Chapter Text
{❤️🔥}
Hongjoong and Seonghwa soon find themselves alone, safe in the knowledge that they won't be disturbed. The dorm is officially off-limits. No one will show up without being told that it’s okay for them to do so.
Wooyoung and Jongho are aware that they need privacy, and they’d hurried to give it to them. So, now, it’s only a matter of time before the other members are made aware of the situation, too.
News always travels fast between them, especially when it concerns their well-being. Health and happiness have always been the two most important things. And that’s something they’ve drilled into each other, time and time again. If you need a break, take it. If you need help, seek it. That’s partly why Hongjoong is standing where he is right now, with Seonghwa just beyond the door. He only hopes the others won’t worry about him too much when they find out, because the lingering tendrils of his guilt insist that he's not worth their time. Even if his rational brain knows that’s not true, knows he is loved, knows he is worth as much as anyone else.
Hongjoong takes a deep breath. He needs to calm down.
He tries to keep himself grounded and firmly in the present. Now is what matters. It feels like everything has been leading him here, to this exact moment, to the final denouement — the long-awaited conclusion to the confusion that’s been relentlessly bruising his already aching heart.
‘Joongie,’ Seonghwa calls out to him, the tender melody of his voice flowing freely through the bathroom door. ‘How are you feeling?’
There’s no point in lying. Not really. Seonghwa has been summoned because Hongjoong’s not feeling well. He’s here because he’s struggling. Because he actively agreed to be helped with it. Still, the automatic lie flickers on his tongue. I’m fine. He almost says. It was just a misunderstanding. He almost insists, but being so blatantly dishonest in response to Seonghwa’s care feels like an unforgivable insult.
All Hongjoong can be now is honest. Even if it’s hard and it hurts. Even if it takes great, big chunks out of his pride and ravages his ego. He owes it to Seonghwa and, honestly, he knows he owes it to himself. Neither of them will feel any better if he lies. If he keeps fighting this alone, he’s doomed. Hongjoong will still be rotting from the inside, and Seonghwa will know that he’s being deceived.
‘I feel...’ Hongjoong begins, his breath catching terribly in his throat; his courage not quite sticking. ‘I-I feel...’
‘It’s okay,’ Seonghwa reassures him, his voice overflowing with warmth. ‘You can tell me; you can be honest. Even if your feelings feel big, or wrong, or bad, or ugly.’
They are. Hongjoong thinks, looking down at his trembling hands. My feelings are so big, and wrong, and bad, and ugly. And I'm mortified by who I am and what I have become. Can’t you feel it emanating from me, Hwa? Can’t you see the poison that keeps dripping out of me, day after day?
Hongjoong curls his fists and squeezes them tightly. He forces his fingers to be still. Then, he says, in a blunt burst of bitterness, ‘I feel... I feel like a freak.’
His voice wavers terribly towards the end, and it feels shameful, the difficulty he’s having using his voice. Why is it so hard for him to tell his truth? If he’s been thinking bad thoughts, wrong thoughts, isn't it right for him to admit to them? To take ownership of all the ill-feelings their considerate, thoughtful friends have stirred within him?
The door handle pushes down — once, twice, three times — but Seonghwa can’t get in. It’s still locked. Hongjoong is still hiding, still cowering, still feeling so out of his depth it’s astonishing. His guilt rankles. It ruffles its feathers beneath his skin and makes him itch.
‘Hongjoong, can you let me in?’
‘No,’ Hongjoong says, shaking his head for good measure. He absolutely cannot do that. Not yet. It’s too soon. He needs to build his strength; he needs to reinforce his backbone. Please, can’t you wait just a little longer?
‘Joongie, please,’ Seonghwa presses, his emotion obvious. It makes Hongjoong’s chest ache terribly, to know he is the source of his worry. ‘I just want to see you.’
‘W-why?’ Hongjoong asks, confused as to why that seems so important to his friend all of a sudden. What difference will seeing him make? What will it matter? Does Seonghwa need to see how his confusion and self-disgust are twisting him up? Does he need to be seen to be believed? No. He quickly brushes that thought away. Seonghwa has always believed in him, always cared for him, and always treated him like treasure. If he’s asking, then it’s not a test, and he won’t be trying to hurt him or humiliate him.
‘I need you to see me when I tell you that I don't think that’s true,’ Seonghwa reasons, his voice rising steadily as he explains himself. ‘I need you to know that I’m being sincere and honest when I say that that isn’t how I feel about you. Because I don’t think you’re a freak, Hongjoong.’
Hongjoong is amazed to find that he can’t even argue with the sentiment. Seonghwa’s not flat-out saying Hongjoong isn’t a freak. He’s being much smarter than that. Far more cunning. He’s saying that to him, to Seonghwa, he’s not. It’s a subtle difference, but it’s so important. Because who is Hongjoong to argue with him about his own thoughts and feelings? Hongjoong would never do that, and he knows it. Seonghwa has worded it in such a way that Hongjoong can’t even argue with him. He has to accept it. And that makes Hongjoong yearn for him. That thoughtfulness. That kindness. It makes him ache for his companionship. His closeness. So, he shuffles to the door and he rests his fingers on the lock.
It’ll be okay. It's only Hwa.
‘Please,’ Seonghwa urges him once again and, this time, Hongjoong opens the door.
Seonghwa is standing there in all his glory. He’s dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and his hair is being held away from his face by a headband. His skin looks dewy, almost glass-like, and he smells like strawberries and cream. He’d clearly been in the middle of his evening routine when Wooyoung had reached out to him.
‘You didn’t have to come,’ Hongjoong says quietly, apologetically, and Seonghwa smiles at him, the corners of his mouth curving pleasantly.
‘Of course I did,’ he says. ‘My baby superstar isn't feeling well. Of course I had to come.’
Hongjoong scoffs and mumbles, ‘That’s a stupid nickname.’
‘It’s still true, even if you hate it,’ Seonghwa sings out softly, playfully, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind himself. There’s no need for it, not really, they’re completely alone now, but Hongjoong is grateful for it all the same. It makes him feel more confined. Not in a bad way. In a way that means if he happened to say something for their ears only it’d have absolutely no chance of escaping. It feels safer. More secure. Even if it means Seonghwa and he are sharing such a small, intimate space.
Instinctively, he looks down at Seonghwa’s hands, at his long fingers resting idly by his sides. He wonders what they might be capable of doing, what feelings they might bring to his body if they wished to. The pain. The pleasure. The fear. The fire. They could do so much to him.
Always too much.
Never enough.
‘Please, don’t touch me,’ Hongjoong whispers without thinking, wading through the snagging weeds of his accelerated thoughts. He takes a hasty step backwards and bumps into the sink. It’s cold and still. Safe in its blank inhumanity.
Seonghwa’s brow furrows, just a little, right in the middle of his forehead — in the way it always does when he’s feeling confused about something.
‘I won’t,’ Seonghwa tells him, moving to sit down on the floor and gesturing for Hongjoong to do the same. ‘I’ll only ever do what you want me to. Just like always, Joong.’
Hongjoong sinks down to the floor, too, fearing that his knees might give out otherwise. They’re sitting close enough that they could touch if they wanted to. Do they want to? ‘I know. Sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ Seonghwa says, waving his apology away. ‘You’re having a hard day?’
‘Mmm,’ Hongjoong mumbles.
‘All day, or did it just come on suddenly?’ Seonghwa asks, as if this is completely normal and okay and Hongjoong deserves his unwavering tenderness. ‘You seemed okay during our schedules, but I know that doesn't necessarily mean that you were. Especially if you were trying to hold it together in front of the kids again.’
Hongjoong could cry. Seonghwa really knows him so well — the way his brain works, the way his heart ticks. How he will choose the comfort and happiness of those he loves over his own. How he would rather fake a smile than be the reason for a frown.
‘I just... I was just... I was... Hwa, I’m sorry,’ he utters again, his eyes flooding with tears that ache to fall and hide beneath the collar of his t-shirt.
‘Okay,’ Seonghwa says, his expression shifting to something even softer. ‘That’s okay. Why don't you tell me what happened? Tell me why you’re so sorry. Because I don't think you’ve done anything wrong, Hongjoong.’
‘That’s not true,’ Hongjoong insists in an emotional bluster. ‘I have!’
‘Okay,’ Seonghwa says again, clearly surprised by the strength of his friend’s conviction. ‘I believe that you believe that. I really do. I understand that it’s true for you, Hongjoong. So, why don’t you tell me what happened, and we’ll see how we can make it better?’
‘We can’t,’ Hongjoong whines, his gaze lingering on the floor, on a small crack at the corner of one of the tiles. ‘We can’t make it better. It never gets better.’
‘Why not?’ Seonghwa asks him earnestly. ‘Why can’t we make it better?’
‘Because it’s just me,’ Hongjoong laughs bitterly. ‘I’m what needs to be better. And unless you’re going to kill me, unless you’re going to finally end this, I’ll still be here tomorrow, and I’ll still be exactly the same.’
‘Hongjoong,’ Seonghwa says seriously, tension snapping through his body like the bite of a whip. ‘That’s not funny. What would I do without you, huh? What would the kids do?’
‘Move on,’ Hongjoong answers bluntly, and then he grimaces. Because he knows that’s not true. He knows it’s a lie. He’s getting tangled up in his own melodrama. He's getting lost in the mist of his own misery. If he was gone, they’d be so hurt. Seonghwa would be completely devastated, and Hongjoong knows it. It would ruin him. Just like the loss of Seonghwa would destroy him. It would fracture some part of him that would never recover. But, before he can even apologise for his carelessness, Seonghwa is already talking.
‘Do you honestly believe that I could do that?’ he asks, his eyes wide with worry. ‘Do you really think, if you were gone from my life, I could be happy? Do you think I could ever move on from you and what you mean to me? Is that what you think?’
‘No. I’m... I’m sorry,’ Hongjoong apologises again, for what feels like the thousandth time, his face flushed with embarrassment. When he gets upset, he speaks so foolishly. All of his irrational fears, all of his darkest anxieties, rush to the surface and seep out into the world. ‘I’m just...’
‘Joongie, please, just tell me what’s happening,’ Seonghwa urges him once more, catching his eye and holding his gaze. ‘Tell me why you’re feeling like this. Let me help you.’
‘It’s just that I... it’s been getting so much harder,’ Hongjoong confesses quietly, like the proclamation itself is the wrongdoing. ‘And it’s been that way for a while.’
‘What has?’ Seonghwa asks him with the patience of a saint.
‘How I feel about... you know… about the touching,’ Hongjoong almost whispers, pulling his attention back to the floor. ‘It’s been bad lately. Really bad. I’ve been so uncomfortable, even with things I can usually handle. And I feel like... I feel like I’m losing control, Hwa. I feel like I’m losing control of everything. Everything is suddenly so different, and I don’t understand it. I really don’t know what I’m supposed to do! I don’t know how to make it better, and I’m scared. I’m so scared and I don’t know what’s happening.’
‘You’re scared?’ Seonghwa asks him seriously, his voice edging towards panic, his fingers twitching in his lap. ‘Sweetheart, did something happen? Did someone hurt you? Because if they did, you have to tell me, Hongjoong. That’s not okay. No one is allowed to touch you if you don't want them to.’
Hongjoong laughs. It’s short and wry, but he feels like he could laugh for a whole lot longer. That’s what makes this so confusing. Touch still seems so repulsive to him but, at the same time, he longs for it. And that’s what’s new. That’s what’s scary. That simmering ache is unfamiliar, and it’s alarming. Because for once, for the first time in his life, it seems like he wants what everyone else has — a physical connection.
Now, he wants someone to touch him. No. That’s not quite true. He’d still hate that. But he wouldn’t always, he thinks — not if it was... not if it was Seonghwa. Because what they don’t really explain to you when you look into touch aversion is the fact that it can come hand in hand with feeling touch-starved. And what a dreadful pendulum that is, constantly swinging back and forth between disgust and desire. Between woe and want.
‘No one’s hurt me,’ Hongjoong says, playing idly with the cuff of his joggers and letting it ping against his ankle.
‘That’s good,’ Seonghwa says, his words tinged with an obvious relief.
‘Is it?’ Hongjoong asks him, feeling so uncertain that he finds himself looking to Seonghwa for guidance. ‘Is it good?’
‘Isn't it?’ Seonghwa asks him right back, just as lost. ‘You’ve never liked it... have you?’
He adds the question hesitantly, like he’s suddenly worried that his entire understanding of Hongjoong has been deeply, catastrophically wrong.
‘I haven’t... but lately...’ Hongjoong begins, before he backs away completely. His thing is confusing at the best of times. It’ll do him no favours if it confuses others, too. ‘Never mind.’
‘Lately?’ Seonghwa presses on anyway. ‘Lately it’s been different somehow?’
Hongjoong looks up, startled by his friend’s easy understanding of him.
He nods.
‘Now you like it?’ Seonghwa asks, genuinely curious.
‘No. No, that’s... that’s not it,’ Hongjoong tries. ‘It's just that I...’
‘Oh, baby. You need it,’ Seonghwa says suddenly, and it’s not a question, it’s a conclusion. He’s piecing together what he sees, and he’s making sense of it. ‘Or, at least, you think you do.’
Hongjoong nods, almost shy. He thinks that’s true, that there’s some part of him that needs it. Why else would he feel so jealous? Why else would he feel so left behind?
‘I just know that it makes my chest ache,’ he tries to explain. ‘When I see others touching so freely. Like it’s easy and it costs them nothing.’
‘And that’s why you’re upset,’ Seonghwa says, smiling at him so tenderly.
‘What?’
‘You saw them touching tonight, Wooyoung and Jongho, and it upset you, didn’t it? And what you were feeling felt complicated, it felt confusing, and that’s why you feel like you’re a freak. Because you reacted poorly, and the way you understand your own relationship with touch, the way you understand yourself, it isn’t fitting right now,’ Seonghwa says, his eyebrows slanting upwards as he exposes the truth so readily. ‘And that’s what you think you’ve done wrong, isn't it?’
‘You know, you’re wasted as an idol,’ Hongjoong says, sending a soft smile in Seonghwa’s direction. ‘You could be a great detective. Probably the best this country has ever seen.’
Seonghwa laughs at that and says, ‘Only when it comes to you and only because I want, more than anything, to be a good friend to you and to be someone you can rely on.’
Hongjoong doesn’t say anything to that, not at first. Then, after summoning enough courage, he settles on, ‘You’re the greatest friend I’ll ever have, Seonghwa. You’re everything to me.’
‘Then it seems like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,’ Seonghwa says. ‘So, for now, I’ll keep singing and dancing right beside you. And I’ll keep listening to what you have to say, okay? Because I am listening to you, Hongjoong, and I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Okay,’ Hongjoong nods. Some of the lingering unpleasantness in his chest falling away, unravelling itself from around his lungs so he can breathe a little easier.
‘Would you like us to touch now?’ Seonghwa asks. His hands motionless in his lap, his body soft and unassuming. ‘Would that help? We have the time and we’re all alone.’
Hongjoong’s body automatically stiffens at the prospect. His shoulders hunch up beside his ears. It’s a reflex. And it’s accompanied by a familiar pang of dread. It doesn’t seem to matter how Hongjoong himself feels; his body is so used to reacting in a certain way that it gallops along without him.
‘It’s okay,’ Seonghwa says. ‘It’s only me, and you know I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want to do.’
Hongjoong nods. He thinks he would like to try, and he knows his friend would never hurt him, not on purpose. And, honestly, he does want to see if touching will change how he feels, or change how he’s been feeling. Humans are capable of being complicated, that’s true, but maybe this is something annoyingly simple.
Seonghwa holds his hand out, so his palm is facing the ceiling. He lets it hover between them. Hongjoong feels his fingers twitch in response. Then, he feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment. It's so frustrating that Seonghwa is having to be so cautious about something so simple.
Hongjoong brings his hand up; he holds it above Seonghwa’s. He’s filled with trepidation. He's unsure whether he’s more worried about what it means if he closes the gap and hates it, or what it means if he closes the gap and it feels like a relief.
Hongjoong pulls his hand away, ever so slightly. It probably looks like he’s afraid Seonghwa will grow impatient and swat his hand mid-air, just to get it over with, but that’s not why he does it, and he knows, deep in his heart he knows, that Seonghwa would never do that to him. He’s just losing confidence in himself. He’s just overthinking again.
‘Joongie, you can do it,’ Seonghwa encourages him, still soft, still even, still full of patience and affection. ‘You have complete control. I’ll follow your lead. Whatever you need. However long it takes. I’ll be right here with you.’
Hongjoong swallows and nods, and then he moves their hands closer together again. His heart is thundering in his chest as he dips his middle finger down and allows it to meet his friend’s open palm. Seonghwa doesn’t move an inch. He stays exactly where he is. He lets the pad of Hongjoong’s finger slide forward clumsily, towards his wrist.
‘Breathe, Joongie,’ Seonghwa reminds him.
Hongjoong closes his eyes. He listens. He breathes. It’s slow and purposeful. He regains some of the control he’d felt slipping away moments earlier.
‘You’re doing so—’ Seonghwa begins, but his sentence remains suspended as Hongjoong pushes his hand flat, so they’re palm to palm. It’s warm, Seonghwa’s hand. It's warm, and soft, and nice. It feels like sinking into a hot bath on a cold evening. It’s a relief. A relief.
Hongjoong had needed this then. With Seonghwa. He’d needed this in some way, even if he doesn’t understand why.
A fresh wave of tears fills his eyes.
‘Joongie?’ Seonghwa asks, openly worried about him.
Hongjoong doesn’t know how he looks to the other man, he only knows how he feels, but it must be bad, because Seonghwa moves to pull his hand away completely.
Hongjoong can't stand the whoosh of air that rushes between them, so he grabs onto him. He wraps his fingers around Seonghwa’s retreating hand as it falls, and he follows it down. So even when his knuckles come to rest softly on the bathroom floor, the back of Seonghwa’s hand is pressed against his own cold, anxious palm.
‘Wait,’ is all Hongjoong says by way of explanation. ‘Please, just wait, Hwa.’
‘Are you okay?’ Seonghwa asks him seriously, letting his hand be held. Letting Hongjoong lead, just like he’d promised he would.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever been okay,’ Hongjoong answers truthfully, a resigned smile shaping his lips. ‘But I like... I like how warm your hand is. It feels nice. And I... I don’t want to let you go yet.’
‘Then I’m here,’ Seonghwa says with an encouraging smile. ‘For as long as you need, and you don’t have to let me go, not until you want to.’
‘I might never let you go,’ Hongjoong says, perhaps a little too quickly, and Seonghwa’s face brightens.
‘That’s okay, too,’ he reassures him. ‘I wouldn’t mind it.’
‘Do you...’ Hongjoong begins haltingly, wondering if Seonghwa sees this aspect of him as a deficit. He worries about that sometimes. Despite how much they care for one another, despite their bond, they’ve never discussed it so explicitly. His thing. ‘Does it upset you sometimes... that I’m not able to touch you or the others like this? That we haven’t been able to touch in the way you touch each other?’
‘No,’ Seonghwa says quickly, his tone heavy with his certainty. ‘Of course not. I understand, Hongjoong. I know you’re just doing what feels right and comfortable for you. I don’t need your touch to feel close to you. Honestly, I’ve thought about it. Touching you. Sometimes, when you seem really happy, or when you seem a little down. I’ve wanted to hold you in so many ways over the years but, I promise, I would never actually do anything like that without your permission. I swear, Hongjoong. I get enough from you. If you never ever wanted to touch me again after this, I would support you and I would understand, and I wouldn’t be upset about it. Not at all. I don't need to touch you to know you. And I certainly don’t need to touch you to love you.’
‘But you’d still think about it?’ Hongjoong asks, curious rather than accusatory. ‘If I couldn’t do this again. If it didn’t ever feel alright. You’d still imagine it sometimes?’
‘Yes,’ Seonghwa says truthfully. ‘I think I probably would. But if that was something that upset you, me thinking about you in that way, then I’d try not to do it anymore.’
Hongjoong shakes his head; he’s not worried about that. Instead, he’s deeply fascinated by this place inside of Seonghwa where they touch and it’s easy, ‘No, I don’t mind. But how... how do we touch in your thoughts? Are we... I mean, am I... am I happy? When we touch, am I okay?’
Seonghwa's hand twitches a little beneath Hongjoong’s as he says, ‘Yes, you’re happy. You’re always okay. Even in my imagination, I only ever want you to feel safe.’
Hongjoong’s brow furrows as he absorbs the information, then he nods once and a tear slides down his cheek. It’s so sudden that he’s startled by it. He shakes his head like a disgruntled cat.
‘I’m sorry,’ Hongjoong says, wiping the wet away with his free hand. ‘I’m really sorry that I’m like this, Hwa.’
‘I’m not,’ Seonghwa says sincerely, his body leaning towards Hongjoong's, as if that will heal the strange something inside of him. ‘You’re just different. And it’s not your fault that this is something that’s becoming more complicated for you. You’re just a person, Hongjoong. You’re kind, and you’re clever, and you’re bold, and you’re beautiful... but you’re still just a person. And, to me, it’s a blessing that you are who you are. Whether that evolves or it stays exactly the same. Either way, you are you, and you are so loved — by me and by the world.’
Hongjoong loosens his grip on Seonghwa’s hand and presses his thumb against his palm. He explores him, little by little — his touch always feather light.
‘Thank you... for loving me,’ Hongjoong whispers, as he strokes back up to Seonghwa’s wrist.
The singer shivers beneath his touch.
‘I’ll always love you, Hongjoong,’ Seonghwa reminds him, keeping his body open and still, despite his obvious reaction. He’s letting Hongjoong work through some of his feelings in his own time. Unhurried and as relaxed as he can be. ‘And I know at least six other people who are absolutely crazy about you.’
Hongjoong smiles at that, his eyes still down as he watches his fingers trace up and down the length of Seonghwa’s forearm. It feels strange, but it doesn't feel bad. It doesn’t feel like a gut punch. It’s not overwhelming. He doesn't feel sick. Maybe that’s because he’s the one touching rather than being touched. Maybe, this way around, it’s a little easier for him to manage. Perhaps, when he’s comfortable and calm, this is something he’s capable of. It certainly doesn’t feel like an ordeal he’s being subjected to. It feels new, yes, but he’s certainly not afraid.
‘Could you... could you touch me?’ Hongjoong asks as he pulls his fingers away. ‘Can we try it that way around?’
After a short moment of consideration, Seonghwa nods and says, ‘Yes, we can try.’
Hongjoong holds his hand out.
He closes his eyes as the singer’s fingers draw closer. He’s still holding his breath when Seonghwa’s finger presses against the middle of his palm. His fingers curl, like there’s a small jolt of electricity galvanising them; giving them a life of their own.
Hongjoong takes a deep, steadying breath. He’s determined not to let his muscle memory take over. He tries with all of his might to focus on what’s actually happening to his body. The light pressure, the isolated sensation. He knows he’s safe because he's with Seonghwa. And Seonghwa is right in front of him, asking him, with so much tenderness, ‘Does it feel like too much, baby?’
Hongjoong shakes his head and blinks his eyes open again, ‘No, just... go slow. Please, don't... don’t rush.’
‘I won’t,’ Seonghwa promises. ‘I’ll stay exactly where I am. Just tell me if you want me to move or change the pressure.’
‘Can you... can you press a little softer?’ Hongjoong asks, and Seonghwa’s touch instantly gives. They don’t disconnect, but his touch is barely there. It feels reassuring, not that Hongjoong had believed he was being lied to.
‘And now back to what it was?’ Hongjoong continues, his mouth slightly open and his brows raised as he tries to comprehend the returning sensation. He smiles. It’s not that he loves it, it’s that he doesn’t hate it. It just feels soft, and constant, and unobtrusive. It’s... okay. It’s not great, but it’s alright.
So often touch, suddenly inflicted upon his person, has felt violent. Not because it was physically harsh, but because it was undesired, unsolicited, and uncomfortable.
Briefly, he wonders why this feels so... manageable. If he adjusts to this enough, will he be able to tolerate the other members, and will he finally be able to satisfy his parents? Will his eomma be happy? Will he finally be the son she’s wanted? Will he feel their hands, their fingers, dancing freely across his skin? Will they touch, and caress, and hold, and rub, and nudge, and squeeze, and grab, and—?
No.
Please.
Please, stop.
It’s too much.
It's too much. It's too much. It's too much.
JUST STOP IT!
Panic fills his heart.
What if he can’t do it? What if he still can’t do it? What if this is okay, but everything else isn’t? What if it only works with Seonghwa? Does it mean he loves the others less? Trusts them less? Because that’s not true. It isn’t.
Hongjoong drops his head as he tries to work through the surge of anxiety that’s threatening to set his chest on fire.
Seonghwa presses down on his palm just a little harder, to thrust him back into the present as he says, ‘Joongie, maybe we should stop for today?’
‘No!’ Hongjoong shouts, almost petulantly, his gaze snapping up. Seonghwa is blurry behind the tears in his eyes. He doesn’t want to stop, he’s curious, he’s so deeply curious about Seonghwa and Seonghwa’s touch. ‘I don’t want us to stop!’
‘Okay,’ Seonghwa says carefully.
‘You said I was in control.’
‘You are,’ Seonghwa promises him, his earnestness radiating like a beacon into the black. ‘I promise you are, Hongjoong. But we don’t have to rush. We don’t need to do everything all at once. I know this is a lot for you, and I don’t want you getting upset. I can see it, sweetheart, that you're not feeling right.’
‘But I’m not upset because it’s too fast or it’s too much!’ Hongjoong insists. ‘I’m just worried about the others.’
‘The others?’ Seonghwa parrots, searching for meaning. He obviously hadn’t expected that. ‘They won’t touch you unless you want them to, nothing has changed. I know they get excited, but they’re good kids. They wouldn't purposefully cross any of your boundaries.’
‘I know that,’ Hongjoong grumbles. ‘That’s not it. It’s just, what if I still don’t want them to touch me? Even if... even if this works out. Even if I can build on this with you. What if I still don’t want to do it with them, and what if they think... what if they think I don’t love them? What then, Hwa? Because I do. I would do anything for them. Anything in the world. But you’re... you and me.... we...’
‘I know, Joong,’ Seonghwa says, jolting when Hongjoong slides the palms of their hands together again and moves them down to rest against Seonghwa’s exposed shin. ‘I know how we feel about each other, how we’ve probably felt for a long time, and I know it's a different feeling. A different kind of love. A different kind of connection. And even though we’ve never really said it out loud, I know that you feel for me what I feel for you.’
Hongjoong’s expression melts as he stares at Seonghwa — at his softly blushed cheeks, and his wide, nurturing eyes, and his gentle, tugging smile. He’s so beautiful. Far beyond his skin, Seonghwa is beautiful.
Hongjoong moves his hand, he presses it against Seonghwa’s shin, stroking up to his knee and back down again. He's pushing himself too hard, he knows he is, but he feels so close to a breakthrough.
‘Thank you,’ Hongjoong says, pulling his hand away when the sensation of skin-on-skin suddenly starts to verge on too much. No more. ‘Thank you for coming here to see me, for sitting with me, and for helping me like this.’
‘You’re always welcome,’ Seonghwa says, moving his hands back into his lap, recognising that Hongjoong has pulled his metaphorical bridge back up. ‘And I’ll always be here for you. So, don't you forget it. Shall we get up off this floor and make ourselves comfortable somewhere else? We could watch a film and make a night of it, if you’d like? It’s been a long time since it was just the two of us. I’d love to spend some time with you.’
‘Yeah,’ Hongjoong agrees, wiping across his cheeks once more and acknowledging that whatever’s happening to him won’t be remedied in a single night. ‘I’d love that, Hwa.’
Maybe tomorrow everything will make a little more sense. Maybe it won’t. But with Seonghwa by his side, Hongjoong thinks, either way, it won’t feel quite so terrible, or quite so lonely.
{❤️🔥}