Work Text:
You do not have to be good
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.- Excerpt from Mary Oliver, Wild Geese
It was midnight by the time Riku drove past the old hickory tree, and it rustled in the wake of the disturbance left behind by his father’s lumbering teal truck. Its headlights, tried and true through rain and storm, lit the way forward like the eyes of an owl. Behind the wheel, Riku sighed and deflated further into the indentation left by his body in the leather seats. He slowly released the pressure of his foot on the gas and thought of the note Daeyoung left for him.
When you drive past the hickory, the road will dip down and up over the crest of a hill. You will see a cottage far away from the road. That is where I will be.
The cardstock note, despite Riku’s furious attempts at preserving its integrity, lay neglected in the cup holder, smashed against the side by a stained cup of gas station coffee.
The road declined, just as Daeyoung said it would, and the duffel bag in the passenger’s seat threatened to keel over. Riku slapped a hand against it until the eventual incline forced it back into place. His gut lurched as he overcame the crest, his foot pressing down a little harder on the pedal, and the sensation reminded him of the time he and Daeyoung went surfing in California. The waves were massive, and they would violently rise and crash, and Riku tumbled around underwater until Daeyoung found him in the ripple and pulled him up to the air.
True to the note, Riku discerned the boxy shape of a house in the meadows further downhill. There was a wooden bridge, rickety by the looks of it, providing passage over a churning river that cut from horizon to horizon. Relief flooded him, cool and surging, vivid enough to stave off what sleepiness had been dragging down at his eyelids for hours. He’d expected the truck to hiccup when the road turned into dirt, but it only rattled in the old way his father loved.
(“Old cars deserve to make a little noise for all the roads they’d travelled,” his dad would say.)
Riku let the truck come to a stop just a few paces away from the house. It clanked with a finality as he put the brakes on. Wanting to waste no time, Riku threw the door open and hopped out. At that point, nothing else mattered but the echo of Daeyoung’s name in his mind.
The cottage Daeyoung had chosen was quaint. It sat among the surrounding earth a bit lopsided with a smoking chimney to match. Its exterior was washed grey and blue under the moon, but under the sun it would probably be cloud-white. The front door was panelled and green. Potted flowers were wall-mounted on either side. The soft warm light of hot coal escaped through the space beneath the door, and that same light made the curtained windows glow.
The door swung open, and Daeyoung held onto the door white-knuckled.
“You came,” he said.
“You asked me to,” Riku breathed out, hoarse from eight hours of silence.
“Still, I—” Daeyoung stopped himself and shook his head. It didn’t seem to dispel the fog in his brain that clearly leaked into his eyes, unfocused. He stepped back, opened the door wider. Riku already had a foot through, by then. “Come in,” Daeyoung said, just as Riku gently kicked the door shut with his heel.
Riku was impaired by a severe tunnel vision at the sight of Daeyoung, which made sense considering they hadn’t seen each other for some time. For a minute, maybe five, nothing existed except for Daeyoung’s sleep-deprived eyes and mussed hair. His growing stubble. The cardigan hanging from his shoulders: a token Riku had sent away with Daeyoung when he left just so there was an excuse to come back, even if that excuse was something as fickle as returning something he didn’t own. His hands, Riku knew the intentionality of them, the care they gave, the trembling they suffered, the pains they’ve tried and failed to soothe.
Daeyoung reached for him first, and Riku, just as always, pulled him back in. The door was hard against Riku’s back as the weight of his lover—a lovely, heavy, and known weight—fell all over him. Like the waves in California, like gravity pulling on a truck careening uphill, like stumbling into each other in empty classrooms, like leaning against each other as the subway jolts forward. Daeyoung coiled around him. Face to neck. Chest to chest. Arms around waist. Breathing, breathing.
“I’m sorry,” Daeyoung said. At the same time, Riku wondered how he could stop Daeyoung from apologising. Driving across the country may be an inconvenience worth apologising for, but this was not an inconvenience to Riku. He would cross inhuman distances just to get to Daeyoung, as long as Daeyoung called for him.
“I told you it was alright,” Riku said honestly, although he’s tired. So tired. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the door. Again, consolation for both of them, he assured, “It’s alright.”
“I promised you this wouldn’t happen anymore.”
“You promised to try your best. There is quite a difference.”
“Mm… true.”
“What do you feel, Daeyoungie?”
“Restless,” Daeyoung said. He drew away, but Riku remained situated against the door. The support was a feeble comfort. Riku would endure it nonetheless. His fingers gravitated to the soft bristle of Daeyoung’s stubble, caressing. Daeyoung leaned into the gesture, but his eyes were avoidant. Riku searched for him through those lashes, but nothing was easily discernible—nothing but palpable turmoil. “I don’t know.”
Somehow, Daeyoung never knew. From past experience, though, Riku was aware that this meant the episode was one of the worse ones. Daeyoung had gotten far better at handling instability in his life since they were kids, but it was always push and pull. Even in adulthood, his body, his mind, and his heart still held onto learned responses. Running away, disappearing for weeks without announcement nor trace, the crushing desire to be alone but the destructive craving for contact.
Riku had seen worse, though. They have walked through impossible fires together. He knew, in his tired heart, that they would walk through this too.
“Let me clean you up,” Daeyoung offered. Finally, he looked Riku in the eye. “You smell like gas and coffee.”
Daeyoung pecked Riku on the cheek, blatant appeasement, anticipating the chiding. Riku went anyway, “I drove across the country for you. I shall not be called stinky.”
Daeyoung laughed softly, even though his hands trembled as he pulled Riku further into the cottage. In the bathroom, where the lights were hospital-sterile and the tile was anachronic, a showerhead hung over a bathtub. A toilet sat next to it, and a mirrorless sink across.
Daeyoung plugged the drain and let the faucet fill the tub up. Water gurgled and bubbled as Daeyoung pulled down the toilet lid and sat Riku on it. Slowly, he peeled Riku’s clothes off and peppered kisses in between. First, the jacket. For this, Daeyoung kissed his wrists right where the bone jutted out. Then the tee. Daeyoung smoothed Riku's hair after pulling the pink t-shirt over his head, and this time there was more skin to be loved, admired. Riku shuddered at the way Daeyoung gently kissed him everywhere, leaving a trail that began on his forehead, leading down to the nose, then an earnest kiss on the mouth.
Daeyoung continued down until he’s kneeling on the floor, giving equal appreciation to each of the moles on Riku’s shoulders and chest.
By the time Daeyoung helped Riku kick off his shoes and jeans, the tub had been filled. He reached over to shut the faucet and pulled Riku up to his feet. Riku could smell himself in the air, the musk and must that had accumulated in the creases of his body. There was a time when he would be conscious of this, but Daeyoung had seen all sides of him and never made him feel unwanted for any of it. This was security, comfort. Daeyoung’s kisses didn’t seem to become any less loving.
“Go ahead and dip in,” Daeyoung said. “I’ll join you in a sec.”
Riku didn’t feel like protesting, so he sank without hesitation into the warmth of the tub with a sigh, and he watched as Daeyoung dutifully picked his dirty clothes off from the floor and ventured out of the bathroom. When he came back, he was also bare.
“Will you fit?” Riku asked, always one to consider the logistics of things.
“If you spread your legs a little bit.” “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Daeyoung chuckled as he joined Riku in the water. It came up close to the edge, and Riku feared that there would be puddles on the floor to wipe up later. It’ll be okay, assured the voice in his head.
Daeyoung took his time to get comfortable. Eventually, he settled with his back to Riku’s chest. The feeling of their bodies together in the water felt weird and slippery, but eventually the contact became warmer than the water and this, too, was comfort. The edges of Daeyoung’s hair soaked and stuck to Riku’s collarbone. In the warmth, Riku’s body relaxed, and the tension bled out of his muscles while time passed and passed. Daeyoung seemed content to use him as a pillow, and Riku didn’t mind this either.
Eventually, Riku felt sleep ghosting its tantalising fingers over his drooping eyes.
“Let’s wash up,” he said immediately. He would not like to fall asleep in the water and wake up with pruney skin.
The pipes groaned as the tub drained while the running shower pitter-pattered. Daeyoung ran careful hands through Riku’s hair, sudsy with his ocean and wood-scented shampoo. Then he lathered Riku in body wash, even when Riku insisted on scrubbing himself.
When Daeyoung turned off the water and threw back the shower curtain, Riku smelled like him. It was, admittedly, one of his simple joys in life. Daeyoung would sometimes be gone for so long that only his scent lingered. It felt safe, then, to be surrounded by Daeyoung even if in this way—even just in this way. And if there was a mirror above the sink they’d both be able to see the mild smile on Riku’s face as they brushed their teeth.
Quietly, and when they were mostly dry, they moved over to the bedroom. Riku sat on the edge of the bed with his eyes closed while Daeyoung stood over him and gently dried his hair with a towel.
“I love you,” Daeyoung whispered.
The confession was so quiet, and Riku was so sleepy, that he nearly didn’t respond.
“I love you too, Daeyoung.” Riku held one of Daeyoung’s wrists in his hand and caressed the skin with his thumb. “You know that.”
“Is it hard to?”
“No,” Riku answered instantly.
Daeyoung’s hands paused. His thumbs, through the towel, moved back and forth behind Riku’s ears. Opening his eyes, Riku looked up at Daeyoung, whose eyes shone with years-old pain.
“I’ll be better for you soon.”
Riku could tell that he meant it. That he really did want to be better soon. Riku has heard an iteration of it many times before. This did not matter. Daeyoung didn’t owe him anything.
“Take your time. I’ll always be here.”
“You can—you don’t have to be, if you get tired. I’m okay—I’m okay by myself, really. I understand if one day you get tired of… chasing?” Daeyoung’s uncertainty made his hands tremble. Riku placed his own hands over his. Slowly, Riku drew Daeyoung’s grasp away from the towel, which fell over his shoulders, and held Daeyoung’s hands between them. The edge of the bed dipped as Riku pulled Daeyoung down next to him.
“I don’t mind being here. Do you mind me being here?”
“No.”
“Then you don’t have to worry about anything, okay?”
Riku always found it easy to kiss Daeyoung on his temple, so he did. Though Daeyoung’s mind favoured doubt, Riku would always assure him that he had no intention of abandoning him. It was Daeyoung who sat in the dark with him when he was a bottle of pills away from no longer being here. It was Daeyoung, in high school, already so mature and intuitive, that would never let him go home alone with his self-destructive thoughts. It was Daeyoung who brought him to California, and Paris, and Sydney, all places where he felt like he could have a sun for a heart.
Love was ugly, as it turned out. It was ugly because it was honest. It was scary because it was vulnerable. It was god damn tiring, because it made Riku drop everything and drive across the country in his dad’s beat up truck. It was complicated because it could be hard to—choose. To keep choosing.
All this time, Daeyoung had chosen Riku again and again. Though he would be consumed by the thought of leaving, of disappearing, he would still choose to come back to Riku. To leave notes for him so they could find each other. To promise and try to be better, not that Riku held this against him, anyway.
So Riku would choose Daeyoung, too. Choose to walk through fire with him, to take care of him, to run after him if it meant not losing him.
That night, Daeyoung slept cradled in Riku’s arms. The world slowed down for both of them. Riku spent a long time trying to fall asleep, but when he did it was to the sound of their hearts beating, one after the other.