Archive of Our Own

Long, stark shadows are casted across the crowded courtyard as the late afternoon sun begins to dip behind the brutalist concrete structures of the university campus. 

Seongje leans against the low brick wall near the entrance, his tall frame clad in a dark jacket, one hand buried deep in his pocket while the other casually swings a half-empty drink. His heavy gaze lazily tracks the stream of students pouring out the gates–he doesn’t even pay that much attention to all those people, his mind fixed on only one person, and his patience is already wearing thin.

And then he spots him. 

Hyuntak walks out alongside two guys from his study group–two boys that Seongje has already looked into way more than Hyuntak would’ve liked, but you can’t blame a guy for wanting to know who his boyfriend hangs out with. Hyuntak leans in close, with a bright and careless laugh spilling from his lips as one of the classmates claps a hand on his shoulder to emphasize a joke. 

A cold twitch ignites behind Seongje’s ribs, his jaw tightens and his eyes narrow as he tracks the guy’s hand on Hyuntak’s arm and how it comfortably travels down to his wrist, making the hot possessiveness that always runs beneath his skin bubble up instantly. 

He pushes himself off the wall, his long strides intent on stepping right into that circle, tearing through their space and reminding those idiots what their place is. 

He takes two steps forward–-and then Hyuntak turns his head. 

The boy catches sight of him standing by the gate, and instantly the casual smile he’s been sharing with his classmates vanishes, replaced by something entirely different–a soft and genuine spark of warmth that lights up his eyes the second he recognizes Seongje. He nudges his classmates away with a quick dismissive wave, his face softening into a look so sweet, so purely happy to see him, that it completely catches Seongje off guard. 

It makes Seongje freeze mid-step, his dark mood instantly short-circuiting in a completely uncharacteristic way. The ugly urge to cause a scene evaporates into thin air, leaving him slightly dazed as he watches his boyfriend break away from the crowd and jog down the short fight of concrete steps straight toward him.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Hyuntak asks sweetly, stepping off the last stair onto the flat pavement, a faint, familiar blush already tinting his cheeks. “You said you were–”

The sentence never gets finished. 

On the transition from the stone step to the smooth pavement, Hyuntak’s right foot catches slightly on a tiny, uneven lip in the concrete. It’s not a violent stumble, but the moment his weight shifts onto his right joint to catch his balance, something deep inside his knee gives a sharp, vicious twitch. 

It feels like a thin, white-hot needle jabbing directly into the nerve behind his kneecap. 

Hyuntak gasps–a tiny and choked sound caught in his throat–as his right leg buckles instinctively, completely falling to hold him. 

In an instant, a wave of paralyzing terror slams into his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. 

No. No, no, no. 

The pain is terrifyingly familiar, and it sends his mind spiraling into a suffocating freefall in a matter of milliseconds. Panic floods his veins and transforms his blood into ice water. 

Is it happening again? Does the surgery have aftereffects? Or maybe it never actually healed right in the first place.

A chaotic cascade of horrific scenarios flash behind his eyelids in a split second–the sickening sound of broken bone again, the nauseous hospital smell, the months of agonizing rehab, being trapped in a body that doesn’t answer to him anymore while everyone else keeps moving and he's left behind. 

I can't go back there. I can't go through that hell again. I can't lose everything I've fought so fucking hard to rebuild, can't endure the pity in people's eyes again. 

He can't bear the thought of becoming a useless, broken burden–especially to the guy standing right in front of him.

It was just a misstep, he tries to scream at himself over the roaring noise in his ears.

I just stepped weird, that’s all, I’m fine. I'm fine.

But deep down, beneath the desperate layer of denial, there’s a quiet truth being whispered in his ear by the worst voices in his head. He knows his body. 

He knows the difference between a clumsy trip and the deep, sickening ache of a damaged joint.

Reflexes take over and make Seongje move instantly: his long arms shooting out to catch Hyuntak mid-fall and pulling him right against his chest. The taller one absorbs the full impact, his hands wrapping firmly around Hyuntak’s waist, holding him flush against his body.

“Woah, there,” Seongje murmurs with a low chuckle, his chest rumbling against Hyuntak’s. He doesn’t miss the way his boyfriend’s body went rigid; or the tiny, violent shudder that just passed through his right leg. Seongje knows what happened, he knows that weakness all too well. But he doesn’t call it out, he just tightens his grip and leans down slightly. “Careful, princess. Are you really that happy to see me?”

“Ugh, shut up,” Hyuntak rasps, his face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and the throbbing, sickening ache still pulsing behind his kneecap. He tries to shove at Seongje’s chest, trying to stand up properly, but his right leg feels strangely hollow and distant. 

“You alright, pup?” Seongje asks, his eyes pinned on Hyuntak’s face, watching for the subtle twitch of pain he knows it’s there. "You almost took a dive over nothing." 

"I'm fine." Hyuntak states quickly, forcing an irritated glare onto his face to cover up the cold sweat prickling at the back of his neck. "I just–my foot tripped or something. It’s fine." 

Seongje doesn’t push it. He just hums softly with a faint, knowing smirk playing in his lips that makes Hyuntak’s stomach drop. He knows his boyfriend’s lying, but he'll let him have that little illusion of control for now if that’s what he needs to stabilize himself. 

Instead of arguing, Seongje reaches up to cup the back of Hyuntak’s neck, tilting his face up and pressing a firm kiss dirección to his lips.

Hyuntak stiffens for a fraction of a second, his limb still reeling from the violent surge of the painful memory, but the familiar warmth of his boyfriend’s mouth grounds him. 

Seeking comfort from the terrifying spiral inside his head, Hyuntak yields, leaning into the kiss and letting his eyes flutter shut, nuzzling his head as he feels Seongje’s palm caress his cheek. 

When Seongje finally pulls back, his thumb strokes the soft skin of Hyuntak’s jawline. 

"Come on, let’s go home." 

Seongje slides his hand down to weave his fingers tightly with Hyuntak’s, pulling him to walk away. 

Hyuntak quickly matches his pace, squeezing his boyfriend's large hand tight as they walk. He tries his best to keep his stride smooth and normal, fighting through the hot sharp pain in his knee. 

Without Seongje noticing, he turns his head slightly, casting a subtle and anxious glance back over his shoulder at the concrete pavement where he stumbled. 

There’s no loose stone, the ground completely flat. 

It makes him swallow hard, a cold knot tightening in his throat. He turns his head back around and grips Seongje’s hand just a little tighter, trying desperately to drown out the loud warning screaming from deep inside his joint.

Even though Hyuntak practically lives at Seongje’s apartment half the time, his official home is still the flat he shares with his mother. And since she’s not as young as she used to be, her long shifts at the hospital leave her exhausted by the evening–if she’s lucky enough to not work night shifts–so Hyuntak makes sure to take care of everything he can. 

He handles the errands, carries the heavy loads and helps with what he can with his not-so-glamorous salary. It’s a duty he takes immense pride in–being the dependable son, the one who looks after her when she needs it, the one who isn’t broken anymore. 

"And she said she could do this alone!" Hyuntak complains with a scoff. "Look how heavy this shit is!" he says, stubbornly taking the heaviest bags out of Seongje’s hands before they even leave the super market counter.

They both know it, the fact that beneath all his pride, there’s still that quiet fear that keeps him up at night: the thought of slipping back into the helpless state he was left in after the injury. The thought of his mother, already carrying the weight of her own body, having to nurse him and carry his weight too all over again–it terrifies him more than anything.

Now, walking down the uneven streets leading back home, every step feels like dragging an anchor. 

The sharp twitch from a few days ago at university has already faded into a dull thrum deep inside his body. Of course it's not the searing agony of a fresh fracture, but a persistent ache that makes the muscles in his thigh freeze up when his heel hits the pavement. 

It’s nothing. He tells himself, forcing his posture straight, adjusting his stride to match Seongje’s long, unhurried pace beside him. It's just stiff from standing all day.

Then comes the curb. 

It’s a completely ordinary drop, barely three inches high where the sidewalk meets the street, but as he steps down, his right foot hits the asphalt at a fraction of a wrong angle.

His right leg buckles again–a tiny, humiliating hitch in his step–and his body, not seemed to be satisfied enough with this humiliation, betrays him once again and makes his hand instinctively shoot out, grabbing the rough fabric of Seongje’s windbreaker sleeve to keep from stumbling completely.

He recovers before his knee can give out completely, jamming his left heel into the ground and forcing his bad leg straight. He yanks his hand back immediately, as if Seongje’s sleeve was hot iron.

"Watch where you’re stepping," Hyuntak snaps quickly, his voice a little too fast and definitely a little too loud, overflowing with forced irritation to cover the cold sweat breaking out at his nape. "Fucking city needs to fix these damn pavements." 

Seongje, who stopped walking as soon as Hyuntak took the misstep, blinks at him.

He doesn’t ask anything, he knows better after all. Pointing it right now, while Hyuntak’s already hyper-vigilant about hiding everything, would only ignite an explosion. 

Seongje’s eyes linger on Hyuntak’s face for a long, heavy beat, taking in the faint tension that made his face go pale and the tiny, unconscious tremor in his jaw. 

Without a word, Seongje steps into his space, casually reaching down to snag the bags right out of his boyfriend’s grip.

"Hey–what are you doing?" Hyuntak demands, reaching for it back, his eyes narrowing defensively. "I can carry my stuff." 

"Your short arms make them bump with my leg," Seongje drawls lazily, shifting both bags into his outside hand with effortless grace, smirking when he hears Hyuntak scoff. 

"Fuck you, it’s not my fault you’re weirdly long." Hyuntak shoots back, but there’s the faintest trace of a smile threatening to pull at his lips, and Seongje’s satisfied enough with that. 

Then, in one fluid movement, Seongje throws his heavy arm over Hyuntak’s shoulder, pulling the boy flushed against his side. 

The weight of Seongje’s arm is solid, warm and heavy–heavy enough to anchor Hyuntak’s stiffening frame, allowing him to subtly lean a percentage of his body weight against Seongje’s torso without having to ask for it. 

Hyuntak is about to complain, but Seongje reaches up with his free hand and suddenly his long fingers are gently brushing away the boy's bangs out his face before leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips.

"You coming home with me today?" Seongje asks, his piercing gaze going from Hyuntak’s eyes to his shiny lips. 

"I don’t know," Hyuntak pretends to think about it as he feels the relief that the firm support against his side gives him. "Don't you have to study?" 

"And? I can do it with you there." Seongje replies, his thumb brushing softly against the warm skin of Hyuntak’s cheekbone. 

"Yeah, sure," Hyuntak scoffs, looking away with a smile on his face. "You'll be all over me in–what? Five minutes?" 

Seongje clicks his tongue, looking ahead as he pulls his boyfriend closer by his shoulders. "You're too full of yourself." 

"I'll set a timer as soon as we get there." Hyuntak teases, leaning more into his boyfriend’s space with a smile. 

"Shut up and walk." Seongje mutters softly, his hand coming back down to rest securely over Hyuntak’s far shoulder, his thumb pressing a steady, reassuring rhythm through the fabric of his hoodie.

Almost an hour later, after they drop off the groceries at Hyuntak’s and the boy grabs some clothes and notebooks for tomorrow's lectures–all while putting on a flawless, smiling performance of being perfectly fine to his mother–they make their way to the subway to head back to Seongje’s place. 

The subway is packed tight with afternoon commuters, the overhead lights flickering rhythmically as the train speeds through the dark tunnels, screeching loudly every time it rounds a curve.

They’re stuck standing in the aisle near the doors, surrounded by a wall of tired bodies.

Hyuntak holds onto the high overhead handrail with his left arm, his knuckles turning white as he fights to keep his posture upright. His knee hasn’t stopped throbbing since they left the supermarket, the joint feeling like paper under pressure.

I'm fine. I healed. I'm not broken, it’s just a bad day.

He repeats it again and again in his head, biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes copper just to keep the panic from showing on his face. 

The train suddenly hits a rough patch of track, lurching to the left as the brakes squeal. The movement makes the crowd sway heavily, and Hyuntak feels his right knee attempt to absorb the sudden centrifugal force, and a hot flare of pain tears straight through his joint. 

His grip on the metal handrail slips, and before he can even gasp, a solid wall of heat slams directly in front of him. 

Seongje moves with the same terrifying efficiency he's always had, stepping right into his space to brace his back against the surging crowd and plant one hand flat on the metal pole right behind Hyuntak's head, effectively caging the shorter boy between his body and the train wall. 

With his other hand, Seongje reaches down and grabs his boyfriend hard by the side of his waist, gripping his belt line firmly enough to take the entire brunt of the train's momentum off Hyuntak's legs. 

Hyuntak's forehead bumps lightly against the center of Seongje’s chest. He freezes, his breathing coming in shallow, frantic hitches as he squeezes his eyes shut against the pain radiating through his knee. 

"Hey," Seongje’s voice comes low and steady, looking for Hyuntak’s gaze. "You okay?" 

Hyuntak forces his eyes open, glaring weakly up through his messy bangs, trying to summon his usual fire. "Seongje, move...people are looking–" 

"I don’t care." Seongje cuts him off, his eyes fixed entirely on him. His grip on Hyuntak’s hip doesn’t loosen an inch; if anything, he pulls him a fraction closer, absorbing every vibration of the train car through his own legs so Hyuntak doesn’t have to strain his joint. "You alright?" 

"I–" Hyuntak sighs deeply, squeezing his eyes shut. "Can I hold onto you?" he asks weakly, not daring to look at his boyfriend.

"Of course, baby. Hold on tight." 

Hyuntak swallows hard, his throat feeling tight with a mix of humiliation and overwhelming relief. 

Slowly, his trembling fingers reach out and bunch tight into Seongje’s dark windbreaker, burying his face into the warmth of his boyfriend’s chest to hide his expression from the rest of the carriage.

Seongje doesn’t say a word about it. Instead, as the train rattles violently into another dark tunnel, he raises his hand from the pole and gently rests it against the back of Hyuntak’s head–his fingers working softly into Hyuntak’s dark hair, massaging his scalp with a slow, soothing rhythm that grounds him amidst the deafening noise of the tracks.

Feeling the quiet gesture, Hyuntak lets out a shaky, shuddering breath against Seongje’s chest, his fingers loosening on the other’s jacket as his body relaxes, completely surrendering his weight onto his boyfriend. 

Seongje just stands there like an impenetrable shield against the world, taking the force of every sudden stop and sharp turn, keeping his hand tenderly cradling the back of Hyuntak’s head, silently letting him rest until the train finally grounds to a halt at their station.

It’s late. Definitely way too late to still be training at the park. 

The place is almost empty, only a few people running or walking their dogs, but Hyuntak won’t let himself leave this park until he can complete his routine without struggle. 

The mechanical whip-whip-whip of the jump rope is the only sound echoing in the corner he chose to train, he’s not even wearing headphones anymore, he has only one thing in mind. 

Hyuntak’s sneakers rhythmically bounce off the concrete, his breath coming out in ragged, hot bursts as sweat rolls down his temples and soaks the collar of his shirt when he pushes himself through another set. 

Fifty, sixty, seventy.

He keeps his eyes locked on a crack in the concrete bench in front of him, forcing his body to keep the fast, fluid pace he’s always kept without thinking. 

Then, on eighty-four, his right leg gives out. 

It’s not a dramatic fall, but a sudden, sickening lock deep inside his knee joint. The rope clips his ankle, entangling his legs and forcing him to stumble forward onto his hands and knees. 

“Dammit!” Hyuntak barks, shoving the rope away as if it was guilty of his fall. 

He stays on the ground for a second, painting heavily with his palms scraping against the rough ground. He reaches down to cup his kneecap, squeezing it through his sweatpants.The joint doesn’t just throb–it burns with a dull, persistent ache that refuses to go away no matter how many times he flexes his foot. He slams his fist onto the concrete in frustration, because it’s fucking ridiculous–he rested, he stretched, he did everything right and yet this useless fucking thing still acts like an unreliable piece of junk. 

By the time he makes it back to Seongje’s apartment, his mood is completely foul. 

Every step up the stairs feels like his body is laughing at his face, forcing him to fight himself just to keep from visibly limping. 

He unlocks the front door and shoves it open, stepping into the entryway with a heavy, sharp breath. 

Seongje is sitting on the kitchen counter, casually scrolling through his phone with an almost empty mug of coffee resting beside him. At the sound of the door, he looks up, his expression relaxing into that usual, lazy smirk when he sees Hyuntak drenched in sweat. 

“Well, look who made it back,” Seongje drawls, setting his phone down. “Did the rope beat you up or–”

“I don’t wanna hear it today, Seongje.”

The response slices through the room like a sharp knife cut and it makes Seongje stop, his smirk instantly fading. His eyes sharpen as he watches Hyuntak yank his sneakers off at the door, kicking them against the wall with way too much force for such a light object. The air in the apartment instantly turns thick and hostile. 

“Woah,” Seongje says slowly, his voice dropping as he raises an eyebrow. “I’m just messing with you, what the hell is your problem?” 

“My problem is that I don’t need your stupid jokes the second I walk through the door.” Hyuntak hisses, spinning around to face him. His face is flushed red, his eyes wide with a bitter, defensive heat that doesn’t match the situation at all. He grips his gym towel so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Can’t you leave me alone?” 

Seongje doesn’t flinch, but his gaze narrows behind his glasses, scanning Hyuntak from head to toe. He notices the slight tremble in Hyuntak’s right thigh, the subtle way he’s shifting his weight onto his left hip to keep pressure off the joint, and the deep, exhausted frustration etched into his face. 

“Hyuntak.” Seongje’s tone shifts, losing the teasing edge entirely. “What happened out there?”

“Nothing happened. Why do you always want something to fucking happen?” Hyuntak snaps, feeling completely cornered by the sudden weight of Seongje’s stare. He can’t stand it–can’t stand the thought of Seongje looking at him with pity, or worse, seeing him broken. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Without giving Seongje a chance to say another word, Hyuntak storms down the hallway, dragging his right foot just a fraction too heavily. 

He slams the bathroom door shut behind him with a deafening crack that shakes the wall and makes Seongje squint one eye even before the sound reaches him–already knowing it’d come–and then turns the lock with a sharp, aggressive click. 

After resting his forehead against the cold tile for a moment, Hyuntak grips the edge of the sink as he lets out a shaky, frustrated breath–hating his leg, hating the pain, hating how easily Seongje seems to look right through him. Fuck, he should’ve gone home instead. 

Out in the living room, Seongje stands completely still near the kitchen island, staring down the hallway at the locked bathroom door in silence. 

When the bathroom door finally clicks open, the only sounds filling the apartment are the quiet hum of the refrigerator, the gentle biting of Ciggy on his food, and the gentle sizzle of oil in a pan. 

Hyuntak steps out, a fresh cloud of steam trailing behind him. He’s thrown on one of Seongje’s old t-shirts and some clean dark gym shorts, a towel draped over his head as he vigorously rubs his damp hair. His shoulders are a little looser now, but he still carries a lingering edge of discomfort. 

And, yeah, okay, he might have just overreacted earlier. Just a little. His reaction was probably a lot for it only to be about a stupid, harmless joke, but admitting it out loud? And admitting it out loud, especially to Seongje? No, thank you. He’d rather swallow glass. 

In the kitchen, Seongje stays by the stove with his back to the room, casually stirring dinner in the pan. 

He doesn’t turn around when he hears his boyfriend footsteps on the floodboards, but his head tilts slightly over his shoulder, his sharp eyes silently tracking Hyuntak’s shadow through the living room. His expression remains utterly unreadable, cool and almost detached, refusing to give Hyuntak the satisfaction of an immediate confrontation. 

Hyuntak hovers near the edge of the living room for a second, the heavy silence stretching thin between them. The air is tense enough to be suffocating, charged with everything they are deliberately avoiding to say. Hyuntak chews on the inside of his cheek, his gaze lingering on the broad line of Seongje’s back as he smoothly moves in the kitchen. He wants to break the quiet, to clear the thick air, but his stubbornness keeps his jaw locked tight. 

He’s not gonna be the one to cave first, not this time. 

Moving quietly, Hyuntak walks into the kitchen, his bare feet sliding against the cool tiles. He deliberately steers himself toward the refrigerator, passing right behind Seongje–so close he can feel the faint radiating heat from his body–but making sure not to make a single point of contact. 

Seongje feels him pass, he pauses his stirring for a fraction of a second, his grip tightening on the spoon but keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the food in front of him.

Hyuntak pulls open the fridge door to grab a cold bottle of water, and shuts it with a soft thud. He stands beside the counter, and as he’s holding the bottle, his mouth opens slightly as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out.

The taller notices the subtle shift in his posture, the slight hitch in his breath, but he remains a wall of indifference, giving Hyuntak absolutely nothing to work with.

Frustrated by the lack of reaction, Hyuntak lets out a muted exhale and hops up, sliding his body onto the edge of the kitchen counter directly next to where Seongje’s cooking. 

He sits there with his legs dangling, his thick, bare thighs entirely exposed under the bright overhead lights. It’s an obvious, deliberate distraction–a subtle trap meant to break Seongje’s focus, just like he always does. 

Seongje’s eyes flicker sideways for a split second, taking in the sight of his boyfriend’s legs on display resting right beside his hip, but he immediately looks back down at the stove, hiding a knowing smirk behind his calm face, definitely not falling for it. (This time, at least. He’s a weak man for his boyfriend, okay?)

Barely thirty seconds pass before Hyuntak’s patience runs out under the heavy and deliberate quiet.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” Hyuntak mutters defensively, crossing his arms over his broad chest. 

Seongje doesn’t even turn his head, he just continues adding condiments and stirring the food with smooth, measured movements. “Do I have to say something?”

Hyuntak bristles, his brows furrowing as a surge of annoyance flares up again. He fucking hates when Seongje does this–when he acts like he’s completely untouchable while Hyuntak visibly spirals and ends up being the hysterical one in the situation. 

“You’re not even gonna ask why I was pissed off? You’re just gonna ignore me?”

“Why would I ask?” Seongje drones, finally turning his head just enough to give Hyuntak a cool glance over the rim of his glasses. His voice drops into that smooth, almost toxic cadence that always makes Hyunta blood boil. “What am I supposed to do when you come throwing a temper tantrum like a spoiled brat? I’m just letting you throw your little fit until you get tired.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like I’m a damn child, you asshole!” Hyuntak hisses, leaning forward on the counter, his eyes flashing. “At least admit you were annoying the second I walked in.”

“I made a joke,” Seongje replies calmly, taking a step closer to the counter, leaning his hand beside Hyuntak’s knee as he almost towers over him and his eyes lock onto Hyuntak’s flushed face with a terrifyingly steady gaze. “You couldn’t handle your own mood and now it’s suddenly my fault?”

“I–” Hyuntak starts, ready to hurl another sharp insult. 

He looks at Seongje’s smug, immovable face, then down at his own hands gripping the edge of the counter. The exhaustion from his knee throbbing underneath his skin, mixed with a totally misdirected anger toward his boyfriend suddenly crash over him. The small argument simply drains out his body, leaving him feeling deflated.

Taking out a long, heavy sigh, Hyuntak’s shoulders drop as he slumps back slightly.

“...I’m sorry.” Hyuntak mumbles softly, staring down at his bare feet, his voice losing its sharp edge. 

The apology falls out of nowhere, soft and genuine, and it makes a slow, satisfied smile spread across Seongje’s lips–a quiet and victorious gesture at seeing Hyuntak finally break first. He loves this part, loves watching Hyuntak’s fierce, stubborn walls crumble down just for him. 

Before Seongje can open his mouth to gloat, Hyuntak reaches out, his hands wrapping tightly around the waist of Seongje’s shirt, and yanks him forward with a sudden and forceful pull.

Turning off the stove, Seongje lets himself be pulled, stumbling slightly until he’s standing firmly right between Hyuntak’s spread knees. Hyuntak doesn’t let go: his hands slide around Seongje’s waist, his fingers digging into the fabric at his back as he pulls him flush against his chest, burying his face directly into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. 

Seongje hums softly, his hands coming down to rest on Hyuntak’s thick, honeyed thighs–his long fingers stroking the warm skin, moving in slow, almost mocking sweet circles near his knees, thoroughly enjoying the sudden clinginess. 

“Look at you,” Seongje murmurs into Hyuntak’s damp hair, inhaling the fresh scent from his own shampoo that somehow smells completely different and definitely sweeter on his boyfriend, as his voice drips with playful condescension. “Look how sweet you get when you realize you were acting up. I didn’t even have to do anything to make you apologize.” 

Hyuntak turns his head, his lips brushing against Seongje’s collarbone as he lets out a bitter scoff. 

“Fuck you.” he grumbles, though his arms tighten around Seongje’s waist, pinning him there. “I can apologize on my own because, unlike you, I’m actually a decent human being.” 

“Right, yeah,” Seongje chuckles, a low and deep sound that vibrates through his chest. He leans down, pressing a lingering, sweet kiss against the side of Hyuntak’s neck, feeling the tension finally melt away from the shorter boy’s body. “You’re my very decent, very sweet little boy, aren’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up before I take it back.” Hyuntak mumbles, but there’s no heat in his voice anymore. He shifts closer, snuzzling his head into his boyfriend’s firm chest. 

Seongje stands firmly locked between Hyuntak’s legs, his hands still resting on the soft, warm skin of the boy’s legs while leaving quick, firm kisses to the crown of Hyuntak’s head. 

Hyuntak’s bangs fall slightly away from his forehead when he tilts his head back. His face is still a little flushed, his eyes soft and heavy with exhaustion as he stares up at Seongje. He lingers there for a second, waiting for the guy to lean down the rest of the way–expecting the quiet, affectionate reward he usually gets after swallowing his pride as if he was fucking trained. 

But it doesn’t happen. And instead, Seongje just stays put. 

An infuriatingly small blank expression washes over Seongje’s face. He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head back just an inch, deliberately keeping his lips out of Hyuntak’s reach. 

His hands remain on Hyuntak, but he doesn’t budge, he just stares down at him with an innocent, completely fake cluelessness–his eyes round and shiny as if he’s actually unaware of his boyfriend’s silent petition. What an asshole, Hyuntak wants to fucking punch him in the face. 

Hyuntak blinks, shifting slightly on the counter and leaning forward a fraction to narrow the gap, but Seongje subtly leans back just enough to keep the distance once again. 

“What?” Seongje asks softly, his tone flooded with mock innocence. “What are you looking at me like that for?” 

Hyuntak’s brows furrow instantly, a sudden spike of irritation flaring through his chest again. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“What did I do now?” Seongje interrupts, a quiet and low chuckle finally breaking through his composure. 

Seeing his boyfriend actually enjoying his frustration is the final straw. Hyuntak lets out an angry, dramatic groan, his jaw clenching as he tries to push Seongje away in annoyance.

“You know what? Forget it! Go to hell, Seongje, I’m getting down–"

He doesn’t get to pull back or slide off the counter since Seongje’s hands move extremely fast, sliding up from his thighs to grip the sides of his waist, trapping him firmly in place.

“Hey, hey–stay.” Seongje laughs out a rich, quiet sound that vibrates against Hyuntak’s chest.

In one swift, fluid motion, Seongje leans in and catches Hyuntak’s lips in a deep, warm kiss. 

Hyuntak lets out a muffled, indignant noise against his mouth, trying to keep his lips locked tight for a split second out of pure, stubborn spite. But Seongje just chuckles into the kiss, his lips pressing softer and deeper, teasing the corner of Hyuntak’s mouth with a lingering warmth until the boy’s resistance completely crumbles. 

A soft and defeated sigh escapes Hyuntak’s nose, his entire body melting into Seongje’s hold. 

His arms slide up from Seongje’s waist, wrapping tightly around his neck and pulling him as close as physically possible. The lingering frustration of the day, the throbbing ache in his knee and the bitter edge of his pride all dissolve into nothing as Seongje kisses him properly–slow, heavy and thorough, tasting like the warm comfort of their shared space. 

Seongje’s hands tighten on his waist, pulling Hyuntak right up against his chest while his thumb lightly strokes the side of Hyuntak’s hip–feeling how completely pliable and soft his boyfriend became in his arms. 

When Seongje finally pulls back just a fraction, his nose bumps gently against Hyuntak’s, both of them breathing in the narrow space between their lips. Seongje is still smiling, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners behind his glasses as he looks down at Hyuntak’s flushed face, leaning in to give a sweet kiss to Hyuntak’s soft cheek. 

“So fucking cute.” Seongje whispers softly, his thumb gently catching a stray drop of water from his hair near Hyuntak’s jawline. “I’d eat you whole in one bite, baby, so pretty–” he continues, leaving quick, soft kisses to his boyfriend’s face. 

And Hyuntak doesn’t argue anymore, he just lets himself enjoy this–being held, kissed and almost worshiped by his boyfriend as he tries to let go of the frustration of the day, relaxing against Seongje like he’s the only one who can make his brain and body stop completely, only letting himself feel.

It’s not every day that they can have these kinds of moments together. 

Even though Seongje somehow always manages to reorganize his schedule just right to be glued to his boyfriend as much as he can, their routines don't always leave them time to spend together. 

So it’s in moments like this that Hyuntak can actually enjoy himself, with the dim glow of the TV being the only source of light in the dark living room and casting soft blue hues across the sofa and the sound of the videogame Seongje’s playing being the only sound heard in the quiet apartment.

Freshly showered and wrapped in Seongje’s clothes, Hyuntak is stretched out along the couch, his back resting against the soft cushion he put as support on the armrest while his strong legs lay across Seongje’s lap. 

Seongje sits comfortably on the other end, legs spread and using Hyuntak’s legs as a support for his arms while his fingers move quickly over the joystick, and rubbing lazy, soothing circles against the soft skin of Hyuntak’s legs in between matches–a familiar and quiet affection that grounds them after a long day. 

But Hyuntak can’t really relax.

Every few minutes, he shifts. He pulls his right leg back slightly, bend his knee, flatten it again, or twist his ankle, trying to find a position that doesn’t send a dull, nagging pain straight into the joint. The pain isn’t sharp, but it’s rentless–a deep and heavy throb that makes it impossible to get comfortable.

Seongje’s hand stills on Hyuntak’s leg after the fifth shift. 

"Something wrong?" he asks softly, his eyes tearing away from the screen to look at him. "You've been moving since we sat here." 

"Nothing." Hyuntak replies instantly, his response way too quick to be honest. He pulls his legs back, taking them off his boyfriend and tucking his feet under himself. "The cushion is just lumpy, it’s uncomfortable." 

Seongje just stares at him with that heavy and unblinking gaze that always makes Hyuntak feel completely exposed. He knows Hyuntak’s lying, he knows he's been shifting specifically to relieve pressure on his knee.

"Yeah, sure," Seongje murmurs, his tone low and almost weirdly patient. "You're stiff as a board, just stretch out." 

"I am stretched out." Hyuntak mutters, turning his head toward the TV, his posture locking up even tighter. "Drop it, Seongje. It’s fine." 

Setting the joystick down on the coffee table with a soft clatter, Seongje stands up without asking, disappearing into the kitchen. 

"Where are you going?" Hyuntak asks, brows furrowed. 

A moment later, the rustle of an ice pack wrapped in a thin hand towel echoes in the kitchen, followed by the sound of the taller boy looking for the tube of anti-inflammatory cream. 

When Seongje’s broad, heavy palm clamps around his ankle to pull him closer, something flickers violently in the back of Hyuntak’s brain. 

It’s not conscious, he doesn’t even remember the last time something like this crossed his mind, but suddenly, the ghost of a phantom memory–cold alleys, concrete floors, the sickening crack of bones and the shadowy figure of Seongje towering over him with a cruel, satisfied smirk–surges to the surface again. 

Hyuntak flinches. 

His entire body recoils in a sharp and instinctive jerk, his foot kicking backward as his shoulders cave in, eyes with a sudden, animalistic panic before he can catch himself. 

Seongje freezes, his hands hover in mid-air, his dark eyebrows pulling down behind his glasses into a harsh, disbelieving scowl.

For a second, the old and dark pride from his Union days rattles inside Seongje’s mind–the thrill of making people cower before him. But seeing that cowering reaction come from Hyuntak, here, in their space, twists into something foul and almost offensive in his gut.

"You flinched." Seongje says, his voice heavy and unreadable. 

"I didn’t." Hyuntak barks back, his chin rising in instantly fierce denial, though his heart is hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "My leg just slipped." 

"You pulled away from me." Seongje insists, leaning forward. 

"It's nothing, Seongje." Hyuntak’s voice carries a defensive edge, his tone rising slightly without breaking into almost an annoyed scream. "Why do you always have to make everything into a scene? Can't I just move my own fucking leg without you acting like I’m commiting a crime?" 

"Because you're lying to my face." Seongje hisses, his voice dropping into a suffocating register. "You're looking at me like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop. What? You think I'm gonna hit you now?" 

The mockery in Seongje’s tone lights a fuse inside Hyuntak. Angry at the pain, angry at his own body and furious at the fact that his mind still carries these pathetic, lingering scars, Hyuntak bares his teeth. 

"Well, it’s not that crazy coming from you, is it?" he bites out, his voice almost shaking with bitter heat. 

Seongje’s expression hardens completely. Suddenly, he reaches out and firmly clamps his fingers around Hyuntak’s jaw, tilting his face up with a possessive, controlling grip. 

"Are you serious right now?" he sneers softly, his thumb pressing into Hyuntak’s soft cheek as he leans directly into his space. "After everything? After everything I've done to fix things, to be here with you, you still sit here and pretend I'm gonna break you in half again?"

A sharp sound fills the room when Hyuntak swats Seongje’s hand away with a fierce, stinging smack, clearing his jaw from his grip. He sits straight up, hovering an inch from Seongje’s face, pointing a finger right at the guy’s nose. 

"Don't fucking touch me like that!" Hyuntak hisses, his voice harsh from fury. "Don't fucking play saint now, Seongje. You don't get to wipe your hands clean and expect me to just forget everything! I know you love me, I know that, but don’t act like you brainwashed me into forgetting what you've done to me. You made me like this and now you want a trophy for caring if I can move my fucking leg or not?!" 

"I'm the one helping you stay put together." Seongje counters, his voice steady but laced with dark venom. "I give you everything I have, Hyuntak. Everything. And you still look at me like I'm the enemy the second your leg hurts." 

"Because you're terrifying sometimes!" Hyuntak shoots back, his finger still jabbed toward his boyfriend’s chest. "You push and you demand and you do all this–all this fucking manipulation shit to make me feel guilty about my own body remembering what you did!" 

"Walk out, then." Seongje says firmly, stepping even closer, his dark eyes suffocatingly intense. "If you're so terrified, then pack your shit and leave. But you won't, because you know damn well nobody is gonna take care of you the way I do." 

The words hang in the air, heavy and toxic, but as soon as they leave his mouth, a sudden, bitter thought ignites in the darkest corner of Seongje’s mind. 

Humin.

The image of that infuriating bastard taking away the only thing he has one more time like he did years ago flashes behind Seongje’s eyes like a streak of white-hot lightning. 

Humin, who treats Hyuntak like he’s the center of his fucking universe; who looks at Hyuntak with that sickening, devoted tenderness as if Hyuntak is the most precious thing he has ever laid eyes on. Like he has any right to feel like that about Hyuntak. 

Something inside Seongje’s chest catches fire–an ugly and frantic rage that burns through his veins. 

"You think your stupid little Baku would do better? Is that it?" Seongje spits out, his voice being a quiet tremble that makes the air in the room freeze. His hands tremble as they clench into fists at his sides. "You think that bastard cares about you more than I do? He treats you like glass because he feels guilty." 

Hyuntak lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh, though it’s completely humorless. Seongje can see the exact moment a sudden wave of disgust and raw fury crashes over Hyuntak’s face.

"You're a fucking sick bastard, Seongje!" he shoves his shoulder with all the force he has left. "You always have to drag everything back to the same damn place! It’s impossible to talk to you because you're fucking crazy!"

Seongje barely sways under the shove, his eyes locked onto him, but Hyuntak isn’t backing down, his breathing coming in tight, angry gasps.

"Why the fuck are you worrying about Baku?!" Hyuntak snaps, his voice flooded with exhaustion. "Why don’t you worry about doing things right for once without fucking everything up?! You're so damn sick in the head you can’t even see how exhausting you are!" 

"I'm sick in the head for wanting to protect you now?" 

"Protect me from what?! My fucking best friend?!" Hyuntak asks, almost hysterical. 

"From everything. I’m not letting anyone else have you, Hyuntak." Seongje admits without a single trace of shame, his voice terrifyingly quiet. 

"And who–" Hyuntak starts, but he stops himself with a tired sigh, running his hands over his face and up to his hair, tugging slightly to control himself. "You know what? I don’t wanna fucking hear you anymore. I’m not doing this."

Seongje nods in silence, his tongue moving over his front teeth in an attempt to not say anything else–his movements still showing how upset he is, and Hyuntak can see it.

Without another word, Seongje roughly grabs one of the thick pillows Hyuntak insisted him on buying and jams it beneath Hyuntak’s right calf, elevating his joint with a firm snap, but his movement is still careful despite the fire from their argument.

He lets his body fall back onto the sofa and yanks Hyuntak by the waist, pulling him possessively against his side and trapping him flush against his torso. 

Hyuntak lets out a harsh, shuddering exhale, cursing under his breath, but the exhaustion finally catches up with him. He sinks into Seongje’s side, burying his face directly into Seongje’s chest out of overwhelming fatigue.

Seongje’s heavy arm wraps tightly around the boy's hip, holding him in an almost bruising lock. Then, driven by a quiet need for raw contact, Seongje slides his large, warm hand down, sneaking it beneath the waistband of Hyuntak’s sweatpants and boxers–his bare palm settling against the smooth, hot skin of the boy’s lower hip, anchoring him completely. 

For an agonizing stretch of time, neither of them speak. Both keep their eyes stubbornly fixed on the TV that isn’t really playing anything, just the paused game Seongje was playing before. 

Hyuntak listens to the steady, heavy thud of Seongje’s heart beneath his cheek, making the rage slowly ebb, leaving behind only the hollow ache that takes over him both mentally and physically. 

"...I haven’t been feeling good lately," Hyuntak whispers into the dark, his defeated voice muffled against Seongje’s shirt. "It's...It’s not you. It’s just not going away. I hate it." 

"I know." Seongje murmurs, his voice thick. "And you should know by now...I’m never gonna touch you like that again." 

Hyuntak swallows hard, inhaling deeply against Seongje’s skin, taking in the sharp, comforting scent of his clean body wash and subtle cologne. 

"You smell good." Hyuntak mumbles hoarsely, his fingers digging into Seongje’s shirt, clinging to him despite the fight, despite the past. He lets himself drown in the aroma, knowing damn well that it’s probably gonna last less than an hour before Seongje slides out to the balcony to smoke before bed. 

Seongje shifts, his hand moving up from beneath Hyuntak’s clothes to slide up his back, pulling him higher against his chest. 

Slowly, Seongje tilts Hyuntak’s chin up. He leans down and captures Hyuntak’s mouth in the dark, bringing their lips together in a kiss so sudden, deep, and suffocating that it completely strips the air from Hyuntak’s lungs.

It’s overwhelming–an avalanche of bruised passion, silent apologies and violent devotion. Seongje kisses him with a desperate hunger, his tongue tangling with Hyuntak’s, forcing him open and drinking him in as if he’s dying of thirst. 

Hyuntak lets out a gasping moan against his lips, his hands clawing at Seongje’s shoulders, completely intoxicated by the weight of his boyfriend pressuring his own.

With a sudden, sharp tug, Seongje pulls Hyuntak’s head back by his dark locks, breaking the kiss just an inch above his wet, bruised lips. 

Hyuntak’s breath hitches, looking up into Seongje’s eyes, and sees that there’s no mockery left in them, no manipulative edge, no dark pride. Seongje’s eyes are wide, obscure, and filled with a raw and terrifying honesty–a vow so absolute and unvarnished that it makes something deep inside Hyuntak tremble. 

"Hyuntak." Seongje rasps out, his hot breath brushing against Hyuntak’s wet, trembling lips, his grip on his hair still firm and painful. "If you ever need to break me to feel whole again...Do it. Don’t even doubt it for a second." 

Hyuntak’s heart hammers against his ribs, his wide eyes locked onto Seongje's truth.

"Do whatever you want. Destroy me, Hyuntak." Seongje whispers, his voice stripped of every piece of pride he has ever possessed, swearing the words directly into his soul. "Take whatever the fuck you want from me, break my legs, tear my skin off, stretch me until there’s nothing left. I'll take it. I'll like down and let you do it and I won't even fucking blink. Just swear to me you'll never leave, sweetheart.”  

Hyuntak feels dizzy, completely intoxicated by the unhinged depth of Seongje’s surrender. He drinks in every word, every shudder of Seongje’s breath, feeling the sick, sweet comfort of knowing Seongje is entirely his to break.

"You're fucking insane," Hyuntak whispers, with a sickly sweet warmth blooming in his chest. 

Reaching up with unsteady hands, Hyuntak carefully slides Seongje’s glasses off his face, setting them blindly on the armrest.

Without the frame shielding him, Seongje’s raw gaze seems even more exposed. Hyuntak traces the edge of his cheekbone–his thumb lingering over the tiny mole just beneath Seongje’s eye, before trailing lower to brush against the birthmark that adorns the soft skin right beside his nose. Then he stares at Seongje’s mouth–at the fuller upper lip that he likes to nibble on when they kiss lazily. 

He’s breathtaking. Cruel, terrifyingly beautiful, and entirely his. 

Seongje doesn’t move, letting Hyuntak mark him with his touch. His own eyes scan his boyfriend’s flushed face, taking in the bright and glassy sheen in his eyes and the soft, natural pout of his lips–always swollen and rosy pink from the relentless way Seongje kisses him. His thumb gently traces the delicate moles scattered along Hyuntak’s jaw and chin. 

Even covered in scars and his fierce pride, Hyuntak looks ethereal. An angel trapped in his hands. 

“Say it.” Seongje murmurs, his voice dropping into a possessive rumble. “Tell me you’re never leaving.”

“I swear,” Hyuntak rasps, leaning up until their lips barely brush. “I’ll never leave. You’ll never leave either, even if you fucking die, I’ll drag you back from hell myself, you hear me?” 

A dark satisfaction settles over Seongje’s face, a smirk growing across his mouth before he tilts his head again, taking in everything he can from Hyuntak with all his senses, enjoying him after the storm that took over their space.

Before Hyuntak can draw another breath, Seongje crashes their lips together once again. 

It’s a deep, possessive kiss that seamlessly melts them together. Seongje shifts his body, pressing his full weight over Hyuntak and grounding him entirely into the sofa cushions. His bare palm flattens against the heated skin of Hyuntak’s back, holding him so tight it feels as though he’s trying to fuse them into one singular breathing entity. 

As Seongje drinks in every soft, ruined sound Hyuntak makes, the throbbing pain in Hyuntak’s knee finally recedes into nothingness. 

Hyuntak surrenders completely, his tense muscles finally giving in and melting into the couch as his arms wrap tightly around Seongje’s neck and shoulders, pulling his boyfriend as close as humanly possible. He closes his eyes, letting himself sink into the sweet oblivion of Seongje’s touch, completely lost in the arms of the only person he would never let walk away. 

Against Seongje’s continuous complaints, the blinds of his room are still open, letting the warm streaks of late afternoon light enter the room and cast across the floor and the messy sheets of the unmade bed. 

Hyuntak stands by the front of the mattress, zipping open his gym bag to toss a folded jersey and an extra pair of socks inside it, his movements quick due to how short in time he is. 

He shifts his weight when he feels his knee giving off a dull throb beneath the fabric of his sweatpants–that same damn ache he’s been dealing with the last few weeks and he’s been stubbornly ignoring. 

“You leaving already? You just got here.” Seongje complains from where he’s leaning against the bedroom door frame, his hands tucked lazily on the pockets of his jeans. 

“I just stopped by to grab my stuff, I forgot my bag was here, sorry,” Hyuntak says, throwing in a spare t-shirt just in case. “I’m coming back after the game, though, I’m not going home today.”

A pair of heavy arms slink around his waist from behind, pulling him back against a broad chest. 

Seongje rests his chin heavily on Hyuntak’s shoulder, his grip snug and unyielding as he drags his nose along the side of his boyfriend’s long neck–taking a deep, exaggerated inhale. 

“Are you really gonna go play?” The taller boy murmurs against his skin, his large hands sliding down from Hyuntak’s waist to his hips to pull him completely flush against him. “It’s fucking freezing outside. Stay here, we can order something, watch a movie, whatever you want.”

“Yes, Seongje. I’m going.” Hyuntak grunts, trying to hide a smile and also to pry Seongje’s forearms away. “Come on, get off, I’m packing.” 

Instead of letting go, Seongje shifts his weight, grabbing his boyfriend by the hips and casually tumbling them both onto the mattress. 

Hyuntak lets out a startled sound as he hits the soft duvet, Seongje immediately hovering over him, pressing his long frame down until he has his boyfriend comfortably trapped beneath him. Large, calloused hands slide beneath the hem of Hyuntak’s t-shirt, cold palms resting flat against the hot, firm skin of his waist as Seongje leans down to capture his lips in a slow kiss. 

There are a few minutes when Hyuntak lets himself completely melt into it, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s slim neck, tilting his head to deepen the kiss as his fingers tangle into the soft hair at the nape of Seongje’s neck. 

Like the greedy man he is, Seongje leans into the invitation, his touch now warmer against Hyuntak’s soft skin and roaming around the boy’s body–gripping his waist, squeezing his thighs as he holds them higher to make Hyuntak wrap his legs around him, needy in that suffocating way he gets when he wants all of Hyuntak’s attention, which his most of the time, to be honest. 

A cute breathy laugh breaks from Hyuntak’s chest against Seongje’s mouth, and then he’s pushing slightly at his boyfriend’s broad shoulders, turning his head away while wiping his lips with the back of his hands. 

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Hyuntak huffs, a fond smile cracking through his exterior despite himself. “Look at you, you’re like a needy pup.”

Seongje doesn’t rise to the bait, he just props himself up on one arm, hovering right over Hyuntak. His eyes are soft behind his glasses as he searches Hyuntak’s face with an observant intensity. 

“You shouldn’t go if you haven’t been feeling well.” he says softly, his thumb gently tracing the line of Hyuntak’s sharp jaw before moving to his lips. “You’ve been pushing yourself, baby, you’ve got classes, work, training…you don’t need to break over some stupid game just to prove a point.”

Inside his chest, Hyuntak’s heart does a sudden flip. Looking up at Seongje–seeing that rare, devastating softness in his eyes behind his glasses, the gentleness in his voice that he has reserved only for him–Hyuntak feels completely overwhelmed by how much he loves this damn bastard. 

He wants to stay. God, he wants to just pull Seongje down, wrap his legs around him and hide away in this warm bed for the rest of the night. 

But then a dull, throbbing spike of pain flares in his knee, reminding him of how useless and weak he’s been feeling for weeks. He needs this game, he needs to prove to himself that he can still run, still play, still be normal–that his body isn’t failing him. 

Hyuntak swallows down the lump in his throat, forcing a small, stubborn grin as he reaches up–his hand gently cupping Seongje’s cheek and pushing his glasses up his nose slightly with his thumb, feeling the boy lean into the contact. 

“Look at you being all soft,” Hyuntak mutters, his tone affectionate even as he tries to hide behind his usual stubbornness. He pats Seongje’s cheek lightly. “I appreciate it, you know I do. But I’m fine, I need to do this, Seongje. I just…need to feel like myself again. That’s it. So cut it out, okay? You’re not bribing me out of this with sex.” He finishes, smiling sweetly at his boyfriend. 

Seongje stares down at him, his eyes narrowing as the fondness falters and it’s replaced by that heavy, non-negotiable edge. 

“I’m serious, Hyuntak–”

“So am I,” Hyuntak cuts in softly, his gaze steady. “I’m going.”

After holding his gaze for a long moment, Seongje drops his forehead directly into the crook of Hyuntak’s neck, letting out an exhausted groan that vibrates through Hyuntak’s body. 

“Fine.” Seongje’s voice comes muffled against his skin.

“Fine?” Hyuntak blinks at the ceiling, surprised that for once something was actually easy with Seongje. 

Seongje lifts his head, his eyes fixed on Hyuntak’s face. “Fine. You’re going, but I’m coming with you.”

“What?” Hyuntak’s eyebrows shoot up. “No. Absolutely not. You’re not gonna follow me around like a damn stray waiting for an excuse to pick a fight with the first guy who stands too close.”

“I don’t care.” Seongje says simply, pulling himself off Hyuntak and sitting up on the edge of the bed. He reaches over to grab his hoodie off the back of the chair, slipping it on over his head. “You go, I go. Non-negotiable.”

“Seongje–” Hyuntak groans, tilting his head back on the unmade bed. 

“You can bitch about it all you want, baby, but I’m still going.” Seongje cuts him off, glancing back over his shoulder. 

Hyuntak lays on the bed for a second, staring at his boyfriend’s broad back as a wave of fond exhaustion washes over him. Seongje is overbearing, possessive like a fucking wild wolf feeling threatened, and so infuriatingly intense–and Hyuntak is so helplessly, utterly in love with him it’s damn ridiculous. 

“You’re an annoying bastard.” Hyuntak mutters, pushing himself up off the mattress and biting back a tiny grimace as his knee takes his full weight again. He grabs his bag, sliding it over his shoulder. “Let’s go then, since you wanna be my shadow so bad.”

Seongje walks back into the room to grab his phone from the nightstand, a tiny ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. As he walks past Hyuntak, Seongje’s long fingers catch his ching, tilting his face up to plant one last kiss to his lips. 

“Lead the way, sweetheart.” Seongje says against his mouth, smiling. 

Light rain and streetlights blur through the quiet streets as they make their way back, wrapped in a suffocating silence that stretches every block into an ordeal. 

Seongje spends the entire time staring straight ahead, his jaw locked tight and his knuckles white in his pockets while Hyuntak drags his bad leg beside him–every step a quiet battle against the pain, his pride stubbornly refusing to let him ask for a break. 

Every hard foul, every careless collision on the court, and every suppressed wince Seongje saw from the sidelines has been stewing between them like poison, building up until the air practically hums with unspoken fury by the time they reach the apartment. 

The heavy door of Seongje’s apartment slams shut with a sharp, resonant thud that almost rattles the frame. 

The sound makes a shadowy form scramble off the cushions of the living room sofa; Ciggy, startled out of a deep sleep, vanishes under the dark desk of the TV console with a quick run that makes his claws skitter frantically against the polished floodboards. 

“I told you to leave it,” Seongje’s voice slices through the sudden quiet of the entryway, laced with a harsh edge that usually makes people step back. He stops over the threshold, tossing his jacket onto the rack without looking at it, his dark eyes locked onto the back of the boy ahead of him. “If you’d just listened to me for once, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Hyuntak doesn’t turn around. He reaches the kitchen island and slams his own set of keys onto the countertop with enough force to leave a scuff mark, making the metal clatter loudly. His shoulders are drawn up tight beneath his hoodie, his jaw set so hard the muscle in his cheek twitches. 

Every step he takes is a calculated lie–a stiff and exaggerated attempt at a normal gait that fails horribly for leaning almost all his weight onto his left side, his right leg dragging slightly with every shift. 

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Seongje,” Hyuntak spits back, his voice rough with the pride that’s bleeding out of it. He grips the edge of the island, his knuckles turning white as a hot and throbbing flare of pain shoots up from his right knee through his thigh. He swallows it down, refusing to show it. “It was a fucking pick-up game. Just a game. I’m not gonna sit on the sidelines like a damn crippled ghost while everyone else plays just because you get paranoid.” 

“A pick-up game with people you don’t even know,” Seongje takes two long strides, closing the distance between them until he’s towering right behind Hyuntak, his presence suffocatingly heavy. “Guys who don’t give a fuck if you break your damn knee. I saw you, Hyuntak, you were limping before the first half even ended and you were too damn stubborn to sit down.” 

“Because I can handle it!” Hyuntak swings around, his eyes blazing and teeth bared. The motion forces him to pivot on his bad leg, and a sharp gasp catches in the back of his throat before he can stop it. A flicker of agony crosses his face–brief, but long enough for Seongje to catch it. And Hyuntak hates that Seongje always catches it. “Stop acting like you know everything! What the hell do you know about how I’m supposed to handle this, huh? You don’t know shit!” 

“I know enough to see when you’re being an idiot!” Seongje snaps, his quiet composure cracking. The quiet and terrifying control he usually maintains vanishes, burned away by a raw dread. Seeing his boyfriend hit the court floor earlier, clutching his leg while some stranger idiots laughed off a foul–it triggered something vicious and ugly inside Seongje’s chest. “You drive yourself into the ground just to prove something to people who don’t give a damn about you. You act like you’re invincible but all you’re doing is destroying what’s left of your leg.” 

“And what the fuck is it to you?” Hyuntak shoves him hard in the chest, pushing Seongje back a step, though the effort sends another sharp jar through his joint. “Why do you care so much? You just love having something to control, don’t you? You sit there watching me like I’m–like I’m some fucking broken bird you need to keep in a cage!” 

“Why do I care so much?” Seongje asks, his voice unsettlingly calm. “I’m your fucking boyfriend, Hyuntak. I care because I’m the one who has to pick up the pieces every time you break yourself trying to be a hero.” 

“Has to?” Hyuntak echoes, letting out an incredulous scoff. “Well, I’m sorry if you ‘have to’  be by my side when I feel like shit. Should’ve known it’d be hard for someone like you.” 

“Don’t fucking twist my words, Hyuntak,” Seongje warns, pointing a finger at him. “You know damn well what I mean–”

“God, shut up!” Hyuntak shoves him fully aside now, stepping into the middle of the living room with his body starting to tremble with bitterness. “Just shut the fuck up! You wanna lecture me about forcing my body? I wouldn’t even have to worry about it if you and your psychotic little friend hadn’t made sure to ruin it in the first place!” he lets out a harsh and hysterical sound devoid of any humor, his eyes wild with fury. “You both made sure I ended up like this, so don’t stand there and act like you know what’s best for me!” 

The cold ghost of Baekjin covers the room in a cold drop. Seongje’s breath catches in his throat at the mention of their past, his dark eyes widening in a split second of shock before the old and lethal instinct of defensive cruelty takes over. 

“Is that what it is?” Seongje hisses, stepping directly into Hyuntak’s space while his voice drops into a venomous whisper that carries the cold brutality of his Union days. “You wanna put it on me? Then maybe you should learn your fucking place and stop reaching higher than you can jump–it’s not my fault that you’d rather end up crippled just to satisfy your pathetic little pride.”

The silence that follows is so deafening that for a second Seongje actually wonders if his ears got hurt. 

Hyuntak stops. The fiery rage in his eyes flicker, then falter, and ends up completely dying–replaced by a cold and hollow shock. His lips part slightly, but nothing comes out. The color drains from his face so fast that leaves him looking ghostly pale under the warm kitchen lights. 

Seongje can feel his own brain short-circuit. The moment the words leave his mouth, a sickening and uncommon wave of guilt hits his gut. He sees the exact moment the blade hits home–sees the raw and unsaturated hurt flash in Hyuntak’s eyes before the shorter boy quickly throws up his walls, his gaze going glassy and distant. 

“Hyuntak–” Seongje’s voice softens again, the anger and coldness instantly evaporating and leaving behind a desperate tone. He reaches out, his hand trying to cup his boyfriend’s cheek. “Wait. No, baby, I didn’t–I didn’t mean it like that. Hey–”

“Don’t touch me.” 

Hyuntak’s voice is almost a whisper, but it carries a lethal, freezing coldness. He swats Seongje’s hand away with a weak and frantic slap, flinching as if Seongje’s touch burned him. He takes a heavy, painful step backward, his bad leg buckling slightly, but he catches himself against the counter. 

“Hyuntak, please,” Seongje almost begs, stepping forward and his hands reaching out in a pathetic attempt to grab his boyfriend. “I lost it, okay? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby–just–let me take care of it, please–” 

“Get away from me.” Hyuntak hisses, his chin trembling despite his best efforts to lock it down. He doesn’t even attempt to glance at Seongje. He drags his leg toward the bedroom, every step an agonizing ordeal, but he forces himself through it out of sheer spite. 

“Sweetheart–” 

“Sleep on the couch.” Hyuntak says, his voice flat and final. 

He slips into the bedroom, pulling the door shut and making the sharp click of the internal lock echo through the quiet apartment. 

Seongje stands frozen for a second, but he quickly steps forward and rattles the handle. “Open the door, Hyuntak, don’t pull this shit with me, come on–”

Silence.

“You think locking me out is gonna fix anything?” he asks, voice harsh and steady, his knuckles white against the frame. “You’re acting like a child!”

No answer comes from the other side, only heavy silence. 

Seongje closes his eyes, hitting the door one last time with his forehead in surrender before resting it there and letting out a long breath. He stays there for a long time, fueled by guilt and anger–waiting for his boyfriend to talk to him, but the only sound from inside is the faint and muffled rustle of the sheets. 

Hours pass, and the apartment becomes pitch black save for the pale ambient glow of the city streetlights filtering through the blinds. Seongje lays on the living room sofa, staring blankly at the dark ceiling.

Ciggy eventually creeps out from his hiding spot and curls up into a tight, dark ball on Seongje’s middle, purring softly as his owner unconsciously strokes his soft fur. 

His head spins with anger. End up crippled just to satisfy your pathetic little pride. Why the fuck did he say that? He’s not good with words, never has been–but he knows he went completely over the line this time. 

He’s been part of the whole process of this tragedy in Hyuntak’s life–he’s been part of it that night, he’s been part of watching the boy’s process to come back to life from afar, and he’s been next to Hyuntak once he was healed. And now he didn’t have a better idea than throwing that terrifying insecurity right back in Hyuntak’s face. 

By 3:00 AM, Seongje can’t take it anymore. 

Gently, he lifts Ciggy off his stomach, setting him onto the cushion before standing up. He walks over the entryway console to pull his ring of spare keys from the drawer, the little fox keychain that Hyuntak gifted him rattles against the keys as he walks down the living room in his socks. 

He slips the key into the bedroom lock, turning it slowly and hearing the latch click open. Pushing the door open by an inch, he speaks softly. 

“Hyuntak?”

The room is bathed in shadows. Hyuntak is sitting up against the headboard, his left knee pulled slightly toward his chest while a heating pad is pressed against his exposed right knee. He doesn’t turn his head from where it’s resting over his popped up knee, he just sits there, rigidly staring into the dark. 

Like a trespasser in his own home, Seongje enters the room. He walks over to Hyuntak’s side of the bed and drops straight to his knees on the hard floodboards.

The sight is pathetically raw–Seongje, a guy who never bent his knee for anyone–kneeling on the floor beside the mattress like a penitent sinner, with his long frame looking almost diminished in the dim light. He rests his forearms on the edge of the bed, peering up at Hyuntak through the shadows. 

“Hyuntak,” Seongje rasps softly, his voice thick and unpolished. He reaches out with a hesitating hand, hovering his fingers over Hyuntak’s ankle but not daring to make contact without permission. “Angel, please–I’m sorry. I’m…I’m a fucking idiot.”

His boyfriend doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t even move. He just turns his head toward the window, hiding his expression in the dark while his breath trembles. 

“Come on, don’t ignore me, please,” Seongje begs, his fingers finally dropping to lightly hold Hyuntak’s ankle. His knuckles brush skin, feeling how tense Hyuntak is. “I–I don’t really know what to say, you know I’m shit at this. But I didn’t mean that, I swear it, baby I didn’t mean that shit. I’m so sorry.” 

“Get your hands off me.” Hyuntak’s voice comes out cold. He pulls his leg back, dragging his ankle out of Seongje’s reach. 

Seongje flinches at the rejection, but stays on his knees. “Hyuntak, please–just look at me,”

“I said don’t fucking touch me.” Hyuntak snaps, turning his head to glare down at Seongje, his eyes rimmed with raw red and filled with a defensive venom. “What, you came in here to apologize so you can feel better about yourself? You think this fixes what you said?”

“No.” Seongje swallows, his hands clenching into the bedsheets. “No, I know it doesn’t. I know I fucked up–”

“Yeah, and you always do this!” Hyuntak’s voice cracks with a quiet, hitching gasp–a sound so rough it hits Seongje straight in the sternum. “You say the cruelest shit and then you expect me to let you fix it. Well, I don’t want your pity now, Seongje.” 

Without thinking, Seongje reaches up and clicks on the small, warm nightstand lamp. 

The dim yellow light floods the bed, illuminating Hyuntak’s face. His hands are pressed tightly over his eyes, his knuckles white because of the force and his shoulders shaking with silent sobs that he’s desperately trying to choke back. Tears leak under his palms despite his attempts of hiding them, and run down his cheeks anyway. 

“Hey, angel…no,” Seongje’s chest constricts violently. Refusing to stay pushed away, he leans over the bed, reaching up to wrap his long arms around Hyuntak’s waist, burying his face into the boy’s stomach. “Don’t. Don’t cry, please.” 

“Get off…” Hyuntak rasps, feebly pushing at Seongje’s broad shoulders, but his heels digging into the mattress as he tries to pull back. “Get off. You’re so fucking cruel…you always hit right where it hurts–”

“I know,” Seongje mutters against the fabric of Hyuntak’s hoodie, refusing to let go even as he stays grounded on the floor. “I know I am. I’m sorry. I get crazy when I see you hurting and I don’t–I don’t know how to handle it. I’m sorry, baby.”

“You make me feel…like shit–” Hyuntak chokes out between heavy, shuddering breaths as he leans over his boyfriend. “You make me feel like I’m just a burden–like I’m just…just some broken thing you’re forced to deal with–”

“No, never. That’s not true, I swear that’s not even close to the truth,” Seongje keeps repeating, the words almost clumsy and way too honest. He shifts, pulling himself up slightly from his knees just enough to climb onto the mattress, gathering Hyuntak fully into his lap despite the boy’s weak pushes against his chest. “Blame me, hate me, whatever you want but don’t–don’t say that.”

“Yeah, I do blame you…” Hyuntak sobs, his resistance finally breaking as his hands stop pushing and instead grab tight handfuls of Seongje’s shirt, burying his face into the crook of Seongje’s neck. “You should feel fucking guilty.”

“I do,” Seongje whispers, his hand resting heavily on the back of Hyuntak’s head, holding him close while his other hand sneaks under the fabric of Hyuntak’s hoodie to rub soothing circles on the skin of his back. “I do, and it fucking kills me, I’m so sorry,” 

They stay like that as Hyuntak’s harsh sobs slowly wane into quiet, exhaustion-laden hiccups, the heavy wall he was trying to keep up completely crumbling into Seongje’s chest. 

“I just…I just wanted to play,” Hyuntak mumbles softly against Seongje’s skin, his voice small and hoarse. “I thought if I just kept going…I could pretend I was normal again. Like before. But I can’t, I’m just–you’re right, I’m fucking broken now. I’m damn weak–”

“Hey, no, no.” Seongje says immediately, pulling back just enough to look at Hyuntak, his hands awkwardly framing Hyuntak’s flushed, tear-stained face. “I say a lot of shit, but you’re not weak, I’d never think that of you, baby. You’re the hardest, most stubborn guy I’ve ever met. You’re–”

Hyuntak blinks, his eyes red and swollen, staring at his boyfriend through a blur of tears. 

“You’re not broken, baby,” Seongje grunts, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear on Hyuntak’s cheek. “You just…you can’t do everything at once. And you don’t have to. I don’t give a fuck about proving your strength, or if you can’t run for two hours straight, I don’t care, I just need you to stop hurting yourself.”

Seeing how stiff Hyuntak’s sitting in his heavy and twisted clothes–sweaty from crying and restricted by the thick fabric–Seongje reaches down to the hem of the sweatshirt. 

“Here,” he whispers softly, his hands gentle as he gathers the fabric. “Take this off, baby. Let’s get you comfortable, hm? Your back’s gonna be sore if you sleep like this.”

Hyuntak doesn’t resist. He raises his arms limply, allowing Seongje to pull the heavy oversized training hoodie over his head, leaving him in just his thin training shirt. 

Carefully, Seongje slides down the bed to get a hold of the skin exposed by the gym shorts Hyuntak’s wearing. He sets the heating pad aside for a moment, revealing the long and pale scar running down the joint. He lowers his head and presses his lips softly to the scar–a quiet and devoted kiss that lingers there for a moment until he feels Hyuntak’s leg lose its tension under his mouth. Then, he runs a palm up and down his boyfriend’s thigh, pressing small, soothing kisses all over the surrounding skin of his knee. 

Reaching over to the nightstand on Hyuntak’s side of the bed, Seongje grabs the familiar tub of cream they always keep there and rubs a liberal amount between his large palms to warm it up before gently laying his hands on Hyuntak’s damaged joint.

“Tell me if I press too hard.” Seongje whispers softly, his fingers working with extreme care. 

His thumbs move in slow, rhythmic circles around the knee, working the soothing cream deep into the sore, stiff muscles of the calf and thigh, easing the deep-seated tension from the day’s strain. Hyuntak lets out a long, shuddering breath, his eyes getting heavy as the comforting warmth of Seongje’s attentive touch finally dulls the throbbing pain. 

When the tension completely drains from the leg, Seongje wipes his hands clean on a nearby used t-shirt and reaches to grab the water bottle Hyuntak always keeps on his nightstand, gently lifting his tired boyfriend to help him sip a few swallows to hydrate him after crying. 

Once Hyuntak finishes, Seongje maneuvers him down onto the pillows, making sure his leg rests in a comfortable position before pulling the thick duvet all the way up to his chin to prevent the cold air of the room from making him sick. 

Finally, Seongje strips off his own outer layer and slides under the covers beside him. He wraps his arms around Hyuntak, pulling the tired boy flush against his chest.

Seongje leans down, pressing a soft and lingering kiss directly to the center of Hyuntak’s forehead after brushing his dark bangs away with his hand. Then he kisses his temple, then his damp eyelids, kissing away the salt of his tears–then the tip of his red and flushed nose, and finally pressing a tender, bruised kiss against his pouty, trembling lips. 

“I love you.” Seongje breaths against his skin, his voice stripped from any cold pride. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much, Hyuntak.” 

Hyuntak’s breath hitches. Weakly, his hands creep out from beneath the covers so he can dig his fingers into the front of Seongje’s t-shirt, pulling him even closer. He leans up, pressing a soft, clumsy kiss back against his boyfriend’s jaw, then his cheek–weak and exhausted little kisses that lack his usual fiery force, but carry every ounce of his remaining strength. 

“I know.” Hyuntak mumbles hoarsely, burying his face right back into the crook of Seongje’s neck, inhaling his familiar scent. “Don’t ever say shit like that again. I mean it.” 

“I won’t. I swear, baby.” Seongje promises, his grip tightening, locking Hyuntak safely in his arms as if he’s shielding him from everything in the world–including his own ugly, destroying past. “Just rest, okay? I’ve got you.”

“I don’t wanna fight with you.” Hyuntak says, his voice small and almost doubtful. 

And just because he’s Seongje, and he can’t spend that much time being fully nice, he retorts like he isn’t the one with a disadvantage in this situation. 

“No? But I thought you liked fighting me, how did we end up here, then?” he smiles, shifting back a little just to see the inevitable roll of his eyes that Hyuntak’s giving him. 

“Not like that, asshole. You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

He continues to shower his face with tiny, feather-light kisses; whispering gentle apologies into his hair until Hyuntak’s body finally relaxes, his breathing turning steady and quiet in the dark, secure in his boyfriend’s hold.  

Tension inside the room usually dissolves like this–not into clarity, as such, but into a thick narcotic that makes them both lose track of where the damage ends and the devotion starts. 

Hyuntak’s forehead rests against the hot expanse of Seongje’s throat, his fingers still locked tight in the cotton of Seongje’s shirt as if he was holding onto the edge of a cliff. His knee stopped throbbing with that sharp, agonizing bite, replaced now by a numbing warmth from the cream and the rhythmic weight of Seongje’s large hand resting over the scar. 

It feels good, it feels soft enough to pretend that the words Seongje spat at him hours ago belonged to someone else.

Seongje is quiet now, his breathing long and steady, his lips periodically pressing light, bruised kisses into Hyuntak’s damp hair. He holds Hyuntak so tightly that it’s hard to even draw a breath–a suffocating, desperate grip that pins Hyuntak to his chest, leaving no space for air, for the harsh memory of their high school years, or for the lingering ghost of the street or the court. 

Hyuntak likes it. Loves it, even. 

He knows Seongje doesn’t think like the rest of the people Hyuntak knows; he doesn’t feel the same way. Everything with Seongje is wired far more twisted, far more intense. There are no middle grounds or gray areas with him–everything is either pitch black or blindingly bright, a wild and consuming storm that threatens to swallow both of them whole. 

And Hyuntak craves being consumed by it, because he wants to consume Seongje in the exact same way. 

It drives him insane–makes his blood run hot and heavy through his veins–the mere realization that someone as dangerous, arrogant, and untouchable as Seongje is keen to get down on his knees for him; desperate for a single word, a touch, or even a damn look. 

Hyuntak intoxicates himself on that power–on the sickeningly sweet knowledge that Seongje would do anything, bleed through any line, just to keep Hyuntak by his side in whatever broken shape they take. 

Above him, Seongje stares blankly into the dark shadows of the ceiling, his eyes wide and unblinking. He can feel the quiet, rhythmic rise and fall of Hyuntak’s chest trapped flushed against his own, his boyfriend’s warm breath ghosting over his neck. 

He knows he probably went too far tonight. He knows the venom in his tongue can slice Hyuntak open in seconds whenever fear takes over. But the thought of Hyuntak giving his broken pieces to anyone else–of any other idiot seeing him weak, tending to his pain, or holding him through his worse moments–makes something vicious coil in Seongje’s chest. 

Hyuntak’s worst facets, his sharpest edges, his deepest scars–they belong to Seongje. Every single piece of him belongs right here. Hyuntak can suffer, can scream, can bleed his pride out, but he will do it in Seongje’s arms. And he will enjoy his absolute best moments right here, too, cradled by the same hands that know how to tear the rest of the world apart. 

He’s mine, Seongje thinks into the silence of the room, inhaling the scent of his boyfriend as he tightens him even closer to him. All of him, every single piece. 

Outside, the city still sleeps, and the world keeps moving, but neither of them move. They lie there, thoroughly consumed and completely exhausted, wrapped in the heavy warmth of each other’s body–completely aware that it doesn’t matter how hard they tear into each other, they will never, ever let go.

Two intense, fierce souls bound by a love so consuming that even in their worst moments, they can’t exist apart.