Work Text:
“Tell me, what was the moment, you decided to give up?
You could’ve told me what you wanted, I would’ve done, I would’ve done
Anything
I would’ve done anything”
Parachute, Hayley Williams
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i.
The layout of their Airbnb is…strange, to say the least.
It’s beautiful from the outside. Red brick and stone walls covered in creeping vines and wisteria that reach up to the roof. The house is surrounded by bushes of flowers that haven’t bloomed yet, and the path up to the front porch were stone slabs carved into perfect circles that zigzagged down the walkway. The lawn was manicured, too, grass cut in straight lines. Really, it was pretty. It would resemble a cottage in the middle of the city if it weren’t for the size.
It wasn’t that big. A detail that becomes apparent the second you walk through the entrance. The floor is sunken in the entryway which is convenient, but the space is awkward and rectangular. It doesn’t extend far enough and the door always scraps against the step when you try to open it all the way.
From there, the dining room, kitchen, and living room are all clumped together in a long space that stretches from the entrance to the back of the house. You encounter the dining room first which houses a grand oak table that only has six chairs to accompany it. Each chair has its own purple and yellow patterned circular rug underneath its legs.
The kitchen is to the right, tucked into the back corner of the room. The pantry is a closet that extends from the wall just far enough to make squeezing past it a tight fit to get to the stove. Thankfully, with their schedules, they haven’t had any reason to cook, so the kitchen is essentially ignored by their group. The kitchen is partitioned from the living room by a half wall that is the exact length of the counters. The living room is sunken into the floor, but, unlike the entry, it’s two steps down to ugly yellow carpet and the stiffest looking couch and lounge chairs you could possibly set your eyes upon.
To the left and right of the entryway are two short hallways that cut towards the back of the house. On both sides there are two bedrooms and one bathroom. The only difference is that on the right, the laundry room branches off at the front of the house.
When they divided up rooms, they did it based on the arrangements that’d been decided for them at the beginning of the tour. Hongjoong with Mingi, Seonghwa with San, Yunho with Wooyoung, and Yeosang with Jongho. One of their managers took the couch in the living room, and the rest of their team made do with the guesthouse in the backyard.
It was simple. No one had had any complaints about the arrangements before. That is until Mingi started asking around for anyone to trade with him.
He started it up about two weeks ago. Seonghwa and San were frequently placed in rooms adjacent to Yunho and Wooyoung’s in whatever rental home or hotel they stayed in, so it was hard not to notice when Mingi would emerge from Yunho’s room in the morning looking refreshed—whereas Wooyoung would sulk out of Hongjoong’s with the attitude of someone whose coffee had been spit in one too many times. It was like a switch had flipped overnight, and now Mingi couldn’t sleep unless he was with Yunho.
It didn’t affect Seonghwa directly until tonight.
And let it be known that Seonghwa didn’t give up his room to Wooyoung just because Mingi looked at him with those pleading eyes. He also did it because San was having a harder time sleeping tonight than he has for the last few weeks, and Seonghwa couldn’t stand to hear him tossing and turning for the rest of the night when Wooyoung was only just down the hall.
He didn’t know exactly when they’d started dating, but it wasn’t hard to miss the change in San’s attitude. He pouted more, for starters.
So he’d followed Mingi back to Wooyoung’s room and cut them a deal.
He would take Mingi’s room if Wooyoung moved into his with San. That way, Mingi would get what he wanted, and San could actually get some sleep.
Wooyoung relented after some persuasion on Seonghwa’s part.
He left him afterwards but lingered around the corner until he heard the door closest to the end of the hall open and close behind him. When it did, he shut off the hallway light behind him.
The light flooding in from the back porch light through the floor to ceiling windows in the living room and kitchen makes it easy to navigate the main area of the house. Their manager snores from his place on the couch, several layers of spare blankets covering his figure.
Seonghwa tip toes as not to disturb him, his bare feet padding across the hardwood floors. His strides are long, and he’s across the house in a matter of seconds. He ducks into the hallway, trailing his hand along the wall to guide his steps.
Jongho and Yeosang’s room is the first one, he knows that, so he skirts past it to the door further down the hall. Light spills out from the crack beneath the door and splays at Seonghwa’s feet when he grasps the doorknob in hand. The metal is cold.
He considers knocking, but the chances of Hongjoong being unable to hear him are too high.
He twists the knob and pushes the door in. The lamp light in the room is less harsh than the hallway light outside Seonghwa’s bedroom, but its brightness assaults his vision anyway. He squints, and through the slits in his eyes he can make out the vague shapes of furniture—a bed larger than the one he and San shared for the past few days shoved into the corner, a nightstand at its side, a desk in the opposite corner with a swivel chair pushed in, a wardrobe and dresser, side by side, tucked into the space behind the door, a bookshelf that spans the length of the wall facing the backyard, and a plush armchair nestled awkwardly by the window cut out in the shelves. A standing lamp next to the chair and a smaller bedside lamp that sits on the nightstand are both turned on. The overhead lights are off.
Seonghwa finds Hongjoong in bed, beanie pulled low over his forehead, headphones pulled over his ears, and laptop resting in his lap. He’s under the sheets, though they pool around his waist where he leans against the headrest. He wears a faded gray t-shirt, the short sleeves rolled up over his shoulders. His black hair pokes out from beneath his hat. He’s entirely too focused on his computer screen to notice Seonghwa.
It’s cute.
He doesn’t announce himself either. He just closes the door softly behind him and walks to the bigger of the two lamps. He twists the switch until the light flickers and turns off.
Hongjoong looks up then. Seonghwa sees the moment he registers that he’s not Mingi. He hears the quiet, “Oh,” that slips out. He reaches up and tugs his headphones off. Not just down so they rest around his neck. No, he pulls them off.
Seonghwa smiles softly.
Hongjoong’s eyes are gentle when he asks, “Where’s Mingi?”
Seonghwa shuffles his feet against the floor. It’s carpet instead of the hardwood flooring that’s used all throughout the rest of the house. He says, “We traded rooms.”
“He’s with San?” Hongjoong’s brows furrow.
“No, with Yunho. I had to convince Wooyoung to switch with me.”
“Ah.”
Seonghwa steps closer to the end of the bed. It really is quite large. He reaches out with one hand and rests it on the bed post at the corner. “Is it alright if I stay with you?” he asks.
Hongjoong nods before he speaks. Then, “Yes. Yes. That’s okay.” He closes his laptop and sets it on the nightstand, his headphones folded up directly on top of it. He throws the blanket off his legs and stands. He’s wearing shorts. Seonghwa tries not to look down. He does it anyway. Like this, Hongjoong’s legs look longer than they actually are. Smooth, too. Slightly paler than his arms.
He looks away.
Hongjoong is already looking at him when he meets his gaze. “Seonghwa-ya, you still like to sleep on the inside, right?”
His heart gives a single loud thump before it settles, again, into a steady rhythm in his chest. A little voice inside him sings, He remembers!
“Yeah,” he says. “If you don’t mind.”
Hongjoong smiles. “I don’t mind.”
Seonghwa nods. He steps away from the end of the bed and plants his knee on the mattress. It sinks under his weight. Oh… It’s softer than his bed with San had been. He lifts his other leg and crawls across to the other side. When he lies down it’s like sinking into a bed of pure fluff and feathers. He sighs. His eyelids droop.
“It’s comfortable, right?” Hongjoong laughs.
Seonghwa can only nod. He lifts his legs and shimmies underneath the blankets. The fitted sheet is cold against the silk of his pajamas. (It’s a matching, dark blue set his mother gifted him on his birthday). The heat of Hongjoong’s body that was trapped under the comforter is like a weight against Seonghwa’s abdomen. He fiddles with the top button on his night shirt. He slips it from the hole and his shirt opens just slightly.
The bed shakes when Hongjoong gets back in. Seonghwa rolls onto his side, half of his face smooshed into the pillow below his head. Hongjoong has pulled off his beanie and the lamp on the bedside table illuminates the hairs that stand on end from the static. He settles with his back against the headboard again, but he doesn’t grab his laptop.
Seonghwa reaches up and smooths down a strand of hair that sticks out at his temple. His fingers brush the shell of Hongjoong’s ear on the way back down. Hongjoong startles, his hand darting up at the same time. Their hands brush for a brief moment before Seonghwa’s hand rests back on his pillow. He tucks it under his cheek. Hongjoong pats down the rest of his hair. It doesn’t do much to combat the frizz.
He looks almost like one of those Pekingese dogs when their fur is brushed out.
Seonghwa smiles. He asks, “What were you working on?”
Hongjoong stops fussing with his hair and lets his arms drop to his sides. He pinches the blanket between his pointer and thumb and rolls the fabric back and forth. “I…had an idea. I was playing around with the beat.”
Seonghwa hums. His words are sluggish, and his eyes grow heavier by the second. “Can I hear it?” He says through a yawn.
Hongjoong casts a glance at his computer. He raises his hand and scratches the back of his neck. Seonghwa’s eyes close. If Hongjoong looks at him, he doesn’t see it. He hears him exhale softly. His voice is gentle when he speaks again. “It’s not ready yet.” The mattress shifts. There’s a click and the light behind Seonghwa’s eyes goes dark. Hongjoong grunts. The sound is closer than it was before. “But you can listen to it. In the morning.”
Seonghwa smiles. “I can’t wait.”
His body sags into the mattress. Hongjoong’s hand slides across the sheets.
Sleep pulls him under.
He doesn’t feel it when Hongjoong’s thumb trails along his undereye.
And he doesn’t feel it when he pulls away.
ii.
He doesn’t wake up when Hongjoong leaves, but he hears when he returns.
It can’t have been more than thirty minutes since Seonghwa fell asleep. The door clicks shut behind Hongjoong and the starched carpet crunches underfoot as he makes his way back to bed. Though his eyes are closed and his face is still half hidden by his pillow, Seonghwa can feel the dim light of the lamp hitting the uncovered side of his face. Hongjoong sits. Something plastic crackles in his hands.
Seonghwa cracks one eye open. Hongjoong’s back isn’t turned all the way, but he’s angled just so that Seonghwa can’t see his face. The thing he heard—the crinkling plastic—is a packet of wipes that Hongjoong sets carefully on the nightstand. He peels back the adhesive flap and pulls out one, two, three of the towelettes.
Seonghwa closes his eye just as Hongjoong turns.
The bed shakes when Hongjoong shifts onto his knees. The springs give a loud creak as his hand lands directly at the center of the mattress, the tips of his fingers inches from Seonghwa’s stomach. The blanket pulls tight over his side, and Hongjoong’s weight settles directly next to him. He isn’t laying down. Seonghwa can feel his knee graze his elbow. Then, he feels it. Fingers card through his hair from his temple to the back of his head. Gentle. Those fingers flex. Hongjoong’s hand trails down his neck, to his shoulder, and down to his bicep. His grip tightens again, and he’s pushing Seonghwa backwards. He forces himself to maintain dead weight, so he rolls backwards easily. Hongjoong settles him on his back with a careful touch.
His hand pulls away. When it returns, it’s with something cold and wet pressed to the highest point of his cheekbone. Seonghwa flinches away from it, a displeased sound rumbling from his chest. He doesn't mean to, but his arm shifts and his palm lands on the meat of Hongjoong’s thigh, his middle finger brushes the hem of his shorts.
Hongjoong pauses. He draws in a long breath and lets it out quickly. He shifts. Seonghwa’s hand slides further up his thigh. Heat creeps up his neck. Two fingers have slid underneath Hongjoong’s shorts.
Seonghwa half expects him to pull away—or to remove Seonghwa’s hand, at the very least. He does neither.
Seonghwa has to tell himself to breathe. It stutters out of his chest.
Hongjoong continues, drawing a long swipe across Seonghwa’s cheek bone with practiced ease. The moisture the wet wipe leaves behind is a respite against the warmth that bites at his jaw and nips at the round of his cheeks.
Hongjoong finishes with one cheek and moves to the other. The same ministrations. Careful. Drawn out.
It’s nice…being taken care of by him.
His hand disappears, and Seonghwa assumes it’s to trade one wipe for another. He imagines the used one covered in the remnants of his blush resting against Hongjoong’s opposite knee. Seonghwa can’t help himself. He splays his fingers on Hongjoong’s thigh and he squeezes. The smallest amount. Just enough to feel the muscle and the way it tenses under his touch. Hongjoong probably wouldn’t feel it.
Hongjoong pauses with his hand hovering over Seonghwa’s face. One corner of the towelette brushes against his nose. Hongjoong huffs a small laugh. His other hand comes forward. Seonghwa feels his wrist rest against his collarbone, one finger curling beneath his chin, tipping his head further back.
“Seonghwa-ya,” Hongjoong whispers. He presses the towelette to Seonghwa’s eyelid. “You should take more care to wash your face before bed.”
Seonghwa grunts. He chooses to ignore Hongjoong’s scolding. This is his captain speaking. He wants Kim Hongjoong. His Kim Hongjoong.
His voice is raspy and deep with sleep when he speaks. “Sing me your song, Hongjoong-ah.”
Hongjoong laughs a little louder this time, but it’s still restrained. He wonders if the walls are just as thin on this side of the house. Before he went to bed, he could hear Yunho and Wooyoung’s voices muffled conversation through the wall.
“It doesn’t have lyrics yet. I was just playing around with the melody.”
Seonghwa hums. “Do your best.”
It’s quiet. The only thing that breaks the silence is the sound of Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s breathing. He doesn’t expect him to actually do it. But then Hongjoong begins to hum. It’s this soft, sweet sound. It’s slow, too. Slower than anything he’d ever heard from Hongjoong before. It pitches up at the beginning before transitioning into something lower, something smooth and guttural. The tune sounds like something he’d heard before. Maybe Hongjoong was trying something new with a remix.
Either way, he loves it.
He loves everything Kim Hongjoong does.
A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t fight it back. He’s too tired.
All the while, Hongjoong keeps wiping Seonghwa’s face. His movements are as gentle as his singing. He’s a bit harsher with his waterline, the leftover eyeliner clinging to his lashes. It’s the reason Seonghwa had given up in the first place. He’d cleaned himself up as best he could, but as soon as his eyeliner showed even a hint of being stubborn, he gave up and went to bed.
He’s usually more diligent. But if he’d been diligent tonight, he wouldn’t have Hongjoong’s leg pressed against his side and his hand wouldn’t be resting on his thigh and Hongjoong wouldn’t be taking care of him.
He would risk his skincare routine a million times to have this for more than just tonight.
(Wishful thinking, but it’s true).
Seonghwa doesn’t know when his body starts feeling heavy with sleep again, but there comes a point when he stops registering the towelette against his face. And the brush of his fingers against Hongjoong’s thigh doesn’t feel as monumental. And the press of Hongjoong’s leg against his side isn’t anything more than just another weight pushing against him.
If Hongjoong finishes cleaning Seonghwa’s make up off his face, he isn’t awake for it.
If Hongjoong finishes humming his song, smoothes Seonghwa’s hair back from his forehead, and whispers a quiet confession against his temple, he doesn’t hear it.
And if Hongjoong leans in and presses the softest of kisses to the crease between his brows, he doesn’t feel it.
In the morning, the only evidence of their exchange are three makeup wipes abandoned in the trash can and a melody he’ll only remember months from now.
⸺⸺⸺⸺
“I want you to hold me
Please don’t leave me lonely
Want you and you only
All to myself”
Blushing, Luvcat