Work Text:
If Jeonghan had to describe their love, he would say it is like the soft, golden pink of the afternoon sky.
Soft . Seungcheol’s smile when he walks through the door.
Golden . The colour of his skin when the sun hits him right as he enters.
Pink . The color of his cheeks when Jeonghan welcomes him with a kiss so tender and intimate it makes the flowers on their windowsill turn away in modesty.
And, finally, afternoon sky , because that is when they are reunited each day.
It is his favourite time of the day. Better even than waking up in his husband’s arms, although Jeonghan’s not quite sure he’d ever be able to admit this out loud.
There was just something about the comfort Seungcheol’s arrival brought. Each day, when Seungcheol’s heavy footsteps sound outside their door and Jeonghan’s heart skips a beat, he wonders if this is what the lovers of soldiers and fishermen used to feel, seeing their hearts be returned to them safely after long moments of agony and worry. A more thorough examination of his feelings might reveal a hint of fear, a dark ugly remnant of a time when they were far apart with little hope of meeting again. He prefers not to linger on such memories, but they have a way of sticking around. He still sometimes wakes at night, sweaty and delirious, beside himself with worry to find Seungcheol nowhere in sight. Seungcheol doesn’t ask, only rushes back from the bathroom or the kitchen to hold him and reassure him, but they both know the nature of the nightmares that haunt him each night.
Luckily, Jeonghan has found that Seungcheol’s arms around his waist and his lips on his own is the most efficient cure to such worries. It is hard to feel anything but rosebud elation when Choi Seungcheol is nuzzling his nose into your cheek and murmuring gentle words of how much he’s missed you.
If Seungcheol is with him, Jeonghan thinks he can learn to swallow his fears. As long as Seungcheol is there to hold him close, to laugh at his jokes and make love to him so adoringly, Jeonghan is certain he can hide his fears, can manage to stomp out the lingering doubt that these good times won't last. nd, most importantly, if seungcheol is with him, then he can carry all of this fear by himself.
He throws a look over his shoulder at his lover, watches him wait patiently by the kitchen door for Jeonghan to finish dinner so they can eat together. Jeonghan always tries to convince him to wait in the dining room, but Seungcheol always refuses, wanting to be together for as much time as possible. He turns back to the stove and the pot that’s gently simmering.
Yes, he thinks to himself, as long as Seungcheol is around to love him, then keeping his fears locked away in the back of his mind is an easy task. He reaches over to the jars by the side of the stove and picks up a pinch of salt, humming to himself as he sprinkles it into the stew.
“You worry.” Jeonghan pauses at the statement, hands hovering over the pot for the split second it takes him to gather his bearings again. He’s not sure what’s caused Seungcheol to finally confront him, and briefly he entertains the idea that his husband had overheard his thoughts. He has to admit he’s surprised it’s taken this long for his husband to call him out. Between the two of them, Seungcheol is the honest one, the one who leaves no weed to take root and poison their garden with resentment. Seungcheol goes head on into things, heart on his sleeve, bared for all the world to see and do with as they please.
Jeonghan on the other hand guards his heart fiercely. He tucks his feelings away deep inside and lets no one see them. If something upsets him he grins and bears it until his own pettiness gets ahead of him. It isn’t a very becoming trait, but he has learnt - through the most unpleasant of lessons - that it’s far easier to survive if people think you are pleased and passive. The downside is that Seungcheol is left cut off from half of him, despite being the person he’s promised all of himself to. He looks down at the white gold band on his finger, feels it burn his skin with guilt. He moves to fiddle with it just to have something to do and doesn’t turn around to face his husband when he responds.
“Yes.” Despite his high walls, he’s never been very good at keeping Seungcheol out, especially not when he asks to be let in.”You don’t?”
“I-” Seungcheol stutters behind him. Pauses. Gathers his bearings. Jeonghan doesn't have to look at him to know.”Things are different now.”
“That doesn’t mean they won’t go back to how they used to be.” Cold walls. Echoing screams. Wandering hands and sneering faces. Jeonghan wrenches his eyes shut, trying to chase the memories away. Scholars retrospectively referred to the ten years of control and brutality they’d suffered as T he Blackout because of the stark black of the regime’s uniforms. It’s an apt name, Jeonghan has to admit, because no matter how hard he tries he cannot recall a single day of sunlight. He only remembers the dark hallways of the minister’s building, the low murmur of powerful men plotting, and the ache in his hands from scrubbing blood from the floorboards. But despite the many indignations he’d suffered, the worst had been not knowing what had become of Seungcheol.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.” A pause.”Or to me.”
It’s cruel of him, but Jeonghan can’t help the scoff he lets out. He doesn’t mean to hurt Seungcheol, but they both know that they were little more than nameless faces in a great mass of bodies last time, and if history chose to repeat itself, they would still mean nothing in the grand scheme of things.
“I promise you,” Seungcheol speaks so softly, as if he is speaking to a wounded rabbit and not his husband. Jeonghan hears the sound of his husband’s socked feet crossing the kitchen floor, moving closer, and his heart revels in the sound, feels instantly soothed by Seungcheol’s mere presence.”We won’t be apart again.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Jeonghan says with a swallow just as Seungcheol’s arms wind around his waist.
“You have to have some faith in the future, my love.”
Jeonghan stares down into the pot on the stove, watches the broth bubble and boil angrily. The recipe is one he learnt from the kind woman in the minister’s kitchen barely a few weeks before she was dragged into the basement and shot for being a suspected rebel.
“Everything’s okay now.” Seungcheol presses soft kisses on his shoulder. The action makes him tense up, body starting to tremble.”You can’t live in fear, Jeonghannie.”
“You’re such a hypocrite,” he hisses out, stumbling a few steps out of Seungcheol’s reach. He braces himself against the kitchen counter and turns around.”I know you have nightmares too.”
“That’s not the same-”
“How isn’t it the same!?” Jeonghan feels hysterical, and has for a long time now. It was like the whole world expected him to just be okay, to move on with his life as if he didn’t spend years in living hell, to forget about having the years between adolescence and adulthood stolen.
Everyone seemed to be able to shrug it off so easily. Leaving the pain and the humiliation and constant fear behind them for this bright new world they were offered, and here was Jeonghan; still scared and pathetic months after his tormentors were executed or imprisoned.
After everything, he was supposed to shrug it off and believe this new world when it assured him that Seungcheol would never be taken from him again.
“You jump at loud noises!” He shouts, frantic. “Last week when our neighbours’ bookshelf fell-”
“Hani, please, I--”
“You were about to reach for a gun!”
Seungcheol’s shoulders slump, and with the movement it is as if he shrinks several sizes. He suddenly becomes so small. His proud, stoic husband replaced with the defeated form of a weary fighter. Or rather, a man who’d gone from orphaned teenager to army doctor, then to free man and medical student in less than a decade.
“We have to stop pretending we’re okay,” he begs, face wet from tears and snot he hadn’t noticed started running.”I can’t take it anymore. I can’t see you smile and laugh as if you’re not haunted.”
Seungcheol’s hands have come up over his face, no doubt trying to hide his tears. When they were younger, Seungcheol was never ashamed to cry, would weep openly over every little thing until Jeonghan shushed him and cheered him up. He wonders how often Seungcheol holds his tears back nowadays.
“You’re scared too,” he says as he wipes his face with his sleeve. Seungcheol’s shoulders are trembling and Jeonghan can hear the way his breathing has gone unsteady. When he tumbles, Jeonghan is ready. He leaps forward and catches him as he sinks to the ground. He’s not strong enough to hold him up, so he falls with him. When they’re on the ground, Seungcheol wraps his arms around his waist and buries his face in his neck. Jeonghan tries to engulf him in his arms as best as he can, runs his hands over every part of his husband’s back and arms he can reach.
“I'm here,” he whispers, over and over again, rocking them from side to side. Seungcheol sobs into his neck, and as much as it hurts Jeonghan to see him like this he’s relieved. It felt like a seal has been broken, like whatever was keeping him from truly healing has been overcome. With Seungcheol in his arms, clutching to his form as sobs wrack his body, he feels, for the first time in years, like things might actually get better. Like maybe they can finally stop pretending the years they spent apart had no effect.
They stay embracing each other on the kitchen floor until Seungcheol’s tears have dried up, and when they do the first thing he does is grab is face, still wet from tears, and press adoring kisses to every inch of his face. The act makes Seungcheol chuckle, and the comforting sound makes Jeonghan’s heart soar.
“I love you,” he whispers, still cupping Seungcheol’s face.”I’m sorry.”
Seungcheol reaches a hand up to stroke across Jeonghan’s cheek, Jeonghan leaning into his palm on instinct.
“Don’t apologise, angel,” he whispers, voice hoarse from his sobbing.”I love you too.”
Seungcheol leans forward and presses their lips together, quick but firm.”More than anything else in the world.”