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Seungjun and Jihun stumbled into the hotel room, full and slightly drunk from a good dinner. Manager-hyung had treated them to an English pub meal in celebration of their arrival, and the grease of the fish and chips Jihun had eaten still stuck to the back of his throat. Manager-hyung’s warning hovered over the pair, “Try to get some sleep tonight, I know you won’t be tired, but we have a long day tomorrow.” Jihun dreaded the attempt, when he was jet-lagged he always woke up at five A.M., dry-mouthed and confused. It would be a long day tomorrow no matter how much sleep he tried to get.
Seungjun was plastered to his back, warm and big and significantly more drunk than Jihun. “Kimchi, kimchi, kimchi,” he chanted as they shut the door behind them. “Let’s look at the view!” He unstuck himself from Jihun and sprinted across the room, socks padding noiselessly across the carpet.
After a few skillful rock-paper-scissor games, and some pouts directed at a softening manager-hyung, Seungjun had managed to secure Jihun as a roommate. Jihun didn’t mind. It was kind of touching how hard Seungjun worked to get them together. Now Jihun admired the hotel room. Maybe it wasn’t anything special for the seasoned, wealthy, traveler, but to him it was nice. There were two twin beds dressed with crisp white fabric, an armchair, and a little desk with a notepad, pen, and a phone sitting in its cradle. Hotel rooms were comforting in their consistency. There were always too many pillows, and weird strips of fabric draped across the bottom of the bed. There were always individually wrapped soaps in the bathroom, neatly folded towels, and tiny kits full of mysterious items.
Earlier, Jihun had opened one box to find Q-tips, and another contained a sewing kit. He had turned to Seungjun with a glint in his eye. “Too much chattering tonight, and I’ll sew your mouth shut!” Seungjun gasped, playfully, and Jihun couldn’t help but smile back, a warm feeling in his chest.
There was always a TV in a hotel room with an introductory channel that scrolled by weather and news and a little stock ticker full of mysterious red and green numbers. Jihun sat in front of it now, flipping through unfamiliar channels, hypnotized by the foreign images and snatches of language that passed by.
“Jihun-ie, the view,” Seungjun was begging from the window.
“Ah, is it nice?” Jihun asked, and got up to join him. He pushed aside the heavy curtain in order to stand beside Seungjun, and rested a hand on the cool glass. The view wasn’t particularly nice, actually, they didn’t have the money for that kind of thing. Their fourth-floor room overlooked the Heathrow airport, and the roar of planes landing and taking off rose above the hum of the air conditioner. Still, Jihun’s, breath caught in his throat as he looked out at all the lights, imagining each plane full of hundreds of people coming and going, people he had never met and never would. “Beautiful,” Seungjun declared, and Jihun agreed. Seungjun’s hand came up to squeeze his shoulder.
Seungjun’s attention was nothing if not inconsistent, though. “We should get room service,” he decided suddenly, and Jihun turned to eye him in disdain.
“Room service? We just ate!”
“But I want dessert,” he pouted. Jihun was as helpless as manager-hyung.
They bustled off to find the room service menu. “It’s not every day you stay in a foreign country, Jihun. We should take advantage of it and eat some foreign food. Here!” Seungjun pulled out the menu from a desk drawer and sat heavily on the edge of a bed, beginning to flip through it. “Let’s see, dessert, dessert... Chocolate... la-va cake?” He sounded out, glancing up at Jihun with a crease in his brow.
Jihun shrugged, helplessly. Seungjun was the English expert, not him.
Seungjun snorted and looked back at the menu. “Apple cobbler, ice cream, ooh!” he cried.
“What,” Jihun asked, trying painstakingly to read along.
Seungjun dragged a finger across an item. “Affogato.”
Jihun looked at him blankly.
“Coffee with ice cream in it! We’ve had it before, remember? The little coffee shop in Samcheondong, I really wanted to try it, but then I got tea instead, but then you accidentally spilled americano everywhere, and the ajumma chased us out so we had to try again at another cafe down the street.”
Jihun laughed. “I remember now.”
Seungjun smiled at him, “So, two?”
“Two.”
“Help me figure out how to call room service.”
They rifled through another couple of pamphlets before Seungjun triumphantly found the number. He took the phone out of its cradle and dialed. “Ring, ring,” he sang.
Jihun took the chance to dig through his suitcase and pull out his sleeping clothes. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
Room service picked up. “Ah, yes, could I have two affogatos, please?” Seungjun asked in halting English. “Ah-- ap-poh-gato. Affo... coffee ice cream?” His face was an adorable mix of bewilderment and tenacity. He gave Jihun a thumbs up and mouthed “Don’t take too long.” The person on the other end of the line said something. “Yes! Two please.” Relief crept into his expression and he smiled at Jihun, self-satisfied.
“Park Seungjun, international traveler,” Jihun teased.
When Jihun got out of the shower, the lights were dimmed, and Seungjun was draped across the bed, watching TV, his eyelids heavy. Jihun had found a robe in the closet, another comforting hotel standby, and pulled it on instead of his clothes, half-heartedly toweling his hair, which was now dripping into his collar. “No ice cream yet?” Jihun asked.
“They’re taking forever.”
Jihun sat next to Seungjun and combed his fingers through Seungjun’s bangs. “You sleepy?”
“No,” Seungjun said, snapping his eyes wide open in an unconvincing display.
“Maybe you should have gotten some sleep on the plane instead of taking pictures of me the whole time.”
“It’s hard to sleep on planes!"
“Uh-huh.”
“And you’re just so cute. What am I supposed to do?”
Jihun snorted and pushed him. “I’m cute, am I? I’m cute?” He growled and wrestled a helplessly laughing Seungjun off the bed. He straddled Seungjun on the floor, and when Seungjun reached up to pinch his cheeks, Jihun slapped his hands away and pinned his wrists down. “Who’s cute now?”
“You are,” Seungjun said cheekily, and dissolved into a fit of giggles as Jihun unpinned his wrists and attacked his sides instead, tickling him. “Ah, you’re heavy,” he wheezed, squirming. “Get off!”
There was a knock and they both froze, a beatific smile spreading across Seungjun’s face. “It’s here!” he sing-songed, knocking Jihun off him and scrambling for the door. “Affogato, affogato!”
Jihun stood, suddenly self-conscious, and adjusted the robe around him, pulling it closed more tightly. He stood in the room, silently, awkwardly, as Seungjun waved in the room service employee. The man put a tray laden with two bowls of ice cream and two steaming cups of coffee down on the desk and handed the receipt to Seungjun, who signed it with a flourish. The man’s eyes darted over to Jihun and his robe, once, and Jihun found himself blushing.
“Thank you, bye bye,” Seungjun said in English, and waved the man out of the door. He turned back to Jihun, eyes sparkling. “Affogato, affogato,” he repeated, bounding across the room. He put the tray on the floor so they could sit across from each other, and handed Jihun a spoon. “Eat.”
After their impromptu dessert, Seungjun headed into the bathroom to take his own shower. Jihun crawled into bed after stripping off the damp robe and putting on his pajamas, sighing in satisfaction . He had managed one scoop of his ice cream, and handed off the rest to Seungjun, who had inhaled it with delight. Jihun flicked the TV on, and let the muted lights and sounds lull him into an almost-sleep. The sound of the shower stopped and Seungjun emerged soon after, wearing a towel tied low on his waist, his hair dripping into his eyes, skin pink and freshly-scrubbed. He dug through his suitcase, pulling out his sleeping pants. Jihun watched Seungjun’s shoulder blades move until he kicked the towel away. Jihun jerked his gaze back to the TV, throat suddenly dry. Freshly attired, (but still shirtless) Seungjun slipped into bed next to Jihun.
“Hey, don’t you have your own bed?” Jihun complained.
Seungjun ignored him. “Want a massage?”
Jihun turned back to the TV, biting his lip. Some lady was advertising a machine that cooked eggs in a tube.
Seungjun sidled closer to him. “Come on, it’ll help you sleep better.”
Jihun nodded, trying to focus on the egg cooker.
“Here, if you flip around you can still watch TV.”
Jihun let Seungjun direct him, lying on his belly facing the TV. He rested his head in his crossed arms and let Seungjun’s cool hands move over his back, first scratching lightly, then kneading at the knot of muscles at the base of his neck. Seungjun pushed Jihun’s shirt up so he could have better access and climbed on top of him, pressing into Jihun’s back with his full body weight, hands moving delightfully, deliciously. Jihun’s muscles turned to jelly. The lady on TV droned on about egg cookers.
There was a sound at the door, and then the ding of a keycard being read. The door opened and Heejun walked in. “I hope you two aren’t doing anything weird!”
Seungjun loosened a particularly tight knot and Jihun moaned. He looked up, embarrassed, to see Heejun smiling at him, head cocked. “What am I saying, you’re always doing something weird.”
Seungjun’s hands didn’t stop moving. “Is there something you needed?” he asked.
“Hyung wanted me to tell you wake-up is at seven A.M. tomorrow.”
“He could have just texted,” Jihun grumbled.
“He wanted me to make sure you set the alarm in person.”
“That was one time I forgot!” Seungjun cried. “One time!”
Heejun shrugged. “Still.”
Seungjun, still grumbling, climbed off of Jihun and grabbed his phone off the nightstand. He tapped the screen a few times and showed it to Heejun. “Good?”
“I’ll tell manager-hyung you got the message. Goodnight!”
“Goodnight,” Jihun called from the bed.
“Don’t stay up too late!” Heejun smirked, and closed the door behind him.
Seungjun plugged his phone back in and crawled into bed next to Jihun. They both watched TV silently. After a while, Jihun nudged Seungjun’s shoulder. “Ready for bed?” Seungjun nodded, and Jihun flipped the TV off. He moved around the room, turning off the lamps and double-checking the lock, before joining Seungjun under the covers. He left the curtains open, the glow from Heathrow reminiscent of home. The smell of Seungjun also reminded him of home. He inched across the bed towards him and Seungjun inched back, closing the gap and pressing their shoulders together. With the warmth of Seungjun’s arm against his, Jihun felt like he could breathe easier. He didn’t feel any closer to sleep, though.
The bed felt too soft, the coverlet too heavy. The airport was blessedly quiet at this time of night, but the drone of the air conditioner seemed to make up for it. And Heejun’s comment kept spinning in his mind. Jihun squirmed.
“Hey,” he whispered.
Seungjun’s breaths were even. Maybe he was already asleep.
Jihun licked his lips. “Hey,” he tried again, jostling Seungjun with his elbow.
“Mm?” Seungjun said, voice heavy with sleep.
“What do you think he meant?”
“Who meant?”
“Heejun, when he said he hoped we weren’t doing anything weird.”
Seungjun laughed, the vibrations moving through Jihun, but Jihun felt his throat closing on how serious this question suddenly was to him.
“What do you think he meant?” Jihun pressed, desperation edging his tone.
Seungjun was silent.
Jihun turned to look at him, finally, and saw that Seungjun was watching him, mouth pursed thoughtfully, expression almost sad. The airport lights reflected in his eyes.
Frustration burst in Jihun’s chest. He rolled on to Seungjun, pressing his shoulders down. Seungjun let out a huff of surprise. “You don’t know?” Jihun demanded.
Seungjun’s eyes searched his, before sliding down to rest on his lips. An ember lit in Jihun’s belly.
Seungjun lunged up in Jihun’s arms, their teeth clacking together. It took Jihun a moment to realize they were kissing, Seungjun’s lips moving feverishly against his, Seungjun’s hands moving up his body to tangle in his hair. With a groan, Jihun pressed Seungjun into the pillows, teeth catching on his bottom lip. The hot press and slide of Seungjun’s mouth was all Jihun knew for a wild, blank moment, before panic pushed Jihun away. He rolled off, chest heaving, and Seungjun followed him, determined, pulling Jihun back to him. They curled together, and Jihun cupped his hand around Seungjun’s jaw, stroking the soft spot behind his ear. The kisses became sweeter, slower. Jihun felt longing like a physical pressure in his chest. They broke away after an indeterminate time, lips swollen and hot, and Seungjun reached up and intertwined his fingers with Jihun’s, squeezing once, twice. It’s okay.
Was it okay? They gazed into each other’s eyes until Jihun couldn’t anymore. He kissed Seungjun’s face roughly, tenderly. Cheeks, eyelids, forehead. Seungjun’s eyes fluttered shut, then opened, glassy, the lights reflecting in them all the brighter. A sound caught in Jihun’s throat, not quite a sob.
He crushed Seungjun to him, and Seungjun clung back just as tightly, burying his face into the hollow of Jihun’s shoulder and shuddering. They pressed together like they were trying to fuse into one, pleasure singing through Jihun so powerfully it started to feel like pain. He closed his eyes and tried to focus, tried to commit everything to memory. He could feel Seungjun’s skin against his, tacky with sweat, Seungjun’s warm exhalations against his neck, Seungjun’s damp hair pressed against his cheek. He inhaled the scent of home. He wished he never had to let go.
“I love you,” he whispered. Seungjun’s arms tightened around him briefly before loosening, pulling out of his embrace. Jihun didn’t try to pull him back.
Seungjun rolled away, on to his back again. “I love you, too,” he said, wiping his eyes, attention fixed on some point high above them both. Jihun tried to ignore how the gesture made his heart break.
Jihun’s mouth worked, but nothing came out. He sighed; settled onto his back as well. A hundred thoughts raced through his head, a hundred things he had said on a hundred nights just like this. Jihun hated himself, but he found it was easier not to say anything at all. Instead, he pressed his shoulder into Seungjun’s and closed his eyes, trusting that his heart would heal over like a scab by the morning. Then somehow, miraculously, he fell asleep.