Archive of Our Own ^beta

There's something so innately difficult about letting go. It’s almost harder when you know it's time. 

Hongjoong has been fighting it for a while. 

He probably should've let go in their second year when the hand written letters started slowing down. Or maybe he should've let go when they first went off to university, knowing the distance would impact their friendship. Or maybe he should've just kept himself from getting attached in the first place all those years ago. 

In any case, he knows it's time. 

He's not sure what he was thinking when he dug out the box of letters he's kept this whole time, collecting dust under his bed. Maybe he was looking for closure. 

Instead, he ripped the wound open even more.  

I miss you. 

It’s so strange not having you around constantly. I don't know what to do with myself. 

I feel so lost without you. 

Are you coming to visit soon? 

I think I’m coming home next weekend. We should make plans!

Please write back soon. 

Always yours,

Seonghwa <3

They were so sweet in the beginning, kind words scrawled onto the page, intimate in a way that still manages to make his heart flutter now. They were long, heartfelt – pages upon pages about anything and everything, a tangible lifeline tethering the two of them together despite the distance.

But then, as time went on, Seonghwa started to make friends in university, and the letters slowly got shorter. Colder. And it’s not as though physical letters were the only communication they had with each other, but, well… the texts and calls had slowed down, too. And the times they did talk always felt so… different.

The rift growing between them was noticeable. But it was normal, Hongjoong told himself, a normal thing that happens when people are separated, and it would get better after university when Seonghwa moved back home.

And telling himself it was all normal, that they were totally fine, worked – or, it kept him from falling apart, anyway. Until their third year rolled around. 

Hongjoong had waited, maybe foolishly, for a letter to come, to show him Seonghwa still cared. But when no such letter ever arrived to his mailbox, he figured it was time to take the hint.

They spent their final two years of university barely speaking, barely checking in. The phone calls stopped entirely; instead, the last shreds of their relationship were fully supported by sporadic text messages and comments on Instagram photos. 

The last time they texted was over six months ago, when Seonghwa had excitedly told him about the internship he was applying for. If everything went well, he said, he'd be staying in Seoul after graduation instead of coming back home, probably for good. 

It’s such a great opportunity! he gushed, as though he wasn't shattering Hongjoong into a million pieces and tossing them into the wind. 

Because, the distance was always supposed to be temporary. It was always supposed to be, but things change, he guesses. People change. 

He knows he has to let go. 

He feels small and childish as he walks through the forest, down a path he hasn't taken in years. There’s always been something deeply comforting about being surrounded by trees, trees that get bigger and older the deeper he walks into the forest. Maybe the nostalgia is making it extra comforting today. 

It’s been years, but all the old landmarks are still there to guide him, tangible and real and unmoving. The forest has changed a bit, of course, old patches of moss larger and more plush now, mushrooms growing out of trees that hadn’t yet fallen the last time he’d taken this path. And the trail is more eroded, dirt washed away to expose more of the rocks and roots buried beneath, but still, everything is recognizable. Familiar.

His mind drifts as he lets those landmarks guide him, to a place that used to be so special to the two of them. Something about going there all alone, knowing Seonghwa won’t be there waiting for him tugs at his heartstrings, prods at the bleeding wound he keeps trying to convince himself isn’t there anymore. 

He sighs, adjusting the straps of his backpack to sit more comfortably on his shoulders. His heart twists in his chest, and that bleeding wound drips and drips, feeling just as fresh as the first day he ever truly noticed it.

They're something like six weeks into the semester when Hongjoong’s phone finally rings, and, of course, it’s at the worst possible time. 

He props his phone up anyway and accepts the video call. 

“Hey,” he says flippantly, barely looking at the screen. But even that tiny glance is enough for him to register the familiar face filling up his screen, softly lit under dim twinkle lights, smiling gently at him. 

“Hi,” Seonghwa answers, and the usual kindness in his voice feels like iodine tonight, burning Hongjoong’s flayed flesh, trickling across all the vulnerable parts that are supposed to be covered in skin. Tonight, all of his most tender parts feel exposed. 

Seonghwa’s smile falters when he notices what Hongjoong is doing.

“Oh, did I catch you at a bad time?” he asks, and his soft tone hurts. Stings.

Hongjoong tugs his lower eyelid down to line his waterline, staring only at his reflection in the mirror and not anywhere near his phone screen. He tries his best not to scowl.

‘Yeah, you did,’ he doesn’t say, ‘in fact, literally any other time this entire semester would've been better, but of course you’d pick now to suddenly remember I exist.’

Instead, he blinks away the tears that have accumulated from the ticklish sensation of doing his eyeliner and switches his attention to the other eye. 

“It’s okay,” he replies, guarded, not willing to give any of himself up. It’s strange feeling this way in front of Seonghwa. Unnatural. 

More tears gather in his lower lash line. 

“Are you going somewhere?” Seonghwa probes. 

As if you actually give a shit, Hongjoong thinks bitterly.

“Just… meeting up with someone from class,” is all he offers instead, blinking rapidly to dispel the tears. It's not a lie, not exactly, but it's not really the truth, either.

“You're putting on makeup just for that?” the voice from his phone asks, lighthearted and innocent, but Hongjoong feels his jaw clench in response. 

“Is it a crime for me to wear makeup?” Hongjoong bristles, rubbing furiously at the eyeliner he's now managed to smudge under his lash line. Whatever, it works with his aesthetic anyway. 

There's silence then, and in that moment, he can feel just how big the wall between them has become. Just how high, how thick he's built it, brick by brick, to the point where he can’t even see his friend on the other side anymore. 

“No, I suppose it isn't,” Seonghwa eventually says, a little quieter now, and guilt stirs in Hongjoong’s chest. 

He starts working on lining his upper lid. 

“Did you need something?” he asks, trying to school his tone into something less biting.

“I just haven't heard much from you this semester, and, well… it seemed like as good of a time as any to call.”

‘Haven't heard much from you’. 

As if he hadn’t been the one completely blowing Hongjoong off for the past several months. As if he hadn’t been off with his cool new friends all semester, leaving him behind completely. 

“Communication is a two-way street, you know,” he drawls, still not looking directly at his phone. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Seonghwa shift in his seat. 

“… Right,” he sighs, “that's why I'm calling. Just… checking in.”

“Well, consider me checked in on,” Hongjoong says flatly, smudging out the eyeliner on his upper lid. “I'm doing fine.”

Unwillingly, his eyes flick over to the screen, and Seonghwa looks almost nervous, lips tugged into a little frown, eyebrows pinched. And for a fleeting second, Hongjoong wants nothing more than to reach through the screen and smooth the tension from his features, to massage the back of his neck and tell him everything is okay, that he forgives him, but he pushes the thought out as fast as it came.

“Look,” Hongjoong inserts, “I have somewhere to be. Why'd you really call?”

He looks at Seonghwa fully for the first time, and he looks… deflated. Defeated.

“It’s not that important,” Seonghwa deflects, clearly forcing a smile. “I'll talk to you later, Hongjoong-ah. I hope your date goes well.”

The call disconnects, and Hongjoong is left only with his reflection. 

His eyeliner is smudged and wet.

A twig snaps loudly under his boot, bringing him back to the present. He’s unsurprised to find his eyes stinging, as they often do when he thinks about that conversation.

There are a lot of things that bother him about that talk, mostly the way he acted. He knows he was just at a different point in the grieving process then, probably somewhere between denial and anger, but he can’t help but wonder how things could’ve gone had he reacted differently. 

But the thing that bothers him the most is… he still doesn’t know why Seonghwa called. 

He was never one to call without reason; sure, they would spend time catching up, shooting the shit, talking about nothing, but there was always, always a reason behind the call. It could be as small as Seonghwa wanting to tell him that he finally tried the new ramyeon place near his dorm, or that he wanted to complain about one of his professors, but it was a reason regardless. So what was the reason for that call, out of the blue after weeks of not speaking to each other?

The wondering doesn’t do him any good, he knows. Maybe it’s time to let go of all the what-ifs, all the unknowns about that conversation, too. 

He takes the last turn, going off trail, and after a little bit, it starts to come into view. It looks exactly the same, albeit a bit older. 

Settled high in a big ginkgo tree is their treehouse. 

It’s not exactly theirs; they didn't build it, but they did find it, and they had certainly used it. Walking closer, Hongjoong is struck with the weight of all the memories they shared there, how many important conversations happened inside those four walls. 

Seonghwa had called Hongjoong his best friend for the first time there, totally unprompted, making butterflies erupt under his ribs. He remembers coming out to Seonghwa there, sometime in the middle of high school, begging and pleading for it to not change anything between them. Seonghwa had smiled and told him that nothing could ever come between them. 

He also remembers talking about their university plans there, about how Seonghwa had gotten accepted, and Hongjoong hadn’t. About how Hongjoong didn't want to hold Seonghwa back.

A cloud of dust erupts from the doorway of the treehouse, and Hongjoong stops dead in his tracks. 

It has to be either an animal or a person, and he doesn't particularly want to deal with either. But he can’t seem to get his feet to budge, trying to figure out which is stronger: his desire for closure, or his urge to flee. 

“Kim Hongjoong?”

He tenses up even more at the voice, desperately wishing he had backed away while he still had the chance. 

Like some sort of cruel, sick joke, Park Seonghwa has popped his head out the window of the treehouse. 

Hongjoong can do nothing but stay frozen, breath caught in his throat, hands gripping the straps of his backpack like a lifeline. Like cornered prey. 

It’s unfair that Seonghwa can manage to be so much more beautiful than he was the last time they hung out – years ago, at this point. He looks the same as Hongjoong remembers, but a little more grown into his features. More mature. The photos he’s posted online haven’t done him justice, especially considering how he looks right now, with dappled, golden rays of evening sun dancing across his skin and making him glow like some sort of deity. 

It’s unfair that the man who broke his heart can still hold so much of it in his hands.

“Uh, hey. Fancy seeing you here,” Hongjoong eventually manages, with a weird, awkward chuckle that he mentally curses himself for. 

And he kind of wishes Seonghwa would tell him to fuck off, say that he doesn’t want to see him, but instead, a warm, genuine smile comes across his face, and Hongjoong feels his chest cave in. 

“Are you just planning on standing there, or are you coming up?” the man above him teases, and he disappears from the window, withdrawing back into the treehouse.

It’s phrased like a question, but really, Hongjoong has no choice but to go up; what’s he supposed to do? Say “yes, I’ll just stand here until you leave because I’m not ready to face you”? Or is he just supposed to turn around and walk away silently? 

In any case, deep down, he knows he doesn’t really want to leave anyway. 

He steps forward to start climbing the rickety ladder that leads to the small deck in front of the treehouse. The wood is more damaged than he remembers, splintered and cracking, showing the years of weather on its rough, unfinished surface. But, somehow, it's still strong enough to hold his weight just fine. 

When he makes it to the deck, he shrugs his backpack off and sits down, scooting back so his back is resting against the outer wall of the treehouse, legs dangling off the edge of the deck. It’s quiet except for some soft rustling coming from behind him, from whatever it is Seonghwa is doing inside. It’s peaceful, even, as long as he ignores the sinking feeling of dread that's currently trying to flatten his lungs.

Hongjoong digs into his backpack, blindly searching for the tin he knows is buried somewhere deep inside, eyes glued to the scenery in front of him, like it’s a view he’s never seen before. Despite the unexpected presence, he figures he may as well do what he came here to do – or, some of it, anyway.

From here, the forest seems even bigger somehow, ginkgo trees as far as he can see, summer green leaves rustling in the breeze. He's always avoided the forest come fall when the trees start dropping their stinky fruit. Summer feels like this liminal space, a dreamscape where everything is pretty and perfect and calm, waiting for the inevitability of change to come and ruin it. 

He supposes it’s best to enjoy it while he can. 

Seonghwa comes out of the treehouse with a broom, the same broom they originally brought there a decade ago, sweeping a rather large pile of dirt and debris off the edge of the deck and down onto the forest floor. He’s always been particular about trying to keep the treehouse clean, even though it’s nearly impossible, considering the doors and windows are open to the outside at all times. It’s almost silly to think he bothered sweeping today, but he’s always been one to put effort in regardless. 

He leans the broom against the wall, then comes to sit next to Hongjoong, far enough to be polite, but too close for the stranger it feels like he is. 

Hongjoong doesn’t move away. 

Instead, he busies himself with pulling out the tin his fingers have found, popping it open and taking out one of the joints he rolled last night. He digs his lighter out of his pocket, and he can feel Seonghwa’s eyes on him the entire time, not judging, but watching closely, like his movements are something to be studied. 

When he flicks the lighter with his nervous, shaking hands, he fumbles it, nearly losing it off the edge of the deck, but he manages to save it. He tries again, successfully lighting the joint that’s dangling precariously from his lips. 

“Do you smoke?” he asks when Seonghwa’s eyes still don’t leave the side of his face. Hongjoong gives him a bit of a sideways glance, and fuck, he’s even prettier up close, just like he always has been. He can only manage to look at him for long enough to see him give a little nod before he rips his eyes away, looking back out at the rippling expanse of green ahead of them as he takes a deep drag, willing the familiar burn to ground him amidst his reeling. 

Without looking, he offers the joint to Seonghwa, and he takes it, fingers brushing Hongjoong’s delicately. Hongjoong tries not to shiver. 

They sit together quietly for a bit, passing the joint back and forth a couple times. And Hongjoong almost starts to relax as that familiar hazy warmth starts to set in, but then Seonghwa speaks up. 

“Why'd you come here?”

A stronger breeze blows through the leaves, making them rustle and sway. It’s the perfect direction to cause Seonghwa’s scent to waft over to him, the same cologne he’s been wearing since they were seventeen, the same naturally clean scent his body always carries, and Hongjoong briefly wonders if he might pass out. 

But he manages to get a grip, and he reaches over to pluck the joint from Seonghwa’s fingers, taking care not to let any of their skin touch – a courtesy Seonghwa has not afforded him today.

“I could ask you the same thing, you know,” he deflects, taking a long drag. It’s not a good enough answer for Seonghwa, he knows, but he lets the words hang in the air between them for a bit anyway. He holds the smoke in his lungs, sifting through all the thoughts in his head, trying to figure out what to say. 

When he exhales, long and slow, his eyes naturally fall to where Seonghwa’s hand is resting on the wood planks of the deck between them. 

“I was thinking about you,” he admits, passing the joint back over to Seonghwa without sparing him a glance. The words hold so much weight, possibly more than Seonghwa will be able to pick up on, but coming so close to admitting how he really feels out loud is still enough to make heat rush to his cheeks. 

Seonghwa doesn’t reply for a moment, and the weight of Hongjoong’s admission seems to grow the longer it sits between them, floorboards creaking under its weight. He tries to focus on the feeling of his high settling in instead, the tingling of his limbs, the fuzziness of his thoughts.

“I was too,” Seonghwa finally says, tone so neutral that it hardly gives any of his feelings up. Somehow, it only adds to the weight sitting between them instead of dispelling it.

I didn’t expect to see you again.

I didn't expect you to be thinking about me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Seoul?” is what comes out instead, a bit too sharp and edging on bitter. He plucks the joint from Seonghwa’s fingers, feigning carelessness. “Figured you'd have moved in with a girlfriend or something by now.”

Hongjoong has heard of no such girlfriend, but he's also heard next to nothing at all for the past year. Plenty can change in that time. He's a good looking guy, after all; he easily could've found someone. 

Hongjoong's brain conjures an image. 

Seonghwa at university chatting up some cute girl he shared a class with, brushing her hair behind her ear, looking at her with those warm, fond eyes that Hongjoong has grown so accustomed to… It's almost enough to bring tears to his eyes. It shouldn't, and he has no right to feel this way, but he can’t help feeling like it should've been him, even though Seonghwa is straight. Even though Seonghwa has never been interested in him.

He takes another hit, letting the smoke settle deep in his lungs.

It should've been him.

“Girlfriend?” Seonghwa laughs out, startling Hongjoong out of his spiralling, weed-addled thoughts. “You sound like my mother.”

Their skin brushes again when Seonghwa reaches over, gently taking the joint right from Hongjoong’s lips. Hongjoong can’t really help it when his eyes follow the movement of the hand on their own, watching with rapt attention as Seonghwa’s lips part to accept the joint again, ember glowing as orange as the sun that’s low on the horizon. 

And he can’t really help it when his eyes stay glued to Seonghwa’s face, seemingly unable to stop staring now that he’s started. 

Thankfully, Seonghwa isn’t looking at him, gaze focused instead on the swaying ocean of golden green before them. He exhales through his nose, and the cloud of smoke curls around his sharp features, around the half-smile on his lips.

“She didn't take it too well when I came out,” he adds, a few more wisps of smoke coming out alongside his words. Those wisps tangle with the golden rays filtering through the trees, and something about the whole scene is so mesmerizing that Hongjoong kind of forgets to process what Seonghwa said, until it hits him all at once a few seconds too late. 

Seonghwa… Seonghwa is gay. 

Seonghwa is gay, or bi, or something, and… he didn’t bother telling Hongjoong. 

A strange mixture of emotions twist into knots in his stomach, tight and nauseating. On one hand, if Seonghwa is gay… maybe he has a shot after all. It’s a low chance, especially with how much they’ve drifted apart, but it’s at least a possibility now. Not a realistic one, but a possibility nonetheless. 

On the other hand, Seonghwa didn’t tell him. It stings much more than he’d like to admit. They’ve been through so much together, been there for each other through huge, life-changing moments, and the fact that Seonghwa didn't include him in his coming out process makes the wall that’s grown between them even more apparent. 

Hongjoong’s fingers curl into the material of his shorts, gripping tight like it’ll do something to ground him. 

Who had Seonghwa confided in if not him? His university friends that he had claimed not to be very close to? His family, who apparently didn’t take his coming out well? Or… maybe a potential love interest? One that Hongjoong wasn’t privy to? 

Bile rises to the back of his throat, and he blinks hard. He’s suddenly much more aware of the way his eyes feel dry and tacky, the way his throat feels tight and swollen. The way his heart aches where it sits in his chest, wrapped in thorns and bleeding with every beat. 

How exactly did Seonghwa find out? What was it that finally made him realize? 

Was it some sort of hookup? A quick fuck in the bathroom at a party? Or was it someone he had been friends with for a while, slowly realizing as time went on that his feelings weren’t as platonic as he thought?

He’s not sure which option is worse. 

Quiet stretches between them, and Seonghwa lazily slumps his arm into the space between them, offering the joint up, oblivious to the inner turmoil happening next to him. Hongjoong takes it automatically, breathing in deep in the hopes that it’ll help settle the disaster that’s busy swirling around inside of him. 

He stops his train of thought where it is. It'll be better, safer, to process these feelings on his own, when he's ready to let go of it all. It feels too raw, too tender right now, with the way Seonghwa is unknowingly prodding at his bleeding flesh, ripping the scabs off of his unhealed wounds.

Once he’s sure none of his acrid feelings will come up the second he opens his mouth, he lets himself speak again.

“But… Seoul?”

Seonghwa hums softly. 

“I go back on Sunday. I had a couple weeks between graduation and my internship, so I thought I would come home,” Seonghwa answers, voice slightly rough from the smoke, still staring off at some indiscernible point in the distance. “There were some things here that needed my attention, anyway.”

He has a weird expression on his face that Hongjoong can’t quite read. It’s some sort of smile, almost self-deprecating, like what he just said was a reference to an inside joke only he understands. 

Hongjoong gnaws at the inside of his cheek. 

“You weren’t gonna text me?” he scoffs, praying his playful tone covers the very real bitterness lying just beneath the surface. 

Seonghwa’s little smile falters then, dropping into something closer to embarrassment, and his gaze falls to where his hands are sitting on his lap. 

“I was hoping to,” he says, chewing on his lower lip, “I just… was nervous. That you wouldn’t want to see me.”

The joint continues to smolder where it sits between Hongjoong’s fingers. 

Hongjoong blinks his dry, stinging eyes in confusion. A slightly uncomfortable laugh bubbles up and out of his throat.

“Why wouldn't I want to see you?” he asks, as if the answer isn't the most obvious thing in the world, lurking behind them like a ghost. As if the two of them haven't been playing this weird game of avoidance for basically two full years now. 

Seonghwa looks up, and their eyes meet for the first time, really meet, and suddenly Hongjoong can hardly remember why they've been avoiding each other to begin with. With the haze that's settled over the two of them, it's so much easier to forget everything that’s happened, all the conflicting feelings that have been wrapped around Hongjoong’s throat like barbed wire. 

“No reason,” Seonghwa says, his smile lopsided but genuine, and it all just feels so… comfortable. Familiar. 

The way the evening sun lights up his dark irises, making them shine with all kinds of golden brown honey tones. The way the breeze catches his hair, blowing strands of it to cling to his face or stick to his lips. The way his voice sounds, so smooth and calm, like they've never had anything to worry about in their entire lives.

Everything about Seonghwa has always been comfortable and familiar. 

“I'm really glad you came here today,” Seonghwa adds, reaching out to place his hand gently over Hongjoong’s where it rests between them, and Hongjoong can feel the barbed wire that's been around his neck for two years loosen. He swallows, searching Seonghwa’s face for something that will tell him it's all a lie, that Hongjoong’s feelings this whole time have been valid and warranted, but he finds nothing.

There’s this fondness in Seonghwa’s eyes, something that makes his pulse pound dangerously fast. Something that’s stirring up all the old feelings he’s desperately been trying to get rid of.

He tugs his hand away, bringing the burning joint back to his lips again, a cushion between reality and the raw emotion he’s still harboring. It makes Seonghwa’s presence at his side bearable – enjoyable, even, if he ignores the feeling of being exposed that’s threatening to set in.

“Don’t start getting sappy on me,” Hongjoong scoffs, trying to fight the way he can feel his body betraying him, the corners of his lips twitching. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Seonghwa, still smiling, now gazing out at some place in the distance rather than staring him down. 

“Sorry. It’s just…” Seonghwa starts, reaching over to gently take the joint from Hongjoong’s fingers, “I’ve really missed this, Joongie. Missed you.” 

The words wrap around Hongjoong’s heart, twisting it and wringing it out, squeezing out all of the things he’s been carrying with him for the past few years. 

And maybe it’s just the weed, the gentle euphoria that comes with being high, but when he looks into Seonghwa’s eyes now, the heartbreak he’s been holding onto feels so far away. Untouchable, like it was never real in the first place. 

“I… I missed you too,” he chokes out, suddenly feeling incredibly overwhelmed with emotion, because when he looks into Seonghwa’s eyes now, all he can feel is something he hasn’t let himself believe in a long time. 

“You look good,” Seonghwa adds, unprompted, but to Hongjoong, if he lets himself float away from reality, it sounds an awful lot like something else. Like another phrase, three words long, that would fix everything wrong in his life. 

Seonghwa’s eyes slowly drag over his form, like he’s taking his time, savoring every last inch of skin, every dark line inked into it.

“I like what you did with your hair,” Seonghwa says instead, gesturing at the little curls at the nape of Hongjoong’s neck. He’s been growing it out – nothing crazy, but the fact that Seonghwa even noticed makes him want to melt. 

His eyes drag down the exposed skin of Hongjoong’s arm, all the way to his hand, following the long lines of the tattoos covering it. He feels frozen in place like prey as he watches Seonghwa’s lip snag between his teeth, taking in all the different artwork decorating his skin, stark and bold against the paleness of his skin.

“Ah… thanks,” Hongjoong chokes out, fighting the urge to squirm. The other just hums in response, fiddling with the still burning joint between his fingers, eyes not moving from the lines of his tattoos. 

And it only takes about another second before it starts to be too much, the way Seonghwa’s appraising him, burning lines into his skin. 

Something twists inside of him and squeezes anxious words out.

“You too,” he hears himself say. “I like your hair like that, too. It’s pretty,” he mumbles, picking a spot on Seonghwa’s shirt to look at instead of making eye contact. He’s not really sure why his mouth is saying these words; it’s completely automatic, leaving him feeling like a passenger in his own body. 

He means it, though, those compliments and so many more. But he’s never been one to say them out loud; something about it has always felt so uncomfortably intimate to him, about praising Seonghwa in particular. 

His stupid heart thumps away in his chest. 

“I'm thinking of cutting it,” Seonghwa responds wistfully, and Hongjoong is relieved to find that heavy gaze has finally left him; instead, Seonghwa is looking down at the strand of jet black hair he’s twisting between his fingers, smiling at it fondly like it’s got a mind of its own. “The length is starting to bother me.”

Annoyingly, unhelpfully, his floaty mind starts conjuring up images of Seonghwa from the past, from when he had shorter hair. Like their first year of university when he had the sides shaved, and every time Hongjoong looked at him, all he could think about was how good it would feel to rub his hands over the buzzed parts, how nice it would feel to slip his fingers into the longer, softer strands at the top of his head. How badly he wanted to curl his fingers and tug, just enough to make Seonghwa gasp in surprise.

Hongjoong’s throat feels tacky when he swallows. 

“It'll suit you either way,” he answers, and it’s true, because he really doesn’t think he can imagine any hairstyle looking bad on Seonghwa, any outfit, any thing. 

Seonghwa smiles softly next to him, corners of his lips twitching like he's trying not to let on how happy he is, and it looks like the highs of his cheeks are tinted a dusty pink. It could just be the lighting, or the fact that they’ve been smoking, or it could even be Hongjoong deluding himself into seeing something that isn't there just because it's what he wants to see so badly.

He lets himself believe it's real. 

“You flatter me, Kim Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says through a smirk, and there really shouldn’t be any weight behind it. It's a completely innocuous comment in a completely innocuous conversation between old friends, and yet, something settles over them, heavy enough to take Hongjoong’s breath away. Seonghwa’s dark eyelashes flutter a bit as he very obviously looks Hongjoong over again, more purposefully this time. He raises the stubby remains of the joint to his lips, looking so plush and soft and kissable, and Hongjoong knows he has to say something to dispel the tension between them.

“My weed, and you get the last hit,” he pouts, determined to ignore the way Seonghwa’s eyes feel like they’re burning holes into his skin. Those eyes don’t budge an inch, not at all, but his hand does stop a centimeter from his lips before he can take the last drag. 

And for a second, it seems like he’s actually done it, actually redirected the conversation to something safer that won’t make him feel like he’s losing his mind, but something dangerous flashes in Seonghwa’s eyes, and his mouth curls into a sly grin. 

“We can share it,” he offers, and the way he says it makes it feel like some sort of biblical temptation that Hongjoong should turn down. 

But Hongjoong is a weak man.

“It doesn’t work that way, dumbass,” Hongjoong scoffs, a pathetic, half-hearted, last ditch attempt to save himself from the inevitable. Yet he still acts like it doesn't work that way, like heat isn’t rushing to his face at the mere thought of shotgunning the last little bit of weed with Seonghwa. 

“Of course it does,” Seonghwa all but purrs, and before Hongjoong can even register it, the two of them are dangerously close together, legs touching as they sit side by side, skin on skin. A hand comes up to gently grip his jaw, tipping his chin up to accommodate for their height difference. 

And as Seonghwa brings the tiny remains of the joint to his lips, Hongjoong feels the whole world slow down around him. 

He should really close his eyes, he thinks distantly, but he can’t seem to get himself to, instead feeling his jaw drop open automatically. He should really close his eyes, because Seonghwa is absolutely glowing in the evening sun, golden rays creating a soft halo of light around him – ethereal lighting for an ethereal being. 

Seonghwa inhales, eyes bloodshot and half-lidded, but still trained on Hongjoong’s. He holds the smoke in his lungs for a moment, not breaking eye contact as he stubs out the end of the joint somewhere on the deck next to them. And when he exhales, slow and hot where Hongjoong can feel it on his face, Hongjoong breathes in automatically, like it’s all he's ever wanted to do.

The smoke is thick and tangible where it settles inside him. He can feel every molecule of it, can hear every beat of his heart, every beat of Seonghwa’s heart.

Seonghwa has stopped exhaling, but he isn’t moving away.

And suddenly, he's acutely aware of the fact that it's more than just smoke in his lungs. It’s Seonghwa’s breath – something that’s been part of him, even just for a second, and now it's swirling around inside Hongjoong instead, tangling with his own atoms. At best, it's incredibly intimate. And at worst, well… 

Seonghwa’s fingers tighten minutely where they still rest on his jaw.

At worst, he thinks it's something akin to claiming.

Something catches in his throat, and he's immediately thrown into a coughing fit as if it's his first time smoking. 

The two of them pull apart, and Hongjoong takes the opportunity to propel himself far away from the taller man, letting his body collapse to the deck in an overdramatic fit, still coughing. Through his teary eyes, he can see Seonghwa laughing. 

Embarrassing, yes, but he mentally thanks himself anyway for inadvertently dispelling the tension.

Once his breathing returns to normal, it's quiet between the two of them, and comfortable. There’s no heaviness now, no words hanging threateningly in the air – just two childhood friends, enjoying each other's company in the early summer sunset. 

There's something nostalgic about it all. Hongjoong feels a tug in his chest again as he thinks about all the memories they shared right here, in this exact spot. He thinks about how happy he's always felt around Seonghwa, how close they've always been, and, at the same time, how that happiness and closeness has never felt like enough. 

He thinks about how much more he's always wanted for them.

His face feels tingly.

“Do you think our names are still here?”

He hears the words leave his lips on their own, listens to them like someone else had spoken them. What a stupid question, he thinks. Why would they not be there? And, more importantly, why would Seonghwa even remember something as small as that to begin with?

Hongjoong jumps when he hears Seonghwa’s airy laugh float over to him.

“Where would they have gone?” he echoes, like he can hear all the thoughts inside the younger’s head. 

Hongjoong sits up, taking care to put a bit more space between the two of them. Seonghwa is still sitting a few feet away, legs still dangling off the edge of the deck, eyes trained on the horizon. He’s got some sort of expression on his face that Hongjoong is far too high to read right now: something between a smile and a frown, but it’s anything but neutral. 

Instead of trying to figure out what Seonghwa is thinking, Hongjoong turns over onto his hands and knees and crawls his way into the treehouse. 

He can’t do what he came to do – not while Seonghwa remains here, anyway – but just looking might be enough. Maybe being able to look at them while he’s in this fuzzy state of mind, at their names that were carved into the old, splintered wood years and years ago, will be enough. If he runs his fingers over the old marks, evidence that their devotion to one another was once real, and combines that feeling with the breeze that’s carrying Seonghwa’s scent, his laugh, his voice… maybe it'll be enough that he can finally let go of it all.

He finds the spot easily, like second nature, as if they'd carved them only yesterday. The marks are old now, darkened with age and less harsh-looking than the day they'd done it, but still very much legible, still very much there, despite time taking its toll.

Hongjoong’s thumb rubs across the letters, committing the feeling of them to memory, the physical embodiment of their love for one another. Having such a tactile symbol of their bond has always been so meaningful to him, and seeing it again now makes him want to cry. 

What he wouldn’t do for the feeling to be mutual. 

He blinks away the stinging tears in his eyes, thankful that Seonghwa has remained outside on the deck. The tears disperse, but the stinging stays. 

Their names here have always been so meaningful as is, but he's always thought they'd look so much better with a–

With a heart carved around them. 

He's not sure how he didn’t notice it until now – the current state of his mind, he guesses – but there's a new carving surrounding their names. The lines of it are lighter, having revealed inner parts of the wood that haven't been dirtied by the passage of time yet, and the edges are still sharp, crisp. 

As if someone just did it today. 

His first thought is that he must be completely out of his mind, significantly more high than he thought if he’s seeing shit (who knew half a joint could have such an effect on him?). But he can feel it under his fingertips, the groove that’s been left in the wall of their treehouse. He can feel the little splinters from the jagged edge, sticking into his skin and insisting that what he’s feeling, what he’s seeing, is real. 

Everything around him feels like it’s slowed down considerably as he sits looking at the wall of their treehouse. What he can’t wrap his head around is why. 

It doesn’t make sense. 

There’s a soft sound behind him, and he whips around to find Seonghwa standing in the doorway, his back towards Hongjoong, looking out at the expanse of ginkgo trees beyond the deck. He stares at the back of Seonghwa’s head for what feels like an hour, at the little strands of hair that are getting picked up by the breeze.

“Did you– Did you see this?” Hongjoong’s mouth says on its own, once the silence starts to feel too suffocating. 

Seonghwa’s silhouetted form shifts on its feet, letting out a sigh Hongjoong can only just hear, barely audible over the incessant pounding of his heart.

“Yeah.” 

It comes out as a breath, in another odd tone Hongjoong can’t quite put his finger on at the moment, something edging on tired and resigned. Seonghwa doesn’t bother turning to meet his eyes, instead speaking out to the trees, voice getting carried away by the wind. “Yeah, Joongie, I saw it.” 

As if searching for something tangible to anchor himself to, Hongjoong glances back to their names on the wall, at the fresh carving around it, and then back to Seonghwa. To the long line of his legs, the shape of his arms, the subtle curve of his hip. To the sheathed pocket knife attached to a belt loop at the back of his pants. The same pocket knife he remembers watching Seonghwa receive as a birthday gift sometime during their teen years. 

The same pocket knife he remembers using all those years ago. 

His swallow sticks in his throat.

“I don’t… I don’t understand.”

The words hang heavy in the air around them, single-handedly sucking all the oxygen out of the forest. It’s horribly still for what feels like an entire minute, and then Seonghwa finally turns around to face him. He steps into the treehouse, crossing the small distance between them in a couple strides, and it’s only when Seonghwa is crouching down to his level a foot away from him that he finally realizes the emotion on Seonghwa’s face that he hasn’t been able to name:

Grief. 

It’s the same grief Hongjoong has been feeling himself. He can see it in the furrow of Seonghwa’s eyebrows, the slant of his lips. He can see it pooling in his eyes, red and watering, the feeling seemingly ready to spill over any second now that it’s surfaced. 

“Hongjoong-ah. I’m sorry.”

And Hongjoong can feel the way his own heart aches, the way it drips and bleeds in tandem with his love’s.

His love’s. 

“Can I tell you something?” Hongjoong asks, feeling the way hot ichor slides down his ribs, pooling in his abdomen and leaving no space for him to hold his words inside anymore. Seonghwa doesn’t say anything, eyes flicking back and forth between Hongjoong’s own. “I… I actually… That’s what I came here to do, too.”

He mentally curses himself for not being able to get his thought out without stuttering, but he tries to look confident anyway, tries to make sure Seonghwa knows he’s serious, despite the nausea churning away in his gut, the uncertainty clawing at his chest.

“Why?”

It’s like looking into a mirror when he sees that little spark of hope ignite in Seonghwa’s eyes.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says in a breath, and before he can convince himself otherwise, he leans in and closes the gap between them, the way he’s always wanted to. 

Seonghwa’s lips are somehow softer than he ever imagined they would be. He lets himself press into them a bit too hard, reveling in the way they feel against his own. And it’s chaste, dry, but he gets lost in the feeling of it anyway, determined to remember it for the rest of his life.

It doesn’t last, though; it’s only a couple seconds until Seonghwa pulls away, looking more upset and pained than ever, and Hongjoong’s stomach promptly drops several meters to the forest floor below. Of course he’s managed to misread the situation. Of course this couldn’t go his way. 

The tears shining on Seonghwa’s lower lash line are dangerously close to spilling over when he speaks. 

“I’m sorry Hongjoong, but I can’t do this with you.”

I can’t do this with you. 

The word “you” feels like a stake to his heart. He can feel the way it aches, blood spilling out of the open wound. It makes his mouth taste like copper, makes his ears ring, his vision go blurry.

Seonghwa’s voice is shaking as he continues. “After what you put me through… I won’t go through that again. I’m sorry.”

“What I put you through?” Hongjoong’s lips ask, genuine confusion mingling with the numbing pain spreading through his chest. His brain is working overtime as he tries to figure out what exactly Seonghwa is referencing. Sure, he had been a bit short with him during that one call, but that would hardly warrant this big of a reaction.

“Please. Don’t play games with me,” Seonghwa spits, and there should be more venom behind it than there really is, but there’s too much sorrow in his voice for it to come out as anything other than hurt. The bitterness burns Hongjoong’s open wound. “You already broke my heart once.”

Every new sentence that leaves his lips feels like completely new information to Hongjoong, like he’s watching the finale of a show that he hasn’t seen any other episodes of. He blinks stupidly, and with each second that passes, he can see the hurt on Seonghwa’s face edging more and more towards irritation as Hongjoong fails to understand whatever he’s alluding to.

“I… What do you mean I broke your heart?” he eventually spits out, completely unable to come up with anything he could have to apologize for.

And he braces for that irritation to crest, for the yelling to start, but it never does; instead, Seonghwa’s features soften, almost imperceptibly, and the dry click of his throat is audible when he swallows.

“You never replied,” he answers, voice softer than it’s been all day, like it’s something truly painful for him to say aloud. Hongjoong’s mind races with this new piece of information, again trying desperately to figure out what he’s talking about, but he comes up short. His face must show it, because Seonghwa goes on:

“Our junior year, Hongjoong-ah. You never wrote me back,” he explains, eye contact not wavering even in the slightest. “I thought it was clear that it was an important letter to answer, but you never did, so… I thought you were letting me down easy. But then when I called you, you were so short with me, and seeing you do your date makeup for someone else was just so–”

“Seonghwa,” he interrupts, and the other promptly clamps his mouth shut, eyes red and watering and filled to the brim with more sorrow than Hongjoong thinks he should ever be subjected to. “I never got a letter from you that year.”

He lets his statement sink in for a bit, watches the way Seonghwa slowly absorbs this new piece of information, connections forming in his mind. His eyes have gone round and wide, and when he finally blinks, a tear manages to escape, trailing down the side of his face and refracting the orange rays of light streaming in through the window.

“I… I thought you were letting me down easy, because… because you didn’t need me anymore,” Hongjoong adds, and finally admitting that thought aloud makes his own eyes water. He squeezes them shut, curling in on himself a bit, head tipping down to hide from his own words.

But Seonghwa is having none of it, it seems; in an instant, his hands are on Hongjoong’s cheeks, holding his face between them like he’s the most precious thing in the world. He encourages Hongjoong to raise his head, and he goes easily, dewy eyelashes fluttering back open to look at the man before him.

His face is awash in warm amber from the quickly setting sun, creating warm highlights and soft shadows, and Hongjoong’s breath catches in his throat. A thumb brushes softly under his eye, and he can feel the way it slides wet across the skin there.

“I think we’re both stupid,” Seonghwa says with a little huff of laughter, and then the gap between them closes for the second time that evening.

This time, Hongjoong is the one taken by surprise, nearly choking on the breath his lungs gasp for. But the feeling of plush lips pressing so insistently against his own washes over him quickly enough, and his consciousness is swept away, brain blissfully quiet for the first time all day. 

Seonghwa tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and the way their lips lock together so perfectly is enough to send a shiver down Hongjoong’s spine on its own, the feeling only doubled by the little puff of warm air Seonghwa lets out that fans across his face. It’s memorable enough to make it feel like his first kiss all over again.

Seonghwa is relentless, sliding their lips together, taking and taking, and Hongjoong just lets him, hardly trying to find space to breathe; he just lets the oxygen get kissed from his lungs, lets Seonghwa take whatever he wants. 

When he finally does pull away, breathless and flushed with spit-slick lips, Hongjoong doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look more beautiful. 

“Hongjoong, I’ve always needed you. You’re everything I’ve ever needed.”

It comes out as almost a whisper, spoken like a secret between just the two of them. His hands haven’t left Hongjoong’s cheeks, still holding his face, still staring into his soul with those soft eyes that always feel far too earnest, far too much. Everything Seonghwa does is always too much for him, because Hongjoong knows he always means it with his whole heart. 

As if to prove his devotion, Seonghwa leans in again, this time kissing the delicate skin right under Hongjoong’s eye, then the tip of his nose, then the corner of his lips. He peppers his entire face with kisses, and Hongjoong swears he can feel warm honey dripping from them, seeping into his pores. By the time he makes it back to Hongjoong’s lips, Hongjoong feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin. 

There’s heat behind it this time. Seonghwa kisses like he really means it, like he can undo the past two years of tension just with the press of his lips. One of them sighs, but the sound is quickly swallowed by greedy lips, wet tongues sliding together, harsh breaths and a clumsy clack of their teeth. It’s too much, but Hongjoong wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Somewhere in between it all, Seonghwa has swung a leg over his lap to straddle him, but it takes Hongjoong a few seconds to realize that Seonghwa is sitting in his lap. His brain is lagging a few seconds behind, overwhelmed and caught off guard; the weed doesn’t help, he’s sure, but he’s pretty certain it’s the only thing keeping him from panicking. 

Seonghwa is persistent. Dedicated, if he lets himself read into things the way he thinks he’s supposed to; it feels foreign and wrong to let himself believe his feelings are returned after so many years of longing, even as the object of his fixation sits securely atop his thighs, running his tongue along Hongjoong’s teeth as if to memorize their shape. 

He’s never been kissed like this before. He’s never been kissed with this type of devotion, with this amount of care. With this much intensity. His fingers ache where they’re fisted tightly into the fabric of Seonghwa’s shirt, and he has no idea how long they’ve been there, clutching the other like letting go will snap him out of this dream that he’s landed himself in. 

He feels dizzy. 

Forcibly, he pulls himself away, chest heaving to recover some of the oxygen he’s been depriving himself of for the past several minutes. But Seonghwa hardly allows any space to come between them, hovering a hair’s width away from him, just far enough for Hongjoong’s eyes to be able to focus on his features. 

There’s something new staring back at him now, something different swimming in that dark sea of espresso. Whatever it is is making it impossible for him to catch his breath, wrapping around his chest and squeezing like a snake that’s holding him in place, getting ready to swallow him whole. 

Strangely, the feeling makes him shiver. 

His brain overrides the instinct to freeze in a last-ditch attempt at self preservation, and his mouth starts running again. 

“What was the letter about?” he asks, latently thinking to himself that he can probably guess what its contents were. 

A tiny bit of that tension between them breaks, just enough to give Hongjoong room to breathe. Seonghwa hums, leaning in to nose along the edge of his jaw, the soft spot right under his ear, down the side of his throat. 

“Did you know I’m gay?” Seonghwa asks sarcastically, punctuating the question with a little nip at the delicate skin covering his artery, which Hongjoong can feel pounding away beneath that skin. 

Smoking was maybe not the best idea, in hindsight, because every new sensation Seonghwa subjects him to is totally wiping his mind of all coherent thought; but to be fair, how was he supposed to know this was where he would end up today? It was just supposed to be him, a joint, their names on the wall, and his aching, yearning heart – whatever it is they’re doing now was definitely not part of the plan. 

A violent shudder wracks his body; he tries to hold it back, but he’s positive Seonghwa can feel it anyway. He barely reacts, though, seemingly too busy kissing and nipping away at Hongjoong’s neck to tease him about it. 

“I gathered that,” Hongjoong finally gasps out, trying and failing not to let on just how affected he is by all of this. Again, though, if Seonghwa notices, he can’t be bothered to say anything; he’s too absorbed in kissing his way back up to Hongjoong’s ear, nosing at the lobe of it, subtly sniffing at the place a scent gland would be if he had one. It should probably be weird, but it only makes Hongjoong’s heart beat faster in his chest. 

“I told you all about how I figured it out,” Seonghwa purrs, voice low and right in his ear.

And then there’s another new sensation, the feeling of something hot and wet dragging along the shell of his ear. He’s momentarily overtaken by the thought of Seonghwa’s tongue plunging right into his ear canal, something he’s never considered before, but the thought of it does something for him. It’s kind of claiming, in a way, to have someone touch him in places he’s never been touched by anyone else, and the thought sends molten heat rushing south.

He shuts the train of thought down before he gets too carried away.

“Yeah?” Hongjoong’s voice cracks embarrassingly on the way out. 

“Yeah. I told you all about the guy I was into.”

And for a second, before Seonghwa starts talking again, Hongjoong’s anxious little brain makes him worry about the worst. He worries he’s about to hear about some guy Seonghwa had a class with once, how they met up at a party or something, how they danced together and kissed and maybe hooked up. 

He feels right on the edge of going completely nonverbal, totally overwhelmed from the combination of being high, this subject matter, Seonghwa’s voice, and the things he’s doing to Hongjoong’s body. A vaguely questioning noise comes out of his throat, though, and this seems to be enough for Seonghwa. 

“Remember that instagram post you made on Yunho’s birthday sophomore year?”

He remembers. 

He remembers, and most of his irrational anxiety settles.

Hongjoong rarely went out during his time in university, too wrapped up in his coursework and not particularly interested in wasting time at a loud bar filled with strangers. He still went a few times, though, mostly to satisfy his friends’ requests for him to come. 

Yunho’s 20th birthday was one of those times. He had been feeling a bit lonely, missing Seonghwa more than usual, so he tried to make himself feel better by letting Wooyoung dress him up just so he could feel pretty. Maybe he could also get laid at the end of the night, just to help him forget about his unrequited love, but something about having his first time with a stranger felt so inherently wrong to him. 

Regardless, Wooyoung’s escapades had landed Hongjoong in a mesh top, a cropped leather jacket, and concerningly tight ripped skinny jeans. With his makeup and hair done too, he felt good. He remembers taking a few selfies at the bar, and a lot before they left, some sluttier ones in his mirror that showed off his waist, his thighs, his ass. They weren’t meant to be bait, exactly, more self-indulgent than anything, but he remembers getting a lot of compliments on the post. He remembers it made him feel good. Wanted. 

He remembers imagining it was someone else saying all those things to him, making him feel desirable. 

“Yes?” he squeaks out, fingers tightening where they’re still fisted in Seonghwa’s shirt, tugging him closer and keeping him from moving away. He can feel Seonghwa smirk into his skin before he replies. 

“You could say it had an impact on me.”

The admission makes Hongjoong’s heart flip in his chest. They weren’t meant to be bait, but he had successfully baited his crush anyway. He had served as Seonghwa’s gay awakening. 

That information goes straight to his head, clouding out any stray shreds of apprehension remaining there. 

“How so?” he asks, wanting nothing more than to hear all the compliments Seonghwa has for him, all the things he’s been holding in all this time. He wants to hear him say how pretty he thinks Hongjoong is, how he drives him crazy, how he loves him. 

When Seonghwa pulls back to look him in the eye, though, he gets none of those things; instead, it’s something Hongjoong has only heard in his dreams. 

“All I could think about was how it would feel to fuck you.”

All the air gets knocked from his lungs, and Seonghwa is leaning in to kiss him again, hot and wet and heavy. 

Their highs must be peaking now, he thinks to himself in the back of his mind, because he’s struggling to keep up. His face is tingly, and it feels like the floor is shifting beneath him. He’s not sure when, but Seonghwa has shifted in his lap, changing from a fairly tame position to pressing his half-hard bulge against Hongjoong’s. 

He hadn’t really fully realized he was becoming hard already, or how much this all had affected him, but he’s noticing now. And he’s noticing the speed at which his heart is pounding away in his chest, undoubtedly sending blood rushing south; when Seonghwa starts to gently roll his hips against Hongjoong’s, he also notices exactly how hard he is. 

Seonghwa’s hands have started exploring now, skimming over the light t-shirt Hongjoong has on, settling somewhere near the hem. As he’s pressed harder into the wall of the treehouse, he can feel fingers playing with the edge of his shirt, but they never dip underneath, never pressing any boundaries they haven’t explicitly been given the okay to cross. 

He appreciates the respect, he really does, but at the same time, the teasing sensation of fingers is, embarrassingly, almost enough to send him over the edge. That sensation combined with the kissing, the grinding, their highs, the emotional weight of it all… He’s starting to feel that heat in his gut building far too quickly. 

And, his brain helpfully provides, it could also have something to do with the fact that this is all entirely new territory for him. The fact that he’s never really done any of this before, let alone with someone as important to him as Seonghwa. He’s inexperienced, as much as he hates to admit it, and instinctual panic rises in his throat when he feels a finger accidentally brush against the skin of his stomach. 

He forces himself to pull away, braces a hand on Seonghwa’s hip to stop the grinding. 

“I don’t wanna walk back in dirty clothes–” Hongjoong chokes out, eyes looking anywhere but Seonghwa’s face. Horrifyingly, the heat in his gut doesn’t die back at all; it seems as though the weight of Seonghwa on top of him is enough for his body. He has to be about two minutes away from blowing his load in his pants.

“Mm, we should probably take them off, then.” Seonghwa’s fingers twitch on the waistband of Hongjoong’s shorts, but they do nothing more.

Something passes between them then, something like a question of consent, and Hongjoong doesn’t know how to answer it. He wants this, of course, wants Seonghwa. But there are still so many unanswered questions he has about how they got here, what this means for them, for their future. 

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? He knows, no matter what they do tonight, how far they go, they’ll be right back where they started when they finish. Seonghwa will be in Seoul, and Hongjoong will be hours away, yearning and lonely. 

Because, at the end of the day, Seonghwa isn’t here for him. Seonghwa isn’t here to rejoin his life, to rent a meager little apartment downtown together, sacrificing his career in Seoul that hasn’t even started yet. Seonghwa is here to visit, and that’s it. It’s great that they’ve come to this conclusion together, but it doesn’t change the fact that their lives are running on completely different tracks now. Seonghwa has his new friends, new job, new life, and Hongjoong has… well, everything he’s always had, he guesses. Everything Seonghwa is moving on from. 

Part of him wonders if it would be best to stop things here. To appreciate what he’s gotten from the night already, and decide how far he wants to go another time, after they’ve had a chance to talk things over. 

But, there’s another part of him, made significantly louder by the THC coursing through his system. There’s another part of him that’s begging – demanding – that he keeps going. This could be his only chance to have Seonghwa like this, after all. 

He’s just not sure if this will completely ruin what’s left of their relationship or not.

As if sensing his spiral, Seonghwa’s fingers tap against Hongjoong’s torso, bringing him back to the present. The present, where there’s a beautiful man in his lap, hard and wanting, asking if he can take Hongjoong apart in all the ways he’s fantasized about. 

So he shoves the apprehension about how this will affect them later into a box and kicks it into the back of his mind as hard as he can. 

His hand relaxes a bit where it’s still pushing into Seonghwa’s hip. 

“I don’t– I don’t really know how this works,” he admits sheepishly, a fresh flush climbing his cheeks. 

“You don’t know how to take clothes off? I can show you,” Seonghwa purrs, something vaguely predatory lacing his voice. It makes all Hongjoong’s hair stand on end, sending an electric little shiver down his spine. But he only has a second to revel in the feeling, because Seonghwa’s fingers hook firmly into his waistband, ready to tug, and his nerves take over him again. 

“Yah, Seonghwa–” he gasps, hand instinctively flying to grab Seonghwa’s wrist, freezing him in his tracks again. Panic rises in his throat, blocking out all the other emotions fighting for dominance within him. 

His dry eyes sting, frustration getting the better of him. He knows he’s standing in his own way, knows Seonghwa has to be one of the safest people he could do this with, but there’s still uncertainty muddled with the rest of what he’s feeling. 

Because, what if Seonghwa has already done all this and so much more? What if Hongjoong isn’t his first or second partner, but something more like his seventh or eighth? Jealousy aside, the potential inexperience gap is what fuels his apprehension, the last barrier between ending things here and letting them go all the way.

When he drags his gaze up to meet those brown eyes again, some rambling, nervous explanation ready on his tongue, the emotion he finds there makes those words die in his throat. 

He’s met with gooey, honey eyes, the gentlest smile he could imagine, the softest voice that makes his heart flutter. 

“It’s okay. I’ve never done anything, either,” Seonghwa offers, fingers brushing gently against Hongjoong’s stomach, more safely now, from the outside of his shirt. “We can figure it out together. If you want.”

He’s almost ashamed at how relieved he feels, how much that offer settles some of the emotional tornado ripping his insides apart. But he can’t be bothered to be ashamed, because now that his last semi-rational excuse is gone, all he can really think about is how badly he wants this. 

He can just… have Seonghwa however he wants. In any position, any act, anything, really – he’s pretty sure that’s what he’s offering, anyway. He can have Seonghwa however he wants, in any of the millions of ways he’s imagined them together, and there’s nothing stopping them. Not distance, not assumed sexualities, not even–

Lube. 

They don’t have lube.

Seonghwa is a chronic overpacker, but there’s approximately a zero percent chance he would’ve brought any – who would? 

“I don’t think we can do all that tonight,” he mumbles, hopes it doesn’t come off as a rejection. Hopes his eyes can convey just how badly he wants – needs this. 

“We don’t have to go all the way. Anything you’re comfortable with, Joongie. I just… I want to do this with you.”

The words are too sweet for him, too caring, touching all his vulnerable parts in a way that makes him feel like crying all over again. And he desperately does not want to spend his first time crying, so instead of saying anything more, he lets his actions speak for him. 

He reaches out, slipping his hands under the hem of Seonghwa’s shirt. His skin is so warm under Hongjoong’s palm, and something electric passes between them when he makes contact. It feels so foreign even just touching him here, in a place that’s only somewhat intimate, but he finds himself immediately craving more. 

His hands slide up, slowly mapping out all the skin he’s only imagined the feeling of before, commits it to memory. Even if he never has Seonghwa like this again, he’s positive he’ll always remember the feeling of his soft, smooth skin, the subtle definition of his abs, the dip of his bellybutton, the subtle swell of his pecs. 

As if hypnotized, his eyes are glued to where his hands disappear under the flimsy t-shirt fabric, watching the way it rucks up the higher he moves his hands. It would probably be easier to just take the shirt off, but Seonghwa has leaned into his space again, pressing lips into Hongjoong’s neck, and Hongjoong would rather die than ask him to stop even for a second. 

So he lets his hands roam underneath the fabric, lets them blindly explore all the things he’s seen, but never been given the privilege of touching before. It’s different than he imagined, mostly because of how much lean muscle Seonghwa has gained over the past few years, but he’s certainly not complaining. 

It’s not long until his hands find Seonghwa’s nipples, first brushing over them gently a few times, just to appreciate, to feel. Seonghwa breathes into his neck, bites down into the skin there, making Hongjoong let out a breath of his own, a tiny, airy whimper making its way out along with it. Heat rushes to his face, and automatically, his body tries to find something to draw attention away from his embarrassing noise. 

His fingers latch onto a nipple, and he pinches, not too hard, but hard enough that he should really feel it. Seonghwa just bites harder into his neck, practically gnawing on the skin. 

Hongjoong chokes on a gasp. It takes everything in him not to moan, not to let on just how affected he is by just… just biting. He knows it’s probably to be expected, and that Seonghwa probably wouldn’t mind, but it still feels too embarrassing, too vulnerable right now. So he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, focusing instead on the feeling of the nipple between his fingers. 

It’s cute and small like he remembers them being, from the times he’s seen Seonghwa shirtless in the past. He knows them to be small, not too pointy but not too round, and an aesthetically pleasing shade of brown that matches the warm tones of the rest of his skin. And sensitive, if the way Seonghwa is reacting is anything to go by – he adds that to his mental list.

Seonghwa is moaning shamelessly into Hongjoong’s neck, sloppily pressing kisses into every centimeter he can reach, switching between gentle nips, harsh bites, and swipes of his tongue. He leans into Hongjoong like he can’t bear not being close to him, pressing as much of himself against the smaller man as he can without obstructing the movement of his hands. It’s overwhelming, especially when Seonghwa starts gently rolling his hips again, but in the best way. 

Hongjoong finds his nipples quite fun to play with – it’s easy to get reactions out of him this way, delicious shivers running through his body every time Hongjoong stimulates them just right. It makes it easier to pay less attention to the purple marks he’s certain are being bitten into his neck, which is helpful, because he’s pretty sure if he pays too much attention to that, he might drive himself insane. 

Because, if he ignores that stupid box of apprehension at the back of his mind, the instinctual “he doesn’t like you like that” reaction that he subconsciously conditioned himself to have over all these years, all the biting almost feels like… claiming.

It’s claiming in the same way he felt earlier, when Seonghwa breathed the last bit of smoke into his mouth. Claiming in a way that makes him feel lightheaded, like this is all some elaborate hallucination that he’ll wake up from later, drenched in cold sweat in his bed and staring at the ceiling. 

If he thinks about it too much, he’s pretty sure he’ll cum in his pants. 

He needs a better distraction. 

“Can I suck you off?” his stupid mouth asks before he can stop it. 

Seonghwa pulls back, looking at him with those big, round boba eyes, the whites of them still streaked with little red veins.

“Hongjoong-ah. Are you sure?” he asks, genuine disbelief in his tone, and Hongjoong almost has to laugh. It’s funny that he could think this is something Hongjoong wouldn’t want to do, when this is all he’s wanted for years and years. 

Instead of answering, he encourages the taller man to raise up on his knees, putting the bulge in his pants right at Hongjoong’s eye level. A bolt of nerves hits him, but the intense need running through his veins overrides it, directing his fingers to start undoing Seonghwa’s fly on their own. 

Hongjoong has given one blowjob before, which is probably why his subconscious latched onto it as a “safe” distraction to offer. It was on a night he got way too drunk at a party in university, sometime around his third year, with a random guy who had been dancing with him all night. The second Hongjoong was drunk enough (nearly blacking out), they were stumbling into the bathroom together, and Hongjoong was pushed to his knees. 

It wasn’t bad, exactly, but it wasn’t great; the whole thing had probably been a fifteen minute excursion at best, very clearly just a drunk hookup from a guy who wanted to get his dick wet, and nothing more. Hongjoong didn’t even get off himself, left needy and hollow on the bathroom floor at the end of it all. 

Considering he barely remembers it, he doesn’t really count it as any type of experience, especially since he hadn’t been touched outside of their dancing and a couple minutes of kissing. But, still, he can understand why his brain had offered to do this – it’s the only thing he has at least a shred of knowledge about, after all. 

When he tugs Seonghwa’s pants down just enough to free his cock, though, any previously imagined confidence flies out the window. 

He’s significantly larger than the guy Hongjoong hooked up with before, probably over double the length, and slender, but still girthier than his last escapade. It’s bobbing right in his face, simultaneously intimidating and enticing, flushed prettily all the way up the length of it, with a little bead of precum shining at the tip. 

He steels himself, reminds himself that this is Seonghwa, so he has nothing to be nervous about. Annoyingly, this does absolutely nothing to quell his nerves, but he forcibly pushes them to the side anyway.

His hand reaches out, wrapping gently around the base of the cock. The skin under his palm is soft, almost velvety, and scorching. He can feel Seonghwa’s pulse pounding away, just as fast as Hongjoong’s own, and that fact does more to settle his anxiety than anything else has so far. 

It’s a bit of a struggle to remember what exactly he did the last time he gave a blowjob, but he does his best to remember anyway, thinking back on which actions got the best reactions from that guy at the party. He leans in, letting his eyelashes flutter as he looks up at Seonghwa in a way he hopes looks pretty and not stupid, and gives the tip a couple timid kitten licks. 

The second his tongue makes contact, Seonghwa’s eyebrows pinch in a way that feels illegal, this horrifyingly erotic expression coming across his features as his lips part around a breath. And in Hongjoong’s still-hazy mind, it feels like the biggest compliment in the world, making him believe that maybe they could really make something work between them. 

The fact that Seonghwa is already leaking so much makes Hongjoong feel a lot better about his own situation; his reactions help, too, the way he’s panting and shaking from Hongjoong doing hardly anything. He keeps licking, digging the tip of his tongue right into Seonghwa’s slit, and Seonghwa’s legs nearly give out. 

He smiles to himself instead of saying something teasing, wrapping his lips around the tip and sucking. Instantly, a hand flies up like it wants to tangle into Hongjoong’s hair, but it stops itself, hovering a couple centimeters away. Blinking, he holds Seonghwa’s gaze, sucks harder, hopes it’s enough to get that hand to tangle into his hair and tug. 

It isn’t enough, apparently; his hand just sits there, so close he can almost feel it, radiating warmth and so, so inviting. There’s something in Seonghwa’s eyes just behind the shroud of arousal, behind the mist of his high. There’s some sort of uncertainty there, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch, even though it’s something he never would’ve hesitated to do before. Maybe it’s the different context, this new situation they’ve found themselves in, or something else entirely, but whatever the reason, Hongjoong thinks it won’t do at all. 

So he gently starts stroking the shaft, more self indulgent than anything, and lets himself lean into Seonghwa’s hand, gazing up at his best friend in a way he hopes conveys just how much he wants this, wants contact, wants intimacy. 

Seonghwa lets out a hard, shaky breath, and then threads his fingers into Hongjoong’s hair. If his eyes look more red than they were before, glassier and more watery, Hongjoong pretends not to notice. He pretends not to notice how wrecked he looks, pretends he doesn’t feel just as wrecked himself. 

The fingers against his scalp feel good, so good, a solid, grounding presence amongst everything else that’s happening, all the new things that feel so dreamlike and surreal. They tighten when Hongjoong swirls his tongue around the engorged head sitting just past his lips, tugging when he sucks a bit too hard – bliss has to be the only way to describe the feeling. 

He lets his eyes slip closed. 

Seonghwa produces a lot of precum, Hongjoong is finding out. He hadn’t really noticed how it tasted the last time he gave a blowjob – or maybe he just can’t remember – but he’s noticing it now, and surprisingly, he doesn’t mind it at all. Instead, he revels in the way it spreads out across his tongue, slick and salty, and commits it to memory, more tidbits to make his future fantasies more real, more delicious. 

The added lubricant it provides is helpful, considering the way Hongjoong’s mouth is still a little dry; it helps him slowly sink down further and further, taking as much of Seonghwa as he comfortably can. One thing he does remember from last time is how strong his gag reflex was, so he’s careful not to push himself too hard, using his hand on the part he can’t take. 

It’s such a heady feeling to be filled with Seonghwa in this way, to be able to feel the weight of him on his tongue, in his hand. Seonghwa brushes a hand across Hongjoong’s bulging cheek, so reverent it almost looks like he could cry. There’s something so intimate about it all, tender in a way that makes Hongjoong’s stomach churn with nerves and something else that he chooses not to name.

Instead, he focuses on the feeling of Seonghwa’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently to encourage him to take his cock deeper. It’s a nice feeling, just enough to make him feel like Seonghwa is the one in control without being scary or overwhelming. It’s like a signal to his brain that it’s okay to check out, so he does, letting his worries dissipate completely so he can mindlessly suck cock. 

He’s not really sure what he’s supposed to be doing with his free hand, but when his consciousness briefly checks back in, he’s surprised to find it’s already found a place on its own, wrapped around the back of Seonghwa’s thigh, finger resting right in the crease where his thigh meets his ass. It’s soft there, comfortable, and he lets himself squeeze as he zones out again. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been at it when that grip starts to tighten on his scalp, brain pleasantly tingling with his high that’s still hanging on, but the skittering pain makes him moan around Seonghwa’s length. 

“Shit, shit, Hongjoongie–” Seonghwa grits out, fingers tightening painfully as they tug Hongjoong’s face forward. The head of his cock goes a bit too deep, making him gag around it. He blinks his watering eyes up at Seonghwa, hoping to convey how much he doesn’t mind the feeling, but Seonghwa is already cumming before he gets the chance. 

It’s a lot, thick and hot when it hits the back of his throat, and it catches him off guard. He does his best to swallow, but inevitably, he coughs some of it up, leaking from the corners of his mouth. 

The second Seonghwa’s dick stops twitching with aftershocks, he gently pulls Hongjoong off by his hair, letting him catch his breath enough to swallow the rest of what’s in his mouth. He feels kind of gross now that his awareness has come back to him, feeling the remnants of Seonghwa’s release sticking to his chin, but the way Seonghwa is looking at him almost completely erases that feeling. 

He’s looking at Hongjoong like he’s a deity, some unfathomable angelic creature that’s breaking his feeble human mind. It’s overwhelming to be looked at like that, like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered, but in a good way. A great way. It makes this mist cloud his mind, makes him think they really have a shot outside this little bubble they’ve created. 

This time, he thinks he might really believe it. 

Maybe it doesn’t matter that Seonghwa will be so far away, busy with his new job, his new friends, his new life. Maybe it doesn’t matter that they haven’t spoken in years, undoubtedly having missed important moments in each others’ lives. Maybe nothing matters, as long as Seonghwa keeps looking at him like he single handedly created the cosmos. 

Fingers curl tentatively under the waistband of Hongjoong’s shorts, and he snaps back to reality immediately. 

“Can I… try to do you?” 

He looks ravenous sitting on Hongjoong’s lap right now, gripping into the waistband of his shorts like he’s ready to tear them off the second he’s given the okay. It’s intoxicating, and Hongjoong almost says yes blindly, but as he’s taking a breath to speak, another thought crosses his mind. 

He still doesn’t know for sure if he’ll ever have another chance like this with Seonghwa. As much as the lovesick part of his brain is screaming at him to believe, to have some hope, he feels like he isn’t exactly capable of thinking rationally at the moment. So, in the event that this is his only chance, as much as he would love to know how that mouth would feel wrapped around him, there’s a much more important feeling he would rather commit to memory instead. 

“Seonghwa…” he starts, voice a bit rough and thick from the way Seonghwa’s tip had been nudging at his throat only a minute ago, from the amount of cum he just swallowed. It feels stupid to say out loud, because he knows it’s probably not something they can do. Not with Seonghwa’s size, and not with how inexperienced Hongjoong is, but he knows he’ll regret it forever if he doesn’t ask outright. 

“Can you get inside me?”

Those fingers twitch where they’re still hooked into his waistband, and a more intense hunger flashes in his eyes, but even so, he makes no move to continue. 

“I don’t think so,” he says apologetically, sounding truly pained, and the knowledge that he wants this just as badly as Hongjoong just feeds his delusion. “We don’t have any lube.” 

He’s right, and Hongjoong knows it. He’d already come to the same conclusion, after all, but even so, he can’t seem to let it go. It’s like he’s bargaining with himself, too desperate to let this go. It’s stupid, but now that he’s asked for it, his mouth just keeps going. 

“Maybe we can just… do a little? Like, what if we only put some of, uh… it, inside?” he gets out, looking anywhere but Seonghwa’s face. 

“Hongjoongie.” Seonghwa levels him with a stare, corners of his lips twitching just barely before his expression sobers again. “Are you asking me to give you just the tip?”

Mortified. He’s mortified. 

His seemingly permanent flush that had only just died down flares back to life, and with the amount of heat he can feel, he’s certain his entire face has to be painted a bright shade of scarlet. 

“I changed my mind. I don’t wanna fuck you at all anymore,” he bristles, covering his face with his hands – it’s as much as he can hide with the way Seonghwa is still sitting in his lap, hovering over him and keeping him in place. It sounds so stupid to say out loud like that, and he kind of hates himself for asking. 

Seonghwa laughs lightly, and his hands come up to gently wrap around Hongjoong’s wrists, encouraging him to lower his hands. 

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” he explains, but Hongjoong can hardly hear him over his own heartbeat and the loud, self-deprecating thoughts swirling around his mind. “I don’t think we should do that tonight. I’m sorry.” 

Rejection. It probably wouldn’t be a big deal in a normal situation, but Hongjoong feels so fragile, broken, desperate. 

“Can we… Can we try fingers? I just…” he bargains, hoping he isn’t coming off as pathetic as he feels, but who is he kidding? He knows he is. He knows Seonghwa knows it, too, with that stupid, overly soft look in his eyes, the way he smiles so fondly, looking like a dream with golden evening sun dappled across his face – far, far too perfect. 

“I need to feel you. Please,” Hongjoong finishes, small and mumbled. He can’t bring himself to look into those dark, horribly beautiful eyes anymore; instead, he’s chosen a spot on the hem of Seonghwa’s shirt to stare at, a place where some of the stitching is a little frayed from years of wear. 

Seonghwa is quiet for a couple seconds, and Hongjoong braces himself for another ‘no’. 

“Anything you want, yeobeo.”

Yeobeo, he says, and Hongjoong feels his blood turn to honey, feels the floodgates break. His lower lip quivers pathetically before he manages to get a grip, willing this fresh torrent of emotions to stay inside for just a little longer. 

“I’m not really sure how to do this,” Seonghwa admits, placing his hands back on the waistband of Hongjoong’s shorts, completely oblivious to the impending breakdown below him that’s one more kind word away from happening. His fingers curl, more confident this time, more firm. “Is this okay?”

When he’s sure his eyes are dry, and will remain that way, Hongjoong glances up at the other, at the man holding his entire heart and soul in his hands, and gives him a nod. 

There’s a lot of shuffling, a lot of readjusting, but the offending shorts and underwear are soon tugged down and off, leaving Hongjoong bare on his lower half. He lays back, propping himself up on his elbows for the time being, and Seonghwa settles, too, laying on his stomach. 

With his bare ass on the floor of their treehouse, he’s suddenly very thankful Seonghwa had thought to sweep earlier; it feels much less dirty than it probably would’ve otherwise. And he’s glad there’s something else for him to think about, even if it’s just the feeling of old wood pressing into his ass cheeks, because he’s pretty sure if he thinks too much about the fact that Park Seonghwa is looking at his cock right now, his fight or flight instinct would activate. 

“Cute,” Seonghwa comments under his breath, staring like he’s never seen a penis before in his life. Hongjoong is on the smaller side, which he already knew; he’s not particularly self-conscious about it, considering he has essentially zero desire to top. Plus, he actually thinks it fits the rest of his appearance quite well, an appropriate size for his small frame, so it really doesn’t bother him. 

But, even so, he can’t help but squirm under Seonghwa’s gaze. He’s staring so intently where he’s settled between Hongjoong’s legs, watching the little pearl of precum that forms at the tip when the staring goes on too long. He runs a finger up the underside of it, watching the way it twitches, and Hongjoong can only feel like a passenger in his own body as his hips jerk from the featherlight sensation. 

Seonghwa explores to his heart’s content, seemingly in his own little world as he gently toys with Hongjoong’s dick, his balls, the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. And when Seonghwa’s thumb brushes over the tight pucker of his hole, he mentally thanks himself for waxing last week when the weather started getting hot; at least body hair is one thing he doesn’t have to be anxious about. 

What he is anxious about, though, is sweat. It’s been hot all day, only just starting to cool off now that the sun is almost down, and he knows he has to be sweaty. It’s natural, he’s well aware, something he can’t really help, but he’s pretty sure you’re supposed to shower before sex. It’s not like he could right now, anyway, so he’s sure Seonghwa isn’t expecting him to smell like clean soap, but even so, the proximity of Seonghwa’s face to his crotch is… worrying, to say the least. 

He’s about to open his mouth to say something, to blurt out some dumbass apology for having bodily functions, but Seonghwa beats him to it. 

“Fuck, you smell so good, Joongie.” 

His eyes feel tacky when he blinks. 

He raises his head a bit to look down at the man between his legs, frowning down at him, because he must’ve misheard. There’s no way he said that, no way Seonghwa the clean freak would be complimenting him on the smell of his sweaty balls. But, as if to punctuate his statement, he leans in closer, burying his nose in the skin and inhaling loudly. His eyes practically roll back at the scent, letting out a drawn out, satisfied sigh when he exhales. 

“What the fuck,” Hongjoong mutters under his breath, half-convinced this is some weed-induced hallucination, even though he’s certainly past his peak at this point, and he wasn’t even that high in the first place. “You’re a freak.”

He doesn’t mean it, not really, not as an insult. Because he would be lying if he said he wasn’t at least kind of into it, the way Seonghwa is almost drunk off the scent of him, huffing his sweat like a drug. 

Seonghwa doesn’t even react to the half-hearted insult, instead continuing his ministrations as if he’s doing the most normal, enjoyable thing in the world. He works his way down, leading with his nose, following his deranged sniffing with soft little kisses. 

And then Hongjoong feels lips on his taint, suddenly much closer to his hole than he had realized, and his legs instinctively want to snap closed. But Seonghwa’s hand grips into his thigh, not too hard, but enough to be assertive. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, breath fanning across Hongjoong’s entrance. It feels weird, ticklish and embarrassing, and his thighs twitch again in an attempt to close. Seonghwa’s eyes haven’t left him this whole time, wide and inquisitive, but that edge of hunger is still there, still waiting to be given the okay. “I really need to taste you. Please.”

Hongjoong’s next swallow sticks in his throat, blocks any words that might’ve tried to come out. So he nods, just once, jerky and stiff, and tries to pretend his legs aren’t shaking from both nerves and anticipation. 

He must not have been too far off on that freak allegation, because immediately, Seonghwa’s tongue is pressing against his rim, licking a long, extremely wet stripe up his perineum, between his balls, up the length of his shaft, ending in a little kitten lick at the tip of his cock, greedily swiping up the precum that’s already started to drip there. 

“Fuck–” Hongjoong chokes out, feeling a violent shudder wrack his body. His traitorous thighs try closing again, but Seonghwa’s hand is still there, gently keeping him spread and prone. 

Somehow, he hadn’t expected it to feel like this. Seonghwa’s abnormally long tongue is so slick and so soft, yet still firm enough to provide plenty of pressure. As he buries his face between Hongjoong’s cheeks, that tongue doing unspeakable things to his rim, the thought crosses Hongjoong’s mind that it kind of feels how he would imagine a tentacle would, but a lot warmer; it’s incredibly hot against his skin, even though he feels like his own body temperature has to be much the same. 

And, somehow, he also hadn’t expected Seonghwa to do it like this. To spend so much time on something like this, something that hardly gives him anything in return. But when Hongjoong looks down at him, all he sees is a man in the throes of pleasure, eyes closed, little moans vibrating across his skin, barely louder than the disgustingly wet sounds of him ravishing Hongjoong’s hole. 

His tongue starts to prod gently at the tight furl, and Hongjoong’s body automatically clenches at the foreign sensation. He lets out a shuddering sigh, doing his best to relax, and Seonghwa doesn’t let up for even a second. 

He’s a natural, Hongjoong thinks, briefly wondering if there’s any chance Seonghwa could’ve lied to him about his experience level, but the thought leaves as quickly as it came when the man between his legs abruptly pulls away, gasping for air. 

“Shit,” he pants, not wiping any of the saliva that’s running down his face, practically dripping from his chin, “that really hurts my jaw.” 

Hongjoong huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “You can stop,” he offers, despite how badly he wants to continue, how much his insides are vibrating with need. “All I asked for was your fingers.”

A determined little smirk comes across Seonghwa’s face, like he knows something Hongjoong doesn’t. Something about it makes him feel like a cornered prey animal. Horrifyingly, he finds he doesn’t mind the feeling. 

“I know,” Seonghwa answers, lowering his head again, and he speaks his next words right against the wet skin in front of him. “You sound too pretty for me to stop, though.”

And then he’s right back to it, tip of his tongue nudging at that tight ring of muscle, but not yet entering. 

He sounds pretty? 

Does he?

He was pretty sure he had been doing a good job at keeping it together, holding in any sounds that would be overly embarrassing, but then that fucking tongue laves over his hole again, over his taint, and he shocks himself with how loud the moan he lets out is. 

It’s like he’s had a pair of earplugs removed now that he’s not so lost in his thoughts, pulled back down to earth by the sinful drag of a wet muscle across his most sensitive skin. He doesn’t know about pretty, but he’s definitely loud, completely unable to hold any sounds in as Seonghwa works away. They’re high pitched, shaky, whorish, and he’s so, so thankful for how deep in the woods they are, because he would rather die than have anyone else hear him like this. 

Obviously, he’s never had a tongue near his asshole before, so he’s not really sure if it’s supposed to be able to go in or not. He’s also not really sure if Seonghwa knows if it’s supposed to be able to go in or not, but he keeps trying. Either way, Hongjoong is in heaven. 

He feels almost out of body, reveling in the wet slide against his hole, the gentle pleasure when Seonghwa sucks at it, the firm grip he still has on Hongjoong’s thigh. The feeling only doubles when something else starts pressing at his entrance alongside Seonghwa’s tongue. 

Hongjoong has fingered himself before, a few times during his very limited exploration of his own body, but it never felt quite right. He thought about getting a toy or something, but it didn’t feel worth it enough, especially with how busy he always was between multiple jobs and his studies. It was much easier and quicker to just jerk off normally, usually in the shower for the fastest cleanup. 

But now, with Seonghwa being the one to do it, it’s like an entirely new experience. 

Seonghwa’s index finger slides in so easily despite how tight Hongjoong assumes he has to be, but the sheer amount of saliva there makes it so painless. His fingers are much longer than Hongjoong’s own, too, reaching in and touching parts of him he didn’t know existed. 

That damn tongue is still lapping at his rim as Seonghwa sets a slow pace, moving his finger in and out experimentally. It’s actually ridiculous how good it feels; deliriously, he wonders why it never felt this good when he tried it himself.

“Does it hurt?” Seonghwa asks, only pulling away for long enough to get the words out; he’s right back at it a second later, violating his hole and blinking up at him with round, inquisitive eyes. 

“No,” he manages, and his vision is swimming when he tries to focus on Seonghwa. “It’s good.”

Seonghwa hums, and then there’s another finger joining the slick mess, prodding and nudging until it slides in alongside the first one. The stretch isn’t as easy this time, even as Seonghwa’s tongue is still pleasuring him. He drops from his elbows down to lie flat on his back, covering his face with his arms, pretending that’ll do anything to muffle the humiliating sounds that seem to keep leaking out of him. 

“Now?” Seonghwa asks, fingers nestled two knuckles deep, but not moving.

“Just– Keep going,” he answers, voice coming out tight and strained. Seonghwa obeys, goes back to his slow pace, his little kitten licks. His hand rubs over Hongjoong’s inner thigh, an attempt to soothe, but it just rips a gasp from his throat instead, goosebumps breaking out in its wake. 

It’s easier to make himself relax when he has something else to focus on, so instead of thinking about the way his rim is burning, he pays attention to the other things he can feel: Seonghwa’s tongue, hot and squirming, pleasuring him from the outside; the vibrating little moans he keeps making against Hongjoong’s hole, like he’s getting just as much out of this as Hongjoong is; the drag of those fingers against his walls, something he’s only been able to imagine in his most vivid wet dreams. It’s all so good, so perfect, and he desperately hopes they’ll be able to repair their relationship after this; he’s not sure if he can go without this for the rest of his life. 

A different sensation startles him out of his brief spiral. 

Seonghwa’s fingers have ventured deeper, touching places Hongjoong has only heard about – or, that’s what he has to assume it is, anyway. 

On one deep drag, the tips of his fingers brush something that makes his body react involuntarily. His back arches up and off the floor, shoulders dragging somewhat painfully across the old wood, and a squeaky whine is pulled from his throat, thighs jolting, hips twitching. 

This isn’t something he’s ever been able to feel on his own – his own fingers are too short, the positioning too awkward, so he’s never been able to reach. But even that tiny touch is enough to have him looking for more, squirming and whining, any embarrassment from sounding too needy completely evaporated.

The fingers inside him stop, though, pulling almost all the way out, even as Hongjoong tries in vain to chase them. 

“Sorry–” Seonghwa starts, sounding genuinely concerned, but Hongjoong cuts him off before he can get any further. 

“Please, deeper–” Hongjoong pants out, squirming his hips and trying to get Seonghwa to hit the spot again. Curious eyes blink at him from between his legs, surprised and maybe a bit confused, but, thankfully, his fingers plunge deep again, gently poking around until they find the right spot. 

“Here?” Seonghwa asks right into his skin, and hearing his voice is the last coherent thought Hongjoong has before his brain starts melting. 

Seonghwa has always been an attentive friend, maybe overly so at times, and it’s no different now. He doesn’t let up once he starts, the pads of his fingers rubbing relentlessly over that bundle of nerves again and again. It’s simultaneously the best and worst thing Hongjoong has ever felt.

His spine feels like it could snap in half at any time with how hard he’s arching, but he can’t seem to get himself to relax. Distantly, he can hear one of his hands thump against the wall of the treehouse, feeling the way his fingernails scratch across its surface as his body searches for something to grab onto, just to ground himself. 

It only gets worse when Seonghwa’s unholy tongue starts lapping at his rim again, squirming around and between his fingers, slipping inside along with them and adding to the slick mess Hongjoong can feel coating his ass cheeks. He can hardly keep his eyes open now, the sensations too much to face directly; but, even so, he can feel Seonghwa staring at him, soaking in all his reactions like they’re something to be savored. It makes him feel so hot, so desired – so loved, if he lets it all go to his head.

His neglected cock is drooling out obscene strings of fluid all over his stomach, probably red and pathetically twitching, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when it feels this good. 

The hand digging possessively into the soft flesh of his inner thigh still hasn’t let up, and neither have the fingers inside him, the tongue making some of the nastiest squelching sounds he’s ever heard. Even without having his cock touched, he knows he can’t last much longer. It’s all too much, and the fact that it’s Seonghwa doing this to him is making it much, much worse. 

The fingers inside him twist around a bit, and then there’s a new sensation: it’s the feeling of something pressing on his taint from the outside, probably Seonghwa’s thumb. His throat feels raw when a gasp is ripped from it, completely taken by surprise. 

Interestingly, the pressure only adds to the feeling of those fingers inside him abusing his prostate, and quickly, he’s hurdling to his climax. His fingers scramble on the wall of the treehouse, palm still pressed flat against the surface, desperately searching for something, anything, to hold onto so he doesn’t completely float away. 

But then his hand shifts, and his fingertips press into a carving he would recognize anywhere, one he knows like the back of his hand, and he comes apart on Seonghwa’s fingers. 

His mind is blissfully blank when he cums, hardly hearing the downright pornographic moans he’s letting out, hardly feeling the way he clamps down on those fingers. It feels so good, too good, so much better than how he’d imagined their first time together in his head. The splintered edge of the heart around their names presses into his skin, and he’s certain he’s never felt anything better in his life. 

And if he wasn’t sure before, he’s sure now:

He loves Seonghwa. 

He loves Seonghwa so much it hurts. 

When he comes back to himself, he’s sobbing. He doesn’t know how long he’s been crying, or how long it took him to be conscious again, but Seonghwa is hovering over him now, holding his face in his hands and peppering it with kisses. It’s too much, in a different way than what they just did, and it makes him feel warm and floaty. 

“I’m sorry for making you think I was abandoning you,” Seonghwa says, once he’s sure Hongjoong can hear and understand him. He looks so serious now, a little furrow between his brows, using one hand to brush damp hair from Hongjoong’s forehead. Hongjoong wants to tell him that it’s okay, that none of it matters now, that he wants to move forward and fix things, but he can’t get his tongue to form words.

And then Seonghwa says something else. 

“I want you to know I’ve always valued this friendship more than I can put into words.”

Instantaneously, any and all hope Hongjoong had allowed himself to build up during this whole thing dissipates.

Seonghwa is gazing down at him so fondly, an almost suffocating adoration bleeding out of him; moments ago, Hongjoong would’ve reveled in it, but now, the feeling of it makes him nauseous. 

Of course Seonghwa still thinks of him as just a friend. Of course he does, because, deep down, they both knew why they had come here today. They both knew it wasn’t for a fresh start, a new, budding relationship. 

The hand on Hongjoong’s cheek burns, flesh sizzling under its touch. 

When Seonghwa leans in, apparently looking for one last kiss, Hongjoong knows he has to tear himself away. 

“We should go,” he says plainly, standing up and keeping his back to the other as he fixes his clothes. “It’s getting dark.” And he steps out of the treehouse, not looking back to see whatever hurt has almost certainly come across the face of the one he loves so deeply. 

He descends the ladder quietly, hearing Seonghwa following not too far behind. The sun has fully dipped below the horizon line now, drenching the forest in a soft blue; it should feel calm, comforting, but instead, it just feels heavy. There’s something a bit melancholic about it, too – or maybe it’s just his own mood that he’s projecting onto the world around him. 

The leaves on the forest floor crunch softly as he steps down onto them, onto the little pile of debris Seonghwa had swept off the deck earlier. If he looks closely, he can notice little wood shavings there, little curls undoubtedly carved from the wall of the treehouse. The sight of them makes him sick to his stomach, and he has to take a few steps away. 

When Seonghwa makes it to the ground, Hongjoong can still barely look at him. He knows what’s coming, knows this has to be goodbye; he’s pretty certain their friendship can’t come back after what they’ve just done, no matter how much they mean to each other. 

So they stand in awkward silence for a few moments, neither of them seemingly able to say anything. Seonghwa looks like he wants to say something, but when he stays quiet for too long, Hongjoong decides enough is enough. 

“Well…” he starts, hands gripping the straps of his backpack too hard, “it’s a long walk back.”

“Right.” Seonghwa nods. There’s too much space between them, Hongjoong’s sappy, lovesick mind thinks, too much hanging in the air, considering what they’ve just done. He so badly wants to just reach out, to run into his arms and close that distance, even though he knows that’s not what this is. He can’t let his feelings continue to fester. 

“Right,” Seonghwa says again, mostly to himself, it seems. He shifts on his feet, leaves crunching under his shoes, but he doesn’t move any closer. Hongjoong wishes he would. Wishes he himself would. 

Seonghwa stays right where he is, so Hongjoong does the same. 

Seonghwa shifts again, this weird, almost remorseful smile coming across his features, and then Hongjoong is sure. They’re not coming back from this. 

“Good luck with your internship,” he says, sincerely, but he finds he can’t meet Seonghwa’s eyes anymore. “I'll see you later.” He turns on his heel, not sparing him another glance. 

It feels so final as he starts his walk out of the forest. This is it, his brain helpfully provides, this is the last time you’ll ever see him. 

It doesn’t have to be true, but, deep down, he knows it is. He knows his selfishness tonight has only solidified the wall between them. And, as much as he wishes things were different, they aren’t. He can’t fix it now, despite how much he wishes Seonghwa would rush after him to stop him from leaving, kiss the breath from his lungs, tell him he loves him as more than a friend, like this is the end of some romance movie. 

This isn’t a movie, though; it’s real life. Real life doesn’t always go the way you wish it would. 

“Please come with me to Seoul. Please.” 

He’s hardly taken three steps when Seonghwa’s voice cuts through the air. It’s rushed, less put together than he usually sounds, like he had to convince himself to say it out loud before it was too late.

“I think… we could have something good together,” he adds, sounding a little more unsure, a little more nervous. 

Hongjoong’s stupid little heart pounds in his chest. 

He’s stopped walking, the only sound now being the gentle rustling of the leaves, nighttime insects buzzing in the trees.

He has to be imagining things, because there’s no way he said what Hongjoong thinks he said. Because, that would be crazy, right? Because, in what world would he be willing to give up his family, his friends, just because the person who just broke his heart a second time asked him to? 

“You’re crazy,” he says, but there’s no real bite to it. “I’m not uprooting my entire life to share one bedroom with a friend.”

“Then do it as my boyfriend. Please, Hongjoong-ah.”

The evening air whips through the trees. It’s a strong gust, rustling the leaves loudly, making the branches bend and bow to its will. When he looks up as the branches part, he can see the first few stars shining in the rapidly darkening sky.

It’s almost scary how those few words can break down Hongjoong’s resolve so easily. It should be scary, but when he looks up at those stars, all he can think about is how badly he wants this, all the times he would sit on his roof and smoke, wishing there was a universe in which Seonghwa loved him the same way. 

They have things to work on, things to talk about and discuss. But it’s less scary when he knows they’re on the same page, that they both want the same thing. 

There’s crunching behind him, the sound of someone approaching; he doesn’t look up, just lets the space between them close. 

Maybe sometimes it’s hard to let go because you aren’t meant to. Maybe some things are worth holding onto, even if they hurt, even if they take effort to fix.

So Hongjoong laces their fingers together, tight and grounding, and promises he’ll never let go.