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Seonghwa knows something is wrong the second the door slams shut.
Hongjoong has never been gentle with doors when he’s upset, so it’s not the sound that alarms him, but the way his body moves after it. He doesn’t immediately come further inside, doesn’t say anything, just presses his back against the door like he needs the support to stay upright and closes his eyes with a deep breath.
Seonghwa freezes at the counter, hands still wet from the sink. He’d been halfway through rinsing plates, tuned out, letting muscle memory take over while Mingi and San talked behind him.
Three sets of eyes turn to Hongjoong.
Mingi looks startled, words frozen on his lips. San’s concern is instant and instinctive, his chair already scraping back. Hongjoong doesn’t look at Seonghwa at all, that alone sending a spike of unease through him. Instead, Hongjoong’s gaze cuts straight to the table.
“Out.”
Mingi blinks. “Hyung—what?”
“Out,” Hongjoong repeats, sharper now, eyes opening. “Both of you.”
There’s a beat where San looks like he might push back, loyalty flaring. Then he seems to really take in Hongjoong, tension in his shoulders, jaw clenched so tight it must hurt—and thinks better of it. “Okay,” he says quietly, already standing.
Mingi follows a second later, confusion giving way to something more cautious. They move fast, not asking questions or looking back. No one wants to be here for whatever this is. Seonghwa watches them go with a distant awareness, his focus locked on Hongjoong. He’s seen this version of him before. Not often, because the younger man hates losing control in front of others, but enough to recognize it.
The door closes behind the younger two.
The silence that follows is heavy. Hongjoong finally turns—and then he’s in Seonghwa’s arms. He doesn’t walk so much as fold forward, weight sagging like something inside him finally gave out. Seonghwa drops the towel without thinking, catches him easily, arms wrapping around his waist and shoulders. “Hey,” he murmurs immediately, voice going soft. “Hey. I’ve got you.”
Hongjoong clings to him, arms locking tight around his neck, face pressed into the curve of Seonghwa’s shoulder. His whole body feels too tense, wound tight and trembling. Seonghwa lifts him up onto the counter, stepping between his legs so Hongjoong can steady himself there. His hands settle on Hongjoong’s thighs, rubbing slow, grounding passes up and down. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.
Hongjoong tries to answer. What comes out is a rush of sound instead—half-formed words, breath catching, a small, frustrated noise that might be a whine. “ ‘m sorry, it just got all too much and it’s been so long—and I—”
Seonghwa doesn’t let him spiral. “Hey,” he says again, firmer this time.
The younger man stills instantly. Seonghwa cups the back of his neck, thumb pressing into a familiar spot that always seems to pull him back into his body. He gently guides him back just enough so they can see each other. “Breathe,” he says, demonstrating slowly. Hongjoong follows, uneven at first, then steadier. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Now tell me. Slow.”
Hongjoong leans back against the wall, eyes closing briefly. His hands rest over Seonghwa’s like he’s afraid they’ll disappear. “We just got back from tour,” he starts.
Seonghwa nods. “Yeah.”
“And I’m already working on the next album.”
That part doesn’t surprise him at all. It never does. Hongjoong has never known how to stop once momentum takes hold. “Because you don’t know the meaning of rest.” he says lightly.
Hongjoong shoots him a glare that barely has any heat behind it. “And today,” he continues, voice tightening, “nothing worked. Nothing sounded right. I kept fixing it and fixing it and then I just—deleted it.” Seonghwa stills, because that’s very unlike his boyfriend. He keeps working on tracks and tweaking sounds until they are right, he never gives up on them. What he hears is that Hongjoong desperately needs to take a break and relax. “And then I realized what I’d done.” he lets out a brittle laugh “And then I got mad at myself. And then everything just… stacked.”
Seonghwa listens without interrupting. He knows that spiral, he’s watched Hongjoong fall into it before, the perfectionism, the self-directed anger, the way it all compounds. It always fell to him to get Hongjoong out of that headspace and force him to take a break.
“So,” Seonghwa says carefully, “you’re overwhelmed.”
“And sexually frustrated,” Hongjoong snaps.
Seonghwa blinks—then laughs despite himself.
“This is not funny,” Hongjoong mutters, swatting at his arm with no real force.
“I know, I know,” he says, still smiling. “I’m sorry. It just… yeah. That tracks.” He can’t help the soft laugh that slips out of him, because it’s painfully, undeniably true. They keep getting cockblocked by the kids ever since tour wrapped. There’s always someone home—sprawled on the couch, cooking at odd hours, wandering in and out with no warning. And Seonghwa knows Hongjoong would rather combust than kick them out when they’ve all been running on fumes for months. Still, that doesn’t make the frustration go away. “So,” he says, “you’re frustrated because we haven’t fucked in ages?”
Hongjoong’s head snaps up. “I— I guess?” His tone sharpens, defensive and raw. “Are you not?”
Seonghwa’s laughter bubbles up despite his best efforts, a short, helpless sound. It’s not that he finds Hongjoong’s feelings funny—it’s just so them, so honest in its bluntness. He exhales, grounding himself. “Joong, you know you can get off without me, right?”
Hongjoong shifts, clearly uncomfortable. His gaze drops, cheeks flushing. “I know, but it’s—not the same.” He hesitates, then adds more quietly, “I haven’t tried since we got together.”
That makes something warm and heavy settle in Seonghwa’s chest. It makes sense. He hasn’t either, not once in over two years. Once they crossed that line, it stopped feeling like something separate. “Well,” he says lightly, brushing it off before it gets too intense, “that’s an easy fix. Since you already kicked out our members…”
Hongjoong stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “Hwa. I love you, I really fucking do, but I can’t exactly get it up after having a nervous breakdown half an hour ago.”
Seonghwa sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. Fair.” He thinks for a moment. “How about this, I’ll text Mingi and Sannie to stay the night at one of the other dorms, and we can have a quiet evening together so you can relax. I’ll make you dinner, we can take a bath, watch a movie and see where it takes us, hm?”
Hongjoong is quick to start nodding his head, then his mouth seems to catch up, with that familiar spark lighting up his eyes. “That sounds great,” he says softly. “Thank you.” His arms slide back around Seonghwa’s neck, this time slower and less desperate, pulling him close. He rests his forehead against Seonghwa’s collarbone, breathing him in. “I really love you,” he says quietly.
Seonghwa holds him a little tighter, thumb brushing slow, absent circles into his side. “I know,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “I really love you too.” He presses a kiss to Hongjoong’s cheek, then his jaw, letting his mouth land wherever it can without pulling back. “Have you eaten?” he asks softly, even though he already knows the answer.
Hongjoong hums, the sound vibrating against his chest. “Early lunch. Wooyoungie made kimchi-jjigae,” he says. “Then I went to the studio.”
That surprises Seonghwa a little. His boyfriend is notorious for forgetting meals when he’s deep in his work, surviving on caffeine and whatever’s closest within reach. Knowing he ate something warm and proper feels like a small victory. “That’s good,” he says, genuine relief slipping into his tone. “That’s really good, Joongie.” He eases himself free, but not before leaning in to press a brief, lingering kiss to Hongjoong’s lips. “I just put away leftovers, do you want some? Tofu, eggs, fried rice. Or I can make you something else?”
Hongjoong hesitates, gaze dropping to the counter beneath him. He recognizes the moment as an instinct to refuse, but he doesn’t, knowing how happy it makes Seonghwa. “…A small plate,” he says, sighing. “Please.”
Seonghwa smiles, warmth blooming in his chest. He ruffles Hongjoong’s hair gently before turning toward the fridge, pulling out the containers that are still faintly warm. He plates everything carefully, not too much, just enough. When he hands it over, Hongjoong takes it without protest and starts eating, shoulders relaxing with each bite.
While Hongjoong focuses on his food, he quietly slips away to the bathroom. He runs the water first, adjusting the temperature until steam starts to rise, fogging the mirror. He prepares fresh clothes they can dress in after and lights a few candles to set the mood. He pours lavender bath salts into the tub, watching them dissolve. The scent blooms gently, clean and calming. He wants Hongjoong’s mind quiet tonight. Finally, he pulls out his phone to text San and Mingi to stay away for tonight. Mingi is the first to read it and ask if their Hyung is okay, to which Seonghwa replies that he is, but needs time to wind down, then puts his phone on silent.
When he steps back into the kitchen, Hongjoong is finishing the last few bites, plate balanced on his knees. Seonghwa takes it from him easily, setting it aside. “Bath’s ready,” he says softly. “Come with me.”
The younger man looks up at him and nods without hesitation this time, sliding off the counter and following Seonghwa down the short hallway. Seonghwa reaches back, fingers finding Hongjoong’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as he leads him inside.
He closes the bathroom door softly behind them. The space is warm already, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling, candles flickering low along the edge of the tub. The lavender scent hangs in the air, not too overwhelming. Hongjoong stands near the sink, hands resting on the counter, shoulders still drawn up a little too high. He looks smaller like this, stripped of his sharp edge and frantic energy, left only with exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. “Thank you for doing this.” he whispers quietly.
Seonghwa steps closer, turning Hongjoong around gently to face him. “Anytime, love” he says, and this time, it’s Hongjoong leaning in for a kiss. Seonghwa follows, and they end up kissing lazily for a while. When the kiss finally breaks, he reaches out to unbutton Hongjoong’s jacket. The latter glances up at him briefly, then back down, letting Seonghwa take over without a word. The jacket slips from his shoulders easily, Seonghwa catching it before it can hit the floor, folding it and setting it aside.
“Okay,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. His hands move next to Hongjoong’s hoodie, tugging it gently upward. Hongjoong lifts his arms automatically, a familiar motion between them, practiced and unselfconscious. The fabric peels away, exposing warm skin, and Seonghwa pauses for half a second, just long enough to press a quick kiss to Hongjoong’s shoulder before continuing.
They work in quiet sync. Socks discarded, pants nudged away, layers folding away piece by piece. There’s no urgency in it, no teasing or heat, just the simple intimacy of being trusted to handle each other gently. Seonghwa notices the way Hongjoong exhales a little deeper with every item of clothing removed. And when he reaches for Seonghwa in return, fingers brushing the hem of his shirt, he lets him. He lifts his arms, allowing Hongjoong to undress him too, the younger man’s movements careful and slightly clumsy with tiredness. Seonghwa doesn’t mind. If anything, it makes something warm settle in his chest.
Soon, when there’s nothing left between them Seonghwa reaches for Hongjoong’s hand again and guides him toward the tub. The water ripples gently as Hongjoong steps in first, hissing quietly at the heat before sinking down with a soft groan of relief. Seonghwa follows, settling behind him, legs stretched out along either side. The tub is just big enough for the two of them. Hongjoong leans back almost immediately, spine resting against Seonghwa’s chest. His head tips forward for a moment, then back, coming to rest against Seonghwa’s shoulder. The tension hasn’t disappeared yet, but it’s loosening slowly and stubbornly.
Seonghwa wraps his arms around him, hands resting over Hongjoong’s stomach beneath the water. They stay like that for minutes on end, letting the warmth seep into both of them, listening to the quiet slosh of water and Hongjoong’s breathing gradually evening out. “Tell me if it’s too much,” Seonghwa says softly, already lifting one hand.
Hongjoong hums in response, a sound that after two years together Seonghwa recognises as permission. His fingers find the base of Hongjoong’s neck, thumbs pressing gently into the tight muscles there. He works slowly, using more pressure than tenderness at first. Hongjoong stiffens for a split second—then melts. “Oh,” he breathes, head tipping forward. “That—yeah.”
Seonghwa adjusts immediately, thumbs moving in small circles, kneading through the knots he knows too well. He’s done this countless times before; after long studio nights, stressful meetings and endless rehearsals. “Breathe for me,” he murmurs near Hongjoong’s ear. “Slow.”
Hongjoong follows with a shudder, chest rising and falling against Seonghwa’s arms. With each exhale, Seonghwa feels another fraction of resistance give way. He moves from Hongjoong’s neck to his shoulders, thumbs digging in just enough to make the younger man groan quietly, his hands gripping the edge of the tub for a moment before relaxing again. “That feels… really good,” he mutters, voice rough but calmer now.
Seonghwa smiles to himself, unseen. “I know.”
He works his way down Hongjoong’s shoulders, careful not to overwhelm him, occasionally leaning in to press his lips over the stressed muscles, soothing them. Minutes pass like this. Maybe more. Seonghwa loses track of time entirely, focused only on the feel of muscles slowly relaxing beneath his hands, and the way Hongjoong’s weight settles more fully against him. Eventually, Hongjoong lets out a long, content sigh. “I didn’t realize how tense I was,” he admits quietly.
“You never do,” Seonghwa replies fondly. “Not until it’s too much.”
Hongjoong tilts his head slightly, cheek brushing Seonghwa’s collarbone. “Thanks for making me stop.”
Seonghwa tightens his arms around him just a little. “Anytime.”
He feels it before Hongjoong says anything, because there is change in the way Hongjoong’s body presses back, and the quiet hitch in his breathing that doesn’t belong to tension anymore. Hongjoong shifts slightly, almost imperceptibly, like he’s suddenly unsure what to do with himself. His head tilts to the side, exposing more of his neck without meaning to, and Seonghwa’s chest tightens with fond recognition. He’s seen this version of him a hundred times: relaxed, soft, and slowly realizing where his body is going before his mind catches up.
He leans forward, lips brushing the warm skin at the crook of Hongjoong’s neck, then another, and another. Hongjoong exhales shakily, shoulders dropping even further as if the last of his guard finally gives out. “Hwa…” he murmurs.
Seonghwa smiles against his skin. He continues kissing along the same spot, slow and continuous. One hand slides from Hongjoong’s waist to rest at his hip beneath the water. “You okay?” he asks quietly, lips still brushing his neck between words.
Hongjoong nods, then lets out a small, breathy laugh. “Yeah. A little…distracted now.” his voice comes out breathy and quiet.
Seonghwa hums, affectionate, and presses another soft kiss there. “I thought that might happen.” He pauses just long enough to pull back a fraction, enough to speak clearly against Hongjoong’s ear. “Do you want help with that, or do you just want to sit like this a little longer?”
Hongjoong doesn’t answer right away. He leans back into Seonghwa fully, eyes closing, a quiet sound leaving his throat that’s answer enough even before he whispers, “Please…?”
Seonghwa smiles, warm and patient, and kisses him again before letting his hand wander to where Joong is already hard and aching for him. His boyfriend cries out when his fingers make contact, his head falling back. “So sensitive.” Seonghwa muses, twisting his wrist in small motions.
“Fuck, Hwa…”
“Feels good, my love?” he asks, thumbing the slit, making Hongjoong hiss, and his hips buck.
”So good…” Hongjoong whines, urging Seonghwa on. He stops teasing and focuses on the whole length. He kisses along the younger’s neck, following the line of his throat, teeth grazing just enough to make him shiver. When he notices Hongjoong biting down his moans he nibs at his neck, enough to bite but not actually hurt. “Ow.”
“Let me hear you.” Seonghwa murmurs, his hand keeps moving, twisting and tugging, thumbing the vein on the underside of Hongjoong’s cock, making him hiss from pleasure-pain. “No one’s home. It’s just us, let it out.” he says because he feels like his boyfriend might need the reminder.
Two years is enough time to learn another person’s body completely. Seonghwa knows every shortcut to Hongjoong’s pleasure, every spot that’s meant for teasing and every touch that draws out soft whines from him.
Hongjoong gasps, breath stuttering as his body reacts. He clings to Seonghwa, nails digging into his arms around him, always needing something solid to hold onto. “Hwa—” his voice breaks on the name. He tries to say more, tries to warn him, but the words dissolve into soft, breathless sounds instead.
He moans softly, hips shifting without thinking, chasing what Seonghwa is giving him. He follows immediately, never breaking rhythm, never letting Hongjoong feel lost in it. He knows the signs by heart, Hongjoong curling in on himself a little, his thighs going tense, sometimes even shaking. “Let go,” he whispers, voice steady, sure.
And Hongjoong does. He breaks with a beautiful cry, back arching. Seonhwa holds him through it, kissing him and whispering soft words of reassurance. He doesn’t stop touching him, not completely at least. His hands soften, shifting to rub soothing paths along Hongjoong’s back. He’s guiding Hongjoong back down to himself. “That’s it,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into his hair. “I’ve got you.” Hongjoong nods weakly, aftershocks wrecking his body, breath still ragged, body heavy and loose against Seonghwa’s chest. “So good for me, jagi.”
It takes longer for Hongjoong to come back to his body than usual but Seonghwa waits him out, content to just stay there, holding him as long as he needs it. He knows they are good when Hongjoong starts demanding to get out of the water because its ’disgusting now’. So Seonghwa makes them quickly wash up using the showerhead, and helps his boyfriend out of the water, wrapping him up in a soft and warm towel.
He dries himself off quickly and tugs on his clothes, pausing when he sees Hongjoong eyeing him suspiciously, still neatly wrapped in his towel.
“What?” He laughs awkwardly.
“You’re topping tonight…right?”
He takes in Hongjoong’s already fucked out expression, the glossy eyes and legs that don’t do a good job of holding him up that well, and he almost laughs again, genuine this time. But he doesn’t want to seem like he is making fun of the younger man, so he bites his lips and holds it in. “Baby, no offense, but I’m not letting you near my ass with the state you’re in.”
Hongjoong looks like he wants to argue, but then thinks better of it and lets his head hang with a nod, small smile on his face. “None taken. But get out then.”
Seonghwa blinks. Opens his mouth and closes it a couple times, and all that comes out is an elegant “Huh?”
Joong rolls his eyes with an amused huff, but his pink cheeks grow darker. “I still have stuff to do. Out.”
He understands then, no matter what, Hongjoong never lets him stay for this part, just like he always gives Seonghwa his privacy when their roles are reversed. “Wow, first our members, and now me? Rude.” he teases, but gathers his stuff to leave.
“Seonghwa.”
“Yes?”
“Out.”
“Aye, Capt’n.”
While he lets Hongjoong take his time he gets ready in his own way. Sets water on the bedside-table, a fluffy towel draped over the heater, brings a couple of snacks in and prepares the fluffiest and softest blanket he can find. He puts Netflix on standby, and checks his group chat with his dorm mates. San asked if Hongjoong was mad at them, and he has to reassure him that he isn't. Then the two younger members tell him they are staying over at the puppydorm, and wish him and Hongjoong a relaxing night.
The bathroom door opens right as he is about to put his phone down. Hongjoong pads into the bedroom in the oversized shirt Seonghwa put out for him, the hem brushing his thighs, sleeves swallowing his hands when he doesn’t push them back. He looks adorably soft, with his hair loose, naturally wavy and still a little damp, curling at his temples.
He sits up on the bed and scoots to the edge, legs hanging off the side. There’s a quiet, almost dizzying moment where his chest tightens and his brain has to catch up to his heart. He feels enamoured, in a trans, and genuinely has to wrap his head around the idea that that’s his Joongie right there, looking so perfect and stunning.
It still doesn’t feel real sometimes. Two years in, and the awe hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s gotten worse.
“Come here,” Seonghwa says softly, arms opening without hesitation.
Hongjoong easily slides into his lap, knees on either side of him, arms finding their way around his neck. Seonghwa exhales as he hugs him close, hands settling at Hongjoong’s waist, thumbs rubbing slow, absent-minded circles through the thin fabric. He presses his forehead to Hongjoong’s shoulder for just a second, breathing in the faint scent of soap and lavender.
“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, voice low and sincere, pulling back just enough to look at him properly.
Hongjoong’s eyes soften at that, lips parting slightly. He shifts, rising up on his knees so he’s suddenly taller, closer, looming in the most intoxicating way. One of his hands slides into Seonghwa’s hair, fingers curling at the roots and he pulls, tipping Seonghwa’s head back. He swallows, hard. He can feel the younger man’s warm breath on his face, their noses almost touching. Up close like this, Hongjoong is devastating. The curve of his jaw, the quiet confidence in his gaze, the way his thumb brushes idly at Seonghwa’s nape. Love hits him so suddenly it almost hurts.
“Fuck,” Seonghwa breathes, the word slipping out unfiltered. His hands tighten at Hongjoong’s waist. “I’m so in love with you.”
Hongjoong’s answering smile is all warmth and something sharper beneath it—and then there’s no more space between them.
Their mouths crash together, it’s messy and breathless. Hongjoong’s hands cradle Seonghwa’s face, thumbs brushing warm arcs along his jaw, and Seonghwa melts into it without resistance. His hands slide from Hongjoong’s waist to his back, palms splayed flat, feeling the solid warmth of him through the thin cotton of the shirt.
Somewhere between one breath and the next, Seonghwa shifts his weight. It’s instinctive, easy. He lets himself fall back, guiding Hongjoong with him so there’s no jolt or surprise, just the soft give of the mattress as they tip together. The kiss barely breaks. There’s a quiet thump as Seonghwa hits the bed, a soft huff of laughter caught between their mouths, and Hongjoong follows him down seamlessly, still straddling his hips.
The ceiling disappears from Seonghwa’s awareness. All he sees is Hongjoong above him—hair falling forward, eyes dark and warm, lips slightly swollen from kissing. It’s absurd how beautiful he looks like this, framed by soft lamplight and familiarity.
Hongjoong dips down again, kissing him slower now, like he’s savoring it. Seonghwa hums into his mouth, one hand coming up to thread through his hair, careful not to pull. His other hand rests at Hongjoong’s lower back, thumb brushing absent-minded patterns there. They kiss and kiss and kiss, uncounted moments slipping by. Sometimes it’s soft, almost lazy. Sometimes it’s deeper, mouths pressing closer, breaths mingling. When Hongjoong shifts his weight slightly, Seonghwa instinctively lifts his hips a fraction, keeping him close without even thinking about it.
When Hongjoong moves it’s subtle at first—just a slow, experimental roll of his hips, testing the space between them. The friction is light but intentional, and it draws a sound out of Seonghwa, a low groan swallowed into the kiss. Hongjoong reacts instantly, repeating the motion with more confidence this time, firmer, chasing the reaction. Seonghwa’s breath stutters as Hongjoong kisses him harder, deeper, the contact tipping from affectionate into dizzying.
Before it can spiral, Seonghwa lifts his knee, sliding it deliberately between the other man’s legs, whose breath catches. Seonghwa feels the grin curve across his own mouth, sharp and daring, and he doesn’t give Hongjoong time to recover from it. He shifts his weight smoothly, using the moment, and the world flips. Suddenly Hongjoong is flat on his back, Seonghwa straddling him. He pins Hongjoong’s wrists above his head, feeling the surprised tension there, the way Hongjoong’s body stills for half a beat before melting into it and grinning up at him, breathless and bright. “Show-off,” he teases, voice already rough.
Seonghwa smiles back, voice teasing. “You love it.”
He leans down and kisses Hongjoong again. He takes his time with it, lets the kiss stretch, deepen just enough to make Hongjoong chase it without ever quite giving him full control. He can feel the way Hongjoong arches into the contact, the way his body asks for more even when Seonghwa refuses to speed up.
The laugh Hongjoong lets out dissolves into something softer, needier. “Seonghwa,” he breathes, tugging uselessly against the hold on his wrists. Seonghwa loosens his hold, giving his boyfriend a chance to free his hands, but he doesn’t seem to want to, perfectly content with keeping them there. He hums, pleased, and trails his mouth along Hongjoong’s jaw, down the line of his throat, slow enough to feel every shiver it pulls from him. He kisses there once, twice—then pulls back entirely.
The sound Hongjoong makes is a whine, thin and desperate enough that it snaps Seonghwa’s attention fully back to him. Hongjoong bucks his hips instinctively, searching for friction, for relief. Seonghwa reacts immediately, dropping one hand to pin his hips to the mattress firmly. “Stop,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to come in my pants like a desperate teenager. Unlike you, I haven’t come yet.”
Hongjoong laughs, breathless and wrecked. “So take your pants off.” he offers, but his body doesn’t stop straining against the restraint. They kiss again, and Seonghwa is aware only of heat everywhere and all at once. His body keeps reaching for the next sensation, always half a step ahead of his thoughts, greedy and insistent.
Hongjoong tries to move again. Once. Then again. Each time Seonghwa keeps him pinned, forcing him to squirm beneath him. A soft, breathless sound slips out of Hongjoong—then another, then another. It doesn’t register at first until he notices the pattern of too quick and too shallow breathing.
“Joong,” he says quietly, his body stilling. Hongjoong barely hears him. His eyes look unfocused, dazed, hips twitching restlessly beneath Seonghwa’s hand. He exhales slowly and shifts closer, scanning his face. “Hey,” he murmurs, firmer now. “You’re breathing too fast.”
That finally cuts through. Hongjoong blinks up at him, confusion flickering across his expression like he’s just been pulled back into his body. He tries to take a deeper breath, but it catches halfway. “Oh,” he mutters, dazed.
Seonghwa’s thumb slides gently along his jaw, grounding. “You didn’t even notice, did you?”
Hongjoong lets out a shaky laugh. “I was—” He trails off.
Seonghwa already knows. It’s not the first time. Anticipation stretching too long, excitement tipping into something overwhelming. Spiraling without realizing it. The first time it happened their relationship was still new, and he was a little concerned, but they worked through it. He knows how to deal with it after so long. He softens immediately, leaning down until their foreheads touch. Even that small closeness makes Hongjoong’s breath hitch again.
“Okay,” he says gently. “Pause. With me.”
Hongjoong swallows and nods, eyes closing.
“In through your nose,” Seonghwa instructs, breathing slowly himself so Hongjoong can follow. “Slow.”
The first breath is shaky. Incomplete.
He doesn’t rush him. “Again,” he murmurs. “You’ve got time.”
The second breath is steadier and the third sinks deeper, easing the tight coil in Hongjoong’s chest. The frantic edge seems to fade.
“That’s it,” Seonghwa praises softly. “There you are.”
Hongjoong exhales long and slow now, his body finally sinking into the mattress instead of fighting it. When he opens his eyes, Seonghwa is still there, watching him with that familiar mix of fond focus and affection. “Sorry,” Hongjoong mutters automatically.
Seonghwa clicks his tongue. “What did I say about that, hm?” He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to Hongjoong’s temple, then his forehead. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says softly. “You just got excited.”
Hongjoong lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, the tension finally easing from his shoulders. “That’s one way to put it.”
“We’ve been doing this for two years,” Seonghwa says easily. “I know the signs.” His thumb brushes lightly along Hongjoong’s wrist as he adds, amused, “You go a little feral.”
Hongjoong rolls his eyes, blinking up at Seonghwa, his eyes now clearer and more present. He lets his free hand slide down on Hongjoong’s body and trace the curve of his waist, eliciting a small shiver that he feels more than sees. They adjust without speaking, bodies shifting in sync the way they’ve learned to do over time. Seonghwa lowers his weight just enough to bring them closer to level, and Hongjoong lifts one hand, fingers brushing over his shoulder, then sliding up to the back of his neck. He traces slow, absent patterns there, Seonghwa exhales quietly at the touch, tension easing from his own chest in response.
“Turn around?” he asks softly.
It’s not an order, never is. He offers it gently, leaving space for Hongjoong to refuse, to redirect, to take control back if he needs to. But he doesn’t. He watches the way Hongjoong turns over without hesitation, shuffling and wiggling until he’s settled comfortably on his stomach, cheek pressed into the pillow. There’s something deeply intimate about how easy it is, how safe Hongjoong looks like this—unguarded and trusting, completely at home in Seonghwa’s presence.
He exhales slowly, willing himself to calm down a little, and reaches up to tug his own shirt over his head. The fabric slides free and he folds it to set it aside. He sheds the rest just as quietly, movements unhurried, folding each item and letting anticipation build in Hongjoong. He can see him getting restless, refusing to settle until he puts a calming hand to his back. “Hey, calm down.” he tuts quietly and climbs back onto the bed, settling his weight over Hongjoong’s body. He hears him exhale then, a soft sound of relief.
“Comfortable?” he murmurs.
Hongjoong hums in response, the sound vibrating faintly through the mattress. Seonghwa smiles to himself and leans down, pressing a slow kiss to the nape of his neck. Then another. And another. He follows the gentle slope of his spine with his mouth, kissing along skin warmed from the bath earlier, lingering where he knows Hongjoong is sensitive.
His hands come to rest at his lover’s sides, thumbs brushing just above his hips. He traces the lines he knows by heart, committing them to memory all over again. When his fingers find the hem of Hongjoong’s oversized shirt, he pauses. The answer is written in the way Hongjoong relaxes beneath him.
Seonghwa lifts himself just enough to help him wriggle his arms free, peeling the shirt up and over his head with gentle care. He folds it and sets it aside with the others, and immediately leans back down, like he can’t stand the distance for even a second. His lips return to Hongjoong’s back, warmer now without the fabric between them. He kisses across his shoulders, along the curve of his spine, down to the small of his back, each press of his mouth unhurried.
He smooths his palms along Hongjoong’s sides, thumbs brushing soft arcs that make the younger sigh, long and content.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs eventually, a quiet confession. “I don’t think you ever really see it.”
Hongjoong shifts beneath him, a soft scoff. “You’re biased.”
“I am, you’re my bias, didn’t you know?” Seonghwa admits, smiling against his skin. “But I’m also right.”
He kisses him again, lower this time, before his fingers gently hook into the waistband of Hongjoong’s boxers. He pauses there too, giving him time, space, an out if he wants it. Instead, Hongjoong reaches back blindly, fingers brushing Seonghwa’s wrist in a quiet go-ahead.
He eases the fabric down, helping Hongjoong kick it free. Once they’re gone, he settles back over him again immediately, some kind of weird instinct that pulls him close. He presses a kiss between Hongjoong’s shoulder blades, then rests his cheek there, just breathing him in. They stay like that for a moment; still and connected, until Hongjoong starts growing restless again, it's then that Seonghwa reaches for the lube.
Hongjoong takes his first two fingers without an issue, whining and rocking back on them. It’s the third that presents a bit of a challenge. Hongjoong stiffens suddenly, breath hitching hard. The sound that leaves him is small and strained, not pleasure so much as frustration mixed with discomfort. His hands fist in the sheets, knuckles whitening as his body resists on reflex alone. ‘’Too much?” Seonghwa murmurs softly, hand resting gently on his lower back, thumbs brushing along tense muscles. “Talk to me. And breathe.”
He can see how Hongjoong practically forces himself to exhale. “I’m okay,” he whispers.
He doesn’t move yet. His other hand slides up Hongjoong’s spine in a slow, soothing line. “You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, voice low, steady. “Just breathe. Let your body catch up.” He stays still for another heartbeat, then starts prodding and poking and massaging at the younger’s walls.
He knows exactly where to look, and finds it on his second try, making Hongjoong’s hips stutter, the tension in his body ease up. “That’s it jagi.” he praises. He watches the tension gather and ease, waits it out instead of pushing through it. When Hongjoong’s breathing catches, Seonghwa stills. When it settles again, he continues.
He feels the shift when discomfort gives way to something warmer. Hongjoong relaxes into it, sound changing, movements becoming less defensive and more searching. Seonghwa lets it happen without comment, letting pleasure bloom naturally instead of forcing it open. He hears it first when Hongjoong starts to get impatient. Voice tight and needy, threaded with want. He feels it after, he tries to move ahead of the pace Seonghwa has set, chasing sensation instead of letting it come to him. “More,” he pleads, breathless. “Hwa—please.”
“Easy.” he mutters, focusing on the task at hand, scissoring his fingers, twisting and moving his hand.
Hongjoong huffs out a frustrated sound, twisting slightly to push back, to take control. “I can take it,” he insists, words tumbling over each other now that pleasure has taken hold. “I want—”
“You can,” he agrees. “That’s not the question. But we either do this my way,” his thumb traces a grounding line along Hongjoong’s side. “Or we stop altogether. Those are your options.”
Seonghwa will never let him go further than he’s ready for, even when he begs. There’s no doubt in him. He would stop without hesitation if Hongjoong needed it. “Your way,” the younger man finally says, subdued but trusting.
Seonghwa exhales, warmth spreading through his chest. “Good.”
He watches the way Hongjoong’s composure slowly comes apart, piece by piece. It’s never sudden with him. It’s a gradual unraveling. He arches, gasps, tries to press back instinctively, and Seonghwa feels the tremor that runs through him. He starts to move restlessly, hips shifting, breath hitching in quick, helpless bursts. His hands fumble for Seonghwa, grabbing at his wrist, his forearm, anywhere he can reach.
He makes Joong writhe on his fingers until he is a begging, blubbering mess. “Please,” he whispers.
His chest tightens with affection and he leans in closer, voice brushing Hongjoong’s ear. “I’ve got you,” he says quietly. “You’re doing so well.”
That’s when Hongjoong really breaks. The control he’d been clinging to dissolves entirely, replaced by raw, open need. He whines, words tumbling over each other now, half-formed and desperate, his body reacting faster than his thoughts can keep up.
He knows Hongjoong can’t come like this, that he hovers right over the edge and Seonghwa keeps him there. He knows exactly where the line is. He’s learned it over time, through breath patterns and the way Hongjoong’s body tenses before it gives, through the quiet moments where want turns sharp and unfocused. He stays just short of crossing it, again and again, even as Hongjoong’s body reacts like it’s been pushed too far already.
Hongjoong can’t finish like this. They both know that. There’s no release waiting at the end of this part, but his body doesn’t seem to understand that. It keeps chasing something it can’t reach, nerves lighting up and pulling him forward anyway, instinct taken over where logic gave up.
Seonghwa watches it happen steadily, he refuses to give Hongjoong the one thing his body is asking for. A soft, broken sound slips out of his boyfriend and he presses his face into the bedding, shoulders shaking slightly as he exhales. His fingers curl into the pillow under his head, knuckles whitening. His body keeps begging in small, unconscious ways; arching, shifting, trying to meet something that keeps slipping just out of reach.
Seonghwa lets it go on longer than he probably should. It’s a little cruel but at the end of the day the quiet mind and hazy eyes that look back at him are worth it. He keeps him at that unbearable edge where everything feels too much and not enough at the same time.
“Baby, please—I’m going crazy.”
“Kind of the point,” he says, a small laugh slipping out before he can stop it. He pulls his fingers out, Hongjoong’s body slumping against the mattress, boneless and undone, the strings holding him up having been cut. “Turn back,” he murmurs quietly.
He places both hands on Hongjoong’s waist to help him roll over. He reaches for the pillow beside Hongjoong’s head, and before he can even say anything, Hongjoong lifts his hips on instinct, wordlessly making space. He slides the pillow into place carefully, adjusting it until the younger man looks comfortable, supported and taken care of.
When everything is set, he leans down and presses a kiss to the tip of Hongjoong’s nose, lingering just long enough to make him smile, then another to his mouth. “Ready?”
Hongjoong looks up at him with blown-out eyes and a completely unguarded expression, lips tugging into a lazy, blissed-out grin. “Wreck me, baby.”
Seonghwa is taken back at the words, blinks a couple times and so bursts out in soft giggles. He drops his head onto Hongjoong’s chest, shoulders shaking, laughter muffled against warm skin. “Oh my god,” he manages, breathless. “Never say that again.”
Hongjoong laughs too, fingers coming up to card through Seonghwa’s hair. He stays there for a second longer, listening to Hongjoong’s heartbeat under his ear, feeling it sync with his own.
The initial press has Hongjoong clutching Seonghwa’s shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut as he traps his bottom lip between his teeth. He is wound tight, muscles holding on like they don’t quite trust what’s happening yet, and Seonghwa can feel every bit of that tension. When Hongjoong’s body finally yields, Seonghwa has to suck in a deep breath as his head catches. It feels so good, so warm and tight.
“Hold on—” Hongjoon grits out and pauses Seonghwa's movements with a firm grip on his arm, nails biting into the skin.
Seonghwa, above him, halfway inside, stops immediately. He looks at Hongjoong who has his eyes shut closed, a small frown on his face. He leans down, kissing the younger's cheek as he waits for clarification. "Hm?"
“It’s—” Hongjoong swallows, jaw tightening before he finally opens his eyes. They’re glossy, unfocused for a second before they find Seonghwa’s face. His palm lifts, shaking just slightly as he cups Seonghwa’s cheek. “It’s been a while. Just… give me a second.”
Seonghwa tilts his head, searching Hongjoong’s expression for anything sharper than discomfort. “Are you in pain?” he asks quietly.
“Just a little,” he says, quick to reassure him, even as his hips shift experimentally, making him wince. A frustrated breath leaves him, half huff, half sigh.
Seonghwa leans down again, and kisses beneath each of Hongjoong’s eyes, then the bridge of his nose and finally lips. “Do you want to switch?” he murmurs against the skin.
Hongjoong’s arms come up around his neck, pulling him down until he’s close enough to bury his face into the familiar curve of his shoulder. He shakes his head, breath warm against Seonghwa’s skin. “No,” he says firmly. “I’ll get used to it.” His voice softens. “I don’t even know when the last time we did this was. Feels like my body forgot how.”
Seonghwa exhales slowly, resting his cheek against Hongjoong’s hair. He knows that’s not really true—but he also knows what Hongjoong means. They’ve only just come back from tour. Weeks of constant movement, adrenaline crashes, shared hotel rooms and late-night flights. Three-hour shows that left their bodies buzzing and hollowed out all at once. They were either too busy or too tired to do anything other than a couple rushed hand or blowjobs when the pressure got too high. It’s been months since they last properly had sex, and if Seonghwa remembers right, he was the one bottoming then.
Hongjoon tends to have these little phases, at least Seonghwa likes to call them that. There are days when the younger man barely can tolerate touch, weeks when the only one who can touch him without him pulling away is Seonghwa. Longer periods of time when bottoming makes his skin crawl, and days like this, when he basically begs Seonghwa to take him apart.
“Your body didn’t forget,” he says quietly. “It’s just being cautious. That’s allowed. Take your time." he murmurs and kisses Hongjoong's neck, while his hands move across his body in motions that are meant to be soothing. Down his chest, down his sides, across his hip bones and caressing his slightly trembling thighs. When he feels Hongjoong's body relax and sink into the mattress under him, he tries to pull back slightly, Hongjoong clings to him instinctively, arms tightening like he’s afraid to let go.
“Joong,” he murmurs. “Let me see you.” Reluctantly, Hongjoong lets him go. Seonghwa cups his face, thumbs brushing over flushed cheeks, and presses kisses everywhere over his face, until Hongjoong breaks into breathless laughter and tries to shove him away. “Move your hips,” he says gently.
Hongjoong blinks up at him. “Move—what?”
“Your hips, love,” Seonghwa chuckles. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Something clicks. Hongjoong’s expression shifts from confusion to concentration, and he starts to move slowly, experimentally. Awkward little motions at first that Seonghwa finds adorable. The movements smooth out, turning into slow, careful rolls. Hongjoong’s breath stutters, then deepens. “Oh,” he murmurs.
Seonghwa watches him closely, eyes tracing every reaction. “Feeling good?”
“Y—yeah,” Hongjoong says, voice softer now, more present.
He takes this as a sign and slides all the way in, still watching Hongjoong's face closely, but instead of any indications of pain, he gives a low groan, body shuddering in pleasure. This is possibly his favorite part about this, witnessing Hongjoong's body finally give in and relax into the pleasure. “So pretty,” he can't help but muse.
He adjusts Hongjoong carefully, pinning his wrists above his head, his chest rising sharply beneath him. “Still good?” he asks, his gaze never leaving Hongjoong’s face.
“More than,” Hongjoong answers, eyes glassy, honest. “Please move.”
A soft laugh leaves Seonghwa before he can stop it, brushing warm against Hongjoong’s skin. “You’re needy.”
The word lands exactly how he expects it to. Hongjoong shivers beneath him and doesn’t even try to argue. He gives in then, setting a slow, intimate rhythm that draws a loud, unguarded sound from Hongjoong’s throat. The noise punches straight through him, cracks his composure just enough that a quiet curse slips free. He sees Hongjoong notice—sees the way it makes him keen, fingers flexing helplessly where they’re held.
He watches the way pleasure drags through Hongjoong’s body, the way it leaves him breathless and undone. And when he shifts again, changing the angle just enough, Hongjoong cries out. Seonghwa feels himself lose that last shred of composure, his body giving over completely.
Every slow roll of his hips lands exactly where it hurts best. He can feel impatience and pleasure blur together in both of their bodies until there’s no difference left between them and they are chasing a fast rhythm, hips rocking against each other. Seonghwa drops his head into Hongjoong’s neck, small moans spilling out onto the skin there, alongside soft praise and kisses.
His nerves are lit up, heat coiling low in his stomach. Feeling and seeing Hongjoong shudder and writhe beneath him makes it so much worse. He keens, pleading and whining for Seonghwa, body chasing the pleasure. Seonghwa drives into him with force, abusing his prostate vehemently. He tightens his grip on Hongjoong’s wrists, and with his other hand, he tilts his face towards himself, lips meeting forcefully, knocking the breath out of both of them. They keep kissing messily, absolutely wet and devastating.
It breaks with one of especially hard thrusts, making Hongjoong cry out. “Please—” his voice breaks. “I need—don’t stop—”
“Shh, let me give it to you, you’re doing so well.” He praises, his own voice coming out like it doesn’t belong to him anymore, strained and a little breathy.
He fucks Hongjoong through every twitch, every sob, every overwhelmed shudder of his muscles. He is trembling beneath him now. He cries out when Seonghwa hits just right and sobs when it’s too deep, too good or too much. Seonghwa’s breath stutters, and then he grits his teeth and fucks him harder, the last of his control over his body thinning. Hongjoong keens, head thrashing, body buckling as Seonghwa turns his attention to his leaking cock, and it doesn’t take more than a few good twists of his wrist for Hongjoong to break.
His body bows. Arches. Every muscle locks. His orgasm crashes over him like a storm, wringing sob after sob from his throat. His chest convulses. His mouth opens in a silent cry. Seonghwa doesn’t stop. He keeps moving—keeps working him through it. The aftershocks hit hard, racking through him in waves. His body jerks helplessly with every movement, soft, involuntary sounds spilling out, tears filling his eyes and running down his cheeks.
Seonghwa collects the tears with the pads of his thumbs but they continue to flow. Hongjoong opens his mouth as if he wants to say something but all that comes out is a guttural groan. He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he presses two of his fingers against Hongjoong’s lips and the younger man lets them glide in easily. Seonghwa presses down on his tongue and glides his fingers deeper, until new tears fill his boyfriend’s eyes for a different reason this time. He gags softly, but Seonghwa pushes past it, tilting his head to the side and kissing and lapping up the salty tears that escape.
He continues to grind slowly into Joong the entire time to keep pushing the sweet little sounds out of the other. Watching as the tension leaves his body and he seems to float away. “I’m close,” he murmurs, the muscles in his thigh trembling and locking up. “Stay with me.”
Hongjoong can’t answer—and Seonghwa doesn’t need him to, but he can see him struggling to comply with the request, eyes falling shut before opening again, his body now soft and boneless save for the shocks of overstimulation running their course, little moans slipping out. Seonghwa takes what’s offered, rhythm faltering before breaking entirely as he follows, voice low and undone against Hongjoong’s ear.
He pulls his fingers out and stays close to Hongjoong, kissing softly at his face, the corner of his eye first, then the other one, lips barely brushing skin. Hongjoong makes a quiet sound at that, something breathy and unfocused, lashes fluttering. Seonghwa smiles faintly. He kisses along the bridge of his nose, then his cheek, then finally his lips. Hongjoong tries to respond, mouth parting instinctively, but the movement is clumsy, delayed. His brain is clearly still fogged over, swimming somewhere soft and distant, struggling to process more than the fact that he’s being touched and that it feels safe.
Hongjoong clings to him. His arms wind around Seonghwa without hesitation, face burying into his neck. His breathing is uneven, shallow at first, but it starts to steady as he rubs slow, grounding circles into his back. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice low and calm. “You’re okay. You did beautifully.”
Hongjoong hums in response, distant and soft and he shifts closer, trying to crawl under Seonghwa’s skin, and Seonghwa tightens his hold instinctively, grounding them both. There’s still the occasional twitch running through him, little aftershocks his body hasn’t quite let go of yet. He presses a kiss to the top of Hongjoong’s head and stays there, breathing with him, counting the slow rise and fall of his chest until it evens out. He knows this part well. Knows how long to wait before moving, how to let Hongjoong’s body catch up to where his mind already is.
When Hongjoong loosens just enough to let Seonghwa move, he carefully eases them apart, keeping one hand firm on his back the entire time. He reaches for the towel he’d set aside earlier and brings it back to the bed. “Hey,” he says softly, brushing his thumb along Hongjoong’s jaw until he gets a response. “I’m going to clean you up, okay?”
It takes a moment, but his boyfriend nods.
He wipes off the dried cum from his abdomen and then carefully cleans up between his legs. Hongjoong flinches once at the cool air, then relaxes again when Seonghwa presses the towel flat against his skin, warm and steady. He makes another soft sound, barely audible. His grip tightens again, eyes fluttering shut, lashes dark against flushed skin. Seonghwa feels that familiar pang of concern bloom in his chest as he recognizes the signs of Hongjoong being present but not quite here.
“You drifted pretty far this time,” he notes gently.
Hongjoong’s brow furrows faintly. It takes him a moment to answer. “M’still… fuzzy,” he admits, words slow and slightly slurred. “Like… my head’s full of cotton.”
Seonghwa sets the towel aside and reaches for a glass of water on the nightstand, bringing it to his boyfriend’s lips. “Small sips,” he reminds him quietly.
Hongjoong obeys, drinking a little at a time, his hands shaky where they brace against Seonghwa’s forearm. Once the glass is half empty, Seonghwa sets it down and pulls Hongjoong into his chest again, rubbing slow circles into his back. Hongjoong melts into the touch immediately, face pressing into Seonghwa’s collarbone. “I knew I was getting floaty, but I didn’t mean to go that far,” he mumbles after a while. “Did I scare you?” he asks quietly.
It’s not uncommon for one of them to slip into this kind of fuzzy headspace during sex, but they rarely get carried away with it. Seonghwa has made them do research on this before and they know how to handle it now. He exhales through his nose, thoughtful. “No,” he says honestly. “But I was watching you the whole time.” His thumb rubs slow circles into Hongjoong’s shoulder. “I think I’m able to tell where your head is at all times, and you never left me completely. You were safe.”
Hongjoong studies him for a while thoughtfully, as if the words need time to settle properly. Then he nods, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Okay,” he murmurs. They stay like that for a few more minutes, breathing together, until Hongjoong stirs again, shifting restlessly. “Hwa?”
“Mm?”
“Can I… can I have your shirt back?” He sounds almost shy asking, eyes still half-lidded. “It was comfy.”
Seonghwa’s chest tightens in the fondest way. “Of course you can.”
He gets up from bed and grabs the folded shirt with the extra fluffy blanket and brings them both back to bed. He slips the fabric over Hongjoong’s head easily, helping him guide his arms through the sleeves. The fabric hangs loose on him, swallowing his frame, the hem brushing his thighs. Hongjoong immediately relaxes once it’s on, fingers rubbing at the worn cotton like it’s a familiar comfort object.
“There,” Seonghwa says softly. “That better?”
Hongjoong nods, already leaning back into him. “Smells like you.”
He huffs a quiet laugh and guides them both down onto the bed, arranging the blankets around them, wrapping Joong up in the fluffy one. He pulls him flush against his chest, one arm tucked under his head, the other draped securely over his waist. Hongjoong curls into him, knees drawn up, body fitting perfectly into the space Seonghwa makes for him. His breathing evens out gradually, tension melting away with every slow pass of Seonghwa’s hand along his spine.
Seonghwa presses a final kiss to his forehead. “Sleep, Joongie,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, you did so good.”
Hongjoong hums, fingers tightening briefly in Seonghwa’s shirt before going slack. Within minutes, his breathing deepens, the weight of him settling fully into Seonghwa’s arms. He stays awake a little longer, watching him, thumb tracing absentminded patterns along his side, heart full.
✩✩✩
The next morning Seonghwa wakes with a sweet and happy Hongjoong in his arms, too relaxed for his own good, though he supposes that’s his own fault.
They have a slow and quiet morning. They cuddle in bed, scroll on their phones and watch reels, take a hot shower together. By the time they make it to the kitchen it’s almost 11, breakfast passing for an early lunch. It’s mainly Seonghwa doing the actual cooking, and Hongjoong watching from the side, but the point is that they do it together. They tease each other in hushed voices, bump hips and kiss and fool around whenever they want.
The domestic bliss breaks suddenly with the unmistakable rattle of keys at the front door. Then the door opens just a crack and two familiar heads peek in, eyes darting around the apartment.
Seonghwa exhales slowly. He feels Hongjoong swallow down an irritated sigh. He understands it, after the night, the quiet morning and fragile softness they’ve had, and are still wrapped in, the last thing either of them wants is an audience. But reality is that this is a shared space, and these are the cards they’ve been dealt.
“You can come in,” he calls and tilts his head just enough to shoot Hongjoong a warning look. Hongjoong catches it, his mouth twisting, a conflicted little expression crossing his face before he exhales through his nose and nods once.
The door opens the rest of the way and Mingi and San step inside, shoulders slightly hunched as they toe off their shoes. They glance around the apartment and wander further in, drifting toward the kitchen where Seonghwa and Hongjoong are sitting. San offers a small, tentative smile. Mingi shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, rocking back on his heels.
They greet Seonghwa easily enough, but then both sets of eyes shift to Hongjoong. Expectant and waiting.
Hongjoong notices and huffs fondly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Okay,” he says, sighing. Seonghwa rests a supporting hand at the small of his back. “Yeah. I owe you guys.” Mingi and San straighten a little. “I’m sorry I was a dick yesterday,” He continues, voice honest. “I shouldn’t have snapped like that. I’m not mad at either of you, and I really am sorry.”
There’s a brief silence. Seonghwa watches Mingi and San exchange a look, a silent conversation. Something passes between them. San shifts his weight, chewing on his lip before speaking. “Hyungie?”
Hongjoong and Seonghwa both answer to that title. “Yes?”
San gestures vaguely between them. “You know we don’t mind if you kick us out sometimes. Like…really.”
Mingi nods along. “Yeah. We get it. We do. Just—maybe be a little nicer about it? You don’t have to explain everything. Just don’t make it sound like we did something wrong.”
San hums in agreement. “We want you to have a healthy relationship. We know that takes… space. And time. And privacy.” He shrugs lightly. “So yeah. Just… ask nicely next time?”
Seonghwa feels something warm settle in his chest. Gratitude, mostly. Pride, too. They’ve all grown so much, even when it doesn’t feel like it day to day. Hongjoong is quiet for a long moment before nodding once, twice. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “That’s fair.” He glances at Seonghwa briefly, then back at them. “I’ll do better.”
Sannie smiles and Mingi lets out a quiet breath. “Cool,” he says. “Then we’re good.”
Seonghwa watches the younger members go away to their respective rooms, then looks back at Hongjoong. He brushes his thumb lightly along his wrist. “You handled that well.”
Hongjoong scoffs softly, leaning into the touch. “Don’t praise me too much. I still wanted to throw a pillow at them.”