Work Text:
It’s hot.
Hyojin tells himself it’s because summer is around the corner or because the studio is stuffy, but it’s still early May and the air conditioner is on full blast. He decides to blame it on the expensive high fashion clothes three stylists fussily put on him for the photoshoot, but then gives up on it because it’s clear to everyone including himself that the shirt with see-through sleeves isn’t the reason for his sweaty hands.
It’s hot and Hyojin stops trying to fool himself when the reason for that unnerving heat spreading throughout him is right there glued to his face, a reason with a full name – Lee Seungjun. Skin touching skin, Hyojin feels his cheek burn against Seungjun’s as they pose in front of incessant flashes and against the pure white backdrop behind them.
That single point of contact radiating heat from Hyojin’s cheek to the rest of his face, the tip of his ears and going down his neck is a welcome distraction from the agitation caused by the unwelcome sensation of his heart hammering against his chest. How long have they been in that pose? Hyojin tries to time it listening to his heartbeat that echoes in his ears, but quickly finds out it is an impossible task as each thump comes faster than the previous one – an erratic rhythm he can’t count the beats to.
60, 80, 100 beats.
So Hyojin closes his eyes, tries to ignore the marching band inside his ribcage playing a song he’d rather be unaware of at that moment.
With his eyes closed, time seems to extend and Seungjun’s presence close to him is painfully clear. So when his hand snakes on Hyojin’s back for support, his breath catches in his parched throat at the sudden contact. Hyojin wonders if Seungjun’s palm is melting a hole on his shirt, because he’s sure he can feel the tip of his fingers and his palm directly against his skin, leaving a searing imprint of his hand on the line of his spine. Each cell of Hyojin’s body seems to scream at the feeling of each inch of contact between him and Seungjun, he lets his breath out and is unsure if it is his own. Hyojin’s eyelashes tremble as a shiver courses through his body and a series of blurry images he’d rather keep secret flicker behind his eyelids in time with the sound of the camera trigger.
It’s hot.
60, 80, 100 beats.
When the “okay” from the photographer reaches Hyojin’s ears, they part at lightning speed as if they had their faces pressed against a sizzling hot plate for far too long. Seungjun pats his face and goes toward the makeup artist with large and quick steps, Hyojin heads in the opposite direction in equal speed where the photographer stands and calls him to check the pictures.
The photographer’s comments go into one ear and out of the other, as Hyojin focuses on the picture he had just taken. Hyojin’s eyes follow the line where his face melds with Seungjun’s and is surprised there are no burn marks to be found on their cheeks, then he glances briefly and a little embarrassed at himself. Touching his own cheek that still has the remnants of warmth – his own, Seungjun’s, he can’t tell anymore –, Hyojin sighs and relives the moment depicted in the picture when his eyes fluttered close.
His breath hitches and his throat gets dry, his senses become sharper and his body becomes hyper aware of Seungjun’s closeness. Hyojin gulps down a lump of nothing.
60, 80, 100 beats.
Hyojin licks and bites his lips mindlessly, something hot and heavy sets in his stomach as he finally, almost reluctantly, looks at the virtual Seungjun in the picture. Hyojin takes the chance this one Seungjun isn’t able to tease him and engraves each detail into his memory. The contour of his face, the traces of his nose and the shape of his lips. Most of all Hyojin finds himself trapped in Seungjun’s eyes, his eyes are dark and seems to see through him and his hopeless attempt at putting on a calm façade.
60, 80, 100 beats.
Hyojin looks up, sets himself free from the gaze beyond the screen just to find Seungjun staring at him from the other side of the room. His eyes meet Seungjun’s – the real ones – and sparks fly when their matching shades are magnets to each other. When Hyojin averts his gaze, a knowing smirk flourishes on Seungjun’s lips as he turns towards the makeup artist again. His hand travels to the front of his shirt and taps it lightly, rhythmically.
As if creating a song only meant for Hyojin’s ears, Seungjun’s fingers tap his chest.
80, 100, 110 beats. And three more.
As if sending a message only meant for Hyojin’s eyes, Seungjun’s smirk in profile widens a little. That unnerving heat rises to Hyojin’s face once more as he mutters under his breath in frustration.
“Ah, I hate him.”