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Han’s room is dark and silent, other than the little things he's come to ignore — the creak of the walls, or the softly-filtered moonlight. His body has begun to calm down from the activity of the day, but his mind is still on high alert. It takes a while to coax his instincts to bed. That guard-dog part of himself is still stubbornly looking for something to sink its teeth into.
He focuses on his breathing, and the silk sheets against his skin, and the steady dripping of the pipes in the walls. He lets the world become fuzzy, but still in focus. He tries to give in to the vulnerability of sleep.
But he wakes with a gasp to the feeling of a cold hand caressing his face.
His eyes snap open, momentarily seized with panic, until he finds his body double hovering over him. His mind takes a moment to adjust to the sight.
“I'm back. Sorry, did I startle you?”
Yeonsu’s expression is fond and somewhat sly. His eyes look pure black in the dim light, deep and shining.
Han sighs in relief. “Ah… You're getting too good at this, Yeonsu,” he praises, breathlessly. He reaches out to stroke Yeonsu’s hip.
His heart is still pounding, and a cold sweat lingers on his skin, but the thrill feels pleasantly invigorating. Yeonsu’s fingers trace down Han’s cheek, then he cruelly slips away. Han shivers.
“I'll be right back, hyung. Let me get cleaned up.”
Yeonsu slips off his jacket and hangs it up neatly. As he undresses, Han watches his pale back with a quiet longing.
Yeonsu stretches his arms out high. His muscles twist and flex. His head tips back, showing off the curve of his throat. He takes a deep breath, his chest rising, then lets it out with a low groan.
“I should probably get a shower first,” Yeonsu murmurs to himself.
“You can do that in the morning. Come to bed,” Han beckons.
Yeonsu turns to Han, with a hint of a sweet smile gracing his face. “Hm, alright. Just one moment, then.”
He steps into the bathroom. Han watches golden light spill through the cracks, catching glimpses of his shadow. A fluttering feeling blooms in Han’s stomach as he waits for Yeonsu to return — a fondness, as he envisions Yeonsu going through his nighttime routine, washing his face and brushing his teeth.
He almost drifts off again, but warm light floods the room and he sees Yeonsu’s silhouette step out. The light soon dims, and he watches as the shadow of himself tiptoes over and slips under the covers.
Han is quickly wrapped up in Yeonsu’s arms. Yeonsu’s bare skin is cool to the touch, pressed up against Han’s warmth wherever it can be. His damp face is tucked against Han’s neck. Han feels the motion of his chest and the whisper of his breath as he sighs deeply.
He presses a kiss to the side of Han’s throat; Han responds with a kiss at the peak of his forehead. Yeonsu has always been a little needy, but Han never minds. He just runs his fingers through Yeonsu’s hair, skimming his nails against the scalp and breaking up any last clumps of leftover gel, and Yeonsu shudders in response.
He smells pleasantly of sweat, of Han’s cologne, and the metallic tang of the city. He feels like home.
Han can't see much of Yeonsu from their position, so he settles for gliding his hands up Yeonsu’s body, studying the curves of muscle under his fingertips and comparing all the little differences in their physiques. From his strong thighs to his almost delicate waist, up the broad expanse of his back, over his shoulders and down his arms, then back up to his neck. Han cups Yeonsu’s jaw in his hand, and only then does Yeonsu release his tight embrace, and pull back until they're face to face.
It's something like looking in a mirror. Yeonsu is a marvel of precision manufacturing, tuned and tooled exactly in Han’s image, from the shape of his eyes to the turn of his smile, down to the shade of his pretty pink lips and the moles dotted around his face.
To the world, they're one and the same. But Yeonsu looks different when they're alone. When there's no one to fool, he relaxes a little more into himself, and his nature and nurture start to mix. Like ripples through Han’s reflection, shimmering and scattering light.
All Han wants is to immerse himself in it. To sink into his shadow, his mirror image, swirling into a moiré. To become a distinct singularity. But he'll gladly settle for this — letting their bodies slot together like puzzle pieces, and observing all of Yeonsu’s perfect imperfections.
Han realizes he must be staring, but Yeonsu is mirroring a look of pure, intense fascination. He watches every movement, each breath and subtle saccade, every flicker of light. Han can't help but feel that his own devotion must pale in comparison to Yeonsu’s.
Love overflows, spills out of Yeonsu. He shyly reaches out his hand to touch Han’s face like the moment will be ruined if he moves too quickly. He tucks a stray lock away from Han’s forehead, and Yeonsu’s fingers continue down his hairline, then following the shape of his cheekbone. Yeonsu closes his eyes, brow wrinkling just slightly in concentration as he traces over the contours of Han’s face as if he's trying to commit it to memory. As if it will help him become Han.
Han just basks in the attention. He watches the subtle shifts in Yeonsu’s expressions and lets Yeonsu’s soft fingertips glide over his features.
Yeonsu reaches Han’s mouth, swiping his thumb along Han’s bottom lip. Han can't stop himself from gently kissing the pad of Yeonsu’s thumb. Yeonsu’s eyes open, and a bright, genuine smile blossoms on his perfect face like a sunrise. Han’s own smile has been tempered by time, and while Yeonsu can copy it perfectly, his natural expressions still hold onto an unfiltered, childish joy.
But Han doesn't have long to observe it before Yeonsu is diving in again, this time starting with a kiss at Han’s temple and exploring with his mouth.
Yeonsu nuzzles down Han’s nose until he can press their foreheads together. He only stops for a moment to share a gaze before he's brushing his lips above Han’s cheekbone, grazing along his eyelid and his soft lashes, leaving a gentle kiss right beside his eye. Then he's peppering little pecks all across Han’s cheek, ending at the corner of his mouth. His lips ghost over Han’s teasingly, but before Han can lean in, Yeonsu swoops down to nibble at his jaw.
Han’s heart squeezes in his chest, and an undignified laugh almost bubbles out of him at the ticklish sensation of Yeonsu’s plush lips grazing down his neck. Yeonsu pauses to feel Han’s pulse flutter in time with his own. He would surely give attention to Han’s entire body if Han let him, licking and mouthing at and memorizing every part he could reach, but Han gently guides his face up and stops him with a tender kiss on the lips.
“It's getting late, my love,” he explains in a soft voice that no one but Yeonsu ever gets to hear. “You should get some rest.”
“Okay,” Yeonsu whispers in reply, but they stay still for another few moments — gazing into each other’s identical eyes, with their hands and legs and breaths intertwined.
After one last peck on Han’s cheek, Yeonsu settles into a more comfortable position. He waits until Han drapes an arm over him before he fully relaxes and shuts his eyes. When they're apart, or if Han lets go for even a second, Yeonsu will start to toss and turn, a chronic insomniac. But dreams come easily when he's in Han’s embrace.
And Han wouldn't have it any other way. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Mm-hmm. Love you.” Yeonsu already sounds half-asleep, somewhere distant, as he drifts away gently in Han’s arms.
Han takes a slow moment to watch Yeonsu before he, too, closes his eyes and lets himself drift.
An obsession with the person crafted in your own image: some would call it vanity, but they just consider it love.