[22] you're my hurt
You're My Hurt
fandom: Big Bang
rating: PG-13
relationships: Seunghyun/Jiyong
word count: 1.1k
warning(s)/author's note: Some language; more angst than sexuality. Set in the 하루하루 MV universe, thus already done fifty million times over. But it was a years-old WIP that needed rescuing from the Island of Lost WIPs.
Seunghyun had carefully watched Jiyong for a long time, had quietly hated him for a long time for loving the woman Seunghyun loved. Or so he thought. Because when the woman you love dies, your heart isn’t supposed to ache for the man weeping over her body, is it. But Seunghyun’s had.
And Seunghyun would’ve brushed it off if only Jiyong hadn’t given him that mysterious look while he knelt beside the gurney. Anguished and bitter, yes, but mysterious. Because Jiyong had thrown away any sense of his masculine pride and simply let the tears run down his face, off his chin, onto the sickeningly sterile hospital linens over her body, had simply stared over his shoulder at Seunghyun like a dragon would a sacrificial virgin.
Two weeks later, Seunghyun still can’t shake off that look, still can’t ignore the tightening in his chest.
“Drink with me.”
Seunghyun would’ve brushed off the brazen invite. It would’ve been easy enough. He’d only been walking back home when he found himself yanked onto a stool at a street stall, found himself sitting beside an already drunk Jiyong.
Except Jiyong doesn’t live in Seunghyun’s neighborhood.
“What are you doing here?”
“Does it matter?” the younger man asks, punctuating his question by pouring two shots and offering his own for a toast.
Seunghyun glances at the younger man warily.
“To lost love,” Jiyong grunts, before tossing back the soju so sloppily more of it ends up on his shirt than in his mouth.
Seunghyun stands then, taking Jiyong by his armpits.
“C’mon, let’s go.”
Despite his intoxicated and emotional state, Jiyong meekly gives in to Seunghyun’s shepherding. It’s almost disconcerting how naturally Jiyong wraps his arm around Seunghyun’s waist, planting his cheek against Seunghyun’s bicep, how gently Seunghyun drapes his own arm across Jiyong’s shoulders, tucking the smaller man to his side. Remarkably, Jiyong has enough of his wits about him to walk steadily, if only a bit slowly.
“How pathetic.”
“Huh?”
When there’s no reply, Seunghyun wonders if maybe he only imagined Jiyong’s despairing sigh. What did Jiyong find so pathetic anyway? Sure, there was the fact that his friends betrayed him by hiding his girlfriend’s illness until it was too late... Peeking down at the top of Jiyong’s head, Seunghyun feels the familiar clenching in his chest.
Jiyong didn’t even get to say goodbye. Seunghyun did.
He’d meant to buy Jiyong a bottle of water before flagging a cab and sending him home. What he didn’t mean to do was escort Jiyong to his tiny and empty apartment, much less guide Jiyong onto his tiny and unmade bed, murmuring an unnecessary,
“Don’t move.”
So Seunghyun said, but he’s the one unable to move: looking down, he finds Jiyong’s tiny hand fisted in the hem of his shirt, Jiyong’s face pleading and expectant.
“No-don’t leave-”
So Seunghyun doesn’t. But it’s all he wants to do because the pain has somehow spread into his gut and up his throat. What was he thinking, bringing Jiyong home with him? He was probably the last person Jiyong wanted to see, right?
Still, he humors the younger man, lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress beside Jiyong’s hip. He ignores the fact that Jiyong has yet to release his shirt.
“Do you miss her?”
Seunghyun shakes himself mentally, realizing he’d been staring (of all places) at the juncture where the boyish curve of Jiyong’s jaw meets the pale, taut skin of his throat. His eyes dart upwards to scan Jiyong’s profile, and luckily the younger man’s too busy staring mindlessly into the middle ground to have noticed. Seunghyun wonders if he really needs to answer, but finds himself doing so anyway.
“Yeah, a lot.”
“Did you really love her?”
And this time, Jiyong turns his upper body so he’s looking Seunghyun full in the face and, shit, he definitely shouldn’t answer-
“Yeah, I did.”
He breathes an inward sigh of relief that his voice was neutral enough, steady enough. And it isn’t a lie. He had loved her. Had. Now is a different story, one that makes even less sense.
Jiyong’s nod of confirmation is also neutral, but his eyes don’t leave Seunghyun’s, still searching, and Seunghyun can’t tear his gaze away. He’s so trapped by the other man’s stare, he barely registers the shifting of Jiyong’s weight when he sits up. Jiyong’s so close, Seunghyun can smell the soju on his breath, can feel the subtle and sporadic tremors that ride his small body. Out of grief? Withheld sobs?
Out of fear?
“I used to think,” Jiyong whispers hot and damp-and just when did he move so damn close to Seunghyun?-his eyes not-so-subtly but just-as-sporadically wandering to Seunghyun’s mouth, “that I hated you for loving her.”
Seunghyun used to think the same thing. Now…
“But, now…”
‘But, now’ what, Seunghyun wants to press. ‘But don’t say anything more,’ he wants to beg. ‘Not now, not ever.’
Now it’s his gaze fixed on Jiyong’s lips, and he sees more than hears Jiyong’s breathless revelation:
“Now, I think I hated you for not loving me.”
If the air carrying Jiyong’s words was hot, his mouth is even hotter, a fact Seunghyun only knows because one second it’s their eyes that meet, and the next it’s their mouths-fuck all if Seunghyun knows which of them moved first. But apologies are there in the sliding of their tongues, questions in their swallowed moans-
Fuck all if they’re clinging to each other like the earth is opening up to swallow them whole.
Seunghyun would trade oxygen for the swell of Jiyong’s bottom lip, the sting of Jiyong’s teeth, the all-too-familiar strength of Jiyong’s otherwise small and delicate hands. Even the imagined, imperceptible stirring of air from the fluttering of Jiyong’s eyelashes. If only. But Seunghyun can’t, nor can Jiyong. Not ever.
“Do you-”
Jiyong’s voice finally hints at the uncertainty that should’ve been there minutes-no, an hour-ago, when Seunghyun still had the chance to brush off the younger man’s vulnerability as drunkenness and just. Walk. Away.
But now, it’s useless. Tectonic plates and atmospheres and universes don’t patch themselves up any better than hearts do.
Seunghyun hears the other man’s sharp gasp when he hears himself murmur,
“I don’t hate you.”
And it isn’t a lie. Not now, not anymore.
fandom: Big Bang
rating: PG-13
relationships: Seunghyun/Jiyong
word count: 1.1k
warning(s)/author's note: Some language; more angst than sexuality. Set in the 하루하루 MV universe, thus already done fifty million times over. But it was a years-old WIP that needed rescuing from the Island of Lost WIPs.
Seunghyun had carefully watched Jiyong for a long time, had quietly hated him for a long time for loving the woman Seunghyun loved. Or so he thought. Because when the woman you love dies, your heart isn’t supposed to ache for the man weeping over her body, is it. But Seunghyun’s had.
And Seunghyun would’ve brushed it off if only Jiyong hadn’t given him that mysterious look while he knelt beside the gurney. Anguished and bitter, yes, but mysterious. Because Jiyong had thrown away any sense of his masculine pride and simply let the tears run down his face, off his chin, onto the sickeningly sterile hospital linens over her body, had simply stared over his shoulder at Seunghyun like a dragon would a sacrificial virgin.
Two weeks later, Seunghyun still can’t shake off that look, still can’t ignore the tightening in his chest.
“Drink with me.”
Seunghyun would’ve brushed off the brazen invite. It would’ve been easy enough. He’d only been walking back home when he found himself yanked onto a stool at a street stall, found himself sitting beside an already drunk Jiyong.
Except Jiyong doesn’t live in Seunghyun’s neighborhood.
“What are you doing here?”
“Does it matter?” the younger man asks, punctuating his question by pouring two shots and offering his own for a toast.
Seunghyun glances at the younger man warily.
“To lost love,” Jiyong grunts, before tossing back the soju so sloppily more of it ends up on his shirt than in his mouth.
Seunghyun stands then, taking Jiyong by his armpits.
“C’mon, let’s go.”
Despite his intoxicated and emotional state, Jiyong meekly gives in to Seunghyun’s shepherding. It’s almost disconcerting how naturally Jiyong wraps his arm around Seunghyun’s waist, planting his cheek against Seunghyun’s bicep, how gently Seunghyun drapes his own arm across Jiyong’s shoulders, tucking the smaller man to his side. Remarkably, Jiyong has enough of his wits about him to walk steadily, if only a bit slowly.
“How pathetic.”
“Huh?”
When there’s no reply, Seunghyun wonders if maybe he only imagined Jiyong’s despairing sigh. What did Jiyong find so pathetic anyway? Sure, there was the fact that his friends betrayed him by hiding his girlfriend’s illness until it was too late... Peeking down at the top of Jiyong’s head, Seunghyun feels the familiar clenching in his chest.
Jiyong didn’t even get to say goodbye. Seunghyun did.
He’d meant to buy Jiyong a bottle of water before flagging a cab and sending him home. What he didn’t mean to do was escort Jiyong to his tiny and empty apartment, much less guide Jiyong onto his tiny and unmade bed, murmuring an unnecessary,
“Don’t move.”
So Seunghyun said, but he’s the one unable to move: looking down, he finds Jiyong’s tiny hand fisted in the hem of his shirt, Jiyong’s face pleading and expectant.
“No-don’t leave-”
So Seunghyun doesn’t. But it’s all he wants to do because the pain has somehow spread into his gut and up his throat. What was he thinking, bringing Jiyong home with him? He was probably the last person Jiyong wanted to see, right?
Still, he humors the younger man, lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress beside Jiyong’s hip. He ignores the fact that Jiyong has yet to release his shirt.
“Do you miss her?”
Seunghyun shakes himself mentally, realizing he’d been staring (of all places) at the juncture where the boyish curve of Jiyong’s jaw meets the pale, taut skin of his throat. His eyes dart upwards to scan Jiyong’s profile, and luckily the younger man’s too busy staring mindlessly into the middle ground to have noticed. Seunghyun wonders if he really needs to answer, but finds himself doing so anyway.
“Yeah, a lot.”
“Did you really love her?”
And this time, Jiyong turns his upper body so he’s looking Seunghyun full in the face and, shit, he definitely shouldn’t answer-
“Yeah, I did.”
He breathes an inward sigh of relief that his voice was neutral enough, steady enough. And it isn’t a lie. He had loved her. Had. Now is a different story, one that makes even less sense.
Jiyong’s nod of confirmation is also neutral, but his eyes don’t leave Seunghyun’s, still searching, and Seunghyun can’t tear his gaze away. He’s so trapped by the other man’s stare, he barely registers the shifting of Jiyong’s weight when he sits up. Jiyong’s so close, Seunghyun can smell the soju on his breath, can feel the subtle and sporadic tremors that ride his small body. Out of grief? Withheld sobs?
Out of fear?
“I used to think,” Jiyong whispers hot and damp-and just when did he move so damn close to Seunghyun?-his eyes not-so-subtly but just-as-sporadically wandering to Seunghyun’s mouth, “that I hated you for loving her.”
Seunghyun used to think the same thing. Now…
“But, now…”
‘But, now’ what, Seunghyun wants to press. ‘But don’t say anything more,’ he wants to beg. ‘Not now, not ever.’
Now it’s his gaze fixed on Jiyong’s lips, and he sees more than hears Jiyong’s breathless revelation:
“Now, I think I hated you for not loving me.”
If the air carrying Jiyong’s words was hot, his mouth is even hotter, a fact Seunghyun only knows because one second it’s their eyes that meet, and the next it’s their mouths-fuck all if Seunghyun knows which of them moved first. But apologies are there in the sliding of their tongues, questions in their swallowed moans-
Fuck all if they’re clinging to each other like the earth is opening up to swallow them whole.
Seunghyun would trade oxygen for the swell of Jiyong’s bottom lip, the sting of Jiyong’s teeth, the all-too-familiar strength of Jiyong’s otherwise small and delicate hands. Even the imagined, imperceptible stirring of air from the fluttering of Jiyong’s eyelashes. If only. But Seunghyun can’t, nor can Jiyong. Not ever.
“Do you-”
Jiyong’s voice finally hints at the uncertainty that should’ve been there minutes-no, an hour-ago, when Seunghyun still had the chance to brush off the younger man’s vulnerability as drunkenness and just. Walk. Away.
But now, it’s useless. Tectonic plates and atmospheres and universes don’t patch themselves up any better than hearts do.
Seunghyun hears the other man’s sharp gasp when he hears himself murmur,
“I don’t hate you.”
And it isn’t a lie. Not now, not anymore.