Work Text:
The harsh buzzing of the doorbell pierced through Gunwook's concentration, causing him to jolt in his seat. His eyes darted to the digital clock displayed on his computer screen: 11:04 PM.
Park Gunwook rubbed his tired eyes, squinting as he saved the design project he'd been working on. As a freelance graphic designer, his sleep schedule was practically nonexistent, especially when deadlines loomed. Tonight was one of those nights where sleep seemed like a distant luxury.
The doorbell rang again, more insistent this time.
"Coming," he called out, pushing his lanky frame from the chair. At 184cm, Gunwook moved with a casual grace that belied his height, padding across his apartment in worn socks and loose sweatpants.
He didn't bother checking the peephole. At this hour, it could only be one of two things: a neighbor with an emergency or a drunk stranger who had the wrong apartment. Either way, he'd deal with it and get back to work.
What he didn't expect was Kim Taerae.
Six months. It had been six months since he'd seen that face up close—that sharp jawline, those round eyes currently avoiding his gaze, and those pursed lips that used to smile so easily at him.
"Taerae?" Gunwook's voice came out rougher than intended, his surprise genuine.
The shorter man stood awkwardly in the hallway, dressed impeccably despite the late hour. Despite being tiny in Gunwook’s eyes, Taerae had always carried himself with a confidence that made him seem larger than life. Now, he looked smaller somehow, more vulnerable.
"Can I come in?" Taerae asked, his tone carefully neutral.
Gunwook's heart was hammering in his chest, but his face remained impressively blank as he stepped aside. "Sure."
The familiar scent of Taerae's cologne—fresh and woody—washed over him as the older man walked past. It sent a rush of memories through Gunwook's mind: lazy Sunday mornings, heated arguments that ended in laughter, the way Taerae's eyes crinkle when he smiled genuinely.
"Nice place," Taerae commented, looking around. "You rearranged."
Gunwook closed the door, leaning against it as he observed his ex-boyfriend wandering into his living space as if testing waters. "I did. Six months is a long time."
The unspoken message hung in the air between them. Six months since Taerae had abruptly ended their relationship with a declaration that "this isn't working anymore." Six months since Gunwook had simply nodded and accepted it without fighting back. Six months of silence.
"Are you hungry?" Gunwook found himself asking, falling back on hospitality to mask the confusion swirling inside him.
Taerae turned to face him, and for the first time since arriving, their eyes met properly. The contact sent an electric current through Gunwook's body.
"Always thinking about food," Taerae said with a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But no, I didn't come here to eat."
"Then why did you come here, hyung?" The honorific slipped out unconsciously, a habit Gunwook had never been able to break despite their two-year age difference becoming irrelevant when they'd started dating.
Taerae's expression tightened at the word. He paced across the small living room, running a hand through his perfectly styled black hair. "I was in the neighborhood."
"At 11 PM?" Gunwook raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. "Try again."
The older man laughed—a short, frustrated sound. "Still see right through me, don't you?"
"Some things don't change in six months."
Taerae's gaze landed on Gunwook's desk, where his desktop displayed the project he'd been working on. "Still working insane hours, I see."
"The rent doesn't pay itself." Gunwook moved toward the small kitchen attached to the living room. "I'm making tea. Sure you don't want anything?"
"Tea is fine," Taerae replied, following him.
The kitchen was barely large enough for one person, let alone two. With Taerae standing just inside the doorway, Gunwook became acutely aware of how small the space was. He busied himself with the electric kettle, trying to ignore the way his body seemed to gravitate toward Taerae's presence.
"You know," Gunwook said as he grabbed two mugs from the cabinet, "most people call before showing up at someone's door in the middle of the night."
"Would you have answered if I called?" Taerae's question was pointed.
Gunwook paused, kettle in hand. "Probably not."
"Exactly," Taerae said with a resigned nod. "So here I am, being the inconsiderate asshole you always said I was."
"I never called you an asshole," Gunwook corrected, pouring hot water over tea bags.
"Not out loud."
The younger man handed Taerae a steaming mug, their fingers brushing momentarily. Gunwook pulled back as if burned, careful to maintain the distance between them.
"Let's sit," he suggested, gesturing toward the small dining table that separated the kitchen from the living room.
They sat across from each other, steam rising from their mugs like ghostly messengers between them. For a long moment, neither spoke. Gunwook watched as Taerae's elegant fingers tapped nervously against the ceramic mug, a habit he'd always had when he was preparing to say something important.
"I fucked up," Taerae finally said, his voice so quiet Gunwook almost missed it.
Gunwook took a sip of his tea, giving himself time to process those three words. "That's quite an opening statement."
"It's the truth." Taerae's eyes lifted to meet his, and the raw emotion there caught Gunwook off guard. "I made a mistake when I ended things."
The words Gunwook had dreamed of hearing for months now hung in the air between them, and yet he found himself hesitating. "Why now? It's been six months, hyung."
Taerae's face tightened at the question. "Because I'm stubborn. Because I was too proud to admit I was wrong. Because every fucking day without you has been torture, and I couldn't take it anymore."
The frankness was startling. Taerae had always been guarded with his emotions, preferring to let anger speak for him rather than vulnerability. This open admission sent Gunwook's mind reeling.
"You were the one who ended it," Gunwook reminded him, his voice carefully controlled. "You said, and I quote, 'This isn't working anymore.' No explanation, no discussion. Just a declaration."
Taerae winced. "I was angry."
"You're always angry, Taerae. That's your default setting."
"Not always," Taerae protested, but even he couldn't maintain the argument in the face of Gunwook's knowing look. "Fine. But this was different. I was scared."
"Of what?"
"How much I needed you," Taerae admitted, the words seeming to physically pain him. "How much power you had over me without even trying."
Gunwook scoffed. "Power? I had no power. You made all the decisions."
"That's not true and you know it." Taerae leaned forward, his tea forgotten. "You had this... this way of looking at me that made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. And then one day, I realized that if you ever stopped looking at me that way, I wouldn't survive it."
The revelation hung between them, heavy with implication. Gunwook's mind flashed back to their relationship—Taerae's possessiveness, his flares of jealousy, the way he'd push Gunwook away only to pull him back harder. It had been exhausting and exhilarating all at once.
"So your solution was to break up with me before I could break up with you?" Gunwook asked, incredulity coloring his voice.
Taerae's silence was answer enough.
"Unbelievable," Gunwook muttered, pushing his chair back and standing up. He needed space, needed to put physical distance between them before he did something stupid like forgive Taerae immediately.
"Wookie-yah," Taerae called, using the nickname that only he had ever used. "Please."
The pleading tone stopped Gunwook in his tracks. In three years of knowing Kim Taerae, he'd never heard the man beg for anything.
"Please what?" Gunwook asked, not turning around.
"Look at me."
Gunwook took a deep breath before facing Taerae again. The older man had stood up as well, his usually confident posture now uncertain.
"I miss you," Taerae said simply. "I miss your laugh. I miss how you hum while you cook. I miss how you're so stubborn about using chopsticks for everything, even pizza."
Despite himself, Gunwook's lips twitched at the memory. Their first major argument had been about his insistence on eating a slice of pizza with chopsticks to avoid getting his hands greasy while working.
"I miss your freaky work hours," Taerae continued, taking a tentative step forward. "I miss waking up at 3 AM to find you still designing, completely lost in your own world. I miss being the only one who could pull you out of it."
Another step closer. Gunwook felt his resolve weakening.
"I miss your sweet tooth. How you keep candy hidden everywhere like some kind of delight-seeking puppy." Taerae was close enough now that Gunwook could see the slight tremor in his hands. "Most of all, I miss us. The way we fit together."
"Taerae—" Gunwook started, only to be cut off.
"I'm not asking for a favor," Taerae rushed to say. "I know I don't deserve another chance. But I'm asking anyway because these six months have been the worst of my life. I tried dating other people—"
"You what?" The spike of jealousy was immediate and intense, taking Gunwook by surprise.
Taerae's expression shifted, a glimmer of his old confidence returning. "Didn't work out. No one compared to you. No one ever will."
They were standing close now, close enough that Gunwook could see the slight flush on Taerae's cheeks, could smell the faint traces of alcohol on his breath. Not drunk, but he'd had something to bolster his courage.
"You're not being fair," Gunwook whispered.
"When have I ever been fair?" Taerae countered, reaching out to touch Gunwook's face. His fingers were warm against Gunwook's skin. "But I'm being honest. I want you back, Gunwook. I want us back."
The touch was like a spark to dry kindling. Six months of longing and hurt and loneliness ignited at once, and Gunwook found himself leaning into the touch despite his better judgment.
"It's not that simple," he managed to say, even as his body betrayed him, craving more contact.
"It can be," Taerae insisted, his thumb ghosting over Gunwook's bottom lip. "Just say yes."
The gesture was so intimate, so familiar, that Gunwook had to close his eyes against the surge of emotion it provoked. When he opened them again, Taerae was watching him with an intensity that made his breath catch.
"You broke my heart," Gunwook stated, the words coming out more vulnerable than he'd intended.
"I know," Taerae acknowledged, real pain crossing his features. "I broke mine too."
"And you think showing up in the middle of the night fixes that?"
"No." Taerae's hand dropped from Gunwook's face, but he didn't step back. "But it's a start. I'm here. I'm asking. I'm admitting I was wrong."
Gunwook let out a slow breath. "You really hurt me, you know. One day we were fine, and the next you're saying it's over. No warning, no discussion."
"I know," Taerae repeated, shame evident in his voice. "My anger issues got the best of me. I was jealous of how much time you spent working, how passionate you were about your projects. I convinced myself you'd eventually choose your career over me."
"So instead of talking to me about it, you ended things?"
"I told you I fucked up," Taerae said with a humorless laugh. "I've been in therapy, you know. Trying to get better at... feeling things without exploding."
That revelation stunned Gunwook into silence. Taerae had always scoffed at the suggestion of therapy, claiming he could handle his own issues.
"You're in therapy?" he finally asked.
Taerae nodded, a hint of pride crossing his features. "Twice a week. It's... helping. I'm learning how to express myself without turning everything into a fight."
"That's... wow." Gunwook found himself genuinely impressed. "That's really good, hyung."
"See? I can grow," Taerae said with a small smile that quickly faded. "But I'm still me. I'm still going to be stubborn and difficult sometimes. I just... I want to be better. For you. For us."
The sincerity in Taerae's voice sent a wave of warmth through Gunwook's chest. He'd always known there was more to Taerae than the prickly exterior he showed the world. This vulnerable version of him was rare and precious.
"I need to think," Gunwook said, moving toward the couch and sinking onto it. "This is a lot to process at once."
Taerae nodded, keeping his distance. "I understand. I can go if you want—"
"No," Gunwook interrupted, surprising himself with the urgency in his voice. "Stay. Please."
Relief washed over Taerae's face as he took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, respecting Gunwook's need for space while staying close.
The silence that fell between them was charged but not uncomfortable. Gunwook's mind raced with conflicting emotions: the joy of seeing Taerae again, the wariness born from past hurt, the undeniable pull he still felt toward this man who had walked away so easily.
"Can I ask you something?" Gunwook finally said.
"Anything."
"Why didn't you fight for us when I accepted the breakup? You just... let me go."
Taerae's expression clouded with regret. "Because you didn't argue. When you just nodded and said 'okay,' I thought it confirmed everything I feared—that you didn't care enough to fight for us either."
"That's not why I didn't argue," Gunwook said softly.
"Then why?"
"Because I knew you, Taerae. I knew you were lashing out. I thought if I gave you space, you'd come back when you were ready to talk."
"But I didn't."
"No, you didn't." The acknowledgment hung heavily between them. "Not for six months."
Taerae shifted closer on the couch, carefully watching Gunwook's reaction. When the younger man didn't move away, he grew bolder.
"I want to show you something," Taerae said, pulling out his phone. He scrolled for a moment before handing it to Gunwook. "Look at my drafts folder."
Gunwook took the phone, confused until he opened the messaging app and saw dozens—no, hundreds—of unsent messages to his number. Messages dated throughout the six months they'd been apart. Some were short: I miss you. Others were paragraphs long, detailing Taerae's day or something that reminded him of Gunwook.
"I wrote to you every day," Taerae explained as Gunwook scrolled through the messages with growing astonishment. "I just never had the courage to hit send."
"This is..." Gunwook trailed off, overwhelmed.
"Pathetic? Creepy?" Taerae suggested with a self-deprecating smile.
"Human," Gunwook corrected, handing the phone back. Their fingers brushed, lingering longer this time. "Very human."
The tension that had been building between them since Taerae's arrival seemed to crystallize in that moment of contact. Gunwook was acutely aware of how close they were sitting, how easy it would be to close the distance.
"I still love you," Taerae confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never stopped."
The words hung in the air between them, honest and raw. Gunwook felt something loosen in his chest, a knot of pain he'd been carrying for six months beginning to unravel.
"Say something," Taerae urged when the silence stretched on.
Instead of speaking, Gunwook reached out, his hand cupping Taerae's jaw. The older man leaned into the touch instantly, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.
"I should make you work harder for this," Gunwook murmured, his thumb tracing Taerae's bottom lip the way Taerae had done to him earlier. "I should make you suffer a little."
"I have been suffering," Taerae replied, his voice husky. "Every day without you has been punishment enough."
"And yet here you are, demanding a second chance like it's your right," Gunwook observed, but there was no real censure in his tone. "Typical Kim Taerae."
"Is that a no?" Taerae asked, vulnerability flashing across his features.
Gunwook sighed, his resolve crumbling in the face of Taerae's earnest plea. "It's not a no."
Hope bloomed in Taerae's eyes, and he leaned forward eagerly. "Then it's a yes?"
"It's a 'convince me,'" Gunwook clarified, pulling his hand back slightly. "Show me why I should trust you again."
The challenge lit a fire in Taerae's eyes, reminiscent of the competitive spirit that had always existed between them. "Convince you? I can do that."
Before Gunwook could react, Taerae had closed the distance between them, his lips finding Gunwook's with unerring precision. The kiss was gentle at first, almost hesitant—so unlike Taerae's usual demanding style that it took Gunwook by surprise.
Six months of longing poured into that kiss, six months of regret and yearning and love that had never truly died. Gunwook found himself responding instinctively, his hands coming up to tangle in Taerae's hair, pulling him closer.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily. Taerae's usually perfect hair was mussed, his lips slightly swollen. He looked younger, more vulnerable than Gunwook had seen him in years.
"Was that convincing?" Taerae asked, a hint of his old cockiness returning.
"It's a start," Gunwook conceded, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. "But I think I need more evidence."
Taerae's answering smile was brilliant. "I can provide as much evidence as you need, Park Gunwook. I have all night."
"Just one night?" Gunwook raised an eyebrow. "That's not very ambitious."
"One night to convince you," Taerae clarified, growing serious again. "And a lifetime to keep proving it, if you'll let me."
The sincerity in those words struck Gunwook deeply. This was a side of Taerae few people ever saw—the earnest, loving man beneath the prickly exterior.
"I'm still mad at you," Gunwook warned. "Six months is a long time."
"I know," Taerae acknowledged. "I deserve your anger. But I'm hoping I also deserve another chance."
Gunwook considered this, searching Taerae's eyes for any sign of insincerity. Finding none, he made a decision.
"Show me," he challenged softly.
Taerae's expression shifted, understanding dawning in his eyes. With deliberate slowness, he closed the distance between them again, this kiss deeper than the first, filled with promise and apology and hope.
Hours passed as they talked, argued, kissed, and talked some more. The clock on Gunwook's wall ticked steadily toward morning as they hashed out old hurts and new boundaries. Taerae's therapist had suggested clear communication, and for once, he was taking professional advice to heart.
"I can't promise I won't get angry," Taerae admitted as they lay tangled together on the couch, Gunwook's head resting on his chest. "But I can promise to talk to you instead of pushing you away. And I'm learning better coping mechanisms."
"Like what?" Gunwook asked, genuinely curious.
"Like this breathing thing. And writing down my thoughts before I say them out loud." Taerae's fingers traced lazy patterns on Gunwook's back. "And recognizing when I'm projecting my insecurities onto you."
"That's actually impressive," Gunwook murmured, feeling the steady beat of Taerae's heart beneath his ear. "I'm proud of you."
Taerae's chest swelled at the praise. "Does this mean you're giving us another chance?"
Gunwook pushed himself up to look directly into Taerae's eyes. "On one condition."
"Name it."
"Promise me you won't walk away again. Not without talking to me first."
Taerae's gaze was steady, unwavering. "I promise. No more running."
Satisfied, Gunwook settled back against Taerae's chest. "Then yes, I'm giving us another chance."
The joy that radiated from Taerae was almost palpable. He wrapped his arms around Gunwook tightly, pressing kisses to the top of his head.
"You know," Taerae said after a comfortable silence had stretched between them, "I had a whole plan for tonight. I was going to do aegyo if necessary."
Gunwook snorted with laughter. "You? Aegyo? Now I almost wish I'd been harder to convince."
"I would have done it," Taerae insisted, his tone serious despite the absurdity of the image. "I was prepared to fake a sulk, act cute, whatever it took."
"The great Kim Taerae, reduced to aegyo. What a sight that would have been."
"For you? I'd have done it." There was no teasing in Taerae's voice now, just honest devotion.
The declaration sent warmth spreading through Gunwook's chest. "I love you, you know. Despite everything, I never stopped."
"I know," Taerae replied, his arms tightening around Gunwook. "I didn't deserve it, but I'm grateful."
They talked until words gave way to comfortable silence, and silence gave way to drowsiness. As the first light of dawn began to filter through the blinds,Taerae found himself drifting off, secure in Gunwook's embrace.
"Sleep," Gunwook murmured, noticing Taerae's heavy eyelids. "I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?" Taerae asked, already half-asleep.
"Promise." Gunwook pressed a kiss to Taerae's forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."
As Taerae's breathing deepened, his head nestled against Gunwook's chest, the younger man looked down at him with deep affection. Six months of separation had taught him what he should have known all along: Park Gunwook was his home.
With a contented sigh, Gunwook allowed himself a small, victorious smile as he whispered to the sleeping figure in his arms: "Congratulations to myself for making The Kim Taerae beg for attention."
In his sleep, Taerae's lips curved into a small smile, as if he'd heard. And perhaps he had.