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Hong Lu wasn’t exactly capable of love in the… “usual sense”. He could randomly disappear from your life completely for a week, just to return with that signature, naive smile. Yi Sang was pitifully aware of this bad habit of his, but stayed nevertheless. Hong Lu was weird, difficult to be with, but he truly did love Yi Sang in his own unique way.
“How distasteful… another night alone it seems,” Yi Sang muttered under his breath, holding onto his blanket burrito just a bit tighter. But the next second, there was suddenly a knock on the door. Hong Lu. They haven’t seen each other in days and now he was standing at Yi Sang’s doorstep without any notice in advance that he was visiting.
“Yi Sang~” Hong Lu cooed, “may I come in?”
Before Yi Sang could even mutter a word, he walked in without second thought. He stared blankly at Hong Lu from his couch. He looked… the same as ever. Serene expression, hair neatly tied up, and smile never faltering. Yi Sang however? He’s had… much better days.
“... utmost greetings, Hong Lu,” Yi Sang mumbled, exhaustion clear in his voice. “How are you doing?” Yi Sang looked dead. Eye bags darkened, skin pale, and eyes bloodshot as he was sitting limply against his couch. It seemed that a certain someone had a little illness. Perhaps a fever? Or a cold. Something that Yi Sang didn’t want to give to Hong Lu.
“Mm… where have you been for the past few days? I haven’t seen you at any of the professor’s lectures,” Hong Lu chided playfully, “and you’re the one always pestering me to attend them.”
“I don’t know if you want to stay here,” Yi Sang sighed out, “I’ve caught an undesirable sickness for the past while. Alas, I still find joy in seeing you.”
Yi Sang tried his best to give Hong Lu a reassuring smile, resulting in an embarrassing coughing fit. He realized Hong Lu probably hasn’t seen him like this before. So… weak and tired. Hell, he couldn’t even get the energy to rest in his bed, resulting in him staying on his couch, living off of Doordash and fast food.
Hong Lu paused in his steps, staring at Yi Sang for a few seconds before slowly closing the door behind him. His smile still remained, looking… empty as ever. He didn’t respond at first, merely taking a step closer to give Yi Sang a curious stare.
“Fuhu… you look terrible~,” he finally announced without a hint of tact or attempt to soften the blow. “Have you been resting at all?” His gaze lingered on Yi Sang’s tired eyes and face. Hong Lu’s presence wasn’t known to be the most comforting, and this was a prime example of that claim.
“I have not been able to attain a sustainable amount of rest as of late, however–” Yi Sang was abruptly interrupted when Hong Lu covered his mouth, free hand pressing against his wrist–checking his pulse like it was a matter of academic curiosity rather than concern. However there was an edge to it all that suggested someone would be getting force-fed warm soup whether they wanted it or not.
“You look as if you want to lecture me,” Yi Sang muttered as Hong Lu’s hand left his mouth. Then, without asking for permission, Hong Lu tossed one of his throw pillows off the couch to occupy the space himself. Close enough that their shoulders brushed against each other. Well, where Yi Sang’s shoulder would be if he wasn’t wrapped under that sad blanket cocoon.
“Lecture you? Please,” Hong Lu said with a scoff, “You’d need to have a functioning brain for that to work.” He tilted his head slightly toward Yi Sang without looking away from his now-open phone. “... I’m merely observing how quickly your body has succumbed to sheer neglect.”
Hong Lu was confusing to Yi Sang, to say the least. Acting like he was some alien biohazard yet so uncharacteristically close. He even rested his head against Yi Sang’s shoulder while scrolling mindlessly on his phone with a soft hum. Maybe being sick wasn’t as bad as he originally believed it to be.
“Your pulse is elevated by the way,” Hong Lu added casually, as if reporting weather conditions rather than actual medical symptoms worth nothing (or worrying) about. His fingers absently drummed against Yi Sang’s arm through the blanket before stopping abruptly when he realized what he was doing and pretended it never happened by shifting further into Yi Sang’s space instead.
“Ah… it is? It’s most likely due to the fact I am ill. Or perhaps other reasons.” Was Yi Sang flustered? He didn’t expect himself to enjoy this basic form of physical contact so much. He’s never really thought of it as a… thing between him and Hong Lu. He was a distant person, and Hong Lu respected it, never crossing boundaries. So the fact that he was suddenly initiating contact was… surprising, but not unwanted.
Hong Lu tensed for a split second as if he’d been caught doing something unacceptable before his grip on Yi Sang’s blanket suddenly tightened. “Other reasons?” he repeated flatly, voice dropping into a voice eerily calmer than normal. The voice that usually preceded an impassioned rant about existentialism or why people shouldn’t eat with their mouths open.
“Are you implying that some… hormonal reaction is occurring within you right now?”
Yi Sang gulped. “... no you weirdo. I’m sick and weak, not turned on.” He murmured this quietly in protest. Sure… his academic intelligence might be unrivaled. But emotional intelligence? It’s hard to not beat that. Yi Sang sometimes wondered how he could be so dense. Though Hong Lu found it endearing in his own way.
Hong Lu gave Yi Sang an unamused look, noticing his face turn redder before changing the conversation: “You should drink water.”
“Mm… yeah,” Yi Sang hummed in response, nodding slowly in agreement yet staying in place. He felt… somewhat dazed. Distracted. This contact with Hong Lu was what normal couples often did. But still. It felt otherworldly. Uncalled for. Hong Lu couldn’t help but feel proud that Yi Sang didn’t shove him away in protest.
“I probably should hydrate myself,” Yi Sang randomly found himself blurting out, “but I… find myself wanting to stay like this. Just for a tad bit longer.” What happened to thinking before speaking? He didn’t even let himself debate whether or not he wanted to say it in the first place.
“... you are feverish, Yi Sang,” Hong Lu said softly, pressing two fingers against Yi Sang’s forehead like a particularly irritated thermometer before recoiling slightly at the heat radiating off of him. “And delusional.”
“I’m not delusional. Just… not used to this close proximity. I don’t dislike it as much as I anticipated.” The silence afterwards was more suffocating than it usually was. Whenever they’d hang out or go on dates (always in one of their apartments), they were always at the opposite sides of the couch and table. The table that Yi Sang suddenly found oddly interesting, refusing to make eye contact with Hong Lu.
Hong Lu blinked, processing this information with all the grace of a malfunctioning computer. His fingers twitched against the blanket as he realized: Yi Sang was… embarrassed. Sick, flustered, and embarrassed. He’s never thought of their relationship as a physical one. They merely found solace in each other, mentally and through words.
“... proximity,” Hong Lu repeated slowly, putting away his phone. “You are implying that casual bodily contact is an anomaly in our relationship.” He said it like it was a profound philosophical contradiction rather than just… two people sitting too close on a couch.
A long pause stretched between them before Hong Lu exhaled sharply through his nose, suddenly shifting fully towards Yi Sang while staring at him pointedly. “You realize,” he began dryly, “that I could simply leave right now? That would solve your proximity problem quite efficiently.” However, he didn’t move an inch. If anything, his grip on the blanket tightened further like some hypocritical idiot.
“Mm… you don’t get it. We’ve been dating for over a year and this is the closest we’ve been physically.” (Don’t you understand what this is doing to me?)
Yi Sang let out an exasperated sigh, partially out of frustration, partially out of… something else he couldn't quite place his finger on. Hong Lu just didn’t seem to get it, which… made sense, knowing who he was. Yi Sang felt his thoughts spiraling through his mind in confusion. A long silence stretched as he stared blankly at the coffee table for a second longer than necessary before speaking again:
“I understand that we both know that… I’m rather averse to the idea of affection, and you are too. Proximity and stuff like that.” Yi Sang could feel Hong Lu’s grip tighten against his blanket. “But despite that, I would enjoy it if you… stayed. We’ve been together for a while, and this situation was going to be inevitable whether we like it or not.”
Both of them were… different from most other people, who could casually touch and be touched. Who could hold hands without thinking about the pressure of a palm against theirs. Who could lean against a shoulder, rest a chin on a partner’s head, and think it was easy. But then Yi Sang had to get sick, and for some reason neither of them wanted Hong Lu to leave. He stayed. Stayed next to the man pitifully wrapped in a miserable blanket.
“You’re right that it has been inevitable.” Hong Lu could hear Yi Sang’s heartbeat.
“... yeah, it has been.” He gave Hong Lu a blank expression, silently regretting every word he had previously muttered out. Sure they’ve argued before, but never about this. It was always about philosophers and scientific theories, not about… them. Their relationship.
Yi Sang was too preoccupied with his own misery to notice the change in Hong Lu’s demeanor at first. He felt too warm under the blanket, throat too sore and headache too severe. And Hong Lu was just… sitting there, too close, babbling about how pointless physical attraction was, yet approaching closer and closer. And then Hong Lu suddenly leaned in, so close that Yi Sang could feel his breath against his skin. That he could see the pink discoloration on his cheeks, barely there but just noticeable enough.
Time seemed to slow down. Yi Sang’s mind was too hazy to form a clear thought, but his heart beat faster nonetheless.
“You’re an idiot,” Hong Lu mumbled, “an absolute idiot.” And before he could consciously think, he grabbed onto the back of Yi Sang’s head and pulled him closer until their foreheads touched. He could see everything up close– the shadows under Yi Sang’s eyes, the growing pink flush of ever and something else against his skin. Hong Lu didn’t pull back. He just… stayed there, grip tightening to the point that their chests were flushed together, blanket drooped sadly onto the floor as the sounds of labored breathing mingled. It was as if it was like a study in contrasts: sick and healthy, hot and cold, heart and brain.
It was a moment of madness, of insanity. To think it was logical to stay this close, this intimate with someone who supposedly also hated intimacy in the first place. The kind of closeness a year of dating hasn’t achieved until now, it seemed. Yi Sang was too sick to resist, eyes glassy as Hong Lu pulled him into his lap. Yi Sang’s thoughts were slow and blurry, only half-formed fragments of thought breaking through the haze of fever-induced exhaustion–one emotion cutting through above all else: need.
“... my blanket.” He was unable to function. Hong Lu merely huffed against Yi Sang’s neck as he shifted again, trying to not shiver at the feverish heat of the sick male’s skin. Yi Sang felt as if every nerve in his body was alight and screaming and utterly overwhelmed. Each inhale felt ragged, and each time Hong Lu’s hand shifted against his waist, whenever his grip tightened almost unconsciously… the sensation was too much and not enough at the same time.
Hong Lu’s hand slid up under Yi Sang’s shirt, seeking out the damp skin of his waist and letting his fingers rest against the sharp angle of his hip bone. The proximity was dangerous. Too much skin-to-skin, too much warmth, so much that they both tried so hard to avoid–and yet they didn’t move. They couldn’t. Their relationship was built on words. Philosophy, history, literature… anything that could be debated and discussed about. It was never about physical touches and caresses and intimacy–they were both supposed to despise all of those ideas. They were meant for ideas and thoughts alone.
Yet here they were, Hong Lu with a lapful of feverish Yi Sang, hands still exploring the flushed skin against his spine. Why? Why were they doing this? They both knew they hated touch. It was irrational, illogical, and utterly addictive.
“You’re so… stupid.” Yi Sang barely managed to mutter this out, wrapping his arms around Hong Lu almost subconsciously. This was so… foreign. The first time they merely hugged was when he asked Hong Lu out for the first time. A moment that’s been permanently engraved into both of their minds. “So, so stupid…” he repeated, breath hot against Hong Lu’s neck. “I’m going to get you sick.” Though none of them seemed to care.
“Then I’ll die, and you’ll have no one left to correct your absurdly inaccurate interpretations of Heraclitus.”
They just… stayed like this. Hong Lu exploring Yi Sang’s back, whose arms were tightening around Hong Lu’s waist. He’d accepted his fate for a long time, that something like this wouldn’t be happening with him. But… look where they are now. Holding onto each other like it was a life or death situation. Instead of their time filling up with mindless debacles over quotes, inferences, and myths, the room was full of each other. Their actions, though meager and silent, screamed louder than any conversation ever could.
“Haha… you’re still on about Heraclitus? That was a conversation from last month.”
The air between them grew heavier than any philosophical debate ever had; all feverish breaths and unspoken questions lingering in the silence. But all logic had abandoned them long ago when they realized how deeply they could drink in this new form of engagement with each other. Yi Sang thought that they’d never be physically close, even sleeping in different beds if they ever got married. And now? Now he wanted to cry over a stupid hug, emotions going haywire from both Hong Lu and the fever.
“And besides, you won’t die… I’ll take care of you if you unfortunately get sick.”
“Yeah… you’ll take care of me. And also, yes, last month. You’re still wrong by the way. Heraclitus didn’t believe in continuity, he–” And then, with hesitation, Yi Sang turned his head to place a soft chaste kiss at the bottom of Hong Lu’s neck.
Hong Lu stiffed, a thousand thoughts scrambling and crashing in his head. In all the time they’ve been together… he couldn’t remember a single moment when either of them initiated any kind of contact. They’d always take a step back, never wanting to come any closer for the sake of their sanity. Not to mention the fact that they’ve never kissed before. He could feel each of Yi Sang’s breaths against his neck, and every movement of his chest against his.
“... you’re insufferable,” Hong Lu murmured, grip tightening despite his words. He was acutely aware of each place where Yi Sang’s fingers pressed into his ribcage, of his legs pinning him in place. His eyes closed as though trying to block out the sensory input, but it was useless. “Do it again.”
Letting out a soft hum of amusement, eyes half-lidded, Yi Sang leaned back in to place a series of kisses along Hong Lu’s neck, each one trailing higher and higher until they stopped at his jawline.
Yi Sang stared with an almost solemn expression. “You’re making the ill person do all of the work” he whispered under his breath, pulling back to see all of Hong Lu’s face. He was… gorgeous.
“Hey, may I…” Yi Sang trailed off, face turning even redder at what he was about to say. “... I find myself wanting you in many ways. And right now, I want you to… kiss me. Please.” Hong Lu felt his heart begin to race, beating like a drum as the fingers of one of his hands curled into Yi Sang’s shirt.
Hong Lu was going to say something. But when he noticed Yi Sang’s lips part under his touch with the slightest hint of a smile, something just… snapped. One second he had been sitting calmly (not really), the next, he had Yi Sang pinned fully against the armrest, looming over him as he finally pressed their lips together in a kiss that was full of desperation. Hong Lu’s breath hitched as Yi Sang dragged him down further, hands flying to either side of his head, bracing himself like he was one wrong move away from collapsing entirely.
Yi Sang’s hidden false hopes (that he wasn’t even aware of until now) were quickly becoming reality. Hong Lu was in his embrace, lips joined together in a dance. As a first kiss, it was clumsy, hungry, and messy as hell. A kiss that left them both breathless, barely able to think, much less consider what this could mean for their relationship. He clawed at the back of Hong Lu’s shirt, fingers desperately twisting into the fabric and pulling even closer.
“You–” Hong Lu’s voice cracked mid-sentence between kisses. “You can’t be this reckless with your immune system, my Yi Sang.” But even as he said it, his fingers were already tangling in the sweat-damp hair, the kiss suddenly deepening–all feverish heat and bitten-off sounds that neither would acknowledge later.
When they finally broke apart for air, as necessity was a rather cruel tyrant, Hong Lu glared down at Yi Sang with blank eyes. “... we are discussing Pliny tomorrow.” Even as they separated, Yi Sang held onto him like a life source.
“And then we’ll host a discussion on Aristotle when we can’t handle our different opinions?” Yi Sang asked this quietly, voice cracking and eyes teary. He felt so stupidly relieved. Sick, hot, and relieved. After a year of silent distance, they were finally becoming something more than two people who mutually liked each other. Something more than just the title of “boyfriends” (yikes).
“Aristotle?” Hong Lu sounded genuinely offended, like Yi Sang had just suggested they praise their deadbeat professor next. Vergilius was a bum, and Hong Lu would die on this hill. Anyways, his grip on the couch tightened, knuckles whitening as he stared down at Yi Sang with a mix of exasperation and endearment. “You are delirious. However…” his voice suddenly softened, “... I suppose we could argue about his concept of entelechy if you want.” Hong Lu brushed his thumb over Yi Sang’s bottom lip before abruptly pulling away, yanking him up by the collar when he made a sudden noise of protest.
“... we’re getting you soup,” Hong Lu said flatly, as if they didn’t just share their first makeout session. “And then we’ll discuss Pliny… and maybe I’ll kiss you again.” Was their arguments and philosophical discussions just flirting all along? Well… it seemed so. At least now it definitely was.
“I don't want soup,” Yi Sang mumbled with a sigh, face beet red. “I like your last offer. I want you to kiss me again.”
“But I probably kiss like some incompetent fool who never researched Plotinus’ view on love.” Hong Lu gave Yi Sang a frown, but the way he pulled him even closer to him said enough. They were in a rather compromising position, yet their terrible habits of playful banter and wit would never disappear.
“I don’t care. I… might’ve skimmed it over. Very briefly.” Yi Sang almost sounded ashamed. He knew Hong Lu wanted him to research Plotinus, but well… he just never got into it.
“You– you skimmed it over,” Hong Lu repeated, voice dripping with a mixture of horror and disbelief. “Do you have any idea how many hours I spent annotating that text for your benefit? The footnotes alone are more thorough than our entire college cirriculum!” His hands flew up to grip Yi Sang’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze.
“You basically annotated every word, Hong Lu.” Yi Sang muttered this distastefully, wincing when he remembered what each page looked like, decorated with Hong Lu’s handwriting. “It was basically overstimulation incranate– a breeding ground for ideas that get jumbled up and thrown in the trash.”
They both kind of forgot Yi Sang was crippled and sick, somehow becoming too distracted on the topic of skimming over books. It was like any other normal conversation they’d share: arguing about each other’s incompetence while holding back smiles and grins. However, there was a slight difference now. They were both tangled against each other like any other cute lovey-dovey couple. It was… nice. The lingering touches and kisses, the subtle affection with stupid banter.
Though Hong Lu had his priorities. “You fool… you call it overstimulation, I call it meticulous attention to detail.” His fingers dug into the nape of Yi Sang’s neck, resisting the urge to shower him with hickeys and love bites. “And if you took the time to properly comprehend the nuances of language, perhaps your interpretations wouldn’t resemble the incoherent ramblings of a sleep-deprived college student.”
“Maybe because we are college students you douchebag. Besides,” Yi Sang hissed, a hint of amusement sparkling in his eyes, “perhaps, just perhaps, you need a crash course in summarizing key concepts. There’s a reason other notes exist for the less cognitively blessed… such as myself.”
But before Hong Lu could respond (and no doubt refute with the verbal equivalent of a suck punch), he leaned forward to press a kiss against his cheek. A quiet yet deadly distraction. “Don’t give me a headache, you pedantic idiot,” Yi Sang murmured with a light smile.
Hong Lu went utterly still, like a statue carved from sheer disbelief. His eyes widened, lips parting soundlessly for several agonizing seconds before he finally managed:
“This conversation is over.”
“... good, I’d much rather converse about Descartes.” (And how his depiction of love applied to them.)
“Descartes?” Hong Lu’s voice cracked halfway through the name, like he was physically wounded by the suggestion. “You– you loathe Descartes! You called him a ‘monotonous pedant who thought he could rationalize love into submission’. You even compared his Meditations to bad fanfiction.”
“I might… dislike him, yes. That fact is true, but…” Yi Sang hesitated on his words, fingers twitching slightly. He wasn’t used to anything going on right now. The close contact. Hong Lu flush against his chest, their usual arguments now laced with something more. It was all too much for the poor, sick mind.
“... Descartes defined love as a passion inciting the soul to unite with things it finds good or suitable.” He wrapped his arms around Hong Lu’s neck. “To form a conceptual whole with the beloved.” Yi Sang didn’t exactly know where he was going with this himself, but here they were. “Love is expressed through a blend of feeling, imagination, and willing action. ANd I think we’re a pleasant example of that.”
“Imagination,” Hong Lu repeated hoarsely, voice frayed at the edges like worn parchment. “You think this is an example of your foolish Cartesian fantasy? Well… prove it.” He was already proving it himself by staying, but that factor went undiscussed.
“You want me to… prove it?” Yi Sang almost sounded confused. Almost. “So I am allowed to just…”
And before Yi Sang even finished his sentence, he closed the distance between him and Hong Lu, pulling him into a long, soft kiss. A kiss that might’ve ended up with Hong Lu carrying Yi Sang into bed and well. To put it nicely, cuddled up under the covers fully naked.
“I thought we were hosting a friendly discussion,” Yi Sang mumbled against Hong Lu’s bare chest. “Not… hosting an event where you brutally fuck me on my bed.”
“...that’s your response? After I basically screwed that sickness out of you?”
“Silence.” And the night ended with a soft kiss.