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"There's a part of you in me that I can't get rid of," Seonghwa says without looking.
Hongjoong does this — always, of course — inquisitive and insistent.
Seonghwa plays with the lighter between his fingers as if it were truly worthwhile; as if the grass beneath his body didn't send an irritating tickle across his skin, just as that gaze disturbed him.
The man before him breathes in quietly, that straight eyebrow always raised as if it held the question that most burned in his stomach.
“And you put that in something of your own?” The air blows its white cloud, gliding through the air with its words and the rough hoarseness of a voice that has long since rested.
"You know," Seonghwa blinks at him for two seconds or so, just long enough to appreciate the drama surrounding his large eyes.
A small, confident smile dies on his lips. It hides beneath his features, beneath the nervous irritation growing in Seonghwa's stomach at Hongjoong's confident way of thinking the world is all his. Then, it's his fingers that falter, his gaze that averts from that irritating smile that takes over him.
“I keep wondering what you find here.”
Seonghwa huffs, annoyed and still a little dizzy and smiling. The grass beneath his legs itches like an allergy, the white clouds continue to fall from the other's mouth and crumble before their faces like vapor dissipating in the air, the night is still stifling and marks the worst of summers. Seonghwa still likes it, though, because this charm that pulls him towards his friend is so alienating that he fails to get irritated by what irritates him.
Seonghwa, visibly shaken, lights the lighter with a loud whistle and sets it aside before swallowing hard.
"There's something in your gaze…" he says after a few seconds, his face turned to the other just to see if he can find that thing that melts like molasses over his heart, "when you do something intuitive, natural." He inhales under a weak, resigned, and quite embarrassed laugh; his ears are already burning, that surge of courage pretends to want to fight with him and also stay. "It's gentle… your eyebrows soften and your eyes seem the sweetest thing."
And Seonghwa finds it, at this very moment, in the sudden crack in his expression, in the lure of naked love that escapes through the bright slit of his dark eyes and burns like sunlight at that specific point beneath his ribs. In the blink, it all vanishes, as if it had never been there to be adored, as if it were only imagination.
Hongjoong approaches, slow and careful, a step away from breathing in Seonghwa's embarrassed and feignedly irritated huff. His gaze is bolder now, neither open nor disarmed, but absolutely determined to enter, to force his way into Seonghwa's mind like the pain of a lifelong scar.
Gently holding his fingers on the grass, he takes another drag and slowly exhales towards the stars. Seonghwa shudders almost imperceptibly; feeling ridiculous all of a sudden, because Hongjoong is able to notice.
So, he remains there, meticulously observing every feature and movement of Seonghwa with the fervour of a first encounter, storing everything in his mind, and tossing his cigarette aside with blatant disdain.
"At times like these, I feel like kissing him," Seonghwa murmurs, as low as a breath of air could make. His mouth, his eyes and eyebrows, even the tip of his nose.He means, I want this to cut and bleed my heart, to leave your name there.
And because Hongjoong is Hongjoong, your brave and assertive expression grows in a second, his eyes crinkle slightly with a clear challenge, and he moves just enough to inhale air directly from Seonghwa's mouth.
"Only at those times??" he says, whispering like a secret, kissing Seonghwa's lips with his eyes to tell him what he wants, to push him a little closer.
The boy feels an itch on the back of his neck, his fingers are a dead weight on Hongjoong's, and he feels the warmth of trust in each other's bodies, enough security to simply be.
He says nothing, however, because the bitter taste of loss still lingers, persists, and frightens him. With a gentle squeeze of his hand, he savors his face so close for just one more moment, swallows her burnt breath and the chance offered to him on a platter.
Risk has always existed and will continue to be present. Seonghwa has been living with this intense feeling— with Hongjoong—for so long and for so many reasons that it's impossible to imagine losing it the moment he gets his hands on what he wants.
"We should leave, the mosquitoes are going to kill us here," he finally says.
Hongjoong gives a small smile, that little smile— Seonghwa feels it under his ribs —, and shakes his head.
He doesn't deny anything, he doesn't oppose anything, Seonghwa knows he would never do that.
"Let's go then, you know that if we spend another five minutes here I'll be able to sleep on the floor."
Seonghwa laughs, low and biased. He knows there's nothing funny about it, but he can't resist; there's nothing about Hongjoong that he can resist.