Work Text:
They're somewhere between Tokyo and Osaka; Dongwoo doesn't remember the name of the last city they stopped at. The album he was listening to has ended, and he isn't sure what time it is. Outside the lowly-lit train car it is deep night.
They're passing through wide valleys carpeted in rice fields. Hills are scattered in the land like islands in a sea, illuminated in golden patches and swathed in clouds of bamboo. Neat, rounded rows of tea farms are combed into the mountainsides. He sees starry paths of streetlights wandering toward the horizon, and the red constellations of high-tension lines floating against the sky.
There are distant lights in the folds of the mountains, twinkling and promising night.
A warm feeling spreads through Dongwoo as he watches the landscape move past. It tingles through his arms and down into his fingertips like water over his shoulders. Before long he's boneless and about to float away; he realizes he's falling asleep just as his eyelids begin to fall shut.
When he opens them again they're rounding a mountain forested with dark juniper. He's not sure if he slept, but he feels like he's suspended in an exhausted, euphoric fog.
Hoya seems asleep beside him. He's sitting up straight but his eyes are closed and his chest is rising and falling slowly. One of his earphones has fallen out and Dongwoo can hear its music, tinny and faint.
The train is silent around them. There are hardly any other passengers. In the seat ahead of him, Sungyeol is sleeping against the window. Woohyun is playing some game. Sungjong is curled up under his jacket across the aisle.
He looks again at Hoya. It feels like it's been awhile since they've gotten a chance to be so quietly close, and so alone. They see each other—touch each other—every day, but he can't remember the last time he noticed Hoya's five o'clock shadow or the textures of his skin.
Dongwoo has always found his profile so handsome. He's stunning, really, but in this light Dongwoo can see his stubble, his scars, and the piercings in his ears. Like a line of dominoes falling, he begins to notice many small things about him. He notices his broad fingernails, a freckle beside his ear, the size of his shoes, and the shape of his thighs under the drape of his slacks. He notices Hoya's belt, and the way it rests loose and low on his waist.
He's so normal, Dongwoo realizes, and for some reason it's a staggering thought. He's Hoya, but he's a thousand tiny things, too, and his life is a thousand tiny things, just like Dongwoo's. He has a heartbeat, Dongwoo thinks, and he is struck by a sudden and inexplicable desire to hear it, hammering in his chest.
That thought makes him feel strange. It's a little frightening, as if he's walking along the edge of a ravine and beginning to stray too close.
Dongwoo feels suddenly about to cry. He's so tired, and so happy. These days it's like everything is coming together. He hasn't felt so right in a long time.
Hoya looks asleep, and when Dongwoo puts a hand on top of his, he doesn't seem to notice. He doesn't open his eyes, doesn't stir at all for a moment—but then he turns his hand over, and laces their fingers together, and squeezes Dongwoo hard.
All of Dongwoo's thoughts slip away, like sand falling through his fingers. He doesn't much mind that they're gone. He leans over and rests his head on Hoya's shoulder. Hoya takes a deep breath and sighs.
When Dongwoo wakes, it's to the sound of his voice: soft, familiar, and amazing.