Work Text:
The volleyball comes out of nowhere, really.
One minute Hansol is watching his members play a game for an episode of GoSe, content to be on the sidelines if it means a) not moving and b) sneaking peeks at Seungkwan wearing athletic shorts that ride up a little in the back.
The next minute he’s hit square in the face with a force that feels frankly surprising considering the person serving is Jun.
Hansol curses, grabbing at his nose as the pain explodes in hot, radiating waves. He peeks down at his hand, and yep — there’s blood, too.
He staggers, abruptly nauseous. “Man,” he says, dismayed, before sitting down abruptly. He’s not a big fan of blood, is the thing. He feels a little dizzy.
The members are all shouting and crowding, Jun looking guilty, Seungcheol barking commands, but it’s Seungkwan who cuts through the noise, silent and calm, if pale.
“Oh, my Hansollie,” he mutters, his hand on Hansol’s shoulder soft and comforting. He sounds like he’s going to cry. Probably the effort of trying to decide whether to yell at his favorite person in the world for accidentally hitting his other favorite person in the world.
(At least Hansol hopes he’s one of Seungkwan’s favorite people in the world.)
Hansol looks up at Seungkwan, his eyes watering from the sting in his nose. His stomach flips again at the metallic tang of blood in the back of his throat, and he ducks his head quickly.
“Let’s get you to the doctor, hmm?” Seungkwan says sympathetically, crouching down. “We can’t have anything happen to that handsome face.”
Despite the pain, Hansol perks up.
“‘M han’sm?” he says, waggling his brow, before wincing at the way it shifts his features. “Kwa’ddie th’gs ‘m han’sm?”
Seungkwan scoffs fondly and helps Hansol stand, hands steady. “How hard did the ball hit you?” he says. “You aren’t one to fish for compliments.”
“Pr’ddy ha’d,” Hansol laments.
Maybe it is the volleyball to the face that is making him so shameless, considering he’s been half in love with Seungkwan his whole life and can usually hide it pretty well.
Right now, though, his brain is swimming too much for that. He decides to be extra shameless and sneak in a squeeze of Seungkwan’s hand.
As they walk outside, Hansol tries not to move his face too much, tilting his head forward so the blood doesn’t go down his throat again, using his shirt to staunch the worst of it. Together, he and Seungkwan navigate out to the waiting car, and Hansol doesn’t even feel a little bad about leaning into Seungkwan’s side the whole way.
It might not seem like it, but Seungkwan is better at taking charge in crisis moments than Hansol. He’s the only one who always seems to sense the childish and anxious parts that still live in Hansol’s heart, and he handles them with care. And right now, with his head aching and his nose dripping blood, eyes already starting to bruise, Hansol feels awful. Seungkwan’s presence is soothing. Like aloe vera on bad sunburn.
In fact, it’s so soothing that Hansol barely registers arriving at the hospital, or finally seeing a doctor, or even getting a bunch of painkillers. He downs the medicine, then slumps against Seungkwan’s shoulder, progressively more loopy as the hours wear on.
When they get back in the car, Seungkwan insists that he is coming over Hansol’s place to take care of him. Normally, Hansol would be horrified by the prospect of Seungkwan seeing the pile of boxes towering around his living room, but right now his mind only has the capacity to fixate on the feel of Seungkwan’s fingers combing through his hair, a light, warm pressure that makes something tingle in Hansol’s toes.
He drifts off to sleep and awakens to Seungkwan’s voice gently telling him they’ve arrived. Seungkwan carries Hansol’s things upstairs, his medicine and his jacket and his backpack, all while keeping a firm hold of Hansol’s hand.
“I’ve got you, Bononie,” Seungkwan says, and Hansol feels an overwhelming sense of contentment settle over him like a blanket.
He never admits it out loud, but being babied by Seungkwan is nice. It feels like a gift even when it’s overbearing. And really, it’s not even overbearing so much as it’s so…big. To be loved that much is something Hansol can’t wrap his head fully around. He wonders if he’s sometimes careless with it. He hopes not.
Hansol brings Seungkwan’s hand up to his mouth and brushes his knuckles with his lips.
“Oh, someone’s feeling affectionate,” Seungkwan says unsteadily, opening Hansol’s door.
Well, yeah. Because Hansol loves Seungkwan a lot, too. In fact, sometimes he looks at Seungkwan and he just wants to touch his face and coo in his ear and call him Kwannie, and like, bite him. Bite his cute cheeks.
“My cheeks!” Seungkwan says. They’re in Hansol’s apartment now, and Seungkwan is kicking around some boxes, but otherwise not making fun or scolding. Score.
Instead, he shuffles his sneakers off, helping Hansol with his boots, fussing in his adorable way.
His cheeks are pink, Hansol notices. Maybe from exertion. Maybe from Hansol’s words. For a moment, Hansol stands like a statue, staring. They’re pink like the sunset on summer nights. But round like clouds. Cute. They’re sooo cute. He could bite them.
Yeah. Bite. Hansol wants to bite.
“Hansol!” Now Seungkwan’s cheeks are very pink. Almost red. Red like his mouth. Seungkwan’s mouth—
“Okay, um, shhhhh,” Seungkwan says, guiding Hansol to the couch. “I think you need to, just, be quiet for a little bit.”
Hansol frowns. Uh oh. Did he say that out loud?
“Did I say that out loud?” he says out loud.
Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. His cheeks are still flushed but he gives an indulgent ruffle of Hansol’s hair and sits down next to him.
“I forgot your tolerance for alcohol and medicine is about the same,” he sighs. “You are so high right now.”
Ah shit. “Ah, shit,” Hansol swears.
Seungkwan laughs. “Poor Hansollie,” he croons, looking less flustered now and more concerned. “Don’t tell me anything you don’t want to. I know you like your secrets.”
Hansol frowns. It’s true that normally he’d hate the fact that his inhibitions are lowered, but that’s less out of any innate secretiveness and more that he doesn’t like the idea that he could unintentionally hurt someone or do something to damage his relationships with others. When it comes to Seungkwan, Hansol tries to always be honest. Seungkwan is his best friend. He deserves all the honesty.
Well. Except honesty about how much Hansol likes his butt. That’s probably good to keep close to the vest.
Seungkwan squeaks, then covers his face with his hand.
“Sorry,” Hansol says, sheepish, realizing too late what’s happened. “It’s a nice butt, though.”
Seungkwan squeaks again, covering his face even more, and Hansol chuckles. He leans his head back against the couch, blinking at blurry image of Seungkwan sitting next him.
And then, unbidden, Hansol feels compelled to say, “Don’t cover your face, please.”
He smiles, feeling it stretch slowly, almost dopily, across his features. His hand, which feels weird and floaty, floats right on over to Seungkwan’s chest, patting over his heart clumsily. “You’re too pretty to cover up.”
Seungkwan’s expression is stunned as his hand lowers. Shy, too, something quiet and small that looks far too disbelieving for Hansol’s liking.
“Me?” he says. “You think I’m pretty? You know my hair is blond right now, right? Did you and Mingyu hyung switch bodies or something?”
Hansol frowns again.
“Mingyu hyung is taller than me,” he says darkly, distracted. Seungkwan likes tall guys. Like that Moon Sangmin, the actor who keeps stealing Seungkwan away. Or Soobin from TXT, who Seungkwan calls his ‘cutest dongsaeng in the biggest package.’ Hah! Hansol is a big package, too—
“What are you saying, punk,” Seungkwan mumbles, mortified and laughing at the same time. He shifts restlessly. Not away, though, Hansol can’t help but notice. Closer. “You sound ridiculous. Cute, but ridiculous.”
“I don’t know what I’m saying,” Hansol says honestly. He leans closer too, enjoying the way Seungkwan softens and welcomes Hansol into the circle of his arms even though Hansol’s spewing out a lot of weird things and is notoriously stiff about cuddling. “I kinda just think a thought and it maaaagically —” Hansol makes a gesture, “—becomes words.” He pouts and pokes Seungkwan’s side. “But you said it’s cute?”
Seungkwan rubs Hansol’s shoulder, curling him into a side hug. “You never talk to me like this,” he admits, almost to himself. “I wish it wasn’t because you’re on the good drugs.”
He looks down at Hansol’s face. His eyes are so brown, like polished amber. Shiny, big, precious-stone eyes. Those pink cheeks. Red lips. Nice butt.
He’s so, so beautiful.
“You’re…not bad yourself,” Seungkwan mutters, stilted. There’s something complicated in his expression, like he’s wrestling with himself.
“More compliments please,” Hansol wheedles. Maybe Seungkwan will say he likes his hair again. Maybe he’ll call him sexy.
Seungkwan laughs under his breath.
“You know…it feels like Hansollie likes me more than he lets on,” he says. His tone is teasing, but hesitant. “Maybe it’s not just the medicine?”
He sounds nervous. He sounds hopeful. Hansol feels lightning in his chest. A fork of electricity that tells him everything Seungkwan is asking without asking.
And then almost immediately Seungkwan straightens, pushing himself away from Hansol and looking furious.
“Aish,” he hisses, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t answer that,” he tells Hansol. “I — that was so wrong of me to ask. Especially now, when you don’t have a choice but to answer. Ignore me, Sol-ah, I was being sneaky, and needy, and silly and weird, and—”
Hansol reaches up to grab Seungkwan’s hand.
“Kwan-ah,” he says softly. His head is swimming again, thumping at his adrenaline from Seungkwan’s loaded question, and now his confusion at Seungkwan’s sudden frustration. “Slow down.”
Seungkwan immediately looks even more furious, lightly slapping his forehead with the hand Hansol’s not holding. “And now I’m making you comfort me when you’re the one injured,” he says. “Please ignore me, Hansol. I’m so sorry.”
He sounds miserable. And he’s too far away. Neither of these things are acceptable.
“I do like you,” Hansol says. “With or without the painkillers and the mild concussion.”
He says it bluntly, no haze or dizziness or doubt at all in his words. Just clear, simple truth. The truth that lives in his bones every day, and that he never tells, except he can’t quite remember right now why that is. What he was scared of. What has held him back. Why he almost let that punk Sangmin take his Seungkwannie—
“Oh my God, stop with Moon Sangmin,” Seungkwan says, although he sounds more amused than exasperated.
“I like you,” Hansol barrels on. “I like watching you play volleyball in tight shorts. I like listening to you laugh at my jokes when no one else does. I like how soft your skin is, and how you smell like oranges all the time. I like that you’ve known me for years and have more nunchi than anyone I know and you still haven’t figured out I want to eat you with a spoon.”
His face hurts, swollen and smarting from so much talking. Seungkwan seems to realize, because his frozen expression immediately unfreezes and he tsks, ducking past Hansol to go into the kitchen.
He comes out with an ice pack. Gently, he lowers himself and Hansol both onto the couch, a trembling hand on Hansol’s wrist.
“A spoon?” he finally says, voice low. The ice pack is cool against Hansol’s hot, tender skin.
“A spoon,” Hansol confirms. He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off Seungkwan since he came back from the kitchen. His staring problem won’t be limited by bruised eyes, thanks very much.
“Hansol the cannibal,” Seungkwan teases. “You wanted to bite my cheeks. Now you want to eat me with a spoon.” The disbelief is less heavy in his voice now, which Hansol will take as a win, though there’s still an uncharacteristic uncertainty.
Hansol leans into the ice pack, closing his eyes. “Boo Seungkwan is my favorite food,” he says. “He’s my favorite everything.”
It’s the stupidest, most unhinged, least drugged-up, most honest thing he’s said this entire time.
Seungkwan sighs. The sound is shaky but heavy all at once.
“Chwe Hansol,” he says. It sounds a little like I like you too. Idiot.
Hansol will take it.
“I’ve waited since I was a teenager for this to happen, you know,” Seungkwan says after a moment. “And I can’t even kiss your stupid, lovely face because you had to go break your nose!”
Hansol hears “kiss” and his eyes fly open.
“Jun hyung broke my nose,” he informs Seungkwan solemnly.
Seungkwan looks conflicted about saying this truth so plainly.
Hansol feels vaguely offended but he decides to let it pass. No matter what confessions happen, everyone knows who Jun’s biggest fan is.
“You can still kiss me, you know,” Hansol says instead. He reaches out to Seungkwan, tugs him over till he’s sprawled on Hansol’s lap. Even now, in this moment, Seungkwan is so careful with Hansol. Every touch so reverent, fingers passing lightly through Hansol’s hair, over the breadth of his shoulders, landing like butterfly wings on the planes of Hansol’s cheeks.
“I won’t be responsible for making your nose worse,” Seungkwan says sternly. But his eyes are liquid and dark, searching. Wanting.
He leans in, slanting to an angle that allows him to just barely graze Hansol’s jawline with his breath. A gossamer light touch, warm and shimmering.
He tilts Hansol’s head further, allows the expanse of Hansol’s neck to stretch and be exposed to the hot press of his lush lips. Soft, sucking, almost bruising kisses against Hansol’s throat, down to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the collar of his t-shirt tugged out of the way.
Hansol feels currents of pleasure run through him, quickening his breath. He breathes through his mouth, a hiss of Seungkwan’s name escaping him when he feels the edge of Seungkwan’s teeth against his earlobe, where Seungkwan’s mouth has wandered.
Hansol tugs Seungkwan away, his fingers clenched in the meat of Seungkwan’s hips.
“Let me,” he says. He can’t quite envision an angle through which kissing Seungkwan won’t bump his nose up against anything. But he wants so badly to get his mouth on Seungkwan too
Seungkwan smiles, tremulous but hungry. He raises his hand to Hansol’s face, and Hansol brings it closer out of instinct, pressing lips to the delicate bones of Seungkwan’s wrist, the reedy pump of his pulse under thin skin. Seungkwan is careful to maneuver so Hansol isn’t hurt, splaying his fingers and tilting his hand back when Hansol decides to nibble at the meat of his palm.
“Are we weird,” Hansol asks after a moment, lips wet. He feels like he just spent an hour making out with Seungkwan and they haven’t even kissed on the mouth yet.
“We’re creative,” Seungkwan corrects breathlessly. They both studiously ignore the fact that they’re hard, and that Hansol still has two black eyes, and that the ice pack is melting next to them.
“Okay,” Hansol agrees. He pats Seungkwan’s hips companionably. “I still really like your butt, by the way.”
Seungkwan shakes his head, burying his face in the crook of Hansol’s neck, laughing.
“That’s just the drugs talking,” he says.
Hansol won’t say it, but it really isn’t.
Oh well.
Seungkwan will learn soon enough.