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It was late afternoon by the time Gunwoo and Woojin made it back to the house.
The countryside was still, the air thick with the earthy scent of grass and woodsmoke. The sky had started bleeding into gold, casting long shadows across the porch steps. Their sneakers hit the worn planks with muffled thuds, both of them covered in sweat and dust from the day’s training.
"Next time," Woojin panted, flopping face-first onto the couch, "I swear I’m faking a sprained ankle. Just leave me there. Let the crows have me."
The younger one chuckled—low and quiet, the kind of laugh that always made Woojin’s heart flutter. "You say that every day."
"And every day I mean it more."
Gunwoo crouched next to him, brushing a stray strand of hair off Woojin’s sweaty forehead. "You did good today. You kept up."
"Barely. My lungs are filing for divorce."
"They’ll thank you tomorrow."
Woojin glanced up. Gunwoo’s face was flushed, a little sheen of sweat on his collarbone where his t-shirt dipped low. He was warm and steady like always—reassuring in a way that made Woojin feel safe, grounded, even when his body was aching.
Gunwoo stood. "Shower first, then food. You want first dibs?"
"No way," Woojin groaned, lifting a hand weakly. "If I try to stand, something’s definitely going to pop out of place."
Gunwoo disappeared down the hall, his footsteps quiet. A few moments later, the shower came on. Woojin let his head loll to the side, eyes half-closed, muscles buzzing with soreness and that weird, floaty calm that comes after you've pushed yourself to the limit.
He didn’t notice it at first—the dull throb just beneath his ribs.
It started like a cramp, but deeper, older.
By the time Gunwoo came back, fresh shirt and sweats on, towel hanging around his neck, Woojin was curled sideways on the couch, hand pressed against his side, face tight with discomfort.
"Hyung?"
Gunwoo's eyes went sharp the moment he saw the way Woojin was holding himself.
“Hyung what's wrong?”
Woojin let out a slow breath, his hand still pressing into his side. “It’s nothing. Just... old stuff acting up.”
Gunwoo instantly crouched down, hand hovering over Woojin's before resting gently. “Is it the scar?”
Woojin gave a crooked smile. “My liver remembers that knife better than I do.”
“You should’ve told me that it was acting up again.”
“It wasn’t.” Woojin winced as Gunwoo gently pulled his shirt up, fingers soft against the raised line of scar tissue on his side. “It just kicked in. Probably all that ducking and twisting today.”
Gunwoo’s thumb brushed lightly over the edge of the scar. He didn’t press down, just touched it like something sacred.
Woojin sucked in a breath. “Damn, you’re giving me that look.”
“What look?”
“You know the ‘I failed you’ look.”
Gunwoo didn’t answer. His jaw flexed, guilt flickering across his usually calm features. “You shouldn’t have pushed yourself that hard.”
“I wanted to keep up.”Woojin reached out and hooked a finger through Gunwoo’s shirt collar, tugging him closer.
“That doesn’t mean I should’ve let you.” Gunwoo’s voice was quiet, threading deeper than usual.
“I’m not fragile.”
“You’re hurt.”
Gunwoo sighed and stood, only to lean down again and scoop Woojin up without a warning.
“Hey! Put me down, I'm too heavy for this,” Woojin gasped, arms instinctively wrapping around Gunwook’s neck.
“I’m not risking it getting worse.” Gunwoo's voice was firm but gentle, completely ignoring Woojin. “You’re going to lie down and let me take care of it.”
Woojin didn’t argue.
────୨ৎ────
Gunwoo laid him down carefully in their room, as if Woojin was the most precious thing in the world. He pulled the curtains halfway closed to soften the fading sunlight, then reappeared with a heat pack, a glass of water, and the softest blanket they had.
Woojin blinked up at him, a little dazed. “Wow, you’re really going full-on caregiver mode, huh?”
Gunwoo smiled and sat beside him on the mattress. “Is that a problem?”
“...Nah,” Woojin muttered, resting his head against Gunwoo's shoulder. “It’s nice.”
Gunwoo settled the heat pack against Woojin’s side and draped the blanket over both of them, arm slipping gently around Woojin's waist. He pressed a soft kiss to Woojin’s temple.
Everything went quiet.
The kind of quiet only the countryside could give—the soft chirr of cicadas outside, the occasional creak of wood as the house shifted in the wind. The heat pack warmed Woojin's arching side, but it wasn't that warmth that made his chest feel lighter.
It was Gunwoo. His presence steady, careful, warm.
────୨ৎ────
Time slipped like honey.
Gunwoo’s fingers traced gentle circles just above Woojin’s waistband, not really thinking about it. Not pressing, not teasing, just there. But even so, Woojin felt a flutter deep inside.
The pain had softened now, just a dull ache, annoying but manageable. Still, his body was responding in ways he hadn't expected, warmed by the closeness, the sound of Gunwoo's low voice, the steady, grounding touch.
He turned a little, burying his face in Gunwoo's neck and letting out a deep breath.
There was something about Gunwoo's scent—clean, a little earthy, with hints of their day together, that made Woojin's stomach flip in a different way.
Gunwoo shifted slightly. “Too much? I can stop touching if it’s—”
“No,” Woojin said quickly, heat rushing to his cheeks. “No, it’s good. It helps.”
Gunwoo stayed close.
Woojin’s breath grew slower. His hand drifted, fingers brushing along Gunwoo's stomach beneath his shirt, just exploring. Not greedy, just curious.
He heard Gunwoo’s breath catch, soft and surprised.
“Hyung...”
“You’re warm.”
Gunwoo swallowed. “You’re still sore.”
“I know.”
Silence again.
Then, quietly, Woojin whispered, “But I still want you.”
Gunwoo’s brow furrowed, his body still tense with concern. “What if it hurts you more?”
“I’ll tell you if it does,” Woojin murmured. “But right now... I just want to feel you.”
Gunwoo hesitated.
Then, finally, his hand moved—trailing up Woojin's side, slow and gentle, until his fingers brushed the hollow of Woojin's throat. “Okay,” he breathed. “We’ll go slow.”
Gunwoo kissed him like a promise.
Slow, gentle, nothing rushed.
Woojin melted into it, letting himself be cradled by the rhythm of it, the softness of Gunwoo’s mouth, his hand stroking along Woojin’s waist like he was memorizing him all over again.
“You’re unreal,” Gunwoo whispered, breath warm against Woojin’s cheek. “I don’t think you even realise what you do to me.”
Woojin gave a low chuckle, his voice teasing. “You’re really laying it on tonight.”
Gunwoo smiled, small and sincere. “I mean every word.”
Woojin slid his leg over Gunwoo’s hip, pulling him closer. “Then don’t just say it."
Gunwoo's fingers moved with care, undoing the tie of Woojin's shorts slowly, like every touch mattered. He pressed kisses to every new inch of skin revealed, pausing often to whisper, “Still okay?” or “Tell me if it’s too much.”
And Woojin did. He murmured “yes,” again and again, voice breathless and shaky, threaded through with need.
────୨ৎ────
When Gunwoo finally sank into him, it was slow, almost too slow.
Woojin’s breath hitched, pain forgotten in the intimate softness, the fullness, the feeling of Gunwoo so close, so deep, like they were made to fit this way.
Gunwoo’s hands gripped his hips, thumbs brushing his sides lightly. “You okay?”
“More than,” Woojin whispered, wrapping his arms around Gunwoo’s neck, pulling him closer.
“You feel so good,” he gasped, tilting his head back, fingers clutching Gunwoo's shoulder. “Fuck just like that.”
Gunwook didn’t rush.
He moved with quiet intensity, every motion tuned to Woojin's sounds—the deel breaths, the low moans, the little catch in his throat. Their foreheads pressed together, skin warm and damp, completely lost in each other.
“I love you,” Gunwook whispered. “Every part of you.”
Woojin bit his lip, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re gonna make me cry if you keep talking like that.”
Gunwoo smiled softly and kissed the corners of his eyes. “You deserve to hear it.”
The rhythm built, not frantic, but steady like a slow tide washing over them. Woojin's fingers dug into Gunwoo's back, leaving faint red marks. His own body arching into every movement, thighs trembling.
“Gunwoo,” he gasped. “God. I—”
“I’ve got you,” Gunwoo said low and steady. “Just let go.”
Woojin came with a soft cry, body shaking, holding onto Gunwoo like he never wanted to let go.
Gunwoo followed soon after, hips stuttering, burying his face in Woojin’s neck with a quiet, broken sound.
────୨ৎ────
They stayed wrapped around each other afterward, breaths syncing. Gunwoo kept stroking Woojin’s hair as they lay tangled in the blankets.
“Hyung, you okay?” he asked again, quieter this time.
Woojin nodded, still dazed. “Better than okay.”
Gunwoo kissed his temple. “Still hurting?”
“Just a little.” Woojin’s eyes slid shut. “You kinda canceled it out.”
Gunwook chuckled softly. “So... Sex as pain relief?”
“Seems like it.”
They laughed together, quiet and warm, the night deepening outside.