Chapter Text
“Come here,” he says. Then, “hold my hand.”
San does as told, walks from the bedroom doorway into Seonghwa’s room and gets close enough to the bed that Seonghwa can hold his hand from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Seonghwa’s free hand, damp and warm, reaches up and wipes the tears from San’s ruddy cheeks with his thumb.
“What happened?” he asks. “Tell me what happened.”
“Nightmare,” San whispers.
In the moonlight filtering through the open blinds San can only just see Seonghwa’s face, can only just see his brows drawing together to form a little furrow in the middle. His thumb moves back and forth against San’s knuckles and when San sniffles the furrow between his brows deepens.
“Just a nightmare?” Seonghwa asks.
“Yes,” San lies. He hiccups and the quiet of the room amplifies the sound. “Can I sleep with you?”
And even though he knows that Seonghwa won’t tell him no, he readies himself for the stinging rejection that he’s faced so often from others. He’s yet to fully understand how Seonghwa cares for him, and is yet to understand his own care for the other. He holds onto Seonghwa’s hand tighter with his own clammy one, their palms pressing tight together.
“Come here,” Seonghwa repeats, and lifts his bedsheets. He moves to make space for San and sighs, satisfied, when he lies down in the bed. He moves the sheet to cover them and though the mattress is already damp with sweat, the summer heat permeating the air of Seonghwa’s room, Seonghwa moves closer to San.
Arms wrap around him from behind, squeeze his waist while fingers play with the material of his plain white t-shirt, identical to the one Seonghwa is wearing. He comes closer, tangles their bare legs together so that they’re sharing the sticky summer heat on their skin. San’s heartbeat picks up, but for once it isn’t due to fear. The closeness is intoxicating, makes San feel dizzy. A tear rolls sideways down his face and wets the pillow beneath him. Seonghwa’s fingers draw circles against him, right on top of his racing heart.
“Hush baby,” he murmurs. The nickname has San clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut. He prays Seonghwa doesn’t notice. “Hush and go to sleep.”
“Yes Seonghwa,” San whispers back. A nose nudges at the back of his head, a silent reassurance.
It’s only after what feels like hours of sweating and pretending to be asleep that lips press against the back of San’s neck. They press against the same spot over and over and San has to bite his tongue to keep his composure. They move eventually, littering barely noticeable touches against his shoulder through the t-shirt he’s wearing, and then up to where his shoulder meets his neck. They’re chaste, nothing more than innocent exploration, but San can feel his cheeks burning hotter and hotter even when the kisses have come to a stop.
The arms around his waist tighten when the kisses end, and Seonghwa presses his face into the back of San’s neck with an urgency that San otherwise never sees in him. He breathes like he wants to inhale San and lock him up in his lungs. San lets out a soft, shuddery moan. He gets away with it because Seonghwa thinks he’s already asleep.
He finally slips into sleep now, with the weight of those careful kisses upon his neck and even breaths caressing his skin. The nightmare that wasn’t really a nightmare slips from his memory. The only thing that remains is Seonghwa’s hand in his and Seonghwa’s whispers telling him to come here.
.
The morning brings clarity.
San wakes up when Seonghwa is getting dressed for the day, fresh from the shower if the droplets of water on his skin are anything to go by. It’s rare that he sees Seonghwa in such a state of undress, only ever getting to see the tan skin of his arms and legs, and he stares at him now with something close to hunger as Seonghwa bends over to pick up a shirt for the day. San watches as one droplet rolls down his neck, traces the line of his spine all the way down to the dimples at the bottom of his back. He finds himself jealous of that drop of water, but before long it’s hidden from him as Seonghwa pulls his shirt over his head.
San shuts his eyes again, knowing that soon Seonghwa will be done and will wake him to start his own day. He wishes that he could live here in this room with Seonghwa, with their sweaty legs tangled together every night and the muscles of Seonghwa’s back uncovered for San to look at every morning. But that is not the way their lives work, and that is not the way San has ever been allowed to live.
“San,” Seonghwa calls out. When there is no response, a hand reaches down to squeeze his shoulder. Fingertips trail over his arm until they land on his hand. Seonghwa’s hand takes hold of his and squeezes. “Wake up.”
San opens his eyes, obedient the way he always is, and finds Seonghwa smiling at him.
“Come on. Go and take a shower. Go and get dressed,” he says. There’s a short pause before he tacks on, “angel.”
It’s the same name Mom used to call him when he was younger, before he stopped being an angel in her eyes, and it makes him bristle. Not even Seonghwa’s lips can make the name sweet, even if they have the sweetest of intentions. He sits up, still holding onto Seonghwa’s hand, then stands up, still holding onto Seonghwa’s hand. Seonghwa’s other hand comes up to stroke the back of his head, slowly and with purpose. The hand moves to his nape, still damp with sweat, and squeezes gently. Seonghwa looks as though he has something to say, but then a voice calls through the house, shouting that breakfast is ready and that food will not be saved for latecomers.
“Go,” Seonghwa says. Suddenly both of his hands are gone from San’s body, leaving two more spots of him feeling vulnerable and cold despite the stuffy air of the room. He clenches his jaw and swallows the neediness set deep in his bones.
“Don’t eat without me,” San pleads in a whisper. He scampers off before he can hear Seonghwa’s reply.