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Standing in front of Seoham’s door, Jaechan clutches his elbows in an attempt to stop himself from shivering. So far it hasn’t worked. He’s still freezing. His watch shows that it’s twelve minutes after midnight. Gosh, it’s so late. Seoham must’ve been asleep already. Even though Jaechan had texted him, saying that he’d come over. But it was five hours ago, he wouldn’t stay up for him, right? He’d better not.
Maybe Jaechan shouldn’t have come here tonight, it’s such a selfish thing to do. Unlike him, Seoham has to wake up early and go to work tomorrow. He huffs. Yeah, it’s a bad idea, but he hasn’t seen Seoham in a week, and he… misses him. So much. Maybe too much.
Jaechan’s aware he isn’t the easiest person to deal with. The latest example of that would be an hour ago when he insisted to go here straight from a photoshoot, on top of ignoring his manager’s advice to wear another layer of clothes. And he clearly underestimated the stupidity of drinking an iced Americano—a large one at that—in this weather.
But he can’t not see Seoham.
Now if his fingers can just stop trembling for a second so he can enter the code, it’ll be great. He tries and tries, and finally, at the fifth attempt he punches in the correct code and the lock clicks open. Breathing out in relief, he pushes the door and slips inside. The apartment is dark, save from the light coming from the bedroom. The sunset light. That’s good, maybe Seoham is really asleep.
Jaechan takes off his shoes without making any noise, then he slowly tiptoes across the floor. Only three steps in, he hears something that makes him stop cold.
“Jaechanie?” Seoham’s raspy voice sounds loud in the stillness of the room.
Oh, shoot. The bedroom door opens and Seoham walks out. They look at each other for a long second before Seoham frowns and says, “Why aren’t you wearing a coat?”
Jaechan opens his mouth to respond, then realizes that he’s still shivering a little. Of course, Seoham would notice. “It was a short run from the car, hyung, I didn’t think it’d be this cold,” he replies, but the excuse sounds more stupid than it did earlier in his head.
Seoham doesn’t look convinced—of course. He closes the distance between them and lifts a hand to stroke Jaechan’s cheek. “It’s freezing out there, sweetheart. You could catch a cold,” brushing Jaechan’s cheekbone with his thumb.
The sweet concern in his voice would make Jaechan smile, if he wasn’t too distracted by the feeling of Seoham’s warm hand on his icy skin. He blinks up at the taller man and just… stares. The only light still comes from the sunset lamp in the bedroom, casting a soft, orange glow, half-illuminating Seoham’s perfect face.
What did he say about catching a cold? Oh, right. “I’ll be fine. I didn’t go outside with wet hair,” he assures him. If he did, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Seoham is more overbearing than Jaechan’s mom when it comes to stuff like that.
Seoham slides his fingers behind Jaechan’s ear, feeling up the hair there. “It is dry,” Seoham remarks, brushing his nose against the top of Jaechan’s head. “But you smell like hotel soap.”
Jaechan’s breath hitches. That voice... and the proximity of their bodies. It makes Jaechan shiver, for a whole different reason. “Then fix it,” he breathes, feeling bolder in the semi-darkness. Make me smell like you. “...Hyung.”
He feels Seoham’s body tense, just for a second, then slowly a hand cradles the back of Jaechan’s head, pressing his face gently against Seoham’s shoulder. “We can easily fix that.” But all too soon, his warmth disappears. Jaechan opens his eyes, blinking in confusion. Wait, when did he close his eyes? Before he can say anything, Seoham takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom.
“Here, put this on.”
He’s holding a beige sweater that Jaechan has seen him wearing a couple of times. Wordlessly, Jaechan nods and pulls the sweater down over his head. Like all of Seoham’s clothes, it’s too big on him, coming halfway down his thighs and swallowing his hands, so that only the tip of his fingers are visible. But it’s warm and comfortable, the fabric soft against his skin. Silently, Seoham is watching him, lips curving up when Jaechan catches him staring.
“It’s nice and soft,” Jaechan says, touching one sleeve with his fingertips. “So nice.”
“It’s cashmere.” Seoham closes the distance between them once again. So much closer that Jaechan has to tilt his head up to see Seoham’s eyes, how his gaze roams over Jaechan’s face, tender yet fervent, almost making him lightheaded.
Jaechan’s hand shoots up to rest on Seoham’s chest like muscle memory, needing something solid to hold on to. “It smells like you,” he whispers.
“Good.” Seoham leans down and kisses the tip of Jaechan’s nose. “Now you smell like me, too.”