Chapter Text
san’s hand delicately winding around your waist from behind, hand starting from the small of your back and slowly making its way around before stilling on your front, reminds you of the caring touch of a lovers — kindness and adoration in every inch of movement across your body — closing your eyes to take it in with a slow but heavy inhale as the two of you stand in front of the full length mirror that lies propped up against the wall just next to your bedroom door, you open your eyes again to take in the visual of san standing behind you, eyes locked on one another before he settles his chin onto the exposed skin of your shoulder.
he smells of cheap, generic, cologne, but you appreciate the thought that goes into it all of the same.
“it’s gonna be fine,” he says with absolute positivity in his tone. “i’ll be there, wooyoung will be there, it’ll be fine.”
you only hum in response, brushing the palms of your hands over the dress that you bought just for this very occasion, this evening — a thursday evening. san removing his hand from you so that you can carry on priming yourself in front of the mirror, you watch him saunter over towards the large, burgundy chair in the corner of your bedroom — plopping himself onto it with a huff as if a child waiting for his mother to finish with her errands.
“do I look okay?” you can’t help but ask.
“you know you do,” he responds with a smile — raven black hair slicked back and off of his forehead, a hairstyle you suggested for him and due largely in part because of how well wooyoung wears it — you certainly were correct in the assumption.
and you’re a little taken aback by how well san cleans up, you have to admit. all black everything, but perfectly fitted button down shirt and dress slacks — a man you’re used to seeing in ripped up jeans that he’s probably owned since he was a teenager and a brown, coffee stained apron showing off the trials and tribulations of business ownership, part of you couldn’t help but wonder how it might look showing up to an event such as this with a man such as him.
would hongjoong think you to be showing off? trying to make him jealous?
“hoping to get someone’s attention?” san rings out, one corner of his lips pulling upward slyly, knowing damn well what he’s doing.
you have half a mind to throw something, anything, his way from across the room.
“no! but I don’t want to show up looking like a slob, either,” you pause, looking into the reflection of the mirror again, taking in all of the fine details of your appearance before finishing the thought. “it’s important.”
“you don’t have to lie to me, it’s fine,” he answers back, the roll of his eyes so dramatic you catch it out of the corner of your eye. you opt to sigh instead of attempting to offer him another fib.
standing again, san makes his way across the hard wood floor of your room to take position where he was only a few minutes prior — this time hands placing themselves on your arms and pulling them from yourself, as if forcing you to stop obsessing over every wrinkle or spec of dust that dare to find itself out of place in your sight. you sigh at the touch, finding comfort in it, before allowing your eyes to make contact with san once again.
“how do you know it’ll be fine?”
a single huff of amusement through his nose at the question, he gently squeezes you in acknowledgment of the question before pulling you out from in front of the mirror and down the hall into the kitchen. you watch him in silence as he makes his way through the space — opening one cupboard, then closing it. another, and then closing it, before finally happening to stumble upon the one it is that he’s looking for. two wine glasses in hand and setting them down on the counter between the both of you, san raises his eyebrows at you before turning back the other way and grabbing one of the two bottles of red wine sitting in the corner of the space, just next to the sink.
“sit.”
you do, watching him as he works.
‘work’ being an interesting choice of words, you think to yourself, because it certainly appears as though this is something that san has done a handful of times prior to now. expertly de-corking the bottle and with a pour stance that certainly would cause one to assume as such — when he finishes with both perfectly even glasses of wine and slides you one across the table, you can’t help but continue watching him as he sets the bottle to the side and opts to stand just before you instead of sitting next to you.
“before I moved here I used to work in food service.”
suppose it was written on your face, after all.
san’s glass remaining on the dark marble of the kitchen island, you watch his thumb as it delicately traces over the rim of his glass — his own eyes fixated on the movement, along with a face full of features that imply one deep in thought.
“before I moved here—“ he begins again, quieter in tone.
“—i was married.”
“oh.”
it’s not the best response, given the information, and for that you think you may forever be regretful, but san snorts at it in response as if amused by it all the same.
“but you’re…not…anymore?” you slowly manage out, watching for any change in the mans expressions as you do.
looking up at you through his eyelashes, you watch him smile harder this time — dimple evident this time — and thankful that you haven’t completely blown this interaction, you sigh in relief just a tad as san inhales to begin his next thought.
“no,” he says with a slow shake of his head, eyes pulled back down to the rim of his glass. “it’s sort of…strange to talk about, I guess. not hard, but strange.”
you recall your conversation with him back at the cafe after close not too long ago.
“there’s really no easy way to go about saying it I suppose — she passed away, seven months ago,” he finally states, pausing for a brief moment and finishing the thought with the amendment of “—seven months and four days.”
you suppose that there are always times in life where your ability to manage situations will be tempted. how good you are with words, or with feelings — wrangling with the aftermath of tragedy, of your tragedy sometimes can seem easy — everyone grieves differently, and we’re all entitled to grieve in our own, different ways.
how one handles the grief of another, though, you guess you have found just another thing in which you are lacking.
“san,” you whisper, reaching out and taking the hand that had once fiddled with his drink into your own. “i’m so sorry.”
“ah, it’s okay, this is why I don’t like telling people, it’s a little bizarre,” he says, chuckling a bit under his breath at the awkward turn of the night. “she was sick for a long time — years — we knew really early and just lived out our best years together in spite of it. I suppose you could say that I had already grieved the loss before she actually passed, in a way.”
it certainly puts your own life in perspective.
flipping the positioning of your hands so that his sits atop yours, san squeezes gently as he finally takes a sip of his wine with the other hand. you follow suit, watching him intently.
“i guess i’m telling you this because — it will always be okay,” he assures with a smile. “it doesn’t matter what happens tonight at this thing, or with hongjoong, or anything — you’ll be okay. the world will keep spinning, we’ll all keep moving on, there will always be a reason to be okay.”
you think that it sounds corny, in the most charming, choi san way.
“when my wife passed away, I sold all of our assets and moved here, opened a business, just…did something else,” he starts again, this time staring forward and into the nothingness ahead. “i could have stayed there, been sad and rotted away in our home, but she wouldn’t have wanted that for me — she loved me because she thought I was great, so I have to keep on being great for her. that’s my duty, now.”
the way that san’s eyes sparkle in the dimly lit ambiance of your apartment makes him look stunning to you — a man already beautiful, only made even more so by the way that he so affectionately talks about his late wife and their love and life together — you can’t help but imagine how lucky she must have been to have been married to a man like him.
and in that moment, you realize that you love san.
in a way that is born nothing more of adoration and platonic affection.
'I love you, but i’m not in love with you.’
“anyway!” he finally says, cutting through the silence of the kitchen after his heavy words. “what i’m trying to say is that i’m sure what hongjoong would want for you is to just be the best version of you, all of the things that he ever fell in love with — be that, even if it doesn’t necessarily mean that the two of you will end up back together, ya know?”
“yeah, I know.”
“you want him to be great, too, right?”
“of course,” you reply, taking another sip from your glass as san falls back into the slightly more animated version of himself that you’ve become so accustomed to. “but clearly he has no issues with doing that much, given the event that we’re attending tonight.”
and you know that it sounds bitter, somewhat petty, given everything. you’re not sure if you don’t mean for it to, even just a little bit.
you watch san frown gently at you, a silent scolding for the bitterness that you’ve accidentally let fall from your lips and into your glass of wine — followed up by a gentle smile and him coming around the side of the island to lazily sling an arm over your shoulder just as he tends to do in an effort to playfully rough you up a bit.
“don’t be like that,” he says, pulling you into a headlock much to your whiny dismay. “think about how sexy he’s probably going to look tonight.”
“why in the hell would I do that? and why would you say that?” you whine louder now, desperately attempting to pull away from the grip of the man that has now comfortably taken position as your annoying, kid brother.
“takes the edge off,” he admits, finally letting you free from his grasp only to settle his elbows onto the surface and cradle his chin between his hands coyly. “besides, aren’t you curious?”
clearing your throat in an attempt to lie, you avoid eye contact. “no, i’m not going there for that.”
but san only sighs dramatically, flinging a hand in the air and picking up the empty glasses of wine to set down into the sink as you stand up with intention of leaving the apartment now.
“you lie to me with such ease, what’s a man to do? how are women so cruel?”
“women are cruel!?” you bite back, picking your bag up off of the side of the chair and slinging it carefully over your shoulder as the both of you head towards the door. “you’re mocking me”
“not mocking,” san amends the statement as he slips his shoes on, eyes closed but smiling all the same — the same cat-like features that drew you to him those few months back.
what a mistake that was.
“teasing.” he finishes, leaning forward and planting a kiss to the side of your head as you busy yourself with slipping into a nice pair of heeled shoes.
you scoff, finally ready to exit the house with keys in hand, and with san motioning for you to exit first you take your last, sharp, inhale in the comfort of your own apartment — unsure of what it is that awaits you from the rest of the evening.
closing the door after san and locking it behind, in the near pitch darkness of the hallway before the motion sensor lights flicker on, you feel familiar fingers lace in between your own — a comforting offering from a man that as always, knows no other way to be but selfless, loving, and there.
“it’s going to be fine,” he whispers, thumb delicately tracing over your skin beneath.
“i’ve got you.”
as the car crawls to a stop in front of the large, steel building — adorned with large windows giving it the appearance of being made entirely of them, it’s the first time that san lets go of your hand since leaving your place — carefully sliding it back to his side of the seat as the both of you unbuckle your seat belts and carefully open your doors to head out and onto the street.
said street — bustling with people, mostly appearing relatively well-to-do and with money to spend, brings you a bit back down to earth at the sudden ways in which things can seemingly change. majority of them not appearing to be the typical crowd that only six months back you would have expected to see hongjoong rubbing shoulders with — memories of meeting him downtown in the art district, that dingy little bar that was his favorite because he was allowed to smoke inside of it, a bar where all of the wait staff and bartenders knew him and his typical friend group — including you, not unheard of to be dragging the man out of there late at night or gently holding his hair back after one too many.
you remembered how he looked the last night you saw him — dressed immaculately and to fit in perfectly with this sort of crowd — always a bit of a chameleon of sorts, a man that could fit in anywhere, really.
perhaps he had changed, though. maybe you were too busy to notice it.
“should we go?” san asks with a nudge to your arm, effectively bringing your thoughts back to the present. “do you need a minute?”
“no, no,” you quickly answer him, checking to make sure you have all of your belongings despite the car that you had come in having long since left. “i’m ready, we can go.”
upon stepping inside and through a small crowding of people near the entrance, once finding an area inside where the floor is relatively clear, the two of you stand in a bit of awe, glancing around the room before you — black and white walls and tiling accompanying gently, cool lighting on the art pieces themselves — mostly monochrome work that hongjoong had been putting time into long before the two of you had even begun seeing each other in a way beyond friends, as your eyes dazzle along the sights, so many of the pieces bring you back to a specific moment in time, a moment shared with the man behind them all: memories of lying on the couch in the darkness with a movie on the television, the flickering of the film the only offering of light for the artist as he work along a canvas. you so vividly recall asking him how it is that he can work in the dark of night, and him simply responding that it suits him — sometimes hard at work into the early morning hours, only taking breaks for the promise of being wrapped up in you — an easy win, you remember thinking back then, the sex paired with the simplicity of getting him to finally eat a meal thereafter.
stepping towards one in particular, it brings all of the memories flooding back — laughing with him, lying around with him on the couch in his loft and lazily painting one of his fingernails pink for the laugh of it despite knowing him not to be one to gripe over such a color choice anyways — it brings a particular and familiar twisting in your gut that you had since buried well and deep within you; the longing for him.
the fact that you still loved him immensely, after everything. it was all still there.
but the piece that you recall so clearly now standing before you — changed in so many ways from how you have it etched into your memory — a vision that brings you great sadness, as if highlighting all of the ways in which hongjoong had attempted to forget you, remove you from his life as best he could.
“there she is.”
already well aware of who it is that the voice belongs to before turning to greet it, you can’t help but smile as he steps forward, hair up and back just as always — and just like san’s — as he comes up to stand next to the both of you in his too-expensive white button down shirt and black slacks.
“you came,” wooyoung leans in towards you to whisper with a playful nudge to your side, as if he had been partially expecting you not to. “i’m glad.”
“yeah.”
“this the guy?” he says, stepping forward to look past you and to your other side at san, quickly reaching a hand out to shake it. “jung wooyoung, nice to meet you. heard good things.”
“choi san, gotta say the same, she speaks highly of you.”
“is that so?” wooyoung can’t help but tease with the raise of an eyebrow. “you told him?”
and you know full well that he’s joking, and that you hadn’t, but the playfulness of the man something that none of you capable of keeping barred, ending up instead as something that all of you simply must become accustomed to. sending an elbow into his side similarly to how he had done to you just moments earlier, wooyoung folds at the waist with a giggle at the contact.
you’ll have to explain some other time, not tonight, though.
“have you seen him?”
the jesting tone of the evening not one able to be carried throughout, unfortunately. in the end, everything will always come back to kim hongjoong.
you shake your head gently, staring forward once again and at the bastardization of an art piece you had once held in your heart so fondly — instead now showcasing in bright lights and for a hefty price tag all of your most immediate and humiliating failures.
“he’s around here somewhere.”
“who is?”
to say that you were unprepared would have been an understatement. a familiar, airy pitchiness in a voice that over the months you had grown so accustomed to, formed such a particular adoration towards — now sounding almost foreign in ways as it enters your ears from behind you. you can only figure that he doesn’t yet know that it’s you, especially with not recognizing the man to the other side of you — to so simply saunter up to the group and seemingly without a care in the world, but surely with the weight in which your heart threatens to beat out of your chest and onto the floor for every guest in the gallery to see, the thumping would give you away long before the vision of your face ever could.
at the very least, the threat of your heart beating out of your chest and taking your consciousness with it suddenly not sounding so bad, after all.
the three of you begin turning to face him before you really even know what’s happening, you think for a split second that you hear wooyoung in your ear telling you to 'take it easy’, though you’re not so sure how you’re expected to do so with little instruction on the matter.
it’s been three months, after the better part of a year being over, under and irrevocably in love with him — arguably, he was even more in love with you, that much you quite were certain of.
“speak of the devil,” wooyoung chimes in as the three of you turn, and you think that for a moment time truly stops as you make eye contact with hongjoong again for the first time since that night.
and it was certainly true that he had not known it to be you from behind with the way his features splash with nothing less than absolute shock from the visual of being met with your face again. you watch him so intently, for any sign of distaste, of not wanting you there, of unhappiness at the sight — any tell-tale sign that you should get the fuck out of there as quickly as possible, and you’re happy to.
figure, happy might not be the right word, but it’ll do.
it’s pure shock as he looks at you, before slowly allowing his vision to fall to the side where san reside next to you.
“you're—“ hongjoong stutters out with a pause in between the words. “here.” he finally finishes with a hard look in wooyoung’s direction.
finally pulling your attention away from hongjoong, not wanting to stare but god what a sight for sore eyes, you glance towards wooyoung and his nervously giggling self.
caught red-handed, but surely, he knew that would be the case.
“well, you know what they say,” the blonde man starts through his anxious laughter. “don’t give the sex party guy a plus one, who knows who might show up!”
a hateful attempt at a light-hearted joke, especially given the history between the majority of you present, both you and hongjoong roll your eyes at the gesture simultaneously while san stands next to you quiet and surely somewhat confused.
“right, well,” hongjoong sighs, hands slipping into the pockets of his pressed, black slacks — similarly dressed to when you had last seen him, albeit a bit more casually in his white button down and slightly over sized black suit jacket with the red lining just barely peeking out along the buttoning, but with hair still black and pressed up similarly to san’s, you really can’t help yourself.
he looks incredible. and healthy.
“sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude I just didn’t expect—“ he starts again, this time cutting himself off to offer to shake the hand of the man next to you. “kim hongjoong, but i’m sure you've—“
you listen to him trail off on the tail end of the statement, the word 'heard’ barely escaping his lips at all as the awkwardness of not only the situation but acknowledging such, you find comfort in knowing that it’s not going as well for him, either.
that you’re both going to have to suffer through this, even just a little bit.
san snorts at the gesture and the words accompanying them, shaking hongjoong’s hand and nodding. “choi san, and indeed, i’m familiar.”
an elbow gently greeting san’s side, now.
but there’s a particular unsteadiness to hongjoong’s stature that you find yourself unable to place. a discomfort that you had not anticipated upon entering the night, paired with the way that he makes an effort to avoid making eye contact with you at all costs, almost exclusively staring at the floor, or even opting to look at wooyoung in any words spoken your way, that sends you through a loop much more than expected.
you had known that he wouldn’t be expecting you, but the reality of it proving more than that causes you to feel a strange consolation that you’re happy to welcome.
perhaps it’s not just you having to weather the storm of tonight, after all.
with silence taking the group, you watch hongjoong gently rock back and forth on his heels a couple of times — first glancing at wooyoung, and the two of them seemingly embarking on a perfectly mute conversation of sorts before the object of your undying affection’s attention suddenly turns back to you and shaky eyes find their way to yours once again.
“so,” he starts, and not nearly as confidently as he probably would have hoped. “how…long have you two been together?”
it takes you a moment to follow the train of thought, not quite understanding what it is that he’s referring to, an embarrassingly long amount of time before you finally realize that he’s referring to the strange man that isn’t wooyoung standing to the other side of you — a dizzying sight before you when you begin to put the pieces together of hongjoong’s horrified realization of the fact that maybe, just maybe you had moved on.
not slept with someone else, not talking to someone else, but dating someone else.
that even in all of those past encounters, everything that ultimately tore the two of you apart, at the end of the day, he held an irreplaceable spot in your life.
but not anymore.
“oh, oh, we're—“
however, in typical jung wooyoung fashion, before you’re able to get the thought out, he’s reaching across you and towards san, gripping a hand into the strange mans arm and pulling him away from you and towards himself. “we should let them have some time, don’t you think?”
san, all too quick on the uptake for your liking and grinning ear to ear whilst yanked around the gallery by the handsome stranger with the bright blonde hair, nodding and agreeing — but not without a passing look that says all you really need to hear from him in the circumstances, after all.
'if you need me, i’m a text away.’
always good with words, even unspoken.
before you have the time to revisit the prior topic, hongjoong nods towards the piece of art hanging on the white wall in front of both of you, eyes glued to it in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with you — and in a way you find it sort of charming, the way he’s being — suddenly reverting to this shy, awkward boy that you think in all of the years that you’ve known him, you’ve never quite seen this side of him.
unnerving, in a way, as well.
“finally finished it,” he starts, eyes pulling to the ground as he kicks at nothing with the toe of his shoe before glancing up at you again briefly. “took forever.”
“it’s changed a lot,” you acknowledge, attempting to quell the hint of sadness in your voice. “it’s beautiful though, of course. you always had the talent for it.”
you wonder if it’s too far — complimenting him so outwardly even in regards to his work and work alone, with the way that silence befalls the conversation and he opts not to respond to it. anxiety rustling within your chest all over again with each passing second.
“gonna smoke, wanna—“ hongjoong takes a second to think through the rest of the question before settling on it definitively. “step outside with me?”
opening the door to the private exit, down another dimly lit hallway that’s not part of his exhibition but rather for staff to come and go as need be, hongjoong holds it for you to step through before rifling through his pockets for his pack of cigarettes and lighter, slipping one between his lips and bringing his hands up and around the end to light it through the gentle breeze of the evening air.
in the midst of the busy city, smelling vaguely of sewage and burnt pizza — compliments of the little restaurant down a block or so away from here.
the two of you step towards the balcony edge together, leaning against the glass and steel guard rail — staring out into the night sky and upon all of the passersby down below — people and cars alike with places to be and people to see — you can’t help but wonder just how many of them may find themselves precisely in this same situation as you; in what feels like the precipice of something, although you can’t be sure what, or how much of that is simply you projecting your hopefulness upon a situation in which there is none.
it’s the last thing you wish to do, punish him for his kindness towards you tonight.
glancing to your side, you watch him exhale cigarette smoke, immediately dragged off and away into the wind.
how quickly things come and go.
“we’re not together.”
it’s a split second decision on your end, to amend the thought from earlier, and you can’t help but study the way that hongjoong’s features may change at the receiving of such information. there’s nothing, from what you can tell, but he always did have an exquisite poker face.
and besides, he doesn’t have a drink next to him, either.
when silence blankets the conversation, you wonder if you should have left it, with hongjoong not responding nor giving any indication of interest in the matter — chewing on your bottom lip, you turn your attention away from him and back out towards the tops of all of the shorter buildings in your view.
“slept with him?”
the question comes out of left field, for a plethora of reasons — it sends you reeling a little bit, the audacity of it, for one, but shrouded by the fact that it’s the first truly hongjoong thing that he’s said to you all night. through all of the glitz and glamour, pressed dress pants and fancy wine — kim hongjoong was still just the guy that you had always known him to be; an artist that smokes too much, arguably drinks a little too much (but not if you ask him), and is at all times at the mercy of his emotions — for better or for worse, it’s him, it’s who he is.
but just as quickly as he says it, his head drops forward a bit in a chuckle — clearly at himself more than anything else. “don’t answer that, you don’t have to answer that.”
you know as well as he does that it’s a question born from a place of unresolved hurt. no doubt in your mind that in your time apart that both you and he had experienced monumental growth, but some wounds take longer than others.
three months is a good amount of time, but it’s not long, not long enough to mend a lot. you know this, as well, with the way your chest tightens every time you look at him.
a strong man, but a weakness for you — not yet grappled with in its entirety in that time spent without contact.
“no.”
the choice to answer, if asked why, you suppose you’re not entirely sure. a gut reaction, and willingness to provide a certain openness to him now that perhaps you had always failed to before. unsure of what it may offer him — be it comfort, solace, understanding, maybe even sadness in a knowledge that this is now, and all of that was then, you choose to display your heart for him all the same.
and perhaps for you, a feeling of it being the least you could do.
'i’m doing the work, whatever it may mean to you now.’
hongjoong takes another drag of his cigarette before turning his head to look at you, and for the first time that evening, the wall of feeling like strangers feels as though it may be crumbling, if only ever so slightly. a familiar glint in his eye — a man that enjoys playing games to a point, but with information so tantalizing presented before him — information that perhaps allows for more questions than answers, you suppose you could have guessed him to not be above taking the bait, as it were.
“why not?” he asks, head cocking to the side inquisitively. “he’s handsome, you’re spending time with him so presumably he’s not a scumbag—“ he takes another drag of his cigarette.
“—brought him here.”
“wooyoung offered,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “i didn’t want to come alone.”
“gotta stop letting wooyoung get away with so much, he’s really getting out of hand these days.”
a playful response that you’re happy to hear in tone as hongjoong turns back to gaze out towards the skyline.
“are you…” you begin, once again that suicidal inquisitiveness getting the best of you as hongjoong offers no insight into his own status, so to say. you watch the corner of his mouth pull up gently before bringing his hand up for another inhale.
“seeing anyone?” he finishes the thought for you. it’s a little humiliating, but he did always find joy in getting you a little flustered for his viewing pleasure.
“why? jealous?”
“no,” you lie. “wooyoung mentioned you had been dating—“
“i’ve really got to get a handle on that guy…” hongjoong sighs with exasperation again.
“i mean, it’s fine, obviously, i’m not surprised, just—“ your words turning into nervous babbling before you have a chance to get a handle on it, with a chuckle, the man next to you takes it upon himself to put you out of the tailspin you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.
“i’m not,” he says firmly. “i mean, yeah, I went out with some people here or there but i’m not dating someone.”
you hate the way that your mind immediately begins to fill the voids with visuals of him making love to someone who isn’t you.
but thankfully, that’s a question you’re more than willing to carry on not knowing the definitive answer to, in actuality.
putting out a cigarette long since burned down to the filter, hongjoong flicks it off and into the nighttime air before turning on his heels in a sort of particularly animated way — raising eyebrows at you and motioning towards the door. “suppose i’m expected back, eventually—“
“i’m sorry.”
the words slip out from between your lips before you have a chance to second guess them, familiar prickling of tears forming at the corners of your eyes as your chest tightens and throat burns with the promise of all of the months of loving — and longing — for him, threatening to make themselves known right here, right now, on this otherwise tucked away balcony. a pathetic display, perhaps, as hongjoong’s eyes pull away with eyebrows knitting together harshly at the sight of you before him. you think to yourself that this, this time — and you suppose all of the times before, as well — you’ve gone too far, pressed him too hard for something he’s not willing to, or simply cannot give you.
emotionally stunted in so many ways, another thing that three months time not enough to unpack in it’s entirety — or maybe, even put a dent in.
and this one hongjoong can’t fuck away, either.
you consider it heavily, with the words already out and on the floor between the both of you, how selfish it is to offer him this now — tonight, of all nights, very much not what he needs to be dealing with.
but suppose you can’t apologize for apologizing now, can you?
“i’m a mess,” you laugh under your breath, thumb on one hand reaching up to gently wipe away the formation of a tear from your eye before it has a chance to lend itself down your cheek and striping your makeup. “it’s just been so long since i’ve seen you, that’s all—“
“i know, me too. i’m sorry, too.”
it comes out of left field, the admittance of some form of responsibility in everything that had gone on — and while past a certain point, you find it impossible within yourself to hold him to much of a standard of accountability, it’s the acknowledgment that he was, at any point in time, a participant in all of the many ways that things between the two of you had gone awry that puts an even stronger emotional choke hold on you.
“you want to get a drink?” hongjoong asks, once again nodding towards the door. he checks the time on his phone before speaking again. “bar should be open for another twenty minutes or so, then we can get out of here—“
we.
pausing, hongjoong laughs at himself again, the freudian slip of sorts, and you can’t help but giggle along with him even in spite of how your chest feels as though it may collapse in and onto itself at any given moment.
making your way back inside and to the bar, you’re comforted when you lay eyes on san and wooyoung — happily seated together at a table with drinks before them, and quite evidently thoroughly engaged in conversation with one another. the blonde man shouting so loudly that it echoes through the hallways of the establishment, hongjoong mockingly covers his ears as you both seat yourselves with them at the silent insistence of san, himself.
“how’s it going?” san asks hongjoong, quickly settling his attention to you thereafter to scan over your stature and deduce whether or not there’s a problem.
but the artist simply shrugs, bringing his glass to his lips and sipping before responding. “well, but i’m ready to go home. all this snazzy, expensive shit isn’t really my scene, this is all wooyoung’s jive.”
all eyes turning to the man in question, he shyly grins without an argument to put up against such accusations. “guilty as charged, I suppose. mommy and daddy didn’t put me through a top 5 private school for no reason, after all.”
“you should have seen his apartment in college,” hongjoong adds, “sickening.”
“oh really?” wooyoung responds, somewhat condescending in nature. “interesting, because from what I recall, you sure enjoyed spending time there—“
you can’t see it, aside from the jolt of hongjoong as a result of a swift kick into wooyoung’s leg, and the blonde subsequently hissing at the contact in question, but you and san laugh at the display before you, remembering all of the ways that this is precisely where you want to be, and the company you wish to keep.
that it feels like home.
and as the event comes to a close, the four of you are the last to leave — slowly making your way out of the building and curbside as you wait for your cabs to arrive to take you home.
the scent of burnt pizza stronger than atop the balcony, and even threatening to lull you towards it, you take in the fragrance — the sense most closely tied to memory — in hopes that maybe, just maybe, every time to smell pizza in the future, you could relive this for a second — the right here, the right now of this.
glancing over at san to your left, him turning to meet you, he gently plants an elbow into your arm — a sort of 'I told you so’ that the night would be okay. you’re thankful that he’s right.
and to your right — successful, accomplished, and extraordinarily loving perhaps even to a fault, kim hongjoong.
hair long since fallen as a result of running about and mingling — thick, waxed together strands of hair off to each side of his head, you watch him light another cigarette at the bemoaning of wooyoung who makes it no secret that he wishes for his friend to give up the habit.
ignoring the annoying blonde and glancing towards you by chance, catching you in gazing upon him, you quickly avert your eyes despite having already been caught in the act.
another nudge into your arm, but this time from your right, and not from san.
leaning towards you, it’s the closest you’ve felt hongjoong to you since the last time you had seen him — his presence sending shivers down your spine even in how innocuous the movement is.
“want to come over? ya know, for a drink or something.”
it’s a private invitation, not for wooyoung, and not for san. only for you.
your mind takes you to a million places all at once, something you would have to sort out on the car ride there, as you nod in acceptance without a single spoken word.
“if your boyfriend says it’s okay, obviously.”
he’s joking, tilting his head over and towards san who stands none the wiser to the scenario playing out just next to him. you slap hongjoong’s arm in jest — him cowering away at the gentle assault, of which finally brings san’s attention over and to the both of you.
“um, so—“ you start, clearing your throat nervously as you attempt to inform san of the change of plans for the evening. “i’m gonna go…with joong.”
“oh?” san says, and a little too loud for your liking as you watch it catch hongjoong’s attention, the upward curl of his lips in such a sly way giving away the fact that he finds the entire thing humorous — especially given that it be yours and yours alone to navigate.
“don’t be like that,” you groan, rolling your eyes at the display. “we have a lot to talk about, you know.”
“of course, don’t let me stand in the way.” san grins, bowing ever so slightly towards hongjoong with reciprocation from the man, simultaneously receiving the notification that his car has arrived. “be good, kids! don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
“what wouldn’t he do?” hongjoong asks, wooyoung’s attention now piqued from the scenario having gone on on the opposite end of him.
“almost definitely whatever the fuck is about to go on here,” wooyoung adds, and to no ones liking. “but, suppose I only have myself to blame for this.”
it’s a pathetic display of a man pretending to be upset about the fruition of a scenario that he had more than a hand of causing to play out — dramatically tossing his arm up and over his face as if to fall faint on the wet, concrete below.
you had suspected wooyoung to be up to no good in inviting you to this evening, and certainly hadn’t thought him to be setting you up to fail — but this, perhaps a man entering dangerous levels of understanding the human psyche.
notification sounding on hongjoong’s phone of the car arriving for the both of you — never before a more thankful time for it. opening the car door, the man motions for you to enter first, happily obliging before he pauses to thank wooyoung for being an absolute fucking nuisance tonight.
“don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks the blonde before finally shoving himself in next to you.
“yes,” he affirms with a grin. “waiting for the hot bartender to finish up his shift.”
and with the roll of his eyes, hongjoong slides himself into the backseat right along with you, shutting the door and informing the driver of the address, but not before wooyoung sends the both of you off with some more of his parting wisdom.
“have fun talking.”
through a mostly silent ride (aside from hongjoong attempting to light up a cigarette in the backseat of a luxury car and thus entering into a heated debate with the driver), you contemplate just what exactly it is you’re being invited into. so many nights spent away from one another, and the last most prominent memory of you being in the mans home — pressed hard against the wall without an offering of any love or care from the man himself — you feel guilty for considering what would be for many the most obvious reason: the promise of sex.
that perhaps now, hongjoong has downgraded the relationship to what it always should have been from beyond the first time — two people using each others bodies as a means to an end, without any emotional ties or interest beyond the physical in one another — that even in spite of the love and nurturing the friendship had once held within it, now all that lie there is a brute, primal need to feel and be felt by another human being.
that this ultimately will mean nothing, that you ultimately mean nothing.
and can you accept that to be the case just to have him again?
a tailspin that isn’t so unheard of, being so completely and desperately in love with someone that one is willing to forgo all of their emotional needs in an effort to have what little it is that the other offers to them. if hongjoong is only willing to let you have him physically, is that good enough for you? knowing fully well all of the ways that it will bury itself deep inside of you and rot you from the inside out — the knowledge that despite being there with you in his bed, his mind may be elsewhere, with someone else should the time ever come, until eventually he should cut you off entirely at the promise of a partnership with someone he can actually see himself with. someone that he can see himself with in totality.
is it good enough for you?
maybe it is, for now.
jarring you from your thoughts, the car stops — hongjoong begrudgingly leaning forward towards the man who had previously chewed him out for his poor back seat etiquette with a wad of cash in hand — no doubt a hefty tip on top, as it’s just the kind of guy he is, hongjoong scoots himself out of the car just as he had entered approximately twenty minutes before, lending you his hand as leverage to pull yourself up and out of the vehicle as well.
with the door closed and the car pulling away, suppose it is what it is, now. you’re here.
hinge of the large front door creaking, a sound you’re all too familiar with and left entirely unsurprised by it’s remaining in your absence, the two of you step inside — coats off and onto hangers and shoes carefully pulled from your feet — so delicately on your end, a feeling as though you’re not meant to be here anymore, that you should enter with care, and as to not disturb those who lie in wait just beyond the hallway.
but hongjoong strides forward with his usual nonchalance, towards a small, makeshift bar now erected in and to the side of the open living space — you stand in awe for a moment at all of the ways that the place you had grown so accustomed to has changed — once black walls now white with numerous canvases scattered about. a man evidently hard at work, and for too many hours at a time, you can only imagine.
the only other way he knew of dealing with his feelings, plugging away at paint and pencils.
“drink?” he questions, already popping open a bottle of some brown liquid for himself before noticing the surprise splashed across your face. “oh, right, you haven’t seen the place in a while — changed a lot.”
“i’ll say,” is all you can manage in the moment, eyes still bouncing around the walls and off of all of the new and unfamiliar objects. “busy as ever, huh?”
“you know how I am,” he says, handing you a glass without you ever giving him an answer one way or another. “how’s it look? other than messy, obviously.”
“kind of miss the piano walls, i’ll be honest.”
“needed a change.”
it’s a simple comment, but carries so much weight behind it under the guise of artistic vision.
tipping his glass towards you, a silent 'cheers’ of sorts, you both take sips before hongjoong motions you further into the apartment and over towards the couch.
you don’t mean to make such a big deal out of every little thing, suppose you just can’t help it. the couch, far from forgotten, so many moments. bright and bitter, all the same.
as you sit down next to hongjoong, palms nervously flattening over your thighs to straighten the fabric of your dress after having set your glass down onto the coffee table, you stare down and at your fingernails — anything to pull your attention from the deafening silence of the room.
you hear hongjoong inhale sharply, for some reason, you know to brace yourself for impact.
“i’m going to say something,” he begins, eyes glued to the liquid in his glass that lie carefully cradled between both hands in his lap. “it’s going to hurt.”
fight, flight or freeze — you couldn’t move if you had tried, every muscle in your body tightening at the promise of whatever pain it is that the man next to you intends to rain down on you.
“i slept with someone else, in our time apart—“
the confirmation that you had been attempting to avoid all of this time — the knowing without knowing, well aware of it without having to be told, now iron pressed into the forefront of your mind.
“—i prefer you.”
the words hit you a bit like whiplash with their unexpectedness. words not necessary to express, and unsure of the intent behind such expression, it takes you a moment to even really allow them to sink into you through the uninvited imagery of the man you love in bed with someone who isn’t you, and once they do, you find little understanding in them — allowing your eyes to wander off and to the side in which hongjoong sits as he continues staring intently into his decorative glass of rum.
“okay…” you whisper, somewhat conclusively, but with a hint of questioning — unsure of his motive in disclosing this sort of information to you. it is to say, that you knew that already, but why are you being informed so carelessly.
“—and, i’m telling you this to hurt you, the same way you hurt me so exquisitely.”
you suppose that deep down, you appreciate the honesty. a sort of tit-for-tat game that you’re not at all shocked by hongjoong partaking in — probably having wanted to all along but without the willingness to do so when the both of you were still so completely involved — a sort of settling of the score that the man could never find it in himself to carry out knowing that you would be going to sleep with and waking up next to him for so many days following.
it’s a sort of cruelty completely foreign to him — saying things just for the intent to hurt the receiving party, but the speaking of harshness, well, that’s simply the kim hongjoong way, you’re well aware.
abruptly leaning into the back of the couch with a sigh, hongjoong takes another sip of his drink. “wooyoung said I should find a more…constructive way to get the hurt out of my system, this is sort of what we settled on.”
you can’t help but chuckle at the idea of the two of them mulling over their options in regards to the topic.
“what was the second best option?” you playfully inquire, and hongjoong snorts. “was gonna fuck your best friend, but wooyoung said that might be a bit much.”
“hard to come back from that one.”
“yeah, it sure is.”
you hadn’t meant it that way, but if the shoe fits.
“can I ask you something?” hongjoong’s attention turning towards you as the words leave his mouth, you only nod. “does it hurt?”
questioning how much of yourself you wish to bare to the man before you, the man already having proven himself with intent to harm you this evening, you make what some may consider to be a questionable call.
you tell the truth.
“yeah,” you sigh with a gentle nod, leaning forward and taking your glass into your hands. “yeah, it fucking does.”
“i’m sorry.”
and you think that it’s so quintessentially like him, to have it out for you only to apologize mere seconds after delivering the final blow. bullet to the heart, and an apology soon to follow.
“did it really happen?” you ask, hongjoong glancing at you questioningly.
“did what really happen?”
“did you really sleep with someone else?”
“well, yeah.”
“then don’t apologize,” you say with finality. “if you’re not lying, then don’t apologize for it.”
it’s only a few moments that hongjoong silences at your words before he sits up again, this time turning himself slightly to face more towards you — the look on his face serious but all the while still dripping in anguish — you contemplate if he’s aware that he’s dropped the facade of being okay.
“if we’re telling the truth tonight then—“ he begins, hesitancy lacing his voice as if he knows he’s soon to be overstepping bounds he shouldn’t be.
“—have you slept with san?”
once again repeated, you suppose there’s some part of you deep down that feels a marginal bit of triumph in being able to answer the question openly, truthfully. it feels weird in so many ways, being questioned so vividly about the goings on of your private life that have nothing to do with the man asking — having long since expelled himself from you and yours, you know as well as he does that questions like this bubble up when one least expects them, and from long forgotten, long since buried places of immense and immeasurable hurt.
but what hongjoong is really asking, is if you loved him so irrevocably that you couldn’t sleep with san.
looking back at the evening at yours, when you kissed san on your couch with any and every intent to allow him to have you in all of the ways that hongjoong is now asking if he did, it’s easy to say that on the surface, no, you didn’t.
but it was san himself that made you see that you did.
“no, I haven’t,” you answer in almost a whisper. “i’ll call him right now if you want.”
drink in one hand and grabbing into your purse with the other free one for your phone, hongjoong stops you — both verbally and with his hand atop your own before you have a chance to acquire it.
“don’t. I believe you.”
“why?”
words slipping out and past your lips before you have a chance to even think twice about them, hongjoong laughs at them all the same, scooting himself across the couch cushions and closer to you. “i don’t know. I want to, I guess.”
a loving gesture in so many ways, the mans insistence on trusting you given all of the ways that perhaps he shouldn’t — the softness of his hand on yours, reminding you of the delicate ways in which san loved to offer you physical comfort just the same — you wonder for a moment if you and hongjoong truly do have a shot at a friendship after this.
after everything.
but it’s meeting eyes with hongjoong thereafter; beautiful brown, eyes decorated heavily in dark makeup for the event, messy, raven black hair that suits him even in spite of all of the colors you had seen him adorn long before, and just peeking through the collar of his white button down shirt — the single beauty mark on his neck, one you had long since grown to love so much over the months that takes you to another place.
the way that hongjoong still, even to this day, looks at you as though you’re the only other person in the world — after everything, and in this moment still — despite desperately wishing for him to say the words that you longed to hear, he always did say it with a gesture as effortless as his eyes meeting yours.
all of this time, through the high highs and the even lower lows, you knew that hongjoong was still desperately, madly in love with you.
and for all intents and purposes, as you were with him.
“i guess you should—“ he begins with a sigh, less of sadness and more of a man having come to terms with something that may have been troubling him for some amount of time. you know what he’s referring to, reflexively looking over and towards and large, antique clock hanging from one of the walls.
“yeah, it’s late,” you add to his thought, setting your glass down onto the table once again before standing and carefully heading towards the door. you can’t help but feel a bit like a bull in a china shop — expensive, sprawled out canvases and other art supplies as far as the eye can see, and wholly out of place — somewhere that you once felt so comfortable, now feeling completely foreign to you, as if your first time stepping foot inside.
as if you hadn’t helped make this place what it is, from the very beginning — the memory of paint blotches adorning both of your giggling bodies after late nights drinking and decorating the walls that now bear no resemblance to the time.
following close behind, you feel the presence of hongjoong accompanying you to the door — unable to see him, but still feeling what you can only figure to be his eyes on you in some way. you figure it a sort of projection as you mull over the thoughts that may be swimming through his own mind in the moment — missing you, loving you — and maybe even not truly wishing for you to leave his tonight.
“tonight was fun,” you say, forced cheeriness through your voice in an attempt to slice through the tension of the situation. “i’m glad I went. i’m glad I came.”
“me too,” he admits with a faint smile, hands buried in his pockets once again.
and you can’t really help it, the way you wait just a few seconds longer beyond the interactions in hopes that he’ll tell you to stay, each time allowing just a moment too long before straying into borderline awkwardness, but when it becomes somewhat painfully aware that this is how the night is ending, you find yourself still able to find joy in it.
it’s not the perfect outcome, matters of the heart often aren’t. but it’s a start.
a far cry from where you began, today.
digging in your purse clumsily for your phone and keys, while simultaneously attempting to locate your own shoes through the cascading pile of his — with head turned and an arm stretched out towards them, you feel your phone tumble from your bag and down towards the floor — hard, cold cement and an almost certain demise for the accompanying glass, you swiftly turn your attention to the impending doom headed for your device, only for your head to meet a similar one upon collision with a similarly jolting down hongjoong.
expletive slipping from your mouth followed by a hiss, you stumble back slightly to the sound of your phone clattering against the hard ground below, but before you’re able to truly set your sights on it, you feel gentle, familiar hands pressing up, cradling the sides of your head — so suddenly yet with such a feather-like touch you question for a second whether or not you’re imagining it.
but opening your eyes again, and ignoring the thumping in your head, you find hongjoong standing firm — and concerned — just in front of you, arms stretched out to steady you from the ridiculous collision.
“jesus, sorry,” he laughs, “are you okay?”
“y-yeah, i’m fine—“ you manage out, quickly averting your eyes from his own.
he’s not strange, it’s not strange, but it all feels so brand new, navigating the uncharted waters now of whatever this situation has become. having his hands on you again, such a loving touch — as he always had with you — flooding back the memories shared in the past tense, and once again, the all too familiar burning in your throat finds it’s way creeping back up to make itself known.
long past the point of needing his additional stability though, you find hongjoong’s hands still on you, head still delicately held between them as he gazes upon you. there’s a place inside of you, deep down, that wants to — nearly needs to — continue avoiding looking at him, for fear of allowing even more of the flood gates to open back up, feelings you spent months attempting to lock away with the promise that this may never happen again.
that you may never end up here again.
and yet, here you are.
but eyes slowly finding their way back to his, you find hongjoong’s features to tell a story of all of the same, if you had to guess. a troubled look gracing his otherwise beautiful features, as if going through the options for not only tonight, but the rest of his life in real time right before you, and desperately you want to shout to him to say 'yes’, to allow himself to fall for you again because this time it will be different, but not having the courage or the strength to bare yourself to him in such a way again, at least, not yet.
you need more than this solemn, single, moment in time — ripe for misinterpretation and misunderstanding, you need something definitive.
and just like that, as if the man had access to your inner thoughts and feelings the entire time — hongjoong leans in towards you — exceptionally slowly, as if giving either, or both of you, time to back out before you do this again, or perhaps it’s just that it feels like it’s slow motion as your heart threatens to leap out of your chest at the promise of again.
a second chance. 'we’ll do it right this time, I promise.’
hongjoong’s hands slide down just slightly, palms holding your face between them as his lips make contact with your own — perfectly familiar in ways that so many other happenings of the night lacked it, tainted with a hint of unfamiliarity, but not this. warm, faintly chapped lips slotting perfectly against your own with the slight cock of is head — it’s almost instinctual the way your hands quickly reach up and cling to the sides of his jacket, as if desperately holding him in place so that he can’t escape. a man with no intention of doing so as his tongue carefully prods between your lips and against your own — the usual taste of rum and cigarette smoke that you’d become so accustomed to over the many months together with him, but even in all of the similarities, and all of the way that it feels like home to you, it’s different.
a man that not so far in the distant past treated you thoughtlessly, carelessly, much too roughly for his own liking, now touching you increasingly delicately, almost to a fault. the man that you’d thought about every say since then, and so many before, who you want nothing more than to have and to feel — touching you as if he’s terrified of doing so, like he may break you with a disorderly touch.
perhaps he’s not entirely incorrect in thinking so. 'damaged. handle with care.’
when hongjoong pulls from you slowly, eyes slightly lidded as if dazed by the contact of having you within him again, he quickly, and shyly, averts his eyes down to the ground between the two of you — palms slicking down your arms and settling into your own hands.
“useless around you,” he whispers playfully. “probably never stood a chance. guess that’s why wooyoung invited you.”
the entire situation feeling as though it’s hanging on a shoestring, you take each and every possible response into careful consideration before allowing a single word to slip out from your mouth.
“you kind of scare the shit out of me, i’ll be honest,” he adds with jest, tone picking up a bit more now as he bends down to pick up your phone, somehow still fully intact despite the dive.
placing it into your hand, you watch his every movement, waiting for the pin to drop, so to speak.
hongjoong looks over and to the side of you both for a second, before bringing his eyes back to your own with a slight upturn of one of the corners of his mouth.
“but, i’m in love with you, so sue me, I guess.”
and there’s no other additions to the statement, no amendments to it, no bells and whistles or explanations as to the why or the how that allows him to. it’s just hongjoong standing before you, submitting himself to you.
“can you say something? you’re killing me, here.” he then laughs, taking one of his hands back in an attempt to swipe hair up and out of his face.
frankly, you’re stunned by the scenario before you. so much has happened in…less than five minutes.
cracking a grin — both thrilled and horrified all at once somehow — it’s the first thing that comes to mind.
“can I wash your hair?”
a sight for sore eyes, you think, is the understatement of the year as hongjoong steps into the shower soon after you — large, dark blue tiling throughout, and with couples shower heads (your idea during remodeling) that you’re more than thankful to have — you watch him attempt to ruffle his otherwise stuck together hair with a scrunch of his face.
“gotta stop going to all these fancy events, hate cleaning up this nice, pain in my ass,” he groans, stepping towards you and delicately placing his chin onto your shoulder.
“yeah, they should just let you show up in ripped skinnies you haven’t washed in two weeks and the tank you threw up in the night before.”
“you want the art—“ he begins, pulling up with a kiss to your temple before backing under the cascading water and flushing it through his hair. “—gotta take the artist.”
pulling him back towards you by the wrist, you dump shampoo into your palm and carefully run it through his head, fingertips digging in between the clumps of product and dismantling them for his comfort. planting a kiss to the back of his shoulder, hongjoong takes it as an opportunity to lean his head back and against your own despite your attempting to wash him.
you work through it, allowing him the luxury as you watch his eyes slowly close and what appears to be contentment washing over him for the first time in so, so long.
“missed this,” he whispers through the sound of the pressurized water. “missed you—“
a pause.
“—us.”
just a passing comment from earlier, riddled with so many other things going on that the entire situation left you with far too much to focus on, but it’s the idea of 'us’ dropping from between his lips that briefly takes you back to that place all over again.
'I prefer you.’
it doesn’t require much thought at all from your end, a very simple understanding of precisely what it is that he means by it — after all of the other situations, any of the other men, at the end of the day — it was always hongjoong.
you preferred him, too.
“rinse,” you say, gently pushing him off of you and towards the water again much to his displeasure, groaning as he stands fully on his own and under the water — nose crinkled like a child as you watch soapy water fall from him. “you gonna act like a toddler all night?” you chide with a grin.
“hadn’t planned on it,” he answers back, reaching out for your wrist and pulling you against his body much more firmly than you had anticipated, and much to your surprise as arms reach around you and hold you in place. “unless you want me to call you mommy tonight, then i’m happy to oblige, I suppose.”
despite being naked together in this instance, the overt sexuality of the comment catches you fully off guard. the teasing, sultry twist of his tone at the ending comment just as his head dips down and towards the shell of your ear has you remembering all of the ways previously that the man could so easily have you as putty in his hands.
“joong,” you whine in gentle protest at the idea, the man exhaling a light chuckle at the sound of you.
“sorry,” he whispers into your ear. “been so long, I miss you.”
deeply, some part of you wishes that you could put up more of a fight against the idea of feeling him tonight, but with his skin against yours, and the thought having already presented itself in his own mind — it’s reminiscent of his earlier words.
you don’t stand a chance.
“come to bed.”
hongjoong hearing you beckon for him, phone in hand one last time before finally setting it down on the nightstand to give his undivided attention to you, you watch him slowly crawl up between your legs; a kiss to your knee, then your thigh, your hip, breast, and shoulder before finally settling lengthwise against you — his lips gently cascading across the exposed skin of your neck and jawline before finally meeting on your own, only for a moment before beginning his descent on the other side of you — you melt into the feeling of being with him like this again, enjoying all of the ways that he feels all encompassing to you.
“new mattress?” you breath out, feeling somewhat as through you may sink into it entirely as a result of his touching you.
“broke the last one while you were gone,” he says into the skin of your neck. you freeze beneath him, only for him to huff out a laugh at the physical response. “i’m joking. it was old, you hated that thing, anyways.”
“very funny.”
“i’ll make it up to you.”
you figure he means it in more than one way.
hongjoong’s weight shifting onto one side to free up a hand to begin its journey down your body and between your legs, it’s yet another thing that feels so strange but so comforting all at once — fingertips feathering across your folds before dipping forward with a little more intent than before, middle finger ghosting circles against your clit, you try to swallow down the neediness of your response — back arching slightly off of the bed beneath you and chest up into his own with a whimper at the contact, the feeling almost completely stealing your attention from how the man is carefully kissing, sucking, biting marks into the skin of your neck as he begins working you.
but hongjoong only gives you a couple of minutes of it before you feel him pulling up and off of you, sliding himself down the same way he had come just a bit earlier with damp, black hair carpeting over his forehead and dancing across your bare skin as he kisses his way down and between your legs fully — the two of you make eye contact just as he makes himself comfortable.
“you know I have to or i’ll die,” he jokes, in reference to his particular sexual compulsion.
and he gives you no time to answer back, as his lips replace the contact his finger had just made only moments prior, now unable to hold back the sigh of relief at the feeling of him as his tongue firmly presses against you — a single finger prying at your opening before slowly making it’s way inside of you — you find it’s almost relaxing, the way in which hongjoong handles you and your body with such care and concern each and every time you’re with him like this.
something no one else ever could do to such perfection.
a few drives into you with a single digit, he adds another to it in an attempt to work you open for him. the dizzying feeling of feeling so full of him, paired with the idea of what’s to come and additionally, the breathtaking suction of his lips against your clit — has you tensing beneath his touch already as his free hand holds your thigh apart for him to work. you feel him grip fingernails harder into the skin there as his other ones curl against the spot you love to have him against so much.
“f-fuck, joong—“ you whine, breathy and already a bit too far gone for how little he’s had you like this, but hongjoong opts not to relent, even to respond, carrying on against you as you unravel beneath him in record time.
hand darting down and into wet hair, you grip onto him a little tighter than you had meant it, hongjoong only groaning into it and you in response as he evidently carries out his every intention of making you cum right then and there.
it’s only a few more seconds, three or four more drives of his hand into you before you’re crying out for him, grinding down against his mouth involuntarily to chase the high of your orgasm as he drags you through it in its entirety — a grin plastered across his face as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand through his triumphant come up, and your entirely worn come down.
once again trailing kisses along your chest on his way back up to your mouth, “still got it,” escapes between his lips in a whisper just before pressing into your own, and you figure if you weren’t so spent by how evidently right he was, you might be more willing to put up a fight.
but not tonight, you can let him have this one.
“missed the way you taste,” he says into you, the scent of yourself still prominent on his mouth. “everything about you is perfect for me. I could never tire of you—“
you feel his lower half shift slightly for positioning, the weight of his hardened length pressed against the apex of your thighs, and you realize now that you crave feeling him again, just as before.
“—my muse.”
a term of endearment, perhaps not often used within the context of sex, but sending your heart through a loop all the same, you bring your hands up the length of his back — feeling the skin and muscle beneath your fingertips as he flexes atop you to hold himself in place.
you didn’t have as charming a word for what he meant to you, but you were a little obsessed with him, for sure.
gentle nips into your bottom lip, you feel hongjoong moving towards the beginning of pulling away from you, gripping into him harder as to not allow him, he kisses down and into your jaw.
“condom,” he whispers against your skin. such a bizarre concept, for the two of you.
and you hate to ruin the moment, but it begs the question.
“why?” you ask, attempting to ground yourself enough through the feeling of his mouth on your flesh. “…did you?”
but hongjoong pulls up almost instantaneously, looking down upon you and straight into your eyes with earnest. “no, I just figured—“
reaching up and taking a hold of him by the shoulders, pulling him back down and against you — chest to chest, skin against skin — you lean him into another kiss, teeth and tongue and longing and the need to have one another all over again, and perhaps in some way, undo all of the wrong that had been done before.
it’s not a fix, or perhaps, a very temporary one. you both know that there’s still work to do, a lot of it — but maybe in some way, it’s a start.
“i miss you,” you reiterate, speaking the words directly into his mouth as he positions his hips between your thighs — there’s silence for a second, the both of you taking in the sensation of him pressing forward and filling you once again — a feeling far from being forgotten but also far too long since the last, the simultaneous heavy exhale from each at the feeling of you wrapping around his cock, and alternatively, him prying you apart for it.
when he bottoms out inside of you, hongjoong brings a hand up, gently swiping loose strands of hair from your forehead before planting a kiss there.
with a nearly full withdraw of his length from you, he slowly presses back inside again, repeating the act four, five times — reveling in the sound you make at once again experiencing the full feeling of him being inside of you.
it’s gentle, and you know he’s making up for lost time — but even more than that, he’s trying to undo last time.
kissing the apple of your cheek before pecking a kiss to your lips as he begins to settle into a rhythm against you, lips lazily lying against the skin of your jaw, hongjoong looks up at you through his eyelashes with a smile. “too much to say 'I love you’ while i’m inside of you?” he asks jokingly, but you know more than anything else that he’s not really joking.
and for that, you couldn’t be happier.
“no,” you sigh, word catching in your throat as he finds that particular angle that has you coming undone with haste beneath him. “never.”
“good, because I do,” he whispers, the feeling of you clenching around him taking him out of the thought for a split second. “sorry, dirty talk is terrible tonight, I know,” he laughs through a groan.
times like these, where you’re able to completely and entirely be yourselves together — laughing and loving without a second thought, it takes you back to the first time with him — albeit, more of a performance, an interview for both parties in some ways, but the ease in which you two fit together entirely being something that you’re not sure you ever really can find more than once in a lifetime.
the concept that there’s no 'one,’ that there are so many ninety-nine point eights or nines, but no singular person, the fairy tale ending, the all-encompassing everything.
perfection.
and in truth, it’s possible that you and hongjoong are simply another example of it, given the trials and tribulations of your relationship, only to end up right back here after everything.
but it’s still real life, and it still takes work. even when it comes to the ninety-nine point nine, it’s up to you to fill in the deficit.
it’s not long at all before hongjoong has you pressed hard against him as you cum, firm, hard, drives of his length into you to ride you fully through it just in time for him to bury himself as deeply as he can — teeth gritted and a bit back groan as he cums inside of you with throbs of his cock so evident that you can feel him against your walls as he releases as well.
hurriedly, lazily kissing your mouth through heavy, labored breaths, the both of you smile against each others lips, 'I love you’ slipping out and into the air, although, you’re not sure which one of you is the one to say it.
it’s not perfect, and it’s been far from easy, but with your hands buried into dark, messy hair as hongjoong draws invisible art into your skin with a single, painted index fingertip, you think that in spite of all of that, at the very least it’s worth another shot.
that if hongjoong is willing to believe you, believe in you, then the least you can do is be kind enough to yourself to do the same.
“this is a little unethical.”
“i know.”
looking around the office space, you take in the faint scent of what you think you can note as cedarwood, being far from an expert on wood-related fragrances but having smelled it enough times to think to know, you find comfort in it — it’s obvious intent, glancing past the bookshelves filled with brown, white and grey book spines and eventually settling on a desk towards the back of the room.
it’s your first time doing this, they’ll have to forgive you for not being completely present at the very start.
dark green walls and a dark wood desk with a heavy waxed glaze, you tune out the conversation taking place in the room if only for a moment to focus on the photograph standing tall and a bit off to the corner.
in it, two men that you are very well acquainted. one with an adorable slit in his eyebrow.
“i’ll do this once but i’m gonna have to refer you elsewhere,” he says firmly as your attention snaps back in front of you as the words leave his mouth. the end of a pen dangling from the corner of his lips and wide glasses sitting atop his nose — almost obstructing the sight of the beauty mark just below his eye, but not quite.
hair down today, suppose he does mean business.
it’s then that a hand slips into your own, fingers lacing between — catching your eye, a single, yellow-painted pinky nail — something you had done yourself a few nights prior to now.
it brings a smile to your lips. a sort of guide, you think, as silly as it may be. maybe it will all be okay, and even if it’s not — we gave it everything.
looking back up and over at hongjoong, the man next to you on the couch smiling gently even through the discomfort of the situation at hand, you can’t help but feel the hopefulness he exudes, the confidence, and even more than that, the contentment coursing through him.
happiness, in full understanding.
'I love you, and for both of our sake’s, we have to try.’
you know that you will wear hongjoong in your skin for as long as you live, and the same for him with you, no matter this outcome.
but you owe it to yourselves, closure being a gift that cannot be gifted to us through others but rather understanding from ourselves.
for you and hongjoong both, this is the way.
you watch wooyoung look up at the both of you through his eyelashes, one eyebrow cocked upwards in what you can only gather is some level of grievance in this being requested of him — but accepting of it all the same, really, it’s the least he can do for being so conniving.
“well then,” he sighs reluctantly, opening his notepad and sitting up proper in his chair just across the table, and you know that he knows the answer to the question once he says it, but suppose one should go through all of the motions — for professionalism, of course.
“why is it that the two of you are seeking therapy at this time?”