Work Text:
Four quick buzzes. Be more if he ignored them.
Hongjoong stretched a hand to the passenger seat and lazily grabbed his phone as it buzzed a fifth time.
Seonghwa:
He’s not answering his phone.
Or his texts.
I reminded him last night.
Got an “all good.”
Obviously not.
Hongjoong rolled his eyes.
Hongjoong:
Patience is a virtue.
Seonghwa:
Are you lecturing me?
Hongjoong:
1 sentence is not a lecture
Seonghwa:
Principle!
Hongjoong:
Mm.
You know how he is.
Seonghwa:
He’ll be 50 and still forgetting
to pack until half an hour
before a trip!
Probably true.
Hongjoong:
S’fine.
You live a state and a half away.
We won’t be late.
Seonghwa:
You better not!
Hongjoong:
Worst case, your parents
facetime us.
Graduations are always
on jumbotrons, so we’ll see you.
Seonghwa:
...........
He laughed. So easy to tease.
Hongjoong:
He’ll be out soon enough.
No reply. He smiled and let his hand fall to his lap. It was wonderfully warm. With the visor blocking the bright light and windows down to catch the breeze, perfect for a short nap. Wouldn’t be that long before....
The shove against his arm was gentl. The repetition of his name low and amused. He blinked twice and tiled his head to the side.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Yeosang grinned a hefted a bag into the air. “Pop the trunk?”
“Uh...” He rubbed at his eyes. “Sure.” Button. Where was...the button. Panel. Thing.
“Thanks.”
Yeosang disappeared.
Hongjoong sat up slowly, eyes riveted to the rearview mirror.
Yeosang’s hair was pink.
The trunk slammed shut.
Cotton candy pink.
Fluffy and soft.
The passenger side opened and Yeosang plopped onto the seat, tugging the door shut after him.
“You look like a Valentine candy heart,” Hongjoong blurted out.
Yeosang’s mouth twitched. “The ones that say ‘be mine’ and ‘kiss me’?”
Hongjoong cleared his throat and pressed the starter. They did...say those things. “They have friends stuff, too.”
“Do they?” Yeosang buckled up and fiddled with the seat levers.
Seatbelts. Right. Those were important. He pulled his on. “It’s very...pink.”
“That was the intent. Ahhhhhh.” The passenger seat leaned back halfway.
“You know....” Hongjoong carefully backed out of the tiny parking space and headed for the complex’s gates. “If there’s an accident, you’ll be too far away for the air bag to help.”
“You sound like Seonghwa.”
Hongjoong stifled a smile. “Your brother only has your best interests in mind.”
“Hmm.... I trust you. You’d never let me get hurt.”
If he could help it, no. He waited for the gate to open, then slowly drove through.
Yeosang yawned.
“You can sleep,” Hongjoong offered. “Lots of boring interstate ahead of us.”
“But you’re the driver. And you’re saving me a long bus ride. I should,” Yeosang yawned again, “ugh, sorry. I should keep you company. Talk and stuff.”
He pulled to a stop at a red light and glanced at Yeosang. “Were you up late gaming with Wooyoung?”
“Um....” Yeosang rubbed a hand against the side of his neck, his expression sheepish.
Hongjoong shook his head. “Even with the time difference?” He’d never expected their all-nighters to stop, but to keep them up when Wooyoung was in Paris?
“He knew I wasn’t working the new few days and that you were driving....”
Of course. Hongjoong turned right, the interstate on-ramp just barely visible. If it was anyone else, he’d scold them, but Yeosang? Never had happened, likely never would. He tapped the controls, sending the windows up and starting a low waft of air conditioner.
“Sleep, Yeosang. It’s fine.”
“If you’re sure...?”
Another red light. Why were there so many stops before the freeway? Hongjoong reached back, hand patting the seat behind them. There! He tossed the blanket, laughing when it landed on Yeosang’s head.
“Get some shuteye. You can be my sole source of entertainment when you look less like a raccoon.”
“I didn’t stay up that late,” Yeosang protested, as he bundled the blanket into a small square.
“Sure, you didn’t.” Green light, but also green as far as he could see. All in sync. He was gonna hit every red, wasn’t he?
Yeosang wedged the blanket between his seat and the door frame, then scooted close. Hongjoong shot a quick glance sideways as the car picked up speed. Yeah. He’d be out in minutes.
“Wake me if you need to....”
“Mm-hm.”
***
“And then Mrs. Blake pointed at Mr. Anderson, dropped her voice to a hiss and—”
“No one actually hisses, Yeosang.” Hongjoong checked the map display. Hotel exit was next.
Yeosang bounced in his seat. Twenty-five and still excitable. God, he was cute.
“She did! She hissed, ‘It was you, in the library, with the wrench.’ And Mrs. Chang jabbed her cane in the air and yelled that Mr. Anderson was a scheming son of a bitch, and his face!” Yeosang laughed. “I mean, Mrs. Chang was in amateur theatre, and everyone knows to let it slide, but to be called scheming?”
“He didn’t object to son of a bitch?”
“He kind of is.”
Hongjoong grinned and eased over a lane.
“Mr. Anderson glared at them both and loudly declared Professor Plum was the scheming son of a bitch, not him. And then Mr. Martinez yelled that he was playing Plum, Mr. Anderson was Mrs. Peacock, and if he couldn’t remember that he had no business playing Clue like a respectable person.”
“Respectable.” He slowed down as the off-ramp curved sharply to the right. “I have never heard a ‘respectable’ story about your people, Yeosang.”
“Ah, well, they can be, but no one wants to hear the daily bits and pieces. Are we almost there? Seven hours in a car, my legs might not hold me up when I stand.”
Hongjoong had made the mistake, years ago, of telling Yeosang he could listen to him talk about anything. Yeosang had frowned in confusion. Seonghwa had...had words to say, later that night.
“You jogged around the entire rest stop three times, earlier,” he pointed out, eyes bouncing from the map to the road. Where...?
“I’m not used to staying still. You know that. It’s why I hate planes. You’re just stuck. In a miserable little seat. For hours.”
“Hm.”
“There!” Yeosang pointed across the road. “Turn, turn, turn, you’ll miss—”
“I got it.” Barely. He managed not to swerve and shortly had them parked in a crowded lot. Was there a festival or something nearby?
A fair, he learned in the lobby. A Renaissance fair. And, no, their room couldn’t be changed. No vacancies. Hongjoong pressed his lips together and hurried to the elevator, dragging his rolling suitcase behind him, ignoring the scattered small groups of other guests.
“Why’s it a problem?” Yeosang asked, as the doors shut, and they began to ascend. “I mean, we’re just sleeping. Not the first time.”
How to explain without explaining?
“When we were kids, when I slept over at your place, I had a sleeping bag. On the floor. You and Seonghwa slept in his bed.”
Yeosang swung his bag back and forth. “On the few occasions he let me stay in the room.” He wrinkled his nose. “I’d’ve understood being banished if there was a giant age gap, but one year? Not even that much, between you and me. Not like there were secrets to be shared my innocent ears couldn’t hear.”
The elevator slowed and the doors parted. Hongjoong hastily stepped through, paused at the room signs, then turned left. “When we were kids, no. Later?”
Yeosang strode next to him. “Oh, crushes and dating and yeah, you were my brother’s best friend, not mine, I know.”
An entire topic to avoid at all costs.
“Room 418. Here we are.” He pressed the key card to the lock and shoved the door open. “Are you going to hit up the gym?” He hoped so. It’d give him time to mentally prepare. How could a queen-sized bed look small?
“Yep. You care which side?”
“No.” Hongjoong abandoned his suitcase and collapsed into the nearest chair. “I’m gonna watch TV.”
Yeosang raised an eyebrow at him. “No e-mails? You must be tired.” He dropped his bag on the duvet, unzipped it, and drew out a smaller bag.
He must’ve looked puzzled, because Yeosang held the new bag aloft. “Work-out clothes. Won’t have time to wash them, don’t want to make everything smell. After, I mean. I’ll go change. Probably be gone 40 minutes or so.”
Hongjoong reached for the remote on the table and thumbed the power on. “Mm. Have fun.” He started skimming through the channels, keeping his attention—and eyes—firmly fixed on the screen until Yeosang had changed in the bathroom and left.
Forty minutes. Then he’d be back. To shower and change again. And if he knew Yeosang, all he’d be wearing to sleep would be boxers.
He groaned, letting the remote fall into his lap.
The crush he’d had in high school had faded, as Seonghwa had sternly assured him it would. Fondness and affection had remained, of course. Separate colleges, boyfriends, and a job where he traveled every couple months...he’d felt confident he was immune.
Until a year ago, when Yeosang had started to visit the gym with as fervent a devotion as any churchgoer. For his job’s sake, but it seemed to make him happy. The gym selfies, tracking his progress...those had been hard to ignore. But he’d been mostly successful, reminding himself Yeosang was his best friend’s younger brother. Plus, Xiao Dejun, even if he and Yeosang were more on-again, off-again than anything permanent.
He took a calming breath. It’d be fine.
***
It was not fine. One split-second glimpse of Yeosang, toweling his hair dry, wearing (as he’d guessed) only boxers—Hongjoong scrambled off the bed, nearly diving for his suitcase. He knew he’d packed it. Not for the reason he needed it, but hey! Keeping sane was important, too!
He twisted his body. “Catch!” Sent the shirt flying through the air.
Yeosang caught it, then tilted his head inquiringly.
Hongjoong shrugged, then turned back to his case, trying to reorganize the mess he’d made. “Your gift. From my last trip.”
“Ohhh. It’s so soft! Can I wear it now?”
“Sure!” Please.
He stood as slowly as he could, then walked back to the bed and the book he’d thrown aside in his haste.
“I love it.”
He looked up. The oversized shirt covered Yeosang from neck to hips. Whew.
“Didn’t want a repeat of last time, since you keep...getting bigger.” He was fine spending hours combing through artisans’ shops for something special for Yeosang, but for a shirt to be too small and wind up on Dejun, instead? He’d avoided ‘liking’ that Instagram post.
Yeosang smiled, then spun around, the light fabric belling out and swirling around his torso.
What would it be like—no. Absolutely not.
“How’s Dejun?”
“He’s fine, last I heard.” Yeosang ran a hand through his hair.
“Ah.” Off-again.
“He likes Portland.” Yeosang walked back to the bathroom.
Huh?
Hongjoong sat on the bed’s edge, feeling confused.
“You think it’s okay if I hang our towels over the shower rod?” Yeosang called out.
He’d left his on the floor...which meant Yeosang had picked it up...so housekeeping wouldn’t have to.
It wasn’t fair. Kind and sweet and thoughtful and generous and gorgeous.... Yes, Seonghwa’s brother was all those things.
“Sounds good!” he called back.
Yeosang reappeared and made his way to the bed, turning off the two floor lamps as he crossed the room. “What’re you reading?”
“A mystery. What do you mean, Portland? Is that a new suburb?”
“No, no. Portland, Oregon.” He sprawled on the bed, chin propped on his hands, peering at the book cover.
Why...? Hongjoong frowned.
Yeosang glanced up at him. “Job offer. Really good one.”
“But the two of you?” They’d been together—one way or another—for years.
“We broke up.”
“As in, temporarily?” Long distance was a pain in the ass.
“Nope. Broke up as in ended. Over. No more.”
Hongjoong’s jaw dropped.
Yeosang giggled. “Seonghwa didn’t tell you?”
“No. he didn’t.” Bastard. What’d he think would happen? He took a deep breath. Nothing. Seonghwa would not have thought a thing, because as far as he knew, there were zero lingering feelings to be wary of.
“Oh, well...to be fair, I did tell him the same weekend he was searching for his dissertation committee forms. He probably forgot.”
Three months ago. Hongjoong picked up the book, running a finger along its edges.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah. Honestly, we’d been drifting apart a while. Probably shouldn’t have gotten back together last year.” Yeosang puffed out a breath. “Oh, well.”
“That’s why you’re in a different apartment.” He’d wondered.
“Yep! So close to work I can bike there!”
“You have a car, though?”
Yeosang hesitated. “I kinda...sold it. For the deposit and just....” He chewed on his lower lip, looking guilty. “Stuff. Don’t tell my brother, please?”
Such a Yeosang thing to do. “Lips are sealed. You are an adult.”
“Not what Seonghwa thinks.” Yeosang scowled. “‘You’re my baby.’”
Hongjoong burst out laughing. “That’s him. Dead to rights.”
Yeosang rolled to his side, one arm tucked under his head. “It’s such a weird word, isn’t it? ‘Baby.’ Fine for kids. Not for adults.”
Biceps. Holy hell.
“Depends how it’s used.” Why had he said that? Normalize, he had to normalize! He set the book on the bedside table. “Some people use it as, y’know, an endearment. Baby. Honey. Sweetheart. Things like that.” He’d sounded casual, hadn’t he?
“Maybe it has to be the right tone of voice?” He grinned. “Like...baby.”
A low, husky voice from Yeosang? What was with tonight? Too many thoughts getting stirred up. Pointless thoughts.
“Uh, yeah.” He pushed down the covers and slipped under the sheets. “We still have a bit of a drive tomorrow. Should get some sleep. I’ll get my lamp.” Obviously. Could he get any weirder? “You get yours.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Blessed darkness. Not that he’d be forgetting any time soon how ripped Yeosang had gotten. Lean and deliciously defined.
No! Bad thoughts. Bad. Thoughts.
“Hongjoong?”
“Yep?”
“Are you seeing anyone these days?”
Was he what?
“No.”
“Oh. I thought...nevermind. Good night.”
Nevermind???
No, don’t ask. Go to sleep, he told himself firmly and closed his eyes.
He wasn’t sleepy.
Wasn’t there a self-hypnosis where you visualized counting down from 100?
- Big, blue numbers.
- Lilac, just as big.
- Pink. Like Yeosang’s hair.
“Yeosang?”
“Yes?”
“Why’d you wanna know?”
The sheets were tugged as Yeosang moved? Turned? He didn’t know and he shouldn’t try to guess.
“I thought you were with that guy. In your Instagram posts.”
The guy in his—no way. No way.
“Jonathan? Nooooooo. Just co-workers. We’d drive each other insane, dating. If he was gay. Or bi. Or anything but straight. Which he is. Straight, I mean. I’m very single.” Why was he running his mouth like an overeager idiot?
Hongjoong sighed softly.
“Do you remember high school?” Yeosang asked hesitantly.
“Parts of it.” Vividly.
More sheets being pulled or twisted or something. He yanked his mind away from easy images.
“Did you know I kinda had a crush on you, back then?
He was hearing things. Only 26 and losing his mind.
“Uh...what?”
“A crush. On you. Back then.” Yeosang’s voice was light and...nervous? Whatever for? “About half my sophomore year. Until you started going on those double dates. Felt weird after that, so....”
No fucking way. He’d agreed to those dates to appease Seonghwa, to show he was getting over his forever off-limits feelings for Yeosang. And yet!
He wanted to punch Seonghwa.
But also, if secrets were being shared?
“Why? A crush...on me? I was kind of awkward back then.”
“No, you weren’t,” Yeosang scoffed. “You were smart. And cool. Everyone thought so. We all knew you’d go into fashion—and you did. And you,” his voice softened, “you were pretty. Still are.”
Dazed was a good word. Accurate. Apt.
“I—I’m—you think—you thought—pretty?”
“Of course. Prettiest person I know.”
As if it were a fact. Nostalgia was definitely rose-tinted. He pulled the duvet to his chin, like a shield.
“Uh, Seonghwa.”
“He’s my brother.” Yeosang sounded revolted. “Objectively, yeah, beautiful. But I can’t think of him as subjectively pretty.”
Valid.
“You,” Hongjoong said softly.
“Huh?”
“You. You’re like Helen of Troy or something. Unreal-level lovely. People would fight wars over you, Yeosang.”
“Rather they not. Seems morbid.”
Hongjoong snorted. “I’ll tell them not to. But that’s where you’re at. Lovely and adored. I don’t know anyone else so well-liked they could get away with pink hair when they work at a senior center.”
“Ah, well, it makes them smile and if such a little thing brings them happiness, why not?”
“And there you go, being perfect.”
Mumbles.
“What?”
“Perfect for someone to date?”
Me. He wanted to say it, but he’d promised Seonghwa and this was just chatter. Nothing had really changed in the present.
“Sure you are. If not Dejun, there’ll be somebody. “He paused, waiting.... Silence. “We really should sleep. Good night, Yeosang. Sweet dreams.”
***
An hour later, he was still awake, staring at the sliver of lights the curtains allowed through. Not enough to see Yeosang—which was a good thing! That’d be creepy. But he was much too aware how close his friend was.
They were friends. Separate from Seonghwa, they’d established their own rapport years and years ago. He’d like to think they were good friends, trusting each other, supportive, encouraging, able to talk about anything, really.
Ideal boyfriend material—which was an absurd thought!
“Stupid brain,” he muttered.
“You’re not asleep.”
Hongjoong sat bolt upright, hand to his chest. “The hell? Weren’t you?”
“I heard you whisper. What do you think?”
“You’ve been completely still for ages!”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
He could barely make out Yeosang turning on his side to face him.
“You can’t just speak in utter silence like that, Yeosang. It’s unnerving.” He’s almost jumped out of bed!
“Why are you awake? You drove all day.”
“I dunno. Restless, I guess.” Better to lie.
There was a beat of silence.
“Y’know...sometimes Dejun had insomnia. Not often, but when he did, almost nothing helped.”
“God invented caffeine for a reason.” He should lie back down, but it felt weird, with Yeosang looking at him.
Hongjoong groaned. He wasn’t a 16-year-old with a crush anymore! He was an adult! Who did adult things! And that was a mental path he was not going down.
“I said ‘almost nothing’.” Yeosang paused. “I, um, was sometimes able to help.”
People did tend to fall asleep after sex—damn it!
“Really?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound strained.
“Yeah. I got kinda good at shoulder massages, during college. So when Dejun couldn’t sleep, I’d...rub his shoulders, sometimes his back. Always relaxed him.”
He wasn’t going to offer...surely not.
“I could do the same for you. If you’d like.”
Would he like that? To sit right in front of Yeosang. In bed. Close enough to feel his breath on his neck. It’d be torture. Especially right now, the way his brain kept skimming the gutter every other damn minute.
“Hongjoong?” Yeosang sat up and leaned toward him. “Would it help?”
“I....” What was he supposed to say? Wouldn’t turning him down seem odd? “Maybe?”
“Okay. Then...just a sec.” The mattress shifted as Yeosang moved closer. “You’ll have to turn sideways.”
“Right.” He was insane. And stupid. And desperate to know what it’d feel like. “Better?”
“That’ll work, yeah.”
Gentle pressure. Yeosang’s hands smoothing out from the base of his neck down to his shoulder blades. Over and over, almost soothing.
“You can go harder.” Phrasing! “I won’t break.” Physically. But mentally? No, he could handle it. It was nice, really. So long as he didn’t think.
“Okay.”
The intensity increased, Yeosang’s fingers working at the tension in his shoulders, his thumbs digging into his upper back. Oh...it did...feel really good.
“Good thing you sleep in a shirt,” Yeosang said softly. “Massages on skin can get a little chafing, without oil or lotion. But through fabric, not a problem.”
Oil. Lotion. Bare skin. Why was he volunteering useless and tormenting information like that?
“Um...yeah.” What else could he say?
“Unless....” Yeosang’s hands slipped a little lower, kneading the muscles near his spine. “You’d want that. There’s a bottle of lotion in the bathroom.”
Was he...imagining a certain tone to that question? It couldn’t be possible...not that he could, anyway.... But....
“Hongjoong?”
He inhaled sharply. When had Yeosang gotten that close? “Yeah?”
“Which would you rather? Like this, through your shirt? Or...?”
Was he not imagining things?
“Yeosang.”
“Yes?”
Did he dare? No uncrossing that bridge, if he did.
“Are you kinda-sorta somewhat flirting with me?”
Yeosang sighed. “I’m making a mess of it, aren’t I?”
He was flirting?
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean—” Hongjoong gripped the hem of his shirt, the cotton worn thin but real. He hadn’t been imagining. “Why?”
Yeosang slowly started tracing patterns on his back.
Hongjoong shivered.
“Why do you think?”
“Um.” He swallowed hard. “I can’t think. With you doing that. And being right behind me.”
“No thoughts at all?” Yeosang’s hands dipped lower.
“Oh.... Um....” He felt hot. He wanted to take his shirt off. He wanted to turn around. He wanted— “Thoughts. Yes. Not very pure thoughts.” Had he said too much? Flirting was one thing. Dirty thoughts another.
Yeosang laughed softly. “That’s promising.”
It was?
“Hongjoong. I know you like me.”
“How do you know that?” he demanded, feeling suddenly exposed and a little scared.
“How you reacted earlier.” Yeosang’s voice was relaxed, almost playful. “Throwing that shirt at me. Your face is very expressive. A flash of hope, when I said Dejun and I were over. Really over. How quickly you ended the conversation when I called you ‘baby’.”
The wheezing gasp was him, wasn’t it? His chest felt peculiar. Had he been holding his breath?
“You—um—you...you said ‘baby’ like that, to me? That was on purpose?” Dizzy. Light-headed. Was he going to faint? He didn’t want to faint!
“Mm-hm. And then,” Yeosang’s hands settled at his waist, “how very clear you were, about being single.”
Hands. Hands. Hands. If Yeosang slid them forward, then.... “Ah.” Words were hard.
“I thought about it, lying next to you. How you’d freaked out that we’d be sharing a bed. Thought about a lot of little moments over the years, and,” Yeosang’s voice dropped to a whisper, “it wasn’t just a crush in high school, Hongjoong. You were my first love. I hated that Seonghwa roped you into double dates, but what could I have said or done? You were out of my league.”
Love? He drew in a shaky breath. “Seonghwa knew I had, um, feelings. In high school. Almost the same time as you. I liked you so much, but he said it could never be and so....”
Yeosang’s hands tightened, and he huffed out an exasperated breath. “My brother can be such an interfering prick.”
“He does mean well.” He owed it to his best friend to offer some defense.
“He always does. But enough about him.”
“Okay. Is there, um, something else you’d like to talk about?” He devoutly hoped so.
“Is it okay if I hug you? For courage.”
“Yes! Absolutely.”
Yeosang scooted closer. Chest to back. Arms slipping around his waist. It’d be cozy if Hongjoong’s heart wasn’t trying to win a Grand Prix. If he could breathe properly. If he could relax.
“It was a little weird, when Dejun and I broke up. Not bad. It was time. Maybe overdue. But weird, y’know? Together so long, I’d forgotten what not-together meant. And then, about a week, I think? After he moved out? I was scrolling through apartment listings, and I got overwhelmed. What was next? I didn’t know and I don’t like not knowing. I started to spiral, a little.”
Oh, no. Hongjoong lightly rested his hands on Yeosang’s. “You should’ve called Seonghwa. He’d good at that. Helping, I mean.”
“I know. Maybe I would’ve, but a few minutes later you posted a truly bizarre gif in the comments of a photo I’d uploaded. It was so...so. It made me giggle. And I thought, I have friends. I’d be okay, because I have good friends, like you. You’re very dear to me, you know.”
And now he felt emotional. What should he say? What would be right?
“I, uh...same.” Eloquence—a skill he appeared to have lost.
Silence.
Shit, he should’ve tried harder! What if he said he—oh. Yeosang’s body was shaking with quiet laughter.
“Glad I amuse,” Hongjoong muttered.
“You’re sweet, baby.”
Thank God for the dark—he could feel his face and ears and everything heat up. “I’m older than you!”
“Would sweetheart be better?”
What had happened to needing a hug ‘for courage’?
“A little early for either. Weren’t you in the middle of saying something?”
“Ah, yeah.” Yeosang took a slow breath. “I’ve always admired you. Well, not when I was four, when Seonghwa first brought you home, though I do remember liking you right away and wishing you were my friend. Later, though...definitely by middle school, I had a bit of hero worship going on.”
Wow. “For me? Really?”
“Yeah. You never changed yourself for others, didn’t dwell on what you couldn’t control, always...moved forward. I couldn’t do that, back then. Gotten better over time< I hope, but I told myself, that day, I’d try to be more like you.” He coughed briefly. “The next two months whenever I’d start to worry too much, I’d say myself what would Hongjoong do? And I’d get...unstuck? Best way to phrase it.”
Was his heart a melted puddle? Yes. Was he going to admit it? He should, but that’d interrupt, and he did notwant to do that.
“After those two months, I realized with how much I’d been thinking about you—and the regular chats we had online—something was different.”
Yeosang stopped, and this time the silence felt important and big, and he really should say or do something encouraging! But his words had sucked. He rubbed his thumb across the back of Yeosang’s hand. It seemed to work.
“Do you remember when we met for dinner? Three weeks ago.”
Right before he’d left on his latest trip. “Yeah.”
“About halfway through, I was wishing it was a date.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t picked up on any signs. Was he that clueless or had Yeosang gotten that good at hiding?
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it, but how could I bring it up? And what if you were dating that guy in the photos? And—”
“I’m not.”
“I know that now, but then?” Yeosang rested his chin on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “All the reasons I liked you back then? Still around, but more solid, since we’re older. So...I thought maybe I’d test the waters.”
“On this trip?” There wasn’t an inch of space between them, and it was wonderful and just as torturous as he’d predicted. But Yeosang liked him. He felt giddy.
“Mm-hm. What do you say, Hongjoong? Would you,” Yeosang hesitated, “go on a date with me?”
“Yes! A thousand times yes.” Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. “I wanted to ask you when I was 16, but no, not allowed, because best friend’s brother and why is that more than a young adult romance trope? Yes. So much yes.”
Yeosang laughed.
A date a date a date a date. “When? Where? Dinner? Is that too cliché? What about a movie? Or maybe—”
“I asked you,” Yeosang protested. “I should be—”
“That has nothing to do with anything.” Where was he? “Oh. Uh, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to act my age in a movie theater.” So embarrassing, but he knew himself.
Yeosang rocked him gently back and forth. “Meaning?”
The truth and nothing but the truth.
“Overeager and handsy. Sorry, but, well, no, not sorry.”
“Ohhhh. Those impure thoughts might rise to the occasion?”
“Some of them,” he mumbled, his face feeling hot again.
“Then...a movie at my place? If you’re overwhelmed by temptation, then something like this—” Yeosang tilted his head and pressed a kiss to Hongjoong’s neck. “Would be fine.”
Hot electric sparks zipped over his skin. “You can't just—”
“You don’t like?”
“Are you insane? I just said—I wasn’t expecting anything right now.”
Another kiss.
“Yeosang,” he said faintly, “I like you a ridiculous amount. But I’m only human. I need time to adjust or I might—”
Yeosang giggled.
Oh, hell no. Hongjoong squirmed, trying to turn around. “You’re too strong,” he complained. “Let me go. I need to level the field. I need—what are you doing?”
“What?” Yeosang asked, a tiny smile on his face.
“You lifted me into the air and set me down next to you!” Hot. So hot.
Yeosang shrugged.
“Y’know what? Fine.” Hongjoong twisted sideways and shoved, toppling Yeosang to the bed and leaving him sprawled on top. Chest to chest was so much better than chest to back. “I love that you love the gym.”
The small smile grew. “Am I being used for my body?”
“I’m admiring.”
“Uh-huh. That’s all you—”
Kissing was the absolute best way to shut someone up. Much better use for mouths than talking. He slid his hands to Yeosang’s shoulders, desperately trying to hold himself up, as intoxicating warmth rushed through him.
Yeosang’s hands on his back, lightly stroking along his spine, created ripples of longing. He couldn’t think. Something, he was forgetting something.
They broke apart.
Oh, right. Breathing.
“I could get used to this,” he gasped.
“Good.”
***
Seonghwa:
Where are you??
Hongjoong:
We’re here, we’re here!
You look dashing.
Seonghwa:
You can’t actually see me.
Hongjoong:
Yeosang packed binoculars.
But I can’t use them right now.
Seonghwa:
Not that I’m saying you should.
But why can’t you?
Hongjoong:
photo.jpg
Seonghwa:
Hands!!!!!!!!!
Holding hands!!!!
Hongjoong:
We’re dating.
Deal.
Seonghwa:
He seduced you, didn’t he?
Hongjoong:
Yep.
Seonghwa:
uggggghhhh
Fine.
But do not you DARE rush him!
Hongjoong:
Why the fuck would I do that?
He’s the most perfect, precious, lovely,
wonderful person in the world
and I get to date him.
Every single moment gets treasured.
Seonghwa:
.......
Thank God I live in a different state.
Hongjoong:
I’ll send you couple photos every week!
Seonghwa:
Fuck off.
Hongjoong:
Right now?
Seonghwa:
Hongjoong!!
Hongjoong:
Yeosang made me type that.
Seonghwa:
.......
Yeosang snorted. “He’s too easy.”
Hongjoong snuck a look at Seonghwa and Yeosang’s parents. His father on the phone, his mother watching them, a smile on her face. She raised an eyebrow, then carefully turned away. He’d always known she was perceptive. He pressed a quick kiss to Yeosang’s cheek.
“Next to my parents?”
“They weren’t looking,” he promised, then grinned as his phone vibrated twice.
Hongjoong:
photo2.jpg
Seonghwa:
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Turning! Off! My phone!
The sound of Yeosang’s giggle was music to his ears.