Chapter Text
Seoho hates clubs. Or maybe he hates clubbing.
It’s not that he hates people, it’s just the press of bodies, the low light and the persistent humidity. It’s so claustrophobic he feels like he can’t breathe, like so many things are trying to burrow themselves in his skin. He hates the music most of the time but it’s hard to be picky when you’re rolling face at least. And he’ll take the hookups, sometimes there’s nothing like giving head in a bathroom after a perfect stranger gives you a line of something you hope isn’t going to kill you. He stopped taking people home after too many didn’t get the hint that they were supposed to fucking leave, though.
It beat rotting in his apartment at least, high out of his mind and counting the peaks in his awful popcorn ceiling until his brain started leaking out of his ears. And that was on the better days. The less good days left him desperate to crawl out of his own skin, distant and confined all at once and pressing burns into his thighs just to feel connected to something. The middleground found him sleeping through the week, mostly. Getting out gave him more direction, that was something, but it would help if Seoho just knew how to mind his fucking business.
That last thought crosses his mind as a fist connects with his face. He really did love causing problems for himself.
Things pile up. A bad day in a bad week in a bad month— The kind of overhanging dread that leaves you festering in the house, roadkill on a summer day, maggots in the mouth and under the skin until he’s retching bile into the toilet.
And that’s how he ended up here.
People are fucking awful sometimes, Seoho has learned. Not that he’s any kind of saint himself but some people are just terrible.
It wasn’t particularly uncommon to see people put their whole... thing on display for everyone to see. Added to the experience, probably, everyone’s eyes on you acting like a brat, picking a fight over nothing. Seoho usually really did mind his business and hoped the dick was worth it to get slapped around in front of strangers. But this didn’t really seem like that. From here, it just looked like some asshole berating the pretty thing on his arm. Said pretty thing was hardly responsive, eyes downcast, a little blank. He was dressed too nice for this shithole and Seoho was caught by how the lights reflected off his hair. It’s red, he thought, fluffy in a way that looks like it might be nice to touch. Or just full of product, maybe. His legs were moving him before he could really think about it.
Getting closer he could hear what was actually being said, a lot of name calling, mostly. Just mean-spirited shit that would hurt his feelings. “Whore” is sprinkled liberally along with “leech,” something about only being good for anything when he’s on his knees. He can feel his face pulling into a grimace. Everyone with them has dispersed, occasional glances being thrown this way. This must be normal, then. People are fucking awful sometimes.
“Hey!“ His voice is chipper, grin wide.
A glance cast aside, a flash of confusion, and then he’s ignored. That won’t do at all. He reaches out, a hand on the guy’s shoulder. Fingers digging into muscle. That does it and he’s rounding on Seoho, dislodging his grip by the wrist.
“Who the fuck are you? What do you want?”
“I’m just wondering what your fucking problem is, that’s all,” Seoho really can’t stop smiling, he feels outside of himself, like he could just buzz out of his skin. The muscles in his face are already starting to strain and he keeps catching eyes on him. Maybe he does get it, the spectacle. He feels on top of the world. But there’s a scoff, and his attention is brought back to the asshole in front of him.
“Why don’t you just mind your fucking business. You know him?” It’s spat more than asked, and his companion is shaking his head hurriedly, eyes downcast.
“He really doesn’t seem to be having fun with you.”
“Oh, baby, are you not having fun?” He leans down to get into the other’s face. He doesn’t look up, but now Seoho is close enough to see the tears starting to form. This sucks. “That’s too fucking bad, isn’t it? Should have thought about that first before you started being such a selfish bitch, right?”
Seoho shoves him this time. The guy grabs him by the arm, shoving it back against his chest so hard that it pulls at his elbow oddly. But he catches his shirt just enough to let the momentum pull them both and Seoho is stumbling back against a table, Shithead nearly crashing into him.
There’s no grace to it. Seoho can hold his own just fine, usually, but he’s just bigger and meaner and Seoho is just too floaty to take any of it seriously. The fist against his nose and the resulting crack register in a distant kind of way, the coppery smell of blood flooding his senses. Someone drags the guy off of him before he can hit him again, knock a tooth loose or something this time, and there’s a thin hand pulling at Seoho’s wrist. Nails and rings pressing against the skin in a way that’s almost grounding. Bright hair, big eyes wide and puffy.
They’re sat outside on the curb together, Seoho holding a bundle of toilet paper to his face with his head tilted up. Too much light pollution to see the stars but it’s still a nice night and the flicker of satellites is close enough. The breeze is cool, almost stinging against his face but it’s soothing in its own way.
“What’s your name, by the way?” Seoho asks, as casually as he can. It’s a bit nasally. He grimaces as he feels blood slide down his throat, and then there’s a hand in his hair pushing him to tilt his head back down.
“You’re just going to swallow everything and get sick that way, stupid.” His voice is a lot deeper than he thought it’d be. There’s a bit of a wobble to it, almost watery.
“I don’t know, isn't iron supposed to be good for you?” Seoho smiles and tastes the blood on his teeth. The other just gives him a light shove, his expression won’t budge from that furrowed pout. His makeup is smudged, a little patchy, and he wonders if that was more his fault than the other guy’s. Seoho isn’t very good at this, whatever this is supposed to be.
There’s just the sounds of late night traffic and the heavy thrum of bass to fill the silence before the other offers:
“I’m Dongju.” It’s a little firmer this time, but he sniffles.
“Lee Seoho. It’s nice to meet you.” Seoho inspects his hands, finding the one with the least amount of blood, and offers it to Dongju. Dongju frowns but takes it, holding Seoho’s hand in the palm of his own thoughtfully. His other hand comes to rest on top, not to intertwine, he just looks at the way they’re layered together. It’s an odd gesture and it spooks Seoho just a little, all at once feeling like a caged animal. But Dongju’s hands are warm and very soft and he feels a little lightheaded. Blood loss, probably.
“You really didn’t have to do that.” His thumb is smoothing against the pads of Seoho’s fingers, sometimes he’ll scrape a nail at the blood that’s dried. It’s a little ticklish and his hand twitches every so often but Dongju is undeterred. It seems more for his own benefit, anyway, self-soothing.
“I guess not but your boyfriend is a jackass.” Seoho laughs, almost shrill. It sounds unpleasant in his ears but he’s smiling all the same. He gnaws at the inside of his cheek. His face is starting to hurt. Dongju’s hand stills and he misses the sensation suddenly.
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
His eyes are downcast and Seoho can’t help but tilt his head further down to meet them. He’s being annoying but he just— He can’t help it. His knee starts to shake a little.
“Isn’t that worse then?”
Dongju looks a little lost for a second, eyebrows pinched. “He— He looks after me, you know? Buys me things— It’s none of your business, anyway.”
“I could look after you.”
He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s not even drunk. He needs to be quiet right now. Dongju scoffs, one hand reaching out to just barely graze his fingers along the split in Seoho's lip. His eyes flutter closed for a moment at the touch. Jesus fucking Christ.
“Could you, now?” Raise of an eyebrow. “And what about the money? I’m expensive.” It’s teasing, but...
“Ah,” Seoho feels some kind of shame creeping through him. It’s an unfamiliar feeling and he decides he hates it. “Is that how it is? I didn’t—“ he scratches at the back of his neck, not thinking about the blood he must be smearing on his collar, “I didn't mean to scare off a client or— or disrupt you working.”
Dongju looks at him for a long, long time, then sighs. It’s a heavy thing, with more weariness than he should be carrying.
“It’s not like that,” another pause, the way Dongju is looking at him is beginning to make his skin crawl, maybe not in a bad way? Maybe he’s more rattled than he thought. He almost misses Dongju opening his mouth only to close it again, expression looking pinched once more. Seoho wishes his social skills were just a little better.
A revelation hits him and he jolts, startling Dongju.
“Do you…” He starts fishing something out of his jacket pocket, producing a crumpled carton of cigarettes, further crushed in his hand, and a lighter. “Do you smoke?”
Dongju nods, hesitant, and Seoho is tipping open the carton only to produce a single mangled cigarette.
“If I were more of a gentleman, I’d let you have it, but as it is… Do you mind sharing?”
That makes the slightest hint of a smile start to tug at Dongju’s lips and Seoho feels like he’s won the lottery. It’s tight, his eyebrows are still furrowed. He probably thinks there’s something wrong with Seoho more than anything but he’ll still jot that down as progress and pat himself on the back.
“Enough of a gentleman to get the shit beat out of you for a stranger but not enough to give the same stranger your last cigarette?”
Seoho balances the cigarette between his lips, trying to light it with the bundle of tissue still in hand. Dongju swats his hands away, muttering about “burning his face off,” and lights it for him. The brief flicker of flame illuminates his face so prettily and Seoho nearly chokes as he takes a drag, turning his head to cough away from Dongju.
“I didn’t get the shit beat out of me,” he says, voice strained, “But yes.”
Dongju gives an unimpressed hum and plucks the cigarette from his lips, settling it between his own. It looks nice between his slender fingers, and he can see a hint of red from his lip stain smudging onto the filter.
“So, I have, uh— My apartment isn’t awful? It’s really close by. The heating works well and the bed’s nice.”
Dongju tilts his head back, pushing a plume of smoke out above them.
“Ah, is that how it is?” Dongju parrots back, enunciating every word.
“No! No. I’m really not— It’s just—” Seoho looks at him for a moment, really looks at him. Takes in the gentle curve of his cheek, the slope of his nose, full lips pursed, and the sunken quality of his big eyes, almost bruised, exaggerated by the splotches in his makeup. “You look— you look tired, honestly.”
Dongju just huffs another sigh, this time with a roll of his eyes. He presses the cigarette back into Seoho’s mouth, fingertips flush against his lips for just a moment. He thinks, maybe, he can taste the lip stain, or maybe he tastes Dongju. Both are nice thoughts.
“And what if I wanted to go back to my place?”
Seoho just raises his eyebrows as he takes a drag, let’s out a pinched, “Do you?”
“...Fine. Take me home, then.”
Seoho eyes the entrance to the club warily, speaking around the obstruction. “Do you need to tell anyone?”
The look Dongju gives him is a little scary and he holds his hands up. “I just meant… If you need to text anyone, so they know you’re okay? Or know where you’ll be?”
“It’s fine,” is all Dongju says, but he does take out his phone, tapping away as Seoho rises to his feet a little too quickly. He sways, catching himself against the wall and Dongju stands as well, steadying him with a hand on his elbow. Seoho murmurs a soft “thank you” and tosses his used tissues in the direction of the nearest trash can. Missing completely, of course. His cigarette falls with the rest of the litter but he has the decency to grind away the last few embers with the heel of his shoe at least.
“We’ll have to walk, sorry. It’s really not far though? And, uh... Here.” He slides his jacket off, draping it over Dongju’s shoulders. Dongju lets out a content hum at that and wraps himself around the arm he had a hand on, cheek pressed against his shoulder. At least half of Seoho is sort of warm, even if it’s a little awkward and much slower to walk like this.
They make a little bit of small talk as they walk. Dongju presses more, but Seoho doesn’t resist. They establish that Seoho is older, and Dongju pokes at him for it. Dongju tells him he has a twin, but they’re not talking right now. He doesn’t elaborate and Seoho doesn’t ask him to. No pets, both live alone. Dongju likes Disney movies. Seoho is studying architecture. It’s… nice, honestly. Simple.
There’s a convenience store on the corner just a block from Seoho’s apartment and he brings them to an abrupt stop before it. Dongju gives him a brief look of confusion but Seoho just ushers him in.
“I’m hungry and I need more cigarettes. I don’t really have much at the apartment, so… Just grab whatever you want,” Seoho peers into one of the ice cream coolers before twisting towards Dongju again, “Oh! And get stuff for breakfast too.”
Dongju is, unsurprisingly, hesitant to pick out much on his own. Seoho just grabs his usual things; snacks and drinks, a ready-to-eat meal or two, a couple packs of cigarettes. He starts rattling off mindless questions to Dongju: Favorite kind of chip? Do you like spicy food? Do you drink soda? Tea? And with each of his responses picks out another thing he hopes Dongju will like. Once Dongju catches on he gets flustered, trying to reassure Seoho that “No, it’s fine, really, you don’t have to—” before pointedly refusing to answer any more of his probing but Seoho is content with his haul. On his way to the register he thinks to snag a toothbrush for Dongju and gives a content hum. Look at him go, almost like a real person. Maybe.
The clerk, blessedly, says nothing about the blood still crusted across his face or hands or the fact that Dongju has clearly been crying. They look really uncomfortable though, and that’s honestly kind of funny. He’s too floaty, everything is making him laugh no matter how much the muscles in his face protest. And then he keeps trying to drag out the interaction, watching them squirm as he talks and talks until Dongju is damn near dragging him out of the building once he’s paid.
He doesn’t look happy with him, and that makes something catch in Seoho’s throat.
“Why’d you do that?”
Seoho turns sheepish as Dongju levels a hard look at him, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed.
“I... thought it’d be funnier than it was?”
“You’re a weird hyung.”
“Sorry.”
Dongju just sighs, tucking himself against Seoho’s arm again. Seoho tenses, wills himself to relax. Dongju’s weight against him is almost comforting, even if part of him wants to crawl out of his skin at the contact, but now he can almost offset it with the bags hanging off his other arm. It’s okay. He feels… okay, actually.
The rest of the walk is quiet. There’s the sounds of traffic, the crinkle of the plastic sacks, their footsteps, but there isn’t much more to be said as they round on Seoho’s apartment. It’s not a complete dump and that’s about all that can be said about it. Seoho tries not to linger, pulling Dongju inside and up the stairs. It’s three flights before they’re on his floor and Dongju is looking a little winded. Seoho doesn’t say anything but can’t help but smile at Dongju’s palpable relief when Seoho brings them to the door.
It takes some elbow grease to unstick the door when he unlocks it, forcing it open with a push of his shoulder. He reaches inside to flick on the hall light and kicks the door open the rest of the way, gesturing for Dongju to head inside first. He squeezes in past him, closing and locking the door and toeing his shoes off all at once in a mostly coordinated effort that only has him lightly stumbling against the wall. Seoho gets to rifling through his bags and gesturing around the apartment.
“It’s not much. You can shower first, if you want. Bathroom is there, I think I have makeup wipes in the cabinet? They should still work alright. My room is across the hall, borrow whatever clothes you want.”
A pause, Dongju is giving him a weird look as he pulls his own shoes off. They’re lined up neatly along the wall and he even hangs up Seoho’s jacket.
“If you want,” Seoho repeats.
“Aren’t you going to shower with me?”
“Oh! No. I really didn’t bring you here to sleep with you. I mean, not that we’d have to fuck if we showered together, I just want to give you some space?” He’s babbling. “I’m going to eat and shower. And smoke on the balcony, probably. And then go to bed,” he tilts his head to the side, smiling, “I can wait though if you want to join me for any of those. Ah, and I got you this.” Seoho fishes the toothbrush out of the sack, holding it out to him.
Dongju has that kind of lost look again but just nods, taking it without a fuss.
“I’d like that, I think.” And then he’s teetering off to the bathroom, pausing a moment before pivoting to Seoho’s bedroom. He thinks distantly about the mess, but still decides to leave him be. Judging by the shuffling around he can hear, Dongju isn’t too bothered by it at least.
He takes his time washing his hands, scrubbing as much of the blood as he can off of his knuckles, from under his nails. Soap and scalding water and ministrations repeated so many times his skin is raw and red afterwards, but clean.
Then he gets to putting things away; this put in the mostly empty fridge, that put in the slightly less barren cupboard, the fresher stuff left out on the counter to eat shortly.
Dongju doesn’t take long getting cleaned up. He comes out toweling his hair and smelling strongly of Seoho’s body wash and it makes him feel horribly fuzzy. A lot of what Seoho owns is oversized on purpose and Dongju is that much more slender, the t-shirt and sweatpants he chose hanging off him almost comically. It’s cute. His bare face makes him look younger, too, with his already soft edges further rounded out by the warmth of the shower.
“You should shower too, right?”
Seoho nods, a little enamored. His legs carry him across the room. It feels natural to move towards Dongju, like anything else is rejecting his orbit. Seoho thinks he’s sleep deprived, maybe, thinking like this. And then there’s a hand grazing his arm as he moves to squeeze past him.
“Can I— Can I help with your…” He gestures at Seoho’s face and Seoho smiles, nodding again with a little too much enthusiasm. It makes his head hurt.
“After. I’ll be quick.” And he is, or he tries to be at least.
He’s still a little out of it, the steam makes him dizzy, it’s weird watching the water run brown as it drips down from his face. He wonders what kind of body wash Dongju usually uses, what shampoo. He probably really takes care of himself, he seems like he cares about that thing. Not that Seoho doesn’t, but his priorities err on the side of frugality. Seoho works shampoo into his hair and begins to settle back into his skin, that buzzing finally dissipating just enough. He wonders if he should have showered with him, that would have been nice probably, but this felt like the right thing to do.
Seoho runs his fingers over his face. His nose is tender, swollen. The split there and at his lip sting, he pokes his tongue at the latter and finds that hurts quite a lot. Go figure.
When he gets out the mirror is too foggy to get a good read on how bad it looks. Surprises can be fun, he supposes. He wraps his towel around his waist and pushes the door open. Dongju is sitting on the floor against the opposite wall, he found one of Seoho’s jackets and is using the hood to cushion his head against his shoulder. His eyes are closed, so Seoho makes a show all for himself by tiptoeing across the hallway to get dressed.
The mess really isn’t so bad but he tries to pick up a little, scurrying around his room in his underwear, tossing clothes towards his hamper, gathering up trash. He cracks his window in hopes that’ll get the air circulating a little better even if that also means there’s now frigid air seeping into the room. By the time he’s peering out at the hallway again Dongju is looking around blearily. Seoho smiles, shuffling out of the room and kneeling at his side. He ruffles his hair lightly, feeling the way Dongju leans into the touch.
“You look awful,” is all Dongju offers before he’s struggling to get off the floor. There’s an answer at least. Seoho stands and offers Dongju a hand, pulling him up as well.
They shuffle back into the bathroom, Seoho rifling through the cabinet for his first aid kit and sitting himself down on the lid of the toilet. Dongju hesitates for a moment at the threshold but takes a step in, pushing the sleeves of his borrowed hoodie up to his elbows. Seoho doesn’t miss the way Dongju’s eyes skirt across his body, lingering just a moment at his bare thighs before pointedly looking away. Seoho just smiles.
“Shouldn’t you kiss it better first?” Seoho closes his eyes, puckering his lips for only a moment before the giggles are wracking through him. Cracking an eye open he finds Dongju looking unimpressed.
“You’re really giving me mixed signals, you know.” He takes Seoho’s face in one hand, fingers squishing his cheeks lightly. Seoho only winces a little.
“I am flirting. You’re very pretty, I think I like you.” He probably looks like a fish, talking like this. Seoho grins at the thought despite the pressure wanting to keep his muscles in place.
Dongju blinks a little owlishly. “You don’t know me. Even a little.”
“Well, I really want to. Know you a lot, preferably.”
This conversation sounds horribly cliche and he can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him. It's got that hysterical edge to it again because it finally settles how odd this is, how unlike him.
Dongju lets go of Seoho’s face to cup his jaw. He leans down to press a kiss against the split in his lip, and then another at his nose, featherlight. There’s a kiss pressed against his cheek, his forehead, the top of his hair. Seoho can feel his fingers trembling. He seems embarrassed, gathering Seoho in his arms a moment so he can’t look up at him. Seoho feels smothered, but there’s something comforting about it. Like Dongju is keeping him from spilling over. His arms come to wrap around Dongju’s waist and he lets himself be held.
“You’re so weird. You’re so weird,” breathed warm against his hair.
“Oh, you don’t even know the half of it.”
Dongju just shakes his head, uncurls himself from Seoho. Actually gets to patching him up. Wounds cleaned, cream applied for the bruises, a bandage set across his nose. His touch is so delicate. Seoho hangs onto him the whole time.
They pick at one of the ready-to-eat meals on the balcony and share another cigarette and it’s nice. Well, it’s bizarre and Seoho can’t quite shake this grip of anxiety that’s settled in his stomach but it’s still so nice. Dongju looks comfortable in his sweatpants, in his shirt, his jacket. He looks like he belongs there and that— that is a dangerous thought.
Dongju has the second, well, third of their shared cigarettes dangling precariously out of his mouth but not once has the ash dropped onto his borrowed clothes. One of Seoho’s hands is between his own again, fingers still not quite intertwined but Dongju runs his fingers along the knobs in Seoho’s knuckles, traces the lines of his palm with a nail, presses against the junction between thumb and forefinger. It’s a strange investigation and he’s giving it the utmost attention, not a single word exchanged but Seoho is beyond enamored. Even as his hand twitches uncomfortably and he feels just— caught.
And then Dongju’s fingers do settle between his own, palm against palm. He presses the back of Seoho’s hand to his cheek and gives him this, this look, this look he can’t decipher, this look he can’t quite bear. He drops his eyes to Dongju’s shoulder, that’s a bit easier, and takes the cigarette as Dongju offers it to him. Dongju might sigh, a soft thing, but all Seoho can hear is his own pulse hammering in his ears.
“It’s cold, can we go to bed?”
And Seoho just nods, stubbs the cigarette out on his ashtray and pulls Dongju inside, pulls him back to his room.
It’s freezing in here too because of course he’d forgotten all about the window, but the air smells crisp and, well, that was the intention. He mutters a sort of apology and mourns the warmth of Dongju’s hand against his own as he moves to close the window. When he turns around Dongju is already tucking himself under the sheets, the comforter. He’s still got the jacket on and goes as far to pull the hood over his head. In seconds he’s made himself a perfect cocoon and Seoho can’t help the snort of laughter it forces out of him.
There’s only a little bit of hesitation that comes with getting in bed himself, mostly hurried along by the incredibly pointed look Dongju is giving him. It’s effective, particularly considering it’s about the only part of him Seoho can actually see. Almost as soon as he’s settled under the sheets himself, comforter pulled up over his shoulders, Dongju is wriggling towards him. He feels himself seized by a moment of panic, more instinct than anything. Simply unsure of how much more can take before it’s all just too, too much. And maybe Dongju notices but he doesn’t say anything, just takes a moment to prop himself up over Seoho and press a quick kiss to his cheek.
“Goodnight, hyung. Thanks.”
And then Dongju’s back is to him, and that’s that.