Work Text:
1: you took my hand and you made me run
“Hyung.”
Seongwoong startles, the cursor darting erratically across the VOD, the chair creaking softly with his movement. “Sorry,” he says, blinking and peeling tired eyes away from the screen, “what do you—”
Sanghyeok cuts him off by stepping closer, hand still resting on his shoulder, fingertips warm. “You’ve been staring at that for a while.”
Hm. He has, hasn’t he? Seongwoong glances at the clock at the corner of his screen and sighs. “I just wanted to check something,” he starts, rubbing at his eyes, only to stop when he feels Sanghyeok’s hand shift up, wrapping around his wrist.
“Take a break.” Sanghyeok tilts his head—a small marginal movement, but one that Seongwoong still can’t help but follow the path of. “Go eat something. I need to check something too anyway.”
His eyes still ache. “Okay,” he agrees with a sigh, standing, letting Sanghyeok shift into his seat, tucking his legs up to his chest. He takes the mouse, clicks back to the beginning of the VOD, and Seongwoong winds around the beanbags and scattered chairs to sit down on the couch. There’s still some of the lunch boxes from earlier on the coffee table, as well as bags of snacks—some open, some closed—and he picks one, suddenly reminded of how hungry he is. He should probably go get something to actually eat soon. Almost everyone else has left already anyways. There isn’t really a need for him to stay here.
Seongwoong sighs again, pressing at his eyes. He can finish reviewing tomorrow, when his head doesn’t feel as fuzzy and—
Someone presses up by his side, and he jumps.
Sanghyeok just looks at him, face blank, seemingly unaware of how close he is.
For a moment, Seongwoong feels like he should say something, but nothing comes up. The moment passes.
And so, it’s Sanghyeok who speaks up next. “It’s late.”
“Yeah.” He stops awkwardly. Then, he offers the bag of crisps in his hand, because he has nothing else and he’s pretty sure his brain isn’t working properly, between how tired he feels and how warm Sanghyeok is, pressed up against his side, close in a way he usually never is.
He gets a small smile for that, Sanghyeok stealing away one or two and popping them into his mouth, before he tilts his head, his hand rubbing at the edge of the scent blocker still taped over his neck. He frowns a little, picking at it idly, eyes darting between Seongwoong’s as if looking for words. “Why did you stay so long?”
Seongwoong shrugs, watching as he slowly peels the patch off. “I wanted to check the last teamfight.” His next breath is full of smoke, Sanghyeok’s scent filtering freely into the air. He tries not to dwell on it. “Just lost track of time.”
“Hm,” is all Sanghyeok says, vague enough that Seongwoong can’t tell the implication behind the noise. “Don’t wear yourself out.”
His next words catch in his throat, because Sanghyeok then leans in, resting his head on Seongwoong’s shoulder, hands spilling over from his lap onto Seongwoong’s. After a pause, he shifts, unsatisfied with his position, twisting around until he’s just fully leaning against Seongwoong. One of Sanghyeok’s legs presses against his, warm even through the pants of their uniforms, and Seongwoong feels like a deer, frozen in the headlights.
He should probably respond. “So, why did you stay?”
But his voice still refuses to work, so he just lets Sanghyeok lean against him, contentment seeping into that sweet smoke scent of his, obvious enough that even Seongwoong can tell immediately.
His heart pounds, slamming against his ribs, and he doesn’t know how Sanghyeok isn’t disturbed by it. He hasn’t been this close in what feels like forever, even if realistically, it hasn’t been that long or that far of a distance.
Sanghyeok’s eyes stay closed, but they flick open when Seongwoong tries to look at his face to guage what he’s doing. Sanghyeok meets his gaze, blinking slowly, eyes lidded.
The creak of the door opening is what manages to tear Seongwoong away.
In the doorway, Haneul stops, suddenly looking rather uncomfortable. “I, uh,” he starts, looking between the two of them on the couch, and all of a sudden, Seongwoong is very aware about how this might look, Sanghyeok half wrapped around him and with his scent blockers peeled off, filling the air with the scent of a content omega, and he can feel heat spread through his face, crawling up from where Sanghyeok’s head is still lying on his shoulder, close to the juncture between his collarbone and his neck. He opens his mouth, even if he has no idea what to say. Movement cuts him off though, and he stiffens.
But Sanghyeok doesn’t say anything, just shifts slightly, curling his legs back up towards his chest and into his usual position.
“I’m just…” Hanuel points down the hallway awkwardly. “Wrong room, I think. Sorry.” And with that, he scurries away, leaving them alone.
Sanghyeok huffs, seemingly determined not to move away from his new positions now and okay. Fine. Seongwoong resigns himself to being Sanghyeok’s temporary pillow.
It’s far from the first time he’s done this anyway.
2: let's climb the cliff edge and jump again
Seongwoong won’t say it out loud—mainly because there’s really no point in saying it out loud—but he does kind of miss California sometimes. It’s mainly because he has good memories here, between his first and last Worlds, but the nostalgic draw is strong, even if he’d technically won in Los Angeles the last two times, and not San Francisco.
Walking along the beach is still the same, shoes sinking into the sand, staying clear of the lapping waves, bundling himself further into his jacket because the November air bit through his clothing like nothing. He’s lagging behind a bit, letting the kids run ahead, phones in hand as they snap pictures of the setting sun.
There’s no camera accompanying them now, which is nice.
He shifts a piece of glass aside, bottle-green glinting in the dying sunlight, and he looks up as he feels Sanghyeok approach, steps shifting slightly with the movement of the sand beneath his feet. “I found this earlier,” he says, no preamble, holding out his fist.
Seongwoong blinks at him, but stretches out his palm, watching as Sanghyeok drops what looks like a little keychain into his hand.
It’s a small bear, chibi style, the brown head visibly a little too big for the body. It’s cute. Seongwoong also has no idea what to do with it.
“It reminded me of you,” Sanghyeok adds, shoving his hand back into the protection of his jacket. The sea-salt wind ruffles his hair, messing it up and sending flyaway strands into his eyes, no matter how he shakes his head to clear his vision.
“Oh.” Heat still lingers on the surface of the keychain. “I’m not a player anymore though?” He doesn’t intend for the end of his sentence to lilt up—he doesn’t even intend to say it to begin with, but it’s true. He doesn’t have a backpack to hang it up on anymore, just a suit instead of a jacket with his name on the back and a notebook full of meta reads and banpick options.
He doesn’t even drive.
Sanghyeok just shrugs.
“I don't—" Seongwoong clears his throat. “Sanghyeokie, I don't have anywhere to put this.”
“You should get a keyring then.” Sanghyeok honestly doesn't even look like he's joking, head tilted ever so slightly, mouth a carefully flat line. “You have other keys to keep track of, don't you?”
Seongwoong opens his mouth. Closes it.
Sanghyeok gives him a pointed look. “Keep it,” he says, shoulders hunching up towards his shoulders to ward off the sudden gust of cold wind that howls over the bay. Seongwoong, surprisingly, doesn’t really feel it through the warmth blooming in his chest.
“Okay,” is all Seongwoong can say in response, because really, what else can he do? He tries to quash the little part of him that jumps happily at the sight of the gift, tries to shove that growing warmth back into place, but it doesn’t work, so he gives up and lets the feeling ward the cold away.
He does buy a keyring later, mainly because the little dangling black cat charm caught his attention and immediately, he couldn't help but think of cherry smoke and sharp eyes. He takes it almost furtively, glancing over his shoulder at nothing in particular—there's basically no one else in the store but him and the cashier anyway, and she doesn't even glance his way as she rings it up.
Really, the charm reminds him more of the little gifts fans would bring Sanghyeok—all those years ago in those old fanmeets where the only thing keeping them from being crowded into the walls was the respect of the fans and he'd walk away from each one with arms laden with half a dozen bags—than anything Seongwoong himself would get.
Sanghyeok, of course, spots it, and the satisfaction that fills his eyes when he sees the bear hanging from it is almost worth the embarrassment of enduring the side-eyes that Haneul, Seonghun, and Jihwan shoot him.
3: I want you for the world, I want you all the time
Seongwoong’s facing away from the door when Sanghyeok steps back in, quiet and subdued. He doesn’t say anything, and so neither does Seongwoong, staring at the curtains over the window, phone in hand. It’s off, because he’s far too old to give into the impulse to scroll the internet and see what people were saying about him, but it’s still in his hand because there must be some piece of him, purely masochistic, that whispers at him to go, look at what they’re calling you.
He waits for the rustle of sheets that’ll signify Sanghyeok slipping into his bed, his hair drying slowly in the air. He can feel the excess moisture seep into the pillow, but there are at least three others piled up by the headboard, so he doesn’t really care.
But, instead, he feels his own mattress dip down as Sanghyeok crawls up beside him, curling up quietly, backs pressed together. He still doesn’t say anything, just breathes, radiating warmth as his cherry smoke scent—soured now, bitter and acrid from his emotions—seeps freely into the air, scent blockers having been peeled off before he stepped into the shower.
And for once, Seongwoong’s glad for the silence, managing to finally free his throat from the snarling vines that seem to have taken root. “How do you feel?” He winces at his voice, at the slight rasp that scrapes unpleasantly over the first two words.
He hasn’t asked Sanghyeok that yet. He had wanted to—and should have, but by the time he’d managed to console Minseok and Wooje somewhat and check in with Minhyung and Hyeonjun, there’d already been a lump building in his throat, and he’d barely had enough time to duck out before he also burst fully into tears around his players.
It’s a little pathetic, he thinks, still being this easily effected by the ups and downs and losses that came with any esport when he knows he should have and has gotten used to over the years, but he hadn’t really had time to dwell on it. Especially not when he doesn't really deserve the time.
But by the time he’d come out of the bathroom he’d hidden in, face no longer quite as red and blotchy to the degree that it’d been immediately obvious that he’d just been crying, he’d gotten sidetracked by everything else that came with such a high profile loss.
Sanghyeok, still pressed steadily to his back, doesn’t answer immediately. He lets out a soft noise, considering, as if mulling over Seongwoong’s words.
“I could have played better,” is the final response, whispered quietly, almost as if ashamed, if Seongwoong didn’t know Sanghyeok any better.
Honestly, it’s not an answer that really shocks Seongwoong at all—Sanghyeok never one to unfairly cast blame around anymore—but for some reason, the answer still has Seongwoong looking over his shoulder.
This close, Sanghyeok has to feel him shift, but he stays still, only the barest twitch shivering through the line of his shoulders to indicate that he can feel the weight of Seongwoong’s eyes on him at all.
Seongwoong should probably say something. But he fishes for the words and finds nothing in the hiss of waves along the beaches of the San Francisco Bay, so he shuts his mouth and turns back.
His hand tilts and his phone lights up, obnoxiously bright in the darkness and by the time it fades, he’s still blinking the imprint of the time out of his eyes. It’s late. Maybe he should sit up, try and coax Sanghyeok back into his own bed, because what they’re doing now feels more like something they should have done when they were younger, sleeping in Los Angelos hotels, suitcases heavier with one more trophy. They’re…they’re too old for this now, with too much history. It shouldn’t be this easy to lean back against Sanghyeok and fall asleep.
But Sanghyeok is warm, and Seongwoong is so selfish, so he keeps a lid on the part of him nagging at him to keep his distance, and he closes his eyes.
“Hyung.”
He snaps back awake, startling. “Hm?”
This time, when he turns his head, Sanghyeok’s there, eyes wide and dark, glittering with the tiny fragments of city lights that have snuck through their curtains. A hand sneaks over his side, fingers tapping on the outside of his wrist. Seongwoong doesn’t dare look.
“Can you…” Sanghyeok cuts himself off, his face twisting subtly, looking for the right words. “Can I…?”
Seongwoong doesn’t know what he’s asking for, even if he thinks he probably should because knowing what Sanghyeok wants had been his entire notable player career. But this isn’t the game and as he stares at Sanghyeok, as he lets him shift his grip so that Sanghyeok’s fingers are pressing down into the hollow of his wrist, he finds that he just doesn’t know.
Still, that doesn’t stop him from letting Sanghyeok tug him onto his back with a gentle touch, and if Sanghyeok notices his own lack of agency in all of this, he doesn’t comment, just presses their wrists together, and oh.
“You know it’s not going to stick, right?”
Seongwoong bites his tongue, keeping the comment trapped beneath his teeth as Sanghyeok leans in, warm breath ghosting across his scent glands, and nuzzles at his neck. The air fills with smoke, the bitter edge of unhappiness in it slowly filing down.
For a moment, Seongwoong can’t breathe.
Sanghyeok never does this, he knows, has never crawled on top of someone to scent them like this—or at least, he’s certainly never done it to Seongwoong before, and it feels intimate, a kind of thing Seongwoong thinks Sanghyeok might do with an alpha he was close to for comfort or stability.
And, well. Seongwoong’s not an alpha—not whoever Sanghyeok might normally do this to, and he spares a moment to wonder who Sanghyeok might be imagining in his place, because there’s no reason for him to do this to Seongwoong, of all people, and that thought hurts more than he’d like to admit, but it’s the truth—but he can stand in for comfort tonight, he supposes.
Carefully, he slides one hand out from under Sanghyeok’s, settling it gingerly on the small of Sanghyeok’s back, high enough that he thinks it’s a safe touch, and he’s rewarded by a small pleased rumble, like half a purr.
That contentment shoots through Sanghyeok’s scent, turning it sweeter, the little cherry notes popping as it layers itself over the two of them, tangled together on Seongwoong’s bed.
It’s nice.
It won’t last for longer than a day.
But Sanghyeok doesn’t seem to care, half-sprawled over Seongwoong’s chest and keeping him pinned to the mattress, and really, who is Seongwoong to tell him what to do?
Like that, Seongwoong sleeps surprisingly well, though Sanghyeok looks strangely smug the next day, and everyone else—the players and strangers included—proceeds to give him strange looks the entire plane ride home.
4: I won’t forget how you looked at me then
“Has anyone seen my jacket?” Seongwoong’s frown deepens as he looks around, only getting shakes of the head.
It’s still a bit chilly somehow, despite the heating blasting through the building to ward off the final dregs of winter, and he can feel goosebumps prickle at the skin on his arms. It isn’t that bad, but they’re set to go on stage soon and he’s missing an important part of his uniform.
He tries searching again, but a final scan doesn’t make his jacket appear miraculously, so he sighs and resigns himself to just making do.
“Maybe it’ll turn up,” Jaehyeon says, something weird in his tone, an odd inflection in his words. Seongwoong blinks, tilting his head slightly, but Jaehyeon doesn’t elaborate, beyond a quick dart of the eyes towards the door, just barely cracked open. Kanghee, sitting nearby, just averts his eyes when Seongwoong looks to him for explanation, and all that does is make him more confused.
Jaehyeon just keeps looking between him and the door pointedly, and fine. Seongwoong can take a hint.
The hallway’s mostly empty, save for the quick flash of someone in an LCK uniform hurrying around the corner with a headset halfway on.
A creak of doors catches his attention, and he steps fully out of the doorway, door clicking shut behind him. Sanghyeok, emerging from the bathroom, perks up, but Seongwoong’s attention is immediately drawn to something else.
His missing jacket, slung cover Sanghyeok’s shoulders. He can hear the way the fabric rubs together with Sanghyeok’s, the noise cheerfully heralding Sanghyeok’s approach.
Sanghyeok’s smile doesn’t drop at all as he gets nearer. “What’s wrong?”
“Isn’t that mine?”
“Hm, I guess.”
Seongwoong lets out an exasperated sigh. “Sanghyeokie, you can’t just take my clothes. You have your own jacket. Give it back.”
“But I’m cold.” That grin, sharp and lopsided but wide enough that it bares his canines, doesn’t falter. Sanghyeok steps closer, leaning in. “And besides,” he adds, almost carelessly, “this isn’t the first time you’ve lent me clothes before.”
“That—” Seongwoong’s throat suddenly feels dry. This close, he’d normally be able to pick up Sanghyeok’s scent, but he has his scent blockers on and so all that Seongwoong picks up is his own subtle grassy scent, clinging to the jacket tucked around Sanghyeok’s shoulders and shrouding him in it, despite how mild it is. “That was different.”
Sanghyeok raises an eyebrow. “How does that saying go? Once is an accident, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern?”
It’s still different. Seongwoong wants to insist, but he bites his tongue. It’s different because they were younger, closer, different people who could afford to not care about these kinds of things quite as much and it’s different because he knows Sanghyeok would have this look on his face—the smug look of satisfaction he’s wearing right now—and Seongwoong can’t think about that that means when he knows—
He knows how this will end, inevitably. Not even a quick clean break, but a slow fracturing thing, a dawning realization, until he found himself holding the pieces of his heart again.
“Sanghyeokie,” he sighs, borderline pleas, “come on.”
And finally, that grin fades, twisting downward. “Fine.” He sounds strangely subdued, and immediately, Seongwoong feels bad, that little part of him that had been trained to respond to his mid—to Sanghyeok—rushing to try and fix it.
“I…” he starts, before he cuts himself off. Sanghyeok pauses, jacket half shrugged off, looking for all the world like a scolded cat. “Here, you can keep it until we have to go out and play, okay?”
Sanghyeok brightens, non-existent cat ears snapping from drooping to alert in a flash, and that smug look settles back on his face, natural and easy. “Okay.” He tugs hit back over his shoulders, fingers playing at the edge of the collar and even with how mild as his scent is, being a beta, Seongwoong knows Sanghyeok’s getting it over his hands.
He’s not really sure how he feels—how he should feel about that.
5: maybe you still think of us, phone buzz and still I jump
“You’re really leaving?”
Seongwoong can really only give Sanghyeok a weak smile. There’s a kind of muted shock on Sanghyeok’s face, as if he’d expected this and had still found himself shocked that Seongwoong would have enough audacity to leave—and honestly, that’s probably exactly it.
Sanghyeok’s eyes dart over his face, searching, and he doesn’t quite wilt, but it’s a near thing—a slight shift of the shoulders, resignation in his expression. “But…”
“To be fair, you saw the signs, right?” It’s a shitty attempt at a joke that he can hear himself give up on not even a full word into, and in lieu of cringing at himself, he just takes a step back and away.
Sanghyeok’s silent for a moment, but in this instance, at least, Seongwoong finds that he can suddenly read him again.
Still, he finds the urge to explain, to defend himself, even knowing that it’d take a single well placed sentence from Sanghyeok to rip it all open anyway, because he opens his mouth. “I didn’t want—”
Sanghyeok shakes his head, and predictably, Seongwoong falls silent, voice cut short. There’s no need for him to brace himself—Sanghyeok’s never been cruel, at least, not now, not anymore—but there’s a piece of him that won’t listen to rationality, no matter what he tries, and so he does anyway.
“It’s okay. I understand.” And so now it’s Seongwoong’s turn to find himself in that feeling of unsurprised-surprise and it’s Sanghyeok’s turn to shoot him a smile that does everything right except really mean what a smile should mean. Then, he takes a breath, shakes his head as if he’s clearing it, and tries for another smile. This one manages to come out a little better, softer around the edges as if he really means it this time. “But before you leave, want to get some dinner first?”
Seongwoong blinks. “Sorry?”
Sanghyeok shrugs. “I’m hungry.” Something sparks in his eye and he shifts his weight, ever so slightly, to one foot. “You’re paying.”
Honestly, Seongwoong thinks he might be dreaming.
Before he can stop himself, he sputters, “What?” Sanghyeok just looks at him expectantly. “Don’t you make more than me? I just have a coach’s salary, you know.”
“Please? You’re—” he cuts himself off. “Before you leave? I’m busy when it’s not off-season.”
Seongwoong stares at him for a moment. How does he respond to that? What does he say?
“…Just the two of us?”
Another shrug. “Everyone else is busy.” Sanghyeok’s eyes shift away. Seongwoong bites at the inside of his cheek.
“Fine,” he agrees, because despite it all, there’s still that gnawing guilt at the bottom of his heart, and it is almost not worth it all when he sees the way Sanghyeok smiles at that, truly genuine this third time.
They don’t spend too much time finding a place, just wandering down the street until Sanghyeok pulls them into this shop that’s really little more than a hole in the wall, but it’s cozy, miraculously well air-conditioned.
It’s a bit awkward, and neither of them say much when they order, exchanging at most tentative glances whenever their eyes accidentally meet, but sometime during the interaction with the waitress, Seongwoong finds Sanghyeok stretching out his leg beneath the small table, just enough that he can brush his ankle across Seongwoong’s in a tiny point of warmth.
Seongwoong tries to ignore it, just stares down at the smooth grain of the tabletop instead, tracing the whorls in the wood. He can’t tell if it’s real or a plastic imitation just from looking, but it doesn’t really matter.
And finally, after the silence—quiet, even if the air is technically filled with the soft babble of conversation and the muffled noises of the street outside—stretches on for what seems like forever, “Why are you leaving?”
That has Seongwoong looking up. “I thought you—”
Sanghyeok shakes his head, pinning him place with a sharp look. “No, I meant, why—” Again, he stops, frustration flashing across his face, so quick Seongwoong thinks he could have imagined it.
"Why what?”
Sanghyeok looks down. Seongwoong can practically see the gears turning in his head, as he looks for something, though what it is, Seongwoong has no idea.
“Sanghyeok?”
He startles, leg pulling back and suddenly, Seongwoong finds himself missing that little spot of warmth, a veritable ache in his chest. “Never mind. I just thought…” Sanghyeok shakes his head. “It wasn’t a good question. I know why. It doesn’t matter.” At that, Seongwoong finds himself frowning, but again, when he goes to look for the right words, he finds nothing.
So, as always, he keeps his mouth shut, swallows the bitter taste of something left unsaid, and turns away to stare sightlessly at the paintings on the walls.
They don’t talk for the rest of their time there either, eating in silence—or at least, until the very end, because Sanghyeok was always the braver of the two of them, always the first to dare to shatter any silence between them to ask or demand something.
“Hyung,” he starts, and the sound of his voice has Seongwoong pausing in his tracks, one foot out the door. “Just…” That look again, the search for something. Maybe this little restaurant is cursed, if neither of them can figure out how to verbalize anything. “Take care, okay?”
Seongwoong smiles back at him, and he hopes the gesture is genuine. “You too, Sanghyeokie.”
+1: why don't I say it then? I want you all the time
Of all the people Seongwoong expects to find knocking at his door one random evening, Sanghyeok is very, very low on that list. Almost non-existent, really, but apparently, he should never test his luck.
“Sanghyeok?” He can feel his eyes almost pop out of his head. Instead of answering properly, Sanghyeok, wearing nothing but some sweatpants and a t-shirt, just stumbles forward, an arm unwinding from around his torso to reach for Seongwoong. Immediately, he moves, meeting Sanghyeok halfway.
That, in and of itself, should already have caused worry, but there’s a bigger issue. It takes him a second for his brain to properly process and catch up, but the scent in the air is unmistakable.
Any acrid edge of the smoke in Sanghyeok’s scent is completely gone now, replaced by something fuller, sweeter—cherries at the crest of summer—and oh fuck.
“Sanghyeok,” he repeats again, the panic in his voice audible even to him because he has an armful of omega in heat and— “Sanghyeok, what the fuck, how did you even get here? Why are you here? Wh—”
Against his instincts, Seongwoong pulls back, scanning him frantically, checking him over.
Sanghyeok doesn’t seem to notice any of this, his face, already flushed, pulling into a grin. “What happened to ‘hello’?” He sounds far too smug for the situation he’s in. “Anyway, don’t worry—” he sways, worryingly, completely undermining the worth of his words, stumbling slightly as his scent spikes, cherry smoke rolling off of him in waves thick enough to coat Seongwoong’s tongue “—I drove here. Are you going to let me in?”
He doesn’t need to tell Seongwoong twice. Seongwoong’s fairly sure any alpha in a twenty meter radius at least could smell the oncoming heat. He yanks Sanghyeok inside, almost slamming the door in his haste to close it.
“Fucking hell, Sanghyeokie, do you know how dangerous that is?” Uselessly, he tilts Sanghyeok’s chin as carefully as he can, fingers brushing at the side of his neck, searching for scent blockers he knows he won’t find, with how dizzyingly intense Sanghyeok’s scent already is. Sanghyeok doesn’t reply, just lets Seongwoong maneuver him with surprising ease and a small hum, his eyes going low and lidded with the touch. Seongwoong bites the inside of his cheek, moving his hand to turn Sanghyeok’s head back so their eyes meet. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” Sanghyeok mutters dismissively. His eyes close fully, and he leans his head against Seongwoong’s hand, skin near-burning.
“You’re not—” Seongwoong starts helplessly, “Sanghyeok. I’m serious. What happened? You—You don’t have your scent blockers on and you—”
“I’m fine,” he insists again, eyes still closed. He steps closer, close enough that he can drop his head on Seongwoong’s shoulder and snake his arms around his torso before Seongwoong can react, and like this, he can feel the way any remaining tension drains out of Sanghyeok as he tilts against Seongwoong’s neck, letting out a low purr. “You smell nice,” he murmurs, barely any break between his quiet rumbling.
Realistically, Seongwoong shouldn’t smell of anything but Sanghyeok, with how overpowering his scent is, but Sanghyeok’s nose is sharper than his, so he doesn’t question it. But, more importantly all of this—the fact that Sanghyeok has practically draped himself over Seongwoong and is now nuzzling into his neck—can really only mean that Sanghyeok is very close to actually being in full heat.
It's fine. He just has to calm down. It’s not that complicated.
Seongwoong sighs, and does his best to steer Sanghyeok towards the coach. “Who’s your heat partner? Do you need me to call them?” And unexpectedly, Sanghyeok growls, his fingers suddenly digging into Seongwoong’s side. He sighs again. “Sanghyeokie, come on.” Trying to detach himself, he pulls away, pushing Sanghyeok down towards the coach, only for Sanghyeok to cling harder, staying stubbornly upright. “Where’s your alpha?”
He thinks he might find bruises in the shape of fingerprints if he checked his ribs with how tightly Sanghyeok’s holding him. “If I wanted an alpha,” he hisses, “I wouldn’t be here.”
Something bitter crawls up out of his throat, encroaching on the sweet scent of smoke in his mouth. You don’t mean that. I know you don’t mean that. Seongwoong takes a breath. “S—”
Sanghyeok finally draws back, grabbing Seongwoong’s face, eyes open and alight with something sharp, ferocious. “What do you want me to say?” His body burns, even through Seongwoong’s clothes. “How much clearer do I have to be?”
“I—? What?”
Sanghyeok tilts their heads together, close enough that all Seongwoong can see are his eyes, pupils dilated enough that there was only the smaller sliver of brown ringing the edges. “Why don’t you get it yet?”
Seongwoong suddenly feels the urge to look away, to run, but Sanghyeok’s hands trap him in place. So, instead, all he can do is weakly say, “Get what?”
“I,” Sanghyeok says, with exaggerated slowness, “want you. I am here because I want you.”
Seongwoong’s mouth is suddenly dry.
Those eyes dart between his, imploring. “Please.” Sanghyeok’s voice has dropped to something soft now, soft enough that Seongwoong could call it delicate if he didn’t know Sanghyeok as well as he has to now. “Stop running away from me.”
What does he say? What can he say? Sanghyeok’s hands are warm, cradling his face, and his scent is already chasing away any imagined bitterness and it feels strange, the weight of his words, and Seongwoong doesn’t know what to do.
What does he do?
Sanghyeok makes the decision for him.
And it’s this familiar rhythm again, Sanghyeok taking and Seongwoong letting him, giving up as much as he thinks he can, and he barely notices Sanghyeok pushing him down the hall until he finds himself lying on his bed as Sanghyeok climbs on top of him.
That’s what makes him pause. “Wait,” he says urgently, though his hands settle on Sanghyeok’s hips before he can stop himself, “Sanghyeok, you’re—are you sure—"
Sanghyeok growls at him again. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” he says flatly.
“But, I don’t—” Seongwoong tries again.
“Hyung.” His mouth clicks shut. Sanghyeok leans down, bracing his hands against Seongwoong’s chest. “Are you going to help me or not?”
Oh.
Okay.
Simple enough.
He nods, and it really is worth it all when Sanghyeok smiles down at him, teeth bared and satisfied, one of those burning hands moving down to slide under the edge of his shirt.
The first thing he registers upon waking up is that his shoulders and neck feel absolutely shredded.
The second, is that there is someone tangled around him, their legs locked together and fingers splayed almost protectively over the back of his head, the sweet scent of cherry smoke heavy in the air and oh.
Last night rushes back, and all he can do is lie there, staring up at the ceiling because oh fuck.
Sanghyeok grumbles slightly when Seongwoong shifts, stubbornly following Seongwoong’s motion to keep his head tucked neatly into the side of Seongwoong’s neck, and his arms, crossed over Seongwoong’s shoulders, tighten, the deep ache there flaring with the pressure.
His scent has died back down, thankfully no longer heavy with heat, because Seongwoong is no longer a teenager and he feels rather fragile now.
He also can’t shake the feeling that he’s somehow fucked up massively—or, it’s not even just a feeling. Seongwoong spares another glance at Sanghyeok, still fast asleep and blanketed in contentment, casually cuddling up to him as if Seongwoong hadn’t just been a pushover and believed an omega in heat who said I want you like he was any right state of mind to really say so.
His skin crawls, and he suddenly finds the urge to get out, get away.
But Sanghyeok’s still sleeping, so instead of forcefully breaking himself free, Seongwoong takes the time to carefully untangle Sanghyeok’s limbs from his, sneaking into the bathroom and locking the door.
Inside, he braces against the sink, staring at the mirror. His hair’s a mess, and predictably, there are bites scattered over his neck, down onto his collarbone, and there are red lines from where Sanghyeok had clawed at him decorating his shoulders.
Seongwoong forces out a sigh.
He’ll go back and he’ll apologize when Sanghyeok’s awake. He just…needs a minute.
He stands there, in front of the mirror, until the cold lineoleum finally gets to him and he ventures back out.
Surprisingly, Sanghyeok’s awake now, sitting upright, blanket loose around his shoulders as he blinks blearily. He spots Seongwoong and yawns, before his face settles into a sleepy smile. “Seongwoongie-hyung,” he says, voice just a little sing-song, stretching a hand out, and before Seongwoong can stop himself, he’s letting himself be tugged back into bed. “There you are.”
Sanghyeok’s voice is light, but his arms are surprisingly tight, when they wind around Seongwoong’s torso. “Sorry,” he says awkwardly. There’s a hint of something bitter in the air—something that hadn’t been there when Seongwoong first managed to slip out of bed, but it’s quickly smoothed away as Sanghyeok clings to him.
There’s a pause, morning silence filled with nothing but the soft sound of their breathing slowly syncing up. Then, quietly, muffled in the side of Seongwoong’s neck, “I thought you left.”
“Oh. Sorry?” Cautiously, he returns the embrace, feeling Sanghyeok lean into it. “I just…are you sure you’re…fine?”
Sanghyeok stiffens, then draws back, confusion marring his face. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, it’s just that I know heats change things and I wasn’t sure if you really wanted—”
“I said this before,” Sanghyeok says sharply, cutting him off, his face twisting down into a frown, “I was here because I wanted you.”
Oh. The tension bleeds out of Seongwoong at that. “Oh,” he repeats. Sanghyeok looks at him expectantly. “That’s…good,” he says, immediately feeling his face flush with embarrassment. Quickly, he shakes his head. “What about your usual heat partner? Do they know you’re here?”
Sanghyeok just stares, and Seongwoong gets the idea that he’s missing something rather important as the pause stretches on, longer and longer.
And finally, “Seongwoong. I don’t have a heat partner.”
Seongwoong’s mouth drops open. “Wha—” he sputters, “you mean you’ve been spending your heats alone?” Sanghyeok shrugs carelessly, and for a moment, Seongwoong wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake.
“I wouldn’t have had to,” he says, draping his arms over Seongwoong’s shoulders, eyes sharpening into a kind of glare, “if you hadn’t kept running away from me.”
“What? How am I—”
Wait.
Seongwoong stops.
Sanghyeok stares at him, expectantly, pointedly.
It’s like there’s this bump in the logical path his thoughts take, that one final step he keeps skipping over but circling back around to, a fish endlessly turning in a bowl and missing that the ceiling’s open, because…
He looks genuine, Seongwoong realizes, scanning Sanghyeok’s face. His eyes track Seongwoong’s, steady, and the heat has all but completely cleared up from his scent, so there’s nothing there that could imply anything but that Sanghyeok is being completely honest.
“Hyung.” Seongwoong still feels frozen. Sanghyeok tilts his head, something glinting in his eye. “Do I need to get you to fuck me again for you to realize that I love you?”
And so here he goes, crashing into that pitfall in the road, a fish jumping out of water.
I love you.
Seongwoong doesn’t think he can breathe with the words said out loud, floating heavy in the air, seeping down his throat and catching in his lungs.
Sanghyeok pauses, then something in his face falls, a kind of subtle wilting disappointment, and that’s what manages to shake Seongwoong out of his stunned silence, because fuck. He really might just be stupid.
“Why,” is what he ends up blurting out, hands now hovering awkwardly by Sanghyeok’s side.
Sanghyeok frowns. “What do you mean, why?”
“I don’t know.” Seongwoong feels vaguely hysterical, now that he’s thinking about it. Sanghyeok, seeking him out and finding dumb little charms to gift him and stealing his clothes and scenting and even that conversation at that last dinner they had together, in that little hole-in-the-wall restaurant he doesn’t even remember the name of, though conversation is generous, with how many unfinished and unsaid things they’d left behind—and, yeah, Seongwoong thinks he’s been missing something important for a very long time. “I just—I don’t know. I just didn’t think that you…” He makes a vague gesture.
If the sight of Sanghyeok’s eyes hadn’t already been burnt firmly into whatever part of his brain responsible for long term memory, they would be now, with the absolutely incredulous look Sanghyeok is giving him. “For anyone else, I’m pretty sure they would have realized by at least the time I crawled into your bed back in San Francisco.”
Seongwoong’s face heats, and in a burst of courage, he leans in, hiding in Sanghyeok’s shoulder. Amusement sparks through that cherry smoke scent, sweet as summer, and he breathes it in, letting it settle on his tongue. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
Sanghyeok hums, tell-tale rumble of a purr starting low in his throat. “Does that mean you’ll court me properly now?”
It surprises Seongwoong too, when the laugh escapes from his mouth. “Okay,” he agrees. “Sure. I will.”
“Good.” Sanghyeok tilts his head, resting it on top of Seongwoong’s. And, quiet enough that Seongwoong might have missed it, were he not so close, he says it again. “I love you.”
Seongwoong hugs him tighter, motion almost entirely unconscious, the words a shot of fire through his chest. “Love you too.”
Satisfaction shoots through Sanghyeok’s scent, and it’s evident in his tone, even with the dry edge it takes. “But really. It took you long enough.”
Seongwoong draws back, raising an eyebrow. “And you could have just outright told me earlier, instead of being so vague.”
And for a moment, Seongwoong decides that despite it all, it is worth it, for the way Sanghyeok bursts out laughing.