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Hakho’s fists hung limp by his sides, knuckles throbbing with dull pain and victory. He panted in ragged breaths, blinking sweat away from eyes that burnt with spent adrenaline. The city lights glinted off the cracked pavement around them; the rooftop edge was only a few feet behind. He risked a glance at the boy kneeling just yards in front of him.
Seongje was crouched on one knee, one hand splayed on the ground for support, his breath hitching as he sucked in air. The wind was cool that evening, but Seongje’s dark uniform was slick with sweat and something darker. A thin trickle of blood dribbled from a split lip down to his chin. Even in victory, Hakho felt a faint pulse of guilt at the sight. He had fought hard—harder than he expected—and he saw the bruises already blooming across Seongje’s cheeks and temple.
Guilt made him hesitate before advancing. His own head throbbed and a trickle of blood seeped from his split brow, but he was alive and whole. For a few seconds he just stood there, hands falling to his sides, heart hammering as he tried to slow the frantic drum in his chest.
His mind briefly flickered back to the year’s worth of scraped knuckles and dust-covered knees, the countless times they’d crossed paths in the hallways and on the courts of their rival high schools. Every altercation had ended here or somewhere similar—with one of them battered, the other victorious, and a grudging respect forming in the silence afterward. Had it always been simply about proving who was stronger?
Seongje’s dark bangs were damp against his forehead, stray strands falling loose, showing a narrow glint of heated vulnerability. Hakho’s gaze drifted to the place where one of Seongje’s glasses should have been, their left lens shattered and discarded a few steps away. The faint whoosh of traffic below and distant horns filled the silence between the two boys, a sudden quiet after the storm of their fight.
Seongje spat out a little more blood, tasting the copper tang as he coughed. His knees wobbled. He squinted up at Hakho from under matted, purple-tinged hair, face burning not just from the blows but from something stranger—embarrassment? Fury? He slammed his fists into the rooftop floor and rose, balancing on unsteady legs.
Hakho stood over him, chest heaving, expression tight. Seongje swallowed down the bile of defeat twisting in his gut. His cheekbone throbbed and he could feel tiny cuts peppering his skin. Usually he would snap right back at anyone looking at him with pity, but now everyone was out of energy. His vision swam, and a faint glitter in his eyes reflected the glow from the neon lights below.
Hakho’s eyes were narrow slits, not with triumph or satisfaction, but something unreadable. A tremor of something like fear—or was it concern?—flickered there. Seongje hated himself for wondering.
“What?” he spat out finally, his voice jagged. His breathing came in ragged pants. Seongje cursed between breaths, trying to shove past Hakho. He put a hand forward to push.
Hakho flinched at the shove, but only slightly. His face softened ever so slightly, and he swiftly closed the space, catching Seongje’s wrist. “Easy,” he said under his breath, firm but gentle. His own arms were heavy and aching, but he held a strong grip. The smell of blood was sharp in the air, mingled with Seongje’s bitter sweat.
Seongje threw himself away from Hakho’s hold with a grunt, then froze mid-movement as Hakho didn’t budge. Hakho’s own chest was still heaving, sweat dripping off his orange hair onto his eyebrows. He lowered his hands, reaching out as if offering aid, and Seongje’s eyes flickered over to them.
“You okay?” Hakho asked quietly, still crouched so he was almost eye level with Seongje. His voice was rough, but there was genuine concern behind the words. “That was a nasty hit. You’re bleeding.”
Seongje’s heart flipped. Was Hakho… concerned? With him? The searing pain in his face pulsed with each heartbeat, but it was a lump of something heavier in his throat he was choking on. He swiped at his lip and glared. “I’m fine,” he snarled out despite the rasp. “Like you give a damn.”
But Hakho’s gaze didn’t waver. The other boy’s hands were still raised, open, not touching him. Seongje swallowed in the icy air, tasting the sting on his tongue from his split lip. The silence stretched out, broken only by distant evening traffic and their ragged breaths.
Seongje saw concern in Hakho’s eyes, as clear as day. His fists clenched, a reaction born from pride and shame—two things he loathed more than anything. He had always prided himself on being in control. Now, beaten and panting, his own pride made him choke on the word.
After a heartbeat, his shoulders sagged. He flicked one hand at his lip to wipe the blood away. Cold maybe, but it was truth. “Just...just tell me to get lost, already,” he grumbled, throat tight. “Wouldn’t want me holding you up.”
Hakho’s brow furrowed. He exhaled slowly, stepping closer so close Seongje could feel the warmth radiating from him. “I’m not gonna tell you that,” he replied quietly. “Honestly, I was going to say the same thing. How about you let me sit you down?”
Without waiting for agreement, he reached out and gently guided Seongje’s shoulder to ease him down to the ground, supporting his weight. Seongje’s eyes widened a fraction, and for a second Hakho thought he would resist again. Instead, Seongje sagged onto the rooftop, brought down by fatigue and defeat.
Hakho sank down beside him. The ground was hard and cold under their arms. For a moment, they said nothing, both staring out at the city skyline. The neon lights and distant red taillights were blurred by Seongje’s swollen eyes. Hakho felt his own chest tighten. He turned his head to the side slightly, still looking at Seongje, perhaps more than he realized.
Seongje’s chest rose and fell rapidly in panicked pants; he had to grit his teeth against the haze of dizziness pressing from the pain in his side. He kept up a snarly facade, but inside he was awash with confusion. Why did this look… gentleness? The quiet concern turned his stomach to knots.
He shifted position slightly, still keeping some distance, but the rough cement pressed against his palms. Seongje’s eyes followed Hakho’s movements. Every so often Hakho’s shoulder brushed him, sending faint heat into Seongje’s arm. Each time, Seongje flinched and drew a line under it in his head: it meant nothing.
Hakho said nothing more for a long moment; the silence was heavy yet strange. Seongje realized Hakho was staring at him—still. Straight into his eyes. Thick fringe of amber hair fell into Hakho’s face as he turned toward Seongje, and for the first time the orange-haired delinquent’s gaze seemed softer. Soft enough to unnerve Seongje.
The air was quiet enough to hear the low thump of Hakho’s heartbeat. Seongje’s own heart was pounding irregularly beneath his ribs, and he swallowed hard. “What?” he snapped, sounding more vulnerable than he had intended. “Aren’t you gonna gloat or something?”
The words felt hollow, even to Seongje. He hated that his own voice had cracked. They had always been so evenly matched that teasing had been their usual banter. That a single look from Hakho could send his chest twisting like this was new—and it frightened him.
Hakho blinked, jolted out of his almost trance-like stare. His fingers were unconsciously tugging at a tear in the sleeve of his shirt. He turned his head to adjust, then swung his gaze back to Seongje, taken aback by the venom in his tone.
“I was just... thinking,” he admitted softly, tone rough. He cleared his throat. The words fell from his mouth slower than usual, influenced by the thumping in his chest. He squeezed his own forearm reflexively to fight off a sudden wave of nerves.
Maybe I’m staring too much, he realized. But he couldn’t seem to look away. Seongje’s eyes, even bruised and glassy, burned with some fierce light. The earnest concern in his voice hadn’t vanished, but now mixed with something else – an apology? Relief?
Hakho’s gaze dropped to Seongje’s swollen lip. “You know,” he continued quietly, forcing a gentle smile, “you don’t have to pretend you hate the worry. It’s not my fault you almost got knocked out. You’re too short-tempered for your own good.”
Seongje blinked, dreading that joke of being called short-tempered, but it tugged something inside him—something warm and annoying. Did he just… smile? A hint of a grin tugged at one corner of his mouth, but he quickly suppressed it by turning his head slightly away so Hakho couldn’t see. He imagined how it must look: weak and gloating. He pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated at himself.
When Hakho’s hand brushed lightly over Seongje’s wrist, steadiness in the gesture, his smile fell. “I’m not weak,” Seongje snapped automatically, fencing a ghost of a bruise on his jaw, but his heart wasn’t in it anymore. It was like he was watching himself argue instead of feeling it.
Seongje really hated himself right now. Because what he should have felt was more anger at the situation. Instead, there was something catching at his throat. Maybe it was because Hakho’s eyes held…something. His wide, amber eyes trembled at the corners. It had been so long since he had seen that softness from anyone.
Each time Hakho’s gaze lingered, Seongje felt a heat rising in his cheeks. The last time it had looked at him like that he hadn’t been sure what it meant, but now the uncertainty was thick. His pulse hammered in his ears.
Something in Seongje snapped. The warmth blossoming in his chest boiled over. He threw a wild glance toward Hakho’s lips—soft and glossy with sweat from the fight—and then back to Hakho’s eyes.
Without thinking, Seongje launched forward. His left hand shot up to Hakho’s cheek, palm flat against warm skin, and he yanked Hakho closer until their lips met in a rough collision.
Hakho’s eyes widened in shock and surprise, fully caught off guard by the fierce kiss. His arm shot up reflexively, wrapping around Seongje’s shoulders and waist, drawing them flush together. He had never been kissed like this before; he barely had time to think before instinct took over.
Mouth now fully on kiss duty, Hakho exhaled softly, meeting the pressure of Seongje’s lips with his own. He tasted the salty tang of sweat and blood, and his senses sharpened. The sound of their teeth clicking lightly for a brief moment did nothing to break the spell. Instead, Hakho’s free hand drifted up on its own, fingers splaying around the curve of Seongje’s jaw, thumb grazing against the tender cut at his lip.
Each breath they took built the kiss higher. Seongje pressed eagerly, his tongue sliding boldly between Hakho’s lips. Hakho responded instinctively, parting his lips further and tangling tongues with Seongje’s. A low moan escaped in the back of Hakho’s throat as the warmth and wetness enveloped him.
Their bodies were flush together, skin hot through shirts. Hakho felt every breath Seongje exhaled as a shuddering warmth on his own tongue. The world outside—sirens, the breeze, distant conversations—fell away. All that existed was the taste and feel of Seongje.
Seongje’s mind was spinning with adrenaline and something darker, something raw and unexpected. Suddenly he could see nothing but Hakho’s face before him, his eyes, and then the curve of his mouth. All at once, hesitation vanished.
He took a shaky breath and lunged forward, planting a bold kiss on Hakho without warning. His hand shot up to cup one side of Hakho’s face, pressing firmly against the warm skin where sweat and a smudge of blood still clung. The rough collision of their lips was urgent and demanding.
Seongje’s heart was pounding so loudly he thought Hakho must hear it. He felt Hakho’s cheekbone beneath his fingers tremble at the force of the kiss. Despite the bruises and blood, Hakho’s lips felt unbelievably soft against his.
Hakho’s head spun, the world greying out at the edges as he surrendered to the kiss. The heat in his chest roared, and his blood thrummed in his ears louder than any voice. His senses were overwritten by Seongje’s touch and taste. He felt like he was floating, every worry and tension falling away.
Softness. Warmth. That was all he knew of the moment. He melted into Seongje, gently caressing those bruised and battered features as if he might break them otherwise. His thumb slid gently over Seongje’s swollen lip, now parted, savouring the slick feel. Hakho’s own voice had tumbled away; he could not say anything through so much heat and wonder.
Slowly, the kiss began to ebb. Seongje’s grip relaxed slightly. Hakho’s knees vibrated as he supported them on the cold ground. When their lips finally separated, both boys were breathing hard, foreheads resting against each other. The pause after the crash of sensation felt profound.
Hakho could hear his own blood pounding loudly in his ears. He smelled the faint mix of mint and iron from where Seongje had bit down earlier. He still had that gentle hold on Seongje’s face. His eyes fluttered open, meeting Seongje’s gaze through a haze of euphoria and something like disbelief. “Wow,” he whispered, voice husky, “That was—”
He cut himself off, breaking eye contact to search for words. Even his rough demeanor wasn’t prepared for this. Part of him still thought of Seongje as an enemy—so to have just done this felt impossible.
Seongje’s entire being thrummed under the intensity of the kiss. He could feel Hakho’s hands, warm and steady, framing his face and pulling him closer. Every nerve in his body ignited. As Hakho’s tongue met his, searing warmth spread through his veins, and his eyes fluttered closed involuntarily.
Through the tangle of their kiss, Seongje felt Hakho’s breath quicken. He tasted the salty sharpness of sweat and the gritty dryness of blood from his own injury on Hakho’s lips. The taste was intoxicating, blending with Hakho’s own natural sweetness. Seongje allowed himself to get lost in the feeling; it was electric, like lightning that kept striking and kept every cell on fire.
Their bodies pressed together; he could feel the fabric of Hakho’s shirt against his chest, and the ridges of muscle shifting beneath. Seongje’s fingers tightened in Hakho’s hair, loving how messy and human it felt. He let go of all pride and fear, leaning in deeper with his whole weight. A muffled groan escaped his throat as their tongues danced together, and his free hand slid down to hook on the back of Hakho’s neck, pulling him even closer.
For a long moment, Seongje lost track of everything else. The only truth was Hakho’s lips against his, warm and urgent. The world had melted away to nothing but the act of this intense, all-consuming kiss.
Seongje pressed a shaky finger to his own lips, tasting the residue of Hakho’s kisses on his tongue. His mind was muddled with sparkling stars, and he hardly processed Hakho’s words.
He blinked a few times, focusing on Hakho’s face. Hakho was grinning, eyes shining softly, half-astonished. Seongje realized with a start that the corners of his own mouth must be curved upward in a slight, stupid grin. He had never felt calmer and more alive at the same time—safely sunken into a confusion of warmth and vulnerability.
“I—yeah,” Seongje managed at last, voice thick. His hands were still trembling, loosely wrapped at Hakho’s waist. “That was somethin’ else.” Embarrassing words, low and sincere. He felt like a kid, vulnerable and exposed.
As adrenaline faded, Seongje became aware of the cool night air on his skin. He shivered, and realized his bloody shirt was bunched at his stomach. Hakho gently disengaged, concern flickering in his face as he saw how badly Seongje was injured. “Yo,” he rasped, “you got hurt worse than me. Shit.” Hakho’s voice returned to its usual firm tone as he shifted to stand.
Seongje glared at Hakho from the rooftop’s edge, trying to keep his breathing steady despite the cut in his side. He forced a short laugh. “Finally decided to check on me, huh? I was beginning to think you’d left me for dead.”
Hakho smirked and leaned closer, breathing heavy. “Dead? Hardly,” he said, one hand lightly brushing Seongje’s bloody shirt. “Besides, I didn’t feel like burying you just yet. You owe me one.”
Seongje opened his mouth to fire back a quip, but a sudden dizziness made him brace one hand on the railing. Hakho tightened his grip on Seongje’s waist. “Careful,” he muttered. Though their fight adrenaline still crackled, now the air between them had a different kind of spark.
Seongje huffed, panting. He wrenched one hand free to press against the wound in his side. Blood oozed between his fingers. “Don’t pretend this is charity or something,” he snapped. “I can walk off a paper cut.”
Hakho rolled his eyes. “Paper cut, sure. Look at you bleeding all over the place.” He pointed at the dark stain spreading across Seongje’s shirt. “That happens when you catch an elbow.”
“Wasn’t my fault your punch was aimless,” Seongje retorted, but he didn’t push Hakho away when the other man slid one hand under his arm to steady him. He leaned slightly into Hakho’s side, grit on his teeth despite the heat of Hakho’s body next to him.
“Shut up and let me help,” Hakho snapped, moving behind Seongje. He tugged the soaked shirt off Seongje’s body, letting it fall to the ground. “Don’t worry, tough guy. I’m not leaving you here.”
“Don’t even joke,” Seongje warned, wincing as he stood on his own, swaying slightly. “I said I’m fine.”
“Fine, sure.” Hakho wrapped his own jacket around Seongje’s shoulders despite Seongje’s weak protests. The soaked fabric stuck to Seongje’s skin as Hakho guided him toward the stairwell. “Come on, let’s get you out of the cold before you actually drop.”
They stumbled through the rooftop door into the stairwell. For a moment neither spoke as Seongje leaned against the wall, breathing ragged. He glanced up at Hakho, teeth still clenched around the sting of the wound. “What, are you gonna kiss me goodnight now?” he challenged with a crooked grin.
Hakho froze. His eyes darkened with something between challenge and something softer. “Maybe I was planning to,” he said quietly. Before Seongje could retort, Hakho stepped closer and pressed a quick, rough kiss to Seongje’s jaw.
Seongje jerked at the contact. “Hey—,” he started, but stopped as Hakho’s lips trailed down to his neck. Seongje’s arms tensed where they held the railing, and a surprising heat rushed through him. The stairwell air crackled as Hakho’s fingers slid to grip Seongje’s hips, pressing them together.
Hakho pulled back, breath catching. His eyes were sharp when they met Seongje’s. As he guided Seongje up another flight of stairs, one hand stayed low at Seongje’s waist. “Don’t think I’m doing this out of pure altruism. You still owe me that favor.”
Seongje grinned, though it came out as a short snort. “Yeah, yeah. Got it,” he muttered, rubbing at his side. “I remember.”
Once they got down to the lobby, Hakho finally let go. He guided Seongje against the wall and pressed a hand to the wound. “Let’s get that patched up, or you’re gonna bleed through your jacket.”
Seongje squinted up. “Ooh, going all doctor on me now?” he teased.
Hakho gave a tight-lipped smile and pulled out a bandage from his coat. “Yes. And shut up.” He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Seongje’s temple before carefully dabbing at the wound. Seongje tensed at the kiss, then scowled with flushed cheeks. “Seriously, knock off the romantic shit,” he barked quietly.
Hakho huffed in amusement. “I’d rather see you alive than curled up on the floor,” he replied, expertly wrapping the bandage around Seongje’s side. Each turn of cloth came with a gentle touch to Seongje’s hips or arm in the dim hall light.
“Thanks,” Seongje said at last, voice low, when Hakho finished. He rubbed at his eyebrow where Hakho’s lips had touched earlier.
Hakho smirked. “For what? The medical miracle or the kiss?”
Seongje rolled his eyes. “Both,” he grinned, hitting Hakho’s shoulder lightly. “Now make good on that favor, man.”
Hakho chuckled. “One thing at a time. But yeah, yeah.” He stood up straighter, brushing his hand down Seongje’s arm. “Try not to make a habit of this, okay?”
Seongje shoved him back playfully. “Fuck you, I planned on it,” he shot back with a smirk.
Hakho bumped shoulders with him as they stepped outside into the cool night. “Sure, tough guy.”
They fell into step on the sidewalk. Seongje looped his arm through Hakho’s under the jacket to keep warm. Quiet settled around them as city lights blurred past.
After a block, Seongje cleared his throat. “Your place or mine?” he asked. “My side is numb, and frankly, I’m beat.”
Hakho chuckled softly. “Liquor and bandages at mine,” he said. “Yours is fine?”
Seongje led the way into his apartment building. “Yours, asshole,” he admitted with a grin. “I’m crashing here. Don’t complain when I steal the blankets.”
Hakho gave a lazy laugh. “Deal.”
In the dim glow of the street, Seongje turned to look at Hakho. “Thanks for tonight,” he said, half quietly.
Hakho shrugged, smirking. “Yeah,” he replied. Then with that trademark grin: “And no, I wasn’t doing all this just for the bedroom activity. Keep that in your head.”
Seongje snorted. “Yeah, right. Keep dreaming.” He stepped inside.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Hakho pressed a quick, deep kiss to Seongje’s cheek. “Morning, hero,” he whispered.
Seongje rolled his eyes but didn’t move away. “Bring aspirin,” he muttered over his shoulder before Hakho could respond.
Hakho waved over his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”
Seongje just snorted as the building’s lights dimmed behind him. Bruised and battered, he kicked off his boots and flopped onto the couch with a grin.