Chapter Text
Gazing around at the interior of an unfamiliar bedroom, Changkyun thinks of liminal spaces. Was it Baudrillard who said objects were more simulacrum of personal and impersonal meaning? A bed, a dresser, discarded jeans in a pile on the floor, an assortment of trinkets, pictures in frames and film stubs and various iconography. And yet somehow they grew more foreign the closer you inspected them — real things that were only recognizable for their unreality.
His mind is too muddled by the weed to approximate the theory correctly. Turns out smoking two bowls before the party as a warmup makes you feel kind of weird.
Maybe it’s the way the lamplight flickers weakly on the nightstand. Or the nail he keeps scraping along the ridges of the plastic cup he’s been cradling like a security blanket, beer gone tepid and warm inside. The thrum of noise, the peaks of laughter over shitty house music, the seemingly never-ending train of footfalls on the steps outside the door, the incessant buzzing in his ears, coming from—coming from? His jacket, the pocket on the inside with the hole in the seam. Changkyun wonders at his capacity for dreaming with eyes wide open while five missed calls blink threateningly back at him. Two texts that say nothing but his name in all caps, followed by five exclamation points. He identifies the caller, and when the next one comes in he waits, then answers on the fifth ring, unsure if he wants to answer at all.
"Where’d you go? Did you leave already? I told you to wait for me. You always do this. I don’t know why I bother bringing you to these things—" Minhyuk barrels on in the solipsistic way that endears him to no one, but somehow exudes enough confidence that it leaves him admired. Changkyun pointedly clears his throat.
"I’m upstairs."
"Hold on, I can’t hear–no, I’m talking to him right now, he’s–wait for me—" He pulls on a loose thread at the knee of his ripped jeans, wading through the muck of Minhyuk’s static.
“Are you with someone?” Minhyuk’s voice cuts in; it takes Changkyun a second to realize he’s the one being asked.
“No?” he says, peering into the wheaty murk in his cup, swirling it in distaste.
“You don’t sound so sure,” Minhyuk says, tone accusatory.
“I’m not––”
“Find me later. And don’t leave without me!” The call drops.
Changkyun slips his phone into its pocket and flops back onto the bed. The beer goes to his head, rising like cotton fluff. If only he were with someone. The company wouldn’t be so bad right now. It’s odd, being here without the room’s occupant or even any formal invitation to be there. Lying in his bed, trying to construct an image of who Hyungwon is, without really knowing anything about him besides everything a bedroom could tell him if he took the time to look close enough. There are photos of loved ones in frames that don’t match, sat on shelves in need of dusting, next to beat up novels sat open-faced and stale mugs of half-drunk coffee. Something his mom said about that damaging the spines of his books rises and floats away in his mind; he never cared enough to be as precious about books as she did. He wasn’t precious about anything.
Next to the bed, there’s a frame that stands away from the others. An image of Saint Lucia holding a plate of her eyes that gaze placidly back at him. He wonders if Hyungwon is religious.
The bed faces away from the four-paned window; the curtains are thick enough to keep the sunlight out, gathered at the waists to let the moonlight in. Each pane of glass is vague and clouded with condensation. There are plastic stars glued to the ceiling, glowing faint. Forgotten remnants of youth or an attempt at nostalgic consolation? Once again, Changkyun does not know enough about Hyungwon to pass judgement. With a small smile, he considers getting some of his own.
A bedroom is a lot like the inside of a ribcage, Changkyun thinks, and when you’re in there it’s almost sacred, only for a select few to witness the gooey bits of a life and construct an idea of the person it belongs to. In comparison, his ribcage feels rather hollow.
He skims a finger along the bed frame, stretching his arms above his head. The bass shakes the bed with a grating rhythm; it is only a little more soothing up here from a distance. And then a minute blends into another. He can feel himself getting antsy. He sits up and thumbs the gummy out of its baggy before he can think too much about it. He needs something to keep him going, to keep him fun. To smear his brain into a technicolor night. It dissolves on his tongue, and he washes it down with the last of his nasty beer.
The ceiling is just starting to become a whirl of light when the door opens. He sits up expecting to see Minhyuk in a balancing act of solo cup and beer can, but in comes Hyungwon.
"Oh, good. You’re alone.” Hyungwon sets the jacket he’s holding on the chair nearby the door and nudges it closed again with a foot. "I was hoping I wouldn’t find anyone engaged in unspeakable acts in my bed tonight."
Loose, Changkyun snorts at his phrasing, rising onto his elbows. Hyungwon orbits the room like a small moon. He gains sudden awareness of his body, wondering if he should move but Hyungwon signals that he is fine where he is with a quick and easy shake of the head. Cowed, Changkyun lies back down, slow and halting.
"Sorry, it’s—" He gestures about, clearing the nervous phlegm in his throat. "Quiet here. I got tired of the noise down there.”
Hyungwon nods, placated. Changkyun tries to fill the silence, against better judgment, considering his mind is like slow-moving holographic sludge. His eyes trace the stars again.
"I like your decor."
The bed dips when Hyungwon settles down beside him. He returns Changkyun’s comment with his own snort.
Changkyun readjusts so as not to slide over into Hyungwon’s hip but hardly succeeds. He can feel Hyungwon’s warmth for a breath, and politely moves away with more purpose. Hyungwon seems not to notice. From this proximity, the cloying smell of weed wafts over; Changkyun wrinkles his nose. When he looks over at Hyungwon, Changkyun can see how heavy and low his lids are, fanning long lashes across the tops of his cheeks. It reminds him of the wingspans of ravens against a pale expanse.
"I’m glad it suits your tastes," Hyungwon eventually says, breaking through Changkyun’s thoughts.
His eyes drift over to meet Changkyun’s, then close again in easy contentment, hands at rest on his stomach. A nervous breath turns into an exhale, and then Changkyun inspects Hyungwon again, closer without the intimacy of Hyungwon’s returned stare. Gratuitous in the mouth, gentle and round in the nose, hair long and curled behind the ears.
Changkyun wonders that he never really noticed how pretty Hyungwon was before. He never paid attention. But the chances he had were glimpses framed between the shoulders of louder, more familiar faces, during moments that Changkyun can now easily admit he only ever sat through for Kihyun.
Was the Changkyun that Hyungwon knew even real? How many figments can sit in the chest of a man until he becomes one himself? Changkyun wouldn’t say he knew Hyungwon, maybe that he knew of him at most. But what could he say about Hyungwon besides that he’s a pretty face and Minhyuk has known him since they were kids? Not much.
"I haven’t seen you in a while," Hyungwon’s voice is syrupy, startling Changkyun out of his own syrupy thoughts again. "Minhyuk’s been saying you’ve been pretty busy these days."
"Oh, yeah–" Changkyun gestures vaguely, "I started a new job. Been adjusting.” He tries to sound normal but his voice echoes around the room like a deflating balloon. It sounds hollow. And it’s discomfiting, being made aware that your presence or lack thereof has gone noticed. To have permanence in the minds of others, to not merely exist as some transient spectre, there and then gone. A trick of the light. He couldn’t get used to it: being seen. Remembered.
He doesn’t know what to say after that. What do people usually talk about? When they’re attempting to fit one another in the context of familiar bases. When they’re trying to breach new territory, build intimacy. Does Hyungwon want that? Changkyun is suddenly aware of Hyungwon’s thigh pressed against Changkyun’s hip, warm and solid. When did that happen? He could move. He could ask Hyungwon about anything and nothing, maybe they’d play at pleasantries or pretend they knew each other more than they did. Being in Hyungwon’s bed made this feel more intimate than their meager proximity should allow. Then again, only Changkyun seemed to be aware of it; Hyungwon seemed irritatingly at ease.
When they were in groups together previously, Hyungwon maintained a peripheral presence. Quiet, even-tempered, there, but like a handsome slant of light or a pretty shade of blue. At one point tonight Changkyun would have welcomed the quiet, back when he wandered in the first empty room he saw, but his emotions feel tidal, oscillating between wants and needs on opposing sides of the spectrum. He needs to find Minhyuk. He wants to go home. He needs a stronger drink. He wants to somehow forget the last three years of his life. He also wants to drown his thoughts in someone else’s mouth, he thinks suddenly.
“Want to smoke?” Hyungwon’s voice oozes around him again like honey.
Changkyun nods curtly and thanks him silently, because a joint sounds like it would save him right about now. Hyungwon shimmies a lighter out of his pocket, and then rolls over towards the nightstand. He rummages for a second, then secures the joint and returns to Changkyun’s side, somehow closer than before.
“I keep a few extra of these around just in case,” Hyungwon says, conspiratorially. Changkyun flashes a quick grin. Gingerly, Hyungwon lights the tip of the joint and then brings it to his mouth, sucking the embers into the body with a few light puffs. Changkyun watches him in awe, the orange glow flickering in the depths of Hyungwon’s eyes like flames in a pool of black. The world feels heightened. Those bottomless eyes flicker in his direction, the joint held between them. Changkyun takes it and sucks in a hit. Smoke rings around them as he tries not to cough. Hyungwon gives him a lazy smile and then flops back onto the bed. The joint warms Changkyun’s fingertips.
“You know I never thought you liked me.”
Changkyun watches ash gather at the tip of the joint as it burns.
“What made you think that?” He doesn’t turn. Hyungwon’s voice breaks around a yawn, wafting up to him from his place on the bed like the smoke fogging up the room.
“You don’t seem like you like anyone that much.”
After a moment, Changkyun shrugs. He doesn’t like justifying himself.
“Do you want me to like you?” It’s just a question, but when the words leave his mouth Changkyun wonders what he means by them. He wonders where they’ll lead.
Hyungwon doesn’t reply, so Changkyun shifts to look down at him. He leans over, holds the joint out for Hyungwon to put between his lips. Hyungwon’s eyes are like heavy stones sunk into a riverbed. His lips part to accommodate, then suck. Changkyun watches the way his face glows with the embers again, doesn’t shift away.
“Everybody wants to be liked.”
“Maybe,” Changkyun concedes after a moment.
Hyungwon takes a long drag, the smoke obscuring his face. “And if I did?”
Changkyun quirks his brow in question, though he knows what Hyungwon means.
“Want you to like me?” Hyungwon won’t meet his gaze.
Funny, this sudden display of bashfulness from a man Changkyun wouldn’t expect it from. Hyungwon didn’t seem the type. He reveals himself in thin measures, a window shuttering open to the light. Changkyun absorbs him, gone greedy with the taking. He leans forward and presses his mouth to Hyungwon’s, tasting him, questing forward until Hyungwon’s lips part with a small noise of surprise. The kiss is messy, searching, like within Hyungwon there is something Changkyun has been missing and only now recognized the sight of. He can make most things a calling if he thinks hard enough.
The joint hangs uselessly between them, while Changkyun clambers on top of Hyungwon, seeking, seeking. Hyungwon wraps an arm around Changkyun’s back and tugs him forward, settling back against the headboard with a thud. He drops the rest of the joint in the ashtray on the bedside counter and kisses Changkyun back hungrily. His own desperation meeting Changkyun’s midway. They clash, they find a rhythm. Hyungwon’s mouth is a cavern of heat, intoxication embodied. If Changkyun stopped to think, he would pull away, he would run, he would find a reason for why this was wrong. But Changkyun doesn’t let himself. He’s found an escape, hasn’t he?
Hyungwon groans, shifting Changkyun’s weight in his lap until his ass is pressed against Hyungwon’s crotch. A sickly warmth oozes through Changkyun’s belly at the feeling of Hyungwon’s cock pressed against him, already so hard, the kind of warmth one feels on the precipice of a fall. A fear-tinged anticipation, power, a desire to prove oneself. How they all appear as one hand above the horizon of his desire. He grinds down, giddy at the sound he elicits from Hyungwon, a desperate and shaking keen, quickly swallowed back. Hyungwon’s big hands engulf Changkyun’s back, pulling him closer.
Changkyun edges a hand in between them to tug at the waistband of Hyungwon’s pants, finding them easy to slip into. Hyungwon lets out another sound when Changkyun’s fingers graze his cock through his briefs. The pause is a question, and Hyungwon nods quickly to sound his approval.
“Are you sure about this?” Hyungwon asks, breathy and low.
Changkyun wonders why he wouldn’t be, his hand halfway under Hyungwon’s briefs, but he nods, quick and sure and then leans down to press their mouths together again. It’s enough permission for Hyungwon to give in. He crashes into Changkyun like a man desperate for water at the edge of a pool, knocking teeth almost painfully before they find a rhythm once more. Changkyun thumbs over the hard line of Hyungwon’s cock, his slim fingers adding pressure playfully, before tugging the fabric down. He notes its dampness, Hyungwon’s so hard he’s leaking already. The sight makes his mouth water.
Pumping him slowly, teasingly gentle, Changkyun leans back to watch Hyungwon’s face change with pleasure. The way his eyes cloud, gaze unfocused, lips slightly parted then pursed tight, his tongue darting out to wet them. Every movement is an intricacy Changkyun soaks in. Each stroke pulls a small breath out of him, Changkyun coaxing out every noise, every groan. Hyungwon is heavy and hot in his palm.
Shifting back, Changkyun looks down between them to watch Hyungwon’s cock bead with cum on the upstroke. When he lets go, Hyungwon hisses with the loss of contact, but Changkyun isn’t moving away for long. He repositions himself further down, bracketing Hyungwon’s thighs, tugging his sweats further down his waist until they bunch around Hyungwon’s knees, allowing just enough room for him to move. Hyungwon watches Changkyun with a heady want, a flushed spot of warmth dusting both of his cheeks.
It is all or nothing. Changkyun sucks Hyungwon into his mouth, just the head, delicate and tentative. Then he swallows to the base. He doesn’t see Hyungwon’s eyes shutter, only feels the tension build in his thighs. He alternates between pumping on the upstroke and sucking down, marveling at how hard Hyungwon is. He swirls his tongue around the head and when Hyungwon lets out a desperate hiss, Changkyun nearly smiles. He knows he’s good at this.
It isn’t long until Hyungwon nudges him with intent, a warning that he will come. Changkyun rubs a soothing hand up towards Hyungwon’s stomach, acquiescing his permission. He swallows, mind gone blissfully silent. The knowledge turns him gracious with sudden affection, as he sits back and fixes Hyungwon with a soft and shy grin. Hyungwon gazes back at him as though Changkyun has just reinvented the world with a snap of his fingers, in total wonder.
“Let me take care of you.” The words are halted, clumsy and thick. Changkyun huffs and rearranges himself to allow Hyungwon the space to move. He feels sticky in his jeans, uncomfortable. When he lies back, the whole room spins into a whirl of soft colors, like an image shone through a fogged and warped glass.
Changkyun lets out an ill-timed giggle and before he shuts his eyes, he catches Hyungwon smiling down at him fondly. He feels unmoored, but not in a dangerous sense. He feels safe with Hyungwon, so big and full around him like a god. Hyungwon’s hands on his waist signal a shift in his place in the world. Changkyun is ready to lie back and take.
Jeans down, the air is cool against his thighs. Changkyun watches as Hyungwon settles between his legs, looking as though he were facing down an altar. It makes Changkyun squirm; he doesn’t fully understand Hyungwon’s easy devotion. Cannot tell if it is mocking. He tries not to care and lies back against the pillows.
By now, Changkyun has grown used to his body. Used to how others view him, and how it changes nothing about how he views himself. The self-conscious way he bares himself is only a reflex. Things become true when you tell yourself them more than once, right? But for all his minor insecurity, Hyungwon’s expression only grows hungrier.
When Hyungwon tongues his hole, lips fat and warm against him, a groan is pulled right out of Changkyun in a way he’d normally feel embarrassed by.
“Fuck.”
Hyungwon hums against him, sucking Changkyun into his mouth and swirling his tongue against the hood. Changkyun is swollen with want, sticky with desire. He twines his fingers into Hyungwon’s hair for something to hold on to. Hyungwon realigns his shoulders to shift Changkyun’s hips closer to him, more weight on the highs of his forearms. The change in angle makes Changkyun keen, high and breathy in his throat. Hyungwon’s mouth is so warm, his lips soft and insistent in their pressure. He flattens his tongue against the tip and then spreads Changkyun’s lips apart, the sucking sounds obscene between them. Changkyun’s thighs shake with pleasure. He could die like this, he thinks. He could, but he wants more. He wants Hyungwon to fuck him. He wants to disappear into this body above him and never resurface. He wants—
There’s a sharp rap against the door, and then the handle shakes. Both of them freeze, but Hyungwon doesn’t take his mouth off of Changkyun’s cock. Time is slowed. Changkyun sits up part way, glad for the foresight Hyungwon had to lock it. He wonders if they stay quiet enough, the other person will leave. His thought is interrupted by a lazy lick Hyungwon gives him before pulling away, eyeing the door warily. They look back at one another. The door shakes again, this time accompanied by a voice.
“I need to talk with you.”
The voice startles him out of whatever indifference he had.
Kihyun?
"It's occupied," Hyungwon calls out, exasperated by the noise.
"Yes, I can see that, but I need to speak with––" The voice is both thin and condescending, oozing with self-importance. Changkyun would dissolve on the spot if the absurdity of the situation did not strike him foremost. His high dissolves and the sudden sobriety is shaped like shame.
Kihyun, who hasn't spoken to him in weeks, not even when they exchanged belongings, not even when Changkyun called incessantly, nearly every fucking night until he had to give up for his sanity; of course, this silent and unfeeling Kihyun, was now demanding to speak to him the very moment he decided to fuck another man. He swallows around the dryness of his throat and tries not to scream when Hyungwon reaches a wrist up to wipe his mouth, the sight further cementing Changkyun’s anger.
Remaining where he is, Changkyun flexes his hands against the bed. He eventually sits up, doesn’t speak. Unsure of what else to do, Hyungwon reaches out and tucks a stray lock behind Changkyun’s ear, so tender, so unbelievably gentle it makes him sick. He doesn’t understand it, but he allows himself to be touched for a moment longer, then shies away.
Kihyun knocks again, but Hyungwon is already opening the door. Changkyun slides off the bed, sticky and vaguely humiliated, he stands, but he makes no acknowledgement of what’s happening. He doesn’t look at Kihyun. Hyungwon must make some excuse but it hardly registers. He pushes past them all, keeps pushing until he’s outside, and it’s cold, but he left his jacket somewhere back there and he can't turn back, not now. He keeps walking.
"Changkyun, wait ––“
He doesn’t want to wait. He would rather do anything else in the world than wait there for Kihyun to speak to him. To look at him. To acknowledge him. He begged for this, once. Sometimes the thing we want the most manifests in a shape so grotesque it can’t be faced. Sometimes the thing we want most becomes the thing we cannot bear.
Kihyun’s fingers are hot against the inside of Changkyun’s wrist. He wrenches his arm away from the touch and whirls around, humiliation scraping him hollow and rotten inside. In the dull coin of moonlight, Kihyun’s face hardens like a cruel mask.
“Are you with him now?"
" With who?"
The mask twists; Kihyun bares his teeth but no words come out. As if to say, Don’t play stupid.
Changkyun turns on a heel, anger licking molten stripes behind his ears, but Kihyun forces him to stay put with a fist in his shirt.
"What does it matter? I can fuck anyone I want, you have no right to care – “
“I don’t care,” Kihyun spits back, shoving Changkyun away from him like he’s been burned. Changkyun feels himself turning hysterical, the laughter bubbling out of him gone acidic and sparse.
"You’re not a very good liar.”
Kihyun scoffs, sharp and defensive. But Changkyun can see the way the shame curves Kihyun’s small shoulders inward, he’s seen it time and time again. And shame only makes Kihyun crueler.
"Don’t flatter yourself. I just think it’s obvious you’re only doing this to get my attention," Kihyun says with feigned distance.
"I didn’t realize you were so pathetic."
The words fall hollow the minute they aspirate into the night air. Nothing he could’ve said then would have held up against a light. It’s almost as if Kihyun were speaking to himself.
All of his anger bleeds away and it scares him. The moonlight chisels Kihyun into half his size, he’s so small. Changkyun nearly curses it all, nearly pulls Kihyun into his arms, but he becomes aware of an audience.
Over Kihyun’s shoulder, he spots Hyungwon watching from a careful distance, arms crossed and posture relaxed against the column of the porch. There are a few others, including Minhyuk, watching from the doorway, but not many. When Kihyun turns back to follow Changkyun’s line of sight, they duck their heads and feign disinterest.
Minhyuk, ever the diplomat, reaches out to pull Hyungwon back inside, but Hyungwon shrugs him off. He doesn’t move, holds eye contact with Changkyun, like he’s searching for a signal that Changkyun wants him involved but it doesn’t make sense.
He’s struck, again, by this feeling of absurdity, of complete incomprehension. Why does Hyungwon care? Above anything else, it’s this that breaks his resolve; it’s the way Hyungwon looks at him like he’s someone else, someone more important, not a near-lay causing trouble at his party, something more. To his own mounting horror, Changkyun feels like he’s about to cry.
Without another word, Changkyun leaves, and this time, graciously, no one stops him.