Work Text:
besotted
adj.
[bih-sot-id]
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utterly infatuated
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intoxicated; drunk
There is an adage that says music can be like a time machine. As the first chords of “Say Yes” play, Seokmin feels the resonance of that sentiment, the weight of time enveloping him in a warm embrace.
Seungkwan’s voice is a deep sea current that rises and his own timbre ebbs and flows in exchange.
“Can you say, can you say… you became my light…”
With the hazy warmth of Chamisul lightly dusting his cheeks, Seokmin hears Seungkwan sing and it bends time, gently lulling him back to ten years in the past.
For a heartbeat, when he looks at Seungkwan, he glimpses at the echo of the young boy he first recorded this song with—this nervous and tenacious beautiful boy he always felt moved to tears by. Seokmin’s heart swells with pride and affection, tugging the corners of his mouth into a wistful smile.
Together, they sing the rest of the song, and although he’s firmly planted in this chair surrounded by crew, producers, and managers, although this is being recorded for millions of CARATs to watch, his mind can’t help but drift back to another time. Not a simpler time—as there existed a period in which he could only reflect on the endurance their younger selves were required to shoulder—but it was different.
The tempo builds and so do their voices, endlessly in harmony. Seokmin looks at Seungkwan and thinks of the boy he only ever wanted to sing with. How marvelous is this? That they are here together still in what could only be described as fate. He thinks, this is the man you’ve seen grow, and he’s seen you grow in return, and “Say Yes” stretches across time and space to remind us we’re perennial.
As the song comes to an end, Seokmin is lulled back into place, into the present; his instinct is to reach out and wrap an arm around Seungkwan’s shoulders, so he does, and they clink their shot glasses. That buoyant happiness bubbles up to the surface when Seungkwan’s eyes meet his, and laughter spills out of them both.
The room applauds. As they cheer and down the hatch, Seokmin comments, “Once the drinks start flowing, everything feels different.”
The alcohol goes down smooth, even with the burning rush of it settling deeper at his core. They share stories and reminisce on their younger years, Seungkwan reminding him he’s never alone in this—that he, too, has a tendency to remember old days now with fondness instead of strife.
Before he knows it, the alcohol has caught up to him and a buzz floats Seokmin toward a gentle swell while they sing “Guilty Pleasure”.
Talk about this current era and their unit is tinged bittersweet. His smile reflexively fades when Seungkwan leads their conversation down the territory of their group’s break and their gratefulness toward the fans.
Seokmin adds, “Even if some members are away, the other members will fill in well during that time…”
From the corner of his eye he can glean the expression on Seungkwan’s face, one that’s desperately trying to hold back a laugh, and Seokmin understands.
Don’t look, don’t look, he tells himself, if you look, you will cry. Often, days are like that—when looking at each other has them both involuntarily brimming with tears. After all, no other better than Seungkwan understands the time-memory-machine triggered by each other’s sights and sounds.
Despite his thoughts to himself, he meets Seungkwan’s gaze and he bursts into laughter alongside him, reading his mind. Seokmin’s giggly and light and clingy, hugging him tight. Aish, I love this guy, he thinks.
When they start singing “Blue”, Seokmin is well and truly tipsy, fading fast. He keeps singing, holds Seungkwan’s hand, his anchor, and can’t resist smiling indulgently at Seungkwan’s face, his star. Filled with love and warmth, their performance comes to an end and his body is a magnet, leaning into Seungkwan’s fully and hugging him tightly, giddily, happily. More laughter soars in the air between them and Seokmin pulls away to celebrate their job well done.
The production wraps and Seokmin clings to him once more, high spirits leaving him adrift on moonlit whitecaps, compass pointing north. Nudged into the soft juncture of Seungkwan’s neck, breathing in the scent of salt and sea, Seokmin whispers an ask and an avowal. “Yours.”
What is the difference between a physical location and a heart’s?
“Mine,” he whispers in return.
They are the same, and so they go.
He has to detach from the comforting rise and fall of Seungkwan’s breath, a knowing that has him looking up at Seungkwan with a pout. Seungkwan wordlessly, knowingly, offers Seokmin his hand to soothe the ache and he takes it, allowing himself to be reeled outside of the restaurant and into a car.
The car door shuts them into a humming silence, shoreline breaking in the distance, and their heads curve toward one another. Behind the partition, they are afforded privacy and quiet and still Seokmin’s hand traces the inside of Seungkwan’s wrist, tapping twice. Not. Yet.
“I missed you,” Seokmin whispers.
A light chuckle. “I’ve been here with you all day, Dokyeom-ah.”
“But not here.” Seokmin brings the hand that’s holding Seungkwan’s to his heart.
Seungkwan’s face breaks, a squeal of a laugh escaping him at Seokmin’s earnestness, and then he moves briskly, a blink-and-you-miss-it kiss dotting the tip of Seokmin’s nose. Seungkwan looks at him, his big brown eyes shining under the streetlights, and Seokmin feels the tug in his chest.
“Stop it!” Seungkwan protests, his eyes growing tearful. “Stop it!”
“You started it,” Seokmin blubbers. They laugh and cry together over their ridiculousness, never letting go until the car comes to a stop.
They clamber up to Seungkwan’s apartment, Seokmin sticking behind him like a shadow. As Seungkwan keys in the code, Seokmin nuzzles against the back of his neck, breathing in the smell of alcohol, the sea, and the musk that’s so distinctly Seungkwan.
The door opens and Seungkwan shifts his weight, chuckling, and when they’re through he beats him to it, lips falling on his and returning home.
Seokmin pulls back, squeezing Seungkwan’s cheeks between the palms of his hands. Seungkwan stares up at him with glossy intense eyes and Seokmin gasps, “Oh no! Our makeup!”
Arms around his neck, Seungkwan leans his full weight onto him, smiling fondly at him, his loose tongue echoing, “Oh… no…”
And then Seungkwan is kissing him again, and he forgets what he was worried about it, the world distant and unreachable, not like the softness of Seungkwan’s cheeks, and his plush lips, and the anchor of Seungkwan’s hands on him, keeping him steady and loved.
A hitched breath and Seokmin looks, really looks, at the wetness gathering on Seungkwan’s eyelashes and Seokmin’s heart moves in tandem, spilling down his face.
They move a few steps over, wadding to the sofa, and gently wipe away the tears from each other’s faces.
“I love you so much,” Seungkwan sniffles.
“And I love you,” Seokmin says, thumbing over the curve of his jawline and hollow of Seungkwan’s throat.
Seungkwan smiles and lays back, pulling Seokmin with him to drape over him. They lie there for a long while, wrapped up in each other’s arms, breathing together.
Their lips naturally meet in another sweet kiss, the only sound in the room the hushed ruffle of fabric—a sleeve catching on the sofa, their bodies melting into one another. Seungkwan drags his fingertips over slivers of skin on Seokmin’s arms, and their breaths find a steady cadence, a melody of heartbeats.
There’s a low simmer in his gut, vestiges of a mellowed out state of mind, and their hips rock together with no clear destination, no other purpose except to delight in the moment of Seungkwan’s low giggles and Seokmin’s staccato breaths. The build up is there—a distant tide—and they break the wave, slipping into the undertow.
They move together, a slow friction, and Seokmin feels the heat of Seungkwan’s thighs, the drag of denim on denim. The slow press of their hips have them both gasping, and then they’re kissing again, able to tip over the edge just like this, holding close like they could fuse together.
“Ah, Seungkwan-ah, can we always stay like this?” He asks before he can start up another round of tears.
“Always, jagiya,” Seungkwan nuzzles his nose against his. “Of course, always.”