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jisungsdaydreamer · 11 months ago

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Anti-Romantic | CHAPTER THREE | 18+

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

DRUNK IN LOVE

“I haven’t been the same since we met.”

«PREVIOUS CHAPTER» · «SERIES MASTERLIST»

Pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader Genre: Non idol au, fluff, smut, romcom, drama, opposites attract Chapter Warnings: explicit sexual content, switch!Hyunjin, switch!reader, mentions of emotionally abusive ex, mutual fantasizing, sexual fantasy sequence (dom!reader, sub!Hyunjin), masturbation (f), heavy insecurity and self deprecation, oral (f receiving), rough sex, degradation, edging/orgasm denial, unprotected sex, misuse of alcohol (reader is a very sad drunk), both of them are actual idiots that will make you want to scream :( Word Count: 20.5k

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The first thing Hyunjin understands when he comes to is how disgusting his mouth tastes. The faint, bitter taste of alcohol lingering on his tongue brings the memory of the night prior’s bad decisions; he’s never gone a single day in his life without brushing his teeth at night, in addition to the rest of his extensive pre-bedtime routine. The lack of moisture that pulls at his skin like a scratchy draft has him reaching for his nightstand, from where he’s burrowed in blankets like a corn dog. For a few embarrassing minutes, Hyunjin puts up a valiant effort trying to locate his special night repair face lotion solely with his flailing palm, before he’s rudely interrupted.

“Wake the fuck up, Sleeping Beauty.”

The strangely familiar, feminine yet husky voice brings him hurtling back into reality. Cautiously, Hyunjin retracts his arm and opens his eyes; the blinding light that meets them does not help his splitting headache that rivals the shaking faultlines of San Andreas.

When he finally adjusts to the brightness, he realizes that he’s in a room that’s definitely not his. The vast SolarSmart windows that would have already dimmed to match his sleepy blinking have been replaced by an antique bay window. Instead of the aristocratic fragrance of his favorite Le Labo candle, the air is thick with the smell of maple syrup. And his beloved Egyptian cotton sheets are gone in favor of a sherpa set that has him sweating in the year-round heat, which isn’t helped by the fact that this place isn’t humidity controlled.

“I’ve always thought of myself as more of a Rapunzel,” Hyunjin groans, stretching and tilting his head up to meet Lisa’s eyes. “You know, great hair and all.”

“Ha ha.” Lisa rolls her eyes, trying to maintain her expression of annoyance, but Hyunjin catches the hint of a smile on her lips; it’s inevitable, trying to fight the effect of his charms, especially when he’s just woken up all adorable and rumpled by sleep. “It’s almost noon, I thought I’d wake you up.”

“Noon?!” Hyunjin flies into a sitting position, frozen in an unfamiliar panic and unable to think of what to do next. By this time in his usual daily routine, he would have been enjoying a light lunch in his office while journaling in his gratitude notebook. Fuck, his stomach calls out for a nice balsamic arugula salad, maybe with a freshly-squeezed orange juice on the side to help with the regrettable effects of alcohol.

Lisa coughs lightly, bending down to pick up a discarded collection of clothing strewn on the floor, before handing it over to Hyunjin. The nausea rises up in Hyunjin’s stomach as he sifts through the clothes that he recognizes as his own. And then, as if in sudden remembrance, he looks down at himself and realizes that he’s completely naked except for his Gucci boxers. Horrified, he looks over at Lisa, but before he can say anything, she cuts him off.

“No. We didn’t have sex.” Lisa avoids Hyunjin’s eyes, picking at one of her burgundy-painted nails. She seems strangely skittish, in stark comparison to her confident, nearly feline-like mannerisms last night.

“Then what happened last night?” Hyunjin slips on his shirt and slides out of bed to pull his pants on, resolving to get dressed already right there; at this point, there is no more mortifying himself.

Lisa shrugs, an embarrassed blush overtaking her features. “We did some shots at the bar, before I suggested you come over for better drinks, so we could, well, you know. Hook-up. But you really did drink more. A lot more. And just as you took off your clothes, you blacked-out.”

“Blacked-out?” Hyunjin’s whole body feels racked with disbelief. And yet, the memories come fading back in: the botched matchmaking event, him retreating to drink away his sorrows, the handsy taxi ride back to Lisa’s place. “I barely even get tipsy.”

“It seemed like there was a lot on your mind last night. I don’t know what to say to you right now.” Lisa scratches her wrist lightly, as if trying to occupy herself while waiting for Hyunjin to get the hell out of her home. But the movement draws Hyunjin’s attention to her hand, where a fat, glimmering diamond rests on her ring finger, one that wasn’t there the previous night.

Realization flows in, ghastly and unwarranted. He clears his throat, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. “And you’re fucking married.”

Lisa freezes, the blood completely draining out of her face as her lips go paper thin. “I can explain.”

Hyunjin tilts his head with fresh resolve, taking his phone and wallet from where they’re fortunately perched on top of the nightstand. “Nope. I’m getting out of here. Looks like you’ve got some personal things going—”

“Hyunjin, I’m not married. Please, just—” Lisa quickly crosses in front of him, blocking the doorway, looking at him with pleading eyes. “I’m engaged.”

“Big difference that makes,” Hyunjin mutters, crossing his arms. Nevertheless, he waits for her to speak, softening when he catches the glimpse of pain flash in her eyes.

“My fiancé. He’s… I- I know he’s not working late all those nights, like he says he is.” Lisa exhales shakily, closing her eyes. “I know who you are. The Love Doctor. Initially, I thought I would talk to Jake, maybe book us an appointment with you. But then I saw you at the bar, and I don’t know, it felt like a sign.”

“And you wanted to make him hurt like he hurt you,” Hyunjin finishes for her. He’d had clients like Lisa, the vengeful wives looking to bite back at the ones who wronged them— he just never imagined that he would have almost been a part of such a plot.

She nods guiltily. “And I also just wanted to forget everything, even if it was going to be temporary. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it, so when you fell asleep, I was kind of relieved.”

Hyunjin snorts and snaps back with no real malice in his words, just a hint of mirth. “Glad me blacking out worked well for you.”

Lisa shoots him a tiny, sheepish grin. “To be fair, I don’t think you really wanted to go through with it. When you were drunk, you kept repeating the same name over and over again.”

He stills at her response, remembering no such event. But of course it makes sense; there’s a certain someone lingering in his thoughts 24/7, and she has no plan of leaving him anytime soon. “I guess.”

If she notices the immediate color in Hyunjin’s cheeks, Lisa says nothing. She just shuffles to the side, letting Hyunjin exit the bedroom before leading him to the main entrance of her apartment. “Again, I’m sorry about everything, Hyunjin. I shouldn’t have tried to use you like that. I really am sorry.”

Hyunjin accepts her apology, a strange mix of sympathy and understanding unfurling in his stomach. After all, he tried doing the same thing, to find someone else to warm his bed and take his mind off of the one person he really wanted. It was a bad night for both of them. “You’re still welcome to find me anytime.”

“Thanks a lot.” Lisa gives him a smile, before it fades into something more playful, one that fits her better than any expression he’s seen on her so far. “If I’m being honest, though, you're not really my type.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Call my secretary and book an appointment if you ever want one. With or without your fiancé.” Hyunjin scoffs, glaring at Lisa over his shoulder as he walks away. “And I’m everyone’s type.”

When his Uber finally pulls up in front of Oasis, Hyunjin hurries up to his penthouse and tries to make the most out of the rest of the cruelly shortened day— after a quick shower to wash off the stench of alcohol and pine air freshener.

Hunched over a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch at his kitchen island, Hyunjin swipes through all of the pop-ups on his laptop, going through everything that he’s missed in the time during which he’d dissociated from all common sense. Everyday, Wonyoung makes sure Hyunjin stays up-to-date on all of his engagements by adding all of his event invitations to his Google calendar; Hyunjin spends a good few minutes clicking through everything, accepting all of his upcoming meetings. He’s been slacking off at work lately, skipping team lunches and sitting out on evening debriefs— but that’s all about to change, because Hyunjin needs to get his life back together again. And that includes making things right with you.

“Want to pull up for a quick afternoon appointment?” Hyunjin mouths out loud. He then makes a face and deletes the letter, groaning out loud. “This isn’t a high school date…”

After a few more failed attempts at trying to write a breezy but appropriate check-in email to you, Hyunjin resolves to call his no-nonsense secretary, knowing that the Velma to his Daphne would help him rediscover his suavity again. Maybe she could even catch him up on today’s SeoulSpark gossip that he’d missed, if they had time. But he underestimates her temper when she finally picks up after the fourth ring:

“Where the fuck were you?” Wonyoung screeches into the phone, making Hyunjin wince and pull his iPhone away from his ear. “Do you know how worried sick I was? How many times have I called you? You didn’t even show up to the brunch you had with the Carters! I had to practically beg Beyoncé not to drop us, only after promising her and Jay-Z five free sessions! I hope you’re ready to deal with the company's losses!”

“I’m sorry, I know, I know.” Hyunjin whines. “I know I’ve been really sidetracked, but I promise I’m making things right.”

“You’d better, Hyunjin.” Wonyoung bites, before taking a few deep breaths to calm herself down. “I want you over at SeoulSpark on Monday at 6 AM, sharp. We will be going over each and every single client, and then making a game plan for the next five months. You have a meeting with Dr. Jeon, and then Mr. Jung. And Ms. Y/L/N requested an appointment last night, and you can most certainly afford it right now, so you’ll also be meeting with her. Respectfully, I suggest you get your ass over here as soon as possible.”

“Yes, yes— wait.” Hyunjin perks up, dropping his spoon into the soggy bowl of cereal, not minding the tiny droplets of milk that splash up at him. “Did you say Y/N?”

“What’s the matter?”

He shakes his head, dumping the remnants of his meal into the sink. “Nothing. I’ll see you!”

The slow drag of the days until the next week turns into a blur on Monday morning. Hyunjin pulls on a crisp white Celine t-shirt to go with a flowy pair of pleated trousers from the back of his closet, the kind of casual, chic outfit tailored that can always uplift any day. As a final touch, Hyunjin shrugs on a simple yet effective cardigan and dabs some cologne onto his wrists.

During the drive over to SeoulSpark, Hyunjin reflects on the fact that he’d be seeing you in just a few hours, even though he just saw you a few days ago. When you could barely look Hyunjin in the eye after his colossal blunder. When you’d run away to be far, far away from him, somewhere he couldn’t hurt you again. But he wouldn’t let that happen again, ever. You’re far too precious, and he doesn’t plan on losing you anytime soon, even if you’ll never know what you truly mean to him.

He sighs, parking Cami in her specially reserved spot in the SeoulSpark garage, before taking off his shades and heading inside. As soon as he steps through the sliding glass doors, he can barely muster up a ‘hello’ to his receptionist, Felix, before Wonyoung pounces on him. In the blink of an eye, Wonyoung has dragged him up to his office, where she sits him down at his desk and begins to ferociously rattle off his to-do list for the day.

Luckily, he’s saved by Dr. Jeon, who raps on the open door with a wry smile on his face. “Can I come in, Wonyoung, or are you still busy disciplining Hyunjin?”

Wonyoung huffs at him, before picking up her tablet and making her way out. “He’s all yours. Make it snappy, though. He has a full schedule.”

“Yes, Ms. Jang.” Dr. Jeon says with mock seriousness that makes Wonyoung shoot him a murderous glare, before making himself comfortable on the sofa and turning to Hyunjin. “Damn, where’d you buy this thing? I could take a fat nap here.”

“West Elm.” Hyunjin is unable to keep the smile off of his face. “What’s up, Jungkook?”

“Well, this is kind of an awkward question, if you don’t mind…” Jungkook shoots him a hopeful look, and Hyunjin gives him a nod to continue. “I was just wondering about the company policy about dating clients? It isn’t clear whether we’re allowed to or not, but I know it’s a little iffy.”

Hyunjin sits up in surprise, mind immediately going to you. The SeoulSpark guidelines on dating clients were never explicit to begin with, but it was kind of unsaid that dating clients is out of the question, especially when it could jeopardize business. Of course he’d thought about this before, on the nights when he had been feeling extra delusional over the thought of having you all to himself. But it could never be real.

“What’s this all about, Jungkook?” Hyunjin shifts in his seat warily. “We generally advise against it, even after clients decide to end their memberships. It’s messy territory, one that we try to avoid.”

Jungkook clears his throat. “I mean, she’s not even my client. I think she’s one of yours, actually. She caught my eye at the matchmaking event yesterday— she was wearing this sexy blue sundress. Y/N was her name, I think? I thought, I don't know, that I could maybe ask her out or something? If she didn’t have any matches?”

Oh, hell no.

Hyunjin’s blood immediately goes cold. He likes Jungkook— a lot, actually. He’s a good colleague and friend, and a great drinking buddy when he feels up to it. Jungkook has tagged along with him and Seungmin quite often, whenever they decide to go out to find someone to warm their beds for the night. The topic of women has never been foreign between them, especially in a setting like SeoulSpark. But his woman? Absolutely not.

Even if you aren’t actually his, Hyunjin would rather break Jungkook’s annoyingly perfect nose than see his hands all over you, and that’s saying something, because Hyunjin hates killing even mosquitos. Jungkook watching you laugh over a plate of pasta. Jungkook helping you into his car. Jungkook kissing you while he brings heaven to you in his bed. All of the things that Hyunjin should get to do.

Technically, it wouldn’t be the end of the world for SeoulSpark if Jungkook dated you, especially since you aren’t his client— but it would be for Hyunjin. Hell if Jeon Jungkook, the notorious player of SeoulSpark, would have you in his stead.

“No.”

Jungkook frowns. “But—”

“I said no, Dr. Jeon. Don’t make me repeat myself,” Hyunjin snaps coldly, barely fazed by that uncharacteristic iciness in his own tone. “Please see yourself out, and come to me when you have something actually useful to discuss.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, running his hands through his hair. “You seem to be in a mood today, Hyunjin. But whatever, I’ll back off. See you later, I guess.”

Hyunjin knows he should feel bad as he watches Jungkook shrink out his view, but all he has is a vicious sense of satisfaction. That’ll teach him— Christ, is he jealous? Hwang Hyunjin doesn’t get jealous. The world is an oyster, and you, his shimmering pearl. He really is so screwed.

The next few hours are a blur, as Hyunjin does his best to be attentive as he sits through meetings with his executive team, including the one with his Chief Marketing Officer, Jung Hoseok, to discuss potential brand partnerships that would be good for SeoulSpark. He deserves an award for not falling asleep during the very essential Zoom call to confirm whether he should allow his face to be stamped onto a cat food brand (the answer was no, he’s forever a dog person).

By the time the sun has dipped below the horizon, Hyunjin has finished meeting with his second-to-last client of the day, Yang Jeongin, that brazen college student who had talked back to him during his TED talk. Poor guy had been through so much, really, with a history of being dumped, the latest offender being a cheating girlfriend who had effectively ruined his outlook on life. But over the past few months, Hyunjin had been able to chip through that broken exterior to find a brilliant young man in need of just a push in the right direction. He reminds Hyunjin of you so much.

“Thanks, Hyun. I’ll see you next week.” Jeongin waves goodbye at Hyunjin, who’s already rifling through his desk drawer for his compact mirror and breath mints.

Hyunjin flashes him a quick smile. “You too, Jeongin.”

As quick as Jeongin has left, the feeling of being alone washes away when you step into the room, knocking the wind out of Hyunjin’s lungs, as always. Today, you’ve foregone those usual pinks, a constant that Hyunjin had loved so much about your outfits. Nevertheless, you’re stunning; the sea-green floral maxi dress floats delicately around your ankles, and Hyunjin has to mentally kick himself to stop staring at the dainty line of buttons crossed along the ruched bust of the bodice.

“There you are!” Hyunjin beams like the sun, the stress of the day’s burdens melting away.

But instead of getting all cute and flustered at his theatrics like you always do, you give him a thin smile and sit down on the couch. “Hey, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin tries not to let the concern flood into his logic, but it’s impossible, when it comes to you. However, he makes a valiant effort in crossing his legs and trying to hide the turbulence of emotions beneath his skin by plastering a placid expression onto his face. “So… want to talk about last week?”

“There’s not much to talk about.” You shrug and avoid Hyunjin’s gaze, looking out the window with a forlorn glint in your eyes.

“Darling, please.” Hyunjin breaks. He gets up from behind his desk and folds himself into the space next to you, failing to maintain his impartiality. He hates to see you like this, like you so steadfastly believe that you’re alone, when he’s been here for you the entire time. “Open up to me.”

You look directly into Hyunjin’s eyes, prompting a shiver to run down his spine. He wishes you could look at him like that while forcing him down onto his knees. “I had sex with Han Jisung.”

Of everything, hearing that was not on Hyunjin’s 2023 bingo card. For a moment, he just gapes at you in shock. As your dating coach, he never thought you’d be ready to become intimate with someone so soon, especially the guy who made you run off in horror just a few days prior. And as the person who is secretly in love with you, he could never actually imagine you with anyone except for him. Yet, he now has the wonderful, vivid image of you and Han Jisung getting it on. How nice.

And then comes the complete fury. But before he can act upon it, throwing aside his zen policy to bestow you with an aggressive line of questioning— that he is absolutely not entitled to, at all— you hold up your hand, shutting him up.

“And I think we should stop seeing each other.”

In that moment, nothing but utter horror slashes through every fiber of Hyunjin’s being. Of all of the scenarios he’d gone through in his mind, the worst case is actually happening— goddamnit, universe. What would the point of life be if you weren’t in his, anymore? “Are you… are you breaking up with me?”

You give Hyunjin a pitiful smile that makes him want to go crawl into a hole somewhere and die. “That’s one way to put it, I guess. But I’m your client. This is a good sign.”

That’s not all you are. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This can’t be real.

“You know what I mean!”

“Shouldn’t you be happy for me?” You purse your lips. “I guess I’ve finally moved on from Jisung, now that I’ve slept with someone else. I can finally go forth in the world without his shadow holding me back. I’m completely over it.”

Hyunjin closes his eyes, lightly massaging his temples using the stress-prevention technique that his old masseuse taught him before she moved back to Thailand. It doesn’t work. Fuck, is he sweating? “Well, I think you’re not completely over it. This is a step, not the destination. Having sex with a guy you just met is definitely not what we programmed into your love life GPS— we’re still driving! Besides, you still have a month of sessions left on your contract!”

“Uhhh, okay.” You give Hyunjin a puzzled look that makes him cringe inwardly— fuck his fruity metaphors. “Either way, I just don’t think I need your help anymore, to be honest. But I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“No.” Hyunjin shakes his head stubbornly, resolve set deep inside of him. If you wanted him to get all technical and make himself sound like a pretentious prick, then fine. Anything to keep you from leaving. “As the person who you have entrusted to provide you with a professional opinion, I do not accept your rationale for ending our contract. It’s sudden, and you’d just be wasting your own money because everything was prepaid. It doesn’t make sense for you to go like this, don’t you think? Talk to me.”

And Hyunjin sees you pause, the doubt written across your gorgeous features. You put on a little eyeliner today, and when your eyes crinkle in doubt, the winged ends of the liner downturn, making you look impossibly cute. Hyunjin wants nothing more than to kiss that pout on your lips— not smooth it away, but make it his, somehow, to watch you look down at him with that same expression when he’s on his knees for you.

He waits with bated breath, until you finally throw your hands up, relenting. “Okay. Alright. But only because I have a month left. After that, I won’t be renewing the contract.”

You grumpily sit back down on the sofa, and Hyunjin has to clench his jaw to keep from grinning like an idiot. “So, tell me. What’s gotten you so worked up?”

You sigh, looking away from Hyunjin as you toy with one of the beads on the skirt of your dress. You take your time thinking, and Hyunjin doesn’t rush you, wanting you to be as authentic as possible when providing him with an answer. “There’s this guy…”

Hyunjin then feels all of the blood drain out of face right then. If the abrupt announcement of your departure from SeoulSpark’s services had not sent him into a panic, then this definitely did. He sees that unsure yet determined look in your eye, the kind he’s observed appearing whenever you have a strong opinion to share, the thoughts of other people be damned.

“Who… who is it?” He manages to spit out, thinking back to his go-to metaphoric fork and stabbing himself in the thigh with it, over and over again, to keep himself in place. “Someone from the matchmaking event?”

“It’s not any of those guys, no. You probably don’t even know him. Some guy from work,” you explain quickly, prompting a fresh wave of confusion to wash over Hyunjin. “But that’s not the point. He’s, um, always on my mind. I can’t stop thinking about him, no matter how much I don’t want to. Because, for obvious reasons, I can’t be with him. And I don’t want to hurt him, because the pain from the past— from Jisung— is still there, even if I don’t love him anymore. I don’t trust myself with love.”

Love? Is that what this is? Do you love whoever this useless idiot is?

Hyunjin’s thoughts cower in betrayal, even though you owe him absolutely nothing. He shakes them away, focusing on everything else you’ve just confided in him with. “It’s okay to not be completely over the past. You might never be, and that’s okay, because what you went through was traumatic. That kind of hurt sticks, and you’re strong for trying to move forward. But you can’t let the fear of the unknown stop you.”

You shake your head. “But it’s too significant to ignore, that fear. My worst nightmare is hurting him like Jisung did to me. What if I end up doing that, Hyunjin? What if I leave him, like Jisung left me?”

“Don’t compare yourself to that piece of shit,” Hyunjin says sharply, making you jump a little. Normally, he’d apologize for coming on too strong, but he couldn’t. Not when you talk about yourself like that. “And it’s just a risk you’re going to have to take. And if he’s really worth it, then he’ll stay by your side no matter what.”

I would. I wouldn’t ever fucking leave you.

Before you can say anything, Hyunjin keeps going, unable to restrain himself from asking this next question, because he has to know. He has to know if you truly mean it. “So, the question is, do you think he is? Is he worth it?”

“I love who I am because of him,” you state, and with the way your voice doesn’t even waver, Hyunjin knows it to be completely true. “I’m ten times less pessimistic than I usually am. He makes me feel like a morning person, even though I’m not. And I actually want to do more with my life, see everything it has to offer. He makes me a better person, but I never feel forced to do anything for his attention, for the way he cares.”

“He- he sounds wonderful,” Hyunjin responds, and he’s trying— he really is— but he just doesn’t believe he can be genuine, not now. Not when he feels his heart breaking inside, not when he knows he’s a selfish bastard who should be celebrating you. And what did he fucking expect? That someone wouldn’t see a diamond and pick it up, keeping it for themselves? He’s so, so stupid.

“He is.” You give him a meaningful look that makes his head spin. Now, what does that mean? Hyunjin doesn’t have it in him to be an interpreter today, strolling across the shoreline rocks of your mind, trying to decipher what today’s tides bring. It’s his literal job to know what you’re thinking, and yet, today his mind is completely clear of any sense of logic.

“He makes me feel seen, even if he may never feel the same,” you continue, biting your lip. “He’s the most beautiful person I know.”

“I’m not supposed to say this, but anyone who wouldn’t return your feelings is a total idiot.” Hyunjin smiles at the way you shoot him a skeptical look. He wants to at least try to convey even a single sign that tells you that he’s glad you’ve found someone good, someone that could make you happy— what he could never do for you himself. “And I’m glad, Y/N. It’s a good thing we still have a month, because I can tell that there’s still some unease on your end, because you’re clearly holding yourself back. I just want the best for you.”

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m sorry if I was making a scene. I just so want to be done with all of this fixing. I just want to be ready to let go of all of that baggage, and I guess I was in a rush to do so.”

“No, no. Don’t apologize. Trust me, I get the feeling, more than you know.” Hyunjin reaches across and places his hand on yours, trying to relax you. “It’s okay to want to move on. It’s okay to be frustrated. And it’s okay to want someone. Let yourself be happy, because ultimately, you’re the only one who can control that, no one else.”

For the first time during your meeting today, you break out into a smile, and Hyunjin has to blink to readjust him to the sight. It’s like a rainbow has cut through a stormy sky, joining in a perfect Yin and Yang. Hyunjin loves all of you, both the color and the tempest, because together, they make you who you are. He wouldn’t change you for the world; all he’s ever done for you was try to make you realize that yourself.

“You are such a gift, Hyunjin,” you say fondly, and Hyunjin has to remind himself that it’s because you see him as a friend, as a confidante. It would never be in the way he completely wants it to be, and he’ll have to make his peace with that, for you.

“I know. All I’m missing is a big pink bow,” Hyunjin jokes, plastering a smile onto his face. For the first time ever, he wishes you would walk out of his office, taking with you your infectious laugh and incandescent gaze. You can’t be here when he falls apart like he so badly needs to.

You laugh, thankfully not sensing his internal turmoil. “Alright, Hyunjin. I have to get going. But I’ll see you next week?”

He nods, rising as you stand and turn for the door. “Of course. Have a good one, darling.”

“Same goes for you.” You reach up and give his shoulder a little squeeze, before you’re walking away, too soon and yet, not fast enough.

From where you touched him over his cardigan, Hyunjin’s skin burns with desire. But it isn’t enough to keep him from clumsily shutting the door closed behind him as he stumbles back inside of his office. He screws his eyes shut and tries to rapidly think of a list of his favorite things. Pink roses. Sequined Versace blazers. Puppies. Monet paintings.

But he should know by now that such sorrow is inevitable. It was written in his fate, the moment he set his eyes and heart upon you, knowing he would never get that happy ending. After all, he’s the Love Doctor, not a miracle worker. He knows this to be true especially when he feels a dampness on his cheeks and thinks it to be some kind of bewitched rain that’s able to fall inside his office. It’s only when he looks into his compact mirror that he realizes that he’s crying, broken and hopelessly gone for you.

That did not go well. You walked into SeoulSpark with a plan and had promptly failed, when Hyunjin decided to persuade you into staying. But you gave in to his pretty eyes and assuaging words, conveniently forgetting about the half-hour long promises you made with yourself in the morning.

You were supposed to end your contract, regardless of whether you would be wasting your money or not. That would have been a small price to pay for the pain of love. And you know you’re right, because you start to cry during your shameful walk through the parking lot.

You don’t know what it is that made you open up so profoundly to Hyunjin, past the point where it was safe to conceal your feelings for him. But you just had to keep speaking, going so far as to describe Hyunjin as the object of all of your agitation and pretending like it was someone else that he had no idea of. You’re a fraud, and your only consolation is that Hyunjin sees you so platonically that he probably would never catch onto your feelings. After all, in what world would someone like you being with someone of his caliber ever make any sense? And it’s ironic, really, that you’ve fallen for him, the person who is there to help you find someone else to spend lonely nights with.

After unlocking your car, you collapse into the front seat, letting all of your emotions out for a good few minutes into the night. When the sides of your face finally begin to dry, you open your eyes with a groan, turning the key in the ignition and driving back home.

You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, because that godforsaken networking party was looming sooner in the future than you’d like, and you still had to buy something to wear. Your current wardrobe was much more vibrant than it had been just a few months ago, the jeans and plaid blazers hidden behind fluttery sundresses and silky skirts. However, it was all far too casual for the heightened class that you knew the event would require, and therefore, you’d recruited Yeonjun to help you shop, with the promise of all of his meals being paid for the next day.

As soon as you get home, you toss your keys onto the little side table next to the doorway with a huff, knocking your heels off and not bothering to arrange them neatly back onto your shoe stand. With the efficiency of a carpenter ant on a mission, you march into your bathroom and slip out of that god-awful dress, changing into a pair of soft pink pajamas with a magenta heart pattern printed all over them. The set had caught your eye as you were strolling through Costco the other day, a little more expensive than you’d like, but they reminded you of Hyunjin, so into the cart they went. You could allow yourself this comfort, you tell yourself.

Once freshened up, you head into the kitchen, dumping some leftover pasta into a bowl to heat it up, glowering at the microwave as the seconds tick by far too slowly. And as always, you eat at your crappy dining table, alone. Just this morning, you had been sitting in this same place, brainstorming ways to secure project funding, navigating the path to reviving your old startup, ITEM.

Before Hyunjin, you had ditched the excitement of indulging in work, your passion, for more self-destructive, wasteful behavior. In the past few months, after meeting him, there was this renewed sense of productivity in you— he inspired you, made you ache to find your own success in the world. So even though Mark denied you the opportunity to participate in the upcoming function, you disobeyed him and secretly went through with your own idea anyway, especially after hearing through the office grapevine that a lot of big-name investors would be attending. Somehow, you decided, you would figure out a way to present to them and achieve your dream. It was optimistic, maybe a little foolishly so, but that hadn’t bothered you.

Today, however, you felt this sense of loss that hadn’t touched you in a while. It was nothing related to work, fortunately, but still, you couldn’t focus, mind wandering to your meeting with Hyunjin at the end of the day. For the first time, the thought of him was hurting you, not motivating you. And it still hurts you, with the way you disinterestedly poke at your fettuccine.

So when you go to bed that night, touching yourself to the thought of him doesn’t have the same velvety allure to it. No, it’s more of a physiological need that forces its way into your hand that glides down your body. It’s the rabic, animalistic desire that drives the tips of your fingers under the waistband of your shorts. It’s the anguish, the longing, that makes you spread your legs, hips bucking up against the mattress.

You had smiled at him, earlier today, after that short drama you’d exerted, when he calmed you down and placated you with a soft, but commanding tone. You had poured your heart out to him, holding back just his name on the tip of your tongue, and he had listened. And you had feigned being amiable, and he accepted it, when in reality, you were so fucking furious with Hyunjin.

After you paraded into his office like a brat, demanding to end the contract as if you cared nothing as to what he might think, he had still treated you with so much understanding, with a quiet concern. You haven’t lost your temper in a long time now, but Hyunjin never failed to respond so well, so kindly to you. In every way that you were irked, he remained calm and gracious. It makes you inexplicably angry, so much that you just want to scream into the cool Angeles night air, letting the sound reverberate off the crumbling buildings of your shitty neighborhood. You hate how good is to you almost as much as you despise yourself in your absolute lowest moments, moments like these. You don’t want the sensuality of his gaze washing over you, worshiping you. You don’t want to melt into his touch, let him take care of you. You don’t want to fuck him like a lover would— no, you want his tears, you want to ruin him like he has done so easily to you.

You think of Hyunjin and his lovely, lovely mouth. A lip pulled in between his teeth in thought, slightly slick with spit when he licks them before speaking. You want to feel the stretch of them around your fingers as you force them into his mouth, choking him and chasing away his breathy complaints.

You close your eyes, the image of you working yourself with your fingers fading in favor of imagining Hyunjin doing it for you instead. You, gripping his wrist harshly, pumping Hyunjin’s own fingers into yourself, berating him for not being able to do it well enough on his own.

Then you’d slap his hands away, pushing him onto your bed and straddle his narrow hips, grinding your dripping pussy onto his thighs while getting off both in the friction and Hyunjin’s pleas for you to ride his cock instead.

But when you decide to put an end to his torture, it wouldn’t be for his pleasure. You want to fuck Hyunjin hard, fuck him sore, the minuscule gap between your bodies clogged and messy with sweat and a mixture of arousal and saliva, from where you’d spit onto his cock. You want him on his back, staring up at you hopefully as he falls apart, begging you to let him come. You want to refuse him, snap at him and make it mean, but he’ll come anyway, guilt and arousal on his beautiful face. Of course he’ll have to clean up his own mess, sucking obediently on your fingers covered with the come you had retrieved from where it was splattered between your legs.

And then you’d kiss him, slow and deep, nothing like how you took him apart under the sheets. You’d cup his face and whisper praises, running your hands down his body. Declarations of love would fall from your lips, because no matter how much he worked you up, the truth would never change.

You finish to that final thought, barely hearing the shameful, wet sounds of you abusing your cunt with your fingers that thrust in and out of yourself wildly. But even though you have already come, you cup your pussy again and run your finger, feather-light, through your folds, imagining it was Hyunjin’s lips placing a kiss there, instead. Imagining that no matter how many spiteful words you spat at him during the time you fucked him, he knew that you would never hate him. You understand, that no matter how enraged you have the potential to be, you will never, ever hate Hyunjin. Because you love him— so much that it hurts.

“You’d think that my body was made for Gucci, but there’s something about Privé that turns me on so bad.”

You fight the urge to gag as Yeonjun brings the ugly sweatshirt up to his chest, holding it up in front of the mirror in an attempt to model it on his scrawny frame. You briskly snatch it out of his hands and shove it back onto its hanger, grasping your cousin’s hand like a mother and her toddler.

“Stop talking about brands like you want to fuck them,” you scold him. Yeonjun rolls his eyes and sticks his tongue out at you in retaliation, but doesn’t try to wriggle out of your hold when you drag him to the women’s section. Sometimes, you feel like you’re an exasperated single parent, toting him around and snapping at him to behave, even though he is barely three years younger than you.

As you enter the evening wear end of the department store, you let go of Yeonjun to sift through the variety of fabrics available. He gleefully bounces around, swishing through the dresses you’re both drowning in and nearly knocking a couple of them off of their racks. But you can’t find it in yourself to chide him again, not when he looks so happy to be here with you. Not that you would ever let him know that you have the capacity to be soft when it comes to him.

“This beats working on job applications,” Yeonjun sighs, sticking his arm through an armhole on a particularly gaudy tea gown. You snicker at how the satin pools beneath his underarms, making him look like a child cosplaying in their mother’s old outfits.

“How’s senior year? I haven’t even been asking you about school, lately.” The last part is less of a rationale for your question to him, and more of a surprised self-proclamation on your end. You can’t remember the last time you ever listened to Yeonjun complain about his ancient professors and weird roommate. The thought fills you with a certain sense of regret; you might not have a lot, but Yeonjun has always been there for you. Most of the time, he annoys you to no end, but his constant presence reminds you that you’re never alone.

The playfulness melts out of Yeonjun’s demeanor, a sight to see with someone who is always so easy-going, never taking life seriously. But you see the somber look in his eyes as he turns to gaze at you critically. “You’ve got a lot going on, I know that.”

You flush, mind automatically going to Hyunjin. Outside of the slice of your day in which you are truly focused on work, the rest of your time goes into dreaming about the attainable object of your fantasies. Eat, sleep, work, and think about Hyunjin. “I— yeah. Work’s been crazy. And reopening ITEM, as well. But that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

Yeonjun gives you a wry little smile, foxy and sly. “Work. Sure. Definitely not a certain sexy ass dating coach, right?”

For a guy that presents himself to be so unendingly superficial, Yeonjun has the ability to read people in the snap of a finger. You don’t understand why he tries to act so vapid when he has such a capacity— if you had such a power, you’d use it to no end.

Your cheeks flush, embarrassingly evident. “Got me there, but I’ve already reached a resolution about him. I’ll go through with the rest of the contract, pull away gradually, and then stop seeing him. Easy.”

Except it is not easy, and both of you know it. Yeonjun rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “I just don’t get it. Why are you so down bad for him? He’s pretty, don’t get me wrong, but there are a lot of pretty people. He’s the guy who’s supposed to be setting you up with other people. Like, you’re not supposed to be falling for him.”

“I know, Jun,” you sigh. “But I think we’re more alike than outward perceptions allow. I feel like he never really lets his guard down around other people. I just wish I could have the chance to make him feel as seen as he does for me. He’s like no one I’ve ever met.”

Yeonjun stays quiet for a long moment, scrutinizing the way you lower your eyes and resume haphazardly shuffling through the dresses. “I think you should tell him how you feel.”

You would burst into laughter at how ridiculous his proposition is, except it’s not funny at all. “Now that would be crossing the line. Our relationship is completely platonic. Imagine how uncomfortable it would be, to find out that the client you’re trying to help connect with others falls for you instead? I couldn’t do that to Hyunjin.”

“I think Hyunjin still deserves to know. He’s your dating coach, Y/N. If there’s anyone who can understand you, it’s him, because if he really cares about you, nothing about your relationship will change. And who knows, maybe he reciprocates. You never know.”

Listening to your cousin give you such advice makes you feel strange, but not in an unpleasant way. You truly are thankful for it, even if you might not completely trust in it. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jun.”

Yeonjun looks like he wants to say more, but he seems to notice the note of finality in your voice and decides to move on. “Back to me. Ask me again, about how school’s going, and I’ll tell you all of the tea.”

“How is school going?”

“Oh, thank God you asked. Beomgyu is still trying to get me to feature my feet on his OnlyFans, but even though he’s a little creepy with it, he’s the only one who agrees to come thrift shopping with me. And he’s a pretty chill roommate overall, so I can’t really complain. Ugh, and it turns out, my evil ex is still obsessed with me…”

You grin and listen to Yeonjun ramble on about his very animated life at UCLA, thankful for the distraction as you comb through the racks. After a few minutes of tuning into Yeonjun’s story about how he walked in on Beomgyu hooking up with some guy named Jeongin, you freeze, because you meet eyes with the one person you wished you would never see again. Yeonjun’s babbling comes to a jarring stop, and you both just stare at the monster who tried to ruin your life.

“Y/N! Is that you?”

He saunters forward as you stay rooted to where you are, and it’s like he has walked right out of an old photo album carrying the bitter memories of your past. You recognize those round, sparkling doe eyes, the ones that reminded you of the dark pearls in the milk tea drinks you both would always share at night markets. The same choppy, boyish haircut streaked with caramel, the locks you would quietly run your fingers through after every time you forgave him. That delicate, nearly fairy-like face, the one that you could never bring yourself to hate, no matter how much he pushed you. Park Jisung has not changed one bit, except for the space you used to clutch on his arms has now been occupied by someone new.

The girl is stunning, you can admit, but on closer look, you realize that it’s Kazuha Nakamura, the last girl he cheated on you with, the one that severed the final threads of your relationship. She, on the other hand, looks completely different, with her blonde curls chopped into a dark Brazilian-permed lob that swishes when she tilts her head down derisively, surveying you from head-to-toe. She looks like the epitome of the girl that Jisung was always trying to get you to be, stuck into the mold of a life predetermined for her. And for the first time in a long time, you’re glad you didn’t fit.

You regain your bearings a moment later after the initial shock wears off, when Park Jisung laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that contrasts with the way Kazuha titters next to him. But instead of acknowledging Jisung, you turn to Kazuha first instead.

“Kazuha! What a surprise!” You smile sweetly at her while she just gapes at you blankly, clearly surprised by your absence of hostility. In the periphery of your eye, you can see Jisung ball his fists at his side, ever the narcissist to be irked by even a slight dearth of attention. “You look great, girl!”

“And you look exactly the same, Jisung,” Yeonjun says flatly in a way that obviously conveys insult, before slinging a protective arm around your shoulder. You stifle a snort, and watch the way Jisung rolls his eyes.

“Ever a delight, aren’t you, Yeonjun?” Jisung shoots him a venomous smile, that Yeonjun responds to with a cheesy little salute. This time, you can’t contain the chuckle that escapes your lips.

Before anyone can say more, you pipe up, determined to have the last word in the conversation you have no intention of repeating. “It was wonderful to see you, Jisung. You and Kazuha make a lovely pair— hope it works out!”

With one last gracious nod of your head, you loop your arm through Yeonjun’s and move past where Jisung and Kazuha stand rooted to the spot, speechless. As you and Yeonjun flounce away, you feel Jisung’s gaze burning into the back of your neck, but you don’t care. Not anymore.

“Damn, and I thought I’d get to watch a fight today. I really would have liked to see that dickwad get his just desserts,” Yeonjun grumbles, but you see the impressed look on his face.

You feel an unfamiliar rush of both adrenaline and triumph coursing through your veins; you saved your anger, and yet, you know you’ve won. For months, you told yourself that if you ever got the chance to tell Jisung off, you would use it. But the thought didn’t bring you as much satisfaction as it did before, and besides, you have someone more worth your tears now. Seeing Jisung again didn’t affect you as much as it once would have, because you finally, truly have moved on. And comparably, your current predicament seems much more daunting than some loser who never deserved you.

“They looked like morons when we didn’t give them the reaction they wanted. Besides, I’m taking the high road.”

“You’re boring when you’re not a bitch.”

“Thanks.” You grin, pausing your gait when you see it. The giddiness drains into something more mournful as you take in the dress, delicate folds of pink chiffon that dissolve into a painstakingly threaded gold-beaded skirt. “This is the one, Jun.”

Yeonjun doesn’t miss the beat of sadness in your voice, the thickness of your words. “Seriously though, you don’t have to talk about Jisung, but I feel like that’s not who you’re upset about. You don’t seem okay.”

“I’ve found my peace with Jisung, but there’s still something else.” You inhale sharply. “I’m in love with Hyunjin.”

He stays quiet for a moment, before taking the dress off of the rack for you. “This is on me.”

“I appreciate it, but you don’t have to—”

“I want to. And if you’re not busy tonight, I have somewhere to be, and I’d like it if you came with me. What do you say?”

You’re not oblivious— you recognize the sympathy, Yeonjun’s clear attempt to cheer you up, a switch-up from the banter you usually trade. Before, you would refuse, retreating home to bury yourself deeper into a hole. But for once, you don’t want to push away the people who care about you. So you accept and look forward, accepting the poignance of it all.

“Hwang Hyunjin, you’d better get your ass over here on time, or else I’ll—”

Hyunjin bursts into a dramatic fit of coughing, cutting off Seungmin’s nagging. “Remind me to take you to one of my yoga sessions. Your chakras are seriously off, but there’s nothing that Dr. Sachet can’t fix.”

“Hyunjin.”

“I know! I just got here, Seungmin.” Hyunjin sighs, ending the call before Seungmin has the chance to say anything further. He slides his phone into his pocket, already regretting his choice to accept Seungmin’s request— which was actually more of a demand— to be his plus-one at his college reunion.

Any other day, he would have loved to ditch his introverted activities to accompany his best friend to get tipsy and gossip about everyone’s glow ups. Today, however, all he really wants to do is curl up in his bed with Princess Diana and binge-watch Friends. But alas, his loyalty— and fear— for Seungmin won out, and now here he is, standing in a rounded glass elevator on his way up to Highlight, the upscale rooftop bar venue of the event.

When the elevator finally reaches the top floor, the telltale bell dings, opening the door into what can only be described as high-end chaos: people decked out in crisp suits and cocktail dresses and jewels, as they crowd around the lighted bar counters, shouting out their drink orders to harried bartenders while trying to brag about how successful they’ve become over the past few years. Waiters walk around, serving hors d'oeuvres to the guests that promptly ignore them, and the orchestral jazz, courtesy of the live band crowded into the corner, is drowned out by the raucous laughter of a group of men situated at a section of tables next to the windows. The whole effect is ridiculously ostentatious, and even Hyunjin has to restrain himself from letting his lip curl with disgust.

“Fuck, there you are.” Hyunjin feels a warm hand on his shoulder, and turns to see Seungmin staring at him with an overwhelmed look in his eye.

Hyunjin takes in his friend for a moment, admiring his black and white silk polka dot shirt that’s tucked into a pair of belted navy slacks. At least someone at this place had style, and it’s always a pleasure for it to be Seungmin, as by now, Hyunjin has gotten used to seeing him wearing bloodied scrubs. “You look good, man. But why in the world would you want to come here and see all of these jerks?”

Seungmin shrugs, and Hyunjin is surprised to see a slight blush overtake his features. He traces Seungmin’s wandering gaze over to the edge of the open balcony, where a devastatingly handsome man strangely stands on his own, sipping on his cocktail while observing the view of skyscrapers stretching out around the building. Ah.

“He’s Seungcheol, isn’t he? Your old crush that you never talked to? That’s why we’re here?” Hyunjin teases, remembering those nights when he got Seungmin tipsy enough to confess his unrequited feelings for Choi Seungcheol, the resident heartbreaker of the pre-med student body at UCLA.

“Shut the fuck up.” Seungmin grumbles, but his complexion betrays him, turning as red as a tomato.

Hyunjin laughs heartily, thanking a passing waitress before accepting a mango and vanilla parfait from her tray. “Alright.”

And then it’s Seungmin’s turn to check out Hyunjin, who strikes a little pose and preens at the attention. “I don’t know how, but even with all of your designer shit, you never seem like a dick.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Hyunjin grins. Hyunjin never dresses to appease the dress code— instead, he makes it his bitch, and does it in a way that’s classy, not ostentatious. It’s clear in today’s sophisticated yet roguish ensemble: a crisp white Givenchy suit paired with Nike Air Forces to deflate the grandiose of the former brand. And the sheer black tank top and silver chain-link necklace under his oversized blazer was just enough to add a touch of gender-bending sexiness.

The corner of Seungmin’s mouth quirks up, and he hooks his arm into Hyunjin’s, steering him towards a high table tucked into a more quiet section of the bar. “Having fun, Hyun?”

Hyunjin fights a smile. “Moresoe now that you’re here with me, babe.”

That is Seungmin’s cue to shove Hyunjin away, who continues to bat his lashes prettily. “I hate you. I should’ve asked Nicholas the hot nurse to be my date instead.”

“But then you couldn’t flirt with our Seungcheol!”

Seungmin groans, head falling onto the table, lolling to the side hopelessly. “I don’t even know how to approach him, though. I mean, did you see him? He just managed to get even more gorgeous! His hair? His height? He’s totally out of my league.”

Hyunjin immediately morphs into wingman mode. “Trust me, I can just tell he has a thing for cute nerds. And, not to be crass, but his body language screams brat tamer.”

“I am not a brat,” Seungmin scowls.

“Touché.”

After a few more minutes of hyping Seungmin up, Hyunjin triumphantly sits back and watches his friend slink off in the direction of Seungcheol; he snickers to himself when Seungmin tentatively taps on Seungcheol’s shoulder, shaking like a fangirl about to ask a celebrity for a picture. Seungcheol turns, a friendly beam cutting across his stern features. Seungmin says something indiscernible to Seungcheol that makes him laugh, and that’s Hyunjin’s sign to leave the rest to his friend.

By this time, the company around him has eased slightly, with everyone digging into the buffet-style dinner that the caterers have set out.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Hyunjin mutters under his breath, thinking back to the flimsy cup of ramyun that he had scarfed down earlier. He picks up a plate from one of the long tables and gets in line, mouth already watering at the spread of food. After loading his plate with copious helpings of every dish of carbs in sight, he also makes sure to secure dessert, snagging a couple pastries and slices of cake. The gaggle of ladies behind him shoot him pointed looks, but he ignores them, walking away to find seating; he’s needed this, after the week he’s had.

He winds up sitting next to a giddy couple that just cannot keep their hands off of each other. Most of the time, when he winds up somewhere with people who exhibit excessive public displays of affection, he tries to discreetly slip away or make himself as unknown as possible, the hopeless romantic in him quietly cheering them on. Now, however, he unceremoniously plops onto the farthest end of the loveseat opposite of them, all alone and just grateful that the food is good.

“Earth to Hyunjin!”

Hyunjin looks up, mouth stuffed embarrassingly full of a caprese salad sandwich. “Mrph?”

Seungmin stands there, hands on his knees while he pants a little to catch his breath. “You will not believe what just happened.”

“Well, what happened?”

“Seungcheol and I are going out to dinner tomorrow!” Seungmin huffs, cheeks flushed a bright red as he looks over at Seungcheol where he’s standing by the elevator. Seungcheol gives him a shy smile before quickly looking away. Seungmin smirks and leans down to speak into Hyunjin’s ear. “And he just asked me if I have any plans for the rest of the night.”

He leans back to gauge Hyunjin’s reaction, which, in Hyunjin’s knowledge of his friend, does not disappoint. Hyunjin gasps theatrically and nearly drops his plate in trying to clap him on the back in congratulations. “That’s my man!”

“That’s right!”

Hyunjin grins. “Even your ship name would be cute. 2Seung. Meant to be.”

“You’re such a dork.” Seungmin rolls his eyes, but fails to hide his blush. “Now, I’m gonna go get railed by the man of my dreams.”

Hyunjin bids Seungmin goodbye, remaining enthusiastic up until the moment he sees Seungmin and Seuncheol take their leave. As soon as they do, he lets his smile fall. He’s happy for Seungmin, really. He just wishes it could be him disappearing into that glass elevator with his lover. He would press you up against that heavy gold railing that rounds the inside, kissing you as you begin your descent down the building. Kissing you as fireworks go off in the distance, brighter than the Los Angeles skyline. Kissing you even when the elevator door opens, an irked crowd of people waiting to get in. He wishes he could flaunt you off to everyone in the world, show everyone how perfect you are for him.

Hyunjin is so lost in his muddled, wistful thoughts that he doesn’t notice the couch dip, someone just as miserable as him occupying the tiny space next to him.

“Hyunjin?”

He turns his head, slowly, to see you, of all people, glaring at him with a bewildered expression on your face. He remains in a momentary stunned silence, taking in the slight redness of your nose, how watery your eyes are. The space in between your eyebrows that’s painfully scrunched. The way your lips are pressed together tightly. You’ve been crying. Still gorgeous, no matter what.

“Darling?”

For the second time today, you are caught off guard. You have been stewing in your loneliness all evening, ruminating over your hopelessly unrequited love. It surprised you, a little bit, how you were barely affected by the run-in with Jisung, but that faded away when you took your first sip at the absurdly lavish open bar. For others, alcohol can be liquid courage— for you, it’s a depressant that brings out the sad drunk in you.

You shake your head, trying not to let the immediate horror seep into you. But how can it not, when the gorgeous man you are in love with has just become witness to your ugly tears for the second time? And from where did he just appear out of, when you thought you were going to be able to spend your time wallowing in your sorrows alone? Life is truly unfair.

“What- what are you doing here?” You sputter.

You imagine that Hyunjin looks stunned, for a moment, but his face lights up when he realizes that it is you who is the mess curled up next to him. If he seems put off by the remnants of your crying, he does not show it. “I was here as my friend’s date, but it seems as though he’s ditched me for a better one.”

He gives you a furtive smile that makes you feel like you’re in on a joke, and in spite of your pitiful state, you immediately feel the warmth spread through you. “The Love Doctor always works, doesn’t he?”

“It’s my nine-to-five, as well as my five-to-nine,” Hyunjin jokes, chuckling. “So, you’re a UCLA alum? You didn’t strike me as the sort, I didn’t think.”

You scoff playfully. “Absolutely not. Proud Case Western grad here. Where else would I get my inherent computer geek complex?”

Hyunjin’s eyes sparkle. “Then what brings you here?”

“My cousin.” You jerk your chin in the direction of Yeonjun, who’s currently trying to break up a fight between two men who seem to be arguing about something related to stocks. “He’s trying to fulfill his senior undergraduate community service requirement by volunteering at this thing. But this is barely community service— I think the UCLA Alumni Association just wanted some free labor.”

Hyunjin laughs at your shitty joke, and you nearly feel like your attitude just turns up at that sound, unfurling like petals when touched by sunshine. “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Too kitsch.” You tilt your head towards the dizzying display of debauchery currently swarming your little bubble: most of the guests have separated into their own cliques by now, and the one closest to you has set up an uproarious gambling circle on their table. This is a bit much, even if for a swanky college reunion.

“Agreed.” Hyunjin stays quiet for a moment, and you watch him curiously, wondering what he’s thinking of. He relieves you a moment later. “Darling, I don’t want to intrude, but I just wanted to ask if everything’s okay?”

You hesitate to answer, because although you know he genuinely wants to check up on you, given the astronomically considerate person he is, you don’t want to burden him with your problems— especially if the problem is him. So you do what any sensible person would do and deflect. “It’s a long story. How about we check out the bar?”

You expect him to turn you down, but maybe you’re not the only one who needs a drink, because he accepts. “I feel like I’ll regret it, but alright.”

Hyunjin helps you up from where you sit, grabbing your purse for you and handing it to you as you stand, making your heart squeeze even tighter in your chest. But you both make your way over to the open bar, snagging two seats at the very end of the counter on one side.

The teariness made your intoxication a bit more discreet, so you’re openly able to ask for a beer without raising Hyunjin’s eyebrows. Hyunjin, on the other hand, orders a pink champagne on the rocks. He really is so sophisticated. After you both finish speaking with the bartender, he turns to you, placing his elbow on the counter and propping up his chin in his arm. The soft smile on his face fits perfectly as his eyes lock onto yours, and it feels… flirtatious.

You’re suddenly transported into all of those times you were alone at a bar, men approaching you with a similar demeanor, but with very much different intentions. Therein, with Hyunjin, the aura of respect and boundaries still hangs in the air, so it doesn’t linger, no matter how much you wish it would stay.

The bartender sets your choices in front of you, and you try to enjoy the drink, but the overwhelming bitterness of it just makes everything come crashing down. You sniffle, and then immediately hope that Hyunjin has not noticed that you are beginning to cry pathetically— again— into your mug of beer.

Hyunjin looks concerned, leaning forward as if to put his arm around you, but after a moment’s hesitation, he retracts his arm and instead, focuses on your face. "Y/N?"

Shit. You try to laugh it off as an extremely severe case of allergies, but even besides the fact that there's barely any pollen in the concrete jungle of Los Angeles, you suck at acting. Too bad Hollywood is only a ten-minute commute from your apartment.

"I’m… I’m okay. I'm totally okay." You try to laugh it off, but instead, it sounds like a strange, very unattractive quack. The thick tears that begin to roll down your cheeks are not even necessary for Hyunjin to call you out. He is not buying any of it.

"Darling, please. Don’t lie to me.”

"Hyunjin, I'm fine! God!"

At this point, you're full on sobbing in the middle of the room, and people are shooting you weird looks. Hyunjin should leave. Being seen with a mess like you could taint his spotless, perfect image, and outside of his office, he has absolutely no obligation to you. Fuck, you don’t even know why you’re being such a crybaby— before Hyunjin, you could actually down booze without losing it on the spot, especially surrounded by a bunch of strangers.

But as if he couldn’t tug at you anymore, he doesn’t think this time to cross the miniscule space between you both and pull you into a tight hug. You feel like utter crap, and it’s been so long since someone just held you, assuring you that everything is going to be fine. But you can’t help notice one insignificant detail: Hyunjin smells fucking amazing and expensive and elegant— perhaps Chanel or Tom Ford? And in that glorious suit too, he’s like the real-life, less embarrassing embodiment of the mafia overlords that dominated your questionable high school fanfiction phase. Fuck. This isn’t helping the situation.

Hyunjin, meanwhile, rubs soothing circles on your back, definitely unaware of your inappropriate intrusive thoughts. “Shhh, it’s going to be okay. Do you wanna get out of here?”

You blink up at him tearily, mind frazzled but remembering your engagement. “But, Yeonjun…”

And as if the devil whispers in his ears, your cousin manifests out of thin air, collapsing onto the empty stool next to you. “My dear cuz, smack some sense into me if I ever volunteer again with— wait. Bro, are you crying?”

The shame piles up on you again, heating up your skin in a way that’s too obvious. But before you can muster up a lie, Hyunjin speaks for you, taking the mug away from your hands. “I think it’s best if Y/N gets some rest, she isn’t feeling too well.”

Yeonjun just stares dumbly at Hyunjin for a second, jaw hanging open a little, as it does for anyone when they are first in the presence of Hwang Hyunjin. “I, uh. Yeah. That’s good. You’re Hwang Hyunjin, right? Her dating coach?”

Even through your intoxication, you feel like you see something flicker in Hyunjin’s eyes, but as always, it doesn’t last. “Yes, it’s wonderful to meet you, Yeonjun. Y/N has spoken a lot about you.”

“Same to you.” Yeonjun snickers, before clearing his throat and turning serious. “Listen, man, I hate to ask you this. But can you please help her home? I can text you the address? I really can’t leave this stupid shindig until it’s over, but I don’t wanna leave her alone—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of her.” Hyunjin states firmly, motioning to the bartender to bring you a large class of water. The way he’s looking out for you brings up something hot, aroused in your stomach.

Yeonjun nods, and to his credit, he really does look as apologetic as you can discern in your drunk haze. Hyunjin helps you finish your water, before buying a water bottle for you to sip from, as he slides his arm around your shoulders and helps you out of that terrible room. In most cases, when sober and thinking straight, you would be as rigid as a bar, humiliated and unsure of what to do with yourself. But you let yourself have this, just once, melting into his side and enjoying your misery more than you should.

Sometimes, Hyunjin really can be such a piece of shit. Like the time he promised Princess Diana extra cuddles before bedtime, but forgot because he had been working late at SeoulSpark on some overdue reports; he had felt like such a horrible father to his baby. Or the time he mentioned a Gucci product during an interview, inadvertently advertising for Versace’s biggest competitor; Donatella wouldn’t reply to his texts for nearly a week. But all of that seems tame in comparison to today.

You’ve had too much to drink and can’t stop crying, and here Hyunjin is, thinking about how much he wants to kiss you. In his defense, you look so adorable, with your cheeks flushed from the alcohol, eyes drooping with drowsiness and lips pouted preciously. But it’s still highly inappropriate of Hyunjin to be thinking of you in such a way, so he shoves those treacherous thoughts into the back of his mind and focuses on staring at anything but you.

After a few swipes on the Uber app, your ride pulls up in front of the hotel in which Highlight is located inside. At this point, you’ve become pliant in Hyunjin’s arms, cuddling into his side and clutching at his waist. Hyunjin can barely breathe, and is vastly thankful for the distraction of the car's arrival.

He helps you into the backseat of the car, before getting in from the other side. The drive back to your place is quiet, save for the breezy orchestra music that the driver plays on the low and the soft sounds of your sniffling. Hyunjin clenches his jaw and stares out the window, trying to focus on the green highway signs whizzing by and not the fact that you’re barely centimeters away from him, humming sadly along to the radio.

Twenty minutes pass, and suddenly, you’re both standing in front of your apartment building, an old but dreamy housing complex tucked away in one of the quieter sectors of the city. Hyunjin walks you up to your door, telling himself that he’ll leave as soon as you’re safe inside. He watches you sway on your feet a little while you take a few extra minutes to fumble with the door lock. Hyunjin wants you to go inside and slam the door in his face, bringing him back to his senses. Instead, you look over at him, a lilt to your voice.

“Wanna come inside?” You slightly slur over your words, giving him a small glance. It’s innocent enough that Hyunjin knows your motives are pure, even if a tiny part of him wishes they weren’t.

He hesitates, the logical side of his mind screaming at him to politely refuse and bid you a goodnight. But then again, he hasn’t been very logical whenever it comes to you. He now promises himself that this is just a little post-party hangout. You can be friends, can’t you? And besides, you need someone to look after you. And friends look after each other, don’t they?

Hyunjin steps inside, instantly in awe of your apartment. The open floor concept allows him to explore the entire layout with his eyes, from the soft throw blanket lying on your very comfortable-looking couch to the bellowing linen curtains hanging over your windows. The mismatched furniture and nearly overflowing book cases are incredibly charming, the artful dissonance of your decor coming together in a harmony that just makes everything feel so cozy.

In Hyunjin’s mind, your apartment is so quintessentially you, a feeling of home that his own place never quite felt like. Yes, he loves Oasis more than anything, but there’s this slightly pretentious air to it, this urge to keep it constantly pristine. It feeds into Hyunjin’s obsession over perfection, instead of being the one place where he can truly be himself. Here, however, Hyunjin feels comfortable, secure in his own skin, even when in reality, he probably looks ridiculously out of place in his over-the-top outfit.

“Hm,” you mumble, prompting Hyunjin to whirl around and rush forward to steady you when you lean a little too forward. “Do you wanna drink?”

Hyunjin frowns at you while you just giggle nonsensically. You’re nowhere near sober, but at the very least, at least you’re not distressed anymore. Hyunjin hates to see you upset; your face was made for smiling.

“Absolutely not. We have done enough drinking for today.” Hyunjin chides you sternly. “You can’t go to bed on an empty stomach, though.”

You prop yourself on one of the chairs at your dining table, giving him an anticipating look that Hyunjin takes as permission to rummage through your cupboards. After looking through the fridge as well, Hyunjin settles on cooking you his comfort grilled cheese recipe. He pours you a glass of water and gives you a little pat on your head when you obediently finish the entire thing and accept another.

You quietly watch Hyunjin while he putters around the kitchen; the sheer domesticity of it all makes him yearn for this to be a regular occurrence. He’d cook for you everyday, filling you to the brim with all of the affection you deserve. But that’s not going to happen, so he keeps his head down and concentrates. Hyunjin flips the sourdough bread on the griddle until it’s golden brown, spreading liberal amounts of butter on each side. And the pièce de résistance, he adds one-third white cheddar, one-third yellow cheddar, and one-third American cheese, his favorite combination of cheeses for a rainy day.

“This is so yummy,” you declare after your first bite, eyes full of delight. “Here, have some. You’re such a good cook, Hyunnie.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know whether to be more shocked at the fact that you’re holding out your own sandwich for Hyunjin to try, or how you just called him such an endearing nickname. “I– it’s okay, darling. I’m not hungry.”

But you don’t accept it, because it looks like you’re just as stubborn even when inebriated. “You need to taste, or else I’ll be sad.”

You flash him a heartbroken set of puppy dog eyes that makes him melt and give in. He reaches across the rickety little table and tries to take the sandwich in his own hands, but you pull away slightly and hold it out to him expectantly. Oh.

Hyunjin gingerly leans forward and lets you feed him a bite of the grilled cheese. He chews quickly, trying not to blush under the intensity of your gaze. Once he swallows, he watches you finish off the rest of the sandwich, satisfied with his compliance. When you’re done, you look up at him proudly, and he just can’t help but be endeared by you.

Hyunjin clears the table and washes the dishes, wiping his hands on the fluffy towel hanging from the oven handle. After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches out to brush a few stray crumbs off of the corner of your mouth, trying not to revel in the sensation of how soft your lips are under his thumb.

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a guileless smile while you bite down on an orange-colored candy from the small bowl on the counter. “Let’s do something fun, that party was so boring.”

Hyunjin lets you wrap your fingers around his wrist, pulling him to the living room and onto the couch. He huffs out a laugh as you clumsily fall onto the sofa, moving to get comfortable. “What are you thinking?”

You tap your chin dramatically, making a show of trying to decide what to do. “How about… karaoke?”

Hyunjin grins and takes the TV remote that you hand him, hopping onto YouTube and flipping through the list of lyrical videos. “Any preference for a song?”

You shake your head vigorously. “Surprise me.”

He settles on “Gone Away,” a ballad by one of his favorite underground rock bands. The slow notes of a love song float out through the speaker, the lovely voice of the lead singer, J.One, filling his ears. He nervously glances over at you, but you give him an encouraging nod, and Hyunjin lets himself go.

“Inside collapsed time, even my hopes for us to be together, no longer matter,” Hyunjin sings along to the lyrics, the song resonating within him more than he wishes it did. “My love, tangled up while looking for you, is gone, gone away, gone away.”

“I don’t think I can stop you from leaving anymore,” you join in softly, and Hyunjin looks over at you in surprise, but you’re staring straight ahead at the TV. He tamps down his nerves and gets through the rest of the song with you, both of you somehow harmonizing together in tune. At some point in the middle, the tears start pouring down his cheeks slowly, in the way he can never control. He just hopes that you don’t notice every time he reaches up to swipe at them, before inevitably fall.

The song doesn’t finish quick enough, and an advertisement begins to run on autoplay, but Hyunjin can’t bring himself to look at you again, terrified of the way his heart beats so deafeningly in his chest.

“Hyunjin.”

Serious, without a single hint of playfulness. Hyunjin clears his throat and lifts his head to see your indecipherable expression. He notices the traces of haziness in your eyes, but there’s undeniable determination written across your face. “Yes?”

“Don’t cry,” You nearly sob out, breath catching in your throat. “It doesn’t suit such a beautiful person to be filled with so much grief.”

Hyunjin covers up his astonishment at your words with denial, trying to push them off as an emotional reaction to the song. But you’ve just called him beautiful, and that cannot be covered up. “I’m sorry, that was a bit much.”

You swallow harshly, the dry sound of it audible. Maybe Hyunjin should excuse himself to bring you some water and escape this conversation. But— “You can never be too much. I want you, all the time. I think of you, all the time.”

This time, Hyunjin is effectively rendered gone. Frozen to the couch, time stopped and his train of rational thought put on hold. He reruns the sentence in his brain, trying to piece them together. You want him. You think of him? You want him? His confused, frantic contemplation is interrupted when you crawl over the couch and lift your palm to cup his jaw, so close that he can nearly feel the soft puff of your breathing against his face. Fuck, you’re still drunk.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” you murmur. Hyunjin is sure he has died and gone to some otherworldly dimension— maybe heaven, or hell, depending on how the higher powers have judged his situation to be— when he feels your lips slot against his, reeling him in like a needle through thread. So what else can he do, but accept what you give him and circle his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer so you’re on his lap.

You taste like the mango candy you popped earlier, sweet with a hint of tanginess, and it’s driving Hyunjin absolute nuts. Your eyes flutter shut and so do Hyunjin’s, both of you melting into each other, diving into the dangerous waters that Hyunjin swore that he wouldn’t tread. But he can’t stop, he just can’t, not when you lick into his mouth with a passion to rival the one he’s felt for you since day one.

“Hyunjin…” You whisper, a long, obscenely drawn-out syllable that’s reminiscent of the noises that Hyunjin imagined eliciting from you. That one sound snaps him out of it. You’re drunk, you’re drunk, and this means nothing. This means nothing to you, and he’s just been here, the unfortunate sap to receive your sweet, empty words just because he’s been here for you once. He doesn’t deserve any of it. You’re not going to remember any of it. You are so fucking drunk.

Before he knows it, he’s shoving you off, and with the way you heavily land on the cushion next to him, he wasn’t gentle at all, in his panic. You just stare at him with a half-dazed, half-dismayed look on your face that makes him cringe away.

“I am so sorry,” Hyunjin croaks, grabbing his phone and scrambling to stand up. He will pull himself together, eventually, in time to see you for the next appointment. And then he will remind himself that he is a mere service to you, and nothing more. As it should be, and as it always was.

Hyunjin doesn’t even wait for your response before he’s running out the door and into the night.

You come to at around noon, groggily blinking a few times before the memories come flooding back in. You drinking yourself stupid at the bar. Hyunjin leading the way back home. Karaoke while relaxed on your shitty couch from Craig’s List. Kissing like in a movie before the atomic bomb dropped. You kissed Hyunjin. Your drunk, sentimental ass was lucid enough to remember your feelings, but not sober enough to remember to conceal them. You kissed Hwang motherfucking Hyunjin, and you have colossally fucked up.

You scream about it for a good half hour, ripping at your hair and keeling over on the couch, dry heaving in a failed attempt to let out your guilt. It sticks. You’re mortified. Scared. Disgusted. How, how could you do that to him? Taking advantage of him when he was in your own home? You didn’t even get proper consent from him! You are such a damn asshole, and now, Hyunjin is probably never going to want to see you again.

All you want to do is jump under your covers and cry yourself to a sleep that you’ll never have to wake up from. But you love Hyunjin too much to do that to him. You owe him an apology and the entire world, which you have no qualms about bringing to him if he asked you.

And that’s why you’re at SeoulSpark, ignoring the fear pulsing in your body as you push open the door, closing your eyes as the cool gust of the air conditioning washes over your skin. But the drop in temperature does nothing to tamp down the nerves boiling under your skin.

All of the composure that you have carefully curated in the past few minutes shrivels up— charred to a crisp and punted out of Hyunjin’s ridiculously extravagant floor-to-ceiling windows— when you lay eyes on him. Because that’s the effect he’s always had on you, and you feel like an idiot for not already anticipating that familiar cyclone of emotions that hits you whenever he’s in vicinity.

There he stands, gazing out at the view leisurely spread out at his feet, lax hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers like he has no worries at all. In the perfect world, you could have just an ounce of his self-command, of how assuredly he carries himself. You envy him almost as much as you want him. Almost.

When he turns away from the glass at the sound of entrance, the sharp angle of his side profile is shadowed by the light pouring in from behind him, portraying him as some magnificent sort of Greek god. And he might as well be, with the way he has directed both torrents of lightning and spelled arrows through your heart.

You just stand there awkwardly as he steps out of the sun and completely into your vision; you don’t trust that there will ever be a day when you are not so devastatingly floored by his beauty. The buttons of his shirt are haphazardly hooked in a way that seems not so careless, but more effortless, and you have to fight everything in yourself to not stare at the smooth expanse of skin revealed at the top.

The moment Hyunjin recognizes the intruder of his office as you, his lips erupt into a smile that seems too genuine given the stunt you pulled just a few hours prior. If he carries any disgust towards you as a result of last night’s events, he doesn’t show it. Warmth pools in his eyes like honey, and you find yourself swimming in it, insatiable and begging for more of that lovely taste. You wish you knew how it would feel to have him look at you so sweetly while he harshly fucks into you, a complete juxtaposition to the adoration painting his expression.

“Hey,” you wave your hand lamely, and then immediately mentally punch yourself in the face; you really missed your calling as the awkward main character of a Disney original show.

“Good morning, darling. I wasn’t expecting you today.” Hyunjin gestures towards the sofa and you hastily sit down on it, whereas Hyunjin elegantly settles himself across from you.

“I know.” You avert your gaze, feeling the blush creeping up your neck and onto your face. “Last night was, uh, something.”

That’s one fucking way to put it.

Hyunjin lets out a surprised little chuckle, a sound so cute that you have to ponder ways to inconspicuously pinch your arm. “Well, I was talking about how you didn’t have an appointment. But I’m glad that you’re using the walk-in hours.”

“Yeah… so I thought we should maybe talk about what happened,” you stutter out, shifting under Hyunjin’s steady gaze. “I don’t even know where to begin though.”

Hyunjin hums encouragingly. “It’s okay. What do you want to tell me?”

You take a deep breath, thinking back to the previous night. “I’m sorry. I crossed so many lines yesterday and I was too drunk out of my mind to even tell. I must have made you feel so uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing I would ever want to do.”

And you mean every word. You would rather hurtle yourself into the Grand Canyon than hurt Hyunjin, Hyunjin who has been so good to you even when you never deserved it, Hyunjin who you’re hopelessly and utterly in love with. Hyunjin, who you can never have.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything during that miniscule gap in which you pause, so you take it as a sign to keep going. You’d rather get it off your chest all in one go anyway, as you fear you may not be able to finish if you stop. “I get it if this changes things. If you don’t want to see me anymore.”

You shut your eyes as soon as you finish speaking, too apprehensive to see his reaction. This is it. This is the part where he agrees and so very politely asks you to leave his office and never come back again. It’ll probably take Wonyoung all of five seconds to boot you out of Hyunjin’s Google calendar, and then Hyunjin will go back to charming the next poor sucker to walk into his office. Gosh, you want to continue being that poor sucker, as pathetic as it is.

“Did you mean any of it?”

Against every fiber of your being telling you not to, to stay in blissful ignorance, you pry your eyes open to see Hyunjin waiting with his arms folded. Something about the intensity of his gaze, coupled with the unexpected potency in his usually soft voice, makes you shift uneasily.

“I know it was inappropriate. I’m sorry—”

Hyunjin cuts you off, shaking his head in exasperation. “I need you to tell me the truth. Did you mean what you said to me last night?”

You tilt your head down so that you get an eyeful of the plush rug spread under the sofa. Of course you meant everything. You might have been drunk, but the intoxication only brought out the deepest, most hidden parts of yourself; it gave you the courage to manifest what you want the most. But to admit anything to Hyunjin— again— when he clearly did not want any part in it would hurt even more, because this time, you didn’t have alcohol in you to numb the pain of rejection.

“Why did you leave?”

For a moment, you think that Hyunjin will ignore your question and insist on you giving him a hard answer. Instead, he tentatively reaches his hand out and hooks his thumb and index finger under your chin, carefully angling your head up to meet your eyes. That familiar gentleness once again radiates from him, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from melting into it. In spite of how utterly miserable you feel right now, the telltale flutter of your heart betrays you. God, you want to be his.

“I left because I didn’t know how much of it was real,” Hyunjin rasps. His words are hushed, but you feel the weight of them, soaked and dripping with both tenderness and hesitation. “I didn’t want you holding my heart when you couldn’t fully feel it in your hands.”

You exhale slowly, trying to ignore the false hope rising like bile in your throat. The way his eyes brighten whenever he sees you. The stolen glances you thought you were imagining all this time. Darling. It can’t be. “Hyunjin… what are you saying?”

“Do you have feelings for me? Because I do.” Hyunjin purses his lips and slides his palm up to caress your cheek. “I have feelings for you, and I’m so tired of pretending that I don’t.”

“You what?” You search his eyes wildly for any sign of a joke, because you’re unwilling to believe that this is really, truly happening. All of your reasoning feels tightened by this nostalgic lavender haze, a dizzying sense of deja vu pulled from your thoughts. The ones in which you get to call Hyunjin yours. They cannot be real, not in this universe.

He nods bashfully, a pretty new color in his cheeks— a shade that both astounds and confounds you. The cherry lips that you’ve endlessly fantasized about shine red and swollen with how he has so anxiously bitten into them. Hyunjin’s eyes shine in the hazy glow of his sunset lamp, full of feeling and twinkling brighter than any high rise. You’ve never seen him like this, vulnerable and laid bare in front of you. You’ve always been the one to fall apart in front of him, and yet, here he is, surprising you once again. And that’s something that will never change, how he remains the warlock of your wildest dreams and unraveling sanity.

“I haven’t been the same since we met.” Hyunjin murmurs, softly stroking the side of your face. “And- and after last night, I think I actually might be going crazy. Because maybe it’s not all in my head. Maybe you want me as much as I do. Do you?”

You shake your head, heart fluctuating with every emotion that has ever been registered in your mind. Exhilaration. Doubt. Fear. Devotion. You are so overwhelmingly in love with the man in front of you that it hurts, even when he stands in front of you with his heart in his hands. It hurts, because you know that no matter what, there’s no going back now. You know you can’t leave him alone now; you are completely and utterly his.

“Hyunjin—”

“Y/N.” Hyunjin pleads, and all you can feel is disappointment at the address. Not darling. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. Just please—”

“Hyunjin.” You cut him off harshly, and he freezes, his arms dropping back to his side. You immediately feel the magnitude of losing his touch on your skin, and it does nothing to tamp down the mix of frustration and arousal inside of you. “Hwang Hyunjin. You drive me absolutely insane.”

There’s a moment of charged silence, before his lips are on yours. When you were younger, you’d spend hours hunched over romance novels and rereading the parts when the leads finally kissed, their repressed emotions finally amalgamating in one stunning, golden moment. But nothing about kissing Hyunjin feels golden; it never did.

No, it’s an ardent, burning red, a fire blooming in the hands that you use to yank him closer to you, a distance that will always feel unending whenever it’s him. It’s sin, pouring over hot coals and shimmering ore, enchanting yet raw. It’s so perfectly imperfect, wet and frantic, shameless and desperate. It’s rose vines creeping up crumbling brick and the roll of thunder in the middle of the night. It’s you and him and no inhibitions whatsoever, until…

“Wait, wait, wait.” To your disappointment, Hyunjin pulls back. Even though he was the one who kissed you, you don’t fail to recognize the uncertainty written on his reddened lips.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to block out the nagging thoughts in which Hyunjin has already regretted you. Moving out of his hold, you give him space by backing away. “Is everything okay?”

“I wanted to make sure that you are one-hundred percent okay with this. Like, I drive you insane in a good way, right? Not a bad way? Just checking. Consent is key and all,” Hyunjin breathlessly, letting out a nervous giggle. It’s a display that is shockingly similar to how you act whenever you’re agitated, and you never expected it to be put on by Hyunjin, of all people. It’s… cute.

You give him a small smile, letting your handbag carelessly slip off your shoulder and onto the rug. You take a tiny step towards him, wrapping your arms around Hyunjin’s slender waist and reveling in how Hyunjin’s breathing quickens, pulse jumping with your touch. Drawing him close to you, just until your lips are barely touching, you look up at him through your eyelashes, focusing on that gorgeous beauty mark under his eye.

“Hyunjin, is the door locked?”

He just stares at you for a good moment, and you let him, enjoying the way his lips part at your husky tone. “No. I didn’t lock it.”

“Good.” You lift your hand and trace the outline of Hyunjin’s bottom lip with your finger, observing the way he shivers at your touch. “Pay attention, because I’m about to prove to you just how much I like you.”

A blush speckled across his features is all that is needed to induce that familiar urge in you, the one that makes you unreasonably aroused. You want to make him yours, to take care of him and demonstrate to him specifically how insane you are for him. You want to make his wildest dreams come alive, just like he has done for you.

Hyunjin’s eyes flutter shut, a movement so delicate that it almost makes you cry. “Please… just touch me.”

Talking will come, eventually. Both of you will sit down tomorrow morning and establish what exactly this is, what you have done by that point— what you plan to do to Hyunjin now. You’ll find out what this is for Hyunjin— whether this is lust, a brazen act committed in the heat of the moment, or the complete opposite, what you’re too afraid to even think of. Your heart wishes for the latter to be true, for Hyunjin to want you not only as much as you want him, but in the same way as well. Maybe you can’t put it in words, what you feel for him, but you can show him your sincerity in other ways. It’s all you can imagine doing, after Hyunjin has currently rendered you with no other form of thought. Right now, it’s just you and him and a novel of proofs to be written on each other.

And so you cup his cheek and draw his body closer to yours; this time, you move slowly, every action deliberate, exploring Hyunjin and his depths. Your lips touch his softly, a ghost of longing on skin. In turn, Hyunjin’s hands clutch at yours, silently asking you for more, and you indulge your prince, because there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

Hwang Hyunjin tastes like a sunrise, if dawn’s dainty fingertips blessing the sky with a brilliant, fiery spectrum of light could be encapsulated in that sense. Coffee ice cream, spearmint, unadulterated eroticism. Finally, you’ve found the end of your questions. You shut your eyes as Hyunjin slips his hands into your hair, pulling it out of its tight hold and deftly sliding the tiny pink elastic around his wrist. You mirror his actions, carding your fingers through his soft, silky strands and holding onto him as he deepens the kiss. Instinctively, almost, you part your lips, allowing for him to slip his tongue inside and have his own answers.

Hyunjin pulls back from you to look at you directly when he starts to run his trembling hands down over the curve of your hips, the way he regards you full of attention and lust. You are sure that the confidence that you might have projected earlier has diffused into something more unfocused, with the way you already feel so high off of Hyunjin. Taking control has always been something that has come to you easily, until Park Jisung subjugated that part of you. But you don’t mind it right now, Hyunjin taking all of you and turning you into a mess, because this is the very comfort that you’ve been craving for so long.

“Are you sure?” Hyunjin whispers, even though there’s no secret to be kept. He leans down so that his forehead touches your own, in a way that feels too intimate, but at the same time, it makes you want it and more. It’s a genuine question ringing with the slightest hint of hesitation, and yet, you can’t believe he has to ask you; you love him, even though you may not be able to say it, yet.

“This. This is what you do to me.” You take Hyunjin’s hand into yours and lead it to the place between your legs that’s been begging for his touch since you first laid eyes on him, second to only your heart. Hyunjin’s eyes widen in surprise when you guide his hand under your skirt, pupils dilating in want when he realizes how drenched you are just for him. But his reaction is nothing compared to you, to how you suck in a sharp breath and try not to fall apart with just one touch.

That one sound is enough for his gaze to darken, before he’s gripping your hips like a vice and pushing you against his desk. You let out a small gasp at the roughness of the movement, and even more so at how Hyunjin is finally taking what has always belonged to him, and him only. In response, he captures your bottom lip with his teeth, nipping at you slightly, not enough to cause pain but just enough to have your back arching at the sting of it.

“Did that hurt?” Hyunjin asks you, a smirk painting his features as he drags his lips across your cupid bow ever-so-softly.

You try to hide your blush by rolling your eyes defiantly, fisting the collar of his shirt in your hands. “No, it didn’t.”

Hyunjin laughs as he places one last kiss on the corner of your mouth, before he’s moving to your neck, attentively peppering kisses along it just to garner more proof of the utter pleasure that has pervaded your senses— and he has barely even touched you yet.

Your hands slide down to the bottom of his shirt and to tug at it, the desperation of the movement mirroring the pulse of your heart. Hyunjin lets you unhook the top few buttons before hastily tearing off the rest of it, the tiny silver knobs scattering across the floor. But you can’t think about the mess now, not when Hyunjin takes your hands in his and runs them down smooth, toned places of his torso.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he mutters under his breath, easily untying your blouse with just his right hand, something that shouldn’t be as attractive to you as it is. He pushes it off of your body, the material now a nuisance to the way he begins to explore every inch of skin his lips can find purchase on.

You decide to help him out, unzipping your skirt to step out of it, kicking it away along with your heels to some forgotten corner of the office. Seeing no point in prolonging your mutual misery, you also reach behind your back and unhook your bra to free your breasts to him, shrugging it off with a smile as you meet Hyunjin’s eyes.

“Do you want to touch me?” You give him a teasing grin, loving the way he audibly gulps when taking in how you’re nearly bare, all for him.

“I want to fucking ravish you.”

You tense with his words and how his gaze hardens with the challenge, trying to maintain your cocky front. “Let’s see how you do, Dr. Hwang.”

Hyunjin doesn’t reply immediately, the corner of his lips just barely tipping up. His fingers find the band of your panties, hooking under to pull you forward to him as he guides you to sit on the desk. “I can literally smell how wet you are for me, you know.”

And you nearly come to his words, but he doesn’t give you the chance, hands coyly smoothing up your stomach before gripping your panties on either side and ripping them off your body. Before the lace has even touched the floor, his mouth is on your cunt, blazing hot and wet.

You gasp, sucking in a shattering breath as his lips move against your pussy as if spelling out letters in the filthiest language known to man. He envelops your clit with his lips in a slight kiss before you feel his tongue delve out, adventuring between your folds and getting his first, full taste of you. Hyunjin moans as he dips into you, blessing your ears with the prettiest sound to grace them, and it seems as if eating you out pleases him just as much as it does for you, if not more.

Hyunjin pulls away momentarily to look at your center, hands wrapping around your thighs and encouraging them even farther apart. Trailing kisses along your shin, he lifts your right leg to place it comfortably on the desk, caging himself between your legs. The sight makes you clench and grasp onto his hair, bringing him right back into you.

“Fuck,” he breathes out as he pressed his mouth against you once more, relentlessly starving and savouring the taste of you at the same time. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

You moan, taking fistfuls of his soft, soft hair as he fulfills his sinful promises. You can’t think of any good comeback like you would prefer to do, but this position, while compromising, isn’t anything but ideal at this moment. The worlds have coiled in your throat, coming out as broken sobs, and you have effectively gone crazy for Hyunjin.

“So pretty,” he compliments, eyes drinking in your core before softening as they glance up at you. He slides a lone finger inside of you, and you immediately tighten around it, making him chuckle. “You like that? Like my mouth on your cunt? Like how I’m fucking you like this, so slow yet not enough?”

You just whimper in answer, but Hyunjin remains unbothered by your lack of coherent response. “You taste fucking heavenly, by the way.”

“Oh my God—”

He hooks two of fingers inside of you this time, thrusting in and walking the tips of them along your g-spot, making your head go hazy with pleasure. Your breathing hitches as a pressure starts to build in your lower stomach, your walls shamelessly sucking at Hyunjin’s fingers.

“Mm, you’re going to drench me, aren’t you? You talk up a big storm, but you’re dripping down my hand already.”

Hyunjin’s talk is almost as dangerous as his touch, and he knows it, with how he grins knowingly at you while he so sweetly puts you in your place. He attaches his mouth to your clit, sucks deftly, and moves his entire arm against that one beautiful place, making your legs give out beneath you.

“Hyunjin, please,” you sob, amazed with how you were even able to form that sorry excuse for a sentence. “I need—”

“Need what?” Hyunjin mocks you, knowing exactly what you want, but he takes his time, playing with you and drawing out this sublime form of torture on your body. “Can’t wait for me to fill you up, yes? So greedy.”

Fuck, you love the way he talks. Measured and polite when fully clothed, but uninhibited and dirty behind closed doors. Your spine straightens as he starts to pump you so hard that you begin to see stars, or maybe just the lights from the buildings outside. You can’t be sure. You begin to arch your back, trying to lessen the intensity of his movements, but he wraps his arm around your hips to hold you down.

He flicks your clit mercilessly, his tongue winding you close to your climax. You mewl his name softly, rolling your hips up towards his face and on his fingers, clenching impossibly tight around him, but he only responds by fucking you harder. Faster.

You can feel your orgasm approaching in addition to his heightened attention in your blissful facial expressions, watching the way your brows turn up in the middle.

“Close, aren’t you?” He murmurs against your clit, and you concentrate on his voice, the sole thing you can comprehend past the obliterating pleasure you’re suspended in. You swear he smiles, before he pulls away from you.

You cry out pathetically at the loss of contact, feeling that tsunami of ecstasy fail to crest and eventually fade back into the shallows, leaving just an unbearable ripple of disturbance behind. You can feel the tears form in your eyes at your interrupted orgasm that was so cruelly taken from you, and you narrow your gaze at Hyunjin.

“And you’re such a brat, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” Hyunjin responds cheekily, tracing his middle finger slightly against your folds, and you have to grind your teeth to keep from shuddering. “I want you to come on my cock instead.”

You’ve had enough of his games. This is something that you started, and you completely intend to finish it, even if it means not playing by Hyunjin’s twisted rules and making your own board. You dig your nails into Hyunjin’s shoulders, feeling him wince under your touch, and push him back roughly. He collapses onto the couch, looking up at you in wide-eyed surprise.

“Did you have fun, Hyunjin? I hope you did.” It’s your turn to smirk down at him, all of the explicit thoughts of what you would love to do to him running through your head. “Because we’re going to be doing things my way now.”

Before he can even muster up a retort, you are already straddling him, shifting back to unzip his trousers and shove them down his legs, while he just obediently lifts up his hips to help. All in one go, you get both his pants and boxers off, freeing his length. And he really is so pretty— all of him, down to his cock that’s perfectly hardened for you to use.

Hyunjin shivers as you experimentally palm his cock, testing how sensitive he is, and you’re pleased with what you discover. “What are you going to do to me?”

“What do you want me to do to you?” You question him right back, pretending to actually listen to him. Hyunjin takes the bait, relief and desire evident in his features.

“I want you to fuck me with that sweet little pussy,” he responds, the urgency filling his throat making you smile.

“I see.”

You shrug nonchalantly, gripping him and enjoying the way he gets even harder in your hands. Slowly, you begin to pump him, spitting into your palm and spreading it down his length for better friction. It works, with the way he curses under his breath and looks at you pleadingly.

“Darling, stop… stop doing that,” he pleads, eyes involuntarily rolling back as you lean forward, pressing your tits together and sliding his dick between them teasingly.

You cock your head to the side and let your hair fall slightly over your eyes, smiling innocently at him. “Stop doing what, baby?”

“Stop fucking teasing me!” He gasps out, watching you lift yourself just barely onto his cock, holding him at the base and rubbing his tip between your slick folds. Both of you let out soft sighs at the sensation of him nudging your entrance, but you still don’t relent.

“I don’t know… I kinda like the position we’re in. Think I could get myself off just watching you like this,” you say, lightly circling your hips as you grind your clit on his cock. “Be patient.”

“I’ve been patient for months,” he whines— in any other situation, you’d laugh at how adorable he is if you weren’t so damn turned on right now. He places his arms around your waist, squeezing lightly. “I have to have you.”

You take Hyunjin’s hands and bring them up to rest over your breasts, keeping eye contact with him. As if a trying to placate you by seduction, he traces his fingers over your nipples, sending a jolt through your body; he need not know that you have been wrapped around his finger ever since he pushed you against that desk, and that you’re this close to surrendering to his pleas. You need him.

“Say ‘please’,” you giggle, your cocky façade cracking. After all, you’re endlessly weak for him.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, but obliges you anyway. “Please, fuck me.”

You want to have one last word with his attitude, but then his palm cracks hard against your thigh, and your legs give up. Your hips sink fully down onto his lap, and you both cry out at the feeling of being sated in the best possible way. Hyunjin is so deep inside you that you feel like you can barely breathe; yet, your chest rises and falls rapidly, as Hyunjin anchors his hands on your ass, assisting you in riding him.

Hyunjin tilts his head back, the veins along the graceful arch of his neck prominent as your walls pulse around him. Meanwhile, you’re practically shaking at how full he makes you feel, pressed up so deliciously inside of you. You’ll lose your mind if it means you can’t have him like this in every moment for the rest of your life, but it’s an unfortunate truth you’ll have to confront later. For now, you know he’s going to make an absolute mess of you.

“There we go, sweetheart. Use me, take all of what you want from me.” Hyunjin just whispers, guiding the roll of your hips while staring up at you in a way you can’t believe is reserved just for you. Enamored, raptured, and completely captivated. It’s so similar to the way you know you always look at him, that you nearly want to cry at the sight.

You’re breathless, gazing down at the man you love through hazy eyes. Hyunjin always looks beautiful no matter what, but right now, he’s simply breathtaking, with how his hair is so artfully mussed, and how his cheeks are tinged with the blush of pleasure. He’s especially exquisite, knowing that he’s like this just for you.

“F-feel so good, Hyunjin,” you manage, both of you fucking each other at this point— you bouncing on top of him while he fucks into from below with equal energy.

Hyunjin smirks, control coming back to him as you give it up. He licks the pad of his thumb and reaches between you both to rub slow, firm circles on your clit. “Fuck, are you going to come already?”

In spite of yourself, you shoot him a look that isn’t nearly as sharp as you intended it to be. “You already got me halfway there.”

“Definitely more than halfway— eighty-percent’s more accurate,” Hyunjin responds with haphazardly feigned indignance, before shaking his head and kissing you. He bows his head down to encase your nipple with his lips, gently sucking at the bud while his hand trails over across your chest to grasp and squeeze at your other breast, eliciting a strangled moan from you. “It’s that nice, right? I know, baby. Let go for me.”

And you do. Shattering, fierce, red-hot. You can’t handle the way he’s looking at you, touching you, talking to you. Your toes are numb from how harshly they curl, and your fingers sting from how you dragged them down Hyunjin’s back, hopefully leaving marks for him to smile at later.

“Hyun—” You can’t finish even calling out his name, the attempt fading into something nonsensical. Your eyes water from the intensity of your climax, before nestling into his neck.

But he pulls away to look you in the eye when you come, whimpering hopelessly. “That’s it, let go for me, darling.”

Your vision blurs as your orgasm finally crashes into you, overwhelming and so earth-shatteringly beautiful. Hyunjin’s voice soothes you as he guides you through your high, whispering hushed praises against your skin and doing dangerous things to your heart. A wave of unmatchable euphoria washes over you, but it never passes, like his body is an expert in prolonging the pleasure so intricately. You cannot believe that Hyunjin is real, with the way each time he thrusts into you tips you closer and closer into a never-ending free fall into absolute ecstasy.

With a soft, drawn out sigh, you finally come, and Hyunjin swears under his breath as you clench around him, your pussy gripping his cock so hard that it almost draws the climax from his body. You find a single ounce of strength in the aftermath, wrapping your arm around Hyunjin’s neck and turning his chin to make him look at you.

“I need you to come for me, Hyunjin,” you say, lips quivering against his.

He groans into your mouth, kissing you deeply. “Where, baby? Tell me where.”

“Inside of me.”

Hyunjin throws his head back, moaning desperately before capturing your mouth in a messy kiss. When he breaks away, a string of saliva connects your lips, and it feels so treacherously erotic. Hyunjin comes while calling your name over and over again, pressing your ass down on his lap as his thrusts become shallower, and more erratic. He rolls his hips a final time, pumping his come as deep as he can into you. And then he slumps against you, panting heavily as he gently lays you back down on the couch to fit you comfortably under the crook of his arm.

You hold each other just like that for a long time, hands clasped together while simply existing in the universe that feels like it is all your own. Hyunjin sighs, kissing you deeply in a way that makes your heart flip. He then pulls back to look down and inspect you, both concern and care written deep in his expression.

“Are you okay, darling? Was that too much?”

You give him a fucked-out grin, cupping his beautiful face with your palms and reveling in how warm his skin is. “No. That was perfect. You are perfect.”

“I… I’m glad.” Hyunjin blushes and looks away like he’s suddenly tongue-tied, as if he wasn’t moaning the dirtiest things into your mouth just minutes earlier. “I don’t even have the words to describe how I feel about you. You’re… everything, and I won’t ever be able to convey that to you completely.”

Something tells you that he isn’t lying, that he means every word, that this isn’t just some kind of lust-filled one-night stand that’ll merit those awkward, unwanted conversations in the future. Maybe it’s the earnesty in his voice, the pure devotion in his eyes, or maybe, you’ll allow this for yourself, just once. You’ll let yourself be happy, let yourself fall and be caught in his arms.

“I feel the same way,” you say, feeling the tears of something bittersweet form. “You’re gorgeous, Hyunjin. You know that? I just need you to know that.”

Hyunjin wipes the fresh dampness on your cheeks away with his lips, placing a kiss on your forehead when he’s finished. “We have so much time for you to tell me. We’ll talk tomorrow, baby, I promise. Just rest, for now.”

You sniffle, swiping the backs of your hands over your eyes. “I just wish I was completely sober for our first kiss. I remember it perfectly, but it just had to happen when I was a drunk mess.”

He shakes his head, blinking at you like you make no sense to him. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

“Hyunjin,” you start, heart aching and wistful for his thoughts. It seems like you would want to know everything going on in his mind, but perhaps, the challenge of not knowing and being vulnerable to the mystery, that’s what makes it truly so special.

“I wouldn’t change our first kiss for anything. You were so cute, I should have taken a picture.” Hyunjin smiles down at you fondly, tapping the tip of your nose with his finger. “But if you really want, we can say our first kiss was today.”

You give him a doubtful but adoring look. “That wouldn’t be real.”

Hyunjin shrugs carelessly, nothing but adoration in his tone. “No one has to know except for us. Our lives. Our rules. Our secret. Don’t you trust me?”

Our. You can’t help but feel giddy at that word, the very one that joins you two in the harmony that you’ve yearned for so long.

“Always.”

Long after the sun has dipped far below the horizon, after every other SeoulSpark employee has gone home for the day, you and Hyunjin lie together on his sofa in a tangle of sated exhaustion. The many hours of finally acting on long pent-up desires have rightfully ended with you drawn close against his chest as you both silently gaze out at the twinkling cityscape.

For the years that he has been settled in this office, Hyunjin couldn’t help but feel a strange twinge of sadness whenever he looked out at the stretch of towering skyscrapers. After all, he spent all of his time helping others find love, but there he was, left with a great view that he would never be able to share. He told himself that he didn’t mind it, not when his dreams lay solely in working. He would be happy to be the one to bring love to others, if it was never meant to be his. And he repeated it to himself everyday like it was just another mundane step in his cherished daily routine, until he truly started to believe it.

But how could any of that be true, when he can feel your heartbeat against his own? When the scent of your gardenia shampoo has so gracefully invaded all of his senses? When the moon so delicately traces every single one of your curves, bathing your smooth skin in a silver glow? How could he ever be meant to be alone, when the void in both his heart and arms have finally been filled?

It’s too soon to tell, and it scares the hell out of him to even think about it. But when you look up at him with those starry, radiant eyes, it all seems so worth it, so justified. You are simply the aurora to his night sky— you light him up beyond his own flimsy understanding. Therein lay the words that haven’t strayed from the tip of his tongue ever since he laid his eyes on you. The words he so fervently spelled earlier into your core, joining them with your essence. The words he’ll bite back for as long as he can because he doesn’t want you to leave.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

AUTHOR'S NOTE (& IMPORTANT WRITING UPDATE) Announcement: Jisungsdaydreamer™ has risen from the dead after, like, four months. I apologize, once again, for the terrible wait time. This was my longest gap in posting yet, because it took a while for me to make the adjustment to college. I'm trying to get back to regularly writing, but even when I don't respond/post on here for a while, I just want you to know that I'm still here, and I see you, and I appreciate you! Anyway, I hope you liked the turning point this chapter was (i.e. THEY FINALLY CONFESSED!!!). Cue the fireworks and doves and wedding music!! Also, I just want to mention Yeonjun being a UCLA student- he is sooo Los Angeles coded, and I could totally see him being one of the most popular students at a school like UCLA. And did anyone get my Jane the Virgin reference (hint: it has to do with the grilled cheese recipe)? I used to be obsessed with that show and I have re-watched to the point that I remember almost all of the dialogue... Another thing- for Hyunjin's outfit at the reunion party, I totally was going for what Jungkook was wearing in the 3D music video. I would actually die if Hyunjin dressed up like that IRL. If you know, you know! Here's to Dr. Hwang and designer obsessions and being on that sigma grindset. For the next two weeks, I'll be crying over my textbooks in the library while blasting Rock-Star in my headphones. Here's to getting through what I believe is the worst time of year for students! Stay strong and 樂 on 🎸💫 -Dreamy

TAGLIST @skzfelixlove @army-stay-noel, @hwangjuhong, @chizumiyoshi @hyunjinswifeee @geneziesm @sherryblossom @yeetfellx @bennetbutton @chillseo @hyuneyeon @seosalad @nhyunn @hyunjinnie2000 @ajxreads @n2tl4na @yeahhspider @8makes1scream @jetblackbelle @143hyunes @raginghellfire @sinforsuccubus @lixiesw1fe @chartrucewhore @freckleboilix @ultimatestayandminoronce @cheesytangerine @leyknowsbin @stay278 @strawberry-dreamland @lvrgrl-xo @moasworld @hyunnielix @httphans @chaotic-world-of-the-j @nyasstars @beautifulmusicaddict-blog @imasimplol @1clickawayfrominsane @xsw-void @queen-klarissa @hyunjinsamdl @heavenhannie @moasworld @kykeu @sxlxna @writingkills @boomfrogg @tyongyuta @levislifeline @hyunzerolv @starlost-andfound @browniebearr @hanniemylovelyquokka @ardef38 @loveemmy08 @anyhow-everything @liillii @sweetpickledjins @insertsomethingaboutanimehere @kylielovesu @moon0fthenight

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©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

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ghosttotheparty · 9 months ago

Text

slice me open and make me my own also on ao3 cws: self harm & self harm scars (not graphic; healed at time this fic takes place); past unhealthy/reckless sex; referenced child abuse (implied to be severe but isn’t explained in detail); some sort of morbid/gory imagery; tattoo needles

Eddie isn’t the same anymore.

He’s a taxidermied dog. Stuck into place with pins and needles, stiff and gross and depressing. He’s always been good at pretending, but after the world doesn’t end, after he doesn’t bleed out in his kid’s arms, he gets better. Forces smiles onto his face and brightens his eyes just enough to make the air shift around him, to make the people who are apparently his friends now soften. Back off a little.

For the first few weeks none of them will leave him alone. Bringing him water and painkillers and bandages and feeling his temperature and setting blankets over him so carefully he feels like antique furniture in an abandoned house. They bring him food and open windows so he’s got fresh air. The kids come over after school just to say hi, just to hang out, but Eddie knows it’s because none of them can really believe that he’s alive. He can’t either, if he’s honest. He kind of hates it.

He doesn’t tell them that, obviously.

When he’s alone, he stares at himself in the mirror. There’s a full-length one in his room that he used to use to check his outfits in, making sure his bandana wasn’t scrunched up in his pocket, his hair wasn’t tucked into his shirt, his sweaters were hanging off his body properly. The mirror isn’t for that anymore.

He can’t really be bothered to make sure his outfits look right. It doesn’t matter anymore. People stare at him the same no matter what he wears.

The light in his room is dim, always has been. He leaves it on all the time, as soon as the sun starts to go down. He’s scared of the dark now, just like when he was little. When he was a kid, the dark meant he couldn’t see the bottles littering the floor. Now his heartbeat gets too loud when the lights are off. It gets too fast, but it feels too slow, and suddenly the sheets under his body feel slick with blood and his stomach hurts and he can hear Dustin crying. So he leaves the light on.

It sucks when he can see.

The lamplight is dim enough that he can manage to fall asleep, but bright enough that when he opens his eyes he can see across his room. Can see the cracks in the ceiling, the stains from the rain. Can see the paint chipping from the posters he’s taken down. Light means he can see if something is hiding in the dark. Light means he can see himself.

He stops in front of his mirror, skin still wet with water, hair still dripping, towel tied around his hips. He never means to stop here, never really wants to, but he can’t help it. The carpet has indents in the shape of his feet. He doesn’t notice water falling from his hair, spotting the ground.

The light from the lamp makes his skin look more golden than it is. He’s paler than he used to be. He doesn’t go outside often, even when the sun is bright, high in the sky, even when the kids are playing in Steve’s pool or going to the park to push Max in her wheelchair as fast as they can. He stays in his room with the curtains drawn.

He doesn’t like being seen anymore, not like he used to, when he would stand on cafeteria tables and shout at the top of his lungs just so people would hear him, even if it pissed them off. When he used to draw as much attention as possible so his sheep would be left alone.

People stare now, and it’s worse than before.

Even he stares.

There’s a scar on his face.

It’s big and red and angry. He’s been waiting for the color to fade, for it to be pinker or browner, for it to blend in a little more, but it won’t, no matter how much cream and vitamin E oil he puts on it. It’s stiff, pulls his skin tight, keeps his cheek in place even when he smiles. The shape of it is off, almost W-shaped, like a child grabbed some markers and scribbled on his face as he slept. He hates it.

He hates it even more than the rest of his scars.

The ones on his neck, slashed through his skin like there should be text printed under his jaw: Cut along the dotted line.

The ones that cover his body, take up more real estate than his tattoos. On his chest, the zombie head he saved money for months for is gone, replaced with flesh that isn’t even his, jagged and bumpy and weird looking. There’s a dip at his waist that looks like someone scooped his flesh out with a spoon, and it’s so sensitive that he sometimes covers it with tight bandages just so the fabric of his shirt doesn’t brush against it. Some spots are thicker, built up scar tissue that stand out against the rest, darker and redder and number. He can’t feel anything on the left side of his waist. Nerve damage, the doctors said.

Eddie turns slowly, looking at his shoulders, at his back. The scars go around him, stretching his skin when he twists around to look. The knobs of his spine press through his skin like they’re trying to get out of him, and he gets it. He doesn’t want to be in this body either.

He lets the towel fall to the ground, where it pools around his feet. There are scars on his legs, on his thighs and knees and shins. (Which he doesn’t get at all. Why the fuck would they go for his knees? He joked with Wayne when he finally came home from the hospital, At least they didn’t get my ass. And Wayne, of course, said dryly, What ass?)

He can’t walk properly anymore. Like he’s heavier on one side. His feet drag and it hurts to stand for too long. He has a cane now. He jokes about with Wayne, offering it to him when his back is stiff, teases that he needs it more, but he can tell Wayne hates that he needs one before Wayne does.

It’s grey. Silvery, kind of, standard hospital issue. It clicks when he sets it on the ground the same way his knee does when he bends it.

He’s all wrong. Disfigured. Ripped apart and stitched back together. He’s fucking grotesque, like some gruesome abstract portrait, something that doesn’t quite look human. He wonders if the bats somehow left a little of themselves behind when they fell to the ground around him.

So he hides. Wears sweaters that are too big for him, that hover over his skin when he stands up straight, sweatpants that he has to cuff so he doesn’t trip on the fabric. He lets his hair fall to hide the scars around his neck, sits with his chin set on his palm so his fingers can cover his cheek, slouches on the sofa and pulls the collar of his sweater up to hide behind it. And he’s a fucking coward.

Running. Hiding. Tucking himself away behind his cracked ribs and pretending it’s fine that he can hear them creaking like the floor of an old house. When he goes to bed, drawing his knees to his chest and ignoring how they click, ducking his head down so his chin is under the collar of his sweater, arms wrapped around himself and ignoring how his skin stings, he can pretend he’s something else.

It’s a Tuesday night when Steve Harrington shows up to the trailer by himself for the first time.

It’s past midnight. Clear, cloudless skies, the moon half-full. One of the days just between summer and autumn. Wayne is at work and Eddie is alone, curled up on the sofa with a book, ignoring the way his hands are shaking a little. They do that all the time now. He hates it.

Steve knocks tentatively, carefully, like he doesn’t want to wake anyone up.

Eddie doesn’t check who it is before he opens the door, and they look at each other. It’s almost awkward, but not quite.

Steve only comes over with the kids. Keeps them in line as they clamber around the living room like hyperactive puppies, tidies up after them because he can’t be bothered to nag them.

They’re both quiet as they look at each other. Steve’s wearing a red sweater, and he looks handsome even though his hair is falling around his face and he’s wearing shorts that look like they were sweatpants that he cut off with scissors. And Eddie hates himself for thinking it.

He steps aside wordlessly, and Steve comes inside. Toes his shoes off and nudges them aside so they’re not in the way as Eddie shuts the door behind him. He sits on the sofa and looks at Eddie as he follows, and Eddie is oddly grateful that he doesn’t jump up to help, to hold his arm out to him or hover needlessly, hands out to catch Eddie. He’d rather just fall.

Steve moves when Eddie reaches the sofa, shifts aside so Eddie doesn’t have to make his way between the sofa and the coffee table. Eddie sits heavily, exhaling.

They’re close. Eddie can feel the heart of his body through their clothes, and he wants to close his eyes, to savor it. He’s always cold now. He’s dreading winter.

Steve’s foot nudges Eddie’s, and Eddie looks. Steve’s skin is darker than Eddie’s, warmer looking. Fuzzier. Softer. He’s wearing socks that are different shades of blue. Eddie nudges him back. His socks are mismatched too, striped and colorful in a way that looks out of place with his black sweatpants and grey sweater.

Both of them have their hands in their laps. Eddie’s hands are tucked into the sleeves of his sweater, and Steve has his fingers curled and twisted together like he’s hiding them.

“Hi,” Eddie says finally. He hasn’t spoken all day, and his voice breaks a little, breathy and soft and weak.

“Hi,” Steve whispers back.

“What’s up?”

Steve is quiet, and Eddie glances at him. He’s looking down at their feet, pressed together, and he looks tired. Tired in a way he doesn’t usually, when he comes over with the kids and laughs and bickers with them, rolling his eyes fondly and leaving them with Eddie to do the dishes or make lunch. His eyes are shining dully, like he’s looking through their feet instead of at them, and he looks like he isn’t really there.

Steve shrugs after a few moments, like he’s only just processed the question.

“Got lonely,” he says softly.

“And you came to see me?” Eddie says, and Steve cracks a smile, looking at him.

He shrugs again when he looks away, tugging his sleeves down over his hands and twisting the fabric into his fingers.

“…They don’t get it,” he says quietly, whispering.

Eddie closes his eyes.

Savors his warmth, like he’s standing in sunlight again.

He nods, pressing his foot against Steve’s more firmly.

“No,” he breathes. “They don’t.”

Steve leans toward him a little bit, bumping their shoulders together, and it makes Eddie’s stomach do a somersault, sends a shock through him. He doesn’t open his eyes, pressing against him, and Steve sighs softly, leaning against him. Falling against him. Eddie catches him.

He’s wrapping his arms around the sun, holding him tightly and burying his face into his hair, and they’ve never done this before but somehow it doesn’t matter. Steve’s hands find Eddie’s arm, emerging from his sleeves just to hold him, and he holds Eddie just as tightly, like they might both fall apart, crumble to dust if they let go. Eddie sways with him, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly he could give himself a headache.

And Steve leans against his chest with a soft breath, drawing his legs onto the sofa and curling up against Eddie’s body like he’s trying to be small, to take up as little space as possible. Eddie pulls him closer in a way that would make anyone else scold him. Don’t hurt yourself. Steve just lets him.

Steve tucks his face into the crook of Eddie’s elbow. Eddie presses his into the back of his neck. Steve’s shampoo smells fancy, like citrus and flowers. He wonders what he smells like. Maybe cigarettes. Probably weed.

“Do your scars hurt?” Steve whispers after a while. Eddie can feel his heart beating. It’s beautiful.

“All the time.”

Steve exhales. Eddie thinks his eyes are closed.

“Sucks.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet again. Eddie lifts his knees onto the sofa and curls up against him, letting their bodies twist together like a puzzle. Steve sets his hand on Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie opens his eyes.

He can feel the heat of his palm through his sweatpants, and he suddenly wants to take them off, to feel Steve’s hands slide over his bare skin even if he can’t stand the idea of Steve’s eyes on him.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Steve asks softly.

“Please.”

Steve’s body relaxes against Eddie’s, and he exhales again as if in relief. Eddie squeezes him. It makes his scars ache.

Eddie looks at him when he falls asleep. Leans back to see his face, to touch his cheek as lightly as he can without stirring him. Steve shifts in his sleep, slipping down into Eddie’s lap until Eddie is holding his head, cradling it, gazing down at him.

Steve takes a deep breath, slow and steady and clear, and Eddie watches his chest rise and fall, watches his lips twitch a little like he’s trying to smile.

Eddie sets his hand over Steve’s chest carefully. He can feel Steve’s heart beating beneath his skin.

It’s a nice feeling.

Eddie closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the back of the sofa. He can hear Steve breathing. It makes his throat tighten and his eyes sting, but it doesn’t hurt to listen to.

When he wakes up, it’s still dark outside. Steve’s hand is on his, holding his hand in place on his chest. Steve is still asleep, but he’s closer now, sitting up a little with his face tucked into Eddie’s neck, his nose nudging along the serrated scars. His breath is warm.

Eddie closes his eyes again, squeezing Steve without thinking, and Steve nuzzles into his neck with a soft sigh, rubbing his nose against him like a cat. Eddie smiles sleepily.

The sun is bright, shining red through his eyelids.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, letting his legs extend down the sofa with a soft groan as his muscles stretch, and it takes a few moments for the world to settle in, to seep into his skin. He can hear Wayne and Steve talking, which isn’t odd, really. They’ve gotten along since they met at the hospital, always bickering and teasing because they like opposing baseball teams. What’s odd is hearing them both this early in the morning.

Eddie blinks his eyes open, squinting in the bright sunlight, and he starts to sit up even though he doesn’t really want to. His knee clicks as he swings his legs off the sofa, looking around to see Steve and Wayne in the kitchen. Steve is at the stove, cooking something as Wayne leans against the wall next to him, talking.

Wayne is smiling a little. It’s an absent smile, barely there, but it’s beautiful. Eddie doesn’t remember the last time he made Wayne smile.

Eddie sits there for a little bit, watching him. He can’t really hear them; they’re talking quietly, almost whispering to let Eddie sleep. It takes a minute or two for Wayne to realize that Eddie is sitting up, looking at them.

“Speak o’ the devil,” he says lightly, and Steve looks over his shoulder at Eddie, eyes shining.

“You’re talkin’ ‘bout me?” Eddie says roughly, rubbing his eye as he uses the armrest of the sofa to push himself up. He holds back a wince because he knows Wayne is watching him.

“Just that you snore like a chainsaw,” Steve says lightly, looking back at the stove as Eddie hobbles over to them.

“I do not,” Eddie argues childishly, and Steve glances at him. His eyes flicker over his body, and Eddie is suddenly oddly conscious of his limp, of his unsteady weight and stiff limbs. But Steve just smiles and looks away.

“Yes, you do,” Wayne says, making space for Eddie to join them, so Eddie can lean against the counter. “You sound more like an old man than I do.”

“Whatever.”

Eddie looks at Steve’s hands. His palms are scarred, but Eddie can’t see them from here, while Steve is mixing some eggs on a pan. The scars are from the bat’s tail, the one Steve grabbed so he could slam the bat into the ground. It flashes in Eddie’s mind, the dark of the Upside Down, the way the bats’ skin shined, the flickering red lights in the sky. The sound Steve made as he swung the bat in the air, the sound it made as it hit the ground. The sick squelching as Steve ripped it half, the spray of the black blood.

Eddie blinks, his vision clearing as Steve scoops the eggs into a bowl, and he remembers it’s a Wednesday morning. Steve is making eggs.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Wayne says. He touches Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing gently, and it takes a moment for the touch to register. He’s turning to look at him just as he lets go and disappears down the hallway.

Steve cracks another egg. Eddie flinches at the sound, the crunch of the shell against the counter, and he almost expects the egg to come out red.

“You okay?” Steve says lightly, looking down. He whisks the egg in another bowl with a fork, the metal clicking against the glass of the bowl.

”Uh,” Eddie says slowly, pausing, watching the egg become a soft shade of orange. “Yeah, no, I…”

He exhales.

“Sorry, I just… I always feel weird in the morning.”

Steve hums. He pours some milk into the bowl, whisks it into the egg, and Eddie watches the orange soften even more.

“Sorry about last night,” Steve says as he’s pouring it into the pan, his voice cutting through the warm hissing of the egg on the heat of the stove. Eddie blinks.

“For what?”

“Just… I came over and dumped all that on you.”

“All what? Your loneliness?”

Steve scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything, and Eddie’s never seen him look like this. Almost shy. Bashful. Avoiding Eddie’s eyes as he mixes the eggs on the pan, biting his lip. Eddie stands there, watching until he’s scooping the eggs into another bowl before he’s reaching out and tugging at Steve’s sleeve. He doesn’t even notice himself doing it until Steve is looking at him again, setting the pan down on the stove.

Steve turns toward him, leaning against the counter, and he glances down at Eddie’s hand when he lets go of his sleeve.

“I don’t mind,” Eddie says quietly. “If you… If you just don’t wanna feel as lonely.”

Their eyes meet again.

Steve’s lips twitch into a smile, and his expression softens, his cheeks pink. Eddie’s stomach flutters.

“You don’t mind,” Steve says softly. “If I come over at night and act like a fuckin’ baby.”

Eddie scoffs, and he finally reaches out and grabs at his sleeve again, tugging him closer with it. Steve lets him, half-smiling, stumbling forward.

“I don’t mind,” Eddie says again. He looks down, watches as Steve’s hand shifts and his fingers spread so Eddie’s can lace with them as he lets go of the fabric of his sleeve. Steve’s hand is warm.

“I, uhm…” Steve pauses, curling his fingers around Eddie’s. “I’m taking Max to her physical therapy appointment today after the kids get out of school.”

Eddie looks up at him. He’s looking at their hands, and he kind of looks like he’s asleep again, his expression soft and relaxed. His lips part for a moment before he speaks, hesitating.

“Can I come over after I drop her off at home?”

Eddie smiles. His scar stretches.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Please.”

Steve suppresses a smile. His cheeks are pink again, and Eddie thinks pink might be his favorite color now. Which is insane.

“I can bring a movie or something,” he says lightly, like he’s hopeful, and Eddie wants to cry suddenly.

“Sure,” he says. “Bring something good.”

“As if I’d bring anything bad.”

“I don’t know, man, I’ve seen what you put on at the video store—”

Steve scrunches his nose adorably and lets go of Eddie’s hand to hit his shoulder playfully. Eddie giggles and smacks his hand away.

And they talk about movies.

It feels stupid in the grand scheme of things. They fought monsters, survived the fucking apocalypse. They’re marked by it, for life. And now they’re standing in Eddie’s kitchen, teasing each other about their favorite movies, eating eggs. (Steve likes Back To The Future, which takes Eddie aback for a moment, but then Steve casually says he also likes Fast Times, which checks out, Eddie thinks.) Eddie leans against the counter after a little bit, giggling quietly, taking his weight off his knee, and then sets his bowl aside and reaches to hold the edge of the counter, trying to pull himself up to sit atop it. But he can’t.

He used to be able to. He annoyed Wayne with how much he did it, just pulled himself up onto the counter and kicked at Wayne playfully while Wayne tried to work. He’d do it at his friends’ houses, sit on counters or washing machines or anything else that wasn’t a chair, wasn’t made for sitting on.

Steve is saying something when he notices the way Eddie struggles, and his speech doesn’t pause as he sets aside his own bowl and steps up close, reaching to Eddie’s thighs and pulling up. Eddie’s heart beats faster in his chest as Steve lifts him onto the counter easily, effortlessly, standing for a brief moment between his legs before he steps away, still talking. Eddie’s knee already feels better without the pressure of his weight on it, but something else aches when Steve steps away and leans against the counter opposite him. Eddie’s stomach flutters again.

He helps Eddie down when they finish eating, wrapping an arm around his waist and holding his arm, and even as Eddie winces, bracing himself, his face flushes with warmth, and he feels like he’s fourteen again, partnered up on a class project with a pretty boy. Nervous.

They go out back while Wayne goes to sleep in the living room. They sit on the old sofa Eddie and Wayne put out here two years ago; it’s stained and the springs are pushing through the worn down plush of the cushions, but somehow it’s still fucking cozy when Eddie sits in the corner, knees drawn to his chest, looking at Steve as he talks, as they light cigarettes with Eddie’s lighter that’s probably not even going to work tomorrow judging by how many times they have to flick it to get it to light.

They face the trees. Eddie sees Steve’s eyes scan the treeline a few times, smile absent on his face as he listens to Eddie speak, like he’s searching for something, like he’s on lookout. He doesn’t seem to find whatever he’s looking for, and he looks back at Eddie every time, his expression softening in a way that makes Eddie’s bones ache.

Steve leaves around two thirty to get Max, and Eddie sits outside again. He hasn’t gone outside in a long time, he thinks, at least a week or so. He doesn’t even like leaving his room, much less the trailer. Doesn’t like feeling people’s eyes on him, doesn’t like to be seen. He doesn’t like knowing what people think.

But he supposes sitting here is better than nothing.

It’s quiet here, out of the way. He can hear birds singing. It’s a nice sound. He hadn’t realized he’d missed it. The leaves are starting to change colors, becoming warmer as the air becomes cooler.

And an odd sense of peace envelopes him, a sort of peace he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. He lights another cigarette, sighs the smoke out of his lungs as he watches the leaves shiver in the soft breeze, wraps his arms around his legs and rocks back and forth.

The sun is shining golden across everything, a shadow cast across the ground that hides him in the dark as he watches the trees shimmer. It occurs to him that it’s beautiful. He’s lived here since he was a kid, since he could piece sentences together, since he could understand what his father meant when he called Eddie a piece of work. And he’s never looked at the trees like this, appreciating them, admiring them. They’re so bright. Alive. And it’s like Eddie can feel them breathing, can feel their roots in the ground under him, twisting into the earth and carving their paths. There are animals in there, Eddie knows. He’s seen deer, rabbits, squirrels, birds. He can’t see them now, can’t hear the branches snapped beneath hooves or grass brushing against fur and hair, can’t hear leaves rustle against the flutter of wings. But he knows they’re there, living and breathing. Dying and returning to the earth. Giving life to moss and grass and bugs, blossoming with life even in death. Oblivious to Eddie sitting here, smoking a cigarette, stubbing it out on the armrest of the sofa.

Steve comes back after a while. Sits on the sofa next to Eddie and looks out at the woods with him, and Eddie wonders what he’s thinking about. If he thinks the same things Eddie does.

Steve is quiet as he moves a little closer, until their shoulders are pressing, and Eddie shifts a little, ignoring the stretch of his scars and the twinge of pain in his hip as he leans toward Steve and rests his head on his shoulder. He swallows, his breathing catching in his throat as Steve rests his head on Eddie’s, his stomach fluttering. He hopes Steve can’t hear his heart pounding.

“I brought Fast Times,” Steve says after a little while, his voice soft like he’s being conscious of how close he is to Eddie’s ear.

“No you fucking didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t, I brought The Dark Crystal.”

“Thank god.”

He can hear Steve’s laugh in his fucking skull, and he wants to keep it there.

They watch the movie after Wayne goes to work, after the three of them eat dinner in the living room. Eddie expects it to be weird, eating dinner with Steve there, but it isn’t. He and Wayne get along perfectly like they always do, and Steve insists on doing the dishes before Wayne can even stand after finishing his food. And Eddie wonders for a moment if Wayne is gonna offer to adopt him. But Wayne just gives Eddie this look that he can’t quite decipher.

Eddie makes popcorn while Steve does the dishes. Leans against the counter as he listens to the microwave hum, watching the way Steve’s back twists as he leans to set aside the dripping wet dishes. A kernel pops, and it startles Eddie out of it. He tears his eyes away from Steve, turning to face the microwave, watches the popcorn bag turn in circles.

Steve is humming quietly. Eddie can barely hear it at first, but his voice comes through the microwave and the clinking of the utensils as he drops them onto the towel on the counter. He can’t quite place the song. He probably doesn’t even know it. But he doesn’t think he cares. He closes his eyes, a hand resting on the counter to hold himself up as he listens to Steve hum softly, ignoring the pain in his leg, the sound of the microwave and the popcorn and the water running in the sink. Steve has a nice voice.

They sit too close to each other on the sofa after Steve sets the movie up. Their legs press together, the popcorn bowl balanced on Steve’s knee. Eddie keeps glancing at him, looking at how the movie reflects in his eyes, at the soft, sleepy smile on his face.

Steve falls asleep first again. Head on Eddie’s shoulder, breathing slow and steady, arms wrapped around himself, legs tucked up against Eddie. Eddie pays more attention to him than to the rest of the movie, even though he isn’t doing anything. He listens to him breathe. When the movie ends and the screen falls to static, Eddie can hear Steve’s heartbeat when he listens closely.

It lulls him to sleep. He holds Steve’s arm, fingers gripping the fabric of his hoodie loosely, his face pressed to the top of Steve’s head, nose buried in his hair.

And that’s how it goes.

Steve comes over at night. He brings movies. Eddie makes popcorn. Sometimes they talk over the movie, bickering or teasing, imitating the characters in silly voices. Their legs tangle, resting over each other’s laps, and their fingers brush in the popcorn bowl, and they rest their heads on each other’s shoulders. and even when Eddie’s stomach flutters so much he feels sick and his breath gets caught in his chest, it all feels fine.

Eddie can’t sleep sometimes. He’s kept up by sounds in his head, claws scratching at the inside of his skull like nails on a blackboard, quiet chittering and snarling that sounds like it’s coming from every corner of the room. He knows it’s not. He listens to Steve breathe when he can’t sleep now. Feels the way his chest rises and falls against Eddie’s side or against his hand when he places his hand over his heart.

Steve holds the fabric of Eddie’s sweaters in his hands when he sleeps, grips them in loose fists and tugs him closer in his sleep. He’s really cute. His cheek squishes against Eddie’s shoulder or chest, and his lips twitch like he’s dreaming, like he wants to smile.

Some mornings Eddie wakes up to their fingers tangled. Like they’ve taken each other’s hands in their sleep, like it’s normal for them, even unconscious. Like it’s how they’re supposed to be.

And he knows it isn’t normal, whatever this is.

But he can’t really bring himself to care; nothing in his life has ever been normal, especially not in the past year. What’s the harm in this?

Besides the obvious, he supposes. The way his heart aches almost twenty four-seven now, just knowing that Steve is going to come over, that he’s going to let Eddie lean against him and wrap his arms around him.

The seasons change. The leaves turn red and fall, leaving behind bare branches, and they coat the ground like they’re trying to keep it warm. The trailer gets colder, and Eddie’s sweaters get heavier until Wayne finally repairs the heater. Steve still comes over even though Eddie knows that his house is probably, definitely, warmer. Even though at his house he’s got his own bed with his own blankets.

Eddie doesn’t complain, obviously. It’s nice with Steve here. Warmer. Safer, somehow. He doesn't mind the dark as much when he can hear Steve breathing.

He likes the sight of Steve’s coat and scarf hung up by the door like they belong there. Steve keeps forgetting his scarf, but Eddie kind of suspects it’s not an accident. Like Steve wants to leave something behind, something to come back for.

Eddie wears the scarf when he smokes outside, looking at the naked trees and watching the snow fall. Steve’s scarf is soft, fuzzy and warm, wrapped around his neck, his chin tucked into it. It smells like Steve, like citrusy cologne. Eddie plays with the soft fringe at the ends, twisting it around his cold fingers. The smoke drifts from his lips into the air, blowing away in the cold breeze.

When Steve joins him, he’s smiling by the time he’s sitting on the sofa, and Eddie’s cheeks flush with warmth as he hides his face under the scarf.

“What?”

Steve shrugs, and he lifts his arm to set it around Eddie’s shoulders, sliding his hand to his elbow and pushing enough that Eddie lifts his hand, raising the cigarette to Steve’s lips. He watches him take a drag, heart pounding, and he can feel the heat of his skin from how close his fingers are to his mouth. It feels good.

“Your cheeks get all pink when you’re cold,” Steve says as he exhales the smoke into the air in front of them. Eddie watches it fade into the air, longing for it before he processes Steve’s words, and his cheeks turn more pink.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says lightly, looking at Eddie, his arm still around his shoulders. Their faces are close. Eddie ignores it, lifting the cigarette to his lips. “It’s cute.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, face burning. Steve just laughs. His hand touches the scarf around Eddie’s neck, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Eddie glances at his hand, his eyes catching when he sees a flash of red, and he reaches with his free hand, touching Steve’s fingers and pulling as he turns to look. His nails are painted red. ”When’d this happen?”

“Girls’ night,” Steve says lightly. “The other day. Max picked the color, Erica and El painted them for me.”

Eddie suppresses a smile.

“You’re invited to girls’ night?”

“Mm. ‘Honorary girl’ is what Max calls me.”

Eddie laughs softly, brushing his thumb over the shiny paint. It’s smooth.

“It looks good.”

“Shut up.”

They have dinner with Wayne, who doesn’t say anything about the nail polish. Eddie accepts his hair ruffle before he leaves, scrunching his nose and recoiling as Wayne’s rough hand grabs his head. Steve is smiling.

Steve goes to Eddie’s room while Eddie takes a shower. It’s a quick shower, like always, but Eddie wishes he could stay there for longer, under the warm water, eyes closed. The water feels good on his scars, soothing in a way that nothing else is.

It’s freezing when he steps out of the shower, and he grits his teeth, his muscles tightening as he reaches for his towel, drying himself quickly. He scrubs his hair dry with the towel, shivering, and he pulls on his boxers and sweatpants, grabbing his sweater as he keeps scrunching his hair in the towel, and he leaves, headed for the welcoming warmth of his bedroom.

He doesn’t realize he’s still half-naked until he steps inside and Steve looks up at him. He freezes, a shiver hovering over his spine, and Steve lowers the comic book he’s holding, looking at Eddie’s body.

Just looking.

Eddie lets the door close behind him, and he lowers the towel, the cold ends of his hair brushing over his back a little bit. He looks down, his face hot, and he can feel Steve’s gaze on him, scraping over his chest and his arms and his stomach. His scars.

Steve gets up quietly, setting aside the comic book, and Eddie wants to hide.

But he can’t, not as Steve approaches him slowly, eyes looking over his marred skin, his eyes shining. He doesn’t look like he’s judging him, like he’s sickened or disgusted. He’s just looking.

“Do they hurt?” he asks softly after a few moments, his voice breathy, almost whispering.

“The water helps,” Eddie says, avoiding his eyes.

“You should come over to mine sometime,” Steve says lightly, and Eddie meets his eyes. “We have bathtubs.”

Eddie cracks a weak smile. A bathtub sounds nice.

Steve goes quiet again, looking at Eddie’s arms. There’s a rough, mangled scar on his upper arm, various shades of red and brown and pink, and Eddie hates it. He hates all of them. But Steve doesn’t seem to mind them. His expression stays light.

Until it shifts a little bit, his head tilting a little, his eyebrows furrowing as he blinks, his eyes focused on a spot above the scar, and Eddie’s stomach falls. His eyes burn as Steve’s hand lifts, touching the spot tentatively, his thumb stroking over the scars there, tracing the thin, straight lines.

“What are these from?”

Eddie looks at him, but he’s serious. Confused. Curious. He really doesn’t know. And Eddie feels fucking sick.

“Me,” he says softly. Steve blinks and looks at him again, his eyes shining. His hand is warm on Eddie’s arm.

“Why?”

Eddie’s eyes flutter, and he looks at where Steve’s hand is touching him, looking at the deep, rich shade of red against the paleness of his scars. Steve’s skin is golden and warm, especially compared to Eddie’s. He shrugs a little bit.

“Just… to feel something.”

Steve looks at the scars again, brushes his thumb over them softly like he’s trying to make them fade.

“Why this, then?” he whispers quietly. “Why not something that… feels good?”

Eddie doesn’t look at him.

“I don’t deserve to feel good.”

Steve is quiet, and then his hand lifts, touching Eddie’s chin and pulling gently to make him look up. Steve is a little shorter than him, and he’s looking into Eddie’s eyes intently, his eyebrows furrowed like he’s angry.

“Yes you do,” he says quietly.

Eddie looks at him. The scars around his neck are deeper than Eddie’s. But they healed nicer. Smoother.

Steve’s hand moves to his cheek, touching his scar, and it’s soft, and sweet, and almost tender, and Eddie feels like he might collapse. And then Steve is leaning in, their noses nudging against each other, and he kisses Eddie.

Eddie’s eyes close, and the towel and sweater in his hands fall to the ground, and Steve’s mouth is warm on his.

Steve pulls away too soon, and Eddie’s eyes flutter open to see him. His eyes are wide, and his cheeks are rosy, his lips parted as he stammers something out before he speaks clearly.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “I— I wasn’t thinking, I— God—”

And then he’s stepping back, his hand falling, and the world is ending all over again. The sky is falling, the ground is opening up, and each of Eddie’s scars is burning.

His hand reaches out and grabs the front of Steve’s shirt, and he tugs him back in roughly, their mouths crashing together. Steve gasps and his arms wrap around Eddie’s waist.

Eddie hasn’t been touched there in a long time. Not since his stitches were removed. The pressure of Steve’s arms over his scars makes his breath catch, and it’s nice even though he can’t feel it as well on one side. He knows it’s there.

A weak sound escapes Steve’s throat, and Eddie swallows it, tilting his head to kiss him harder. Steve’s hands grapple at Eddie’s back, fingernails digging into his skin in a way that stings and lights Eddie up inside. He exhales sharply, pressing his other hand into Steve’s hair and tugging as gently as he can, pulling and pushing him. Steve goes with it, pliant like he’s melting into Eddie.

And then Eddie is frantic, eyes burning, kissing Steve like he’s dying again, like this is the last thing he’ll ever get to do, and Steve kisses him back just as desperately, arms moving to wrap around his neck, eyelashes brushing against his skin, tongue pushing past his lips. Eddie’s fingers find the hem of Steve’s shirt and tug at it, and they separate for a moment as Steve reaches down to tug it up over his head. And Steve’s chest is bare, soft and squishy and fuzzy with hair that Eddie wants to bury his face in.

Steve kisses him again, tossing his shirt aside carelessly, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, and Eddie groans weakly when their skin presses. He pushes Steve back, and they stumble together until Steve’s back hits the wall with a quiet thud.

“You— You gotta tell me if you want me to stop,” Eddie says breathlessly, hands holding Steve’s waist tightly. He’s soft.

“I don’t,” Steve chokes.

Eddie pushes Steve against the wall harder, and he reaches for his wrists, pinning his hands above his head. Steve whines again as Eddie’s teeth catch his lip and tug.

Eddie tears himself away and presses his face into Steve’s neck, kissing and licking and biting. Steve’s skin is salty, and Eddie is starving. His whole body aches.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes.

“No.”

Eddie groans again, grabbing Steve’s wrists in one hand, holding him in place as he ducks his head and presses messy kisses across his chest. Steve swears under his breath, and the sound of it creeps under Eddie’s skin. He kisses Steve’s throat, and when he hums, Eddie can feel it on his lips.

He tightens his grip on Steve’s wrists and kisses down his neck, over his shoulder and under his arm. Steve whines, his voice weak, and Eddie swears softly, taking a deep breath and inhaling the smell of Steve’s skin. It makes him ache. Their legs entwine, and Eddie presses his knee between Steve’s; he’s hard, and he makes a soft noise at the contact. Eddie’s other hand touches his waist.

His scars are softer than Eddie’s. And they’re sensitive, apparently, because Steve lets out a high-pitched whine, and he squirms against the wall, shifting his hands just enough to hold Eddie’s hands tightly, his fingertips pressing into his skin.

“Tell me to stop.”

“No.”

Eddie drags his fingertips over Steve’s scars, pinning his wrists against the wall harder when his back arches and he grinds against Eddie’s knee. They’re both breathing hard, and Eddie is already sweating a little bit, sliding his tongue up the underside of Steve’s arm.

“Let me touch you,” Steve gasps, straining against Eddie’s hand. “Please, Ed, I wanna— I wanna touch you.”

Eddie exhales sharply and lets go of his wrists and reaches for his waist. Steve’s hands are warm as they run across Eddie’s shoulders, his arms, his chest and stomach and waist. Eddie feels like he’s about to fucking detonate, like every cell in his body is vibrating, like he’s blurring. He buries his face in Steve’s neck, biting down on his skin and listening to the way he hisses, his fingernails digging into Eddie’s back.

Steve’s tongue tastes like the candy he and Robin like. Like artificial cherries and strawberries, fruity and sweet and fucking delicious. Eddie groans softly, grabbing Steve’s neck and holding him in place, his palm pressed to Steve’s throat, and Steve whines again, leaning forward, pressing into the touch. He opens his mouth, lets his tongue fall so Eddie can suck on it, and it’s ridiculous and depraved and kind of gross, but Steve moans softly, his hands holding Eddie’s waist. He has calluses on his palms, and they scratch Eddie’s scars a little bit, but it feels good.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes when he finally pulls away, staying close enough to brush their lips. Their mouths and chins are both slick with their spit. Steve keens when Eddie slides his hands over his chest and across his back, when he reaches to his ass and squeezes. “Tell me to stop.”

Steve shakes his head, his back arching again.

”Fuck me,” he says breathlessly, and his eyes meet Eddie’s, shining brightly. “Please.”

Eddie falters, squeezing his ass again.

“Are you sure?” he whispers. Steve nods desperately, reaching up to Eddie’s face and pulling him into a brief kiss. “I don’t— I don’t have condoms.”

“I’m clean,” Steve says, his eyes fluttering like he’s trying not to cry. “I got tested a few weeks ago, I haven’t…” He trails off, swallowing, and he looks shy all of a sudden, like he’s scared.

“Me too,” Eddie says softly. “I— I’m clean, I got tested ages ago, I… Yeah.”

Steve nods, his eyes flickering across Eddie’s face, leaning in so their lips brush.

“Fuck me,” he whispers. “Please, Eddie.”

Eddie nods, kissing him and gripping his ass firmly.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Take your pants off.”

Steve stumbles to the bed as he pulls his jeans and underwear off, and Eddie has to tear his eyes away so he doesn’t get distracted as he gets the lube from his bedside table.

“How do you want me?” Steve asks, hesitating.

“Wanna kiss you. On your back.”

“Okay.”

He goes easily, and Eddie pushes his sweatpants and boxer down, stepping out of them and kneeling on the bed in front of him, touching his knee. He exhales slowly, skimming Steve’s body.

He’s so beautiful.

Scarred and golden and perfect.

Eddie leans down and presses his face into his chest, taking a deep breath, sliding his hands over his thighs and feeling the soft hair on his skin. He can feel Steve exhale. Steve’s hand touches the top of Eddie’s head, running through his hair, catching in the tangles and knots from the rough manner in which Eddie dried it with the now discarded towel.

“You’ve bottomed before?” Eddie asks, lifting his head. Steve nods.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Eddie nods, squeezing his thighs and pressing a chaste, absentminded kiss to Steve’s chest. Steve spreads his legs so Eddie can find his way between them, rubbing his thigh soothingly as he reaches for the lube with his other hand. Steve reaches to grab a pillow, shoving it under his head so he can see Eddie as he spreads lube over his fingers.

He watches. His hair is floppy and falling in his face. (It’s longer than it used to be. And wavier. It’s pretty.) His cheeks are flushed with color, and his lips are kissed red.

“You’re beautiful,” Eddie breathes as he reaches down and rubs his finger over Steve’s hole. Steve’s cheeks darken.

“Please.”

Steve’s eyes close when Eddie presses his finger inside him, and he exhales, his head falling back.

“Fuck.”

Eddie smiles a little, watching his chest rise and fall, and he leans forward, kissing Steve’s belly. Steve hums, touching his head again.

“‘S good?” Eddie checks, glancing up at him as he moves his finger. Steve bites his lip with a stifled groan, nodding.

“Yeah,” he says weakly. “Fuck, ‘s good, thank you.”

Eddie scoffs.

“More,” Steve says after a few moments. “Gimme another.”

“What’s the magic word?” Eddie teases, nipping at the softness of his belly.

“Please,” Steve whines, squirming, pressing against Eddie’s finger. Eddie grins. “Please, Eddie, I want more—”

Eddie slips another finger in, and Steve gasps, his back arching.

“God.”

“‘S not my name,” Eddie says lightly, and Steve lets out a giggle, reaching down and grabbing Eddie’s other hand where it’s resting on his hip. Their fingers tangle and Steve squeezes. Eddie swallows, his stomach fluttering as he looks down at his own fingers pressing in and out of Steve, stretching him open gently.

“Are you…” He hesitates. “Are you sure you want it raw? I can pull out—”

“No, please,” Steve chokes, tugging at his hand. “Please, I want it. Want you to come inside me.”

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes. He lets go of Steve’s hand to reach for the lube again, dousing his fingers before slipping in a third, and Steve groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “I didn’t think you were queer.”

Steve laughs again, lifting a hand and motioning with his fingers for Eddie to hold his hand again. Eddie does, stretching Steve open gently.

“Very,” Steve says softly, letting his head fall back again. “Realized when I— when I was, like, fifteen.”

“You’ve never gone with a guy?” Eddie asks curiously, gazing at him. Steve shrugs half-heartedly.

“Not… Not seriously. Hook-ups and stuff.”

Eddie pauses, brushing his thumb over the side of Steve’s hand.

“Would you want to go with a guy?”

Steve smiles almost deliriously, tugging Eddie’s hand until it’s resting on his chest.

“Are you asking me out while your fingers are in my ass?”

“…Maybe?”

Steve grins at the ceiling, squeezing his hand.

“Can you kiss me, please?”

Eddie leans over, letting go of his hand to catch himself as he hovers over Steve’s body. Steve’s legs wrap around his hips, holding him close, and he wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, pushing a hand into his hair as their lips touch. Steve groans as Eddie pushes his fingers into him deeper, opening his mouth for Eddie to lick inside.

They’re both panting when they part, their noses brushing.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since March,” Steve whispers, fingers brushing over the scars around Eddie’s neck.

And then Eddie is crying.

He squeezes his eyes shut, biting his lip as his eyes burn. Steve’s hands touch his face, pulling so their foreheads are pressed together, and Eddie has fucking butterflies. It’s ridiculous.

“Always wanna see you,” Steve whispers. “Always wanna hold your hand and sit on your lap and shit.”

Eddie laughs weakly, spreading his fingers open and making Steve moan softly.

“I’m in love with you,” Eddie breathes. “Have been for ages, you… You’re one of my favorite people.”

Steve whines quietly, and his lip trembles. Eddie’s vision is blurred from tears, and when he blinks, one falls to Steve’s cheek. Eddie pulls his fingers away and pushes them back in, shifting, spreading his legs so his weight isn’t on his knees.

“Love seeing you,” Eddie says softly, thrusting his fingers slowly. “Love waking up to you in my bed. Love seeing you hanging out with Wayne. Love seeing you in my sweaters.”

Steve sniffles, his eyes fluttering shut.

Eddie kisses him.

“I’ve had a crush on you since high school.”

Steve scoffs tearfully, looking up at him.

“Thought you hated me.”

“Yeah, a little,” Eddie admits. “But you were hot.”

Steve hums, biting his lip as he smiles, and that’s hot too, and Eddie is losing his mind.

“Can you fuck me, please?” Steve says after another moment, and Eddie remembers what he’s doing, where his fingers are. That Steve’s bare body is beneath him, begging for him.

“You’re so polite,” Eddie says quietly.

“I…” Steve trails off, his cheeks flushing, and he looks away like he’s shy. Eddie smiles, leaning down to kiss his neck as he pulls his fingers away.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, reaching for the lube. Steve nods. ”You ready?”

“God, yeah.”

Eddie smiles. Steve looks down as he spreads the lube over his dick, biting his lip with a soft moan, and Eddie holds his thigh, pushing it up.

Steve’s head falls back again as Eddie rubs the tip of his dick against his hole, and he nods at the ceiling, reaching to set his hand on Eddie’s. Eddie pushes in slowly, exhaling.

“You feel so good,” he says softly. “So warm.”

Steve lets out a weak moan, writhing.

“So deep,” he groans. “Fuck, Eddie, ‘s so big.”

Eddie leans over him, moving slowly, squeezing his thigh. It gives under his fingertips, soft and squishy, and a small part of Eddie wants to tear him open, to press into his flesh, into his muscle and blood.

“You’re amazing,” Eddie murmurs. Steve’s cheeks flush with color again. Eddie grins. “So fucking good, aren’t you?”

Steve nods desperately.

“Yeah,” he chokes. “‘M good for you.”

Eddie groans, grinding into him, spreading a hand out over his stomach. Steve reaches down to hold it with his other hand, holding his wrist tightly, clinging to both his hands like he can’t stand to not touch him. Eddie watches him, fucking him gently, slowly.

Steve looks like he’s fucking blissful, his expression relaxed, mouth hanging open. His skin is flushed all the way down his neck, and his lips are shining with spit, and he’s a goddamn vision. Eddie shifts them, pushing at Steve’s leg so it’s over his arm, and Steve’s eyes flutter open as he looks up at him, watching him lower to kiss him.

“God, Eddie,” he breathes, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, his hands sliding across the top of his back. Eddie presses his lips to Steve’s, biting his lip briefly, letting go of his thigh to hold his face. “You’re so beautiful.”

Eddie scoffs, brushing Steve’s hair back as he moves a little bit faster, but Steve grabs his jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes, and he looks like he’s about to burst into tears, his eyes shining.

“I’m serious,” he says, his voice wavering. “You’re beautiful.”

Eddie’s throat tightens. So he just kisses him. Steve lets him, burying a hand in his hair and tugging gently, tilting his head to kiss him deeper, his breath catching as Eddie fucks him. The bed creaks when he goes harder, bumping the wall a little bit.

Steve is whining, and when Eddie lifts his head, he sees that he’s crying. There are tears falling down his temples into his hair, sparkling in the golden lamplight. He looks holy.

Eddie leans down, pressing his hand over Steve’s chest, tilting his head to kiss Steve’s cheek, his jaw, his neck.

When he sits up, he holds Steve’s hips tightly, looking down at where they meet. At the hues of their skin, at the different shades of their scars. Steve grabs one of his hands. The red of his nails looks even darker against Eddie’s skin.

Eddie leans back, pulling Steve against him as he fucks him, and Steve lets out a wail, clapping his other hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. Eddie reaches to grab his hand, pulling it away from his mouth and guiding it to his hip so he can hold both together. He watches the way Steve moves with each thrust, the soft bounce of his belly and his chest and his thighs, and he can’t help but grab at him, sliding his hand over his body to grope and squeeze and touch him, because he can. Because Steve nods and moans and arches into the touches, squirming and writhing on the bed, his legs around Eddie’s hips.

Eddie thrusts harder, grunting quietly, listening to Steve’s gentle sob, and his knee clicks. He hisses quietly, wincing, but he doesn’t falter, doesn't want to stop just because of his stupid fucking knee—

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, and he’s looking up at him now, his eyelashes wet. His voice is slurred a little, like he’s been drinking. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, panting. “Fine.”

“‘S your knee?” Steve says, glancing at how Eddie is kneeling, at the spread of his legs. Eddie blinks, his chest aching.

“Yeah, it’s— it’s fine.”

“Lemme ride you,” Steve says, touching his shoulders, pushing gently, starting to sit up. “I— It won’t hurt your knee, it’ll keep, like, your weight off of it.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, at the earnest shine of his eyes.

“…Okay.”

He pulls out. Steve sits up, pulling him into a kiss, and it makes Eddie dizzy. He sighs into it, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist, hugging him, letting him push him to lay down, and he lets out a soft, relieved breath when his knee relaxes. Steve swings a leg up over his lap to straddle his hips. Eddie groans.

They part with a slick sound when Steve sits up, reaching for the lube bottle, and Eddie opens his eyes blearily, watching him. He stifles a groan by biting his lip as Steve spreads the lube over his dick, and Steve smiles as he moves back into place, reaching behind himself in a practiced motion, guiding Eddie’s dick to his hole.

“Eddie…”

“Jesus, Steve.”

Steve pauses, pressing his hands to Eddie’s chest as Eddie holds his hips tightly. He presses down firmly, biting his lip, and then he rises and lowers himself slowly, groaning.

Eddie smiles softly up at him, nodding, and he squeezes his love handles, groping him tenderly. Steve huffs out a soft laugh.

“God, Eddie, it’s…”

“Alright?”

Steve whines, nodding.

“So deep,” he groans. “Can feel you in my fucking throat.”

Eddie laughs softly, running his hands over Steve’s waist.

“You’re gonna give me an ego.”

Steve hums, his eyes closed like he’s blissful, smiling lazily as he rolls his hips.

“Deserve it.”

Eddie gazes up at him. His hair is a disaster, and his skin is flushed, and—

“You’re so beautiful,” Eddie breathes. His eyes burn. Steve’s eyes flutter open, and time slows down. Steve’s hair falls in his face. He exhales. Eddie’s fingers tighten on Steve’s skin. “I love you.”

Steve’s hands press over his skin, sliding over his scars, and he leans down, kissing Eddie hard. He holds Steve’s neck, falling still as their lips part and their tongues slide and Steve groans into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie wants to roll them over, to press Steve into the mattress, but he can’t move.

“Fuck, I love you too,” Steve gasps when they part, breathing hard. “I love you too, I love you too, I—”

Eddie buries his hand in Steve’s hair, pulling him into another kiss, gripping his hair tightly enough that he lets out a strained sound, a weak moan, grinding against Eddie slowly. Eddie moans softly, sliding a hand to grip his ass, squeezing and pressing so he does it again.

“Oh, God,” Steve groans, his hands sliding over Eddie’s chest. “So fucking good, Eddie—”

“Yeah,” Eddie gasps, his head falling back, pressing into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as Steve moves with intent, bouncing up and down. Steve’s hand lands on the headboard of the bed suddenly, and he whines, bracing himself. “Jesus, fuck, baby—”

Eddie holds his hips tightly, gazing up at him.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, and Steve looks down at him, his eyes glassy. “Come on, baby, come on my cock.”

Steve sobs, grabbing Eddie’s hand that’s on his hip, squeezing so tightly it hurts.

“Fuck, I’m—”

His eyes squeeze shut. He makes a strained noise, a weak groan, and Eddie gazes up at him. In awe. Reverent. His hair is wild, falling across his face, and his skin is flushed from his cheeks to his chest. He looks up at the ceiling with another moan, exposing his neck, the line of his throat, the beautiful spots on his skin.

And Eddie wants to bite him, to tear his skin open and bathe in his blood, let it stain his own skin and teeth. Which is demented, fucking insane, but Eddie’s hands tighten on his hips, fingertips digging into the softness of his flesh, and Steve lets out a rough groan, almost growling. He presses down, and his hand releases the headboard, landing on Eddie’s chest hard. It stings like a slap, immediately soothed by Steve’s palm, pressing firmly, trembling.

He chokes Eddie’s name as he comes, rolling his hips, tight around Eddie, and Eddie’s vision blurs as his back arches.

“Fuck—”

Eddie sits up, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist, holding himself up on his other hand as Steve hugs him tightly, breathing hard. His come is on Eddie’s chest, and it spreads over both their skin, warm and wet.

“Oh my god,” Steve says weakly, his voice breaking. He slides his hands to hold Eddie’s face, ducking his head so their noses are nudging. “Eddie.”

Eddie hums, panting, shifting his hips, pushing his come deeper into Steve even as he begins to soften. Steve moans softly, breathing against Eddie’s mouth.

“Feels so good,” he mumbles, his voice slurred like he’s drunk.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, yeah. S’ warm.”

Eddie hums again, and he reaches up to touch Steve’s face, to guide him into a slow kiss, exhaling slowly as their tongues slide lazily. Steve lets out a breathy hum, shifting his hips slowly, but Eddie hisses, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Gotta pull out,” he says quietly. Steve whines but lets him, shifting onto his knees and lifting himself up enough for Eddie to pull out.

“Shit,” Steve breathes, his eyes fluttering shut as his head falls back again. “God, it’s…”

Eddie looks up at him reverently, and he slides his hand around his ass, watching him carefully as he finds his hole tentatively. Steve nods, holding Eddie’s shoulders tightly, and Eddie slips two fingers inside, his stomach fluttering at the feeling of his own mess leaking from Steve’s body.

Steve moans quietly, relaxing and burying his face in Eddie’s neck, his breath hot on his skin even as his sweat cools. His arms wrap around him, holding him close as Eddie moves his fingers slowly, gently, and Steve nods into his neck, shifting his hips.

“Gonna make me come again,” Steve mumbles. Eddie smiles.

“You think you can come on just my fingers?”

Steve nods again, whining, pressing his forehead against the side of Eddie’s neck. His hair tickles Eddie’s face, but he doesn’t care.

“C’mon, baby,” Eddie murmurs after a while, when Steve starts to move against his hand, spreading his other hand over the small of his back, and he licks at Steve’s shoulder, humming at the taste of his sweat. “Be good for me.”

Steve whines suddenly, nodding desperately into his neck, moving so he’s almost riding Eddie’s fingers, swirling his hips and tightening his legs around Eddie’s lap.

“Yeah,” he whimpers. “Wanna be— Wanna be good for you—”

Eddie hums, biting his lip, pressing against the small of Steve’s back to prompt him to keep moving.

“Fuck, come on, Stevie,” he breathes. “Come for me. Get me messy with it.”

“Fuck, oh my god—” Steve gasps, lifting his head to kiss Eddie clumsily before he pulls away, reaching to grab at his dick. “I’m gonna come.”

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs softly, watching Steve’s cheeks somehow flush darker, smiling fondly. “Come on me.”

Both their heads are ducked, their hair tangled, and Eddie listens to the way Steve’s breath catches in his throat when he comes again, directing his dick so it lands on Eddie’s stomach, on his chest. Eddie swears under his breath, rubbing Steve’s back gently, fucking him with his fingers a few more times. Steve is shaking, panting, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck again.

“God,” he says breathlessly. “You broke me.”

Eddie laughs softly, moving his fingers so gently he’s barely moving them at all. Steve moans weakly, catching his breath.

“Can still feel my come in here,” Eddie says softly. Steve groans.

“Jesus, Eddie.”

“Mm.”

Eddie stops, his fingers still inside him, and he rubs his back again, tracing his spine.

“We should probably clean up.”

Steve whines petulantly, burying his face in Eddie’s neck again, tightening his arms around him like he’s trying to hold him in place, and Eddie’s face squishes against his shoulder as he smiles.

“Come on, baby.”

“Don’t wanna,” Steve whines. “Not yet, just…”

He exhales, nuzzling into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie hugs his waist, letting his eyes close as he squeezes him. He can feel Steve’s heart beating under his skin, pressed so close to Eddie it’s like they’re sharing it, like they have one heart between the two of them.

Steve comes down after their shower, his vision clearer even though he’s tired, smiling lazily at Eddie between kisses. His smile widens when Eddie kisses over his scars. When Eddie lowers his face so he can rub his cheek against the softness of his chest, Steve giggles brightly.

They lay in bed. Eddie lays on his stomach, exhaling into his pillow. His hair is damp again, and Steve pulls it carefully so it’s not covering his face. It’s quiet, especially in the absence of the spray of water that echoed around the bathroom. Steve lays facing Eddie, setting an arm over his waist, so close his hand is touching the blanket they’re atop, his chest pressing to Eddie’s side. His skin is warm against Eddie’s.

Eddie closes his eyes, letting his arm hang off the edge of the bed, listening to the sound of Steve breathing. They’re quiet so long Eddie wonders if Steve is falling asleep. He knows he’s not yet. He can tell.

Steve takes a soft breath before speaking.

“…I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Eddie pauses, the words setting themselves down in his skull.

“What’d’you mean?” he mumbles, his face squished against the pillow.

“…Love,” Steve says softly, barely whispering, moving his hand to drag a light line over Eddie’s waist, tracing the edge of a scar. “Didn’t know it could feel…”

Eddie moves, turning his head to look at him. Steve lifts his hand to move his hair again, flicking it out of the way when a curl falls into his eyes before he touches his waist again. Eddie likes how it feels when he touches him there.

“Feel…” Eddie murmurs, gazing at him. His hair is still wet, just beginning to dry. Steve smiles a little bit, his eyes shining.

“I don’t know,” he says softly. “‘S easy. I didn’t think it could feel so easy.”

Eddie just looks at him, gazing at his face, at his eyelashes and moles, and Steve moves closer to kiss him gently, bumping their noses together clumsily. He stays closer, bending his arm under his head, his other arm wrapped around Eddie’s waist, and Eddie opens his eyes to look at him. His eyes are still closed.

“I always thought it took effort,” Steve says finally, his eyes still closed, his voice soft and breathy. “To love. ‘Nd be loved. Always thought I’d have to try.”

Eddie exhales, and he pushes himself up so he can lay on his side. Steve opens his eyes at the movement, lifting his arm and hovering until Eddie settles. Eddie touches his face, brushes a strand of hair back and caresses his cheek, tracing a line between two of his moles.

“You don’t have to try,” he says quietly, smiling softly as he touches Steve’s bottom lip. “‘S so easy to love you.”

Steve smiles, his eyes sparkling, and his cheek squishes against his arm, and he’s so precious Eddie wants to squeeze him like an almost-empty tube of toothpaste. He grits his teeth, clenches his jaw, keeps his touch gentle on Steve. Steve gazes back at him. Turns his head to press a chaste kiss to Eddie’s hand.

Eddie’s chest tightens. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so full of something, doesn’t think he’s ever felt something so fucking intensely. Like he’s going to combust, like the world is ending.

“What is it?” Steve whispers, like he can see it on Eddie’s face. Eddie shrugs weakly, blinking tears back.

“…Love doesn’t feel like a big enough word for this,” he breathes. His throat is tight.

Steve looks at him. His eyes glisten suddenly, and he nods.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.”

Eddie doesn’t wear a shirt as often as he used to. Before Steve.

He still gets cold. Still wears his sweaters and hoodies and buries himself under blankets and pillows.

But after his showers, when the steam is still lingering in the air, the heat still in his skin, he leaves himself bare. Wears boxers or sweatpants and lets his chest remain as it is, lets his scars be seen. It’s only Steve and Wayne that ever see him, but it’s still something.

He sees Steve’s eyes linger on his scars sometimes. He can never tell how he’s staring. If he’s gazing, fond, or staring, horny, or just… looking. He seems to do that a lot. Look at Eddie.

It’s a hot night. And Steve is looking at him again.

They’re on the sofa, watching a movie like they always are, but Eddie can see Steve in his peripheral vision, head resting on the back of the sofa, face turned toward Eddie. Steve isn’t wearing a shirt either, but even in the dim, bluish light of the television screen, he still looks more golden than Eddie.

Eddie rolls his head against the back of the sofa to look at him, half-smiling, but he doesn’t meet Steve’s eyes. He’s looking at Eddie’s arm, near his shoulder, at the neat scars, paler than the rest of his skin; they kind of look like they’re glowing in this lighting.

Steve seems to feel him looking, and his eyes flick up to meet Eddie’s. He smiles shyly, adorably.

“What?” Eddie says quietly. Steve looks at his scars again and shrugs.

Eddie still can’t read his expression, the shine in his eyes, and he reaches for the television remote, shutting it off. Steve wasn’t watching anyway.

He turns toward Steve.

“Talk to me.”

Steve looks at him, his expression shifting into something shy, almost nervous, and Eddie doesn’t want him to feel like that, to feel like he can’t say whatever it is. Eddie moves closer, until his knee presses to Steve’s.

“Baby.”

Steve looks at him. Twists his mouth thoughtfully, hesitating, and then he’s reaching out to Eddie’s upper arm, touching him lightly, carefully.

“These scars,” he says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“…When did you first do it?” Steve asks softly, finally meeting his eyes again.

Eddie hesitates, looking at how his eyes are shining. He hasn’t even talked about this with Wayne. (Wayne knows, of course; he’s done first aid a few times, silent as he wrapped Eddie’s arm and pressed a kiss over the bandages before gathering Eddie into his arms and holding him until his tears stopped. It’s been enough, even without any words exchanged.)

“Few years ago,” he says softly. “On and off for a while, just… when things were bad. Then after… everything. A little more often.”

Steve nods, and he looks at the scars again, touching them, caressing them.

“When… When was the last time?” he asks, almost whispering.

Eddie pauses again.

“Few months ago,” he confesses. “…Before you started coming over more often.”

Steve is quiet for a moment, like he’s processing it, and then he looks at Eddie again, blinking. And Eddie half-shrugs, smiling shyly.

“I’d rather hang out with you than cut myself,” he says quietly, and his voice shakes a little bit, like he’s confessing his undying love for him, like he hasn’t already done that.

Steve suppresses a smile, biting his lip, but he looks at the scars again, and his smile fades. He looks like he’s thinking, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Eddie’s stomach twists, and he reaches out to nudge Steve’s leg.

“What is it?” he asks softly. Steve exhales.

He hesitates.

“…Will you do it to me?”

Eddie blinks. His ears might be ringing.

“What?”

Steve meets his eyes, and he looks scared—

“You don’t—”

“No,” Eddie interrupts, taking Steve’s hand from his arm and holding it tightly. “No, I— I’m not gonna do that to you.”

Steve nods, squeezing his hand.

“Okay,” he says softly, looking at Eddie reassuringly. “‘S okay.”

Eddie exhales shakily, swallowing the lump in his throat, holding Steve’s hand between both of his own, looking at him intently. Steve nods again and leans forward, nudging their noses together and then kissing him softly.

Eddie closes his eyes and exhales again when they part, pausing, pressing their foreheads together.

“Why?” he asks quietly, weakly, lifting his head to look at Steve, who kind of looks like he’s about to cry. “Stevie, please,” Eddie begs softly, rubbing his knuckles. “Why?”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Steve says, his eyebrows furrowing and then unfurrowing the way they do when he’s trying to stop himself from crying.

“Try,” Eddie pleads, leaning forward, ducking his hair a little bit to meet his eyes.

“I…”

He looks down, at their hands, and he moves, shifting to cross his legs as he faces Eddie, adjusting the fabric of his sweatpants with his free hand before he holds Eddie’s with both of his own. He takes a deep breath, shuddering as he exhales, and Eddie waits for him, gazing at him as he taps Eddie’s knuckles as he thinks.

“I… So.” He pauses again, mouth open, eyes glassy and unfocused as he looks at some spot on Eddie’s chest. “…A lot has been done to me,” he starts, his voice thin, wavering. Eddie nods, squeezing his hands. “Upside Down shit, and— and before all of that, and I…” He stops, swallowing, his lip quivering. “I never wanted any of it.”

Eddie nods again when he meets his eyes, brushing his thumbs back and forth over his knuckles gently, tenderly. Steve squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, gathering himself.

“I…” He takes a shuddering breath, and Eddie’s chest aches as he looks at him, the almost-blank shine in his eyes. “After everything, and— and before we started hanging out,” he adds, interrupting himself, looking at Eddie intently, like it’s important. Eddie nods. “I used to… I started going into the city, just to— to get out of Hawkins, to get away from everything.”

“Right,” Eddie says quietly, listening.

“So… I was at a bar,” Steve says, fidgeting with Eddie’s fingers now, twisting them around his own. “Just to get a little drunk. And this… this guy started hitting on me.”

He glances at Eddie nervously, and Eddie ignores the way his stomach twists, rebels against the idea of another man looking at Steve. He nods encouragingly, keeping his expression soft.

“And I thought…” Steve shrugs a little bit, looking away again, at their hands. The nail polish is chipping on his nails. “‘Why not?’ ‘Nd I went with him to his hotel.”

Eddie’s stomach falls, and his eyes widen, his hands stilling on Steve’s, and Steve seems to realize the conclusion Eddie’s drawn, because he looks up quickly, squeezing his hands.

“He was nice,” he says reassuringly. “It was— It was okay, it’s not… that. He was a little rough, but we… Hang on.” He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut, lifting a hand to rub his cheek harshly. Eddie reaches to stop him, moving his hand down to caress his cheek gently, the way he deserves.

“Just talk,” he murmurs. “I’m listening.”

Steve nods, swallowing, his eyes gleaming, and he takes a moment to collect himself.

“He was nice,” he says again. “He… asked about my limits and stuff, made sure he didn’t do anything I’d hate.” Eddie nods, listening intently. “He was rough, but I liked it. He used a condom. Checked in to make sure he was using enough lube and everything, and… he was nice after, too, brought me water, made sure I was good. And I knew I’d never see him again, so…” He shrugs, blinking his eyes rapidly to stop his tears.

Eddie sets a hand on his leg, squeezing his thighs gently.

“And then, like, the next week, I… I wanted it again?” he says, but he sounds unsure, like he’s just thinking all of this for the first time. “Not just… the sex, but…” He exhales sharply, frustrated, but Eddie doesn’t say anything. “I went back. To a bar, a queer bar. I let some guy fuck me.”

“…Let him,” Eddie says softly. Steve blinks and looks at him, and then he shakes his head.

“Not like that,” he says, moving a little bit closer, squeezing his hand. “Not— It was consensual, I swear, I— I wanted the sex, I was horny, I just…” He looks up at the ceiling, his eyes searching it like he’s looking for a script. “They were rough. I wanted them to be rough, I wanted them to slap me around and leave marks and leave me sore the next day.”

Eddie nods when their eyes meet again, ignoring the twist in his stomach again.

“But it… God, I don’t know how to explain this,” Steve complains, laughing humorlessly, dropping his head and rubbing his cheek again.

“It’s okay,” Eddie says softly. “If you need a second to… articulate.”

Steve exhales and nods, pausing.

“…It’s not that there was something I was craving,” he says finally, his words slow and careful. “It’s not that… Like. I wanted them to bite me, or to— to fuck me really hard, or… you know, whatever. It was…”

He’s quiet for another moment, eyes unfocused as he thinks, and then—

“I can defend myself,” he says. Eddie blinks in confusion, but he’s quiet. “If they do something I don’t like, I can— I can stop them, even if they don’t want to. I’ve never had to,” he clarifies, looking at Eddie intently.

“But if I did have to, I could. And I… I couldn’t do that when I was a kid,” he continues, his voice cracking, his eyes gleaming. “And I could barely do it in the Upside Down, but I— I can do it now.”

Eddie nods, and he might kind of get it.

“So it’s not that I really wanted anything in particular, but I— I wanted to let things happen to me.”

“That makes sense,” Eddie says softly, and Steve immediately looks fucking relieved, his expression softening, his chest falling as he exhales.

“So I… I let them. I was safe,” Steve says, nodding almost to himself. “We always used condoms, I— I wouldn’t have followed them to some sketchy van or anything. When they would… bite me, or leave hickeys, I would let them. Told them not to do it on my neck, just ‘cause…”

Eddie nods, half-smiling. Everyone would give him hell.

“But I let them. Let them spank me and push me into the mattress and hold my hands behind my back, and…” He trails off, swallowing. “And I… felt like I was in control, even though I wasn’t.”

Eddie nods again, squeezing his hand again.

“I get it,” he says quietly, and he’s about to ask about the cutting, but he pauses. “…When we have sex…”

Steve scoffs, leaning in and kissing him chastely.

“I don’t let you do anything,” he says quietly. “I make love with you.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says, and they’re both giggling, leaning close enough that their lips brush. Steve kisses him, lingering, touching his face, holding him in place, and Eddie does the same, holding Steve’s face between his hands.

They both exhale when they part, pressing their foreheads together.

“So,” Eddie says quietly, brushing his thumbs over his cheeks. “The cutting thing.”

Steve nods.

“Tell me,” Eddie murmurs.

Steve sighs, his hands falling to the sofa between them, his fingers twisting, and Eddie kisses him briefly before he reaches to hold his hands again.

“I have a lot of scars,” Steve says. “From the Upside Down, but… I have a lot from just…” He trails off, and Eddie looks at him, at the tension in his jaw, and absent shine in his eyes.

He squeezes Steve’s hands when he exhales sharply and inhales shakily, and Steve looks at him, but he looks panicked, like he’s just woken up from a nightmare. Eddie just nods, squeezing again.

”Breathe for me,” he says softly. Steve nods back at him, hesitant, taking a slow, deep breath.

“From…” he tries again, but he can’t, and Eddie’s eyes sting.

“I know,” he whispers. “‘S okay.”

“I didn’t want them,” Steve chokes, and when he blinks, tears cascade down his cheeks, somehow beautiful even in his agony. “I didn’t let them, I didn’t get— I didn’t get a choice,” he says adamantly, gesturing vaguely, and Eddie nods, blinking tears back. “I want a choice—”

“Stevie,” Eddie interrupts, reaching out his face, brushing his tears away, nodding. “Breathe for me. I’m right here.”

Steve looks at him. He doesn’t look panicked anymore, but his breaths are hiccuping and stuttering, too fast, too short. Eddie nods, inhaling slowly, demonstrating. Steve copies him, and his gaze drifts in a way that means he’s lightheaded.

“You got it,” Eddie murmurs, holding his head and guiding it so their foreheads touch. Steve slouches against him. “There you go, baby.”

“…I want a choice,” Steve says weakly after a moment. Eddie nods, squeezing his eyes shut as he cradles him.

“I know,” Eddie whispers. “But I won’t hurt you like that, baby, you don’t deserve that.”

“…You do?”

Eddie’s eyes open slowly. It takes a moment for him to lift his head, to look at Steve, but Steve looks like he’s expecting it, the stare that Eddie fixes on him. Eddie doesn’t know what the fuck to say.

That yes, he deserves it. And Steve doesn’t. Because he’s the best of them all, this perfect fucking human that’s never deserved any of the shit his life has handed to him. That Steve only deserves sunlight and nourishing rain and Eddie deserves destructive winds and hail.

And it’s like Steve can read his fucking mind, and it’s like Eddie can read his, and they’re arguing silently, looking back and forth between each other’s eyes. Eddie clenches his jaw. Steve shakes his head.

And then they’re wrapping their arms around each other, tugging each other close, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut again, his eyes burning as he hides his face in Steve’s neck. He tries not to, but he cries.

He knows Steve doesn’t agree that Eddie deserves it.

He knows Steve loves him. And that he loves Steve, and that he would never think Steve deserves anything like that, anything that would hurt, anything that would leave a mark like that.

And he knows that Steve feels the same way about him that he feels about Steve. Which is incredible to think about. Reciprocation.

That Eddie Munson is loved.

Steve’s hand runs down Eddie’s spine tenderly when he feels him crying, because Eddie’s tears find their way to Steve’s bare skin. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. Steve kisses his shoulder, and Eddie can feel the way his lips are chapped, the slight sharpness of the touch, and he’s never been kissed there before.

Steve’s taken a lot of his firsts. Eddie wants to give him all of them.

Eddie exhales shakily when he stops crying. They pull away and press their foreheads together, breathing slowly, holding each other’s faces.

“…What if I gave you a tattoo instead?”

Steve is quiet for a moment, and then he lifts his head, looking at Eddie with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Really?”

Eddie smiles tiredly, tilting his head fondly.

“Yeah,” he says lightly. “Your choice. Permanent, in a different way.”

Steve smiles hesitantly, like he’s waiting for a punchline, like he thinks Eddie is joking. Eddie brushes his thumb over his cheek softly.

“Would you do that for me?” he asks in a small voice. Eddie’s eyes sting.

“I’d do anything for you,” he says softly, before revising. “Almost anything.”

Steve giggles wetly, and Eddie wipes a tear from his cheek.

”What would you want?” Eddie asks gently, but Steve shakes his head.

“Want you to decide,” he says, reaching to hold Eddie, his thumbs brushing over the insides of his wrists where the skin is thin and sensitive. “I don’t— I don’t want anything, I wanna let you.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, kissing him softly. “Something small. Simple.”

Steve nods, his eyes shining almost excitedly.

“I’ll think of something,” Eddie says lightly, smiling absently. “Get some supplies.”

“Have you done it before?”

Eddie nods, gazing at him, admiring him. His eyelashes are clumped with tears.

“I did my friend Jeff’s for his birthday a while ago,” he says somewhat absently, his eyes skimming Steve’s face. “Gave him a flower on his arm.”

“That’s cute,” Steve says lightly. Eddie just nods.

“I love you so much,” he says abruptly, looking into his eyes. “I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve says softly.

“I adore you,” Eddie says adamantly, and Steve giggles again, hunching his shoulders, leaning in to let his forehead knock against Eddie’s lightly.

“I adore you too.”

He kisses him lightly. And then harder, holding his face, his lips firm on Eddie’s. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, reaching to slide his hands over Steve’s waist, appreciating the softness, pressing his fingers into his flesh and squeezing gently. Steve hums low in his throat, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, tangling his hands in his curls.

Eddie nips at his bottom lip, pressing a hand into the small of his back, tugging gently, shifting to hover above Steve. He pushes him back gently, licking into his mouth, and Steve lets out a soft moan, falling onto his back, legs around Eddie’s hips. But after a moment he stops, tugging Eddie away by his hair, smiling up at him.

“We are not defiling Wayne’s sofa.”

Eddie groans, letting his head fall to Steve’s chest, and he can feel Steve laughing, dragging his fingers through his hair.

“My room,” Eddie says when he lifts his head, grabbing Steve’s hips and tugging him into his arms, dragging him to the edge of the sofa and lifting him up. Steve laughs, clinging to him. “C’mon, sweet thing. Away we go, with respect for Wayne’s sofa.”

”And no respect for your bed.”

“Absolutely no respect.”

He tosses Steve onto the bed after kicking the door shut, climbing on top of him and kissing him as he laughs again, sighing. Steve’s hands are warm as they crawl over his back, his nails scratching lightly, and Eddie reaches for his waist as he holds himself up on his forearm, letting his fingers tangle in Steve’s hair. He squeezes, kneading, pulling, smiling when Steve exhales and melts under him.

Steve’s back arches. He lets out a breathy sound, his voice soft and quiet, and Eddie tilts his head, kissing across his cheek, his jaw, nudging his face under his chin so he can kiss his neck. Steve tilts his head back to give him space, tangling his fingers in Eddie’s curls and holding on tightly. Eddie finds his ear, kisses his earlobe softly before nibbling it, suppressing a smile when Steve shudders. He lingers there, sucking gently, licking, listening to Steve’s breath catch.

He’s writhing a little bit, squirming under Eddie’s body, wrapping his legs around his hips and holding him close. Eddie lifts his head and tilts the other way, leaning to the other side to do the same, licking over the shell of his ear, teasing him. Steve whines weakly, pulling his hair, pulling him closer.

“God, Eddie.”

“Mm.”

He finally pulls away, leaving one last kiss on the curve of his ear before he kisses his cheek and gazes down at him.

His cheeks are flushed pink and pretty, and his eyes are glassy when he opens them.

Eddie leans down and kisses him. Squeezes at his waist again before sliding his hand over his skin up to his chest, groping and squishing as Steve giggles under his breath. Eddie shifts down, kissing down his neck and over his chest slowly, each press of his lips intentional and careful. Steve holds his head, his grip on his hair softening.

Eddie keeps his eyes open as he kisses him. Glances up at him, watches his eyes flutter shut, watches his expression shift when Eddie lingers at his chest, tonguing at his nipple for a moment, watches him turn blissful. He looks at his skin, golden and scarred and spotted and perfect. Eddie kisses his scars, traces them with his lips, drags his tongue between his moles like he’s playing connect-the-dots. He pauses with his face pressed into Steve’s chest, listening to the beating of his heart, feeling his chest rise and fall with every breath.

He stays for a moment, exhaling, and Steve hugs him, dragging his fingers through his hair gently. When Eddie opens his eyes, they focus on his torso, on the sligh dip just between his belly and his chest, between his pecs. Eddie looks. Leans to press a kiss to it, lingering for a moment, and he wants to mark it, to leave something here where his lips are resting, wants the permanence.

Which might be grossly possessive of him. That he wants to mark Steve’s body, like he wants his signature here, like Steve belongs to him.

But Steve wants it too.

He asked for it.

Eddie will do it here. Leave his mark.

He presses another kiss to the spot, exhaling slowly, before he moves again, dragging his lips over Steve’s belly, kissing and biting gently until he reaches the waistband of his sweatpants. He slips a finger under it, tugging lightly, looking up at Steve.

“Okay?” he whispers. Steve looks down at him, eyes shining brightly, and he nods, sitting up, letting go of Eddie’s hair so he can prop himself up on his elbows. Eddie glances at his belly, at the soft rolls that form when he sits up.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Please.”

Eddie smiles. He lowers his head and mouths at him over his sweatpants, grinning when Steve sighs. He kneels between his legs to pull the sweatpants away, to toss them aside and rub at his thighs. He’s so soft, in every fucking way, and Eddie’s never loved softness like this before.

Everything in his life has been sharp. Angled and rough and jagged, like a broken knife, like the rooftop of a crumbling building. And Eddie had grown accustomed to it, had grown almost fond of it. It was his, the cruel, brutal thunderstorm. Everything from the floods to the flashes of lightning, from the broken bottles and splintered door frames to the empty cabinets and cigarette smoke. It all belonged to him. It was handed to him, shoved into his palms and left to rot.

Steve softens his edges like shards of glass left to the tides of the sea. Smooths him down so nicely he can’t hurt anyone. Not even himself.

Eddie closes his eyes as he takes him into his mouth, listening to Steve swearing under his breath, mumbling something about the warmth of Eddie’s tongue. Eddie shifts, lays on his front and lets his legs stretch across the bed, relaxing. He bobs his head slowly, easing into it, sighing when Steve’s hand touches his head gently, his fingers pushing into his hair. Eddie touches his legs again, pulls so his thighs are over Eddie’s shoulders, holding him in place.

Eddie hums under the weight of his legs, wrapping his arms around his hips, squeezing at his sides, and he prompts Steve to move, to lift his hips and fuck into Eddie’s mouth. Steve does, holding Eddie’s head in place gently, looking down at him to check, to watch carefully. Eddie meets his eyes. Squeezes. Lowers his head, drags his tongue over the underside of Steve’s dick, and holds his breath.

Steve uses him. Grips his hair and drags his head up and down carefully, fucking into his mouth, into his throat, cursing and grunting as Eddie suppresses gags, choking. His eyes fill with tears, and he’s drooling, but he thinks he might be in heaven. He loves doing this. Letting Steve take it, letting him take what he needs. Making him feel good.

Steve gasps for breath when he pulls Eddie away, writhing under him.

“God, Eddie, I’m— I’m gonna come—”

Eddie groans, nodding, reaching to guide Steve’s dick back to his mouth, slapping it against his tongue, gazing up at Steve. Steve’s stomach tightens, and he groans, and he’s coming into Eddie’s mouth, somehow cradling his head gently even though he’s squeezing his eyes shut, and Eddie is falling in love with his softness all over again.

He closes his mouth, pushing himself up and letting Steve’s legs fall from his shoulders, and he moves to hover over him, touching his mouth softly, prompting him to part his lips.

Steve smiles tiredly, opening his mouth. Eddie leans down and opens his own mouth, lets Steve’s come fall between them, watches it spill onto Steve’s tongue. Steve hums quietly, sliding his hands over Eddie’s body.

Eddie kisses him, licks into his mouth, spreads the come around, and it’s disgusting, sickening, filthy, but Steve just moans softly, hugging Eddie’s neck.

And in spite of it all, of how gross it is, they’re tender. Sweet. Eddie sighs into the kiss, tilting his head and bumping his nose against Steve’s. Steve exhales sharply, and then he’s giggling like he’s high, like he’s delirious, and Eddie smiles at him fondly.

“I love you,” he breathes softly. Steve is still giggling, but he pulls him into another kiss, his teeth catching his lip. Steve hums quietly.

“Love you too.”

Eddie slides his hand over Steve’s chest, rakes through the hair on his skin lightly, and he presses his hand into the spot, and Steve smiles even though he doesn’t know.

They do it in the living room of Steve’s house. It has clearer lighting, cool-toned instead of warm, overhead and even. Steve finds an old massage table in storage a few days before, and they laugh at the squeaky hinges as Steve sets it up. Eddie would help, but his knee hurts today. He can barely bend it. He’s wearing a brace, and he’s using a crutch, which he doesn’t usually use. Steve wanted to postpone, to do the tattoo another day, when Eddie doesn’t hurt as badly, but Eddie refused. He’ll be fine.

It doesn’t hurt as much when he rests his weight on his other leg and the crutch.

Steve sits on the edge of the table, swinging his legs adorably. He looks at Eddie’s set up, at the stool they’ve dragged from the kitchen bar, the surface covered in plastic wrap, at the almost medical-looking materials. His eyes linger on the needles, still sealed, and he seems apprehensive.

“You okay?” Eddie checks, setting his crutch to rest against the table. He washed his hands after tying his hair up, and he wants to push Steve’s hair back, wants to cradle his face, but he refrains. Steve meets his eyes, and his expression instantly softens. He smiles.

“Mhmm,” he hums lightly with a nod. “‘M okay.”

“You sure you wanna do this?”

“Yes.” Steve swings his legs again. “Where are you gonna do it?”

Eddie suppresses a smile. He gestures with a tilt of his chin.

“Take off your shirt.”

Steve grins. Tugs his shirt up and over his head, shaking his hair out as he sets it aside.

Eddie reaches out and trails his finger over his skin.

“Right here.”

Steve looks down. His smile widens and becomes a little shy as he looks up at Eddie.

“You like that spot,” he says softly. Eddie nods.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to tell you what I’m gonna do?” he says softly. “You really wanna see it when it’s done?”

Steve nods, smiling.

“When it’s permanently on your skin?” Eddie reiterates, raising his eyebrows, watching Steve’s eyes narrow under his smile. “Forever?”

Steve nods again, eyes gleaming like he’s going to cry.

“Yes,” he says again, breathless. “Forever. Please.”

Eddie leans in and kisses him, keeping his hands away, and Steve holds his face, sucking on his lip for a moment.

He sighs when he lays down flat, his eyes fluttering shut. His stomach rises and falls slowly, and Eddie gazes at him for a moment before he reaches to the stool and pulls on a pair of rubber gloves. He’d gone to an actual tattoo studio to ask where to get the supplies. The needles, the stencil and tattoo ink. The artist was nice, had given him tips and advice, and Eddie had even taken notes, even though he’s done it all before. Just in case.

Eddie sighs as he picks up the razor, looking at Steve’s chest.

“This is devastating,” he says, and Steve finally looks at him, opening one eye with a soft, “Hm?” His eyes find the razor, and he bursts into laughter.

”You’re so dramatic.”

Eddie sighs wistfully, gazing at the soft curly hair, and he leans down letting his cheek rest against Steve’s chest. He suppresses a smile when Steve giggles brightly, his belly moving, sighing again, heavier, as dramatic as he can. Steve touches his head, shaking him playfully.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Is it ridiculous to be in love?” Eddie asks, ridiculously, lifting his head and sending him a fake glare. “Is it ridiculous to have passion?”

“It’s hair,” Steve says with a laugh. “It’ll come back.”

“Thank God.”

Eddie sighs once more. He leaves to wet the razor, carrying some paper towels, and Steve’s eyes close again as Eddie shaves his skin, careful to stay only in the area he’ll be tattooing.

“Haven’t done this in a while,” Steve says quietly. ”Had to shave for swimming.”

“I can’t believe they would do that to you. We should sue for emotional damages.”

“I was fine with it.”

“My emotional damages, Steve.”

Steve snorts. Eddie grins, wiping his skin with a damp paper towel.

“I should keep it,” he says, glancing at the hair that stuck to it. “Put it in a locket.”

Steve lets out a Hah! and he claps a hand over his mouth, his eyes squeezing shut. Eddie giggles, setting aside the paper towel and razor.

“You’re so fucking weird.”

“They call me the freak for a reason, darling love of mine.”

The stencil is purple. The ink is black.

Steve takes another breath as Eddie prepares the needle, ripping it out of the paper and plastic wrapping, and Eddie looks at him, pausing. But he’s relaxed, one of his arms hanging off the table lazily, and when Eddie steps up close again, leaning against the edge of the table, Steve’s hand finds his leg, slides up to his hip and just holds him gently. Feeling him there.

“Ready?” Eddie murmurs, eyes tracing the stencil, holding the needle, his hand hovering above Steve’s skin.

“Yes.”

Eddie gets to work. He does it slowly, carefully, leaning against the table, eyebrows furrowed in focus, head ducked a little bit to look closely. Steve breathes slowly, still holding Eddie’s hip, his fingers tucked into the waistband of his boxers. Just holding him.

It’s so quiet. They hadn’t put on music or a movie or anything before setting up, but Eddie doesn’t mind, and he doesn’t think Steve does either. It’s sort of meditative, the soft silence between them, the steady up and down of Steve’s chest as he breathes. The tiny feeling of the needle piercing his skin. He wipes the excess ink away as gently as he can, watching it disappear, leaving the marks injected into him to stay.

He stands up straight occasionally to stretch his back, to tilt his head back to stretch his neck, reaching to dip the needle in the ink again. Steve breathes so steadily despite the pain that he would seem to be asleep if it weren’t for the way he’s holding Eddie’s boxers. Eddie’s feet are sore after a while, but he barely notices.

It takes three layers until it looks right. Eddie stares at it intently to look for any spots that the ink is uneven, but he doesn’t see any, and he reaches to set the needle aside. He gazes at Steve again for a moment and then leans down to press a kiss to his chest just over his heart. He lifts his head and looks at him, and he’s looking back, his eyes glassy and half-shut. Eddie smiles.

Steve lifts his chin, gesturing silently to ask for a kiss, and Eddie smiles, moving closer to the end of the table, still keeping his hands away until he can bandage the tattoo. He kisses him gently, the angle a little awkward because he’s leaning over him, and Steve finally lets go of his boxers, lifting his hands to hold Eddie’s head as he hums softly.

Eddie is breathless when they part.

“You’re done?” Steve whispers quietly, his voice breaking a little bit from disuse. Eddie hums affirmatively, lifting his head to look down at him. His eyes are closed. He takes a deep breath, and it shudders as he exhales.

“You feel okay?” Eddie murmurs. Steve nods.

And then he smiles.

His eyes flutter open, and Eddie knows the tattoo has to hurt like a bitch, but Steve looks fucking peaceful. Relaxed and content and a little bit sleepy.

Eddie can’t suppress his own smile, gazing down at him.

“Can I see?” Steve whispers.

“Of course.”

Steve sits up slowly, sighing as he winces, and Eddie holds back from reaching out to help him. He watches, leaning against the table, watching Steve kick his legs lightly in the air like he can’t help himself. It takes a few moments for him to look down at where his skin is aching.

At the circle of ink on his sternum, dark and bold against his golden skin, the skin that’s reddish pink now, irritated. The circle shifts with him as he moves, and it’s oddly beautiful, to see the movement of his skin, of his body, so clearly and distinctly.

Eddie bites his lip, looking at him nervously as he stares at it. And he waits, and then the silence is deafening instead of comfortable, and Eddie can hear his own heart beating.

But Steve’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him, suppressing a smile.

“Why a circle?” he asks lightly, and Eddie wants to cry.

“Uh,” he hesitates, tearing his eyes away and reaching for the plastic wrap again, ripping a piece off and gesturing for Steve to sit up straight. Steve does, looking at him, waiting. “It’s kinda stupid.”

“‘S my tattoo, Ed,” Steve teases, kicking at him gently. Eddie scoffs. “Tell me.”

Eddie takes a breath, his face warm as he carefully rips the plastic wrap and tape, pressing them to Steve’s skin gently.

“Just… ” he says, hesitating, suddenly shy like he wasn’t just pressing a needle into Steve’s skin repeatedly. He avoids Steve’s gaze as he layers the tape and plastic wrap, smoothing it down.

“Deja vu,” Steve says softly, and Eddie glances up at him, shooting him a smile. It’s been a while since they’ve done anything like this, patching each other up so carefully. Eddie remembers it. Remembers his tongue teasing the edge of his mouth in focus as he wrapped Steve’s midsection and arms in gauze and bandages, as he inspected the wounds for any sign of infection. As Steve did the same for him, all in murmured, gentle quiet. Like they were both skittish, kicked dogs, emaciated and wary of human hands.

Eddie blinks as the realization hits him. They’re not like that anymore. Scared of each other, of speaking out loud. They crave each other now. Maybe that had back then too, and they just hadn’t noticed, too distracted by the dark and the ache in their skin.

“‘S all of us, I guess,” he says finally, mumbling a little bit. “The Party. This little circle of people that…” He shrugs, looking at the tattoo, distorted through the plastic. “Have been through it all together. People that you love.”

He looks up, exhaling. Steve looks at him. And he smiles slowly.

“‘S beautiful,” he says softly.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Eddie turns away, finally pulling off the plastic gloves, and Steve reaches for him, tugging him closer by his shirt.

“What else?”

Eddie blinks, his cheeks flushing with warmth again.

”What d’you mean?”

“C’mon,” Steve says, tugging again, smiling. “I can tell there’s something else. Tell me.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, suppressing a smile. He knows his cheeks are red from the way Steve is grinning, head tilted fondly, and Eddie looks away, reaching to pull some hair across his face, but his hair is still tied up out of the way.

“Tell me,” Steve says again, meeting Eddie’s eyes, and he does that fucking thing, that puppy-dog shiny eyed almost-pout that could make Eddie walk barefoot across broken glass and burning coal.

“It… I don’t know,” Eddie says bashfully, and Steve takes his hands, leading them to his waist so Eddie is finally touching him, holding him. His skin is warm. “Circles are, like, endless, and…” He shrugs again, shy. “…So is this.”

Steve is quiet.

His hands slide up Eddie’s arms, up to his shoulders, and then his hands are on his neck, touching him freely without his hair in the way. He touches Eddie’s jaw with his thumbs, gently guiding his chin up as he leans in to kiss him.

It’s a slow kiss, intentional and lingering, his hands holding Eddie in place gently. Eddie’s stomach flutters like it’s their first kiss, his hands tightening on his waist as he steps forward weakly. Steve’s hand buries itself in Eddie’s hair, cradling the back of his head, and it’s such a tender touch that Eddie wants to cry.

Steve pulls away to gasp for breath before he pulls Eddie in closer, moving to grip the front of his shirt tightly. Eddie hums, pressing a hand into the small of his back, and he wants to pick him up, to lift him and carry him to the sofa, but his fucking knee isn’t working—

He groans in frustration, and Steve giggles into his mouth, sliding his hand up to his neck, holding him gently.

“Sofa?” he says breathlessly, kissing him clumsily. Eddie nods, lifting a hand to hold his face as he kisses him back.

“Do you like it?” he asks abruptly, looking at Steve. He’s a little blurred because Eddie’s eyes have tears in them, but he can see him smile.

“I do,” Steve says softly, touching their foreheads as he catches his breath. “Thank you, baby.”

“You do?”

“I do,” Steve whispers, kissing Eddie softly. “I love it. It’s perfect.”

Eddie exhales, nodding, bumping their noses together, and he kisses him.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of kissing Steve Harrington. It’s like it’s brand new every time, like he’s discovering something fucking revolutionary.

No one’s ever felt this before. Eddie knows it. Because no one else in existence has kissed Steve Harrington like this, have loved Steve Harrington like this, has been loved by Steve Harrington like this.

This is all Eddie’s. It’s his prized possession. The most precious thing he’s ever owned.

“You did so good,” he murmurs as they’re making their way to the sofa, stumbling over each other’s feet, moving slowly to accommodate Eddie’s knee.

“Did I,” Steve breathes, holding Eddie’s face, turning them so Eddie lands on the sofa first, pushing him so he’s laying on his back, his bad leg stretched out. Eddie gazes up at him as he climbs onto his lap, leaning to kiss him messily.

“Mm. So good, baby, you…” He moans softly, sliding his hands over Steve’s waist, smiling when the plastic wrap on Steve’s chest crinkles as he leans down. “Took it so well, baby, I know it hurt.”

Steve nods with a soft whine.

“It did hurt,” he breathes. “Thank you.”

Eddie smiles against his mouth, biting his lip.

“My little masochist.”

Steve giggles brightly, tugging at Eddie’s shirt so he sits up and lets him pull it up and off. Eddie’s hair is falling from where it’s tied in a messy bun, and Steve reaches around to pull the elastic out of his curls as he tosses away the shirt.

“Love you so much,” Eddie murmurs as Steve kisses his neck softly, biting and licking sweetly. Eddie lets his head fall back, his eyes closed, his hands sliding over Steve’s back, pressing his fingertips into the nape of his neck and tracing the line of his spine so lightly it makes him shiver. Steve hums softly when Eddie’s hand finds his ass, his back arching beautifully.

Steve kisses him hard, holding his face like he’s scared Eddie is going to get away, like he’s going to try to escape. Eddie furrows his eyebrows, hugging Steve’s waist.

They’re both panting when they separate, and Steve’s breath is catching in his throat like he’s crying, so Eddie’s eyes open to see him. His eyelashes are wet, and his cheeks are red, and his eyes are squeezed shut as his head falls forward, his forehead pressing to the bridge of Eddie’s nose.

“What’s the matter?” Eddie asks softly, whispering as quietly as he can. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Steve shakes his head, settling on Eddie’s lap, taking a breath. Eddie rubs his waist gently, squeezing, and Steve exhales shakily.

“I just…” His voice trembles, and he lifts his head, blinking tears out of his eyes and looking away. Eddie leans in and kisses his tears away. Steve closes his eyes. “Feel like my body is mine.”

And Eddie is crying too, his vision blurring as he presses more kisses to Steve’s face, to his beautiful face.

“God, it is,” Eddie breathes quietly. “It is yours, Stevie.”

Steve takes a gasping breath, and he wraps his arms around Eddie, hiding his face and sobbing into his neck, his shoulders shaking. Eddie bites his lip, cradling him, running a hand up to the back of his head and holding him gently.

And he waits. Combs through his hair, rubs his back over his spine and the scars on his shoulder blades. Rocks him back and forth gently, listening to his soft sobs and gasps. His tears are on Eddie’s bare skin, and Eddie wonders if this is what it feels like to be blessed.

Steve wipes his face when he lifts his head.

“God,” he says softly, smiling now. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Eddie tells him, reaching up to brush a tear from his cheek. “You’re pretty when you cry.”

Steve laughs. Lets Eddie wipe his face tenderly, sweetly.

“You okay?” Eddie murmurs, leaning forward to kiss Steve’s throat.

“I’m okay,” Steve says, his eyes still glistening, his smile still lingering on his lips. “I’m actually okay. I feel…” He pauses, touching Eddie’s neck, tracing his scar. “I feel good.”

“Yeah?”

Steve nods, leaning to kiss him chastely.

“I feel so…”

He takes a breath, this slow in and out that’s steady and slow and even, and there’s a lightness to him that wasn’t there before. Like he’s somehow comfortable.

“Good,” he says quietly. “Feel like my skin fits.”

Eddie caresses his cheek, and Steve kisses him again, lingering. His skin is still a little wet with tears, cool against Eddie’s face.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers. “For giving me this, I— I don’t even…”

Eddie shakes his head. Kisses him again.

“Thank you for letting me,” he murmurs. Steve exhales, nodding.

“God. I didn’t…” He laughs lightly, deliriously, and Eddie smiles at him. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Eddie laughs too. He doesn’t know why.

“How’s it feel?”

Steve sets his hands on Eddie’s neck, and he looks up, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling, taking another deep, slow breath. And it’s like he’s breathing in new air, the fresh misty air of a brand new morning.

“Fuck,” Steve says softly. “‘S good. I don’t even know how to describe it, I feel like— like it’s my first time getting high again.”

Eddie giggles, leaning to press his face into the side of Steve’s neck, and Steve hugs him tightly, laughing. Eddie can feel the plastic wrap against his own skin. And somehow it’s like the feeling is contagious, like Steve is putting it right under Eddie’s own skin, like he can feel it too.

Like his blood is brighter. Like his chest is open, exposed to the elements. Like his scars are glowing.

Like he’s really going to be okay.

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#totally forgot to post this here #oopsies #steddie #steddie one shot #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic

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