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It’s pure coincidence. Sanghyeok’s about to leave with the rest of his team, games all played and preliminary review all done, when he smells it.
It’s faint, almost unnoticeable, but Sanghyeok would never mistake it for something else. The scent of wildflower and pine, strong enough to push through the antiseptic sting of blockers.
Something’s wrong.
Jaehyeon catches his eye, and Sanghyeok can see his nose flare as he scents the air. Like this, the faint widening of his eyes is apparent too, and he tilts his head slightly.
Go.
Sanghyeok doesn’t waste any time turning on his heel to chase.
He finds it easily enough, a room in a corner of LoL Park, all dusty and disused, save for what’s been stirred up by the huddled figure in a corner.
Like this, it’s clearer. Sanghyeok inhales, and he gets it again, that unmistakable wildflower-pine scent, made heavier by what’s undoubtedly an oncoming heat.
He steps into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click, and Seongwoong startles slightly, curling in on himself further.
And then, quietly, “Sanghyeokie?”
Sanghyeok sighs, walking forward and kneeling down. “You have to take better care of yourself,” he says gently, only to pause when he sees Seongwoong flinch.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, sounding small.
Sanghyeok can’t help but let out another sigh. “Come on.” He reaches for Seongwoong’s arm, but he doesn’t get much farther than the barest brush of his fingers against Seongwoong’s sleeve, the fabric all bunched up by his elbows, before Seongwoong flinches again.
And even quieter, he adds, “Please don’t leave me.”
Sanghyeok feels his mouth drop open a little bit, and he stops.
What? Why? He nearly asks.
Nearly, but he registers the sharp edge of Seongwoong’s scent, something almost desperate, fighting through the fading scent blocker, and he swallows it back.
“…Okay,” he agrees in the end. “I won’t.”
And suddenly Seongwoong’s there, arms around him as he’s doused in the scent of wildflowers and pine and Sanghyeok can feel heat radiating through Seongwoong’s jacket.
“Don’t leave,” he says, face buried in Sanghyeok’s neck. “Don’t leave me.” He shudders, and when Sanghyeok wipes carefully at his neck, some of the scent blocker coming off on his fingers, he’s nearly hit in the face by the fresh scent of grass. Seongwoong makes a soft noise, leaning into his hand, and Sanghyeok sighs again.
You’re the one that keeps leaving, he wants to say, running his hand across the Bengi printed on the back of Seongwoong’s jacket, fingers catching on the marking.
He keeps that thought trapped behind his teeth. Instead, he lifts his hand away to thread his fingers through Seongwoong’s hair, feeling him shudder again. With his other, he tugs out his phone. Jeonghyeon’s contact is easy enough to find, and he taps out a quick message.
He presses send, and he stops again.
He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t.
But he can’t help it.
Sanghyeok presses his nose into Seongwoong’s hair, breathing in the soft tang of pine needles and sweet wildflowers, and he whispers, “Let’s get you back home, okay?”
Seongwoong clings to him the entire way there, heat rolling off of him like a furnace and smelling like that—like fresh flowers and sunlight and quicksilver streams darting through new spring undergrowth, but he stays quiet until Sanghyeok goes to put him down on his bed.
He lets out a strangled gasp, and his grip tightens, forcing Sanghyeok to double over him with an oof. “No,” he mumbles, “no, no, no, don’t leave me, please don’t leave me—”
“Hyung,” Sanghyeok starts helplessly, covering Seongwoong’s hands with his own, though he doesn’t pry them off immediately, “come on, let go of me.”
“No!” There’s a noise that rips out of his throat, like half of a sob, and it’s one that sends alarm bells ringing through Sanghyeok’s head. His legs hook around Sanghyeok’s waist, and Sanghyeok has to brace himself against the mattress. He closes his eyes. Everything smells like wildflowers and pine, made worse by the way Seongwoong tries to scent him, as if he could bypass their biology and make Sanghyeok’s soft smoke scent stick. “Please, Sanghyeokie, don’t leave me.”
Sanghyeok inhales, air full of a frantic want he’s sure Seongwoong doesn’t—wouldn’t actually mean, and he exhales. “Fuck,” he whispers.
He could leave, he knows. Seongwoong’s not in any position to fight him, not like this, not with how bad this heat is shaping up to be and already is.
And Seongwoong must know, somehow, what he’s thinking in a way he usually never can, not outside of the Rift, because he whines, low and desperate and in a way he hasn’t done in years.
“Please,” he begs, voice muffled slightly from the way he’s pressed against the side of Sanghyeok’s neck. “Please stay. Don’t leave me.”
On cue, Sanghyeok’s phone dings, and when he glances at it, he notes Jaehyeon’s profile picture. Don’t do anything either of you will regret. Sanghyeok presses his mouth into a line, putting the phone down. He already knows.
Fuck indeed.
“Okay,” Sanghyeok says softly. “I’ll stay.”
I’ve never left anyway.
He blinks, and without warning, Sanghyeok finds himself on his back, pressed into the mattress as Seongwoong cradles his face. His lips are rough and his movements are desperate for something, something, that Sanghyeok doesn’t know if he has, and everything smells like wildflowers.
He finds his eyes closing before he can stop himself, only opening them when Seongwoong finally rips himself away, sucking in air like a man drowning. Heat pours off of him, his eyes glazed over and hazy.
“Sanghyeok,” Seongwoong whispers, “Sanghyeok, please.”
“I don’t—” he starts, before Seongwoong’s there again, stealing the oxygen from his lungs to feed the growing fire in his blood, searching for that something.
“Please,” he begs again when he pulls away. His hands move down, one settling on Sanghyeok’s stomach, and Sanghyeok stiffens.
He wants to. That’s the thing. He does. He misses this, the wildflower and pine, as intoxicating as cherry wine, misses the touch of Seongwoong’s skin and the pretty little noises he could wring out, but he can’t.
Seongwoong had avoided him for literal years, and if his silence throughout the last year was any indication, Sanghyeok really, really shouldn’t. Especially not with the way Seongwoong’s eyes are all clouded and hazy from heat, and not when Sanghyeok doesn’t even have anything, save for his fingers and an incompatible body.
“Come on,” he says, gently as he can, tugging Seongwoong’s hands away, closing his eyes for a moment when Seongwoong whines again. “Not now, okay?” He pets Seongwoong’s hair, fingers raking lightly over his scalp, and Seongwoong presses up into his hand.
“Sanghyeok, please—”
He shakes his head, ignoring that little bit of him that wants to give in. “Not when you’ll regret it in the morning.”
Seongwoong lets out a cry, bowing over to press his forehead to Sanghyeok’s chest. Sanghyeok can feel him trembling. His voice is ragged when he speaks again. “Please, Sanghyeokie, please. I need you, I need you, Sanghyeok, Sanghyeok, please, please, please, please—”
The taste of iron spills over his tongue and Sanghyeok hisses, letting go of his torn cheek as he turns away, trying to find air not saturated by the scent of wildflowers and pine. He keeps petting Seongwoong’s hair, other hand still ringing his wrist, and he feels Seongwoong shudder, his jacket crinkling with the movement. “I don’t want you to regret it.”
“No!” Seongwoong sounds like he’s about to cry. “I won’t, Sanghyeok, Sanghyeok please. Please, please, please please please—I need you.”
He closes his eyes again. Stop saying things you don’t mean, he wants to say. He keeps it trapped behind his teeth too, like so many other things.
Sanghyeok sits up slowly, shifting Seongwoong until he’s kneeling on the bed too, head resting against Sanghyeok’s shoulder, and before he can stop himself, he finds himself whispering, “Other way around, hyung.” And he stops. Seongwoong does too, seemingly frozen in place.
And there’s a moment where neither of them move, where Sanghyeok feels like he’s waiting for a reaction—waiting for Seongwoong to do something, even if he knows that he won’t. It’s the slack reins on a carriage, two hands hovering over them, and sure enough, Sanghyeok feels like he’s careening towards something they’re both going to regret.
Then the moment’s over, and he yanks those reins back as hard as he can.
It’s fine, he tells himself. It’s not as if Seongwoong will remember much when it’s all over.
“You haven’t built a nest,” he says, inelegant and crude and so seventeen-eighteen-nineteen again. Or—not quite. They’re teenage-crude and twenty-eight-weathered, but they’re still not refined because he still doesn’t know what to do, to say.
Seongwoong doesn’t reply, hugging Sanghyeok closer, and Sanghyeok sighs.
It feels like he’s holding a furnace, and sure enough, he can hear Seongwoong panting softly too. Sanghyeok breathes in, and he breathes out. “I’m not going to touch you,” he says gently, ignoring the whine Seongwoong lets out, “but I’ll still try and help you, okay? I’ll stay.” He draws back, tugging at the jacket. “Here. You’ll be more comfortable like this.”
Seongwoong’s quiet as Sanghyeok helps him strip, folding his clothes carefully and setting them on the nightstand, Sanghyeok’s own T1 jacket joining it and leaving him in only his jersey.
Seongwoong’s still radiating heat, but he isn’t shaking quite as hard anymore. He trembles slightly when Sanghyeok experimentally runs his hand down the curve of his spine, but he doesn’t do much more than that. His eyes are lidded, still hazy, and they flick away when Sanghyeok tries to meet them. He gets the feeling he’s said or done something wrong again, but isn’t quite sure what, as if he’s seventeen again.
“You okay?”
Seongwoong just turns his face away, hiding it, arms coming up to wrap around Sanghyeok, head lowering onto his shoulder. He stays quiet.
“Alright then.”
He isn’t startled when there’s a jingle of keys at the door, followed by the creak of hinges. The lights in the hallway flicker on, spilling out beneath the door to join the soft light filtering through Seongwoong’s curtains. Footsteps sound against the floor, quiet enough that Seongwoong doesn’t stir at all, his breathing deep and even.
A knock at the door. Jeonghyeon’s voice filters through. “Sanghyeok?”
“It’s fine, you can come in.” The door shuts as quickly as it’s opened, and Jeonghyeon sighs when he spots Seongwoong, curled up and with his head on Sanghyeok’s legs, the bed still bare of anything that hadn’t been there before. “I’m sorry,” Sanghyeok says, though he doesn’t stop slowly threading his fingers through Seongwoong’s hair, “he wouldn’t let go.”
“That’s fine,” Jeonghyeon says, taking off his own jacket. “I know how he gets.”
Sanghyeok shakes his head. “Not usually this bad though.”
“And you know how poorly heat blockers mix with him.” Jeonghyeon’s frown deepens, and he sits on the edge of the bed, the frame creaking slightly. Seongwoong doesn’t stir, not until Jeonghyeon reaches over, settling a hand on his shoulder. Then he twitches slightly, eyes still firmly shut, and instead of disentangling himself from Sanghyeok to reach for Jeonghyeon’s gentle citrus scent as Sanghyeok expected, he presses his nose further into Sanghyeok’s stomach, arms tightening slightly.
Sanghyeok stares down at him. Jeonghyeon huffs softly, shifting further onto the bed and running his hand down Seongwoong’s arm.
“I told him it was a bad idea,” he murmurs, sighing. Jeonghyeon doesn’t look up, even as he keeps talking. “His last one was bad too. Noticeable.”
Sanghyeok brushes some of Seongwoong’s hair out of his face, still staring down at the slight crease between his eyes, the tiny frown. “He spent it alone?”
He looks up in time to see Jeonghyeon shake his head. “No, but there’s only so much I can do like this.” He holds his other hand out, palm up. “He can still get by with just…normal touch, but Sanghyeokie,” and his voice softens, “I’m not the one he wants.”
When Sanghyeok doesn’t respond, Jeonghyeon sighs again, standing. “Yell if either of you need anything, okay? He keeps his extra sheets in another closet. I’m just going to go get them.” He turns, his voice dropping as he mutters something to himself, and Sanghyeok looks back down at Seongwoong, still sleeping.
He’s still hot, a touch of red around his eyes, but he looks calmer than earlier, breathing even. The light is low, soft, and it makes him softer too, somehow, and Sanghyeok exhales, bowing over enough that he can hear Seongwoong’s breathing.
Everything smells like wildflowers and pine trees and Sanghyeok’s struck with the need to just touch. Fingertips on warm skin and the body heat radiating through the fabric of his pants wasn’t enough, he needs—
He needs to step away.
He needs distance, distance from the wildflowers and pine, distance from the arms encircling his waist as if Seongwoong actually did want him—and if him rejecting Jeonghyeon really did mean something—
He needs distance between the two of them before he does something that he—that they’ll both regret.
His hands settle around Seongwoong’s wrists as he sits back up, trying his best not to disturb him.
But Seongwoong’s eyes crack open anyway, and Sanghyeok freezes.
They look at each other—the span of a held breath spinning out into eternity like that of the dead—and Seongwoong’s the first to blink, closing his eyes again as his arms tighten.
“Please stay,” he whispers.
And again, Sanghyeok feels that old special brand of helplessness welling up, sick and oily and filling in the holes in his heart where he’d once kindled flames of rage, and he knows that he should say, I can’t, I’m not good for you, but he’s never quite managed to fix the fact that he’s selfish.
He lets go of Seongwoong’s wrists. “Okay,” he says, instead of something like Jeonghyeon’s outside, I’ll go get him. “I’ll stay.”
Eventually, Seongwoong falls back asleep and the door creaks back open, revealing Jeonghyeon, holding an armful of blankets and pillows that he dumps unceremoniously on the bed, shoving it against the headboard so that it doesn’t tip over and disturb Seongwoong.
Sanghyeok just stares at the pile for a moment.
He doesn’t know what Jeonghyeon makes of his expression, but he sighs. “I know that face. What are you thinking about?”
Before he can stop himself, he asks, “What is he doing?”
Jeonghyeon tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
Sanghyeok shuts his mouth. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Jeonghyeon’s voice is unexpectedly sharp and Sanghyeok can’t help but startle at it. Then Jeonghyeon sighs, picking up the folded blanket on top. “What is this about? Him wanting you for his heat? He won’t admit it outside of it, but he really does, if you were wondering.”
On principal—some trained principal that had crawled out of the ashes of his soul sometime in the last few years, or nearly last decade, really—he almost retorts. It’s automatic, stereotypical, and the only way it's really reminiscent of the boy he used to be—the boy Jeonghyeon knew back then, is the chilly dismissiveness of it.
The reminder has him looking away.
There’s the evidence staring him in the face, for one. The desperate way Seongwoong had clung to him, with Sanghyeok’s name on his tongue, turning away from Jeonghyeon, and spurning anything else to just be close to Sanghyeok again as if it hadn’t been him who’d left in the first place and then continued to keep leaving.
And in a flash of…something, Sanghyeok realizes that maybe, for the first time since they’d met—online and in a game client that no longer really existed, not in that original form, at least—he doesn’t know what Seongwoong really wants.
He sits there, silent, Seongwoong’s arms still locked around his waist as Jeonghyeon builds the nest around the two of them. Like this, he can feel the effect it has, some of the tension draining out of Seongwoong, the sharper edges of his scent dying down, and his breathing deepens.
Something balls up in Sanghyeok’s chest as he looks down at Seongwoong, the feeling tight and uncomfortable. It’s roots pushing up, up, up at concrete until it cracks and then some, it’s water freezing over and expanding with force great enough to slowly shear mountains apart, it’s—
Jeonghyeon’s suddenly there, eyes sharp and the air filled all with the scent of bitter citrus. “Sanghyeok,” he says, “do you want him or not?”
He manages not to blurt out the first thing that’s on his tongue, which is Does it matter? and he manages to bite back the second thing—yes. He can’t bring himself to say the third thing, not when no would be a blatant lie immediately stripped bare by the way Jeonghyeon is staring at him, intense and focused.
So he circles back around again, PR trained elegance all gone, dead, and buried, and he says, “Does it matter?”
Jeonghyeon doesn’t flinch backward, not quite, but he goes silent, still, and so unlike himself that Sanghyeok nearly finds himself holding his breath.
And after a long moment—a moment Sanghyeok can really only track by measuring Seongwoong’s slow breathing, Jeonghyeon moves back, straightening to his full height, forcing Sanghyeok to crane his head up, and he hisses, “Who the fuck defanged you?”
Sanghyeok’s mouth drops open a little as he stares up at Jeonghyeon. “What?”
Jeonghyeon’s hand twitches, as if itching to flick Sanghyeok’s head like he’d once done when Sanghyeok had been particularly stubborn during a post-game analysis, but he diverts it to pinch the bridge of his nose, displacing his glasses temporarily.
When he looks back at Sanghyeok, his eyes are sharp, sharp enough that he finds himself bristling automatically. “You know what I mean,” Jeonghyeon says, crossing his arms.
And yeah, Sanghyeok does. He knows exactly what Jeonghyeon means, and the reminder feels like a spark against dried tinder. He can feel the smoke in his scent sharpen, back up to near acrid levels and there’s a bit of him that kind of wants to laugh at how similar this scene is to the one from so long ago—the one he’d tried so hard to forget, even through 2016, through 2018.
Before he can stop himself, he finds himself snapping, “You’re one to talk.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You can’t talk to me about this when you and—”
“That,” Jeonghyeon interrupts, practically growling back, “is different.” Sanghyeok lets out a sharp huff, not yet quite an ironic laugh, and he can see Jeonghyeon firing up—and oh, how long has it been since they’ve had a proper argument like this?
But then Seongwoong twitches, a muffled whine, barely audible, threading through the air and Jeonghyeon falters. Sanghyeok finds himself deflating too, as Seongwoong curls tighter around him.
For a moment, they’re both silent.
“We’re not here to talk about me,” is what Jeonghyeon finally says with a sigh. His shoulders slump back down, and he turns away. The light knifes through the darkness as the door creaks back open, strong enough to make Sanghyeok flinch at first. “Talk to him, okay? Once he wakes up.”
Sanghyeok startles. “Wait—”
“You better decide what you want. Have a nice night.”
And Jeonghyeon, the dick that he is, closes the door, leaving the two of them alone again in the darkness.
His footsteps ring out, fading out towards the living room and currently unoccupied couch, and Sanghyeok, Seongwoong still wrapped tightly around him with clearly no intention of letting go, can really just sigh, exasperated.
Don’t do anything either of you will regret, Jaehyeon had said. Sanghyeok idly settles his hand down on the side of Seongwoong’s head, carefully running his fingers through the strands as he stares at the wall and the faint yellow light dusting it through the cracks in the doorway.
Well. It’s not really as if he has a say in the matter now.
He knows he could leave, technically, could dodge Jeonghyeon and let Seongwoong pass this heat like no doubt countless others. But…
Sanghyeok looks down, running a thumb over the edge of Seongwoong’s cheekbone. For maybe the first time today, he looks peaceful, the crease between his eyes gone, the tension in his frame all eased out. The shadows blur the edges of everything, rendering it all impossibly soft, and when he inhales, all he gets is sweet wildflowers and pine, the sharp edges of Seongwoong’s scent filed down to nothing.
Sanghyeok looks down, and he thinks there’s still at least one similarity between him and the boy he used to be, before the ashes dimmed and the fire winked out—and it’s that he’s still selfish.
Gently, he breaks Seongwoong’s grip around his waist. He gets a small sound of protest at that, but Seongwoong doesn’t really fight, not as Sanghyeok shifts, sparing a moment to reach over and set his glasses down on the nightstand, lying down beside him, the edge of the nest pressing against his back as if Jeonghyeon had made it to perfectly fit two.
Immediately, Seongwoong’s there again, slotting himself against Sanghyeok, tucking his head beneath Sanghyeok’s chin as if following habit, and for a moment, Sanghyeok almost thinks he could cry.
And a soft purr starts up, vibrating up through his bones and filling the hole in his chest.
His hand finds a tentative spot against the back of Seongwoong’s neck, as if cradling him, and Seongwoong purrs a little louder.
There’s no decision to make, not one that’s really up to him, he thinks.
Sanghyeok closes his eyes briefly, pressing a kiss to the top of Seongwoong’s head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, hugging Seongwoong tighter.
There’s no break in that quiet purr, no response, and the hallway lights click shut.
Sanghyeok lets the soft rumble lull him to sleep.
He wakes up to muted sunlight, everything up to an elbow pricking with the customary pin-and-needles of a limb that’s fallen asleep, and a solid warmth in his arms. He rubs the sleep from his eyes using his free hand, blinking.
Clarity hits him like a truck, but he forces his movements to stay slow and careful as he leans back, freeing himself slightly from the tangle of limbs.
Seongwoong still looks asleep, breathing deep and even, but he lets out a small and dissatisfied noise as Sanghyeok moves away.
He isn’t running nearly as hot as before though, and his scent’s started to die down a little from its previous intensity. The heat still hasn’t ended just yet, but Seongwoong should be more lucid when he wakes. Sanghyeok hums, combing through Seongwoong’s hair, smoothing down some of the wilder strands.
He wonders if that’s his sign to leave, then.
Probably, before Seongwoong wakes up and remembers and has the chance to regret what his biology had made him do.
He sighs, disentangling himself, and sits up, shaking his hand as he tries to get the limb to wake back up. He makes a face at the sharp prickling, reaching for his glasses.
The blankets rustle, but before he can turn around, a heavy weight drapes over his shoulders, and Sanghyeok has to bite back his yelp of surprise when Seongwoong’s suddenly there, nosing at his neck. He lets out a sleepy grumble, and Sanghyeok sighs again.
He pats Seongwoong’s head. “Come on,” he says, trying his best to ignore the way Seongwoong nearly melts at the touch, “let go.”
Somewhat predictably, he doesn’t let go. Sanghyeok resists the urge to let out yet another sigh. That’s what he gets for trying to argue with someone in heat, he supposes.
It’s a bit of a stretch to reach his jacket, with more or less Seongwoong’s full weight resting on his back, but he manages, tugging his phone free. It’s mostly all what he’d expect, scrolling through the messages on his screen—his teammates asking him where he is, a vaguely ominous sounding be safe from Jeonggyun that he lingers over for probably a little too long, and a reminder from Jeonghyeon as if the two of them weren't within shouting distance.
He leaves the messages on read, glancing at Seongwoong, still half-asleep and firmly pressed to Sanghyeok’s back, and he resigns himself to staying like this until Seongwoong finally wakes up.
If he strains his ears, he can hear movement in the hallways—Jeonghyeon, probably—and the muffled sound of traffic outside of the window. There isn’t much to do like this, though he does make a half-hearted attempt to clean up the nest, the edges a little deformed from the two of them sleeping in it all night.
It doesn’t take too long for Seongwoong to drag himself to full consciousness though, luckily, and Sanghyeok has to stifle a laugh when Seongwoong suddenly stiffens, the sweet and relaxed edge of his scent giving way to something tenser.
“Good morning,” Sanghyeok says, tone carefully mild, and Seongwoong immediately unlatches, recoiling as if burnt.
That…hurts a little more than Sanghyeok expected. He turns, and Seongwoong doesn’t meet his eyes, though even in the dim lighting, Sanghyeok can see the flush spreading across his face.
“Sorry,” is all Seongwoong replies in the end, ending the awkward silence only to start another as he slowly tugs a stray blanket over himself.
“How do you feel?” Sanghyeok has to bite his tongue to keep from cringing, but if Seongwoong registered how clumsily those words had tumbled from his mouth, he makes no sign.
His mouth opens, then closes, soundless. Then, at a near whisper, “Better. Thanks.”
Honestly, Sanghyeok thinks that being set on fire would probably be more comfortable than this conversation—if it could even be called that. “I’m just,” He starts, pointing towards the bathroom door he’s just realized exists, before he realizes he has no idea how to finish that sentence and switches. “You should probably put something on.”
If possible, Seongwoong turns redder, looking around two seconds from burrowing into the blanket and never coming back out. “Okay.”
Sanghyeok shifts, fully prepared to move out of the nest and off the bed and escape into the bathroom where he can proceed to regret everything in the last few hours, still can’t help but stop when Seongwoong twitches, his hand sneaking forward a tiny distance, as if reaching for something, before he stops himself, looking away.
The air smells like wilted flowers and disappointment, pine almost sharp enough to the point of pain.
And, well. Sanghyeok had known it, hadn’t he? He makes his way to the bathroom and he forces himself not to look back.
The bathroom tiles are cold, but he sits down on them anyway.
His next exhale seems to rattle around the space. He breathes in, and he still gets it, that wildflower and pine.
He really shouldn’t have stayed.
The floor burns when he lays his palm down on it, chasing away any of Seongwoong’s lingering warmth. That doesn’t stop his skin from prickling, a skin deep hunger clawing at him from where it's anchored in his bones and he sighs.
He’d forgotten to turn the lights on. All that illuminates the bathroom is the sunshine filtering through the frosted window, and for a brief moment, Sanghyeok gets the thought—almost intrusive—to just…leave. Like one of those rebellious teenagers in those American movies he’d somehow watched sometime.
His phone buzzes with a message and he yelps, nearly fumbling before he catches himself and shakes his head, clearing it of the thought. His stuff’s still on Seongwoong’s nightstand and besides—
Jeonghyeon
do not even think of trying to escape out of a window
or something
Sanghyeok stares at his phone for a moment, stunned. And when he shakes himself out of it, the first thing he finds is a rapidly rising sense of offense.
Sanghyeok
I’m not a child?
Immediately, Jeonghyeon’s firing back.
Jeonghyeon
could have fooled me
Sanghyeok inhales, then exhales.
It’s fine.
He is a mature adult.
He is not going to send Jeonghyeon the first image of Winnie the Pooh and Piglet he finds online.
But still, because he is petty, he saves an image to his photo reel anyway. Just in case.
He very pointedly closes his phone.
The door opens and shuts and Sanghyeok does his best to put Jeonghyeon out of his mind. And it actually works, but that’s only because he steps out of the bathroom and is immediately met with a wide-eyed Seongwoong, hand still on the doorknob.
“Uh,” Sanghyeok starts, before he stops again.
Seongwoong’s eyes flicker, giving Sanghyeok a quick glance over, and it’s with a jolt that he realizes he’s still not wearing too much, just his jersey and boxers, as if it was 2020 again and he was set up for a low energy online interview. On the other hand, Seongwoong’s at least wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a t-shirt, rumpled enough that Sanghyeok can catch a sliver of Seongwoong’s collarbone when he turns.
“The door,” he says weakly, as if that really explained anything. But Sanghyeok’s not really going to ask, though for what exact reason, he can’t really name. He just…
“Ah.”
They stare at each other. Sanghyeok does his best to ignore the way escaping out the window is rapidly becoming an appealing solution and the way Seongwoong is slowly but steadily shrinking in on himself, hands twitching as if reaching for—
For what?
For what?
Sanghyeok feels frozen and Seongwoong seems to make up his mind.
“Thanks,” he says softly, still refusing to meet Sanghyeok’s eyes, “for helping. I…I’m sorry for bothering you.”
There’s something wrong here, something wrong in what Seongwoong said, something wrong in the wilted flowers and pine, something wrong in the way he won’t look Sanghyeok in the eyes. He gets the feeling he should know, either in the shifts of that clearly unhappy scent or in the tone and body language he used to be able to read so easily, especially through the filter of the Summoner’s Rift, but now? He…
He’s just a beta.
He doesn’t know what to say.
“You weren’t a burden,” is all he can settle on, but it’s the wrong thing to say, if the way Seongwoong flinches backward is any indication.
“I, um, sorry,” he says hurriedly, words near tumbling out of his mouth as if in a rush to get out, “I know you don’t like me like that and I didn’t mean—”
“Wait, what?” Seongwoong’s mouth immediately clicks shut. Sanghyeok stares at him, practically feeling his brain buffer as it processes. “I don’t—what?”
This time, he can immediately identify the emotions in the air—horror, something almost like fear, and—
Oh. It’s…shame?
He can’t help but repeat: “What?” Sanghyeok has to stop himself from reaching out. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” Seongwoong snaps out, taking a careful step back. He rubs at his eyes, fingers shaking. “Sorry, I’m just—I’m still not—” He exhales, and the sound stutters. “Just ignore me,” he mumbles.
Sanghyeok shakes his head, the movement harsh enough that Seongwoong’s eyes flick up and toward him for a moment. “No, no—what do you mean? Seongwoong, what do you mean?” This time, he does reach out.
I know you don’t like me like that.
He has the horrible feeling he’s gotten something wrong.
His hands close around Seongwoong’s wrists before he can stop himself.
“Seongwoong,” he says, “do you think I don’t like you?”
And finally, finally, he finds the right words because Seongwoong startles, then stops. He curls in on himself, and Sanghyeok can still feel his hands shaking, skin just a little too warm—and shit, right, he’s still technically in heat.
Gently, he tugs Seongwoong back in the direction of the bed, Seongwoong stumbling after him obediently, and the moment Sanghyeok steps back inside of the nest, some of the tension in Seongwoong’s shoulders bleeds out. Something akin to guilt curls in the pit of his stomach at the sight, but he brushes it away.
He can bemoan his own stupidity later, when he’s completely sure that he’s finally right.
“Seongwoong,” he says again, softer this time, “do you think I don’t like you?”
There’s a beat of silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing, before Seongwoong whispers hesitantly, “Don’t you?”
Sanghyeok is a fucking idiot.
No wonder Jeonghyeon had looked about three seconds from bodily tossing him across the room.
And apparently, he’s an even bigger one than he thought, because the laugh that claws its way out of Sanghyeok’s throat surprises him and earns him another flinch from Seongwoong. At least he sobers up fast enough the moment he picks up the bitter notes of heartbreak starting to sneak into Seongwoong’s scent.
“Sorry, sorry,” Sanghyeok says, as quickly as he can, “I just…” How does he say this? How does he uproot this ball of thorns that’s taken up space in his ribcage, these roots through cracking concrete?
Maybe delicacy isn’t the way to go, not when it’s clearly backfired spectacularly and landed them in this situation.
“I just thought it was the other way around,” he says, and there. Blunt and unsubtle and Sanghyeok sincerely wishes he’ll never have to feel like an awkward teenager again in his life.
But it works. Seongwoong freezes.
Sanghyeok sighs. He lets go of Seongwoong’s hands, letting them fall down to the bed below and reaches up to cradle Seongwoong’s face, tilting it back up. His eyes are wide, though they immediately snap to meet Sanghyeok’s, and it’s now his turn to say, “What?” Disbelief seeps into his voice while the bright edges of something sneaks its way into his scent, clawing its way in as though Seongwoong was actively fighting against it. “Why?”
“Because you,” Sanghyeok replies, a little sharper than he intended, “keep leaving me.” It’s not…the whole truth, he supposes, but it’s enough of it and as for the other bit, well. He’s not saying that aloud. Seongwoong’s lucid now, but Sanghyeok isn’t nearly stupid enough to blatantly mention how a bite will never stick unless manually scarred on, how Sanghyeok’s scent would fade quickly—painfully ephemeral, in the way that he usually never was—not while he was still in heat.
Seongwoong opens his mouth. Then closes it.
“Oh,” is what he finally settles on. Flowers bloom in the air, soft and sweet, that little edge of hope fighting free.
Sanghyeok nearly smiles despite himself. Oh is just about right. And goddamn it, but Jeonghyeon was right.
“I didn’t—I thought—” Seongwoong’s hands find his wrists, fingers still bordering on over-warm, but he doesn’t try to pull himself away, doesn’t break eye contact.
“What did you think?” Sanghyeok tilts his head as he carefully adds, “What was it that made you think like that?” The about me stays hidden, folded away from where it should have placed in the middle of that sentence.
And now, Seongwoong’s eyes flicker away. “I don’t know. It’s just—you’re…you. You don’t need me—I don’t think you ever have, and I know that everything with me costs time and you shouldn’t—” He trails off with a soft noise, as if the air in his lungs had been forcefully torn out, shuddering as he ducks his head, hands still gripping Sanghyeok’s wrists as his hair falls forward to block Sanghyeok’s view.
They’ve really just been both idiots this entire time, haven’t they?
There’s something like a hiss in the air, the click of sparks reigniting, new smoke filling his veins and slowly seeping out of his skin.
Something protests faintly in the back of his mind, but he brushes it away. He makes his decision.
When he goes to speak, he intends for the words to be softer, to be gentler, but what comes out is, “Shouldn’t I be the one to decide whether I need you or not?” Seongwoong stiffens. “It’s my time to spend, and I don’t want another beta or whoever you think I should have, I want you.” There’s a sharp inhale at that, even as Seongwoong’s hands shift, moving up from Sanghyeok’s wrists until their fingers are mere centimeters from overlapping. That addicting scent, wildflowers and pine needles, brightens again and Sanghyeok hopes it’ll stay like this, light and sweet.
Seongwoong’s grip on Sanghyeok’s hands tightens a little, and he whispers, “Are you sure?”
The words are roses and thorns, rooted deep in his lungs, and they weigh heavy on his tongue, but damn it if he hasn’t been more sure of anything in his life.
“I love you,” he says, an offering of bleeding petals and cauterized wounds.
Seongwoong lets out a choked sound, but he tilts forward, compliant, as Sanghyeok breaks free of his grip and pulls him into a hug. His arms come up, wrapping around Sanghyeok’s shoulders and pressing them together, and Sanghyeok can feel him brush along the underside of Sanghyeok’s jaw, stopping just shy of his neck. “Please stay.”
Sanghyeok closes the gap, feeling the tension drain out of Seongwoong as he scents him, smoke and wildflowers and pine mixing. “I will,” he promises, “I will.”
The moment Jeonghyeon spots them—fingers intertwined despite Seongwoong’s best attempts to deny that the touch helped, even after the worst of the heat was technically over, and that he didn’t need it—the first thing he does is throw his hands up in the air. “Fucking finally,” he says, exasperation and relief clear in his voice.
Seongwoong just rolls his eyes. Sanghyeok resolves to send him that picture he’d had the foresight to save.
Eventually.
But in the meantime…
He leans against Seongwoong, not bothering to stifle the smile he finds growing on his face when Seongwoong mirrors his movement, the beginnings of a purr rumbling through his chest.
He’ll enjoy having all of this first.