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Han stumbles inside, yanking the keys from the door and shoving them in his pockets. The lights in his apartment are much softer than at the host club, but his vision still turns them into fuzzy, streaky starbursts. He only has to lean on the wall for a second or two when the room begins to sway.
“Yeonsu, I’m home!” he calls out as he regains his balance and continues on.
His protégé emerges from the next room right on cue. Yeonsu looks so sweet and content, with his sweatpants on and his makeup and hair undone, that Han feels a little giddy — although he’ll blame that on the overindulgent client who bought a whole champagne tower for her favorite hosts.
Yeonsu greets him with a polite bow. “How was your day, Han-sama?”
“Wonderful,” he beams, unable to stop the smile creeping onto his face and the slur slipping into his voice. “But it's good to be home. Glad to see you.”
“That’s… that’s good to hear,” Yeonsu says shyly. He wrings his hands for a moment before he stills the nervous tic.
Han takes an unsteady step towards Yeonsu, but with his heavy limbs, it doesn’t seem to get him much closer. Another, and the space between them only seems to spread. One more finally starts to close the gap.
Han only realizes that Yeonsu is backing away when Yeonsu bumps right into the lamp behind him, and he startles as it sways and clatters noisily. The cheer has fallen from his face. He looks pale.
“Are you alright?”
No response. Han comes closer, and places a hand on his shoulder. Yeonsu jolts and glances around. His eyes are wide. It takes Han a moment to realize the emotion within them is fear.
“Yeonsu, what’s wrong?”
Han withdraws his hand, but even his gentle words and the brush of his warm breath seem to terrify Yeonsu. He’s frozen like a deer in the headlights. His arms are pressed stiffly at his sides, his head is bowed and turned away, but the expression on his face is still clear. It reminds Han of the day they first met.
And even through Han’s clouded thoughts, the answer comes exceptionally clear — Yeonsu is still struggling with memories of his father’s abuse and addiction. It makes perfect sense that Han, stinking of alcohol and barely keeping his elegant words from slurring together, would trigger something in Yeonsu.
“Ah, I apologize,” Han says as softly and carefully as he can with a wide step back. “How gauche of me, to come home drunk like this.”
“It’s fine,” Yeonsu says, but his voice wavers, strained. “I —” His words trail off into a crackly noise. He shakes his head and roughly scrubs at his teary eyes, turning them an irritated red. “I'm sorry!”
“No, Yeonsu, don't be,” Han says close to a whisper, in a tone he hopes is soothing. “It's okay, it's okay.”
He wants to reach out to pull Yeonsu’s hands away and gently wipe up those tears himself, but he doesn't dare move any closer. He just stands there, helplessly, as Yeonsu starts to cry.
“C’mon, let’s sit down. Come sit, okay?” Han softly pleads.
Yeonsu flinches as Han carefully yet clumsily steps around him, sitting heavily on the couch. Yeonsu takes the opposite end, huddling as far as he can into the other side. Han can hear his teeth chatter as he trembles.
“I'm not going to hurt you, Yeonsu.”
“I know you wouldn't — you're not like him,” he chokes out between sobs, muffled by his hands. “But I — I just — I can't,”
“It’s alright, just breathe,” Han urges. He puts a hand down on the cushions, a few inches away, but it still makes Yeonsu tense up as his breath hitches in a painful sound. “Do you need me to leave?”
Yeonsu uncovers his face. His lip wobbles and his eyes shimmer as he looks up at Han. “No,” he weakly admits. Then, even quieter, he whines, “Please don't leave me alone.”
“I won't," Han softly but steadfastly reassures.
He takes the blanket that's folded over the back of the couch and wraps it around Yeonsu’s shaking shoulders. Then he backs away to the other side, until he's pressed up against the armrest, leaving a short but generous distance between them. “I'll be right here.”
Yeonsu clutches the blanket and wraps it tighter around himself. He pulls his knees up to his chest and tucks them under the covers, with only part of his head and a bit of his socked feet poking out.
Han feels a pang of sympathy and the sudden urge to squeeze Yeonsu tightly, but he keeps to himself and tries not to stare. He still finds himself glancing back at Yeonsu every once in a while, just to see how he's doing.
Slowly but surely, Yeonsu collects himself. The waves of tremors recede. His tears dry and his breath evens out. He eventually starts to unfurl from his little huddled ball, unraveling piece by piece like a blooming flower.
He sniffles wetly and wipes at his face with his sleeve. “I'm sorry,” he says, his voice still reedy.
“Now, now,” Han chides, with no real bite in his tone. “What did I tell you about apologizing needlessly? It's unbecoming for a man of our status.”
Yeonsu just gazes glumly at the floor. “But how can I be of any use to you when I'm like this?”
“I'm sure you'll improve, in time. You've made so much progress already. You always manage to impress me,” Han blurts out without thinking, until the flattered shock on Yeonsu’s face pulls him back into lucidity. “Ah, maybe I shouldn't have let that slip. It's not like me to give praise so openly.”
Yeonsu’s expression lights up. Other than his red-ringed eyes and the hoarseness left in his voice, it's hard to tell that he had been crying.
“I don't mind,” he says shyly, hiding a flicker of a smile.
Han spies it and immediately grins. Yeonsu has never smiled like that in front of him before — so honest and natural, with the sweetest, softest look in his eyes.
“Oh, Yeonsu, I saw that,” Han teases.
Yeonsu covers his mouth bashfully. “I… don't know what you're talking about.”
“No, no…” Han reaches out towards Yeonsu, who flinches back at first but quickly stills himself. “Let me see.”
Yeonsu lets Han gently move his hand away and cup his face. He smiles again, small and shy but genuine, charmed by Han’s affection.
“I want to do better for you. So I can be worthy of your praise.”
Han gently pats Yeonsu’s reddening cheek, then pulls away. Yeonsu almost seems to chase after his touch.
“You're already doing wonderfully.”
“Han-sama… Are you just saying that because you're drunk?” His lips twitch up into a hint of a mischievous grin.
“Well, maybe I am feeling sort of sappy, and I wanted to see you smile again,” Han admits, letting out a quiet chuckle, “but it's still true.”
He tucks away a stray lock of hair from Yeonsu’s forehead, watching his expression with fascination.
“Thank you,” Yeonsu murmurs softly, so genuine that the intensity of it makes Han feel a little dizzy. “I used to always hate the smell of alcohol. But I think it's okay if it's on you — especially if it makes you act like this.”
“See? You're already getting better.” He takes Yeonsu’s hand. “Someday, if you're willing to, I'd love to have a drink with you.”
Yeonsu looks unsure, but with determination, he replies, “Someday.”
And like a chaser after a shot, the bitterness is quickly forgotten, leaving only a warmth in his chest.