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It was easy to look at the two of them and think that Seungcheol had some sort of obsession with Jeonghan, desperate and insistent and bending to his every desire.
What Seungcheol couldn’t for the life of him understand was how anyone could think it was unfounded. Unfounded or one-sided.
Seungcheol hated it.
He wouldn’t care if people just thought he was a lovesick fool. It’s a fair judgement, he was sickly in love. What he couldn’t tolerate was people thinking Jeonghan was some kind of emotionless hull, or even worse, a cold, detached guy.
It was so confusing to Seungcheol; how would anyone think he was the way he was about Jeonghan if there was no reason for it? One-sided yearning is one thing, but all that he did for Jeonghan couldn’t just be born from that. At least, that’s what he thinks. He supposes he has a sort of understanding of Jeonghan that other people didn’t quite have.
They weren’t the ones who were on the receiving end of Jeonghan’s quiet but moving love.
Seungcheol was unsteady for much of his life, but Jeonghan was always there, unwavering. He used his words to reach Seungcheol and pull his thoughts out when his own mouth failed him time and time again. He didn’t always say the right thing, that was impossible, he was only a human. But he always said something, something that was enough of a guiding light to Seungcheol to pick himself up again when he truly felt like it was the last time he could handle falling.
“Seungcheollie?”
Jeonghan’s gentle voice pulls Seungcheol out of his own head, like it so often does, and he perks his head up to call back.
Jeonghan appears from the bedroom in Seungcheol’s t-shirt (as if he ever wore his own) and plops himself on the couch, leaning his entire body weight onto Seungcheol’s side and burying his head into his sturdy shoulder.
“I sure hope you’re not online again.”
Seungcheol turns a light pink, embarrassed that he was caught. He should know better, Jeonghan sees right through him, always has.
Slowly, he turns his phone off and tucks it away, shifting their position so that Jeonghan is laying flat on the couch with Seungcheol’s head on his chest.
Jeonghan tuts, “You know what I said about that.”
“I know, I’m trying. Old habits die hard,” Seungcheol whines.
He feels the vibration in Jeonghan’s chest when he hums. “I know, but I’m proud of you for trying to do something about it anyway,” he plays with Seungcheol’s hair, then lightly taps his back twice, making him lift his head to look into Jeonghan’s eyes. “Why don’t we go for a walk? Somewhere close, where there’s a trail. We can stay out for the sunset, too.”
This was it. This was why Seungcheol was so willing to give Jeonghan everything he could ever ask for. How could he not? When he did the same for Seungcheol without him even asking? Without him even knowing what he needed or wanted at all? What other choice did he have but to dedicate his every waking moment to making sure Jeonghan felt just as loved as Seungcheol did?
They pulled on light coats, the beginning of spring still bringing a slight chill in the evening.
There was a short trail nearby, a quick drive to one that went through sparse trees and a grassy field, one that bloomed with little flowers during the springtime.
When they park and get out, Jeonghan doesn’t waste a second before interlocking their hands, gently leading Seungcheol through the rocky dirt path.
Jeonghan did as he always does and finds beauty in everything he sees, even in the most broken and dirtied rocks and sticks, snapped branches and twisted overgrown vines. He finds the fullest pinecone he can and gives it to Seungcheol; makes sure he replaces the one in his hand every time he finds a better one. Not without placing the other one on the ground carefully, as if it were living, with both hands.
Seungcheol cradles the pinecone close to his chest like it’s a little duckling. Jeonghan knows how much he likes, no, needs, something to care for. It just makes things a bit easier for him.
They barely speak when they’re walking. Jeonghan knows when he wants to talk, knows when it’s hard to get the words out. Somehow, he walks the line perfectly when Seungcheol himself can’t even find it.
When they reach a more open space of grass, there are a few small white flowers blooming on the edge of the path, azaleas; the start of spring.
Undoing their hands once again, Jeonghan skips over and plucks one delicately out of the ground and returns to face Seungcheol. He lightly brushes the hair out of Seungcheol’s face and tucks the flower in the crook behind his ear and takes a step back to admire his work.
Jeonghan is smiling at him with an inimitable fondness, and Seungcheol hopes his own reflects the same, though he might be a bit more flushed.
“You look pretty.”
He’s definitely blushing now.
“You made me look pretty.”
Jeonghan narrows his eyes, “Well, you make me feel pretty, so we’ll call it even.”
There it was again. Of course he would be a lovesick fool. He was stricken, completely enamoured and taken entirely by Jeonghan’s very existence. If someone knew another way to live, he would gladly invite them to show him how. But there was no other way, nothing he could do except devote himself mind, body, spirit, all to Jeonghan.
They do catch the sunset. The pinks and oranges and fading blues reflect warmly on Jeonghan’s shining face, warm with the light of the golden sun and Seungcheol’s loving gaze.
It’s nice, to be here with him. There’s not much else he can put words to.
When they get home, Jeonghan stays over. It was sort of a given. Seungcheol’s brother had gone to their parents house with Kkuma for the week.
It felt a bit silly, like he was sneaking Jeonghan in like he would have when they were teenagers. In all honesty, he felt the same giddiness of getting into bed with Jeonghan as he did back then. Old habits die hard.
Now, though, it was different when they were together. It wasn’t the same rushed, inexperienced thrill like when they had to be nearly dead silent in the depths of the night, crowded in a single bed in the dorm. They had all the time in the world to find each other in the dark, knowing the other’s body better than their own. The sweetest part was after, when they didn’t have to worry about if or when they had to stop this. This was their forever now.
Seungcheol wakes first, a bit out of the ordinary. He takes the opportunity to cook breakfast, just as he promised Jeonghan he would if they lived together.
He knew he was being too obvious then. It was hard not to, when it came to Jeonghan. Seungcheol was loud about it, and Jeonghan was quiet. Quiet enough for just Seungcheol to hear.
When he wakes, Jeonghan comes out wearing Seungcheol’s shirt, almost covering his boxers completely and swallowing his frame. There’s a twist in Seungcheol’s heart looking at him.
“You made breakfast?” Jeonghan’s voice is still grainy, laced with grogginess.
Seungcheol nods, “Tried to. Don’t hate it too much, but tell me if you do.”
Jeonghan laughs and rolls his eyes.
They’re sitting at the table, sharing breakfast. It’s quiet, but it’s nice. It always is, having each other to just enjoy a meal with.
They finish their food and just sit with their two mismatched mugs of tea. Seungcheol reaches into a small bowl in the center of the table and cracks walnuts for the both of them, giving the first one to Jeonghan.
“Will you marry me?”
Seungcheol fumbles and drops the nutcracker and the couple of walnuts he was holding, turning to Jeonghan with wide eyes.
“You- are you asking me? Or, like, pro-proposing for real?” Seungcheol’s voice is higher than it should be, coming out squeaky.
Jeonghan smiles, and it’s the same smile Seungcheol has been on the receiving end of for over a decade. Something so mellow and tender, so true to his nature.
“Proposing, obviously,” he says, despite it not being obvious, but it was obvious to Jeonghan and that’s his usual point of reference, “I had a whole thing planned, but I couldn’t help it. You gave me the first walnut and I thought, ‘Wow, I need to marry him.’”
Seungcheol is speechless, his mouth agape slightly. All that comes out is a shaky breath as he starts to feel the emotions well up.
“Why was that the breaking point?”
Jeonghan hums, “You love me.”
“Of course I do.”
“And I love you.”
He doesn’t need to say it for Seungcheol to know. “I know that very well.”
Jeonghan shrugs, popping the walnut in his mouth, “So then? If it’s that simple, why make it more complicated? You give me a walnut, you give me a ring, either way we’re still the same. It’s still just us, isn’t it?”
There’s tears in Seungcheol’s eyes. He’s always been the crybaby between the two of them, in spite of initial impressions.
He sniffles and swallows down the choked up snot, “Yeah, it’s just us. It always has been.”
“So it’s a yes?”
Seungcheol rolls his watery eyes and gathers Jeonghan from his seat into his arms and then onto his lap, “Yes, obviously,” he replies, mimicking Jeonghan’s earlier words. Then Jeonghan’s hands are on his face, easing him into a kiss so loving it makes his head spin.
Seungcheol thinks about slipping his ring onto Jeonghan’s hand one night when they first debuted, for their ring ceremony years ago, and now for their wedding. Their wedding. It doesn’t even feel real to think about it. Even so, Seungcheol knew this was a certainty, it was just a matter of when. There was really no other choice laid out for him. He imagines going back in time to those moments, which were now just practice for the real thing, and telling himself what the future held.
He scraps the thought quickly; he was an idiot then, he would’ve messed it up somehow if he knew he still got the good ending.
Or, that was a foolish thought as well. There was no timeline in which he ever allowed himself to lose Jeonghan, no matter what it took. It wasn’t easy in this life, but it was more than worth it. Jeonghan was worth everything, everything he could give him. A walnut, a flower, a gold bracelet, a 24k ring, the clothes off his back, and every second of the rest of his life.