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Something about accomplishing your years-long mission, killing the people who created some of the worst parts of your life, faking your own death, and then heading off to Switzerland with your niece and the love of your life (a few months too late and after one too many instances of beratement from said niece), makes having moments like the one Kang Yo-han is currently having worth the bloody struggle required to achieve them.
He and Ga-on are in the study, a much smaller space compared to the Kang mansion, sitting next to one another and drinking simply for the sake of loosening up after a long day.
The easy atmosphere reminds Yo-han of the first time Ga-on had seen the room. The younger man had said, only a few weeks ago now, as he paced around and traced the spines of Yo-han's precious books with his fingertips, that it felt more intimate, less intimidating than its predecessor. Comfortable.
It had warmed Yo-han to have Ga-on say as much. For him, outside of the accessibility for Elijah's wheelchair and eventual crutches, it had been the home's selling point. When Yo-han had replied with that in-kind, Ga-on had lit up so brightly it felt blinding. Then he'd been kissed by that same smiling mouth, and Yo-han would have been perfectly fine, never seeing again in exchange for it.
Apparently, making it three tumblers into some of his best whiskey makes him sentimental, at least in the other man's presence, but Yo-han can't muster the energy to care all that much. He's relaxed, the weight of Ga-on across his side a familiar tether as he lets his eyes close, nodding softly to the record they have on.
He feels Ga-on shift against him, and there's the clinking of ice on crystal and a sloshing sound followed by a surprised "oh… oops ," that has Yo-han letting his eyes crack open. He notices the liquor on the wood grain of the coffee table first and then follows the obvious path up Ga-on's body to the glass, still dripping with spilled alcohol, pressed to his mouth as he takes a long drink. Yo-han watches in satisfaction as Ga-on's flushed cheeks grow pinker under the scrutiny of Yo-han's raised brow, his silent question. Ga-on places the remainder of his drink down too quickly, whiskey threatening to climb over the edge, limbs loose and uncoordinated.
"I'll... uh, I'll clean it up." He looks a bit chastised, and the effect of an obviously drunk (perhaps just on the far end of tipsy) Ga-on, pouting at the mess he's making, is too precious not to chuckle over. When he goes to stand, he sways just a little, and Yo-han is quick to circle a hand around his arm and pull him back down. Ga-on falls gracelessly, and if it weren't Yo-han's fault, he might be more upset over the elbow jammed harshly into his gut. Instead, he breathes through the jolt of pain with a laugh and tucks Ga-on against him.
"Don't. You're drunk and are just as likely to make a bigger mess." Ga-on seems to pause, listening, before he struggles to get upright, glaring at Yo-han. He's looking down at Yo-han from how he's kneeling on the sofa while Yo-han drapes himself, almost bonelessly, against the backrest.
"'M not drunk." Yo-han can't fight the disbelieving smirk from his lips, far too amused as, somehow, Ga-on's pout and glare combination make his heart feel ten times bigger, threatening to burst.
What had he ever done to deserve this kind of peace?
Yo-han's brain doesn't get to trail down that rabbit hole, wanting to bring up all the reasons he doesn't deserve it because Ga-on is suddenly leaning, precariously balanced, into his space. Not that Yo-han minds the proximity all that much.
"I'm not drunk." A lie, but Yo-han can tell that Ga-on isn't finished and doesn't want to risk interrupting whatever is about to happen. "Can a drunk person do this?" He asks with a flourish, leaning back so quickly that a flash of fear zips down Yo-han's spine. He reaches forward just in case Ga-on goes careening off the couch. Ga-on doesn't. Instead, he's moved back so he can get one of his hands stretched out fully to press directly against Yo-han's chest, fingers warm where they touch him. The v of Yo-han's partially unbuttoned shirt exposes some of the skin, allowing him direct contact. Ga-on's eyes shut so tight his face scrunches up.
Yo-han waits for a beat and then another, anticipating something more. When Ga-on does nothing else, just continues to press his palm over Yo-han's heart, eyes closed, the older man coughs.
"Darling," Ga-on winks open one eye, and Yo-han smiles as though he's greeting him. "You're not doing anything."
Ga-on opens his other eye and blinks, alternating between looking at his hand laying against Yo-han's chest and Yo-han's face. He seems genuinely confused, and it's taking everything within Yo-han's power not to laugh.
"But…" Ga-on seems to flounder, pulling his hand away to look at his fingers like they've betrayed him before looking back to Yo-han. "I sent you my love. Did you… did you not get it?" Yo-han has to swallow the honest-to-God giggle that wants to crawl out of his mouth, and it's only because of the way Ga-on appears very upset at the notion he hadn't, Yo-han manages.
"Ah," Yo-han says, shifting a little before taking Ga-on's hand to place it back over his heart. "I wasn't paying enough attention; try again?" He doesn't know if a drunk Ga-on will humor him, but it seems the atmosphere is just right for this ridiculous sentiment because he presses his hand down and scrunches up his face again. Yo-han wants to play along as well and closes his eyes too.
Instinctually his focus hones in on the warm touch to his bared chest, Ga-on's pulse under his fingertips, and he gets lost in that, the gentle 'thump-thump-thump' and the subtle twitching of his partner's hand. It makes Yo-han smile because he can feel Ga-on's love in a simple gesture like this.
When he opens his eyes again, Ga-on looks down at him; his lips turned up in Yo-han's favorite smile, which he can't help mirroring.
Yo-han uses his grip on Ga-on's arm to tug him down until the younger man is sprawled over his lap, hand still firmly in place. Closer now, Yo-han takes the opportunity to kiss the remaining whiskey off Ga-on's lips and sighs just as Ga-on does, relaxing even further into the gentle back and forth of this easy affection. There's no heat, no need to deepen it to something more, and Yo-han lets Ga-on retreat for breath and curls up on top of him like Elijah's damned cat (his cat, really).
Unconsciously, Yo-han brings his free hand up to Ga-on's hair and strokes through the soft strands.
"I always feel your love Ga-on." It's sappy, ridiculous, something the Yo-han of a year ago would never think to utter out loud, but so fundamentally true. He feels the love Ga-on gives so easily in the meals he makes, in the way that the younger will set out clothes for him sometimes, or how when Yo-han falls asleep in his reading chair, he will set his book aside, marking the page, before draping a blanket over his lap to keep him comfortable. Yo-han will always wake up with a crick in his neck and a grumble, but then Ga-on will kiss him gently and replace the learned discontent with something so gentle that Yo-han feels like he could fall to his knees from the strength of the emotion that flows into him.
"I know," Ga-on mumbles against his collar bone, and Yo-han doesn't chastise him for being a brat, just hugs him a bit closer on the off chance Ga-on might miss him sending his own love in return.