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Seonghwa learns early how to stand alone in a crowded room.
He does it now beneath the chandeliers heavy with crystals and expectations, gloved hands folded just so, spine as straight as the marble pillars lining the banquet hall of his house. Laughter skims past him, whispers grating at the tips of his ears. When asked, he just smiles. When praised, he inclines his head. When questioned about his dear husband, he answers with grace that refuses to waver.
“Oh, he sends his regards…and regrets,” Seonghwa says, as he always does. As if regret can excuse absence.
It is Christmas season and the house-his house-has been filled with pine and candlewax that smelled like crème brulé and preparation for weeks. Every curtain, every ribbon has been chosen by his hand. Every invitation signed in his name. The servants took their cues from him, the guests their welcome. He has managed accounts, hosted dinners, overseen the annual charity gala, has upheld traditions older than his marriage.
Alone.
Always alone.
People notice.
Of course they do.
They notice that Kim Hongjoong is spoken of more often than he is seen. They notice that Seonghwa arrives without an escort, leaves without one, dances only when required and never twice. They notice the space beside him and fill it with speculation, humor, pity-each more offensive than the last.
Seonghwa bears it all with perfect composure until somewhere between the third glass of sweet red wine and the fourth whispered joke, something inside him hardens. It freezes like a splinter of ice, fragile yet sharp at the same time, grating the inside of his ribs like it has taken place inside it instead of his heart.
His brain tells him to get a divorce.
His heart tells him to fight back.
And Seonghwa, smiling serenely as the snow begins to fall outside of the floor-length windows, decides that this year will be different. This year, he will make his husband come home. This year, he will stay.
Kim Hongjoong is a man that makes the economy move.
His name travels faster than he ever does-inked into contracts, spoken in public conferences, carried by messengers who bow even when he’s not present. Self-made, they say, with equal parts admiration and disbelief. No inherited fortune, no gentle ladder into power. He has built his empire the hard way-sharp instincts, sleepless nights, and a refusal to owe anyone more than he can repay.
Seonghwa understands this. He really does.
Ambition demands sacrifices. Influence requires absence. Great men do not linger in ballrooms or sit patiently through Christmas dinners. They are needed elsewhere-at ports, in boardrooms. To Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s life is motion, and motion leaves little room for sentiment.
Still, sometimes-only sometimes-Seonghwa wonders how much of that world truly requires his husband’s presence…and how much distance have simply become habit.
But no matter…Seonghwa takes a deep breath, hands on his hips as he stares at the approaching Christmas charity gala that Hongjoong requires him to hold every year. He already has a plan set in motion in his own way. And he will make sure that by the end of it, Kim Hongjoong will be so in love with him that he’ll become known as the perfect husband, right next to all the obnoxious business titles under his name.
So he opens his pastel blue diary, and lists down his master plan with a glitter pen.
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PHASE I – Ho Ho Hold Him Hostage
Objective: Acquire husband. Prevent Escape.
Your husband demands your presence. His life is at stake.
“Atchoo,” Seonghwa sneezes, extra loud, extra hissy, that even the servants standing at his bedside winces. Seonghwa cares not. He writes the lavender scented writing paper in bold gold glitter pen-even though the mode of chat services and phone calls exist- folds it neatly, envelops it, and hands it to the butler. The butler bows deep, his greying hair not a bit out of place, moustache neatly brushed and takes the letter from his hands and leaves.
Seonghwa doesn’t get sick often. When he does, he always takes care of it himself. A trip to the family doctor, a decreet visit to the pharmacy, and medicine kept in the pouch he always carries, pinned to his belt at the waist. No one would know he was sick, no one would even guess that he was with the way he would be skipping around the house, ordering everyone this and that.
So it surprises him, when not even six hours later, as he wakes up to Kim Hongjoong at his side. Panting from exertion (he just ran up the stairs, seriously), sweat beading at his forehead where strands of messy hair falls onto his forehead, Kim Hongjoong kneels beside him despite the very comfortable, very soft chair that’s placed right next to him. Seonghwa must look a mess too-red tipped nose like a Rudolph, tears at the corners of his eyes, hoarse throat when he tries to speak.
“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says, voice so soft and low like if it becomes a notch above, it might hurt Seonghwa. The other has never seen Hongjoong like this, always quiet, cold, and distant, keeping the title as his husband only to the marriage certificate they signed out of convenience. He is Seonghwa’s second husband, and Seonghwa is Hongjoong’s first. Chosen each other by themselves because Hongjoong needed a quiet spouse to silence all the marriage proposals he was getting and for Seonghwa to never go back to his own home to escape another marriage to a stupid, idiotic older man who only needed him as a trophy by his side.
So imagine his surprise when Hongjoong, thinking Seonghwa is suffering from a severe, deadly sickness, kneels next to him and speaks with such softness alien to him in their two years’ worth of marriage. And it was for a damn cold.
Well, maybe Seonghwa has gone too far by staying in his balcony without warm clothes a bit too long that the simple cold escalated into a cough but hey, Hongjoong is here.
And that’s what Seonghwa wants. So he grabs Hongjoong’s hand in both of his, sniffles a little extra- “You… Y-you can’t go…”
“You will…get better,” is Hongjoong’s response, yet uncertainty bleeds into his voice as he says so.
There’s something in Hongjoong’s eyes that Seonghwa hasn’t seen before. Although it’s too early for anything to develop, although he’s seeing Hongjoong with his hazy, ill-ridden gaze, Seonghwa shakes his head and it results in an ache that makes him wince.
“Please…” he moans in pain, directed at his own head, yet his husband thinks it’s for him. He stiffens for a moment, searching Seonghwa’s face, and then sighs.
“I’ll stay,” he concludes, finally standing up to take the seat beside the bed. He never lets go of Seonghwa’s hand, regardless of years of distance, like the act is as natural to him as breathing. And Seonghwa…well…he cheers in his mind. First step of his mission is done, but along with that artificial happiness, something unspeakable crawls in, making his frozen hard thaw a beat.
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Phase II – Silent Night, You Live Here Now
Objective: Invade personal space with decorum.
It doesn’t take that many days for Seonghwa to get better. it takes only two. Seonghwa’s requests for Hongjoong to spend every meal with him is met by barely-hidden rolled eyes (by one frustrated butler), giggles behind covered mouths (by annoying housemaids) and by frustrated sighs (from one short squirrel-ahem-husband). Still, Hongjoong keeps his word.
He shows up when Seonghwa needs to eat so that he can take his medicine and go back to sleep, wipes his mouth when he ‘accidentally’ spills noodle soup, changes the wet cloth on his forehead when it’s no longer cold. Honestly, Seonghwa feels like a spoiled child, but with the way he felt in his first marriage, he supposes feeling like a spoiled child would be ten times better than standing like an object of no value other than appearances.
Hongjoong sleeps in the adjacent bedroom. Though they have the master bedroom for themselves, Seonghwa preferred to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms that he has claimed as his own. Whenever he steps into the master bedroom, it always feels too big for just him, the bed too wide, the sheets too soft, the space too open…just for him. He and Hongjoong has never felt a need to share it, when they valued their own space and privacy above everything else.
Yet when Hongjoong visits him at timed intervals to check upon him, thinking he’s asleep, brushing sweat-damp hair from his forehead, the linger of his eyes and touch leaves tiny blooms of warmth behind that makes Seonghwa ache deep.
They fall into the rhythm of having meals together, Seonghwa watching his sappy dramas while Hongjoong takes the seat at the side table with his own work, helping with trips to the bathroom with minimal blushy mishaps and then bidding soft goodbyes when it’s time to fall asleep.
Though as he finally gets better and Seonghwa is able to stand on his own feet again, Hongjoong prepares to leave…
Or….tries to.
“Hongjoong…” Seonghwa lingers in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back, fingers curled into fists, hidden from Hongjoong’s gaze. “Can you…not go?”
Hongjoong pauses. His hands on the jacket he is about to put on, a deep black with satin lining. He has always looked handsome in pure black, heartbreakingly so.
“Why?” Is what the man asks, his back turned to Seonghwa, like he cannot bear looking at the man he married. Not out of hate or spite but…something else. Seonghwa doesn’t feel the familiar malice from Hongjoong he so often meets from most people, but it’s something warm yet restricted, something soft inside yet sharpness shielding it.
“I want your help for the gala this year. I want you…to prepare it with me,” he means it, every word. Despite his end goal being making Hongjoong -stupidly-fall in love with him, to show the world that the marriage he has now is different from what he had before, he means what he says. And that sincerity, coats the words he utters. Hongjoong looks at him finally, an unreadable something on his face, stares at Seonghwa for a moment, like he seems to often these days, and nods. Just once. And that is enough for Seonghwa.
A smile breaks on his face, lips curving into a line of happiness. Then, he coughs into his hand, masking it.
Side quest-accomplished.
“One week,” Hongjoong says. “Give me one week. After that, I’ll be…”
It’s Seonghwa’s turn to nod. “After one week, you’ll be mine-uh-I mean-“ Seonghwa coughs. “I’ll wait for you.”
Hongjoong blinks as if he heard something he shouldn’t have. Well, he didn’t. Those words were just a manifestation in Seonghwa’s mind. Nothing else, nothing else. Ahem.
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Phase III – Santa Clause is Watching (So Behave like You Love Me)
Objective: Publicly rewrite the marriage narrative
“My husband,” Seonghwa calls, that makes Hongjoong stop dead in his tracks. The displays of various décor around them becomes a blur when Hongjoong slowly turns to him, gaze uncertain and hands twitching at his side. The blinding smile on Seonghwa’s face radiates a glow that illuminates the entire office of the event planner, the woman in question cooing at Seonghwa with a hand over her heart. “Look at this! What do you think of a winter wonderland themed gala with white and blue decorations? You love this shade of blue, do you not?”
“I would say it’s a brilliant idea!” the planner claps, dreamily eyeing the spread of photos of multiple décor items that Seonghwa chose to match. With rows of table in white cloth, candles of pine lit and leafless small decorative branched trees on top, glassy snowflakes hanging on the ceiling, Hongjoong would also agree that it would look fabulous. But what makes him pause is the question in Seonghwa’s eyes and words that requires his agreement.
That….has never happened before.
Seonghwa never lets Hongjoong think. He widens his eyes, juts his bottom lip in the slightest, puffs his cheeks to an unnoticeable level from all but Hongjoong.
“Whatever you say…my love,” Hongjoong pretends not to hear the squeal the woman lets out. he’s much more focused on Seonghwa’s face relaxing into one of triumph, as he sags back in his chair with his silent win.
The next time it happens, it’s when they’re choosing the menu for the gala. They invite the caterers to their house, the ones quoted bringing samples and samples of food they have prepared just so Seonghwa and Hongjoong can taste-test them. Both of them sit on a single sofa. Despite it being seven feet long, Seonghwa feels Hongjoong stiffening against him when he sits abnormally close to his husband, leaning a bit of his weight against him like they have been doing it for eons.
“Relax,” Seonghwa says, hand on Hongjoong’s sturdy chest, barely hiding his surprise when he feels sturdy muscles underneath him. He snatches his hand back, momentary bravado cracked under the feel of Hongjoong against him, but ultimately deciding to take Hongjoong’s arm as if it’s his own and arrange it as if Hongjoong is holding him by his waist.
The husband in question watches with such unguarded fascination that he almost forgets they are to meet people in their living room. So when the first ‘intruder’ comes, it takes Hongjoong a while to tear his eyes from the animatedly greeting Seonghwa that he is holding by the waist so dearly, slowly realizing that they’re practically showing off to the public of the so called affection between them.
“I think this will be the best,” Seonghwa says after pondering for a while, hours after chatting with multiple caterers, their offered printed menus stacked on the coffee table in front. In his hands, is a small pink hardcopy of promised foods-jam cookies, black forest cupcakes, snow biscuits, santa hat candies with a lot of others that made Seonghwa’s eyes sparkle.
“If you’re pairing them with a lighter red wine, even better,” Hongjoong says, his voice a drawl right in Seonghwa’s ear, dragging something from his heart out. Seonghwa feels the menu dropping from his hands as he turns startled to look at Hongjoong, who is….sitting a bit too close even after their guests left.
Seonghwa notices the bow shape of his lips, the exposed forehead, the cute nose and the-ahem. Instincts make him jerk back, only for the hand-still on his waist-holding him tighten, pulling Seonghwa against Hongjoong’s smaller, yet wider body to the point Seonghwa is aware of the almost non-existent distance between them and the heat seeping into him from pressing against Hongjoong. A shattered breath leaves him as Hongjoong’s gaze unapologetically drops to his lips and the back up, a cheeky smile hinted on his face.
“Tell me really…. What is my dear wife up to?”
“Wife?!” Seonghwa squeaks, heart jackhammering inside his chest, warning lights blaring inside his mind.
Kim Hongjoong is dangerous. Way. Too. Dangerous.
“Yes, my wife,” Hongjoong drawls, smile widening. “You act so sweetly to me, letting me hold your waist, seeking my opinion, wanting my help…. What are you up to?”
Seonghwa chuckles nervously, gulping. “The best gala your guests have ever seen,” it’s not a lie, he knows, but it’s not his true goal though. Promised upon his heart, Seonghwa will never spill it. No matter how Hongjoong decides to torture it out of him. Yet when Hongjoong releases him, accepting his word after searching for something in Seonghwa’s gaze, Seonghwa all but dashes out of the room, his heart beating the silence out of his ears.
This time, it’s him running. Not Hongjoong.
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Phase IV – Rudolph the Red-Nosed Husband
Objective: Emotional imprinting under the guise of gifts while manufacturing dependence.
“Hongjoong!~” The doors to him home office open wide as the butler lets Seonghwa in, calling for his husband so sweetly. “I brought you something.”
Hongjoong, looking up from his laptop, glasses sliding down his nose as he stares at Seonghwa whose hips swing addictively. His throat goes dry, but he doesn’t voice it out. not if he wants a death penalty imposed upon him.
“I made hazelnut pudding for you,” propping his butt on one important document uncaringly, Seonghwa places a small dessert cup of golden yellow, jello-like textured pudding in front of Hongjoong. Hongjoong stares at it, and then at Seonghwa, and stares back at the pudding again.
“…You did?”
“Yup,” Seonghwa pops the ‘p’ out, tilting his head with childlike innocence. “I know you don’t like sweets, so this was the perfect gift I could think of giving you. I wanted it to be made by me, and it’s not too sweet, so I hope you will enjoy it.”
Seonghwa curls his right hand’s fingers. He wants Hongjoong to see that he made effort, yet his pride doesn’t allow him to show any weakness. So his intention of hiding the small burned patch on his thumb fails. Hongjoong’s hand curls around his wrist, prying it away from the table. Seonghwa tries to withdraw his hand, his earlier bouncy mood lost when Hongjoong gazes at the reddened patch of skin in concern.
“It-It doesn’t hurt…anymore,” Seonghwa adds, not sure if he’s trying to sooth Hongjoong or himself.
“You didn’t have to,” Hongjoong says, his voice barely above a whisper, his touch feather-light yet searing like a furnace against Seonghwa’s skin. He twists his hand out of Hongjoong’s grasp because one more second of it would disintegrate him entirely, breathing away the sudden tightness in his chest.
“I wanted to,” he replies, tucking a stray strand of his hair behind his ear. “It’s partly a gift….for taking care of home when I was sick and…. A bribe for something else.”
“A bribe?” Hongjoong asks, one eyebrow cocked, but hands reaching out and cupping the cup of pudding as if it’s precious.
“I…chose your outfit for the gala,” Seonghwa pulls out his phone, opening up an online catalog from the very designer Hongjoong always gets tailored suits from. It’s all-black (Seonghwa’s favorite, even if he never admits it out loud), modern with understated elegance. Clean lines, a precise fit, and subtle detailing that gives it a sleek, contemporary edge. It’s right up Hongjoong’s alley. A monochrome palette that exhudes confidence, authority and timeless sophistication.
“You chose well,” Hongjoong doesn’t hesitate to compliment, watching red bloom on his husband’s cheeks as he bashfully looks away.
“Choose mine,” Seonghwa asks, when he gathers confidence to not stutter under Hongjoong’s praise. “I want you to choose mine Hongjoong.”
Their gazes lock with a quiet intensity that curls in Seonghwa’s guts. he feels as if he’s aflame under Hongjoong’s eyes, his soul yearning towards the gravity that is his husband. He reminds himself, that it’s his mission to make Hongjoong fall in love, and not the other way around, yet when Hongjoong opens a lower drawer of his table, pulls out a file and spreads it open, it’s him that is craving for air.
A rough drawing of Seonghwa. He can tell, by the way his hair is drawn, wavy, ending at his shoulders because his appointment to salon is three weeks forgotten. He is wearing his waisted pants-fitted around the waist to show off the narrowness and flowy at the bottom that it looks almost like a skirt. A white blouse with bell sleeves that are not too puffy, fitted, off the shoulder neckline lines with cranes and lilies with a scribbled note of ‘embroidery’ next to it. The definition of graceful elegance. A soft gasp leaves Seonghwa’s lips.
“For…me?”
“Yes.”
“You drew this?”
“Yes.”
Seonghwa looks up at Hongjoong. Clutches the drawing in his hand tight enough for the paper to wrinkle. It isn’t just a drawing. Hongjoong knows Seonghwa. Knows his style, the way he dresses, his likes and dislikes, as though he has been observed for a long time. As though Hongjoong has been by his side from the first day of their marriage.
“Hongjoong…” he chokes, the tightening of his chest coming back again. “Thank you,” he says, sliding off the table. “I’ll ask your boutique to make mine too.”
“Seonghwa.”
It stops his hurrying steps as if he has been put under a time-pause spell.
“Do you like it?”
“…Yes, husband,” he whispers, unsure if Hongjoong hears it, holding the drawing to his heart, but then deeming he has, when he hears the clink of the spoon in the dessert cup as Hongjoong picks up the pudding to eat.
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Phase V: Jingle Bell Rock His Emotional Stability
Objective: Touch conditioning.
Regardless of the ticking timebomb in his chest, Seonghwa initiates it first. He starts from simply holding hands when they’re in public, out shopping, having meals at restaurants, choosing invitation cards. Seonghwa is surprised that even after a month not once have Hongjoong asked to go back to office-of course, he has seen the man working from home, but he has never stopped being attentive to Seonghwa’s needs like a text-book version of a husband that shouldn’t exist.
Seonghwa isn’t complaining. He’s just…confused. Like, the man should have some reason-any reason- to go back to his office like he has had for two years. But nope. Look at him walking next to Seonghwa holding his hand securely, while his other is carrying the jewelry they have just purchased for the gala auction.
The first time he has touched Hongjoong, his husband jumped one foot-no kidding-up in the air, but both of them have slowly gotten used to it. Now their hands slide in together without a second thought, fingers intertwining and palms brushing against each other’s like a sacred ritual. The skip in his heart doesn’t subside though, Seonghwa thinks as he stares at the joined hands while Hongjoong lead him away to the parking lot.
They have come up without the usual bodyguards, a couple of hours for them alone and to strengthen ’the bond’ Seonghwa has been slowly creating as a part of his masterplan. So he smiles wide, when he spies one or two paparazzi peeking out from behind stalls, trying to catch a glimpse of the country-renowned business tycoon who is usually cold and grumpy enthusiastically spending much-loved, well-deserved time with his dear husband Seonghwa.
A heart for the cameras, Seonghwa thinks, as he throws a pose like those idols he sees on galas and charities without Hongjoong noticing….for the time being.
When he does, it’s a few hours later, when media outlets ‘expose’ their outing like it’s something that should have been a secret. He’s married to Kim Hongjoong for god’s sake. Yet when Hongjoong reads through the article one by one, his face grimmer second by second, Seonghwa thinks he might not be married in the future that is to come too soon.
“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong turns to him, frowning like the world is wrong, examines the husband he has forced to sit next to him. Seonghwa sits meekly, blinking innocently like publicity is foreign to him, even when his heart pose is so perfectly captured in the nosey cameras. “I’m sorry this happened. I know you don’t really like the attention of the media on you, and I was trying to keep it private since it was just you and me going out. but apparently… they found out. Sorry if this made you uncomfortable.”
Is this man seriously apologizing when Seonghwa’s grinning face is plastered in his laptop, fingers crossed in a cutesy heart?! Seonghwa sucks in a deep breath, taken aback, but slowly coming down from his shock. Despite the comedy of the farce Seonghwa put up, Hongjoong’s words struck him. Yes, Seonghwa does not like attention on him, specially when it’s the media that is prying his privacy open.
Leftover trauma from his previous marriage or whatever, Seonghwa prefers a quiet life, safe in the four walls of his own space. That is why even the galas and dinners he hosts stay private, and the news outlets can only post threads and crumbs they are allowed to find. So when Hongjoong speaks as if he knows, Seonghwa cracks.
“Why would you apologize for something that is not your fault?” Seonghwa asks, gaze fixated on the carpet beneath them. If anything, it should be him that should apologize, because to Hongjoong who wanted to spend time with him, he repaid by exposing him to the media. The paparazzi would never have guessed it’s Hongjoong by his casual clothes and mask and the beanie covering most of his face if not for Seonghwa who dressed for attention. And Hongjoong is genuinely heartbroken over worrying that he has made Seonghwa upset.
“Well, it is, because I wanted us to-“
“They found you through me, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa’s voice is even quieter now, regret spilling in between words as he sees that Hongjoong is genuinely feeling bad on behalf of him.
“No, my love,” something grabs Seonghwa’s heart and squeezes it to the brim of suffocation. Hongjoong doesn’t sound like he’s just saying it for the sake of it. “They’re a nosey bunch. They’ll be flying around us like vultures waiting for prey to fall regardless of where we go and how we dress. I just feel sorry because I wanted it to be a peaceful shopping for you.”
“What if….” Seonghwa gulps. “What if I wanted them to see me… with you?”
Hongjoong pauses. Runs his eyes over Seonghwa who is squirming in his seat.
“Then your wish has been granted,” Hongjoong simply says, drawing back on the sofa and creating distance between him and Hongjoong. Seonghwa sees the conflict in his face, gulps again to wet his unusually dry throat, scoots closer, and presses against Hongjoong. Tucks his legs underneath him, wraps his arms around Hongjoong’s waist, and buries his face in Hongjoong’s sturdy chest.
“Thank you,” he whispers, inhaling the deep scent of sunlight emanating from Hongjoong. And he feels a hand on his back, hesitant at first, but then becomes sure, the weight of it grounding Seonghwa.
“Whatever you need, my love,” Hongjoong says against Seonghwa’s silky hair, his warm breath fanning the top of his head. And somehow, the embrace feels as light as a breeze and as natural as the skies above and ground below.
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Phase VI – All I want for Christmas is A Nervous Breakdown
Objective: Maintain control.
The day of the gala is supposed to go smoothly. With decorations in place, soft music playing in the background, the smell of food as they are being arranged neatly while the guests are chatting, everything in appearance seems to be in place. The white Christmas tree stands tall behind them, decorated by Hongjoong under Seonghwa’s instructions, the silver star gleaming on top.
Hongjoong is next to him, hand placed on Seonghwa’s waist as if it’s permanently affixed to it, his touch searing through the clothes Seonghwa is wearing. Sometimes Hongjoong’s lips would press against his exposed shoulder, momentarily drawing him out of his cloud of thoughts, but he would soon seep back into it, offering smiles only once in a while.
He thinks of Hongjoong, even with the man next to him, breathing with him, touching him. Yet he still can’t keep Hongjoong out of his head.
“When is the flight, Jongho?”
“Saturday, two fifteen, sir.”
“Got it.”
The same short conversation rings in his head, over and over again, clawing at his heart, tearing at his chest, digging into his feelings.
Hongjoong is going to leave. Again. When he promised to stay with him.
Oh, Seonghwa realizes then. He asked for Hongjoong to stay for the gala. After tonight, Hongjoong will have no reason to stay, until he gets a day off once in a blue moon and he comes to check if everyone in his house is still alive.
“My love,” Hongjoong’s voice draws him out from the thoughts.
Seonghwa plasters on a smile as Mrs. Lee comes up in one of her extravagant fur coats, drowning in diamonds and a feathered hat on top of her curls. Seonghwa has never seen a bigger mess. Still, he bows respectfully, greeting her.
“Good evening, Madam Lee.”
“Hmph,” is her greeting back. Her dreary eyes turn to Hongjoong, assessing, calculating. And Hongjoong doesn’t bat a lash at it, having gotten used to such looks in his lifetime. “We don’t often have the pleasure of seeing you at these events. Your work must be terribly demanding.”
Seonghwa inclines his head politely. “My husband’s responsibilities-“
“Yes, yes,” Madam Lee interrupts, as if waving away a servant. Sure his ex-husband may have falsely ruined his reputation years ago, but that does not mean Seonghwa lost his dignity. “Quite understandable. Someone must attend to the estate while you manage important affairs.”
The words are dressed in courtesy, but they land with precision. Seonghwa feels his chest tightened. Familiar. Disheartening. He smiles anyway. He always does.
“I find the household run quite efficiently,” Seonghwa says calmly. “I take pride in it.”
Madam Lee chuckles, indulgent. “Of course you do. You have always had a talent for these…social arrangements.”
Social.
Arrangements.
Hongjoong shifts beside him. The hold on his waist tightens. Just a bit.
It is subtle, no more than a change in weight, but Seonghwa feels it like the change in air before a storm.
“My apologies,” Hongjoong says, voice mild, almost pleasant. “Did you mean to imply that my husband is merely filling time?”
Madam Lee blinks. “I-well, no offense was intended-“
“Good,” Hongjoong replies smoothly, though his hold on Seonghwa never lessens. He turns, finally, to look at Seonghwa-not at the ballroom, not at the woman in front of them. Just him. “Because my estate thrives under his care. I have never seen it better managed.”
The silence that follows is immediate and sharp. Seonghwa’s breath is caught, traitorously. He keeps his expression composed, but the warmth that spreads through his chest is dangerous. Unplanned. Unwanted?
Madam Lee laughs again, too quickly. “Ah-of course. A fortunate arrangement indeed.”
Hongjoong’s hand finally loosens its hold. Yet it holds even more possessiveness. Decisiveness.
“My husband does not arrange,” Hongjoong says softly. “He leads.”
Madam Lee bows. This time, it is lower than she should for a person at her level of wealth. As they move on, Seonghwa realizes something with quiet, stunned clarity.
Hongjoong has always been powerful.
But this-this is him choosing to use that power for Seonghwa.
And Seonghwa, heart pounding, thinks that his useless master plan is not for a man like Kim Hongjoong.
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Phase….Surprise? – O Holy Shit, I Love Him
Objective: None. Abort Mission.
Seonghwa waits until the last of their guests leaves. The house is back to its quietness. Seonghwa, still dazed from the earlier happenings, a bit of wine remnant on his tongue, trembling hands underneath his gloves feels a rumbling fire inside him that no water can soothe. When the last of the servants retire to their quarters, Seonghwa slowly makes his way upstairs, exhaustion brimmed but something bolder, hotter bubbling away over it. His feet carry him up step by step, hoping he would find Hongjoong in his own room, finally resting after being on his feet for hours. Seonghwa may have been used to it, but not Hongjoong. The tired lines on his face indicated his clear exhaustion.
Holding a charity gala is not for everyone. Though the purpose of one is noble, constantly putting up a polite façade to the most who seek to comment on anything and everything is not easy. Over the years, Seonghwa has gotten used to it. But not Hongjoong. Unlike him, Hongjoong is a straightforward person who spoke his mind and stood his ground. For staying by his side for nearly three hours, Seonghwa has the urge to praise him, or maybe…here a praise in return.
But when he finds Hongjoong in his room, flipping through the opened diary on his worktable, reading through his glorious ‘master plan’ Seonghwa stops in his step. He freezes, like the ground has swallowed his feet so that he would not be able to move around.
“H-Hongjoong,” he stutters, nails digging into the palms of his hands, eyes wide with unbidden terror, breath coming out in gasps. Hongjoong’s face is a blank mask as he looks at him, and Seonghwa’s heart cracks.
“Tell me, Seonghwa… Was nothing…genuine?” the tremble in his voice makes Seonghwa break.
“N-no, Hongjoong… It’s not like that, please listen-“
“Listen to what?” Hongjoong turns his gaze to the diary. “That you calculated everything that will happen between us, and played me like a puppet?”
Seonghwa stops. He wills his hands to stop shaking, takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them. Marches into the room, grabs Hongjoong by his crip suit and makes him sit on the chair, only to sit on his lap, straddling him.
“Listen here, Kim Hongjoong,” Seonghwa starts, gritting his teeth. “You abandoned me after marrying me. Do you know how many underhanded jokes I had to listen to? Do you know how many people smiled to my face and snickered when I turned my back to them? Do you know how many people bet on the number of years my second marriage would last? You don’t. because you were never here.”
He pants. And then starts again. “So yes, I did write this childish, stupid plan to make you fall in love with me. To make you stay. Even if I didn’t love you, I wanted you to be here, to be the husband that you are like the fucking marriage certificate says. But then…”
Seonghwa hiccups when Hongjoong’s arms circle his waist, holding him in a death grip, eyes fixed upon Seonghwa like he doesn’t want to miss a word that is coming out of those plump, pink lips.
“But then you had to go and ruin it, you stupid idiot…” he hiccups again, gripping Hongjoong’s shoulders while the other’s eyes bore into him. “You cared for me like no one else did. You kept me company when I was sick, you always carry my bags, give me the strawberries in your desserts, you support me in front of stupid old ladies and you…you call me ‘my love’ like you mean it. You talk like you have known me for years, show me things that I thought only I knew about myself. And you stayed when I asked,” Seonghwa whispers the last part, the corners of his eyes getting wet. “How can I not fall in love with you, Hongjoong?”
“Seonghwa-“
“So if you’re going to leave even after hearing this, leave now, you dumb Rudolph,” Seonghwa shifts to get up. “Don’t wait till Saturday. Leave now. Right now. I’ll go back to being the convenient wife for you, so people get off your back.”
“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong growls, tightening his hold on Seonghwa’s waist. Now that Seonghwa looks at him, he sees that the other man’s eyes are so, so expressive-borderline wild. The need swirling in them makes Seonghwa’s breath hitch, and he settles back down on Hongjoong’s lap like a doll, obeying. It brings out another growl from Hongjoong, one that is more of approval and less of anger.
“Say it again.”
“S-say what?” Seonghwa asks, the bottom of his lips involuntarily jutting out. Hongjoong drops his gaze to Seonghwa’s lips.
“Say that you love me.”
“Mean,” Seonghwa whispers when he feels the fingers dig painfully into his waist. Those will surely leave a mark. “But I love you.”
Hongjoong….laughs. In disbelief. A bark of a laugh that almost startles Seonghwa too. Then he laughs again, until the sound is so free and careless and fucking loveable. Until Seonghwa cups his face and brings his attention to himself. Hongjoong, face still cupped in Seonghwa’s soft hands, brushes the stray tears that have gathered at the corner of his eyes. “Seonghwa, do you know? Love at first sight…isn’t just a fairytale.”
“H-huh?”
“When I first saw you…no… when you came up to me at Minister Yuu’s private party, and demanded that I marry you, that in return you’ll be what I want you to be, I fell in love. I watched you for years, with curiosity, watching you act so subservient to your ex-husband, knowing that underneath it all you’re this…this fire that never subsides. And when you came up to me, showing that exact spark in your eyes, I knew my heart will belong only to you.”
A sigh. “But I also knew that you only wanted stability and a peaceful life, so I… I stayed away. I watched you from afar, being content with seeing you exist. But then you wanted me here, so suddenly. I knew something was wrong, so I stayed. Turns out…my adorable little wife has hatched a plan to make me fall in love with him.”
Little did Seonghwa know that Hongjoong was already in love with him.
Groaning, Seonghwa hides his face at the crook of Hongjoong’s neck, a fist thumping at his chest.
“I found your diary when you were sick,” Hongjoong confesses, grabbing Seonghwa’s chin and making him look up at him, the undeniable blush on his cheeks with an angry pout squeezing Hongjoong’s heart dry.
“What?! That is an invasion of privacy, you jerk. And you acted like that when you knew all along??”
“How ever will I get a confession out of you, then?” Hongjoong chuckles, his smile naughty. No presents from Santa to him, Seonghwa thinks, determined to hide the gifts he secretly shopped for his husband.
“…Fine,” Seonghwa sulks, sagging against Hongjoong. “Does this mean you won’t leave?” He whispers after a moment of silence, fingers fiddling with Hongjoong’s tie in nervousness.
“On Saturday, yes. I have a deal that I need to see through-but!” he says, when Seonghwa starts whining. “You can come with me… if you want…”
Seonghwa blinks, processing what Hongjoong has said. Gears turn in his head, creaking, spinning and then- “Yes, Hongjoong, take me, please!”
A low grumble leaves Hongjoong again. “Never have I met someone so eager for me to take them,” he growls, watching how his worded desire sinks through Seonghwa, making him a blushing mess. But he hesitates only a moment, before leaning and pressing an experimental kiss on Hongjoong’s lips. Utterly adorable, even as the air around them crackle with barely contained need.
It happens in seconds. Clothes fly like they don’t cost a few millions, ripped at seams by the haste of needy hands. A desperate mouth devours Seonghwa’s lips, sucking every breath off him, stealing his moans. Wet, sharp nips at his sensitive throat following down to his collarbones, places that people would see, marks that people would know by whom they have been left.
Seonghwa gasps when he’s finally bare under Hongjoong, cold air raising goosebumps on his honey skin despite the heat swirling between them. Hands at his thighs, prying open. Lips that never leave his skin for more than a second. He can only cry out Hongjoong’s name as his husband fills him, gripping his trembling legs, mouthing at his nipple.
So fucking beautiful, he whispers against the sweat-damp skin littered with hickeys like the stars strewn in the night sky.
Frenzied thrusts that know no bounds as they both chase for the high together. Breathless moans spilling from Seonghwa’s lips as he bucks his hips, taking more and more of Hongjoong in-the stretch, the feeling of fullness, the contentment surrounds him, enveloping him in a warm hug of need, and want, and cherishment. Hongjoong driving deeper and deeper, until the rut of his hips is shallow and sharp.
“Hongjoong, Hongjoong,” he chants, as if that is the only word he can call out. Hongjoong in his entirety fills his body, his mind, and the soul that has felt empty for so long. His touch alone breaks Seonghwa into a mess that can only be fixed by Hongjoong alone.
And when he spills messily on his own stomach, takes in what Hongjoong gives inside of him, a contented sigh leaves his lips as he pulls Hongjoong close. Still in him, he twitches, still aroused despite having reached his high. Seonghwa knows it’s not over, as he shifts, feeling his own arousal quivering the slightest.
“You’re insatiable,” Seonghwa whispers, running his hands through his husband’s messy curls, loving caresses that promises eternity.
“Too bad you have to deal with this for the rest of your life,” Hongjoong answers, cheeky.
“Gladly,” Seonghwa replies, dropping a small, fluttery kiss on Hongjoong’s forehead. “Merry Christmas, Hongjoong. You’re the best gift I have ever received…. Even if I didn’t ask for it.”
Seonghwa squeals when Hongjoong pinches his sides, soothing the reddened spots with slow rubs of his hands. “Merry Christmas, my love. You’re the most precious out of all that is mine.”
⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆
Final Report: …
Sigh. Kim Hongjoong is a simpleton.
Seonghwa writes the last line of his diary which he will not touch again for a long while.
“Wake up, sleepy head,” Seonghwa throws the pillow on his lap at the sleeping man, hitting him square on the face. “It’s Christmas and we need to open the gifts!”
“Five…minutes…”
“No! Get up, now!”
Hongjoong peeks an eye open, under a mop of messy hair. “You talk way too energetically for someone who got fucked the entire night-“
“Aaaagh, shut up,” Seonghwa blushes, limping over and adjusting the navy blue robe over his marked, naked skin. Marks of Hongjoong’s teeth, his fingers, red and angry, the last of it left not even a couple of hours ago. “I need you to be downstairs in five minutes, husband. Or I’m opening the gifts without you!”
Kim Hongjoong is already getting out of bed before Seonghwa finishes, a content smile curving his lips.
A simpleton indeed.