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It’s dark in the house, the only bit of light being a small red dot glowing from the adapter that is working the heated blanket Sangwoo sleeps on of every night. It’s cold tonight, but Sangwoo decides on remaining in his black tank top, not really in the mood to walk upstairs to retrieve something warmer.
College was stressful. Not because of the classes, but rather Sangwoo’s brain being unable to switch off and focus.
He had a series of nightmares the night prior. Horrible, disgusting, nauseating ones. The kind that leave you gasping for air and thinking about it for the rest of the night.
They leave him sleepless, and much to his embarrassment — afraid.
It’s ridiculous, really. He’s not a kid anymore. He has no reason to have such childish fears.
Yet he lies awake, staring unblinkingly at his bedroom door. It’s open ajar, never fully shut, otherwise he’ll feel trapped - imprisoned with that monster that haunts his dreams.
He knows it’s not real, but like this, in the dead of night, she is very much here.
He sees it. He knows he can. What else could he be looking at?
Sangwoo swallows the thickness swelling in his throat, lying perfectly still. She’s staring at him. He’s staring back, his eyes starting to sting. He dare not blink, otherwise she’ll move. Closer, inside.
He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, his body pulsing, blood screaming in his eardrums. Proof that he is alive. She is not.
She looks dead.
Her eyes are sunken and black, mouth slung, face heavy and casted by shadows.
And her neck — it’s damaged, a flab of skin, loose and jagged, red and dirty. The cause of her demise. She shouldn’t be able to stand like that.
To Sangwoo’s dismay, his eyes are growing heavier, threatening to close at any moment. But he won’t give in. If he can, he’ll stay like this all night until the apparition is butchered by early morning light.
But his debility is winning, the low hum from the blanket sounding almost like a lullaby, dragging him to a slumber - or to hell.
His head lolls back onto the pillow, and he closes his eyes - only for a few, but it doesn’t take long for him to be jolted awake almost immediately.
He sits upright, chest heaving. He’s so fucking tired, he just wants to sleep, just one peaceful night. She had lunged at him — it wasn’t real, he knows, he knows it, he keeps telling himself that, but his brain screams otherwise.
He groans pathetically, rubbing his weary eyes. He realises, then, that he is crying. He’s too sleepy to bother questioning when, and instead let’s his body take control and his brain turn to mush.
He lies back down, palms continuing their ministrations on his eyes. He pouts, like that of a child, and sniffles.
He just wants to sleep, that’s all he can think about, but he can’t. She won’t let him.
Sangwoo shifts into his side, cowering his arms above his head, curling in on himself as he chokes on a sob, and he doesn’t know why, but wails out the word, “Mama...”
He wails again, longer this time. One would assume him to be in pain with the way his voice cracked.
“Mm..mom, mama,” he repeats, like a broken record of sorts. He wants her, not the scary one at his door. He wants the mama who would kiss him on the cheek and hold him tight, tell him he’s a good boy, that he’s okay, that she loves him. Even if she never meant any of it, he finds himself craving it again, and again.
But that was before Bum.
The first night he had the man down in the basement, Sangwoo had the most peaceful sleep he’d gotten in months. Years, maybe.
It surprised him further when it happened again, and again, as though Bum were providing some sense of security, acting as a scarecrow, warding off any unwanted pests.
It continued, even more so when Bum moved up a level, sleeping beside Sangwoo nightly. They wouldn’t cuddle by any means, but Bum would stare at him. Sangwoo would pretend to be sleeping, like it was a game, waiting for Bum to make a move - but he never did. Eventually, his act would wind up in him actually falling into a deep slumber.
All was well regarding his sleeping pattern and lack of nightmares - till Bum had cut himself and passed out.
At first, Sangwoo acted cold, demanding for him to get up, and if not, then to lie there and die for all he cares.
Sangwoo doesn’t know what hit him, but a sick, sinking feeling twisted in his gut when he realised that Bum wasn’t moving.
He panicked, picking Bum up in his arms and carrying him to the upper floor.
He doesn’t know why he chose that room specifically. He hates it, but for some reason, he felt drawn to it.
Once he lied Bum down and - for the first time - shut the door tight, even locking it (just incase), he curled up under the covers with him and held his bloody hand.
Bum could die, he could leave him forever, and that’s when she showed herself again.
It felt like Bum wasn’t here. Like Sangwoo was curled up against a corpse, because she’s banging at his door now, kicking it, screaming at him to open it and get back down here to clean up his mess. Sangwoo ducks his head further into Bum’s neck. She can’t get in, so he’s okay, she can’t. He locked the door.
But that doesn’t make it no less frightening.
With trembling hands, Sangwoo frantically feels beneath Bum’s shirt, letting out a sigh when he feels just how warm Bum’s skin is. Bum is always so warm, and right now, he feels pleasantly scalding.
Bum’s eyes open reluctantly, fluttering away the blurriness casting over his vision. A lot of sensations hit him at once - one being the sharp sting in his wrist, his ribs being dug into, and something attacking his chest wetly.
Bum can’t even look down due to the lump under his chin keeping him in place. Instead, he pushes weakly at what he assumes to be Sangwoo’s shoulder, groaning a little in protest.
“Sangwoo..” he says quietly, to which the younger man sucks harder at the sore nipple.
He must have been at this for a while, because every time Sangwoo laps around the hardened peak, it tickles in a pretty painful way.
What on earth is he doing?
Bum pushes again, trying to sit up on his elbow, but to no avail. Sangwoo digs his nails into Bum’s ribs again, causing the older man to yelp.
“Sangwoo— that hurts-“
Sangwoo makes an ‘mm-mm’ sound, almost like a stubborn whine, refusing to let go. Bum grimaces. He’s feeling too much at once, not to mention his head is also killing him.
“Sangwoo-“ Bum pushes again, but he eventually gives up. Sangwoo’s strength is unmatched, and Bum has zero energy.
Allowing his body to go lax, Sangwoo nuzzles closer, no longer digging his fingers into the dips of Bum’s rib cage. He then moves to the other nipple, licking around it before sucking gently. Bum’s stomach coils with arousal out of his own will, and he shifts in place, resting his chin atop Sangwoo’s caramel curls.
He cops a view of his injured wrist, splayed out behind Sangwoo’s back. He’s lying on his arm, so he can’t get a good look, but from where he’s situated he can tell it’s undeniably bloody, his coat sleeve ruined. There appears to be a bandage, but it’s loosely done.
Sangwoo stops his suckling and instead rests his forehead in the middle of Bum’s chest, letting out a small huff.
Bum swallows, his Addams apple bobbing from the strain in his neck.
Sangwoo’s soft breaths tickle Bum’s spit coated skin as he wraps his arms around Bum’s back, nuzzling him again, almost like a cat.
Bum can feel it, then. Sangwoo is shaking — no, trembling.
“Sangwoo?” Bum asks, concerned as his is confused. Despite what happened, he can’t help but still feel for the man. He tries to shove his shoulders again to get him out from underneath his shirt, but Sangwoo refuses.
“No..” Sangwoo muffles into his chest.
“No..?” Bum parrots, writhing in Sangwoo’s grip.
He wants to ask about it. He wants to see Sangwoo’s face, get out of these clothes especially. Maybe have a bath. He’s sweating from the amount of heat projecting from both he and Sangwoo.
Maybe later. For now, all Bum wants to do is sleep.