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Each second ticks through his head, one minute bleeding into the next. A lull drifts into the conversation and Hoseon decides to make the most of it. "Lord Choi," he asks, "would you object to me letting in some air?"
The room has grown stuffy, hours worth of conversation leaving the air damp, weighed down with tedious detail that Hoseon knows will be a struggle for him to recall come morning, much to the displeasure of his advisors.
The Lord nods. Hoseon is up in a flash, stepping across the room to open one of the sliding panels. He sighs as the night’s breeze brushes across his skin, raising the hairs on his arms. The sun has long since deserted them, and yet still negotiations drag on. He returns to the table, subdued with thoughts of the long night ahead.
From his place at his father's elbow across the table, Kiwan frowns.
Hoseon pays him no mind, wondering just how it is that Kiwan manages to sit with such perfect posture for so long a time. There must be something about the expression on his face that Kiwan dislikes; his frown deepens, eyes narrowing.
He grins outright at how petulant it makes Kiwan look.
"Ah," Lord Choi says, though not unkindly. "Perhaps I have overstayed my welcome, and this negotiation is better suited to younger men."
Kiwan manages to sit up straighter, somehow. "No, father," he objects, shaking his head. "I’m listening."
"I find you much more agreeable than Choi Kiwan," Hoseon says, ignoring the venom that manifests in Kiwan's gaze. "But, if you'll allow it, I believe such conversation would be far easier met with the sun's warmth."
"You're becoming very diplomatic." Lord Choi's voice makes it clear that he's surprised to find it so. He is slow to rise, and Kiwan jumps to his feet to assist. "Although, it will not always be I who is the Lord, young master. I suspect it would serve you well to cease antagonizing my son quite so much."
"I know Kiwan," Hoseon says, waving off the advice. He stands as well, dropping his shoulders to bow. "He is not so petty as to carry such matters into his duty as a Lord."
As he raises back to his full height, he finds Lord Choi leveling him with an amused, almost pitying expression. "I will pray for you, Young Master Ryu, if that is truly what you believe."
Hoseon shows them out, watching as Lord and son disappear beyond the gate to his house.
He sits on his porch, feet dangling, and waits.
Kiwan comes running up the path a brief while later. "I forgot something," he calls, stopping only once he's reached the stairs, hands on his knees as he fights to catch his breath. They must have gotten far before his thoughtlessness caught up with him.
Hoseon stands, nodding towards the room in which they lost most of the night. "Let's go look, then."
The door has only just closed behind them before Kiwan attacks. Firm, plush lips devour Hoseon's own; strong, sure fingers grip the sides of Hoseon's face; thumbs a vicious sort of bliss as they dig into the hinge of his jaw.
Kiwan's kisses drift down to his neck. It feels almost too good, Hoseon’s knees going weak, and he struggles to find something to keep from losing himself to the feeling and making an utter fool of himself in the process. "Uh," he pants. "Um — what did you say you forgot?"
"Menhgayht," Kiwan says — or that's what Hoseon hears, at any rate. He frowns, gasping as Kiwan moves lower, undoing the tie of his hanbok, shoving fabric out of the way until he’s managed a particularly aggressive kiss right into the meat of Hoseon's pectoral muscle, an aching reminder that will carry past this clandestine meeting and into the days that follow, the two of them sat across the table from one another for hours on end, going mad.
Counting the seconds through its throbbing ache. As if he even actually needs anything so physical as a reminder, when Kiwan already runs rampant through Hoseon's mind at all hours of the day, consuming his thoughts.
The sounds reassemble themselves into words: my gat. "Wait." Hoseon's squints at the roof, trying to recall. "Were you even wearing one?"
Kiwan pulls back, apparently unmoved at Hoseon's anguished protest when he does. "Ryu Hoseon," he says, tone serious, and he looks upon Hoseon with as sure an expression as Hoseon has ever seen him have, steadfast. "You're an idiot."
Hoseon grins, the passion that had been building up inside him turning into fondness, soft and warm, its own source of warmth, raising the hair on his arms.