Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The mirror lied. Not about the obvious things; the jaw that could cut if he turned just right, the full lips that curved like they were designed by someone with an appreciation for tragedy, the dark black hair pushed back in that way that suggested he'd just run his fingers through it and decided that was effort enough. Masculine grace in every step he took, the kind that made strangers on campus do that double take, the one that said wait, who's that? Those were still there, same as always.

The lie was smaller. It nested in the corners.

Seonghwa stared at himself and tried to remember when his eyes had started looking so tired. Not sleepy tired, not the good kind that came from staying up too late with people who made you forget time existed. The other kind. The kind that looked like someone had been home but had left the lights on. The lights were flickering.

He was twenty-two. Too young for tired eyes. That was the kind of look you saw in men with kids and mortgages and wives who didn't touch them anymore. Not in college boys who had nothing to do tomorrow except show up to a class they didn't care about and drink at a party they'd already been to a hundred times and repeat the routine all over again like goldfish doing laps in a bowl too small to notice.

His phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. The vibration was evident from the bathroom vanity; it skittered across the marble like a trapped insect.

!! 8 unread messages

He didn't need to check. He knew what it was. Party prep calculus. Who's bringing the keg? Who's inviting those girls? Whether someone had seen the good speaker or if it was still at Seonghwa's ex’s apartment from last weekend. A lingering thought that landed in his chest like a papercut he forgot about until something brushed against it. It was nothing serious; he’d be damned to expect it to be, for someone who ends up in multiple pairs of legs by the break of dawn each weekend.

Seonghwa picked up the phone, typed "idk figure it out" with a tongue emoji, that's enough interaction, he reacted to some other texts in the chat for the sake of looking invested, and put it back down.

The mirror caught his reflection again. He made himself smile; the easy one, the one that crinkled his eyes just right. The one that said I’m here, I’m present. It looked convincing. It always did.

There. That's the guy they want.

He turned away before the smile could fade.

His room was a disaster in the way all college bedrooms were disasters, clothes on every surface like evidence of a struggle, a desk buried under papers he hadn't touched in weeks, the due dates looming like lint in the room, a half-empty water bottle from God knows when, water probably constituting a new form of life by now. His phone sat on the nightstand, screen cracked from when he'd dropped it last week. He kept meaning to fix it. Kept not doing it. The crack had become a familiar geography, lines he traced with his thumb while he played games with his Discord friends.

He grabbed it now and checked the chat properly. Five hundred thirty-seven messages since he'd last looked. The conversation had metastasized. Someone had started a poll about pre gaming locations, someone spammed stickers, three people were arguing about whether shots or beer pong should come first, as if a crowd of youngsters ever cared about order.

Mingi: yo who's bringing the good vodka?

Heechan: I got it

Mingi: bless u

Yunho: Someone needs to bring cups.

Mingi: Cups are for amateurs 

           Big L 

Yunho: Crystal glasses are for not drinking out like animals.

Mingi: Animals are cool, woof woof 

Yunho: Shut up mingi

Seonghwa smiled. Small. Real. That was the thing about his roommates; they could still pull a real smile out of him, even when he forgot he had one. Even when he'd left it in some dark corner of himself and couldn't remember which drawer.

He typed: I'll bring cups. Yunho i got them in my car.

Yunho: yeah we do!

Mingi: oh i can’t wait to get waisted

Yunho: *wasted

Mingi: both

He put the phone down. Stared at his closet as if it owed him money.

What did you wear to a party you didn't want to attend?

The same thing you always wore, he guessed. Ill-fitted diesel jeans that hung just right because his body was the kind that made fabric apologize for existing, a fitted black t-shirt that clung onto his chest and waist just the slightest tighter, the Chrome Hearts bracelet Mingi had thrown at him last week with the casual violence "You wear it better than me, hyung. Keep it." He kept it. Like he kept a lot of things Mingi gave him. Compliments, bad jokes, headaches and occasional heads.

He got dressed. Before he even mentally prepared himself to go.

The group chat was still exploding with bad ideas and worse grammar when he finally got out of his room an hour later. Mingi was sprawled on the couch in nothing but his Calvin Klein boxers and a massive silver custom chain he’d always wear, maybe his funeral too if they let him, scrolling through his phone, legs half on the sofa half in the air laughing at something.

"Bro," Mingi said without looking up. "There's a guy in the chat trying to organize a beer pong tournament with color coded spreadsheets. I'm sending you screenshots. What a loser," he said it with the genuine bewilderment of someone who'd just discovered that other people exist and some of them make questionable choices.

"Send them."

"Check your phone."

Seonghwa's phone was in his pocket. He didn't check it. The screenshots could wait. They'd been waiting all day. They'd keep waiting. They were patient, little images, accustomed to neglect.

Mingi finally looked up. His eyes scanned Seonghwa, the same jeans, the same fitted shirt, the same borrowed bracelet. "You look hot. Taking someone home tonight?" he asked with a slight smirk and obvious sarcasm, the kind that meant the opposite of what it said but also exactly what it said because Mingi was complicated like that. Walking Paradoxe.

"Probably not."

"Liar." Mingi grinned, and his grill flashed silver. "You always take someone home."

Seonghwa didn't have a response to that. It was true. It was also the kind of truth that sounded sad if you thought about it too long, so he didn't. He simply threw the half eaten apple aimed toward mingis plum ass cheeks.

He missed. The apple thunked against the couch cushion and then landed on his ass lightly.

"Where's Yunho?"

"Grocery shopping. Because he's unc status," Mingi's voice softened slightly on the name. Barely noticeable softness that happens when you're trying to hide that someone matters and your mouth forgets to follow the script. Seonghwa noticed anyway and it was exhausting. "He said something about having 'real food'. He promised my mom he would make sure we did. Whatever that means."

"He's not wrong. We've been eating takeout for two weeks."

"And? It's great." Mingi gestured vaguely at his own body, as if to say hey look at this temple, built on fried chicken

"Your arteries are begging."

"Worth it."

Seonghwa snorted. Dropped onto the other end of the couch. For a while, they just existed; Mingi scrolling, Seonghwa staring at the ceiling, the comfortable silence of people who'd lived together long enough that talking wasn't required. Two boys sharing a sofa and the three brain cells between them.

The ceiling was doing its best. White. Textured. A small water stain in the corner that looked vaguely like Italy. Seonghwa had named it Fernando.

Then Mingi said, "You good? You seem off."

"I'm fine."

"You always say that."

"Because it's always true."

Mingi made a sound that wasn't quite agreement. He shifted between the pile of pillows and long discarded clothes, stretching his long legs out until his foot bumped Seonghwa's thigh. Didn't move it away. "If you need to talk or whatever, you know I'm shit at it, but Yunho's good. He actually listens."

"I know."

"He worries about you." Mingi's eyes stayed on his phone. The screen reflected in his pupils

Seonghwa turned his head to look at Mingi. Really look. His roommate was still staring at his phone, but his jaw was tighter than it had been a minute ago. Like he'd said something that cost him. He worries about you, too, Seonghwa thought. You just won't say it. You'll orbit each other until the sun explodes and never once say "I'm scared" or "stay" or "your smile does things to my chest that I don't have names for."

"Tell Yunho I'm fine," Seonghwa said. "Tell him I'll eat his real food."

Mingi laughed. The tension broke. "I'm not telling him shit. You can be grateful to him directly."

"Fine. Coward."

"Absolutely." The foot moved sharply, a non verbal fuck off dude that Seonghwa didn’t react back to.

seconds later,

The front door opened. Yunho walked in with three bags of groceries, looking slightly harried but mostly like himself: a warm, soft blue cashmere sweater with his ever so effortless pants that complemented his slender figure, a gentle smile that reached his eyes.

"I need help," he announced. "Mingi, get off your ass."

"I'm relaxing." Mingi stretched further into the couch 

"You're decomposing. Come here."

Mingi groaned but stood, stretching dramatically. Spine cracking, boxers riding up that drew Yunho's eyes towards him. Seonghwa saw Yunho's eyes flicker down, then away. Fast. Like it burned.

Interesting, Seonghwa thought it's a different rush seeing chemistry between people who would never admit because of egos taller than their heights and hearts that are cowardly. Seonghwa filed that away and stood too. "I'll help. Then I need to finish getting ready."

"You look ready," Yunho said.

"I'm not." Seonghwa grabbed a bag of vegetables. "Ready means emotionally prepared to watch drunk people make bad decisions. I'm not there yet."

"That's just Friday."

"Exactly. It's a process. I have to mentally prepare to watch someone try to hit on a lamp because they think it's 'giving signals.

Yunho laughed, and Mingi followed with a hummed snicker.

They unloaded groceries in a comfortable rhythm. Yunho directing, Mingi pretending to listen while actively not listening, Seonghwa putting things in the wrong places just to watch Yunho sigh and move them. Normal. Easy. The kind of evening he'd had a hundred times.

By the time they finished, the sun was setting. The party would start in a few hours. Seonghwa's stomach tightened.

It's just a party. You've done this a million times. You'll do it a million more. Eventually, you'll die, and none of it will matter, and the universe will keep expanding, and no one will remember that one Thursday when you felt hollow.

He put on a little concealer. Brown eyeliner, just a swipe, just enough to make his eyes look wider. Brow gel to tame the brow chaos. Light pink lip tint to accentuate his already plush heart lips. Just the basics. Nothing crazy. Just enough to look put together and efforted, as he'd tried without seeming like he'd tried, which was the whole game really. Appearing effortless while constantly exerting effort.

His hand drifted to his wrist. The borrowed Chrome Hearts bracelet. Mingi's voice in his head: "You wear it better than me, hyung."

Do I? Seonghwa thought. Or do I just wear it differently? Or is that the same thing? Or does none of it matter because it's just a bracelet and I'm just a person and we're all just atoms pretending to have meaning?

His door slammed open to a large mingi sprinting and jumping on his bed, making the bed creak as he fell onto the matress

“u almost ready? Yunho's making us eat before we go so we don't die. Hurry up, old man two.”

“Oh, how you hopped on this old man's dick, the other day.”

“You are horny when ur hungry, calm down.”

He looked at the mirror one more time. He indeed was a little hungry. The tired eyes were still there, but he'd learned to work around them. He smiled to himself, the makeup today will do. There. That was the guy.

He kicked Mingi off his bed, motioning him to get out of his personal territory. Mingi followed the unsaid instructions.

Seonghwa grabbed his phone, felt the familiar chipped glass on his cracked phone screen, threw it in his pocket along with a pack of killers and a chrome heart lighter that one of his exes gave him, and left the room.

Dinner was chaotic in the best way. Yunho had made actual food, rice, side dishes and bubbling hot porkstew that Mingi kept stealing off everyone's plates. They ate at the small kitchen island, knees knocking together, talking over each other about past party events and tragedies. The Venn diagram of "fun story" and "bad decision" was basically a circle.

"Who's even hosting tonight?" Mingi asked, mouth full. A grain of rice clung to the corner of his lip like a tiny hitchhiker. Seonghwa watched Yunho notice it, and watched him not say anything.

"Monsters," Yunho said. "Their place is bigger."

"Ugh. Their beer is always warm," Mingi said with a face that had just bitten into a lemon.

"Then drink something else."

"There's nothing else, Heechan and Jaemin are getting Smirnoff and more though," Mingi pointed his chopsticks at Yunho accusingly. "You don't understand the struggle because you drink like one beer and then switch to water like a responsible citizen who has a 401k and shit."

"Someone has to drive your drunk ass home."

"That's what Ubers are for."

"That's what I'm for. For free. You're welcome."

Mingi's face did something complicated. Gratitude and something softer, something he'd never name. "Yeah, well. Thanks, I guess, we have to pick up more booze on our way there, boys."

Yunho smiled. Small. Private. "Casual alcoholism much?"

‘Got a problem?’

‘No, why would I?’

‘Good.’

Seonghwa watched them over his rice. The way they orbited each other without touching. The way the air changed when they looked at each other. Two people so obviously in love that it was almost painful to witness, like watching someone try to drink water through a straw that's still wrapped in plastic.

Say something, he wanted to tell them. Just fucking say something.

But he didn't. Because who was he to give relationship advice? He hooked up with strangers. He was the last person who should talk about love. Love implied reciprocity, vulnerability that made your chest hurt. Seonghwa specialized in the opposite. Bodies that left before morning, names he forgot by the next hour, everyone got what they wanted and no one had to stay.

"Seonghwa." Yunho's voice pulled him back. "You okay? You spaced out."

"Fine. Just tired."

"Liar."

Mingi snorted."Called it"

"Then stay home," Yunho said. Like it was that easy. Like staying home was an option when staying home meant sitting with yourself and all the things you've been avoiding.

"Can't. Promised I'd bring cups."

"You're a cups dealer now?" Mingi asked. "That's your angle? Party accessory mule?"

"Someone has to." Seonghwa pointed his chopsticks at Mingi. "You're clearly not capable of responsibility."

"I'm capable. I choose not to be. It's different."

"Party won't start for real until nine anyway," Yunho suggested

"Show up late, make an entrance," Mingi added. "That's what hot people do."

"I thought that's what you do."

"Same thing babe."

Mingi and Yunho were waiting by the door, Mingi bouncing with restless energy, Yunho calm and steady beside him. They looked right together. They always did.

"Finally," Mingi announced. "I was going to leave without you."

"No you weren't."

"No but I thought about it."

"Very scary."

Yunho closed the door. The door made the prerecorded tune, indicating it was locked. The numbers light up in blue for once and they turn to black again. "Come on, children. Let's go."

They stepped out into the night. The air was cool, the building alive with pre party energy. Somewhere in the distance, bass thumped from an already going house music.

Seonghwa walked between his two roommates, half listening to their bickering, half lost in his own head.

Tonight will be fine, he told himself again. He had no idea what was waiting for him.

The bass hit before they reached the door.

It vibrated up through the sidewalk, into the soles of Seonghwa's shoes, settling somewhere in his chest. The Monsters' house loomed ahead, a three story monument to bad decisions, every window glowing gold, beige, and bougie, every surface inside probably sticky, every square inch filled with bodies trying to forget their week. Mingi was already vibrating beside him, a tall, restless flame, pumping adrenaline. "Hear that? That's our song."

"Every song is your song," Yunho shouted

"Exactly. I'm versatile." Mingi screamed back

The noise swallowed them whole.

Inside was chaos, but the organized kind. The kind you could lose yourself in if you tried hard enough. Strobe lights cut through fog machines like lightning through smoke. The DJ in the corner played something with too much drop, too much bass, too much everything. People ground against each other like they were trying to melt into one another's skin. Someone shouted a greeting that Seonghwa couldn't hear. He smiled and nodded anyway.

This was his element. Or at least, this was where he performed best.

He let the noise fill him. Let it push into all the empty spaces the ones that usually echoed with thoughts he didn't want to think, feelings he didn't want to feel. The music was a flood, and he let it wash him clean. For a while, it worked.

A girl appeared at his elbow. Chunky Neapolitan hair. Pretty. Tipsy in that way that made people brave. "You're Seonghwa, right?"

"That's me," he matched her steps 

"I'm Aana. My friend thinks you're hot."

"And you?" He said smugly and scanned the crowd, found the friend watching. Also pretty. Also tipsy. The kind of girl he'd normally let grind on him until it was too much and the night blurred into the morning of another empty bedside. "Tell her I'm flattered."

"Tell her yourself." Aana grabbed his wrist, warm, soft fingers and beautifully painted nails, and pulled him toward the dance floor. He went.

An hour later, he'd danced with three people, bought two drinks, and laughed at approximately seventeen jokes that weren't funny. His face hurt from smiling. His ears rang with the ghost of the music. And somewhere beneath his ribs, that familiar hollow feeling had started to creep back in like water seeping through cracks in a dam.

He extracted himself from the crowd, found a wall to lean against, dug up the pack of killers he kept earlier, the Chrome Hearts lighter sparked once, twice and then caught a tiny flame. He rolled the wheel again just to hear the click out of habit; mechanical and predictable, then brought the cigarette to his lips and took one long drag till it filled his insides like insulation, like something between himself and himself.

The wall was cool against his back. The music was muffled here, less assaulting. He closed his eyes for a moment just a moment and let out a long haze. Let the smile drop. Let himself be no one for five seconds.

The smoke curled upward like questions he'd never answer. 

When he opened his eyes, he scanned the room on autopilot. Looking for nothing. Looking for everything.

Across the room, he spotted Mingi.

His roommate was in his element; shirt already off, grill flashing as he laughed at something, a guy and a girl both hanging off him like he was a human jungle gym. Half dancing, half grinding against each other; it was dirty. Mingi thrived here. The chaos suited him. He was fire in human form, bright and bold and impossible to look away from.

What didn't suit him was the way his eyes kept drifting toward the kitchen occasionally, toward Yunho.

He was talking to someone, being polite and present and Yunho. Not dancing. Not drinking much. Just... there. Being the person everyone leaned on.

Mingi's eyes found him. Held for a beat too long. Then Mingi laughed louder, pulled the girl closer, and kissed her neck like he was trying to prove something.

Yunho didn't look up.

Seonghwa watched them; this gravitational pull neither would name, and felt something ache in his chest. Not for himself. For them.

Say something, he thought at them both. Just fucking say something. But he knew. Saying something was terrifying. Saying something meant it could break. And some things felt safer as possibilities than as losses.

He looked away. Drank his god knows what was mixed in this liquor concoction. He could taste all sorts of alcohols, soju, vodka, rice beer, Sprite, cola, some chunks of coconut jelly, and the yogurty flavour of Yakult. It was sweet, chilled, and messy. Tried not to think about how he was just as bad as they were, and this drink worse of it all.

The night stretched on. More songs. More bodies. More performing.

Seonghwa danced with the Aana’s girl friend Megan? McKenzie? Something with an M. She was pretty in a forgettable way, warm and willing, pressed against him like she wanted to be there. They made out twice grinded onto each other long enough for them to have to leave the party at this point. She should have felt something. Anything.

He felt nothing.

It was like watching himself from outside his body. There he was, moving, saying the right things, and somewhere behind his eyes, the real him catching up.

This is fine, he told himself. This is what people do. This is what everyone does. This is what I do.

He pulled away from the girl with a promise to find her later. He wouldn't. She'd forget him by the next quarter. That was how this worked.

He pushed through the crowd toward the back door.

And then he felt it.

Eyes.

The sensation was physical: a prickle at the back of his neck, a weight on his skin, a sudden awareness that he was not alone in the way he'd thought. It was like walking through an empty room and realizing someone was standing in the corner, watching, seeing.

Seonghwa's feet slowed. His heart quickened.

He turned. Scanned the crowd.

Nothing. Just bodies. Just chaos. Just the usual blur of faces he didn't know and would never remember.

But for a moment, a single, electric moment. He could have sworn he saw someone in the corner near the stairs. Dark clothes. Still as stone. Eyes fixed on him.

He blinked. The spot was empty.

You're imagining things. It's the booze from earlier. It's the noise. It's nothing.

He kept walking toward the door. But the feeling didn't leave. It crawled up his spine and settled at the base of his skull, whispering: someone is watching.

He pushed outside into the cool air pulled out a cigarette and told himself he was being ridiculous.

He wasn't.

The backyard was almost worse than inside. Less noise, more people; couples making out against the fence, a group passing vapes in a circle like kids exchanging lollipops, he found vapes kiddish, some dolled up girl throwing up in the bushes while her friend held her hair back. College people in their natural habitat.

Seonghwa found a quiet corner near the fence and leaned against it. It took him three long drags to bring himself back into his own body.

You're fine. You're always fine. 

But behind his eyelids, he saw a silhouette. Still. Watching.

He opened his eyes. Stared at the sky. The stars were invisible here, drowned out by city pollution and party haze. The back door opened. Yunho stepped out, spotted him immediately, and walked over.

"Hiding?"

"Considering to."

Yunho leaned against the fence beside him. Close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Seonghwa opened his pack and offered Yunho one; he gladly accepted it by holding it in the air as an act of gratitude. Yunho dug his pockets looking for a lighter. Seonghwa offered his.

"You've been off all night," Yunho said after a minute, not accusing. Just stating. "Want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Seonghwa."

"I'm fine…Yunho," he half screamed

"You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true."

Yunho was quiet for a moment again. Then: "You know I'm not going to push. But I'm also not going to stop asking."

Seonghwa laughed softly and blew the smoke away. "Thats established."

They smoked Yunho's defeat and Seonghwa's rigidity away... Inside, the bass thumped like a heartbeat. Outside, the night was almost peaceful. Almost.

"I should check on Mingi," Yunho said eventually. "He's been drinking like he's trying to win a contest. He had an open  bottle of Jager in his vicinity before I came to you."

"He's always drinking like that like water."

"Tonight feels different. He seems..." Yunho trailed off, searching for the word. "Restless."

Seonghwa thought about Mingi's eyes following Yunho across the room. Thought about the way Mingi laughed louder when he knew Yunho was watching. Thought about all the things neither of them would say.

"Maybe he just needs something he can't have," Seonghwa said.

Yunho looked at him sharply. "What does that mean? Mingi gets everything."

"Nothing. Go check on him."

Yunho hesitated. Then nodded. Pushed off the fence. "Coming back in?"

"In a minute."

Yunho disappeared inside. Seonghwa stayed against the fence, staring at nothing, feeling the crawl of eyes on his skin.

He turned. Looked toward the house.

Dark. But for a second, just a second

He thought he saw a silhouette. Still. Watching.

Then nothing.

You're losing it.

He pushed off the fence and headed back inside. Then he found Mingi.

His roommate was pressed against a wall, some guy kissing his tits, Mingi's head tipped back, eyes half closed. He looked good. He always looked good. But his eyes weren't focused on the guy touching him. And why did he know that? Because they had hooked up multiple times. If anything, Seonghwa knew Mingi wasn’t focused a bit.

They were fixed on something across the room. Seonghwa followed his gaze.

Ofcourse

Yunho. Talking to some girls. Not looking at Mingi. Never looking at Mingi. Mingi's jaw tightened. He pulled the guy by his hair closer to his face. Kissed him harder. Made sure Yunho could see if he just looked. He hoped Yunho did.

Yunho didn't look.

Seonghwa's chest ached for both of them. He turned away. Couldn't watch anymore. 

And then.

There.

Across the room. Near the wall. Away from the crowd.

A figure that didn't move with the music. Didn't sway. Didn't laugh or drink or exist in any of the ways everyone else existed. Just... stood. Still as a statue. Watching.

Dark clothes. Darker hair. Face half shadowed, but those eyes were visible even from here. Dark. Unblinking. Fixed on Seonghwa.

Time stopped.

The music didn't fade; it vanished. The crowd didn't blur; it disappeared. The whole party, the whole house, the whole world narrowed to one point: the space between them.Seonghwa couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't do anything except stand there, pinned by that gaze, feeling something crack open in his chest.Because for the first time in longer than he could remember, someone was looking at him. Not through him. Not past him. Not at the performance, he wore like skin. 

At him

He felt naked under that gaze; it got under his skin. Exposed. The stranger's lips moved. Just slightly. Not a smile a recognition. Like he'd known Seonghwa would find him eventually. Seonghwa's heart slammed against his ribs. His hands trembled at his sides. Every instinct screamed: look away. run.

Seonghwa couldn't move.

He moved through the crowd like it parted for him, and maybe it did. Seonghwa couldn't tell. Couldn't see anything except that mans figure getting closer, closer, closer.

The space between them shrank. Fifteen feet. Ten. Five.

Three feet. Two

Then he was there. Right there. Close enough that Seonghwa could smell his woody, smoky yet citrusy cologne, something that made his head spin in a way cheap tequila never could. 

This was a category error. A man who'd have wandered into a party full of children playing at adulthood and forgotten to dress down. The coat was tailored in that way that meant someone had measured him while he stood still and thought about important things; double breasted, the kind of garment that had a biography. No logos. Didn't need them. The clothes announced money the way certain people announce themselves in a room.

Hair dark, a little curled at the ends like it had been styled by someone who got paid to think about how light fell on other people's faces. Teeth, when he smiled and he was smiling now, slow and knowing, were perfectly aligned, a little iced. Skin that looked like it had never known a bad night's sleep or a cheap cleanser. Beautiful. That was the word. Beautiful in a way that made you uncomfortable, like looking at something you weren't supposed to touch.

But the eyes. God, the eyes. Big and dark and doe soft until you looked closer and saw something moving in the depths. Something that had teeth. Something that knew things.  Devilish.

The rings on every finger were silver, and one with an orange stone so dark it seemed to swallow light. Close enough to feel the weight of those eyes like a physical touch, like hands on his skin, like something pressing against his chest from the inside.

Hongjoong tilted his head. The smile widened. Seonghwa wished he hadn’t smiled.

The cigarette burned down. Seonghwa forgot to ash it.

The stranger stopped. Looked down at him. Those dark eyes traveled over Seonghwa's face like they were memorizing it. And then he spoke.

His voice was low. The kind of voice that felt like it came from somewhere deep. "Hello."

One word. Just one.

But the way he said it like he'd been saving it. Like he'd been waiting to say it to Seonghwa for a long, long time.

Seonghwa's lips parted. Nothing came out.

The stranger's mouth curved. Just slightly. Just enough.

And in that moment, standing in the middle of a crowded party with a man he'd never seen before looking at him like he was the only thing in the world worth seeing, Seonghwa realized:

He had never truly been seen before in his entire life.

And now he had.

The stranger was close. Too close. Close enough that if Seonghwa moved their chests would touch; their faces were merely inches away already. He wanted to lean forward. So bad. So fucking bad.

“You’ve been watching me,” Seonghwa heard himself say. His voice sounded strange. Distant. Like someone else was speaking through him.

The stranger’s lips curved again displaying the perfectly harmonized set of teeth, “yes.”

“Why?”

“You are so worth looking at.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Seonghwa had heard lines like this before; drunk guys at parties, trying to get into his pants. But this was different. The way he said it was like facts. The gravity. Like something that had always been true and would be. The absolute conviction.

Seonghwa’s mouth went dry he gulped. Hard, “ I- I don’t know you,” he stuttered; he never stutters.

“You will” the confidence in those two words should have been arrogant. Should have made Seonghwa roll his eyes and walk away. Instead, it made his knees weak. Instead, it made him want to prove the stranger right.

“What is your name?”

“Hongjoong,” he said as if Seonghwa should already know it. Like it mattered. “And you are Seonghwa.” not a question. A statement.

“How do you know my name?”

“I asked around.” Those eyes never left his face. Something cold and hot ran down Seonghwa's spine. 

"So you've been waiting?"

Hongjoong stepped closer. Just a fraction. Just enough that Seonghwa could feel the heat coming off his body. "Yeah i was standing in that corner and watched the door. Hoping you'd walk through it."

"That's-" Seonghwa swallowed. "That's kind of creepy."

"I know." No defense. No justification. Just acknowledgment. "Does it scare you?"

It should. Every rational part of Seonghwa's brain screamed that this was wrong; a stranger, watching him, waiting for him, wanting him with an intensity that felt almost violent. But the irrational part felt something else entirely. It felt seen.

"No," Seonghwa whispered. "It doesn't scare me."

Hongjoong's eyes darkened. Something shifted in them; hunger, maybe. Or recognition. Or both.

He said."Come with me."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't even really a request. It was a statement of fact; it was inevitable. Seonghwa should say no. Should laugh it off, make an excuse, disappear back into the crowd where it was safe.

Instead, he nodded. Followed.

Hongjoong took his hand. His fingers were cool against Seonghwa's warmed body because of the alcohol, the rings pressing into Seonghwa's skin. He led them through the crowd without looking back. Leading

Like he knew, without question, that Seonghwa would follow.

And Seonghwa did. Because some part of him had been following since the moment their eyes met across the room.

Up the stairs. Past the couple making out on the landing. Past the group of snorters near the bathroom. Down a hallway Seonghwa had never noticed before, lined with two similar doors.

Hongjoong stopped at the one on the right. 

Pushed it open. A bedroom. Not a party room, someone's actual space. A bed made neatly. Beatles posters and calendars, post-it sticky notes aligned perfectly on the wall; colour coded. A desk with textbooks stacked. Moonlight through the window, painting everything silver and dark blue.

Hongjoong pulled him inside with urgency. Closed the door.

The noise cut out. Suddenly, shockingly, the party was gone. Just the muffled thump of bass through the walls and the sound of their breaths; his own ragged, slow and shaky

Hongjoong's steady.

They stood facing each other in the dark. And for the first time, Seonghwa was afraid. Not of Hongjoong. Of himself. Of how much he wanted this. Of how much he needed those eyes on him, that attention, that being seen feeling that was already becoming an addiction.

"You're shaking," Hongjoong observed. Not concerned. Just...noticing. "I'm not." LIE.

"You are." He stepped closer. Reached out. Slow enough that Seonghwa could pull away. He didn't.

Cool fingers touched his jaw. Traced the line of it. Drawing an imaginary line on his adams apple, then lingered at his pulse point, where his heart was trying to escape his chest.

"Your heart is fast."

"I know."

"Are you scared?" Seonghwa looked into those eyes. He’s lost.

Eyes so close now, so consuming and told the truth for the first time all night.

"I'm terrified." Hongjoong's thumb brushed his lower lip a couple of times, feeling the soft tint transferring to his thumb. "Of me?" he said, giggling. It rang in Seonghwa's ears.

"I want you to keep looking at me."

Something shifted in Hongjoong's face. Something raw and real and almost tender

"Seonghwa," he breathed

Just his name. Just that. But the way he said it was like a prayer. Like a promise. Like a warning.

And then Hongjoong kissed him.

It wasn't a gentle one. It was hungry the kind of kiss that said I've been waiting, I've been wanting, I've been starving for this and now you're here and I'm never letting go.

Hongjoong's hands slid into his lightly gelled locks, tilting his head back and in circles, taking control in that effortless way he had. His mouth was hot and demanding, and Seonghwa.

Seonghwa melted into it. His cold grill felt warm too.

Because when had anyone ever kissed him like this? When had anyone ever wanted him like this? The hookups, the one night stands, the forgettable fumbles, even mingi, none of them had ever felt like this. Like being consumed. Like being cherished. Like being claimed.

Seonghwa's hands came up, grabbing Hongjoong's coat from its collars, pulling him closer. Pressing himself onto him. He kissed back like he was drowning, and Hongjoong was the water. He kissed back as his life depended on it. He drowned.

Maybe his life did depend on this

The wall started to feel warmer.

Hongjoong lowered his hand to Seonghwa's neck, earning a muffled syllable from him. He took control and walked him backward until his legs hit the bed. He turned Seonghwa, not leaving his mouth for any moment and they fell onto it together.

Seonghwa started unbottoning hongjoongs shirt underneath the already undone coat, getting rid of the coat in the process too. Soon enough, they were a tangle of limbs and desperate mouths and hands that couldn't touch enough.

"Tell me what you want," Hongjoong murmured against his lips.

"You. I want you."

"Tell me specifically." He pulled back just enough to look at Seonghwa, those dark orbs burning in the moonlight. "Tell me what you've been thinking about since you saw me across that room."

Seonghwa's face heated. "I-"

"Tell me." Not a demand. A plea. Soft. Intimate. "I want to hear it."

And something in Seonghwa cracked open.

"Your hands," he whispered. "I kept thinking about your hands. The rings. The way they'd feel in me."

Hongjoong's hands moved, sliding cool against his chest that slowly his index and middle fingers slide into Seonghwa's wet swollen lips. Thrusting.

The rings felt cold in Seonghwa’s mouth.

"Like this?" He took the fingers out and replaced it with his thumb on the inside of his cheeks.

"Yes."

"What else?"

"Your mouth. The way you looked at me-" He swallowed. "Like I was the only person in the world."

"You are." Hongjoong kissed his neck slowly, deliberately, savoring. Thumb thrusting into his mouth still. "You are the only person in the world, Seonghwa. The only thing I see. The only thing I want."

The words should have been too much. Should have been red flags waving. They should have sounded fake. Seonghwa would have known. Instead, they wrapped around Seonghwa like silk, like safety, like something he'd been waiting his whole life to hear.

"More," he breathed.

"I know." Hongjoong's voice was rough now. Shaken. " You need me to see you. Not the mask. You."

Tears pricked at Seonghwa's eyes. He didn't know why. He didn’t understand why these words hit him. He didn't care."Yes," he whispered. "Yes. That."

Hongjoong kissed his forehead. His eyelids. His cheeks, where tears were starting to fall.

"I see you," he murmured against Seonghwa's skin. "I see all of you, I see them and I want you."

Seonghwa broke.

He clutched at Hongjoong like a lifeline, kissed him like he was the only thing keeping him from drowning, let himself be held and seen.

He touched Seonghwa like he was something precious. He whispered things that made Seonghwa's heart ache. He looked at him with those burning eyes and never, never looked away. Hongjoong's mouth found Seonghwa's throat, tongue pressing flat against the pulse there like he could taste the fear and want mingling in his blood.

"You're shaking," he whispered, Seonghwa's fingers twisted in Hongjoong's shirt, knuckles white. He couldn't speak; could only nod, throat clicking on a swallowed sob.

Hongjoong pulled back just enough to drag his gaze down Seonghwa's body, chest rising and falling too fast, nipples peaked under the fabric of his t-shirt, cock straining visibly against his jeans.

"Look at you," Hongjoong breathed." His palm flattened over the bulge, not stroking, just holding the heat of it. " Seonghwa's hips jerked involuntarily into the pressure. A broken sound slipped out; half whine, half plea. A cry for help. Do something.

Hongjoong's smile was slow, a frantic laugh left his mouth. It echoed in Seongha's ears. He could hear it over and over...

"I noticed," he murmured. "Every time. The way you'd bite your lip when Mackenzie rode your thigh like a slut. The way your head rolled back. I watched you, and I waited. Because I knew you'd break so sweetly when you were finally for me."

Tears slipped free now, hot tracks down Seonghwa's cheeks. Not from pain. From the unbearable relief of being seen. Of someone finally seeing the mess inside him and wanting it anyway. Hongjoong kissed him again. "Cry for me," he said softly. "Let me taste how much you need this."

Seonghwa did. Quiet, hiccuping sobs as Hongjoong stripped him with patient hands; tshirt first, tugged over his head, then jeans came off volunatrly. No underwear. Of course not. Seonghwa had come here hoping. Someone. 

Hongjoong made a low, pleased sound in his throat when Seonghwa sprang free, leaking at the tip. It wasn’t longer than his own but it was good enough to choke a woman gentle throat is what he thought.

"Perfect," he said, like a prayer. His thumb circled the head once, smearing, then brought it to his own mouth and sucked. Seonghwa watched, mesmerized, thighs shaking.

Hongjoong knelt then; slow, deliberate, like a man at an altar. He nosed along Seonghwas length, inhaling deep.

"You reek of need," he murmured against sensitive skin. Then his mouth closed over the head.

Seonghwa cried out. Sharp, Wrecked. Hongjoong didn't rush. He sucked slow, tongue swirling lazy patterns, savoring every twitch, every bead of precum like it was wine. One hand wrapped around the base, stroking what his mouth couldn't reach yet; the other slid up to cup Seonghwa's thighs.

"Good boy," Hongjoong rumbled around him. The vibration made Seonghwa's knees buckle. "Such a good boy." Seonghwa's hands flew to Hongjoong's hair, pulling real strong. Fingers carding through dark strands taking control of the movement.

Hongjoong pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny. "On your back. I want to see all of you." he ordered, voice rougher now. Seonghwa scrambled to obey, clumsy with want. He sprawled on the sheets. Tears still leaked from the corners of his eyes, chest heaving.

Hongjoong stood at the foot of the bed and just admired. Minutes. Long enough that Seonghwa started to squirm, started to whimper. It was torchurous."Please-"

"Shh." Hongjoong shed his own half opened shirt, slow. Rings glinting as he unbuckled his belt. "I need to look at you angel..." He climbed over Seonghwa, caging him with arms braced on either side of his head. Their cocks brushed. Hot

Hongjoong turned his head back and kissed him. Deep. Claiming. Tongue fucking into his mouth for the first time. When he pulled back, Seonghwa was panting, lips swollen. More plum. Neck aching.

Hongjoong said. "Show me how you do it." Seonghwa's hand shook as he wrapped it around his cock. He stroked it, embarrassed. "Faster angel," Hongjoong whispered. "Let me hear it."

Seonghwa obeyed. The slick sounds, desperate little thrusts. Tears slid into his hairline."So beautiful," Hongjoong breathed. "You love this, don't you? Being owned."

"Yes-" Pathetic

Hongjoong's hand joined his smaller in size but, rougher. He guided Seonghwa's strokes, every upstroke until Seonghwa was sobbing openly, hips stuttering. "Don't come," Hongjoong said suddenly. Voice velvet tone blade. "Not yet."

Seonghwa whined, high, broken. "Please Hongjoong" 

"Not yet." Hongjoong kissed the corner of his mouth. "I want to be inside you when you fall apart." He reached for the lube in his pants, of course he did. He planned all this. He smothered the lube on his finger. Pushed one inside Seonghwa without warning.

Seonghwa arched, not a single syllable left his mouth. "I’ll take it slow, angel," Hongjoong soothed, even as he crooked the finger against that spot. "Let me in, angel." Another finger. Then three. Seonghwa was shaking, repeating Hongjoong's name like a chant.

He pulled his fingers free. Lined himself at Seonghwas worked up hole. "Look at me, angel," he said. Seonghwa's eyes fluttered open, glassy with tears.

Hongjoong pushed in inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. Seonghwa’s nails digging into Hongjoong's shoulders. Scratching, tearing Hongjoongs back. He definitely scratched a little skin within his nails, too.

"Shh, shh," Hongjoong kissed his cheeks, hips still. "You did so good. Took me so well."

He started increasing motion dragging against every nerve. Raw.

Seonghwa was loud now; whimpers turning to moans, to Hongjoong's name chanted like prayer. It got better, it got pleasurable. Finally.

"Harder-" Hongjoong gave it to him. Snapped his hips forward, deep, punishing. The bed creaked. Skin slapped. Seonghwa's cock leaked against his stomach, untouched.

"You're mine," Hongjoong growled against his ear. "Say it."

"Yours- yours-"

"Again. Say my name" Hongjoong roared

"Yours- Hongjoong- yours-"

Hongjoong's hand wrapped around Seonghwa's throat; just holding, grounding himself. Possessive. "Come for me," he commanded. "Come saying my name. Show me how much you love this."

Seonghwa shattered.

Back arched, mouth open on a wail, tears streaming. Clenching around Hongjoong like he could keep him forever.

Hongjoong fucked him through it- faster, chasing his own orgasm, desperately groaning too. “Ah- Hongjoong-” He came with a choked sound, burying deep, spilling inside like a claim.

“You are insane,” Hongjoong breathed. Seonghwa clung to him, still trembling. Still crying. But softer now. Peaceful.

Hongjoong burred him in the nuzzel of his perfect chest, and smiled into his hair small, satisfied, edged with something darker.

He touched Seonghwa like he was something precious. He whispered things that made Seonghwa's heart ache. He looked at him with those burning eyes and never, never looked away.

Minutes or hours, Seonghwa couldn't tell; they lay tangled together in the moonlight. Seonghwa's head rested on Hongjoong's chest, rising and falling with each breath. Hongjoong's fingers traced lazy patterns on his back, lightly using his nails to outline the spine more strongly.

Neither spoke. The silence was full, not empty. Nothing like the quickies he was used to, no one ever stayed like this.

He should feel shame. He promised himself not do this last week. He did it again. But all he felt today was warm. All he felt was held. New.

"Seonghwa."

He looked up. Hongjoong was watching him, still watching, always watching with an expression he couldn't read. "Yeah?"

"I'm not going to forget you." The words landed softly.

Haha, many said that a lot of times. This felt sincere. Like a promise. Like a threat. Like both.

Seonghwa should say something casual. Something cool. Something that protected him.

Instead, he said, "I don't want you to."

Hongjoong's eyes burned brighter. His hand came up, cupping Seonghwa's face, thumb brushing his cheek. Mixing the cold sweat and left out concealer in the process.

"Good," he said as his hand moved towards Seonghwa's ears, kneading them lightly.

And in the darkness of that stranger's room, with the party thumping faintly below and moonlight painting everything silver, Seonghwa closed his eyes and let himself be held.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, he didn't feel hollow.

He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again, the room was different. Lighter shade of blue, with pre dawn.

And he was alone. Again.

He sat up too fast, head spinning. The bed was empty beside him. He used his hand to reach out for something, someone. The room was empty. Just him and the faint smell of Hongjoongs cologne and smoke and midnight lingering on the pillow and his own skin.

His clothes were folded neatly on the desk chair. Hongjoong had taken care of him while he slept.

Seonghwa's heart hammered as he dressed. As he checked his phone's cracked screen, 6:47 AM, fourteen missed messages from Mingi, Yunho and 800 others from the group. As he stumbled out of the room, down the stairs, through the empty party aftermath of spilled cups and passed out bodies.

He made it outside. The air was cold and clean. He stood on the lawn, staring at nothing, trying to remember if he'd dreamed the whole thing. He took out another cigarette from his right pocket like a morning routine, while walking out.

His hand went to his left pocket to dig for the lighter. Something crinkled. He bit on the killer hard to hold it in his mouth.

He pulled it out.

A torn corner of sketchbook paper. One word in sharp, elegant old cursives.

Soon.

Seonghwa stared at it. His thumb traced the rough edge. He brought it to his nose without thinking, and there it was. That smell. Cedar and smoke and midnight.

He wasn't dreaming.

He shoved the paper into his pocket and started walking home, heart pounding, mind spinning, a single thought echoing through his skull:

Soon.

When?

And why did the waiting already feel like torture?

Seonghwa's feet carried him on autopilot, past closed campus shops, through the empty quad, down streets he'd walked a thousand times. The world was gray and quiet, that weird hour between night and morning when nothing felt real.

His hand stayed in his pocket. Fingers wrapped around that torn corner of paper. Tracing the edge. Feeling the word beneath his thumb like a bruise he couldn't stop pressing.

Soon.

What did that mean? Soon like tomorrow? Soon like next week? Soon like I'll find you when you least expect it?

The thought should have terrified him. Instead, it made his stomach flip with something that felt dangerously like anticipation. Adrenaline.

He was halfway home before he realized he was smiling. The apartment was dark when he let himself in. Quiet. Mingi's door was closed; probably passed out. Yunho's too. No one had waited up. No one had worried enough to stay awake. Why would they?

Seonghwa stood in the living room, surrounded by the debris of last night: a half eaten bag of chips and a bottle of wine on the coffee table. He should shower. Should sleep. Should do something other than stand here in the dark, still smelling like a stranger, still feeling those hands on his skin. He pulled out the paper again. Held it up to the faint light from the window.

Soon.

The handwriting was beautiful, each letter deliberate. Like the person who wrote it cared about how it looked. Like every mark he made mattered.

Seonghwa thought about those hands. The rings. He shoved the paper back in his pocket. Harder than necessary.

Shower. ”i must take a shower.” He needed a shower.

The water was hot; he liked it that way, letting it burn away the night. The steam filled the bathroom, thick and white, and for a few minutes, he could pretend he was just washing off a normal hookup. 

But his skin remembered. Every place Hongjoong had touched felt different now, electric, like the nerves were still firing. His lips where Hongjoong had kissed him. His neck, where Hongjoong had marked him, where Hongjoong's mouth had lingered. His wrists, the back of his neck, where those ringed fingers had held him down.

He pressed his forehead against the cool tile and groaned. Get it together. It was one night. You don't even know him. But he'd said his name. Hongjoong. And he'd looked at Seonghwa like he wanted to consume the whole of him.

The water ran warmer. Seonghwa turned it off and stood dripping in the silence, trying to remember how to be normal.

He didn't sleep.

Lay in bed with the paper on his nightstand, staring at it like it might disappear if he looked away. Listened to Mingi stumble to the bathroom at noon. Smelled Yunho making coffee, soft voices, the clink of mugs. Normal sounds. A normal college skip day.

He should go out there. Join them. Instead, he rolled over and closed his eyes and replayed every second of the night before for the third time. Thats how his weekend passed.

By Monday, he'd convinced himself he was fine. 

He went to class. Took notes. Laughed at something Mingi said. Helped Yunho with dinner. Did all the right things, smiled all the right smiles, performed all the right performances.

But his phone stayed in his pocket, and every time it buzzed, his heart stopped. It was never him. Group chats. Class reminders. Mingi asks where the good shampoo went. Never an unknown number. Never a message that said soon. He was losing hope. Hope no one gave. But he clung onto it.

By Wednesday, the waiting had become a physical thing; a knot in his chest, a weight on his ribs, of when when when. He started checking his phone in class. During meals. In the middle of conversations. Yunho noticed.

"You expecting something important?"

Seonghwa looked up from his phone. "What? No."

"You've checked it like fifty times since dinner."

" Have not." Brat.

"You Have." Yunho's eyes were gentle but sharp. The way they always were. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"I want to punch you right now."

"Then do it, doesn’t change my answer."

Yunho held his gaze for a moment too long. A little angry. Then he shrugged, let it go, turned back to whatever was on TV. Seonghwa put his phone away. Didn't look at it for a whole hour. He had people to prove things to.

It was the longest hour of his life.

Thursday night, he went to another party. Not because he wanted to. Because staying home meant sitting with the waiting, and the waiting was eating him alive. So he put on the same black jeans, the same fitted shirt, the same borrowed bracelet. He walked into the same noise, the same chaos, the same sweaty bodies and music. He had memorised the playlist by now.

He stood in the corner and scanned the room. Looking for dark clothes. Dark eyes. A figure that didn't move with the crowd.

Nothing.

He drank. He danced. He let some girls and guys press against him and tried to feel something. Felt nothing. Went home alone at 2 AM and lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the paper on his nightstand, the word burning a hole in his brain. Should have brought the guy home. Half regretting, half relieved too. 

Soon.

When?

Friday, he cracked. He was in the campus coffee shop, zoning out over the same order: black, two sugars, extra shot, when his phone buzzed. Unknown number.

His heart launched into his throat. He opened the message at the speed of light.

Unknown: You look tired. Drink your coffee.

Seonghwa's head snapped up. Scanned the coffee shop. Empty except for a guy in the corner with headphones on and a girl at the counter. He frantically spun his head in all directions, his hair following the head movements, and a second lapsed.

No one. He looked back at his phone.

Unknown: I'm not there. Just watching.

His hands shook. He typed: Who is this

Three dots appeared. Then.

Unknown: Soon.

Seonghwa's coffee went cold. He didn't move for a whole five minutes.

After that, the waiting got worse. Because now he knew, Hongjoong was watching. Somewhere. Always. The prickle on his neck when he walked across campus wasn't paranoia. The feeling of eyes when he studied in the library wasn't imagination.

Hongjoong was there. Actually.

And Seonghwa couldn't decide if he wanted to run or wave. He wasn’t crazy.

He started seeking him everywhere. In crowds. In Windows. In the reflection of his phone screen when he walked past dark storefronts. He'd catch himself scanning faces, hoping to see those dark eyes again.

He never did.

But the messages kept coming. Not every day. Just when Seonghwa least expected it. A photo of the lyrics to the song that played at that first party. A meme reference Seonghwa had been using multiple times in class; how did he know?

 A 3 AM text that just said: I’m thinking about the sound you made.

Seonghwa should block the number. Should tell someone. Should do anything literally except talk.

He screenshotted every message and reread them before bed incase Hongjoong decided to delete them. Incase

He didn't.

"You're different," Mingi said one night.

They were on the couch, some movie playing that neither was watching. Mingi's legs were thrown over Seonghwa's lap, head on Yunho’s lap. Princess indeed.  His phone in his hand, his voice casual.

Seonghwa didn't look up. "Different how?"

"I don't know. Distracted. You keep staring."

"Just tired."

"You're always tired; eat some vitamins." Mingi kicked him lightly. "But this is different. This is like-" He waved his free hand vaguely. "You're somewhere else. All the time. Are you doing coke?"

Seonghwa thought about dark eyes. Rings on fingers. A word that said soon. Was this better than Coke? contemplated... "No, the fuck," he said. It was much better. He could compare.

Mingi was quiet for a moment. Then: "If some dude is bothering you-"

"What?"

"You heard me. If someone's being weird, or creepy, or whatever- you can tell me. Or Yunho. We'll handle it," he said softly

Seonghwa's stomach lurped. "No one's bothering me."

"Okay." Mingi didn't sound convinced. "But the offer stands. Always." Yunho affirmed.

Seonghwa nodded. Looked back at the movie. Didn't see any of it. Because the truth was, someone was bothering him. Someone was watching him and texting him and living in his head.

But it didn't feel like bothering. It felt like the first time anyone had ever cared enough to look. That night, another message came.

now from Hongjoong...

Hongjoong: You're beautiful when you're stressed.

Hongjoong: Soon.

Seonghwa typed back before he could stop himself: when?

Pathetic.

Three dots. A long pause. 56 seconds to be exact. Seonghwa counted.

Hongjoong: When you stop pretending you don't want this.

Hongjoong: When you admit you're waiting for me too.

Hongjoong: Soon.

Seonghwa threw his phone across the room. Then he got up, picked it up, and read the messages three more times.

‘’Soon fucking hell suck my dick,’’ he straddled the big rabbit plushie on his bed. Frantically punched it, elbowed it, and grand slammed it in the end and lay on his bed like a starfish. Breathing.

By the end of the second week, he'd stopped pretending.

He wanted Hongjoong to text him. Wanted to feel those eyes on him. Wanted to be seen again, even if it meant being watched.

He started wearing things Hongjoong might like. The white compression shirt made his eyes look darker. The borrowed bracelet Mingi had given him was a staple, more chunky rings, half stolen, half borrowed, without information from mingis messy vanity. He'd catch himself posing slightly when he walked across campus, just in case.

It was pathetic. He knew it was pathetic.

He couldn't stop.

Because for the first time in years, someone was paying attention. Someone thought he was worth looking at. He said it. Someone made him feel like more than a performance. And if that someone was a little obsessed, a little creepy, a little too much-

Well. Seonghwa was a little obsessed, too.

Saturday night. Another party. Seonghwa stood against the wall, drink in hand, scanning the room like he always did now. Hoping. Waiting.

And then—

There.

Across the room. Dark clothes. Dark eyes. Rings on every finger.

Hongjoong.

He was watching. Of course, he was watching. He was always watching. Their eyes met. And Hongjoong smiled. Their eyes met across the room. And just like the first time, the world stopped.

The music faded to static. The crowd became background. Everything narrowed to that single point; Again. Those dark eyes, that slight smile, that figure against the wall as he'd never moved since the last party.

Hongjoong.

Seonghwa's heart slammed against his ribs. His drink hung forgotten in his hand. Every text, every message, every soon of the past two weeks crashed over him at once. He's here. He's actually here.

Hongjoong didn't move toward him. Didn't wave. Didn't do anything except look; that same intense, consuming look that made Seonghwa feel like he was the only person in the world. Then Hongjoong tilted his head. Slightly. Toward the stairs.

Come here.

It wasn't a question. It wasn't even really a request. It was an invitation disguised as a command, and Seonghwa's feet were moving before his brain caught up. He pushed through the crowd. Ignored someone who tried to grab his arm. Didn't look back to see if Mingi or Yunho were watching. Nothing mattered except getting to those stairs, getting to that room, getting to him.

Hongjoong was already moving; not toward Seonghwa, but parallel. Gliding through the crowd like water, always just ahead, always just out of reach. Leading. Seonghwa followed. Again.

Up the stairs. Down that same hallway. Past the same doors. Hongjoong didn't look back once; as he knew, absolutely knew, that Seonghwa would follow. He was right.

The door at the end opened. Hongjoong stepped through. Seonghwa followed.The door closed behind them.

Same room. Same moonlight. Same man.

Hongjoong stood by the window, silhouetted against the glass, watching Seonghwa. He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just waited. Seonghwa's breath came too fast. His hands trembled at his sides. Two weeks of waiting, two weeks of wanting, two weeks of soon’s, and now here they were. This was soon.

"You came," Hongjoong said finally. His voice was low, rough, and satisfied.

"You knew I would."

"Yes." No denial. No modesty. Just a fact. "I knew."

Seonghwa should be angry. Should demand how Hongjoong got his number, how he knew where he'd be, how he watched him without being seen. Should protect himself. Instead, he said, "I've been waiting."

Hongjoong's eyes darkened. "I know."

"The texts-"

"I know. Shh-" he said, putting a finger on seonghwas plump lips; closing his eyes, tilting his head, smirking. The air from the shusshing hitting Seonghwa’s lips that weren’t touched by his finger.

"The way you-"

"I know, Seonghwa. Shh...shh." He stepped closer. Slow. Deliberate. "I know everything. I know your schedule. Your coffee order. The way you touch your neck when you're anxious. The way you smile at parties, even when you're miserable. I know you."

Seonghwa's heart was going to explode. He didn’t dare to say a word. He couldn’t form words. Hongjoong's presence was hypnotic.

"Crazy?" Hongjoong was close now. Close enough to touch. " Wrong?" He tilted his head. "Maybe. But tell me something," he said, releasing the finger from his lips. Seonghwa could have whimpered at the loss of touch. He stopped himself.

"What?"

"Tell me you haven't been waiting for this. Tell me you haven't thought about me every day since that night. Tell me you don't feel seen when I look at you."

Seonghwa's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Nothing came out. His throat was dry.

Because Hongjoong was right. Every horrible, twisted, beautiful word of it.

"That's what I thought." Hongjoong's hand came up; slow, giving Seonghwa time to pull away. He didn't. Cool fingers and even cooler rings touched his jaw. Traced the line of it. Lingered.

"I've been thinking about you, too," Hongjoong murmured. "Every day. Every night. Wondering if you'd come back. Wondering if you felt it too."

"Felt what?" Seonghwa closed his eyes and bit his lips. 

"This." His thumb brushed Seonghwa's lower lip. "The pull…it wasn't random, Seonghwa. It was inevitable. I saw you across that room, and I knew. You were mine."

The words should have been terrifying. Should have sent Seonghwa running. Instead, they wrapped around him like silk, like safety, like something he'd been waiting his whole life to hear. "I'm not anyone's," he whispered.

"You are." Not cruel. Just certain. "You're mine. You've been mine since the first moment I saw you. And some part of you knows that. Some part of you came up those stairs tonight because you wanted to be found."

Tears pricked at Seonghwa's eyes. He didn't know why. Didn't care. "I don't even know you," he said, and his voice cracked.

"You will." Hongjoong stepped closer. His other hand came up, cradling Seonghwa's face. "You'll know everything, Seonghwa. Everything," he nuzzled his nose in Seonghwa's ears. 

His lips brushed Seonghwa's forehead. "Tonight I'm right here. And I'm not leaving until you ask me to."

Seonghwa's eyes closed. His hands came up, scared, calculated, touching the hem of Hongjoong's collar.

"Ask me," Hongjoong whispered. "Tell me to stay."

Seonghwa opened his eyes. "Stay," he breathed.

And Hongjoong kissed him.

It was different from the first time. Slower. Deeper. Like Hongjoong had all the time in the world now. Like he was savoring. His mouth moved against Seonghwa's like he was learning him all over again. His hands slid into his shirt.

Because for the first time in two weeks, the waiting was over. He was here. Being held. Being seen. Being wanted.

He kissed back like a man dying of thirst. Clung to Hongjoong like he was the only solid thing in a world that had gone liquid.

Seonghwa's head rested on Hongjoong's chest, rising and falling with each breath. Hongjoong's fingers traced lazy patterns on his back, the rings cool against his skin.

The silence was full. Perfect.

"I have to ask," Seonghwa said eventually.

"Ask."

"How did you get my number?"

Hongjoong's chest vibrated with a quiet laugh. "You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"I followed you home that first night. Watched you go inside. Waited until your roommates left and checked your mail."

Seonghwa lifted his head. Stared. "You- what?"

"There was a package. Your name and number on the label. I took a picture." No shame. No guilt. Just a fact. "I told you. I've been watching."

Seonghwa should be horrified. Should sit up, pull away. Instead, he stared at this impossible man and felt something shift inside him. "That's insane," he whispered.

"I know."

"That's- that's actually crazy."

"I know."

Seonghwa kept staring. Hongjoong stared back, unblinking, unashamed. And then, impossibly, Seonghwa laughed. A real laugh. Shaky and confused and maybe a little unhinged, but real. He found it hilarious.

Hongjoong's lips curved. "You're not running."

"No." Seonghwa lay back down, cheek against his chest. "I'm not."

They lay in silence for a while. Hongjoong's fingers kept tracing patterns on his back. "Seonghwa."

"Yeah?"

"Next time I text you, answer."

It wasn't a request. Seonghwa closed his eyes. Smiled against Hongjoong's skin.

"Okay."

He woke alone again. Missing the warmth, he took a nap in. But this time, when he reached for his phone, there was a message.

Hongjoong: Go Home. Sleep well.

Seonghwa stared at the screen. His heart pounded. His skin remembered. He typed back: When will I see you again? The response came immediately.

Hongjoong: That's the fun part.

Hongjoong: Your roommates are worried. Tell them you were with a friend.

Hongjoong: You were.

Seonghwa laughed again; that same shaky, confused, unhinged laugh. Walked home in the gray dawn. Let himself into the quiet apartment. Someone normal would call this psychotic, it was. How was he okay with all this?

His phone buzzed one last time.

Hongjoong: Soon.

He smiled the whole time he walked to his home. 

Soon. 

Go Home. Sleep well.

idiot

He pressed his forehead against his hands that same shaky, unhinged laugh that kept bubbling up when he thought too hard about any of this.

I watched you the whole time. Most people would be terrified. Most people would call the cops. Most people would change their number and move cities and never leave the house again. Seonghwa just felt warm. What was wrong with him?

He opened his phones camera to take a look at himself. The same tired eyes looked back. But something was different now. Something underneath the tiredness; a flicker of something that might have been life.

You're beautiful when you're stressed.

He caught himself smiling. Stopped. Started smiling again.Get it together, Park.

He reached home.

Mingi was on the couch, awake surprisingly, staring at his phone with an expression Seonghwa couldn't read.

"Hey," Seonghwa said.

Mingi looked up. His eyes scanned Seonghwa. Something flickered in his gaze.

"You're back early."

" I was with a friend."

"Uh huh." Mingi's voice was flat. Wrong. "Who were you with?"

Seonghwa's stomach tightened. "Our Bros. You know that."

"I left at two with them. You weren't there."

"I was-" He stopped. What could he say? I was in a stranger's room, letting him do things to me, and then I fell asleep and he watched me the whole time?

Mingi's jaw tightened. "With who, does he have a name?"

Seonghwa hesitated. Just a second. Just long enough for Mingi to notice. "Hongjoong."

Mingi's eyes narrowed. "The older guy? The one who's been showing up everywhere?"

"He's been at every party, Seonghwa. Every. Single. One." Mingi set his phone down. Sat forward. "I didn't say anything because you seemed into it, but now you're disappearing-"

"It's fine."

"Is it?"

"Yes." Seonghwa's voice came out harder than he intended. "It's fine. I'm fine. He's fine. Drop it." they stared at each other. The silence stretched. Finally Mingi leaned back. Picked up his phone. "Whatever just- be careful."

"I am older than you."

"You're not acting like it." Mingi's eyes stayed on his screen. It was the most Mingi had ever said about anything serious. Seonghwa didn't know what to do with it.

"I will," he said quietly. "Be careful."

Mingi didn't respond. Seonghwa went to his room and closed the door. His phone buzzed.

Hongjoong: Your roommate doesn't like me.

Seonghwa's heart lurched. He typed: how do you know that…Seonghwa looked at his window. Curtains drawn. No one.

Hongjoong: Not your window. The camera on your laptop.

Seonghwa's blood went cold. He looked at his laptop, sitting closed on his desk. The little light wasn't on. It was fine. It was-

Hongjoong: Kidding.

Hongjoong: Mostly.

Seonghwa didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

Hongjoong: Your face.

Hongjoong: I wish I could see it right now.

He typed: you're insane

Hongjoong: But you like it.

Seonghwa stared at the screen. He couldn't deny it. He couldn't even pretend to deny it.

Hongjoong: Go eat something. You didn't eat at the party.

Hongjoong: I noticed.

Seonghwa's hands shook. He typed: how do you know i didn't eat?

Hongjoong: You didn’t even drink today…obviously, now eat. I'll text you later.

The messages stopped.

Seonghwa sat on his bed, phone in his hand, heart pounding, mind spinning. He should be terrified. He wasn't. He ate. Not because Hongjoong told him to; because he was hungry, that was all, purely coincidental. A bowl of cereal at the kitchen counter, alone. Mingi had retreated to his room. Yunho wasn't home yet. Just Seonghwa and his racing thoughts and the ghost of fingers on his skin.

His phone buzzed mid bite.

Hongjoong: Good boy.

Seonghwa choked on his cereal.

The week that followed was a fever dream.

Hongjoong texted constantly. Not all day; just when Seonghwa least expected it. A observation about his mood. A memory from one of their nights together, detailed and specific and intimate in a way that made Seonghwa's face burn. He started checking his phone in class. Between bites of food. In the middle of conversations. Yunho noticed. Mingi noticed. Even some of his frat brothers started giving him weird looks.

"Dude," one of them said at break mid week. "You're like, obsessed with your phone. You expecting nudes or something?" Seonghwa laughed it off. Shoved his phone in his pocket. Didn't look at it for a whole twenty minutes. When he finally checked, there were two messages.

Hongjoong: That shirt brings out your eyes.

Hongjoong: I'm not around don’t look for me.

Seonghwa scanned the garden. Fast. Desperate. Nothing. No one. But the feeling; that prickle on his skin, that weight at the back of his neck…was everywhere. He wasn't sure if he wanted it to stop or never stop. 

Thursday night, he dreamed of Hongjoong.

Not a sex dream. Something worse. Something softer.They were in a room, somewhere with windows and morning light. Hongjoong was painting. Seonghwa was watching. And Hongjoong kept looking at him with those eyes, that slight smile.

Seonghwa woke up crying. He didn't know why. Didn't want to examine it. Just lay in the dark, wiping his face, telling himself it was nothing. His phone glowed.

Hongjoong: Wyd, I know you're awake.

Hongjoong: I wish I was there to hold you.

Seonghwa typed: how do you know

Hongjoong: I just do.

Hongjoong: Go back to sleep.

Back to sleep? How did he know he had woken up from sleep and not that he hadn’t slept at all? He should have been terrified. He fell back asleep in minutes. Hongjoong effect.

Friday.

He was walking across campus, lost in thought, when he felt it: that weight, that knowing. He turned slowly.

Hongjoong was standing under a tree. Fifty feet away. Watching. Not hiding. Not pretending. Just standing there, in plain sight, those dark eyes fixed on Seonghwa as if nothing else existed.

Seonghwa's feet stopped. His heart stopped. Hongjoong smiled. That knowing tilt. Then he turned and walked away.

Seonghwa stood frozen for a full minute. When he finally moved, when he finally ran to the tree, looked around, searched 

There was no one.

Just a torn corner of sketchbook paper on the ground. He picked it up.

Soon.

He laughed; that same shaky, unhinged laugh, like a maniac, and put the paper in his pocket with the others. Was he hallucinating? Clearly, hallucinations don’t leave pieces of paper with cursive soon’s.

That night, he didn't go to the party. Stayed home. Lie in bed. Stared at the ceiling, the messages on his phone, and the collection of soon papers accumulating in his nightstand drawer.

Mingi knocked. Came in without waiting for an answer.

"You're not going?"

"No."

"Sick?"

"No."

Mingi stood in the doorway, tall and awkward, clearly wanting to say something. Clearly, not knowing how to converse. 

Finally: "This thing with that guy. It's getting weird, hyung."

"I know."

"Like, actually weird. Not just intense. Weird."

"I know."

Mingi waited. Seonghwa didn't elaborate. "If you need help-"

"I know." Seonghwa turned his head to look at his roommate. Really look. "I know… Mingi…thank you."

Mingi's jaw worked. Left. Seonghwa looked back at the ceiling.

Hongjoong: I'll see you soon.

Seonghwa smiled to the ceiling. He’s going crazy.

Saturday. 

Seonghwa stood against the wall, drink in hand, not even pretending to care about the people around him. He was waiting. That's all he did now. Wait.

And then

There.

Hongjoong raised his phone. Seonghwa's buzzed.

Hongjoong: Come here.

Seonghwa went. After the third time, Seonghwa stopped counting.

Not because he didn't care. Because counting meant acknowledging how many nights he'd disappeared into that room, how many dawns he'd walked home alone with Hongjoong's smell on his skin, how many times he'd told himself this is the last time and meant it and then come back anyway. The pattern was always the same.

A party. Any party. It didn't matter which one anymore; Seonghwa went to all of them, stood against walls, scanned crowds, waited for that familiar face. And Hongjoong always came. Always found him. Always raised that phone with a devilish smile.

Come here. And Seonghwa went. Every time.

And then they fucked, in rooms, double vanity bathrooms, cold terrace, basements till dawn. And alone. And a message on his phone: Soon.

Always soon.

The first time Seonghwa realized something was wrong was three weeks in. He was in some lecture from his economics minor he didn't care about, and hadn't been paying attention to for weeks. There was no point, he didn’t understand shit. That is when his phone buzzed. He grabbed it automatically. Read the message.

Hongjoong: You're thinking about me.

Seonghwa's head snapped up. Scanned the room. The lecture hall was full; hundreds of students, most on their phones, none looking at him. But somewhere out there, Hongjoong was watching.

He typed back: Where are you

Hongjoong: Close.

Seonghwa's heart pounded. He should be scared. Should be furious. Should be anything except this desperate, hungry need to know more, see more, have more. He looked at the exits. At the windows. At the back of the hall, the lights were dim.

Nothing.

But the feeling stayed. All through class. All through the walk home. All through dinner with Mingi and Yunho, where he laughed at the wrong times and stared at nothing and felt eyes on his skin even in his own apartment.

"You need to talk to us," Yunho said that night. They were in the kitchen. Mingi had gone to bed. It was just the two of them, late enough that the apartment was quiet, Yunho's voice soft but firm.

Seonghwa didn't look up from his tea. "About what?"

"About whatever's happening with you."

"Nothing's happening."

Yunho's voice was gentle. Always gentle. "You're disappearing at parties. Coming home at dawn. Zoning out in the middle of conversations. Mingi says you've got some guy texting you constantly and you won't tell him anything."

"It's not-"

"I'm not asking for details." Yunho sat across from him. Close enough to touch, but he didn't. Just waited. "I'm asking if you're okay." The question hung in the air.

Am I okay?

Seonghwa thought about Hongjoong's hands. His eyes. The way he said I see you like a prayer. The way Seonghwa felt when he was being watched, seen, wanted. He thought about how hollow he felt when he wasn't.

"I don't know," he said honestly.

Yunho's face shifted. Concern. Care. That gentle, searching look that saw too much."Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Yunho nodded. Defeated again.  "But I'm here. When you're ready. I'm not going anywhere."

Seonghwa looked at his friend; his good, kind, steady friend, and felt something knock in his chest. "I know," he said. "Thank you." Then Yunho stood, squeezed his shoulder, and went to bed.

Seonghwa stayed at the table for an hour, staring at nothing, waiting for a message that didn't come.

At the next party, Hongjoong wasn't there.

Seonghwa stood against the wall for three hours. Checked his phone every thirty seconds. Scanned the crowd until his eyes burned.

Nothing.

No prickle on his neck. No weight at his skull. No dark figure in the corner, watching.

Just a party full of people he didn't care about, music he didn't hear, drinks he didn't taste.

He went home at 2 AM and lay in bed staring at his phone.

No messages.

He typed: Where were you

Deleted it.

Typed: Are you okay

Deleted it.

Typed: I waited for you

Deleted it.

He fell asleep with the phone in his hand and woke to nothing.

The next day, a message finally came.

Hongjoong: I was watching.

Hongjoong: You looked sad.

Hongjoong: I wanted to hold you.

Seonghwa's hands shook as he typed: why didn't you come

Hongjoong: Because you need to learn something.

Hongjoong: You need to learn that I'm not optional.

Hongjoong: I'm not a party. I'm not a hookup. I'm not something you can take or leave.

Hongjoong: And you need to know what it feels like when I'm gone.

Seonghwa stared at the screen. His heart pounded. His skin crawled. That's manipulation, a voice in his head whispered. That's control. That's not love. That's not healthy. That's-

Hongjoong: Did you miss me?

He typed before he could stop himself: yes

Hongjoong: Good.

Hongjoong: Come hungry.

Seonghwa should say no. Should block the number. Should tell Yunho everything and let his friend save him.

He started getting ready at 8 PM.

That night was different.

Hongjoong was waiting in the usual room, expensive clothes, expensive perfume, iced out with his rings, but he wore metal rimmed glasses tonight; his forehead peeked through the perfectly laid pieces of hair. But something had shifted. His eyes were darker. His smile was sharper, a blade concealed in silk. When Seonghwa walked in, Hongjoong didn't move toward him; he just stood by the window, watching, assessing.

"You came," his voice was velvety.

"Of course I came."

"Of course." Hongjoong's lips curved. Devastating. "Because you can't stay away. Can you?"

Seonghwa's face heated. "That's-"

"It's true." Hongjoong crossed the room. Slow. Deliberate. Predator and prey and Seonghwa couldn't tell which was which anymore, couldn't tell if he was being hunted or if he was finally, finally being found. "You spent last night miserable because I wasn't there. You checked your phone a hundred times. You couldn't sleep. You couldn't eat. You couldn't think about anything except me."

"How do you-"

"I told you." Hongjoong stopped inches away. Close enough to touch. Close enough that Seonghwa could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the flecks of amber in those dark eyes, could count his own heartbeats in the space between them. "I know everything."

Seonghwa should run. Should scream. Should do anything literally except stand here, trembling, wanting, needing with an intensity that hollowed him out and filled him up all at once. His hands shook at his sides. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. He was falling apart and coming together, and he had never been more terrified in his life.

"You're trying to scare me," he whispered and laughed. Broken.

"No." Hongjoong's hand came up, slow, gentle…and cupped his face. The touch was electric. Incendiary. Seonghwa leaned into it like a flower toward the sun, helpless and inevitable. "I'm trying to show you. Show you that what we have isn't casual. Isn't optional. Isn't something you can take or leave." repetition. Pattern.

His thumb brushed Seonghwa's cheek, catching a tear that hadn’t quite fallen. "I'm the air you breathe now, Seonghwa. And you need to know what suffocating feels like. So you never try to breathe without me again."

Seonghwa's eyes burned. His heart raced. Every instinct screamed danger. But when Hongjoong kissed him, he kissed back like he was drowning and Hongjoong was oxygen. Like he was dying, and Hongjoong was resurrected. Like every lonely moment of his life had been building to this; to being held so tightly he couldn't tell where he ended and Hongjoong began.

Because maybe he was. Maybe he had been for weeks.

The silence was full of everything they didn't say. "I'm not going to apologize," Hongjoong said eventually.

"For what?"

"For last night. For letting you feel what it's like without me." His voice was soft. Almost tender.

"I know."

"Do you hate me?"

Seonghwa thought about it. Really thought. "No," he said in an instant. "I don't think I can."

Hongjoong's chest vibrated with a quiet laugh. "Good."

"I know."

"Do you want me to?"

Seonghwa closed his eyes. Listened to Hongjoong's heartbeat beneath his ear, steady, certain, there. Felt those fingers still tracing patterns in his hair, mapping him, making him real.

How could he explain it? How could he put words to the way Hongjoong had become the axis on which his world turned? How could he articulate that hating him would be like hating the sun for rising, like hating gravity for making a glass jar fall.

"No," he whispered. "I don't want you to." Hongjoong kissed the top of his head. Seonghwa felt it in his guts. Butterflies, Rush, Anxiety…he couldn’t name it.

"Then we're okay."

Seonghwa believed it. They were okay. They had to be. Because the alternative…was worse. So much worse. The cold, empty grey of a world without Hongjoong's eyes on him

They didn't have sex this time. They just drifted into each other's arms, two bodies finding their way to house. Seonghwa slept more deeply than he had in weeks, months, maybe ever slept like he was finally safe, finally held, finally exactly where he belonged.

He woke alone at dawn.

The cold space beside him was an absence that ached. But this time, there was a sketch on the nightstand. Not a note…a drawing. Him. Sleeping. Peaceful. Beautiful in a way he'd never seen himself, rendered in Hongjoong's sharp, loving lines. And at the bottom, in that elegant, devastating handwriting

Mine.

Seonghwa traced the word with his thumb. Felt something squeeze his chest so tightly he couldn't breathe. He was seen. He was his.

And that, Seonghwa realized, there was no going back now. No version of himself existed outside of Hongjoong's orbit. This time mirror doesn’t lie; he did it to himself.