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Wooseok blinks awake with a groan. Where the hell is he?
Shit. This is not his apartment.
He rubs his eyes without getting up yet and looks at the wall in front of him. There’s a shelf of albums, but the first one that catches his eye is the display of black and white albums that when put together, form an X across the covers. This sight sends chills over his skin, a shudder down his spine— he flinches like it’s a wound being reopened.
Wooseok sits up. He’s still wearing a thin shirt beneath the covers, thank god.
“Morning.”
Wooseok turns to the sound in the doorway in horror.
Cho Seungyoun is standing there, without a shirt on. “How did you sleep?”
“I’m going home.” Wooseok doesn’t offer any explanation and doesn’t look at Seungyoun or the gun tattoo on his stomach or any of his tattoos on display. He just pushes the blankets off himself and rolls out of bed, pushing past Seungyoun to get to the bathroom.
“I made breakfast.” Seungyoun supplies cheerily as Wooseok shuts the door.
There’s a pause, where they’re both standing on either side of the bathroom door, waiting. Seungyoun waits for a reaction, Wooseok waits for him to leave.
Sensing a stalemate, Seungyoun gives in first. “It’s naengmyeon. Your favorite.” He’s still chipper as he speaks and Wooseok thinks— this poor idiot.
Wooseok doesn’t give him a response and he doesn’t even breathe until he can hear Seungyoun shuffling away outside the door. His head hurts.
When he emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, he peeks into the living room to see Seungyoun sitting quietly, scrolling through his phone and looking away from him. True to his word, there’s a bowl of naengmyeon laid out for the seat across from him, and two hard-boiled eggs sitting in front of him.
Wooseok sighs to himself. He walks into the room as nonchalantly as he can and sits. Seungyoun puts away his phone and simply looks at Wooseok with a smile. That stupid, goofy smile.
“How is it?” He asks as Wooseok starts taking small bites. It’s surprisingly good.
“Decent,” Wooseok answers in one word. He’s not going to just praise Seungyoun’s cooking out loud, even if they both know it’s instant noodles out of a packet.
But the smug bastard is smiling to himself already, picking up his hard-boiled eggs. Slowly, he peels them, and for a while, there’s only the clinking of chopsticks against Wooseok’s bowl and egg shells cracking.
It’s strangely peaceful, the two of them quietly eating breakfast with the sun streaming down over the dining table. For the first time in a long time, Wooseok feels warm. He can’t remember the last time he had breakfast like this, with the sun through the window and company with him, without being rushed from one thing to another. This is the most pleasant hangover he’s ever had.
When they’re both done eating, Wooseok insists on washing the dishes. He puts the pink rubber gloves on, soaps up the sponge, and gets to work. Seungyoun is standing a few steps away from him, hovering.
“You don’t have to supervise, you know?” Wooseok says, without looking up from the soaping and rinsing. Seungyoun doesn’t answer him, but in the corner of his eye, Wooseok can see him staring. Just standing there with his arms crossed and watching silently with an expression Wooseok can’t put a name to.
“Thanks for the breakfast.” In the doorway, Wooseok takes his sneakers from where Seungyoun had put them neatly on the shoe rack. He slips them on.
Seungyoun shrugs. “Come again when you’re sober for once.” There’s half a tease in there, half a warning.
Wooseok gives him a look, one that’s offended by his bluntness but not the meaning behind his words— Wooseok doesn’t hide from the truth. But he doesn’t say anything back; doesn’t make any promises. He only waves before he’s off, making his way out of Seungyoun’s apartment building.
They’ve never been anything more than just friends, back when they shared the same dorms. No matter how thick the tension got, they never did more than hold eye contact for a second too long— they had to think of the kids. So their overly-friendly interactions were limited to the Seungyoun’s stupid smirk, the raise of Wooseok’s eyebrows, and their bickering, laced with forever unresolved tension.
Then none of it mattered anymore.
Then there were no kids around. Then there was one night that they went out drinking, together with the others who could. Then Seungyoun makes some comment jabbing at Wooseok for being a prude and Wooseok fires back and then maybe Seungwoo tries to break up their fight, but the dominos had already started toppling. Wooseok remembers crawling into the cab with Seungyoun, he remembers fumbling with his apartment keys, he remembers the way Seungyoun’s face feels in the dark and the way that smirk feels on his own lips.
Wooseok opens the door to his own apartment, kicks off his shoes and falls into the comfort of his own bed, into the mess of fallen dominos.
It gets a bit lonely. Going from group to soloist is great in some ways; your own apartment, your own team of people, no more dealing with fighting groupmates. But it’s soul-crushingly lonely— Jinhyuk is around for some company, only whenever he isn't busy shooting something or other. When he has the spare minute to give Wooseok a short text back.
So what is Wooseok supposed to do?
The correct answer probably isn’t getting shitfaced every other week, but it’s the answer he chooses. Get drunk, pass the time watching whatever bullshit is on TV, laugh at all the people he recognizes on the screen, pass out. It’s better when some of his friends can join him, but most of them are busy. Sorry, hyung, I have a tight schedule this week! Maybe next time?
Seungwoo shows up sometimes with a beer or two. But all he does is take the fourth bottle of soju away from Wooseok and gently lead him to bed when it gets late.
“Wooseok-ah, you have to take care of yourself,” Seungwoo chides when he lays the blanket over Wooseok’s curled-up body. Usually, Wooseok falls asleep by the time Seungwoo shuts off the lights and lets himself out, but one night, when he doesn’t fall asleep right away, he feels Seungwoo sitting on the side of his bed for an impossibly long time before finally standing and leaving.
Wooseok wakes up the next day with tears all over his face and pillow. It’s the same nightmare— he’s sitting on a very tall chair, looking down to see a crowd stretching out as far as he could see, until it collapses and he’s falling into a void, all the people crowding around the edge to watch but never reaching to catch him.
Half a bottle of soju in on a Saturday night, he gets a call.
“Hello?” He asks cautiously.
“Yah, Wooseok-ah,” The slurred response comes back. “Wooseok-ah, come here.” There’s loud music in the background, almost loud enough to drown out Seungyoun’s voice.
Wooseok sighs. “Where are you?” He doesn’t actually plan on going wherever Seungyoun is, but asking where he is and making sure he actually gets home intact is the least Wooseok can do.
“I want to see you.” Seungyoun murmurs, the music fading away and leaving only Seungyoun’s whisper on the line. “Wooseok-ah.” Now there’s the sound of cars and traffic. “I’ll come over.”
Wooseok stares at the half-empty soju bottle in his hand. “Fine.” He hangs up, puts the bottle to his lips, and drinks it down.
There’s a knock at the door, two rapid taps. Wooseok peels himself from the couch, goes up to the door, and opens it.
“Hi,” Seungyoun says, eyeliner smudged all over his eyelids. He looks like a regular edgy twenty-something-year-old at the bar, with dark eyes and gel in his black hair.
“Hi.”
Wooseok lets him in.
Seungyoun takes off his shoes with more caution than Wooseok has ever seen from a drunk person and puts them away tidily by the door. Then he goes towards the kitchen and washes his hands over the dirty dishes in the sink, patting his hands dry on his ripped black jeans.
Wooseok follows him into the kitchen and watches him pause at the horde of empty soju bottles on his countertop.
“Did you have a party or something?” Seungyoun cocks his head. He doesn’t have to know.
“None of your business.” Wooseok walks back into the living room. “What did you want to see me for?”
When he turns around, Seungyoun is right in front of him. They’re standing nose to nose. “I thought of you.” This is the most sentimental it gets between them.
Then it happens. Seungyoun leans in and Wooseok closes his eyes and there’s only the taste of whatever alcohol Seungyoun was drinking mingling with the aftertaste of soju. Seungyoun’s hands are on his back, on the small of his waist, slipping into the warmth under his shirt. Wooseok wraps his arms around Seungyoun’s chest, only to pull away for a breath of air.
They stare at each other. Pressed up this close, there’s nowhere else to look but right ahead.
Seungyoun breaks first, but he breaks hard, tears rolling down his face as he buries his head into the space between Wooseok’s neck and shoulder. He’s crying, he’s fucking sobbing and he’s squeezing Wooseok tight.
“How can you do this?” He says between the sniffling. “How can you just show up at my place and look me in the eyes and— use me?”
Wooseok hasn’t seen Seungyoun cry this hard in a long time.
“Every fucking time, I hope you’d stay longer than breakfast. And every time, I’m wrong.” Seungyoun pulls away from Wooseok’s chest to meet his eyes, sniffing and streaks of dark makeup running down his cheeks. “And every time, I let you come back and do it all again, because it’s the only fucking time I ever see you.” Each word cuts like a glass shard to his skin, but there’s nothing Wooseok can say to defend himself, not when Seungyoun is only putting the truth between them into words.
“I’m the worst.” Wooseok murmurs, hand reaching out to wipe away Seungyoun’s tears. He might be the villain but Seungyoun is the only one who makes him feel like he can be anything but that. That he could be redeemable.
“You’re the worst.” Seungyoun sniffs. “Where are your makeup wipes?”
Wooseok watches in the bathroom doorway as Seungyoun wipes off his makeup and brushes out some of the gel in his hair.
“I guess I’ll go home,” Seungyoun says, all traces of crying gone. Cleaning up quickly is part of the skill set for the job— Seungyoun looks almost camera-ready like he could turn on Instagram live in a minute and smile for the thousands tuning in. The whiplash would be scary if Wooseok wasn’t just like him.
“It’s late. Just sleep over.” Wooseok says quickly. Seungyoun looks at him with a raised eyebrow through the mirror. “I meant actual sleep.” Wooseok feels his cheeks blush.
There’s a hint of his usual playfulness back on his face when Seungyoun turns towards him. “I sleep in my underwear, is that okay?”
Wooseok rolls his eyes.
Wooseok does end up staring a little when Seungyoun reaches for the back of his collar and pulls his shirt off over his head. Inky designs litter his skin— Wooseok has them memorized, knows them with his eyes closed. But as they crawl into Wooseok’s bed and turn the lights off, nothing happens. Seungyoun turns away from Wooseok, but all Wooseok does is stare at the back of Seungyoun’s head instead of sleeping.
After a while, maybe five minutes, maybe an hour, the silence is broken.
“Are you asleep?” Seungyoun whispers, turning back towards Wooseok.
“No.”
“Why not?” Seungyoun doesn’t reach out or touch him. He just looks at Wooseok with dark, inquisitive eyes. “What are you thinking about?”
The truth is he’s usually thinking about Seungyoun. There are things that only come to Wooseok when he’s lying in this bed and trying to sleep— he tries to retrace his steps back through the big tangled mess that is their history together, wondering where it started to go downhill. Maybe they were doomed from the start, but Wooseok can’t deny it; he had a hand in pushing them down the slope.
Seungyoun had stars in his eyes when Wooseok first met him, the reflecting glimmer of stage lights and all the hope in the world in them. Even when they first met, Seungyoun had already been broken in with a bridle of mic wires wrapping around his back, his body worn with the weight of a former group; but his eyes still shone with new hope, looking to a new light source. Here in his bed, there’s no light in his eyes— just knowing darkness, one that they share.
“I should’ve treated you better.” Wooseok murmurs. He comes and he goes from Seungyoun's life; he comes to fuck it up because he knows Seungyoun is the only one who can pick the pieces back up and put themselves back together. And Wooseok runs because he knows it's wrong, that he's an asshole, but he can't stop himself from coming back.
He’s not great at apologies; people tell him he’s too stubborn, too prideful for them, and it’s true. But Seungyoun isn’t someone who would wield Wooseok’s words against him— he’s not the press, he’s not the hordes of netizens, he’s just Seungyoun, lying under the same blanket as him. He’s just a person, a person Wooseok has hurt.
“I’m sorry.” Beneath the covers, Wooseok tries to find Seungyoun’s hand. Their fingers intertwine. It’s a shitty apology; if he were Seungyoun, he wouldn’t forgive himself.
Seungyoun smiles at him, his teeth gleaming in the dark. Wooseok doesn’t deserve this, not after everything that’s transpired between them— but there’s too much of Seungyoun in him, and him in Seungyoun, for them to ever be free of each other.
“I’ll try to be better,” Wooseok whispers. It’s terrifying. Seungyoun is too good for him; he’s more talented, kinder, more likable, just better than Wooseok in all the ways that matter. But the fact that he’s here with Wooseok, that he’s been trying with him, holding his hand now; maybe it means something. If you can’t beat them, join them. If Wooseok can't leave Seungyoun alone, he might as well make himself comfortable next to Seungyoun.
Seungyoun closes his eyes. Wooseok does too and it’s how they fall asleep; holding hands and sharing the same blanket.
Wooseok makes breakfast when Seungyoun’s in the bathroom; two hard-boiled eggs for Seungyoun and a bowl of cereal for himself. When Seungyoun walks out into the living room, Wooseok has it set out for him and the TV on.
“What, no cereal for me?” Seungyoun laughs as he takes the seat across from Wooseok.
Wooseok pushes his bowl towards him. He’s still feeling apologetic. “Take mine, then. I’ll get another.” He could buy a hundred more boxes of cereal if it’s what Seungyoun wants.
Seungyoun takes a spoonful, before turning the bowl back towards Wooseok. “This tastes like pure sugar.” He makes a face, before turning back to his eggs.
Wooseok frowns. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”
They finish eating not too long after and Wooseok goes into the kitchen to wash his bowl and spoon. Seungyoun follows him to the sink and when Wooseok starts scrubbing the bowl, he feels Seungyoun wrap his arms around Wooseok’s waist. If this was even just a week ago, Wooseok would’ve shrugged him off and given him a shove. It’s not that he hates Seungyoun’s hands on him like this— warm and steady, so eager to have Wooseok in his hold and to keep him there. But it hurt; letting themselves play pretend in the kitchen, living a false moment of domesticity, like this life could ever be theirs.
But today, Wooseok doesn’t say anything, doesn’t pause, just keeps washing the bowl under the running water as Seungyoun presses closer, resting his cheek on Wooseok’s shoulder. For a moment, for this moment, they’re just two people. They’re not famous, they don’t have any messy history, they don’t have the world to think about.
“Wooseok-ah,” Seungyoun whispers, even though there’s nobody other than them in the apartment. “Could I stay?”
Wooseok turns off the water and puts the clean dishes on the drying rack. Then he turns to Seungyoun, the only person it was ever worth hurting for, and smiles.