Work Text:
Hongjoong was staring at a blank page in his notebook, pencil jittering rhythmically between his fingers. It was part of his process. He was feeling around the edges of a design, waiting for the image to become clearer in his mind before he let graphite hit the page. But unlike most of the tattoos he came up with for clients, this one was stubborn. It had been eluding him for years now, always hovering just beyond his grasp.
He clenched his hand around the pencil, trying to follow the currents of his imagination even as frustration threatened to drag him down into the insecurities that lurked in the darker layers of his mind. He was almost relieved when he heard the scuff of boots in the hall outside his office. One of the kids was there to bother him about something, and he was going to pretend to be pissed off rather than grateful for the interruption.
San’s head carefully poked around the edge of the door. One of the shop rules was that Hongjoong’s door was always open except when it literally wasn’t, in which case you left him the fuck alone unless something was on fire again. And even then, you were probably better off finding Seonghwa. Today, ostensibly his day off, Hongjoong had left his door slightly ajar, and San was clearly trying to gauge what that meant in terms of his mood.
WIth a huff of annoyance, mostly at himself for being unable to ever get anything done on this design, Hongjoong motioned for San to come in.
“What now?”
San rubbed his neck, cupping the tattooed curve of Wooyoung’s signature where it arched across his throat, like he did whenever he was nervous. Fuck, was the toilet broken again? Mingi needed to stop using an entire roll every time he took a shit.
“Oh, hey, Hongjoong. Wooyoung is looking for you.”
Well, that was even worse than the toilet. Wooyoung was their most recent hire, but he’d probably given Hongjoong’s soul more gray hairs than the rest of the Destiny Ink crew combined. “Why the hell would he be looking for me?”
“Not sure, boss, but he’s in the breakroom.” As a piercer, San was technically Seonghwa’s employee, but Hongjoong owned the shop, so all the kids called him boss regardless. Especially when they’d fucked up. Hongjoong grimaced and slapped his notebook down on the desk. At least whatever the fuck was going on hadn’t happened on a day when he had clients. He’d come downstairs to his office/studio, planning to sketch or paint until his meeting later that afternoon, but apparently dealing with Wooyoung’s bullshit was how he spent his leisure hours now.
“He better not be fucking with my rice cooker again.” Hongjoong had had that rice cooker for over ten years, but it wasn’t going to last another ten weeks if Wooyoung kept doing all those stupid tiktok recipe challenges. The rice was still coming out tasting like marshmallows after the last debacle.
San just shrugged his shoulders and looked guilty before booking it back to the safety of the shop floor. Hongjoong never yelled at them out there.
Goddammit, Wooyoung.
The breakroom wasn’t especially far from Hongjoong’s office—just on the other end of a long stretch of polished concrete hallway—but they were separated by the storeroom and the customer restroom so that Hongjoong didn’t have to hear antics through the wall when he was trying to get some work done. Not that there should be antics during business hours, but he’d kind of given up on trying to enforce that rule if he wasn’t in the room to remind the kids how to behave.
Hongjoong did a quick scan as he stomped past the open archway that led to the shop floor, instincts that had been honed over several years of mayhem helping him mark the location of each member of his crew without slowing his steps. San was with Yeosang, who was showing a customer something in the jewelry display case. Yeosang had started as one of Seonghwa’s piercers just like San, but he was weirdly good at keeping their schedules organized and the storage room stocked, so now he mostly manned the reg desk, updated their website, and stared off into the soul of the universe when he wasn’t helping customers.
Yunho and Mingi were inking back-to-back at their stations, while Hongjoong’s apprentice Jongho was cleaning up in one of the private booths. Back when Hongjoong had been working out the plans for the shop, he’d explained to Yunho and Seonghwa that he wanted everyone to be out on the floor together, so the shop would look lively and customers could see them work their magic (and Hongjoong could keep an eye on things, but he’d left that part unsaid). Seonghwa had hmmed thoughtfully and Hongjoong had ruined some meat on the grill trying to keep himself from getting another boner in public. Then Seonghwa had suggested in his deep, soothing voice that they should have private areas for the customers who weren’t into stripping down in public, or who might appreciate some quiet. Hongjoong had pulled out his phone and sent the architect a note right then. Seonghwa had been right, of course. He always was.
He was also, along with Wooyoung, the only person left unaccounted for, which actually bode well for the safety of Hongjoong’s rice cooker. No one could really control Wooyoung when he got going, but Seonghwa at least had some success in tempering him. He wouldn’t let Wooyoung blow anything up. Probably.
Hongjoong put a little extra hustle in his step, just in case Seonghwa needed backup.
Wooyoung’s distinctive laugh drifted out into the hall as Hongjoong neared the breakroom door, which legit made Hongjoong’s muscles tense in a Pavlovian fear response. Hongjoong couldn’t deny that things in the shop had been brighter since Wooyoung joined, and the little shit was pretty endearing when he wasn’t getting on Hongjoong’s last nerve. But Wooyoung was also a world-class troublemaker, and even if the rice cooker was safe, Hongjoong didn’t trust the manic glee in those giggles.
“Seonghwa, fuck-marry-kill.”
See? Why would Wooyoung even ask that? Now Hongjoong had to lurk in the hallway like a creeper to find out what Seonghwa’s choices were.
“I don’t like that game, Wooyoung.” Seonghwa’s smooth tones washed over Hongjoong as he tucked himself into the corner by the door frame, ready to pretend he was inspecting the structural integrity of the wall if anyone saw him.
“Ugh, fine. Fuck-marry-unsubscribe. Now will you play?”
“Sigh… Yeah, okay. Who are we rating?”
“Hongjoong.” Hongjoong choked on his own spit.
“And who else?”
“Just Hongjoong. Come on, fuck-marry-unsubscribe.” Hongjoong thought he might fully asphyxiate on his spit at this rate. Thank god the wall was doing its part to hold his ass up, because he legs sure as fuck weren’t.
“Wooyoung…”
“What?! I told you when Sannie and I first hooked up.”
“You didn't have to tell anyone, Woo. You had hickeys all over your neck and you wore a tank top. In November.”
“See? I shared a deep, meaningful moment with you, so now you should tell me whether or not you want to fuck Hongjoong.” Hongjoong forgot how lungs worked, not actually sure he wanted to hear the answer but also desperate not to miss it.
“Marry.”
…whaaaAAAAaaat?! Hongjoong wasn’t sure if the screech echoing through his skull was Wooyoung being dramatic or Hongjoong’s own soul going critical.
“That's still an option, right? I'd marry him. He's too good for just a fuck. I'd want him to stick around. Be there in the morning, you know?”
“Oh yeah, totally. Morning sex is the best.”
“Not really what I meant, but sure.”
The wall and his legs betrayed Hongjoong in a coordinated attack, and he landed on his ass with an anguished wheeze of horny confusion. He’d hoped. He’d maybe even dared to suspect, on his most confident days when he was really feeling himself and his hair looked good. But it had never been something he’d been willing to risk pursuing, absolutely terrified that he’d fuck it all up and lose his best friend, the only person who’d ever really got him.
So to hear Seonghwa actually say with his own mouth, outloud and undisputably, that he wanted to wake up to Hongjoong—wanted to fuck him and also wanted him to stick around? How was Hongjoong supposed to deal with that on a Wednesday afternoon? He was only running on one coffee! He was not equipped to deal with thoughts of Seonghwa all warm and naked in his bed right now. He was barely equipped to breathe, for fuck’s sake!
Even through the haze of panicked arousal, Hongjoong heard the clack of Seonghwa’s heels coming toward the door. Hongjoong’s lizard brain took over, jettisoning him down the hall toward the safety of his office before he even managed to get fully on his feet.
But he wasn’t going to be fast enough. Seonghwa was going to walk out here with his low slung jeans and his hot face and find Hongjoong scuttling around like a cockroach and then he would unsubscribe the shit out of Hongjoong, but it wouldn’t even matter because Hongjoong would be dead of mortification all over the hallway.
Hongjoong yanked open the storeroom door and flung himself inside. Safe.
The storeroom was quiet and dark, lined with fully stocked and neatly stacked shelves thanks to Yeosang and Seonghwa. It wasn’t huge, but there was more than enough room for Hongjoong to catch his breath and get his shit together.
Except the door opened right behind him and Seonghwa’s warm presence and sweet perfume—usually so comforting but currently not helping Hongjoong keep his dick or his spiraling thoughts in check at all—filled the small room.
“Are you looking for your gloves again? They're right there on the shelf with the giant ‘Hongjoong’s Gloves’ sign on it. Although to be fair, it’s probably hard to see without the lights on. Maybe I need to add some reflective tape.”
From anyone else, those words would have made Hongjoong bristle with annoyance, but Seonghwa’s teasing was so full of warmth and affection that it felt more like a hug than a slight. Seonghwa was always so fond, and his openness embarrassed Hongjoong, making him feel vulnerable and exposed. Like his pathetic neediness was a traffic sign flashing above his head—loser at work. He craved the attention all the same, hungry for the care and consideration Seonghwa so readily handed out.
Seonghwa had been taking care of Hongjoong since the day they’d met all those years ago at that hellish expo he and Yunho had stupidly dropped everything to go to. Reminding him to eat, finding whatever shit he’d misplaced right in front of his face, and making him feel like their dream was actually possible whenever things got overwhelming. And things had been so overwhelming those first few years. Hongjoong would never have been brave enough to open Destiny Ink without Seonghwa by his side.
And despite all that, Hongjoong had never been able to express how much Seonghwa meant to him. Not in words and not in his preferred language of ink, even though Seonghwa had asked Hongjoong to design his first tattoo, back on that glorious day when they’d finally opened the doors of their shop. Seonghwa had kept his skin untouched all this time, waiting for Hongjoong’s needle while Hongjoong stared at a blank page in his sketchbook, overwhelmed at trying to put all his feelings into an image worthy of gracing Seonghwa’s body.
Hongjoong knew he was staring, but he couldn't get his mouth to work, even when Seonghwa stepped close, worry washing across his face. Seonghwa’s fingers fluttered like they did whenever he wanted to touch Hongjoong, waiting for Hongjoong to decide if contact would be allowed this time. “Hongjoong, are you okay? Are you nervous about—”
With a burst of clarity, like too much wasabi hitting his brain, Hongjoong grabbed for Seonghwa’s hand, twinning their fingers together, words spilling out of him in a desperate torrent.
“Seonghwa, you’re my north star, my guiding light. You bring brightness to all the darkest moments of my life. You’re like the moon, inspiring the tides of my soul. I want to be by your side like you’ve been by mine, every morning and every night, through every storm and every celebration. I want to ink a map of my devotion on your skin, so that everyone can see what you mean to me. So that you’ll always feel my touch, awake and asleep…”
Hongjoong’s words stuttered to a halt, not because he didn’t have anything else to say, but because the weight of his feelings had lodged in his throat, damming the frantic flow. It felt like he couldn’t tear his eyes from the pulse fluttering in the tender curve of Seonghwa’s neck, but he forced himself to keep looking up until he met Seonghwa’s gaze, saw Seonghwa’s mouth tremble, saw his eyes shimmering with tears.
And then Hongjoong made a run for it.
Two hours later, Hongjoong was staring at the front door of Destiny Ink from across the street, trying to muster the courage to go into his own damn shop as the aggressively knotted handles of two plastic takeout bags slowly cut off the circulation to his fingers. The milk teas were a peace offering for Seonghwa and a bribe for the kids. If he ever managed to go back inside.
After fleeing the scene of the crime in the storeroom, Hongjoong had staggered around in some kind of fugue state until the cute rabbit logo of Seonghwa’s favorite boba spot had snapped him out of it. Going out for a walk and grabbing some drinks for the crew seemed like a plausible excuse for his absence. And it was his day off, for fuck’s sake! He didn’t have to explain shit.
Once he’d ordered, Hongjoong had discovered that he’d forgotten his phone (still on the wireless charger in his office because he could never remember to plug it in at night, even though Seonghwa had made him a cute charging station next to his bed). Luckily, he kept a credit card in his wallet (“Like an old man!” -Wooyoung), so he was still able to buy the eight cups of cover story.
The walk back to the shop with the awkward weight of the bags banging against his legs had helped dissipate Hongjoong’s mental turmoil, so while he was still feeling far from normal, he thought he could probably hand Seonghwa his drink without expiring on the spot. Pursing his lips in determination, he hefted the bags and crossed the Rubicon, getting honked at by some asshole who’d never heard of pedestrians right-of-way.
The bell above the door tinkled to announce Hongjoong’s arrival, despite his efforts to squeeze through without setting it off. Yeosang, twirling on the tall chair behind the reg desk, slowly rotated to face Hongjoong. His distant stare sharpened and Hongjoong froze, feeling like a bug who’d just drawn the attention of a lizard.
“You have a lot of nerve showing up now, after what you did.”
Hongjoong tripped, the side of the reg desk the only thing that saved him from face planting. How did Yeosang know? Could he read minds?
Yeosang smiled, which did not make Hongjoong feel better about anything that was happening. “You totally bailed on that social media thing, and it was your big idea in the first place.”
Hongjoong nearly dropped the bags of drinks. Holy shit, he’d been so busy melting down that he’d completely blanked on the interview he’d set up with the Myth Factor team! Yeosang, who could move fast when he wanted to, snagged the drinks before Hongjoong made a mess of the floor as well as his life.
Placing the bags gently on the reg desk, Yeosang used the talons on his knuckle rings to efficiently eviscerate the plastic, carefully inspecting the contents while Hongjoong looked around frantically. But it was lunch hour at the shop, so other than him and Yeosang, the floor was deserted.
“What happened? Were they mad? Did you reschedule?”
Yeosang considered one of the cups, turning it to peer at the label as he resumed speaking in a contemplative tone, as if Hongjoong hadn’t said a thing. “Seonghwa told us you were sick and to leave you alone. He tried to do the interview for you—he had your talking points memorized and everything. But maybe something really is going around, because he was super flushed.”
Yeosang looked at him over the top of the milk tea, a worrisome smile coiling at the corner of his lips. “Yunho said he looked all fucked out and it that it might give the wrong impression.”
Hongjoong made an incredibly unattractive noise, very similar to the groan the sofa in the breakroom made whenever Mingi jumped on it.
“So Wooyoung and San did the interview instead, which will absolutely give the wrong impression.” Yoesang was grinning now, with teeth.
Hongjoong thunked his forehead on the glass top of the reg desk, regretting all his life choices and ignoring Yeosang’s muttered, “You’re cleaning your face juice off that, not me.”
Destiny Ink had been doing well enough lately, but Hongjoong knew they could be spectacular if he could just get them the attention his crew deserved. He’d been working his contacts hard, and persistence had finally paid off when a friend of friend had put him in touch with a local content creator who wanted to get tattoos for the whole team, each different but clearly all connected to their lore. Hongjoong loved the idea, and today was supposed to be the initial interview to see if they liked the vibe of the shop. If things clicked, Destiny Ink would have five new appointments on the books and a guaranteed feature on Myth Factor’s Instagram. It was an amazing opportunity and Hongjoong had completely fucked it up.
At least they all lived in the apartments above the shop, so they probably wouldn’t be homeless. But he’d been hoping a boost in business would mean enough money to finally renovate the upstairs so Seonghwa didn’t have to put up with Jongho on his couch and Mingi in his hall closet. And to soundproof Wooyoung and San’s apartment.
The sound of lids getting stabbed by straws in quick succession broke through Hongjoong’s funk. Yeosang was back on his spinny chair, a cup in each hand.
Hongjoong narrowed his eyes. “Those aren’t both yours.”
Yeosang narrowed his eyes right back, then opened his mouth and spit a long strand of ropey drool right on both straws. “Yes, they are.”
Hongjoong opened his mouth in disgusted affront, but before he could figure out how to even respond to that, Mingi burst onto the shop floor, skipping toward them as he shouted “You got us boooooobaaaaaaa!”
Mingi slammed up against the reg desk, and Hongjoong jumped aside just in time to avoid crush injuries. Mingi, singing his boba song, reached for the prettiest of the drinks and Hongjoong slapped his hand away. That was for Seonghwa. Mingi shrugged and grabbed the one next to it, not really caring what he got as long as he got something.
With a contented slurp, he turned his delighted grin on Hongjoong. “Are these, like, the wedding cake?”
“The what now?”
“I heard you and Seonghwa got married. I didn’t even know you were dating, boss. Congrats!”
“They got engaged!” Hongjoong flinched, eardrums ringing and mind flailing as Jongho bellowed from across the room.
“Don’t yell in the shop!” Mingi yelled back, then turned to Hongjoong like he was expecting to be praised. But Hongjoong was too busy freaking out to give another lecture on inside voices right now.
“What did Wooyoung tell you?” Hongjoong was absolutely certain that Wooyoung was the one who had started this shit, he just didn’t know if it was about Seonghwa’s fuck-marry-unsubscribe answer or if Wooyoung had somehow overheard Hongjoong’s deeply heartfelt and intensly embarrassing confession in the storeroom.
Jongho accepted his reasonably hot coffee from Yeosang and grinned, a very evil glint in his eyes that Hongjoong did not love to see. “Wooyoung said Seonghwa finally told you to shit or get off the pot, so now you’re getting married. Dibs on Seonghwa’s room when he moves in with you.”
Oh, what the fucking fuck. But at least this was just one of Wooyoung’s mean girl jokes. It could have been so much worse. “Wooyoung doesn’t get a milk tea. Traitors don’t deserve them. Yeosang can have his.” Hongjoong gestured grandly, as if Yeosang wasn’t already double-fisting beverages. Yeosang snorted but otherwise kept his mouth shut, and Hongjoong appreciated the consideration.
Yunho, strolling up with a decorum that illustrated exactly why he and no one else got to be an assistant manager, leaned against Mingi and took a sip of his milk tea. “Mingi and I can share. You know Wooyoung will shriek all day if he doesn’t get one.”
“Fine, but he’s on garbage duty for a month. And he’s not allowed to make San do it instead. I will walk his ass to the dumpster every night to make sure he’s doing it himself.”
Yunho snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, good luck with that. Hey, are you ready to go meet the guys from Myth Factor now? Woosan did a great job pitching the shop, but they probably still want to talk to the boss.”
“They’re still here? Yeosang, oh my god, why didn’t you lead with that?!” Yeosang just shrugged and started spinning again, and it wasn’t worth trying to get into it with him right now. So Hongjoong grabbed his iced coffee and Seonghwa’s milk tea and walked as fast as he could toward the back without breaking into an actual run. He didn’t have time to wipe out today.
In the breakroom, which normally served as a communal living room and kitchen for the crew, Wooyoung and San were at the table entertaining four people in Myth Factor t-shirts. Everyone seemed charmed by Wooyoung, which meant he was using his company manners and wouldn’t do anything too heinous where they could see him. It gave Hongjoong the reprieve he needed to focus on what was really important.
Seonghwa was sitting on the couch next to a woman with poison-green bangs and really cool, aggressive eye liner. They were chatting intently, Seonghwa showing her something on his phone that made her laugh.
As if he could feel the weight of Hongjoong’s stare, Seonghwa turned to look at him. The friendly smile on his face turned soft, and he held out his hand, silver nail polish flashing as his fingers curled in invitation. Hongjoong shuffled forward and pressed the drink into Seonghwa’s hand instead of offering his own fingers in return, but then curled his pinky over Seonghwa’s hesitantly.
Eyes crinkling, Seonghwa returned the pinky hug and accepted Hongjoong’s strawberry matcha brulee apology. “Oh, collector’s edition cup! Nice, I don’t have this one yet. Thank you, Hongjoong.”
The woman turned her sharp, curious eyes on him. “You’re Hongjoong? I’m Xochitl, the producer you spoke to before. Are you feeling better?”
“Wooyoung explained that you had an upset stomach,” Seonghwa quickly filled in so that Hongjoong only stood there like an idiot who had no idea what was going on in his own shop for half a second.
“You ran out of here so fast, I was worried you wouldn’t make it to the bathroom in time!” Wooyoung yelled at the top of his lungs. So much for company manners.
San flashed a panicked look at Hongjoong, then clapped his hand over Wooyoung’s mouth. Wooyoung immediately tried to bite him, but San had a lot of experience in evading his husband’s teeth, and just wrestled him into a headlock. The Myth Factor team laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.
Hongjoong took a deep breath, very pointedly not responding to the chaos behind him. “Yeah, that extra spicy ramyeon can be a killer. Doing much better now, thanks.”
“Good to hear! As I was just explaining to Seonghwa, we really love what you guys are doing here, and we want to expand the concept into a whole series on our youtube channel.”
Hongjoong blinked, and let Seonghwa tug him around the couch until he could squeeze himself in between the armrest and Seonghwa’s side. “A whole series?”
“Yeah! The visuals in your shop are peak. It’s so welcoming and everyone’s original art is stunning. And your employees are all really engaging—they’ll be great on camera, especially Woosan. We think our fans will really get a kick out of seeing the behind the scenes of our tattoo journey, so we want to do episodes on the consultation, the design process, the actual inking, all that. What do you think?”
Holy shit. Holy SHIT. With this kind of exposure, Hongjoong might even be able to get Seonghwa one of those fancy spa tubs he kept sharing in the group chat. “That sounds amazing!”
Seonghwa leaned back into him, chuckling, and Hongjoong tucked his chin into the familiar crook of his shoulder, feeling so happy he’d probably float away without the steady warmth of Seonghwa’s body to anchor him.
Xochitl, who had been very business-like in all her emails, was smiling at them with her cheek cupped in her hand, eyes little crescents of delight. “On a personal note, I’m really excited that we found a queer-owned studio to work with. What you guys have built together is so impressive, and I think it's really important to highlight stories of joy and success in our community, so that the younger generation can see that we deserve happy endings too.”
Hongjoong nodded, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and Seonghwa squeezed his knee comfortingly. Every sleepless night, every hungry day had all been worth it to get here. He was doing the thing he loved the most in the world, with the people he loved most in the world. They’d made Destiny Ink a home that no one could ever kick them out of.
He wrapped his arm around Seonghwa’s waist and hugged him tight. Seonghwa stilled, but Xochitl’s smile deepened. “The two of you are so sweet together. Would you consider letting us build a narrative around your relationship? Woosan have already agreed to have their whirlwind romance featured, and I think contrasting it with your settled, married vibe would be really compelling.”
Before Hongjoong had to decide if he was having a heart attack, Yunho came to save the day like the assistant manager he was. “Hey, sorry to cut this short. Wooyoung and San have to set up for their next appointments.”
After a round of farewell handshakes and a promise to meet up with Xochitl at a later date to discuss all the details, Yunho led the Myth Factor team out of the breakroom. San and Wooyoung followed, but not before Wooyoung turned around in the doorway specifically to smirk at Hongjoong. Two months of trash duty.
The thumping bass of one of Yeosang’s playlists started vibrating the springs in the couch as Seonghwa turned to fully face Hongjoong, pressing their knees together in a familiar reassurance. Hongjoong knew he needed to say something. Whatever had happened in the storeroom, the whole engagement thing (even though that was totally Wooyoung’s fault)—-it all needed to be addressed with a real conversation and not just a limited edition Sunee Bunee Brulee cup.
But what did you even say to your best friend when you found out that he wanted to wake up to you and then, indisputably proving that you’re an absolute weirdo, you told him he’s like the moon and ran away from home for two hours? How did you move on from that??
Seonghwa knocked their knees together to get Hongjoong’s attention, and he dragged his eyes up from his close inspection of the fraying seam on the couch cushion. Seonghwa was regarding him with the tender fondness that made Hongjoong feel too big for his skin. “Hey, what if we actually get married?”
And yes. That was exactly what they should do. Seonghwa always knew the right thing to say, understood Hongjoong like no one else in the world had ever understood him. Hongjoong was prickly as hell, he knew he was. But somehow Seonghwa’s softness soothed the sharp, pokey bits of Hoongjoong’s personality, polishing him into something more closely resembling a human than a cactus.
“Yeah, okay.” Then Hongjoong nodded abruptly, in case he’d just hallucinated saying that aloud.
“For real? You really want to marry me?”
Hongjoong snorted incredulously. Anyone would want to marry Seonghwa. “Don’t act so surprised, Park Seonghwa. You’re a total catch.”
“Yeah, but I was never sure if you wanted to catch me. And you’re the only one who matters, so…”
Hongjoong couldn’t handle that look in Seonghwa’s eyes, but he was pretty sure it would be super rude to run away from his fiance five seconds after they got engaged, so he reached for the first distraction he could think of.
“Here.” He pulled a wad of wrinkled paper napkins from his back pocket and shoved it at Seonghwa.
“What’s this?” Nonplussed, Seonghwa took the wad and automatically began smoothing it out, revealing layer after layer of swooping, intricate black lines.
While Hongjoong had been waiting for their drinks at the boba place, he’d been struck with such an intense bolt of inspiration that he’d actually fallen out of his chair. Stumbling to the counter, he’d begged a pen from the alarmed cashier and spent the next fifteen minutes frantically drawing, desperate to transpose the vision before he lost it.
Seonghwa was staring at the flurry of paper napkins unfurled on his lap, fingertips carefully tracing the wild, raw details of Hongjoong’s deepest feelings given form and shape.
“Do you like it?” Hongjoong held his breath, hoping Seonghwa would get what it meant, what Hongjoong was trying to say in the convoluted grammar of those haphazard sketches.
Seonghwa’s face was still, the way it got when he was feeling so much that his expressions couldn’t keep up. Only his hands were moving, shivering like butterflies.
“It’s exactly what I wanted.”
And Hongjoong knew that Seonghwa truly understood what he meant, entirely and completely.
It was a love letter. It was his wedding vows.
It was, finally, Seonghwa’s tattoo.