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In ha was drunk — too drunk to make it home by himself, Taeoh had encouraged him to leave earlier in the night, citing his need to get up in the morning for class, but their conversations went on too long, and the minutes bled into hours, and after a while Taeoh gave up on getting his friend to leave.
Inha refuses Taeoh’s efforts to get him to crash on the futon he made up, instead he plops down next to Taeoh on his too small bed, pouting and whining about being unable to sleep alone. Taeoh stopped fighting him eventually, letting Inha tuck himself under his covers.
“Taeoh.” Inha calls him.
“Hm?”
“Han Taeoh.”
Taeoh turns to look at him and Inha is staring right back, closer than Taeoh is used to him being. Inha’s eyes wander around his face, pausing briefly on every feature – his eyes, his nose, then his mouth. And his gaze stays there for seconds too long, fixated on lips, he inches closer to Taeoh.
“...Taeoh.” Inha says his name again, and there's an implication in his tone, an unspoken request. Inha’s proximity, along with the sudden shift in mood, made Taeoh’s heart thud quickly against his ribcage, too loud in the quiet of his apartment, so loud he’s sure Inha can hear it. This isn’t good. This can't happen, they shouldn’t -
“You’re drunk.” Taeoh points out the obvious, hoping Inha would snap out of it enough to back up. Taeoh is used to being on the receiving end of Inha’s touching– an arm thrown around his shoulder, a tug at his elbow, a surprise bear hug from behind – but not like this. Not this close.
“I know…” Inha’s voice dips down low, he speaks slowly and quietly as the alcohol starts to lull him to sleep. Another shift closer, a tilt of his chin, “Is this okay?”
Not really , Taeoh thinks. They’re both going to regret it tomorrow, or at least he will, only time will tell if Inha remembers anything come morning. It's not okay, because entirely too much is riding on their relationship staying intact, and kissing Inha could ruin it all in a second. But Taeoh stays still despite himself, even as Inha shifts closer and his breath fans softly against Taeoh’s lips, his mind screams at him to move out the way, and his body doesn’t listen.
“Answer me.” Inha’s lips graze against Taeoh’s, and he can’t take it anymore.
Taeoh dips his head down, closing what little space remained between them. It's chaste at first, just a soft press of their mouths, and then Taeoh parts his lips and presses forward, and Inha sighs softly against his mouth and Taeoh can't help how his body reacts to that. Inha’s tongue grazes his bottom lip and Taeoh opens his mouth to let him in.
Inha’s tongue is velvety soft and slick against his, brushing and pressing, sloppy and uncoordinated. Inha moans, and Taeoh panics a little at the ache he feels in his groin. Inha is so warm against him, there’s a bittersweet taste to his mouth that Taeoh can’t get enough of. Inha’s hand slips inside his shirt, softly caressing his sides. A shiver licks up Taeoh’s spine and his face flushes — he has to cut this short. He’s losing his reasoning too quickly; Inha is drunk, even if he wasn’t, they shouldn’t be doing this.
Teaoh breaks off the kiss and hovers in his space, reluctant to pull away entirely. A dopey smile spreads across Inha’s face.
“You’re better at that than I thought you’d be.” he remarks dazedly, and Taeoh’s brain is too fuzzy and kiss-drunk to really understand what that means or implies, let alone respond to it. Any critical thought he might have is too disjointed and half-baked to really voice, and Inha isn’t lucid enough to give a coherent response if he did say something. He settles for keeping quiet.
Inha reaches up and pats him on the cheek. “Thanks for that.” He says and rolls over, turning his back to Taeoh.
Taeoh doesn't move for a long time, he listens to Inha’s breathing evening out and turning into soft snores, all the while he stays rooted in place, staring at his ruffled head of hair. Eventually he turns on his back, staring at the ceiling instead, wondering belatedly if what just happened was real or not. Anxiety sets in almost immediately after the haze had cleared from his mind. God, what if Inha remembers? What will they do? What can they do? What realistically follows something like this? A kiss too tame to lead to anything serious, but too intimate to be written off as nothing. It's almost worse than if they’d gone all the way.
Taeoh stews for a long time, long enough that he watches the sky grow pale before sleep takes him. Inha is gone by the time he comes to, but the taste and feel of him remains, plaguing Taeoh for the rest of the day, holding his thoughts hostage, a phantom press on his mouth as he works, a lingering taste of soju as he eats.
If Inha remembers, he doesn’t mention it.