09. secret spaces
Everyone has secrets and sometimes, you don't have to dig so hard
There must be someone new at school, because this is the first time since the incident that Hoya sees his usual spot occupied. It’s at the edge of the canteen, the most isolated table in the sea of tables filled with bustling students with their loud voices and easy laughter and trays of food before them. White noise.
Hoya makes his way towards his table slowly, scuffing his shoes loudly enough for the boy to hear him, but the boy keeps his head lowered. His fringe falls into his eyes. It's only when Hoya places the tray down and slides it across the table that the boy looks up, rice stuck unattractively to the corner of his mouth. He has big eyes, soft hair and skin the colour of someone who has never grown up by the seaside.
Hoya blinks wordlessly at him.
"'Sup," the boy says, before sticking out a tongue to lick away the grain of rice.
“This is my table.”
“It’s a big table. I think you know how to share.”
Hoya's mouth curls distastefully. "You must be new."
"So I've been told," the boy says, going back to his white rice. Hoya notices two things: his kimchi and soup are untouched, and his accent is different.
They eat in silence for several moments, and the sounds around him seem softer around the edges today.
"What did you do?"
Hoya's chopsticks catches the corner of his soup bowl, and he looks up to find the boy looking back at him, chopsticks in his mouth and rice bowl empty.
"What?"
"You're the only one here without friends,” Sungyeol says, waving his arms around, looking like a deranged idiot. “There has to be a reason."
"You’re sitting at my table; we’re not long lost friends. Why should I tell you anything?"
The boy's smiles, a humourless grin, and lowers the chopsticks from his mouth. Hoya can't help but trail its movement, from his tongue to his lips down to his long fingers curled around the gleaming metal bowl. "Fine," Sngyeol says, "let's do some information exchange then. I'm Lee Sungyeol, I'm in a senior in class A1 and this is my first day here. Your turn."
"I'm Hoya."
Sungyeol pauses for a moment, sizing him up and when Hoya doesn't flinch, he bursts out in laughter. The students from the closer tables turn to look at them, their eyes sharp and narrowed. Hoya kicks at him from under the table, but Sungyeol doesn't seem to notice. The students turn back, leaning in closer now and Hoya feels the pit of his stomach churn in annoyance.
"Could you shut up?"
"Is that all you're going to tell me?" he asks.
"What?"
"Your name! That's all?" Lee Sungyeol's eyes are shining.
"You're obviously not in my class and I can tell you're not from Busan from your accent. You didn't tell me anything at all, other than your name."
“I told you my age!”
“We're the same age,” Hoya offers.
Sungyeol leans back, arms crossed around his chest. Finally, he smiles, and Hoya can't look away. "Fair enough."
"You're not going to finish your kimchi?"
"The kimchi here tastes weird," he says sullenly, expression falling abruptly.
"Fair enough," Hoya mimics, reaching over for it. He eats, keeping his eyes down because he can still feel Sungyeol's eyes on him and for the first time in years, Hoya eats with a companion.
If Sungyeol is bright enough to be placed in class A1, then Hoya doesn’t expect him to continue sharing his table at lunch for much longer. He'll make friends in his class and they'll tell him about Hoya and that will be how their lunch routine will end. Not that it would be a huge blow, but that’s the problem with a routine: once it’s taken away, Hoya will have to get used to being alone again.
The days pass, unbearably slowly as usual, but every time lunchtime rolls around and Hoya makes his way towards his table, Sungyeol will be sitting there, bowl of rice in front of him and mouth full. It never stops Sungyeol from speaking, unfortunately.
Most of the time, Hoya wonders why Sungyeol sticks around with him, because Sungyeol is as loud and irritating as Hoya knows he is infuriating with his threadbare answers.
"Are you socially stunted or something? Why can't we have a proper conversation?" Sungyeol complains one day, a week into his arrival.
"No," Hoya replies, just so he can see Sungyeol's face flush with annoyance. It colours a pale pink and Hoya has to look away, because Sungyeol looks really good-stop, Hoya thinks furiously.
Sungyeol makes a high-pitched noise of frustration that sounds like a dying dolphin and Hoya leans over to clamp a hand over his mouth. He can feel Sungyeol breathing; his breath warm against his palm. “Don’t draw attention to us like that,” Hoya hisses, when he remembers how to speak but it’s too late, because the other students have seen and Hoya draws away like Sungyeol’s mouth is fire but the only thing burning are his own cheeks. Several of the girls around them chuckle darkly, and the guys shoot him disgusted looks. Thankfully, no one moves. “I think,” Hoya says, “I think you should sit somewhere else from tomorrow.”
“God, what did you do, murder a classmate for getting higher than you in English or something?” Sungyeol asks, rubbing his jaw. He speaks barely above a whisper this time though, and Hoya doesn’t answer because he’s too busy eating. “What are you doing?”
“Eating,” Hoya says, as clearly as possible with a mouthful of food.
“Why are you eating like this…?” Sungyeol says, eyeing him disgustedly.
“So if they decide to throw food at me, at least it won’t be my own.”
For the first time, Sungyeol falls silent and Hoya focuses on pushing as much food as he can into his mouth with the thin chopsticks, his heart pounding but he doesn’t know from what.
“Hoya. Hoya!”
Hoya whirls around. “What did I say about attracting attention?”
“I want you to tell me what happened to you. My classmates kept saying I shouldn’t hang out with you but I told them to save it. I wanted to hear it from you.”
“They actually listened?”
Sungyeol shrugs. “They know if they piss me off they won’t be able to borrow my special textbooks from Seoul.”
“Who shifts to another school in the last year of their high school from the city to one of the most rural areas in Busan?”
A red flush takes over Sungyeol’s face even though his expression does not waver. “Hey, I’m the one asking questions here.”
Hoya turns around and continues walking towards the bus stop and Sungyeol follows after to him, their bags bumping every time Sungyeol walks too close.
“Hoya,” Sungyeol says.
One foot over the other, one foot over the other.
“Hoyaaaa,” Sungyeol repeats, this time dragging his name on his tongue and god, he’s actually whining now.
It’s only when Hoya reaches the bus stop and realizes he’s missed his bus that he turns around to Sungyeol, only to find barely an inch between them, Sungyeol's nose almost poking his eye out. “I might have to kill you if you do that again,” Hoya says after he stumbles back embarrassingly fast, his feet almost giving way.
“You should just tell me,” Sungyeol says adamantly. “My bus just left anyway,” he says, pointing to the closing doors of the stationary bus, the grin on his face positively angelic. Hoya didn't even manage to hear the bus arrive. The roar of the engine echoes the sound of his heart, and Hoya can only stare at Sungyeol, the irritation and reluctant admiration merging to form something dangerous at the base of his stomach.
“Fine. I’m gay.”
Sungyeol opens his mouth, then closes it. He opens it again, and Hoya actually raises his hand because he’s so close to clamping it shut. Those lips are so distracting.
“Wow,” he says finally.
“That’s what they used to say before they’d hit me,” Hoya points out, turning away to stare at his shoes. They’re decorated with long, black marks and he hates looking at them, because it reminds him of all that running away he had to do then.
“I really thought you broke someone’s nose or slept with someone’s mother, from the way they talked about you.”
Hoya laughs.
“Ho-Who-How did they find out?”
He shrugs. “I made the mistake of telling my best friend I liked him last year. He told everyone else.”
“Bastard.”
“Save your pity,” Hoya says flippantly. “So, what’s your story?”
“Your bus is here,” Sungyeol says instead and true enough, the 104 bus has arrived, the familiar driver smiling at him through the dirty glass doors.
“That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not,” Sungyeol says, and that’s all he says even as he walks Hoya to the door and stands there as the bus drives off and he’s still standing there, when Hoya collapses into his usual seat at the back and looks out the window.
Sungyeol tells one day later, without any fanfare. It happens in the middle of the quiet corridor, outside Sungyeol’s locker and his voice is uncharacteristically low and stable.
“So long story short, I was suspended at school but my lovely father decided to send me here to live with his workaholic brother instead.”
“What did you do?”
“A teacher caught me with my hand down another boy’s pants during our after-hours self study classes. I know, stupid of me but I can’t turn back time so.”
Hoya’s heart lurches to a stop. “Another boy’s pants?”
He grins, eyes hard. “The school suspended us for acting inappropriately. My father sent me away for being gay. Myungsoo’s still in Seoul, and we still talk sometimes, but never about what happened.”
The bell rings and Sungyeol gathers his books before closing his locket. He turns to stare at Hoya, gaze searching, and Hoya wonders if this is how Sungyeol felt at the bus stand, just yesterday: how a life can be divided so clearly into Before and After, separated only by stupid mistakes and confessions.
Days pass into weeks and soon, Lee Sungyeol is no longer the new student. This novelty rubs off but Sungyeol’s shirt is still never tucked quite properly into his pants and he only eats plain rice at lunch and he only ever sits at Hoya’s table.
“You’re in class D2 right?”
“If you already know, why do you bother asking?”
“Part of my charm, I guess,” Sungyeol counters with a breezy smile. “Since I’m evidently smarter, I think we could study together. The entrance exams are coming up.”
“In eight months, Sungyeol.”
“Do you want to get into a good college or not?”
“I don’t really care. All I want to do is leave this place and dance.”
“Really?” Sungyeol says, his eyes darkening with interest. Hoya winces internally, because he’s learned that the less he gives up about himself, the safer it is. They’re sitting on the bus stop benches, and this seems to be the place they’re the most comfortable - there’s something soothing about the long, metal bench with its peeling paint and the clear roof over their heads and the steady drone of vehicles. It makes it easier for Hoya to concentrate on the whole picture, of two classmates waiting for their bus home instead of just him and Sungyeol; Sungyeol and his loud voice and big mouth and restless energy, like it is in the canteen or in the hallways when Sungyeol seeks him out and Hoya brushes him off as subtly as he can because the most basal fact is that at his core, he is still afraid.
Hoya looks ahead, at the trees and Sungyeol doesn’t press on. Instead, he just swings his legs and they wait like this, side by side until Sungyeol’s bus rolls around first this time and Sungyeol stands before turning to look expectantly at him.
“Well?”
He blinks up at Sungyeol.
“My place. To study. You coming?”
There are only two answers, and it’s really not that hard to decide because his blood surges through his veins and the word is on the tip of his tongue. Yes. Sungyeol likes boys too. Yes. Sungyeol and his experience and his experienced hand. Yes. “No.”
“Fine,” Sungyeol says, turning away too quickly to storm up the stairs but he isn’t fast enough to hide the way his eyes harden and close off.
Hoya watches the bus pull away this time and long after it disappears, his palms are still itchy with sweat.
Hoya thinks of a dozen different ways to apologize but it’s difficult to find the words for that when all he can think about and want to say is, “We should kiss,” or “Can you show me?”
In the end, he opts for a casual, “Maybe we can study for the math assessment - the one that’s on this Friday,” and Sungyeol, that jerk, takes two days to finally agree.
It’s a Wednesday when Hoya follows Sungyeol home and the house they arrive at is dark, with unruly shrubs growing around the perimeter of the place. Sungyeol stomps around the entrance, kicks off his shoes and beckons Hoya into the dark house. He leaves his shoes arranged neatly next to Sungyeol’s overturned shoes. When the lights flood the place, Hoya sees simple furniture and the air feels thick on his tongue, like the taste of a museum.
“My uncle spends most of his time at the bank. I don’t think my father knew this about his brother,” Sungyeol explain with a smirk. He didn’t need to continue, because Hoya knows exactly what he’s thinking: and now I have a house all to myself with no parental supervision.
“Your aunt?”
“My uncle never married.”
Sungyeol gives him a short tour of the house and their last stop is the furthest room from the staircase, on the second floor. It’s furnished with the same simple sort of furniture that decorates the house but the air here is thinner; cleaner. The shelves hold manhwas and thick novels and there’s a toy helicopter on his messy study table and colourful clothes are strewn across the floor. Sungyeol kicks them unapologetically under the bed and Hoya props his school bag next to the chair. He considers unzipping his bag, keeping up the pretense but the moment Sungyeol closes the door and locks it, he calls the façade.
“Come here,” Sungyeol says breathlessly, and Hoya sits at the very edge of the bed, his heart pounding so fast even his fingertips ache. Sungyeol’s tie is loose and the top two buttons are undone and Hoya can see the moles on his neck, dark, precise dots against pale skin and Hoya shivers when Sungyeol reaches and touches his tie to loosen it.
Hoya looks up to his eyes, and Sungyeol leans in. Hoya doesn’t lie to himself: he thinks of Woobin the first few minutes and the way Sungyeol moves against Hoya makes him think he has someone else on his mind, because Sungyeol's touche is searching and feather-light, as though afraid he'll find that Hoya is Hoya, not the boy he sees when he closes his eyes.
Several minutes, Hoya finds himself on his back, lying on Sungyeol’s mattress with and Sungyeol’s fingers are skittering across his shirt, skitterish. “You’ve never done this before?”
“Never,” Hoya says, voice rough with want, and Sungyeol stills before smiling down at him, the corner of his mouth tinged with sadness.
When he leans down to kiss Hoya again, the warmth deep in his blood surges. He can feel Sungyeol’s breath on his skin and Sungyeol’s hips jerking against his and he can feel Sungyeol's pants in his bones when Sungyeol turns his head and his lips find a pulse point on his neck, under his wrist.
Hoya fails his math assessment that Friday. “You taste like failure,” Hoya tells him pointedly the next week, holding the paper scrawled red when they are back in Sungyeol’s room, Sungyeol already shirtless.
“Myungsoo was a lot more grateful for this,” Sungyeol retorts and Hoya responds by pushing Sungyeol onto his back and tugging off his pants. He hovers, millimeters above the damp spot on Sungyeol’s boxers.
“Was Myungsoo better at this?” he asks slowly, his breath fanning over Sungyeol’s crotch and he answers by squeezing his eyes shut, moaning and almost kneeing Hoya in the chin.
“Asshole,” Sungyeol pants.
“I think you mean dick,” Hoya murmurs, slipping off Sungyeol’s underwear slowly and when Hoya takes Sungyeol in his mouth, it’s definitely not Myungsoo's name they hear.
happy valentine's day!
prompted by anon; thank you once again
There must be someone new at school, because this is the first time since the incident that Hoya sees his usual spot occupied. It’s at the edge of the canteen, the most isolated table in the sea of tables filled with bustling students with their loud voices and easy laughter and trays of food before them. White noise.
Hoya makes his way towards his table slowly, scuffing his shoes loudly enough for the boy to hear him, but the boy keeps his head lowered. His fringe falls into his eyes. It's only when Hoya places the tray down and slides it across the table that the boy looks up, rice stuck unattractively to the corner of his mouth. He has big eyes, soft hair and skin the colour of someone who has never grown up by the seaside.
Hoya blinks wordlessly at him.
"'Sup," the boy says, before sticking out a tongue to lick away the grain of rice.
“This is my table.”
“It’s a big table. I think you know how to share.”
Hoya's mouth curls distastefully. "You must be new."
"So I've been told," the boy says, going back to his white rice. Hoya notices two things: his kimchi and soup are untouched, and his accent is different.
They eat in silence for several moments, and the sounds around him seem softer around the edges today.
"What did you do?"
Hoya's chopsticks catches the corner of his soup bowl, and he looks up to find the boy looking back at him, chopsticks in his mouth and rice bowl empty.
"What?"
"You're the only one here without friends,” Sungyeol says, waving his arms around, looking like a deranged idiot. “There has to be a reason."
"You’re sitting at my table; we’re not long lost friends. Why should I tell you anything?"
The boy's smiles, a humourless grin, and lowers the chopsticks from his mouth. Hoya can't help but trail its movement, from his tongue to his lips down to his long fingers curled around the gleaming metal bowl. "Fine," Sngyeol says, "let's do some information exchange then. I'm Lee Sungyeol, I'm in a senior in class A1 and this is my first day here. Your turn."
"I'm Hoya."
Sungyeol pauses for a moment, sizing him up and when Hoya doesn't flinch, he bursts out in laughter. The students from the closer tables turn to look at them, their eyes sharp and narrowed. Hoya kicks at him from under the table, but Sungyeol doesn't seem to notice. The students turn back, leaning in closer now and Hoya feels the pit of his stomach churn in annoyance.
"Could you shut up?"
"Is that all you're going to tell me?" he asks.
"What?"
"Your name! That's all?" Lee Sungyeol's eyes are shining.
"You're obviously not in my class and I can tell you're not from Busan from your accent. You didn't tell me anything at all, other than your name."
“I told you my age!”
“We're the same age,” Hoya offers.
Sungyeol leans back, arms crossed around his chest. Finally, he smiles, and Hoya can't look away. "Fair enough."
"You're not going to finish your kimchi?"
"The kimchi here tastes weird," he says sullenly, expression falling abruptly.
"Fair enough," Hoya mimics, reaching over for it. He eats, keeping his eyes down because he can still feel Sungyeol's eyes on him and for the first time in years, Hoya eats with a companion.
If Sungyeol is bright enough to be placed in class A1, then Hoya doesn’t expect him to continue sharing his table at lunch for much longer. He'll make friends in his class and they'll tell him about Hoya and that will be how their lunch routine will end. Not that it would be a huge blow, but that’s the problem with a routine: once it’s taken away, Hoya will have to get used to being alone again.
The days pass, unbearably slowly as usual, but every time lunchtime rolls around and Hoya makes his way towards his table, Sungyeol will be sitting there, bowl of rice in front of him and mouth full. It never stops Sungyeol from speaking, unfortunately.
Most of the time, Hoya wonders why Sungyeol sticks around with him, because Sungyeol is as loud and irritating as Hoya knows he is infuriating with his threadbare answers.
"Are you socially stunted or something? Why can't we have a proper conversation?" Sungyeol complains one day, a week into his arrival.
"No," Hoya replies, just so he can see Sungyeol's face flush with annoyance. It colours a pale pink and Hoya has to look away, because Sungyeol looks really good-stop, Hoya thinks furiously.
Sungyeol makes a high-pitched noise of frustration that sounds like a dying dolphin and Hoya leans over to clamp a hand over his mouth. He can feel Sungyeol breathing; his breath warm against his palm. “Don’t draw attention to us like that,” Hoya hisses, when he remembers how to speak but it’s too late, because the other students have seen and Hoya draws away like Sungyeol’s mouth is fire but the only thing burning are his own cheeks. Several of the girls around them chuckle darkly, and the guys shoot him disgusted looks. Thankfully, no one moves. “I think,” Hoya says, “I think you should sit somewhere else from tomorrow.”
“God, what did you do, murder a classmate for getting higher than you in English or something?” Sungyeol asks, rubbing his jaw. He speaks barely above a whisper this time though, and Hoya doesn’t answer because he’s too busy eating. “What are you doing?”
“Eating,” Hoya says, as clearly as possible with a mouthful of food.
“Why are you eating like this…?” Sungyeol says, eyeing him disgustedly.
“So if they decide to throw food at me, at least it won’t be my own.”
For the first time, Sungyeol falls silent and Hoya focuses on pushing as much food as he can into his mouth with the thin chopsticks, his heart pounding but he doesn’t know from what.
“Hoya. Hoya!”
Hoya whirls around. “What did I say about attracting attention?”
“I want you to tell me what happened to you. My classmates kept saying I shouldn’t hang out with you but I told them to save it. I wanted to hear it from you.”
“They actually listened?”
Sungyeol shrugs. “They know if they piss me off they won’t be able to borrow my special textbooks from Seoul.”
“Who shifts to another school in the last year of their high school from the city to one of the most rural areas in Busan?”
A red flush takes over Sungyeol’s face even though his expression does not waver. “Hey, I’m the one asking questions here.”
Hoya turns around and continues walking towards the bus stop and Sungyeol follows after to him, their bags bumping every time Sungyeol walks too close.
“Hoya,” Sungyeol says.
One foot over the other, one foot over the other.
“Hoyaaaa,” Sungyeol repeats, this time dragging his name on his tongue and god, he’s actually whining now.
It’s only when Hoya reaches the bus stop and realizes he’s missed his bus that he turns around to Sungyeol, only to find barely an inch between them, Sungyeol's nose almost poking his eye out. “I might have to kill you if you do that again,” Hoya says after he stumbles back embarrassingly fast, his feet almost giving way.
“You should just tell me,” Sungyeol says adamantly. “My bus just left anyway,” he says, pointing to the closing doors of the stationary bus, the grin on his face positively angelic. Hoya didn't even manage to hear the bus arrive. The roar of the engine echoes the sound of his heart, and Hoya can only stare at Sungyeol, the irritation and reluctant admiration merging to form something dangerous at the base of his stomach.
“Fine. I’m gay.”
Sungyeol opens his mouth, then closes it. He opens it again, and Hoya actually raises his hand because he’s so close to clamping it shut. Those lips are so distracting.
“Wow,” he says finally.
“That’s what they used to say before they’d hit me,” Hoya points out, turning away to stare at his shoes. They’re decorated with long, black marks and he hates looking at them, because it reminds him of all that running away he had to do then.
“I really thought you broke someone’s nose or slept with someone’s mother, from the way they talked about you.”
Hoya laughs.
“Ho-Who-How did they find out?”
He shrugs. “I made the mistake of telling my best friend I liked him last year. He told everyone else.”
“Bastard.”
“Save your pity,” Hoya says flippantly. “So, what’s your story?”
“Your bus is here,” Sungyeol says instead and true enough, the 104 bus has arrived, the familiar driver smiling at him through the dirty glass doors.
“That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not,” Sungyeol says, and that’s all he says even as he walks Hoya to the door and stands there as the bus drives off and he’s still standing there, when Hoya collapses into his usual seat at the back and looks out the window.
Sungyeol tells one day later, without any fanfare. It happens in the middle of the quiet corridor, outside Sungyeol’s locker and his voice is uncharacteristically low and stable.
“So long story short, I was suspended at school but my lovely father decided to send me here to live with his workaholic brother instead.”
“What did you do?”
“A teacher caught me with my hand down another boy’s pants during our after-hours self study classes. I know, stupid of me but I can’t turn back time so.”
Hoya’s heart lurches to a stop. “Another boy’s pants?”
He grins, eyes hard. “The school suspended us for acting inappropriately. My father sent me away for being gay. Myungsoo’s still in Seoul, and we still talk sometimes, but never about what happened.”
The bell rings and Sungyeol gathers his books before closing his locket. He turns to stare at Hoya, gaze searching, and Hoya wonders if this is how Sungyeol felt at the bus stand, just yesterday: how a life can be divided so clearly into Before and After, separated only by stupid mistakes and confessions.
Days pass into weeks and soon, Lee Sungyeol is no longer the new student. This novelty rubs off but Sungyeol’s shirt is still never tucked quite properly into his pants and he only eats plain rice at lunch and he only ever sits at Hoya’s table.
“You’re in class D2 right?”
“If you already know, why do you bother asking?”
“Part of my charm, I guess,” Sungyeol counters with a breezy smile. “Since I’m evidently smarter, I think we could study together. The entrance exams are coming up.”
“In eight months, Sungyeol.”
“Do you want to get into a good college or not?”
“I don’t really care. All I want to do is leave this place and dance.”
“Really?” Sungyeol says, his eyes darkening with interest. Hoya winces internally, because he’s learned that the less he gives up about himself, the safer it is. They’re sitting on the bus stop benches, and this seems to be the place they’re the most comfortable - there’s something soothing about the long, metal bench with its peeling paint and the clear roof over their heads and the steady drone of vehicles. It makes it easier for Hoya to concentrate on the whole picture, of two classmates waiting for their bus home instead of just him and Sungyeol; Sungyeol and his loud voice and big mouth and restless energy, like it is in the canteen or in the hallways when Sungyeol seeks him out and Hoya brushes him off as subtly as he can because the most basal fact is that at his core, he is still afraid.
Hoya looks ahead, at the trees and Sungyeol doesn’t press on. Instead, he just swings his legs and they wait like this, side by side until Sungyeol’s bus rolls around first this time and Sungyeol stands before turning to look expectantly at him.
“Well?”
He blinks up at Sungyeol.
“My place. To study. You coming?”
There are only two answers, and it’s really not that hard to decide because his blood surges through his veins and the word is on the tip of his tongue. Yes. Sungyeol likes boys too. Yes. Sungyeol and his experience and his experienced hand. Yes. “No.”
“Fine,” Sungyeol says, turning away too quickly to storm up the stairs but he isn’t fast enough to hide the way his eyes harden and close off.
Hoya watches the bus pull away this time and long after it disappears, his palms are still itchy with sweat.
Hoya thinks of a dozen different ways to apologize but it’s difficult to find the words for that when all he can think about and want to say is, “We should kiss,” or “Can you show me?”
In the end, he opts for a casual, “Maybe we can study for the math assessment - the one that’s on this Friday,” and Sungyeol, that jerk, takes two days to finally agree.
It’s a Wednesday when Hoya follows Sungyeol home and the house they arrive at is dark, with unruly shrubs growing around the perimeter of the place. Sungyeol stomps around the entrance, kicks off his shoes and beckons Hoya into the dark house. He leaves his shoes arranged neatly next to Sungyeol’s overturned shoes. When the lights flood the place, Hoya sees simple furniture and the air feels thick on his tongue, like the taste of a museum.
“My uncle spends most of his time at the bank. I don’t think my father knew this about his brother,” Sungyeol explain with a smirk. He didn’t need to continue, because Hoya knows exactly what he’s thinking: and now I have a house all to myself with no parental supervision.
“Your aunt?”
“My uncle never married.”
Sungyeol gives him a short tour of the house and their last stop is the furthest room from the staircase, on the second floor. It’s furnished with the same simple sort of furniture that decorates the house but the air here is thinner; cleaner. The shelves hold manhwas and thick novels and there’s a toy helicopter on his messy study table and colourful clothes are strewn across the floor. Sungyeol kicks them unapologetically under the bed and Hoya props his school bag next to the chair. He considers unzipping his bag, keeping up the pretense but the moment Sungyeol closes the door and locks it, he calls the façade.
“Come here,” Sungyeol says breathlessly, and Hoya sits at the very edge of the bed, his heart pounding so fast even his fingertips ache. Sungyeol’s tie is loose and the top two buttons are undone and Hoya can see the moles on his neck, dark, precise dots against pale skin and Hoya shivers when Sungyeol reaches and touches his tie to loosen it.
Hoya looks up to his eyes, and Sungyeol leans in. Hoya doesn’t lie to himself: he thinks of Woobin the first few minutes and the way Sungyeol moves against Hoya makes him think he has someone else on his mind, because Sungyeol's touche is searching and feather-light, as though afraid he'll find that Hoya is Hoya, not the boy he sees when he closes his eyes.
Several minutes, Hoya finds himself on his back, lying on Sungyeol’s mattress with and Sungyeol’s fingers are skittering across his shirt, skitterish. “You’ve never done this before?”
“Never,” Hoya says, voice rough with want, and Sungyeol stills before smiling down at him, the corner of his mouth tinged with sadness.
When he leans down to kiss Hoya again, the warmth deep in his blood surges. He can feel Sungyeol’s breath on his skin and Sungyeol’s hips jerking against his and he can feel Sungyeol's pants in his bones when Sungyeol turns his head and his lips find a pulse point on his neck, under his wrist.
Hoya fails his math assessment that Friday. “You taste like failure,” Hoya tells him pointedly the next week, holding the paper scrawled red when they are back in Sungyeol’s room, Sungyeol already shirtless.
“Myungsoo was a lot more grateful for this,” Sungyeol retorts and Hoya responds by pushing Sungyeol onto his back and tugging off his pants. He hovers, millimeters above the damp spot on Sungyeol’s boxers.
“Was Myungsoo better at this?” he asks slowly, his breath fanning over Sungyeol’s crotch and he answers by squeezing his eyes shut, moaning and almost kneeing Hoya in the chin.
“Asshole,” Sungyeol pants.
“I think you mean dick,” Hoya murmurs, slipping off Sungyeol’s underwear slowly and when Hoya takes Sungyeol in his mouth, it’s definitely not Myungsoo's name they hear.
happy valentine's day!
prompted by anon; thank you once again