Work Text:
Being wrapped up in Hansol’s arms makes Seungkwan think of cheetahs, and rockets, and hummingbirds, and every fast thing on the planet that was no match for his racing heart.
Two years - that’s how long they’ve known each other, him and Hansol. Two years of memories in this shitty college town and all he can think about is how nice it would be to fall off this strange precipice he finds himself on.
It’s Hansol’s birthday right now, but his apartment is too small to host their expansive friend group, so everyone had packed into Mingyu’s for the night. After an appropriate amount of shots, and birthday wishes, and cake slices (courtesy of Mingyu), most people had drifted back home, citing work or club meetings in the morning. Not Seungkwan though - here he was, still tipsy, still at Mingyu’s apartment. Still sitting with Hansol’s arm around his waist.
He hadn’t thought much of it at first. Hansol had slung his arm over Chan’s shoulder, only an hour ago, and their entire friend group was touchy-feely. It was perfectly normal. But they were in dangerous territory now, with Hansol’s thumb stroking the patch of skin where his shirt had ridden up, his back almost entirely against Hansol’s chest. This didn’t feel friendly anymore.
The thing is, he thinks that they’ve always been at the edge of this precipice. Back when they’d both wait on Chan to finish his shifts as a TA without saying a word, back at that party where they’d spoken to each other for the first time. There had always been an undercurrent that Seungkwan had never felt with any of his other friends. Prolonged eye contact and hands brushing too frequently, bickering and shoving just for an excuse to touch. He’s thinking of all of those moments now.
Seungkwan remembers seeing this one movie, ages ago, sitting alone in the dark of his bedroom. Before Sunrise. There was a scene where the two leads stood together in the listening booth of a record shop, glancing back and forth at each other without their eyes ever meeting. It had been the most mystical thing he’d ever seen. There was such yearning in the space where the leads’ eyes never met, so much longing contained in less than three minutes. There was intimacy, too - intimacy in the way the leads had been on the edge of something together. He had wondered what it would be like to experience a moment like that, but he doesn’t have to wonder now. Not with the way he can feel Hansol’s eyes boring into him. There’s a massive, gaping chasm before him but he’s sure that Hansol sees it too.
How could he not? The boy's eyes saw everything. Seungkwan, crying when he argued with a friend or screaming in the middle of a horror movie. Shaking in the hospital after he’d hurt his ankle, blushing profusely when Hansol had offered to feed him while he recovered. There was so much damn history between the two and it was all tinged with a shade of plausible deniability and too much care. He’s kind of tired of the plausible deniability. Every event, every study session, every walk around campus where they got confused for a couple - it was starting to eat away at Seungkwan’s heart, a mix of acidity and bitterness that left him wanting more.
He wants to be able to confirm people’s suspicions. He wants to hold Hansol’s hand in a way that screams possession, not just mild comfort. Hansol’s cheekbones and fluttering lashes leave him feral and he thinks he’ll gnaw on his own ribcage soon if he can’t do anything about it.
There’s a movement from behind him and Seungkwan tries not to flinch when he feels Hansol’s grip on his hip tighten. But then, slowly, gently, he feels Hansol's face get closer to the back of his head. Feels how his lips brush against his neck once, then again more firmly.
Hansol withdraws. Seungkwan’s about to cough his own heart out.
Somewhere, in the middle of all of this, Mingyu and Chan had started playing music. Seungkwan knows that they’re looking at him. The song is soft, and sweet, and hopelessly romantic. He likes this song, just never anticipated that it would become the soundtrack of his love life. Hopefully Hansol doesn’t ruin it for him. All of a sudden, Seungkwan is tired - tired of feeling tipsy, tired of this party, tired of the precarious balancing act.
He leans back against Hansol, shifting in his arms to better rest his head against his chest. Hansol is warm, and soft. His arms are firm around Seungkwan. They can spend one more night like this, pretending that they don’t know what’s going on. They’ll talk in the morning.
Seungkwan closes his eyes and knows he’s already in freefall.