Work Text:
Hajoon’s world ends when he least expects it.
He’s expected it many times, on his hands and knees in his father’s office or slipping in and out of consciousness in an ambulance, but somehow, when the world really does end, it happens in the quiet of his dorm room.
In the quiet of his dorm room, Hajoon slips into Yeol’s bed. They do this sometimes, always have; a childhood habit that they never broke. When they were children Hajoon would sleep over at Yeol’s house and crawl into Yeol’s bed when the bruises on his skin felt like they were consuming him, and Yeol would miss his mother sometimes and quietly lay down on the floor next to Hajoon. They never really talked about it.
They still don’t talk about it. Hajoon doesn’t say a word when the phantom pain in his back gets bad; just climbs down from his own bed and slips into Yeol’s. Somewhere in the dark, across the room, Hyosik and Dongjae are fast asleep. Hyosik’s occasional snoring is the only thing breaking the silence.
The mattress creaks as Hajoon lies down.
“You okay?” Yeol asks, his voice rough with sleep.
Hajoon files that sound away somewhere with everything else he shouldn’t think about. “Fine, just can’t sleep.”
“Mhm.” Yeol lays a sleep-heavy arm across Hajoon’s stomach.
Hajoon tries not to think. He’s been getting better at it lately; not thinking of the way strawberry milk clings to the corner of Yeondoo’s mouth, not thinking of the warmth of Yeol’s hands, not thinking of how Yeol and Yeondoo look at each other, not thinking of how it would feel if they looked at him like that, too. Hajoon rolls over, onto his side, his back to Yeol. Yeol’s arm slips off his stomach. It’s better like this. It’s safer like this.
“Hajoon-ah,” Yeol whispers. “Can I ask you something?”
Please don’t, Hajoon thinks. “Yeah.”
Yeol’s hand is on his back, warm fingers tracing a pattern on his skin through his t-shirt. Hajoon’s breath catches in his throat. He likes Yeol’s hands, always has, ever since he showed Yeol his bruises for the first time and let him touch them. They were only children, then. Hajoon would tell Yeol he fell down the stairs, and Yeol would pretend he believed it.
“Do you still have feelings for Yeondoo?”
Don’t do this. “No,” Hajoon tells the darkness of the room, praying for Yeol to pretend he believes him just one more time.
Yeol hums, doesn’t stop moving his fingers. Hajoon wants his hands everywhere. Hajoon wants to die. Maybe if he spoke that first wish out loud, he could get Yeol to grant him his second one.
“Let’s say you do,” Yeol says. Then, quietly, his breath warm on the back of Hajoon’s neck; “what about me?”
Hajoon digs a nail into the scars on his wrist. Most of them have faded into white lines, a few are still a stark red. “God, Yeol, I wouldn’t do anything, you know that, I told you I wouldn’t, you’re my best friend, I would never—“
“No,” Yeol cuts him off. He puts a hand on Hajoon’s shoulder, makes him roll back over so they’re face to face. “I meant,” he says, “what—how do you feel about me?”
Hajoon’s world ends. He’s been so careful, so fucking careful, all the time, there’s no way anyone knows—there’s no way—Yeol is going to kill him, his father is going to kill him— “You’re my best friend.”
“Hajoon-ah.” Yeol leans in closer, his hand sliding to the back of Hajoon’s neck, his fingers so hot he might as well be holding a lighter to Hajoon’s skin. A lighter would be much better than this.
“Don’t do this, please,” Hajoon whispers. “You don’t want to hear it, so don’t make me say it.”
The world is ending. The bed is collapsing underneath them, the building is caving in, the phantom bruises on Hajoon’s back are burning—
Yeol is still talking, somewhere far away. “Hajoon, do you want to kiss Yeondoo?”
Hajoon’s ribcage is folding in on itself.
“No, I—no— I’m sorry, I’m trying—“
“What about me?”
Don’t, don’t, don’t. “Please, don’t.”
Yeol’s fingers are melting Hajoon’s skin. “Do you want to kiss me, Hajoon-ah? Do you want me?”
This is the end of the world.
“I want,” Hajoon says, in a shaky breath, “I think I want you both.”
Something flashes in Yeol’s eyes, and for a second Hajoon thinks he’s going to hit him, but then Yeol is pulling him in by the back of his neck and sealing their lips together.
Yeol’s lips are soft and warm and on Hajoon’s, and he’s pulling back to whisper, “kiss me back, Seo Hajoon” and “I want you, too, we want you, too”, against Hajoon’s mouth, and Hajoon thinks of everything – of Yeol, of Yeondoo, of his father saying boys who like boys are dead boys before he slapped Hajoon across the face – and kisses back. If he dies like this, he’ll take it. He’d much rather die with Yeol’s mouth on his than bleed out on the bathroom floor.
Hajoon sucks on Yeol’s lower lip, licks into his mouth, and Yeol makes the most beautiful sound and moves so that their bodies are pressed together – chest to chest, hip to hip – and drags his fingers through Hajoon’s hair. Hajoon moans into Yeol’s mouth. He wants to map out all of Yeol’s mouth with his tongue, all of his body with his hands.
They keep kissing for a long time, sliding their tongues into each other’s mouths, warm hands under t-shirts. Every time Hajoon’s skin starts burning and the building starts collapsing, Yeol pulls him out of it with soft touches, gentle kisses, quiet it’s okays.
“I love you, you know,” Yeol whispers near Hajoon’s ear, always so unashamed in his honesty. “I love Yeondoo, but I love you too, I think we both do—“
Hajoon kisses him again. He loves Yeol, and he loves Yeondoo. How could he not. How could he not love the people who keep him alive. “Let’s talk later. Please."
Yeol smiles, pulls Hajoon closer. Hajoon falls asleep to the sound of Yeol’s breathing and the feeling of Yeol’s lips on his wrist. The world is still ending, but if he can die in the hands of Yeol and Yeondoo, it might just be okay.