw up his whole dinner into the toilets, though it might also be related to the growing guilt tearing his guts and eating at his insides like acid, rushing back, back, back.
He does not feel any cleaner after throwing up.
His mind is still in a haze and his head dizzy as he lies flat on his bed later that night. He specifically turns his back to the organized, untouched other side of the bed. He squeezes his eyes hard, remaining unmoving as if afraid a simple brush would taint the empty place that has not even be used for he doesn't know how many days. He tries to get the pictures out of his head, tries to forget the taste of those lips against his and the muscled arms holding him. The feeling only gets stronger and doesn't seem to even start to falter. It settles down in the darkest pit of Dokyun's stomach and he almost feels like throwing up all over again.
Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.
As if with every tickling of the obnoxious clock -loud and clear in the silence of the apartment- the word is being uttered again.
Dokyun falls asleep to this excruciating inner melody.
Ø
They meet months later, at the end of the summer, when things already started going down and Dokyun feels more worn out with every passing second. He hides his exhaustion between smiles and pouts and puffy cheeks and Jaeho is supposed to be the only one who knows.
They stumble upon each other in the Coffee Shop Dokyun usually goes to with his friend on Saturdays' afternoons, between the time he orders and goes back to his seat. Kyungil asks him if he can sit across from him for a while and he nods silently with a smile, because, why not?
They catch up on each other but the smiles he gives the older man must be strained somehow, because the latter -even though they don't know each other that well- asks him if he's ok, and he replies back with a smile again, yes fine, totally, why would you even ask. And maybe Dokyun isn't that much of an actor if the look on Kyungil's face, and his thick eyebrows furrowing are anything to go by.
But he doesn't really care. He's not going to take things deeper and he doesn't expect the oldest to do so either. Right now he only wants to forget the loneliness which seems to spread through his heart, and Kyungil's company seems to be perfect to fulfil this particular purpose.
He feels a tiny bit better by the end of their discussion, his mug left half filled with the now cold drink.
A small yet genuine smile might be stretching his face when they exchange phone numbers and promise to meet again.
Ø
“Hyung, we'll eventually have to talk about it, really.”
His grip gets tighter on the cover, making his joints turn white under the pressure.
“No, we don't have to. Why would you even want to talk about it?”
“But I didn't introduce him for this t-”
Dokyun snaps, cutting his friend immediately with harsh and unthoughtful words.
“I don't care! I don't freaking care, Jaeho, ok? You're not my mom and you introducing Kyungil to me has nothing to do with anything! Take care of your business, and let me deal with my problems on my own!”
There's a short silence and he doesn't miss the expression on his friend's face: defying and meaningful. He prays for it to last: he can deal with the blonde's disdaining stare, but isn't sure he can handle more words coming from his mouth. (words reminding him of all the things he's doing wrong, reminding him of all the mistakes he has yet to fix.)
He almost believes it will but to his despair Jaeho still ends up whispering a few minutes later.
“Then you do admit that you have some problems to take care about.”
Dokyun slams his book on the table with full force, takes his jacket and only has it half worn on his back by the time he steps out of the coffee shop without a word.
Ø
Kyungil finds him sitting at the counter of a bar on a cold evening of mid-November.
Dokyun is already drunk by the time he sits down besides him, asking what's wrong -because you rarely go drink on your own in a bar around midnight if you don't feel the slightest bad-.
He looks up to the older with these hurt eyes, ones which only translate loneliness and weariness, and it's really not the image he would want to show to Kyungil, but he's far too numbed to even care at that point. He's just so tired of drowning his sorrow in alcohol but he can only try to drink more and more and again and again so everything will fade. So the ache pulling at his heartstrings might be washed away.
(it apparently isn't)
His colourful and expensive drink is being put away on the other side of the counter, but he doesn't find it in himself to care.
When he meets the genuine caring stare, Dokyun can't help from breaking down in front of the older, the borders of his faked happiness showing up as clear as the day. His voice is hushed, cracking up as he holds back a sob and swallows the lump in his throat -or is it his heart?-.
He doesn't really know what makes it out of his mouth anymore. He doesn't really know where he finds the strength to explain everything to Kyungil or why he even feels the need to.
But the oldest of them has a reassuring voice and deep concerned eyes, and the light yet warm hand tugging at his own is comfortable and a welcomed presence.
He spills everything out under the influence of the alcohol: the emptiness of his flat when he comes back home, the long hours spent by the phone waiting for a call or at the airport, and the apologetic texts he gets when he wakes up in a freezing bed.
He feels someone embracing him and listens to the small comforting words being whispered in his ear, before looking up.
And here it is again, this smothering stare. Dokyun feels as if he's being sucked in by Kyungil's whole existence.
Ø
By the end of October, Dokyun has learnt that he likes being around the older a lot. Kyungil is funny, mature, he smoke on some days when he feel the need to relieve stress but not on a regular basis. He's manly in ways the younger can not fathom, and attractiveness seems to leak from every of his pores. They get along really well, and spending time with the other has soon became a habit while the weather is getting colder and colder. They go to the museum together -because Jaeho never wants to go and Dokyun has not been able to go there for months-, concerts or even the park around his neighbourhood. Everything is fine as long as they're able to discuss and laugh and smile. They meet at least once a week to share a hot drink at the coffee shop they both know so well, and talk for hours about anything.
“How is your boyfriend doing?”
Dokyun is taken aback by the question, because he didn't see it coming, hadn't expected it at all. He would never have thought that Kyungil would even one day mention him, but he's visibly been mistaken.
It takes him a few moments to think about it, and what makes the taste of the answer even bitterer on his tongue, is the fact that no matter how he thinks about it, he doesn't even know it himself.
“Great. Yeah, Great.” he takes a deep breathe before going on. “He's just really busy these days, it's a bit hard to get to talk to him since he's currently in Japan on a business trip, but he's doing great.”
He tries to forget about the time he has spent waiting for someone to get home and never witnessing it or the smiles that he can only see in old photographs by his bed.
“Great.” he whispers, more for himself than for anyone else.
Ø
They kiss for the first time under colourful lights, soft music playing in the background, surroundings all blurred, drinks nearby on the counter, in the darkest hours of the night.
It's Kyungil who leans first, and Dokyun doesn't respond, doesn't let himself drown in those lips before a few minutes of complete stillness. However he has had far too many drinks that he can account for, and soon enough the alcohol takes over what is left of his reason and values, and he opens his lips for Kyungil to invade his mouth and his whole being.
And that's all it takes. The guilt that should be ever so present in the back of his mind is fading away with the intensity of their session. Kyungil's hands settled on his thighs and the messy kisses being shared ignite a fire in Dokyun's stomach that he had thought long since forgotten -but apparently isn't-, devouring his entrails like a beast and only leaving him asking for more more more. The neon green lights are lighting up only half of Kyungil's face, dancing in the penumbra and he can't tell where they are coming from as they all seem to twirl. The world is a black hole which swirls and swirls and Dokyun is sucked in it, washed away in the persistent hurricane that is his mind and Kyungil's touches.
He snaps back to reality when he feels Kyungil's hands running up his thighs and starting to crawl under his shirt. It's as if with the cold touch on his warmed up skin, the guilt and reason came back rushing to him, stinging.
Before Kyungil can even open his mouth, Dokyun is out of the bar, running away in the dark freezing night of November.
Ø
The second time it happens is later, around Christmas's Eve and the New year. This period of the year is a promise to a lot of parties, of blinding lights shining through the city, golden garlands displayed to everyone on the streets and snow falling down from the sky to the earth.
But to Dokyun, it only means more ache. It's only a mere and bitter promise of what's to come, of being faced by an empty flat and a neat bed because his lover is too far away, would rather spend celebrations at work on the other side of the world than at home with the person who is waiting for him. To Dokyun, the snow is not only hovering over the city, covering the ground with thick sheets of sheer white. It's also making its way through his veins, icing his blood as if he wasn't cold enough already, and the blinding lights and golden garlands are looking back as if mocking him for being alone on these important days of the end of the year.
The dull light in their flat has never made him feel as sick as when the winter season has finally settled itself.
So when he gets a gentle message from Kyungil just before he starts eating his way too lonely and fancy dinner on Christmas, tears might be shedding on his cheeks. And when he opens the door only to find the older one on his threshold on New Year's eve, he might be kissing him back as fingers are making their way through his hair.
It's not even midnight yet and there's no mistletoe above their head, but it all doesn't matter.
What only matters for now is that Kyungil is comforting and warm and reassuring and all that he has ever looked for, and he makes him melt everywhere, from the icy blood running through his veins to his frozen heart.
He makes Dokyun feel loved and not as lonely as he's used to and he's not sure he's quite falling in love, yet, but falling, sure he is.
Ø
It happens one more time. And then again, and again, and again.
Because he's not yet mended, still lonely, and his “lover” is never there, always away, far far away from Dokyun's mind, body, and heart.
(And Kyungil is far far closer from everything.)
(Kyungil is intoxicating and makes him smile and laugh and makes his heart miss a beat, and Dokyun can't seem to find a way to stop.)
Somewhere along the lines, Dokyun stops caring and doesn't feel as guilty as when they have started. They are even times where he finds the whole thing thrilling. It's exhilarating, really, how many loving bites Kyungil can leave on his flushed skin, the secrecy about their whole relationship, or the adrenaline that rushes through his veins when they are feverishly kissing in his own flat, days or hours before his lover is supposed to get back home.
(He never knew he had a thing for danger.)
Ø
It happens again and again, and yet, Dokyun knows it's not quite right.
There are still some days where he finds himself caring. When he gets lovely and heart-warming texts from his love when he wakes up, when he falls upon the same-coloured mugs only meant for two left on the side of the kitchen or when he sees the bright smile on his boyfriend's pictures on instagram.
The guilt is also still eating at his insides: especially when his lover is finally there with him and talking about settling down more seriously, talking about sharing bank accounts or savings for a future house and he smoothly avoids the subject as if it had never been brought in the first place. It still makes him sick when he has to cross his fingers behind his back when he's replying to loving words or making promises he's not even sure he can -wants to- hold now. He always want to throw up about his own being when he has to bit his lips to supress another name to fall from his mouth or when he can only picture Kyungil's face behind his eyelids when his lover is kissing him.
(Guilt is never as strong as when he somehow finds himself counting the days until his boyfriend depart the house again, some time around mid-may.)
He knows that it's not even right at all, but he doesn't know how to make it stop.
Dokyun only knows that he can't help going back to Kyungil.
A/N: Initially posted on nuguseyo for the exchange ♥. experimented a lot in this fic but it was quite interesting and fun to write ~