Work Text:
Maybe Hongjoong should have left like Cinderella before the clock hit the midnight.
But he didn’t.
And now he’s stuck. He’s watching sweaty bodies swaying in the night as pink and blue lights hit him and tens, maybe hundreds of other people who are either running away from the low that comes after the high or still chasing the feeling of alcohol induced ecstasy.
Hongjoong himself isn’t that drunk. Drunk but not that drunk. He has been drinking. Of course, he has been drinking. He’s not crazy enough to watch that shit show of drunk people without alcohol inside his veins, but he’s a responsible adult or so he claims to be. He always orders his shots with a glass of water.
He’s responsible.
Unlike most people in his life.
Mingi has disappeared somewhere. With Yunho, probably and hopefully, because Yunho is slightly more responsible than Mingi and will make sure that they get home safely. Hongjoong cannot move even though he’s trying to tell his legs to move. One, two, three, he tells himself. One, two, three and then he’ll move.
But no, it doesn’t work like that when his eyes are stuck.
Hongjoong likes pretty things and some things are just prettier than others.
And the guy dancing between sweaty, drunk bodies is the prettiest.
Hongjoong has not yet decided if the guy has bubblegum pink hair or is the colorful lights loving him as much as Hongjoong is loving the view. Maybe. He has glitter on his high cheekbones and sweat trickling down along his long neck, and Hongjoong has never wanted to lick someone’s skin as much as he wants now. It would be embarrassing if Hongjoong was sober. Luckily, he’s not. However, he’s not drunk enough to fall into oblivion, so he knows he’ll remember that he’s been staring at the stranger like a creepy motherfucker who doesn’t understand shit about boundaries. The next morning will be filled with regret and shame.
Still, he cannot get his eyes of that man.
He’s been dancing for so long that it feels like hours or maybe Hongjoong has been stuck in the time loop. He’s going to stare and stare and stare and the man will dance and dance and dance until the world ends. Even under colorful lights and darkness, his skin looks beautifully tanned, honeyed. Hongjoong wonders if it would be sticky like honey if he touched the man, running his hands across perfectly sculptured muscles. His tank top covers barely anything. Sweat has gotten it stick to his skin like it’s just a second layer of him.
He throws his head back and laughs. His full lips turn into a perfect smile and nose crunches slightly as he laughs. His hair seem to be a perfect length to wrap fingers into it, to hold, to not let go until he would be intertwined with Hongjoong’s life so well that he cannot leave anymore.
And then he breaks Hongjoong’s heart.
Someone’s arms wrap around his waist which is probably sinfully small because he’s basically perfect like he has been pulled out of Hongjoong’s wet dreams and Hongjoong wants someone whose waist is so small that his brain will malfunction every time he gets to touch it.
Hongjoong wants to drown into him, his smile, his laugh. It doesn’t matter that he has not heard it. Not yet, anyway. He wish the laughter would travel across the room and wrap around him like a cocoon that’s made for him. But no.
Not ever, probably.
Other guy is not as tall as the perfect specimen is but no one would think about that when he has enough shoulders to carry the world on them. He leans his chin on the other guy’s shoulder, grimaces when he feels how sweaty he is—Hongjoong wouldn’t do that, he would only worship every inch of that skin, sweaty or not—but doesn’t step away. They sway for a second but then the beats traps them, pull them into proper dance.
Hongjoong is fuming. He has no right to feel like that. Of course, someone who looks like that has already someone to worship them. People are not idiots. Just like Hongjoong, they see something pretty and decide to snatch it before it’s too late. After all, everyone carries the same greediness inside them as Hongjoong does.
Hongjoong hates himself for thinking something like that. The angel doesn’t deserve his bitter feelings. It’s not his fault if Hongjoong was just too late. Always stuck inside his small studio, he doesn’t go out enough and against all odds, no one has come to his door ready court the shit out of him. And maybe Hongjoong is just in the front line watching some soulmate bullshit happening and as long has he dreams about finding the one, he cannot judge others for that.
Pretty things deserve happiness too and Hongjoong’s sweet dream seems to be happy when the cat-like guy swinging along the music and smiling drunkenly when the pink-haired doll ruffles his hair. He’s drunk. So drunk. It’s quite impressive how well he still finds steps and how well he still follows beats when even from afar, he looks more like sleepy, cuddly, and drunk kitten than someone who will dance until the night ends.
Hongjoong cannot stop watching. He hums along the song and tries not to feel anything when even the song mocks him for desiring someone who seems already to belong to someone else.
‘'Cause everything good happens after midnight, I'm feeling kinda freaky, maybe it's the moonlight. I kinda wanna kiss your boyfriend if you don't mind.’ He sings it quietly and it’s like the fate is bullying him, because the pretty guy turns his head and his big, dark eyes meet Hongjoong’s.
Time stops.
Or maybe his heart just beats along with the bass and teasing lyrics which makes it feel like that. Hongjoong’s mouth feels dry and his tongue stuck like it’s too big to fit behind his teeth.
Maybe he’s just imagining it, already living inside his daydreams where he has somehow wrapped a beauty around his little finger or other way round. He wouldn’t mind being wrapped around someone’s fingers when it’s lean, long fingers that look like they would be perfect to carry Hongjoong’s ring.
It’s stupid. But Hongjoong has never claimed he’s a smart man. If he was, he wouldn’t be staring a beautiful stranger into eyes, following how he licks his lower lip, plushy, soft. Hongjoong wants to bite it. Those lips look like they taste like lip gloss, promises and infinite amount of sins and desires.
Hongjoong is already in love.
Sadly, the world doesn’t support his love.
The guy laughs at something, and Hongjoong can only imagine that his dance partner has said something against his skin. Their little special moment is gone as quickly as it arrived. The dancer turns his eyes away easily like only Hongjoong has been mesmerized by the situation. It’s probably not that far from the truth. Someone’s arms are already around him, so he has no reason to remember some desperate randoms. He already has a home, warm bed, tired voice whispering cute things into his ear when they wake up, everything.
Hongjoong might be a masochist because he still keeps watching the scene unfold in front of his eyes. The song changes, new beats take over the dance floor. Faster. The mood switches, lights turn more aggressive and demanding, and Hongjoong forces himself to take a step back.
He cannot keep doing that. He’s not a creep. It doesn’t matter how stunning the sight is when it’s not for him.
He rubs his collarbone, suddenly angry at the whole world and the universe that teases him with untouchable beauty and desires he cannot just follow even if he wants to. He’s not as brave—stupid—as he would like to be. If he was, he would walk there, place his hands on those swaying hips, and promise everything and anything just for the night. The kitten like man next to Hongjoong’s walking wet dream doesn’t look like a fighter even if he has muscles that would put Greek statues in shame. He looks like a lover, not a fighter although it would be a lie to claim that Hongjoong himself is a fighter.
However, that braver version of him wouldn’t be something Hongjoong would ever be proud of. It’s not a person he wants to be even if it’s brave, almost haughty. High and mighty but in a totally wrong way.
Hongjoong hates that kind of people.
It’s not a person Hongjoong wants to be for the one who will eventually whispers words against his skin. He doesn’t want to curse himself, groan what the hell has he done when morning comes and the sun shines over his sins. He’s not going to touch anyone else’s soulmates. No one deserves that, and Hongjoong knows very well that it would hurt him if someone else stared someone who belongs to him like a creeper, planning how to snatch the treasure off Hongjoong’s hands.
Mama didn’t raise him like that. Even after over 20 years together, she loves Hongjoong’s father like it’s still the day one of their shared story and that’s something Hongjoong is craving for.
Even a tantalizing beauty deserves better than be a part of that kind of betrayal where someone tries to push between the beauty of two halves of the same soul finding each other.
Hongjoong never planned to be ‘I was waiting for the one’ type of person and he is not like that. There has been moments of weakness and moments of passion, a nightly visits that end before the dawn because running away before the sun or the same wakes up saves him from handling all those emotions.
It feels good when the moment is there but afterwards, Hongjoong can never stop thinking how words on his skin are touched by someone else who doesn’t own them. Sometimes they touch it, maybe even kiss it, try to taste them like they could suck those words out of Hongjoong’s skin and make them disappear.
Desire never taste as good afterwards even if momentarily, it takes away emptiness.
Hongjoong sighs and closes his eyes. He’s not sure if he has blinked even once after his eyes got stuck on the beautiful stranger. He forces himself to breathe in and breathe out, counting to ten slowly. But when he opens his eyes, all he can see is the same man. It’s just worse as he has been squished between two bodies.
The new guy is shorter but eager, chasing an embrace where Hongjoong would happily be in his place. There’s no even one singly inch of his skin that is not pressed against the taller guy, half because of the dance floor is filled to the brim and half because he obviously doesn’t know what personal space means. The tip of his nose brushes against the jawline of the dancer Hongjoong is addicted to, his lips probably searching for the skin.
The guy with pink hair still just laughs but he has closed his eyes and his nose is crunched like he thinks he should avoid those lips. Yet his hand is in the other man’s hair, raking dark strands with his fingers. They’re so close.
Scandalous.
Hongjoong would totally judge them but he’s too jealous. He wants to know how that sweaty skin tastes like. Like honey or like sea salt. Like promises or maybe like regrets.
Perhaps, Hongjoong has no right to judge anyone. He has heard about three person being soulmates together. It’s not unheard of although it’s rare. It could be like that. They’re existing in their own bubble so comfortably that Hongjoong is almost believing it.
No. Hongjoong can believe it. A beauty like that would have a big enough of a soul to carry two persons in it. Two others are bickering over his shoulder. Of course, Hongjoong can’t hear words over the blasting music but he can see their lips moving and their expressions changing. And most importantly, he can see the softness in his deity’s eyes.
He must leave before his head is a mess. He has no reason to be this affected by the loving closeness of random people he has never seen before and will never see again. He remembers his mother’s words when he was still small, sitting on the counter while she cooked for their family. She always talked about his dad and the pull she felt when she first saw him, but what kind of uncanny cruelty it would be to feel the insane, unexplainable pull towards someone who’s already living his best life in someone else’s arms?
The newest addition in their hole trio finds Hongjoong’s eyes. It could be a coincidence or a drunken mistake but he smirks at Hongjoong and shows his tongue before Mister Bubblegum of the Year forces him to turn his attention back to his dance partners. Hongjoong’s cheeks are red and hot and he wishes he could blame the alcohol.
In seconds, his head creates an escape plan.
In seconds, he’s already failing it because he just cannot leave. He can see the corridor that leads out of the club but instead, he takes a turn or two and follows his intuition which might be just him being too drunk to think straight. Drunk from love and disappointment. It doesn’t make sense but neither does that horrible pull that’s squeezing his heart like a cold fist.
The club is full but the line to the men’s bathroom is never the biggest obstacle of the night. It’s a horrible hidey-hole, smelly and noisy place but at least no one cares a shit about Hongjoong. He washes his hands like cold water would wash away his troubles and worries.
His collarbone is itching but for a minute or two, Hongjoong refuses to acknowledge it. He is, after all, an enthusiastic fan of ignoring his problems until they go away. However, it gets worse and worse until he cannot control his hands anymore. He rubs it, scratches it through his dark t-shirt but the itching doesn’t go away.
His whole body is screaming at him and inside his head, he’s screaming back. It’s not fair that his body is bullying him like it’s not bad enough that he wants to snog the in the darkest corners of the club with the prettiest sweaty angel he has ever seen until he doesn’t know where his lips end and his partner’s begin. His life is hard enough without his body betraying him.
Scratching doesn’t help. Hongjoong bites the inner side of his cheek, hoping that pain would distract him from the itching. It doesn’t. It’s like something is crawling under his skin, restlessly searching for the way out of his chest.
Hongjoong’s soulmark has never hurt like that. Not even once. Just like everyone else, he was born with it and it has always been there, traveling through his life with him. It has always been comforting although it has not always treated him nice; people, especially growing teens, can be cruel, throwing those words on his face like they’re trying to turn something so beautiful into something licentious.
He grabs the collar of t-shirt, stretching it so he can see his mark. It looks exactly same as always. The same black text is engraved in his skin right under his collarbone, following it shape almost like a tattoo. It’s nothing too special, seemingly innocent black sentence which doesn’t look like something that’s meant to guide him through his life until he meets the one person who’s supposed to fill the empty place inside his chest.
Hongjoong lets go off his shirt. His skin still itches like it’s too tight, like he has washed it in too high temperature and now it has shrunk and doesn’t fit on him anymore.
He cannot leave. He doesn’t understand why but he just can’t. He tells himself that he’s going to send a message to Mingi or Yunho and tell them that he’s too old and tired to keep going. Yet he cannot pull out his phone. His hands are stuck just like his eyes were. His body is fighting against him. The desperate side of him is ready to go back, find the beautiful stranger and beg him to give him a chance. Just one night. Just one night of worshiping.
His friends would laugh at him if they knew how desperate he is.
Hiding in the bathroom is always embarrassing but it’s a small safe haven in the middle of chaos. Music still beats through the walls, and some of the people passing by are still happily drunk, searching for the right steps to match the beat.
No one really cares about Hongjoong who’s leaning against the sink. If someone looks at him, they probably think he’s just drunk like everyone else. As long as he’s not throwing up, it’s fine. The sink is cool and wet against his sweaty palms. Disgusting, when he thinks about it, so he doesn’t think about it. He wishes he could stop thinking about that eager smile and soft, kissable lips as easily.
He cannot.
The memory mocks him.
The itching under his skin doesn’t stop.
He wishes that instead of words, he would have had a timer. He would have spent years and years watching it slowly getting closer and closer to the zero. He would have gone out with his friends knowing that this is it. This is the day when he meets the one. He would have stood in the same place, watching that stunning man dancing and enjoying his life until their eyes meet right in that same moment as his clock hits the zero.
Of course, the life is not that easy.
How utterly disappointing.
Arms wrap around his shoulders from the behind, and Hongjoong, as drunk and grumpy as he is, freezes like he has been touched by the snow queen herself although the body behind him is much warmer, almost burningly hot.
“Maybe you should have taken a picture. It would last longer.” Lips brushes his ear. Words are slightly slurred by the alcohol but less than Hongjoong would have expected, knowing how many different colored drinks he has seen in Mister Bubblegum’s perfect hands. They’re whispered into his ear with laughter traveling with them, clear amusement coloring them like lights have been coloring the man’s hair and skin.
Under the unflatteringly bright bathroom lights, Hongjoong can see that his arms are exactly as perfectly soft and tanned as he has been imagining. His fingers carry multiple silvery rings around them and his nails are decorated with matching nail polish that shimmers under the cool light.
The bathroom is not the right setting for the romance of the lifetime but it’s all Hongjoong has. Whatever he has done in his previous life, it must have been quite something if the universe is both punishing him by throwing the most unnaturally beautiful person right into his life in the most ugliest setting ever.
Those hands are wrapped around him and one of them has been placed right over Hongjoong’s collarbone where it rests like he knows what lingers under the dark clothes. Hongjoong knows his mark. He has studied it so many times that he knows exactly where it begins and where it ends. The hands is just big enough to cover it perfectly.
Like he knows those words.
Like he knows those are written on Hongjoong’s skin.
He can’t really know that but somehow his palm is covering those words so perfectly that if Hongjoong didn’t know better, he would call it possessive and owning like that hand is subtly saying that no one else but the owner of those words can’t ever see them again.
Hongjoong blinks. He blames the alcohol for the emotions that rushes through his head. From sheer panic to possessive desire, every possible feeling visit his heart and soul in just seconds. It might have exploded like a dynamite.
He swallows. Every slow breath pushes warm air to meet Hongjoong’s skin. The guy doesn’t back off even when Hongjoong is frozen like a deer in the headlights. He actually starts to hum along the song that makes the bathroom floor to tremble along it. When Hongjoong finally finds the courage to lift his eyes up from his hands and the stupid sink, the perfection on the legs is already chasing the lyrics with his lips although without making any sounds.
Big, round boba eyes are still amused when Hongjoong meets them but something bad, something uncertain and sensitive, regret maybe, is trying to sneak into them. Hongjoong almost panics again. No. No, no, no. Hongjoong can’t let the moment run away from him.
He opens his mouth but he feels like fish on the dry land. He gulps for the air before he whines, “I’d take hundreds of pictures if you’re in them.”
Those plushy lips Hongjoong cannot stop thinking about are slightly parted. Between them, the air flows in as the man breathes sharply in. His hair is just as pink as Hongjoong thought it was. Now it’s stuck against his forehead. He’s so sweaty that it should be disgusting but Hongjoong has never seen anything prettier. Even a drop of sweat that’s slowly sliding down his nose looks somehow aesthetically pleasing, and if Hongjoong had his camera with him, he would trap it in the picture.
Hongjoong has never been so freakishly in love with someone he doesn’t even know.
He could see so many ways how the story could continue. He could wrap those pretty hands with pretty fingers inside his palms and hold so tightly that the guy cannot do anything else but either follow Hongjoong or just take Hongjoong with him. Hongjoong wouldn’t care. He would accept everything. He would worship a sight like that anywhere, in the bedroom, in the bathroom, on the couch when the forgotten movie runs on the background, with or without clothes, in any position. On his knees, too, although maybe not in the dirty bathroom of some random club. Otherwise, he would make it work. He would keep going until his soul would be so completely intertwined with his other half that no one would open that knot. Fuck or get fucked, who cares if there’s a living angel in his bed.
He doesn’t know what he has done or what kind of good deeds has earned him a heaven, but the combination of sweat and pricey cologne is like a heaven on earth.
Slowly, Hongjoong blinks. He smiles. Then his smile falters. The angel frowns. He has been smiling. Hongjoong just realizes that, but his smile is gone and pout has moved on his lips, making them look even more sumptuous than before.
Hongjoong wants nothing but bite down and taste if the angel tastes like every sweet drink he has drank during the night.
But Hongjoong must be sure. He might be an idiot and drunk but his memory is still longer than maximum 15 minutes. He still remembers wandering hands, grinding moves, lips that searched for something.
“I’m not a cheater,” Hongjoong whispers. His voice sounds so weak and pathetic that he can see the universe facepalming to his pitifulness. He’s not that cool guy that has his name on multiple tracks, who sits at the same table with hot, new k-pop stars. He’s just a jumpy little squirrel who doesn’t want to get eaten.
The guy looks so confused, almost hurt. Hongjoong misses his warmth when he steps away from him. ‘Don’t go,’ Hongjoong almost whispers to him. Hongjoong doesn’t want him to go. He wants to wrap his whole body around the walking sex on the legs and cover every inch of his skin, so no one else can look at the beauty that belongs to him.
Possessive? Yes. Too possessive? Probably.
“Huh?” The stranger’s voice is so deep and soft, but there’s a hint of something painful in it, too. Hongjoong hates it. What kind of a man he is if he disappoints his soulmate even before they have a chance to become the power couple of the year? What a failure.
Finally, Hongjoong turns around. The man is stupidly gorgeous. All long legs, tiny waist and perfectly sculptured shoulders that deserve to become an art piece. Hongjoong would happily cover his whole house with pictures of that stunning creature that has somehow blessed Hongjoong with his existence.
“Your boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend?”
“Boyfriends?”
“Boyfriends?”
“The gu—”
Bubblegum lifts his hands hand hides his face into them. Then his shoulders are shaking, and at first, Hongjoong is not sure if he’s crying or laughing. Luckily, it’s the latter and there’s nothing malicious in his laughter. His shoulders relax and he shakes his head like he can’t believe the words that have escaped from Hongjoong’s lips but at least his smile is back and that’s all that matter. “Sannie isn’t my boyfriend. Nor Wooyoung. They’re happily together. I’m just third wheeling them because they pity me.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment turns his cheek warm. It travels across his face until it reaches the tips of his ears, coloring his pale skin on its way.
“Yeah. Oh.” The angel sneaks a peek between his fingers. They’re much longer than Hongjoong’s and they would fully hide Hongjoong’s hands if they intertwined their fingers, and Hongjoong has never wanted to be consumed by someone so badly.
It’s a bit embarrassing, though. He rubs the back of his neck with his shaky hand and avoidantly, turns his eyes away as if it would safe him from losing his face. “And I was thinking about how I would become a bad person because I wanted to steal his boyfriend. Their boyfriend.”
“But you don’t have to steal anyone.” He’s already teasing Hongjoong and using his words against him. Hongjoong knows it’s coming even before the words hit him. He steps closer. Hongjoong can almost forget that they’re in the public space and people are passing by left and right. “Because you’re my sweet little mystery man who promised to take hundreds pictures of me.”
Hands are placed on the sink, both sides of Hongjoong which traps the smaller man against the sink. The wet counter presses against his back but it’s like he doesn’t even notice it when all his head can think about is the warmth that’s emitting from the other body. His so close. So, so close. The nose touches Hongjoong’s jaw and makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Hongjoong swallows. His mouth feels dry as desert again.
“Say it again,” he whispers against Hongjoong skin. His voice sounds giddy, drunk but not just because of the alcohol. He’s smiling. In his mind, Hongjoong can see his mouth curving into perfect, pleased little smile that would make Hongjoong fold instantly. He’s a weak man but who could blame him. Pink strands, stiff with hairspray, tickles his cheek and he wouldn’t have to do anything else but turn his head a little bit if he wanted to bury his face into the hair.
What a simp Hongjoong is because he just wants to see and hear that smile all the time.
“I’d take hundreds of pictures if you’re in them?” Hongjoong just wants to see those words. Where would they be? In the same place as Hongjoong’s own mark? Or somewhere more private, more hidden? How many people has seen them? His cotton candy angel giggles. His head falls and his forehead rests against Hongjoong’s shoulder. He moves his hand to rest on Hongjoong’s hip where a leather belt holds his jeans and a half of a skirt in place.
“Will they be pretty pictures?”
“Prettiest.” It’s such an easy promise to make because Hongjoong can’t image the world where someone so pretty would look bad in the pictures. Hongjoong finally lift his a bit shaky hand to coax his siren-like beauty to lift his face. He’s even more stunning up close.
Hongjoong wants to kiss him. But he also wants to savor it, every second of it. He wants to make it last for minutes, hours, days, until he gets tired of it. As if he ever would. As if anyone could get tired of kissing such a soft looking lips. He knows he’s staring at them. He knows what he’s thinking about is written on his face because the tongue sneaks past those lips, licking the lower one, maybe tasting the lip gloss Hongjoong hasn’t stop thinking about for hours.
It would be criminal to taste them in the bathroom where lights aren’t working with them but against them and beating music cannot hide all the disgusting background noises.
He slides his hand lower and lower, along the tall neck and tanned shoulder, following his biceps. The muscles twitches under his fingertips. He grabs the other’s hand in his and pull the taller man along with him where the lights are still as pink and blue as before and music promises that the night won’t be ending any time soon.
That lip gloss tastes like strawberries.
Kissing boys without knowing their names has never been Hongjoong’s style but love makes people do weird things and after all, Hongjoong is just human.
It takes him hours to realize that he can’t keep calling his bubblegum angel his bubblegum angel inside his head. Luckily, Seonghwa—of course his name is basically written into stars when he shines like one under club lights—just laughs.
And kisses Hongjoong.