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It’s not cold, per se.
He wakes up in the mornings and draws his toes back under the covers because the dorm air is chilly. He whimpers, “I’m cold,” into Junhui’s hair when the other nudges him to wake up and get out of bed. He shivers in a t-shirt in the bathroom to brush his teeth, bare toes rubbing up and down his shins so the friction can warm him up.
But it’s not really cold, not in the biting way of that one week in January. The wind, then, had burned Wonwoo’s cheeks when he walked outside, face tucked inside the collar of a puffy jacket that swam around his extra layers of sweaters. Even as wrapped up as he was, he had felt numb within minutes, and any skin exposed to the frosty air was left raw and tingling. The temperatures had fallen so far below zero centigrade that there was some sort of record, and the government of Seoul had issued an extreme cold warning.
His mom had texted him a reminder to bundle up, as if he didn’t always wear one more layer than everyone else. Wonwoo tended toward cold in the winter, and then toward hot in the summer.
He knew that.
He told Junhui as much, as an excuse to use him for a heat source, pressed up tightly against Junhui in the car, his palms pressed together and wedged firmly between his thighs for warmth. Junhui had taken Wonwoo’s hands into his own, warm somehow despite the frigid weather. “Don’t worry, just stick to me.” Junhui had smiled at him. That had melted Wonwoo’s heart, a little, more than his hands had taken away the stinging in his fingers even. “I’m always just right.”
And Wonwoo had thought to himself, ‘Well, he isn’t lying’. Junhui was, in his own way, or maybe just in Wonwoo’s eyes, always impeccable. Instead of saying anything on the matter, he had snuggled further into Junhui’s chest, because any excuse to cuddle is a good excuse to cuddle, really.
But today it’s not cold anymore.
No, the high pressure gusts of Siberian wind had given way to storm clouds, releasing a sleeting mix of rain and snow, landing sticky and white on the pavement. It would remain overnight during the coldest hours, but be melted by mid-day tomorrow, when it was no longer freezing.
For now, Wonwoo slips his hands into his pockets, slouching into his coat with the hood pulled up. He casts his eyes downward as he walks, squinting as the light from streetlamps reflects off the ice in the air and on the ground, blurring his vision even more than can be explained from him not wearing his glasses or contacts. The falling precipitation deposits a layer of calm and quiet to match the undisturbed layer of sleet on the streets. It’s an odd sensation underfoot, not quite soft and squishy, but not the usual firmness that cement should be. He alters his gait so that his entire foot makes contact evenly, leaving precise footprints. It doesn’t even feel like he’s marring something scenic, this way.
“Duck!” Junhui’s voice catches him by surprise, and Wonwoo only has time to look up.
It hits him in the face.
It’s not really a snowball, so much as simply cold wet stuff. It hurts. It’s also not aimed at him, but Mingyu had moved out of the way in the nick of time, and in dodging Jihoon’s throw, guaranteed that the recipient would be Wonwoo.
“Sorry, not my target!” Jihoon calls out completely unapologetically, hands on his hips and a cheeky smirk dancing across his face.
“Hyung!” Mingyu’s finger is stuck out, pointing at Wonwoo’s face. He laughs. “Wonwoo-hyung I can’t believe you got hit by the snowball meant for me!” His laughing turns into blatant cackling, body doubled over with one hand covering his mouth to slightly hide his utter delight.
Wonwoo’s eyes are closed tightly and his lips are pressed into a firm line. His nose is scrunched up, and he can feel beads of water sliding off the end. A bit of ice slides from his eyebrow over his eyelid, down to the ends of his eyelashes, the droplet hanging there for a moment before being pulled down by gravity. It hurts and it’s cold.
He reaches up with both hands to sweep off the sleet, rubbing and patting at his cheeks to regain some warmth. With the backs of his fingers he wipes all of the water away from his eyes, and finally opens them again to see another (sleet)ball flying through the air. Only this time, it’s headed toward Jihoon, and catches him square on the shoulder.
“Well,” Wonwoo grumbles, “That was stupid.”
Junhui’s fingers find his and he yanks Wonwoo down quickly, their hands clasped together as they attempt to defend themselves from the barrage of attacks from Mingyu and Jihoon as a combined team.
“You should have just left them to fight it out between themselves,” Wonwoo says while they’re being pelted. It would probably work better if they stopped holding hands and could use one arm to defend while the other one flung retaliating chunks of wet snow, but neither of them let go.
“I was defending your honour!” Junhui protests hotly, puffs of breath visible in the air.
Wonwoo snorts. “I don’t need you to do that. If anything you could have just said something. Why did you go and provoke Jihoon?”
“What if he had scarred your face! Your face is too nice to be hit with anything, Wonwoo.” Junhui says. It’s very matter of fact sounding for someone with his hair covered in sleet, with little rivulets of melting ice coursing down the side of his face. “Why didn’t you duck when I told you to?”
“There’s no way anyone’s reaction time could possibly be fast enough to respond to the amount of warning you gave me, Moon Joonhwi,” Wonwoo informs him. “In fact, why didn’t you say something to me earlier?” If he turns his shoulder, he could get a fistful of snow into the hood of his jacket, but he lets Jihoon’s scarily good aim hit Junhui in the neck.
“Well, I wouldn’t have had to warn you if you were paying attention while you were walking,” Junhui says darkly, jumping up and down in an attempt to dislodge some of the ice. He looks ridiculous with his bangs clumped up, a pout across his lips, water everywhere, and still his fingers are clutched around Wonwoo’s. The light reflects all around him. He looks beautiful.
“Oh my fucking god,” Jihoon complains, sliding cold, wet, fingers against the bare skin of Mingyu’s neck. He grins broadly at the piercing shriek Mingyu lets out.
“Our Jihoonie-hyung is so mean!” Mingyu complains, so of course, Jihoon does it again, and then to his ears, and his cheeks, and once more to his nose.
“Let’s get out of here and leave those two to their married couple bickering, I can’t stand it.” Jihoon says once he’s finished leaving Mingyu spluttering and sneezing. He elbows Mingyu once for good measure, pushing him away so he can get a bit of personal space. Mingyu shuffles to Jihoon’s other side and slings an arm over his shoulder, pulling Jihoon towards himself with a happy skip in his stride. Jihoon has to double his steps to keep up and Mingyu openly coos about how adorable it is.
Jihoon smacks more ice into his face.
Not that Wonwoo notices. He’s too busy trying to take Junhui down, their ankles hooked around each other. Junhui’s trying to do something crazy bendy with his arm, and Wonwoo’s lodged one knee into his back. It’s hapkido vs. wushu, and they both go tumbling down into a heap on the sidewalk, Wonwoo landing on top of Junhui with a grin.
“I win,” he announces, and rubs his knuckles into the top of Junhui’s head. Junhui pushes him off with one swoop, and rolls over onto his back to make a sleet angel with what little snow they have on the ground.
He’s going to ruin his clothes like that, and someone’s going to yell at him about it.
Wonwoo joins him. His arms and legs get tired quickly, and he weakly comes to a standstill, while Junhui’s still a bundle of nerves and movements beside him. Wonwoo stares up at the mostly dark sky, the sleet falling around him. It’s really not that cold.
After a while, when Junhui’s still going at it like a little kid, so genuinely content with a tiny insignificant weather phenomenon, Wonwoo has to reign him in. “Come back,” he whines, tugging on Junhui’s scarf.
In a fluid motion, Junhui rolls onto his side to look at Wonwoo, eyes wide and earnest, dancing with joy. His smile is infectious, teeth bared and dimples deep. There’s a rosiness to his cheeks, and something about his expression sparkles. Wonwoo’s certain that look has more to do with Junhui’s personality than the glittering reflection from the snow or the bright streetlights. Turned towards him, it’s almost too much too much to look at. He wonders if someone can go blind like this, but he doesn’t look away.
Junhui does. Junhui looks away from Wonwoo’s eyes, and searches for something on his face. The upturn of the corners of his lips turns downward, and Junhui’s eyes lose a little bit of that joviality, a little of that mischievousness. They blink and focus on where Junhui and Wonwoo are still holding hands, and Junhui quickly pulls both of them to their feet.
They take a moment to brush off as much of the snow as they can, stomping their feet to free any ice stuck in the creases of their clothing. Junhui swings his arm as he goes, so that Wonwoo ends up looking like a cheery eight-year-old kid too.
Eventually he takes a step toward Wonwoo, separating their fingers, and he’s close enough now that Wonwoo can count every single one of his eyelashes. Wonwoo watches him lift up his hands, and then he feels them cupped around his face. He blinks and smiles softly, looking into Junhui’s eyes.
The pads of Junhui’s thumbs are soft and gentle against Wonwoo’s cheekbones, and Wonwoo has to suppress a shiver. The tip of Junhui’s tongue pokes out between his lips, before he knits his eyebrows together. “You’re really red,” Junhui says bluntly. He returns a look into Wonwoo’s eyes and he’s so solemn, so sincere.
The fondness in his heart bubbles up out of him until he can’t help but laugh. “You’re pretty pink too, Junhui-ya.”
Junhui shakes his head. “No, I mean.” He pauses to brush Wonwoo’s bangs sideways, out of his eyes, and then swipes a finger down the side of Wonwoo’s nose to get rid of some wayward melting sleet. “Really red. I think it was from the first snowball to your face. Does it hurt? It looks like it hurts. Are you okay?” His voice gets a little wobbly, and his gaze is intense. Wonwoo feels so warm it’s like he’s burning up from the inside.
It did hurt. It had hurt a lot, really, the sensation being a mix of numbing cold and painful gravelly ice. “Not anymore. I’m fine.” Junhui’s fingers had taken away that feeling quickly, until all Wonwoo felt was the heat coiled in his belly, and surrounding his entire body.
“Are you sure?” Junhui asks again, the frown on his face digging into the softness of Wonwoo’s heart, like little tenterhooks that just wouldn’t let go.
Wonwoo smiles again, a soft smile, a small smile, and leans forward to press their foreheads against each other. “Listen to me. I’m fine. You giant goofball.” He takes Junhui’s chin between his thumb and index finger, shifting their positions to press their lips together feather-light. Their lips meet again, longer this time, and Wonwoo can feel the tingling all the way down to his toes.
Junhui pulls away shyly, the abashed look on his face too endearing for Wonwoo to think about, and certainly more precious than he could describe with words. “I’m not a goofball,” Junhui protests weakly. “And hey,” his fingers run along Wonwoo’s jaw, “you called me giant. So I am taller than you, right?”
Wonwoo chuckles. “In your dreams,” he whispers, voice low, and just beneath Junhui’s ear. His nose presses into Junhui’s cheek and he inhales deeply. With an arm around the small of Junhui’s back, he pulls him in until their chests are flush against each other. When he tilts his head back, Junhui is staring at him from underneath his eyelashes, and it’s too much to resist.
Not that Wonwoo is trying very hard.
His other hand combs through the hair at the back of Junhui’s head, and he angles their mouths together again, kissing him thoroughly. Junhui makes a little sound in his throat when Wonwoo slides his lips over the corner of Junhui’s mouth, moving to trail gentle kisses down the length of his jaw before returning to mouth again. One of Junhui’s hands comes to rest around Wonwoo’s hip, curling around his pelvic bone, the other still tucked in the crook of Wonwoo’s neck, palm feeling Wonwoo’s pulse, thumb supporting the sharp jut of Wonwoo’s mandible.
Wonwoo is sufficiently distracted for long enough that he’s surprised by the presence of Junhui’s teeth nipping at his lower lip so he can slip his tongue inside Wonwoo’s mouth. Their tongues push against each other briefly, and Wonwoo can see the shine of saliva on Junhui’s puffy lips when they pull apart again.
“You can’t distract me,” Junhui whispers, voice a little ragged. “We are not the same height.”
Wonwoo’s laughter comes out more like a bark, and he shakes his head. He smooches Junhui’s cheek quickly and runs. The snow will slow Junhui chasing him.
Probably.