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Summary
In their room, the door had barely clicked shut before Chanyeol was there, backing Junmyeon gently against it. Not pinning, just close, one hand cupping his jaw, thumb stroking the fresh mark he’d left that morning. “You used him again,” Chanyeol murmured, voice soft, almost fond. “Let him fuss. Let him touch. Let him think he can fix what only I break.”
Junmyeon’s breath hitched. He turned his face into Chanyeol’s palm, kissing the center like an apology he didn’t mean. “I know. I’m awful. But it feels good, Chanyeollie. Having him care without knowing the worst parts. It makes me feel… wanted in a clean way. Then I come back here and…”
Or, Junmyeon is tired and broken, feeling like all threads around him are pulling him apart into pieces, and he just wants to feel whole again.