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Jeonghan was told that it wears off.
Eventually.
That at some point, he won’t feel so magnetically drawn to him. That his heart won’t skip a cliche beat when he catches an unintentional glimpse of him. That the feeling fades, like most things do.
That is was apparently natural, or normal.
But stood standing at the foot of their L-shaped sofa where Seungcheol has fallen asleep in the heat of the afternoon sun; arms raised above his head, hoodie bunched at the top exposing the skin just above his hips, has Jeonghan reflecting on this supposed normalcy.
He was fully prepared, in his realistic way, to experience that fading. He thought that maybe he’d wake up one day and look over to the other side of the bed and not feel the urge to touch skin. That he wouldn’t catch himself subconsciously smiling when he heard his laugh from the other side of their flat, or maybe, he’d stop pressing his nose into the slope of his neck to breathe.
None of that has happened.
Sure, there’s been a morning or two where he may have kicked Seungcheol in the shin to get him to stop snoring so loudly. But the second he hears him suck in a startled breath and groan, every inch of Jeonghan just softens and yearns to curl up in his warmth.
A moment not quite so different from the one now.
At the start, Jeonghan fought it. Only his demons will know how violently adamant he had protested everything and anything Seungcheol. It was an almost frantic sort of running. A desperate attempt to escape before the inevitable.
Perhaps it was a primal instinct at the back of his mind yelling at him to get out before the feeling utterly consumed him. There wasn’t a warning or anything. No prior notice or quick memo to prepare him. In all honesty, Jeonghan can’t really remember when he went from trying to run away to constantly running towards him.
He would try to give you an answer but he doesn’t really care what it is. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that does matter is the way Seungcheol smells exactly like Jeonghan expected he would when he crawls over his lover and presses a soft kiss to his neck.
Skin. A hint of fabric softener. The musk clinging to his hoodie.
“—ou’re back.” Seungcheol’s voice is rough around the edges when he pushes his words out. Palm, sliding up Jeonghan’s sweater in a quiet greeting.
“It was too crowded.” Jeonghan murmurs against Seungcheol’s neck, head resting against his shoulder and hand lazily grazing a 5-o’clock shadow that hasn’t been shaved.
Seungcheol’s chest rises as he huffs out a soft laugh, sleep still clinging to his limbs.
“Did you at least get our dinner?” He turns his face into Jeonghan’s hair, exhaling long and tired.
“No.” The blonde sniffs.
Seungcheol’s hand slips further up Jeonghan’s sweater. “There’s nothing in our fridge.” He murmurs against his hair.
It tickles.
Jeonghan inches his hand over Seungcheol’s lips to cover it as he turns to face him.
And there it is.
Again.
After so many years.
That supposed feeling that’s meant to leave Jeonghan in peace.
The one that’s supposed to stop making his heart ache so sweetly and stop him from tilting Seungcheol’s chin slightly downwards to kiss him.
The one that apparently replaces the breathlessness he feels with an indifference.
Whatever it is, it’s broken. It’s not working because Jeonghan feels himself melt against Seungcheol; body yielding to the familiar touches that caress his skin.
Instead of continuing the conversation about dinner, he’s pulling Seungcheol closer.
Closer, and closer still.
The both of them can hardly fit on the couch laying side by side, but they manage with half of Jeonghan draped over Seungcheol, limbs tangled.
They kiss with a lazy sort of rhythm. Lips pressing softly, breaths gently cut, noses nudging.
Seungcheol kisses with his eyes closed like how he’s always done from the very first time they kissed. And Jeonghan peppers light brushes over his lovers jaw like he only started doing months into their relationship.
He runs his fingers through Seungcheol’s hair, revelling in the feel of it. Memorising the feeling, just in case, one day—
“You think too loud.” Seungcheol murmurs against his lips.
Jeonghan replies with a sound from the back of his throat before tilting his head slightly forward to kiss him.
The first time they kissed, Jeonghan was drunk off his face. It wasn’t so much of a kiss and more of a messy collision between them both. His nose hurt from where they bumped and embarrassment had already made its faithful way up his neck.
There was fumbling. Stumbling. Half-words that didn’t make much sense.
He thought they were just going to do what the kids do and eat each other’s faces out. Tumble into some back alley corner and get a naughty grope in.
But stood right smack in the front of that busy barbecue place they just finished eating at, Seungcheol had pressed a warm palm to Jeonghan’s cheek.
The pressure of it felt steadying. Slowing.
A pause in time.
Jeonghan remembers his heart feeling like it was about to pound right out of his chest, screaming protest.
He remembers Seungcheol having the softest, most frustratingly affectionate half smile on his face. Ears pink tipped and brows slightly cautious.
It didn’t look like they were going to get a naughty grope in some back alley. Most surprising, it didn’t feel like a whirlwind that he would later regret when he finally woke up the next morning. The months leading up to that one moment had always told him it was something he would regret.
But he had felt oddly calm in that moment with Seungcheol’s hand on his cheek, despite how hard his heart was thumping.
So Jeonghan thought, fuck it.
And tugged Seungcheol towards him by the back of his neck.
Their second kiss is seared into Jeonghan’s mind like a brand that he will never be able to forget.
It was perfect, in whatever way Jeonghan’s hazy consciousness can render.
It was right, despite all of the times he was convinced it was wrong.
He could feel his toes curling. His heart stammering to a slight shock. Every inch of him yielding.
He doesn’t think he’s ever kissed anyone that way. So innocently. So softly. So tenderly.
“My god.” Seungcheol breathed against him when they pulled just a barely apart.
He felt the words hit him like a punch to his gut, rattling a cage of overactive butterflies, setting a life into them that up till today, has not managed to fizz out in the slightest.
It’s been over five years. You’d think at least some of them would begin to tire.
Jeonghan nudges his forehead against Seungcheol idly as his lover circles his arm more firmly around his waist.
If one of them falls off the sofa, the other is falling too.
“Your heart beats too loud.” Jeonghan exhales against Seungcheol’s stubble.
“I have good circulation.” His lover explains.
It elicits a snort of amusement from the blonde.
“I also love you an abnormal amount.” Seungcheol brushes a bit of hair away from Jeonghan’s face. “It’s kinda obvious isn’t it.”
Jeonghan presses closer to Seungcheol even though they’re already tangled intimately.
“Yeah, kinda.” He whispers against his lips.
“You think I should get it checked?” Seungcheol suggests, stroking his fingers down Jeonghan’s back.
“No.” Jeonghan shakes his head, fingers drifting over Seungcheol’s face in soft, affectionate touches.
“I think normal is overrated.”