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Jiyong’s hands are light as they run over his face. He runs the tip of his finger along his hairline, and down his temple to trace his eyebrows, the slope of his nose. His thumb sweeps under his eyes, pulling gently at the skin as he goes all the way to the ear. He tugs tentatively at the lobe, and Seunghyun lets out a sigh.
Long white fingers run their way down to his lips, dragging across the edges and pulling them apart just slightly. He’s so soft, Jiyong thinks to himself. He licks his own lips - chapped, dry - and chides himself for it. His hand finally finds Seunghyun’s chin, and drags it up slowly, pressing one, two, three kisses to the corner of his mouth.
Seunghyun’s eyes flutter open, and Jiyong lets himself reach forward, a hand comfortably fitting around the back of his neck. Seunghyun’s voice is whole and untouched by sleep as he whispers, “How did you know?”
Jiyong’s voice is groggy, cracking as he smirks, “I can tell when you’re not asleep.” He lets his thumb glide comfortingly along Seunghyun’s cheek, sliding over his jaw. “How long has it been?”
“I think it’s around three right now, which means about five hours?”
“You should have woken me up sooner.”
“Sorry.”
And with that, Seunghyun is burrowing his face into Jiyong’s chest, big, warm hands pressing on the sides of his waist as if to keep him there. As if he were going anywhere.
“Why don’t you take your medicine?” Jiyong’s quiet question breaks the silence, and he hates that as soon as he asks he feels the muscles in Seunghyun’s neck tense up.
“They don’t do anything, Jiyong, believe me, I tried.” Seunghyun’s voice cracks in the middle, and Jiyong gathers his head up in his arms and presses him to his chest harder, because the worst thing in the world is when Seunghyun hurts. He’s too beautiful to hurt.
“How many nights?”
Seunghyun stays quiet, and Jiyong knows that each second that passes means another night that the other tossed and turned.
“Two days. Only two days.”
JIyong wants so badly to say, no, no, it’s not only anything, but he knows too well that two days isn’t even close to how long Seunghyun has gone before. He still hasn’t forgotten what happened in college, the time when Seunghyun’s body somehow stumbled through an entire week on less than ten hours of sleep before collapsing.
He was there when it happened, and it still counts as one of the scariest things he’s ever witnessed. Jiyong had just come back from Thanksgiving break, carrying his weight in the leftovers his mom had packed for him over to Seunghyun’s dorm. When he opened the door, Seunghyun was haggard to say the least - his hair matted down, his eyes barely open, the hand on the doorknob shaking as he rested his weight on it. Yet Jiyong didn’t notice, too excited to see his best friend after a week with his family, shoving past Seunghyun to unceremoniously dump all of his tupperwares on the breakfast bar.
Jiyong remembers that he had already started a conversation when he turned around. His head hadn’t even finished turning when Seunghyun’s body starts falling, his knees buckling under his own weight. His head hit the floor with the most sickening thump.
Jiyong blinks a few times; his eyes got too glassy too soon. He pulls the arm he has hooked around Seunghyun’s neck closer, his free hand slowly combing through his hair. It’s gotten long, Jiyong thinks to himself. He can feel Seunghyun’s breath hitting his collarbone, slowly, rhythmically.
Seunghyun’s had insomnia for as long as he’s known him, but he only let the cat out of the bag when they moved in together. Jiyong had had to confront him after one week of being woken up by pots and pans being banged around at four in the morning, and Seunghyun’s face wore the most guilty expression he had ever seen. He had been so quiet, so hesitant when he admitted it. The pots and pans are to warm up milk when he gets desperate, too tired to try to sleep anymore. It’s soothing, Seunghyun had whispered. Jiyong hugged him until the other sagged into his body, and dragged him off to bed.
It’s started to rain, Jiyong notes to himself. He stops the hand in Seunghyun’s hair, stretching his fingers and hearing a few of them crack. The latter is finally asleep, now just a dead weight on Jiyong’s chest. One of his long, long arms is thrown across his waist, and his right ankle has hooked itself behind Jiyong’s left calf.
Jiyong’s hands resume their path over Seunghyun’s face. His fingers trace the dark circles, the stubble, the column of his neck. He yanks the covers up to Seunghyun’s chin, and falls asleep.