Chapter Text
Seonghwa arrived earlier than he meant to. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was ready to get out of his parents’ house, or because he was ready to be back in this apartment. But really, if he was honest with himself, he was just excited to see Hongjoong again.
He kept his beautiful boyfriend on his mind as he struggled with the key, jiggling it in the lock the way he always did, irritation spiking when it inevitably got stuck. It didn’t matter how many times he tried, or how many times Hongjoong teased him about it, the lock hated him. He tugged sharply, the key finally unsticking, and shoved the door open with a small huff of triumph.
He half expected someone to be home, Mingi sprawled on the couch, Yunho humming in the kitchen, Hongjoong curled up in his usual corner with his laptop, but the only thing that greeted him was the stale, weeks‑old scents of his two roommates. The apartment felt hollow without the noise, without the warmth, without the familiar chaos of people he loved.
He sighed, closing the door behind him as he toed off his shoes and placed them neatly on the rack. It would stay organized for maybe a few hours before Mingi returned and destroyed the system with a single careless kick of his sneakers. The thought made him smile, but only faintly.
The apartment was too quiet.
He wandered through it slowly, fingertips brushing over the back of the couch, the counter where Hongjoong always perched while Seonghwa cooked, the stack of mail no one had bothered to sort before they’d left for break. He paused by the window, looking out at the campus below, the winter light pale and thin, and felt the loneliness settle deeper in his chest.
He missed everyone, of course, but he missed Hongjoong in a way that was threaded through with an almost painful longing. He missed his scent, the bright citrus‑and‑cedar mix that always clung to him. He missed his enthusiasm, the way he talked with his hands when he got excited. He even missed his dramatic hatred of vegetables, the way he’d wrinkle his nose and accuse Seonghwa of trying to poison him with broccoli.
He missed him so fucking much,
He dropped onto the couch, pulling out his phone and scrolling through photos he’d already looked at too many times over break, blurry selfies, group shots, candid moments someone had accidentally captured. And then the ones he lingered on: him and Hongjoong, pressed shoulder to shoulder, laughing at something neither of them remembered anymore.
That bittersweet feeling crept in again, the one he’d been trying to ignore since the start of winter break. He had wanted Hongjoong to come home with him, had wanted to fall asleep beside him in his childhood bedroom and wake up to the soft morning light on his face like they did when they were teenagers. But Hongjoong hadn’t come. He’d stayed at his dads house hours away, saying he didn’t want to intrude.
Seonghwa had understood, Hongjoong hadn’t seen his dad in a while, but he’d still been disappointed.
Selfishly so, he realized, lying there on the couch with the apartment too quiet around him, that he just simply didn’t want to be away from Hongjoong. Not for two weeks. Not for three. Not really ever.
He didn’t know when that had happened, when missing him had become a physical ache, when being apart had started to feel inherently wrong, but it had, and now he was stuck with it. Even after all these years together, he felt like he’d be better off if he could glue Hongjoong to him forever so they’d never be apart.
He was still staring at a photo of Hongjoong laughing at something off‑camera, his dramatic thoughts stirring, when the front door clicked open.
Seonghwa sat up so fast he nearly dropped his phone.
Hongjoong stepped inside, dragging his suitcase behind him, hair mussed from travel, scarf half‑unraveled around his neck. He looked tired, travel‑tired, winter‑tired, but still so painfully, stupidly beautiful that Seonghwa felt his breath catch at the sight of him.
“Hey,” Hongjoong said when he noticed him,
Seonghwa lit up immediately, the loneliness evaporating in an instant. “You’re back.”
Hongjoong smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Just got in.”
Seonghwa stood, crossing the room in a few quick steps, pulling him into a hug that Hongjoong returned, but there was a tension beneath it, a small stiffness that hadn’t been there before break.
Regardless, Seonghwa couldn’t help but appreciate how their scents immediately mixed, the unusual, but pleasant blend of Hongjoong’s light orange and his own ginger undertones mixed between them.
“You okay?” Seonghwa murmured against his shoulder.
“Just tired,” Hongjoong said, pulling back with a small smile. “It was a long trip.”
Seonghwa nodded, but he still felt uneasy. They were together again, were home again, but something between them felt slightly misaligned, like a picture frame knocked askew. It didn’t help that they’d left for break following a fight.
And Seonghwa, who had spent the last two weeks missing him so much it hurt, suddenly didn’t know how to say any of it.
Hongjoong’s suitcase thumped gently against the wall as he set it down, and for a moment neither of them moved, the apartment holding its breath around them. Seonghwa wanted to close the distance again, wanted to wrap his arms around him and bury his face in his neck and inhale the scent he’d been missing for weeks, but he forced himself to stay still, to not overwhelm him the second he walked through the door.
“Do you want to unpack first?” Seonghwa asked, voice soft, careful.
Hongjoong nodded, rubbing at his eyes. “Yeah. Just… get it out of the way.”
Seonghwa followed him down the hall, hovering in the doorway as Hongjoong unzipped his suitcase and began sorting through clothes. He didn’t offer to help, Hongjoong liked doing things himself, but he stayed close enough to be there, to be present, to ease the quiet that had settled between them.
They talked a little, just small things, surface‑level things, how the train had been delayed, how cold it had been, how his stepmom had sent back an entire bag of snacks for the apartment. Seonghwa laughed at that, because of course she had, and Hongjoong smiled, but it was a tired smile, a thin one.
When the last shirt was folded and the suitcase was shoved under the bed, Seonghwa lingered in the doorway again, hands in his pockets, trying to think of something light, something easy, something that wouldn’t make the tension worse.
“Are you hungry?” he asked finally. “I can make lunch. Nothing fancy. Just… maybe rameyon.”
Hongjoong looked up with a softer look his way, not completely loosened, but enough that Seonghwa felt it like a small warmth blooming in his chest.
“That sounds good,” Hongjoong said quietly.
So they went to the kitchen, and Seonghwa filled the pot with water, setting it on the stove with practiced ease. Hongjoong hopped up onto the counter without being asked, the same spot he always claimed, the same spot he’d sat in a hundred times before, and for the first time since he’d walked through the door, he looked a little more like himself.
Seonghwa glanced over his shoulder at him, unable to help the small smile tugging at his mouth. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep sitting up.”
“I might,” Hongjoong admitted, legs swinging lazily. “But I didn’t want to go to bed yet.”
“Why not?”
Hongjoong shrugged, gaze dropping to his hands. “Didn’t want to be away from you again.”
The words were soft, almost mumbled, but they hit Seonghwa with the force of something much bigger. He stepped closer without thinking, drawn in by the honesty, by the vulnerability, by the simple fact that Hongjoong was here, finally here, after weeks of missing him so much it hurt.
Hongjoong looked up at him then, and whatever distance had been there before seemed to melt away in an instant. His eyes softened, his shoulders relaxed, and he reached out, fingers brushing lightly against Seonghwa’s wrist.
“Come here,” he murmured.
Seonghwa did, because how could he resist.
He stepped between Hongjoong’s knees, hands settling gently on his waist, and Hongjoong leaned forward, closing the last inch of space between them. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like they were relearning each other after too long apart, but then Hongjoong exhaled against his mouth, a small, relieved sound, and Seonghwa felt something inside him unclench.
Everything might be alright.
The water began to boil behind them, the soft bubbling filling the quiet kitchen, but neither of them moved, not yet. Hongjoong rested his forehead against Seonghwa’s, breathing him in, and Seonghwa let his hands slide up to cradle his face, holding him gently, carefully, like something precious.
“I missed you,” Hongjoong whispered.
Seonghwa closed his eyes. “I missed you too.”
The words carried the ache of empty beds, the frustration of group chats and messages that couldn’t convey tone, the memory of Hongjoong’s laugh, a sound Seonghwa could only hear in his head for two weeks. He opened his eyes and found Hongjoong staring back, his gaze intense, unwavering. There was a question there, an invitation.
Seonghwa answered it again by leaning in again.
This kiss was different, less tentative, more certain. Hongjoong’s hands came up, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of Seonghwa’ s neck, pulling him closer. The angle shifted when Seonghwa tilted his head, and Hongjoong’s mouth opened a fraction, a soft gasp escaping as their lips parted just enough for a deeper connection. The taste of him, like tea and something citrus-y seeped into Seonghwa’s senses.
God, he’s real. He’s here.
Seonghwa’s hands drifted from Hongjoong’s face, down his shoulders, tracing the familiar lines of his body through the soft fabric of his hoodie. He gripped Hongjoong’s hips again, this time with more intent, and pulled him forward until their bodies were flush. Hongjoong was sitting on the counter, but Seonghwa was taller, and the position made Hongjoong seem small and vulnerable. A stark contrast to the fierce leader he was in his studio. Here, he was just Hongjoong, and melting into Seonghwa’s hold.
Hongjoong’s legs wrapped around Seonghwa’s waist, locking him in place, a slow burn spreading from their joined mouths through their chests. Seonghwa felt Hongjoong’s heartbeat, frantic and quick, against his own. He kissed him deeper, slower, savoring the slide of tongue that wasn’t yet full exploration, but a promise of it. A wet, hot hint of what could come.
Hongjoong moaned, and it was a quiet, muffled sound against Seonghwa’s lips, but it unlocked something. Seonghwa’s careful control frayed at the edges. His hands, which had been gentle, now pressed Hongjoong more firmly against him. One hand slid under the back of Hongjoong’s hoodie, finding the warm skin of his lower back. Hongjoong arched into the touch, a sharp, graceful movement.
They broke apart for air, panting softly in the steam-filled kitchen. Hongjoong’s lips were swollen, glistening. His eyes were half-lidded, dark pools of want. “Hwa…”
Seonghwa didn’t let him finish, just kissed him again, this time on the corner of his mouth, then along his jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below his ear. Hongjoong shuddered, his grip tightening in Seonghwa’s hair. “You’re driving me crazy,” he breathed out, the words trembling.
“Good,” Seonghwa murmured against his skin. His own voice was rough, unfamiliar to his own ears. He’d spent the break being polite, being a good son, a quiet respectful force. Here, he could be this. Hungry.
He pulled back just enough to look at Hongjoong’s face again. His fingers traced the line of Hongjoong’s collar, then dipped beneath it, brushing the hollow of his throat. Hongjoong watched him, his breath coming in short, visible pants. Seonghwa’s thumb stroked over his pulse point, feeling the wild rhythm there.
The hoodie was an obstacle, and Seonghwa’s hands, now bold with the electricity of their kisses, found the hem. He didn’t pull it off, that was too much, too fast for this steamy, building moment, but he lifted it slowly, just enough to expose a strip of Hongjoong’s stomach. The skin was pale and smooth as Seonghwa leaned down and pressed his lips there, just above the waistband of Hongjoong’s jeans.
Hongjoong gasped, his legs tightening around Seonghwa. “Oh… fuck.”
The kiss on his stomach was light, almost chaste compared to the fervent exchange of minutes before, but the context made it incendiary. It was a declaration. Seonghwa was marking him, claiming this territory, moving lower. He lingered, his breath hot on Hongjoong’s skin, before looking up.
Hongjoong was staring down at him, his expression utterly shattered. Open. Raw.
He rose back up, meeting Hongjoong’s mouth once more with a kiss that showed there was no hesitation left. Hongjoong’s tongue met his properly now, a slick, intimate dance that made Seonghwa’s head spin. His hands roamed under the hoodie, exploring the planes of Hongjoong’s back, the dip of his spine. Hongjoong’s own hands were frantic, pulling at Seonghwa’s sweater, trying to find skin, to get closer.
The kettle began to whistle, a sharp, rising scream that shattered the humid silence of the kitchen.
They both froze, breathing heavily, lips still a millimeter apart.
Seonghwa’s eyes, dark and heavy with want, flickered toward the stove for a fraction of a second before returning to Hongjoong’s flushed face. Hongjoong’s lips were parted, his breath still coming in ragged puffs, his expression a clear plea for don’t.
Seonghwa made a decision as he pulled away, his hands lingering on Hongjoong’s hips for a moment before he turned. He moved with a deliberate calm, a contrast to the frantic energy that had been swirling between them.
He clicked the stove off and the whistle died abruptly, leaving only the hum of the refrigerator and their own breathing. He picked up the kettle, the weight solid in his hand, and poured the steaming water carefully into two waiting instant ramyeon cups on the counter. The ritual was mundane, grounding, as the scent of artificial broth powder filled the air.
He set the kettle down and turned back.
Hongjoong was still perched on the counter, legs still spread around where Seonghwa had stood. He looked tousled, vulnerable, and a little pouty with his bottom lip pushed out in a silent protest at the interruption. Seonghwa’s chest tightened at the sight. So fucking cute.
He walked back, his steps slow and measured, but he didn’t speak. He simply stepped back into the space between Hongjoong’s knees, his tall frame crowding Hongjoong’s smaller one. He placed a hand on Hongjoong’s thigh, the touch firm and possessive.
“We have five minutes till the food is done,” Seonghwa said, his voice low and rough. It wasn’t an observation, but it was maybe a challenge. Or a promise.
Hongjoong’s wide eyes locked onto his as a shiver ran through him.
Seonghwa’s gaze dropped as his hands moved to the waistband of Hongjoong’s soft gray sweats. He didn’t undress him, but his fingers hooked into the fabric and the elastic, and with a slow, deliberate pull, and drew them down just a few inches.
The soft material yielded, sliding over Hongjoong’s hips, exposing the pale skin of his lower abdomen, the gentle curve where his pelvis began.
And there, nestled in the faint shadow, was the start of him. Hongjoong’s cock, already half-hard from their kissing, lay against his stomach. Seonghwa’s breath hitched, because it was a familiar sight, but one he’d been deprived of for weeks. The simple, vulnerable exposure was more erotic than any full nudity.
Hongjoong made a small, choked sound as his hands moved to grip the edge of the counter behind him.
Seonghwa leaned in, lowering his head, his dark hair brushing against Hongjoong’s inner thigh. His mouth, still warm from their kisses, found Hongjoong’s skin first with a soft, open-mouthed kiss just beside the base of his cock. Hongjoong jerked, a gasp tearing from his lips.
Seonghwa did it again, on the other side with a slow, wet kiss. Then he moved his lips upward, tracing a path along the sensitive skin of Hongjoong’s shaft with nothing but the heat of his mouth and the faintest brush of his tongue. He didn’t take him in, just teased and worshiped the shape of him with lips and breath, each movement deliberate, each touch designed to make Hongjoong tremble.
“Hwa… please,” Hongjoong whimpered, his head falling back against the cupboard door behind him.
Seonghwa finally let his tongue slide properly, a firm, wet stripe from root to tip. Hongjoong cried out, his hips bucking involuntarily. Seonghwa’s hands came up to settle on Hongjoong’s hips, holding him down, pinning him to the counter with gentle but unyielding pressure.
He took the tip into his mouth then, just the flushed, sensitive head and sucked lightly, his tongue circling the slit. Hongjoong’s legs tightened around Seonghwa’s shoulders, his toes curling, as the sensation was sharp, overwhelming after such tender buildup.
Seonghwa worked him with a slow, rhythmic suction, his own arousal a sharp awareness in his gut. He could taste the faint, clean salt of him, feel the pulse of blood under his tongue.
Hongjoong was unraveling quickly, as his breaths became shallow moans, each one punctuating Seonghwa’s movements.
Seonghwa pulled off with a wet pop, leaving Hongjoong’s cock glistening. He looked up to see that Hongjoong’s face was a masterpiece of pleasure, his eyes screwed shut, mouth open, a flush spreading from his cheeks down his neck. Seonghwa leaned up and kissed his stomach again, then higher, over his ribs, stopping to nip gently at a nipple through the fabric of his hoodie. Hongjoong arched, a full-body shudder.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Seonghwa murmured, his voice husky. “All mine. Letting me have you.”
Hongjoong could only nod, a desperate, jerky motion as Seonghwa went back down. This time, he took him deeper. He sank his mouth down Hongjoong’s length, his throat opening to accommodate him and Hongjoong’s hands flew to Seonghwa’s head, not pushing, just holding, fingers tangling in his hair.
The sensation was profound, the hot, velvety softness of Hongjoong filling his mouth, the weight, the rightness. Seonghwa moved, a slow, deep bob of his head, his tongue pressing firmly along the underside.
Hongjoong was panting, his thighs shaking where they pressed against Seonghwa. “I’m… I’m—fuck,” he managed to get out, his voice strangled.
Seonghwa didn’t stop, if anything, he sped up, as his movements became more urgent, more hungry. He’d missed this, missed the power of it, the intimacy of having Hongjoong at his mercy, of feeling him swell and tighten and moan under his care. He sucked harder, his hand coming up to wrap around the shaft hard, moving in time with his mouth.
That was the final trigger, and Hongjoong’s warning became a broken chant. “Ah—ah—Seonghwa— fuck! ”
His orgasm hit him suddenly as a violent, beautiful tension that snapped. He cried out with a raw, unfiltered sound that echoed in the kitchen. And Seonghwa took it all, swallowing every pulse, every hot rush, his mouth working Hongjoong through it until he was spent, soft, and trembling.
Seonghwa pulled off slowly, licking his lips and looked up at Hongjoong, who was slumped against the cupboard, utterly wrecked. His sweats were still pulled down just that tantalizing inch, exposing the evidence of his pleasure.
Seonghwa rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He leaned in and kissed Hongjoong’s slack mouth, tasting Hongjoong’s lips. “Five minutes,” he whispered again, a smirk playing on his lips."Turns out you only needed three.”
Hongjoong rolled his eyes, pushing Hwa’s head away gently. “Shut up…you can’t blame me for not lasting, I haven’t seen you for two weeks.”
Seonghwa just smiled at him, standing up and pulling him in for another kiss, pulling the hem of Hongjoong’s sweatpants back up.