5 Works by hatchlings
Listing Works
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“What did you say?” Eunseok seeks clarification where Anton starts to grow shy. “After your shift on your first day, a little girl gave Sungchan this drawing. It’s odd, but she was like — and I quote, okay? Sungchan told me this, really —“ A puff of air seeps through Anton’s nose, like he’s nearly laughing again, “— she said, ‘I can really tell Yongdoli has a crush on you, Urakbam.’ And he laughed really hard when he was telling me. We got off shift at the same time, and he just wouldn’t stop —“ Eunseok zones out. Absolutely not. Yongdoli has an acquired and delicate taste; no interest in the stature of a himbo.
“Well, it’s cute. I guess.” Eunseok says; a final response. The picture is in the middle of Sungchan’s locker like it’s his favourite. Eunseok doesn’t ask for any more information because he doesn’t have time to think about the made up life of their characters — or about how irritating Sungchan is. He’s ready to head home and gobble down a dumpling or two.
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Ash and strawberry collide when Dongmin nudges their lips together. Sungho sucks in air through his nostrils, eyes fluttering closed. It’s all quick and tender until it’s not. Dongmin has no chance to form thoughts when Sungho dives in for another modest kiss. Dongmin likes the way Sungho complies to the soft nip at his bottom lip, tongue reaching in to taste, spit whirling into what feels like burnt fruit.
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Chanyoung didn’t mean to. He completely, truly didn’t mean to. Yet he did, and he went there, now more than once. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the waging war between his head and heart, hormones and skin, but he wasn’t prepared for the way certain things could consume his mind even if he tried his hardest to stop them. At two in the morning, he throws his head against the woody head of his bed with a loud thud, mouth open into a concoction of quiet whimpers.
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Too tired to care for his own decency, Sohee strolls from the bathroom with a loose towel around his waist. With a yawn at his lips, eyes blurred from squinting, the sound that he lets out is overwhelmed by Shotaro’s quizzical noise. Shotaro lays with a long bathrobe adorning his skin – but it slithers down his shoulders slightly – when he sits up in a jerk of raised eyebrows. “When did you get those?” He asks, voice tinged high, his face wearing an incredulous expression.
Sohee can only remain confused for a spare amount of seconds until he follows the line of Shotaro’s bubbled eyes. They draw to his nipples, perked with studded piercings. Right. Of course.
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“Why did you call me?” Sohee asks, voice the softest Chanyoung has ever heard. It’s implausible, because Sohee’s voice usually has a power that Chanyoung doesn’t exactly comprehend. “You could have called Shotaro – hyung. Anybody else. Why me?” At this, Chanyoung engulfs spit that feels all too cloying, like the kind of strawberry syrup that Sohee likes to drink. “Hyung,” he begins, brown eyes drifting between the cupid of Sohee’s lips and the deepest parts of his eyes, “I love you.”