Work Text:
Shuddering intakes of breath.
Slightly hitched breathing.
Arms wrapped around his thin frame.
Hands fisting the white gaberdine fabric.
Shivering shoulders.
The slight fog, every time he breathed in and out.
In and out.
In.
Out.
Tears falling down pale, but tinted pink from the cold, cheeks.
Freckles, blending in so well with his pale complexion you'd have to bring his face so close, (too close) towards your own and squint at it.
Bitten lips.
A crooked nose.
Imperfect.
Everything about him was imperfect.
He didn't care.
The background noises of Han Sooyoung complaining.
Of Lee Hyunsung discussing with Lee Heewon.
The faint calls of "Ahjussi!" and "Hyung?".
Of a certain dokkaebi trailing the children with "Baat!".
The thumping footsteps behind him.
The humming coming from Yoo Sangah.
The distance between his feet and the ground.
The feeling of the safety railings behind his back.
The stars, constellations, shining brightly above them.
Watching.
Smiling.
Crying.
Welcoming.
What a heavenly place.
Everything he's ever wanted is here.
Everything he's ever worked for, is here.
So.
Why?
He felt his hands let go of the railings.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Strong hands.
Firm arms.
Comfortable.
Around his chest.
The familiar scent of him.
The way he whispers in his ear.
The way he held him closer, as if he knows what he's thinking. (At this rate, the safety railings might not hold.)
And so he turns.
He turns his pretty, imperfect being to face his companion.
And he sobs.
Holding the sobbing man securely, he lifts them up, over the railings and onto safer grounds.
He collapses against him, body shaking, making both of them slide down onto the snowy rooftop floor.
Not one sound escapes the man in his arms.
And so they sit there.
Just sitting against the very railings he tried to let go off.
Sitting under the stars.
The snow.
In the cold.
With each other.
It felt like hours.
"Kim Dokja."
Whispers that felt like shouts.
To both of them.
He doesn't look up.
So he hugs him tighter, snug against his own body.
"Come back."
And his voice breaks a little.
He felt his companion break with his voice.
So it broke him too.
Because Yoo Joonghyuk never breaks.
"I'm sorry."
They've shifted slightly, a more comfortable position.
He can breathe better now.
"I'm sorry."
He leans up to press a feather-like kiss to his cheek.
He closes his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
To his nose.
"I'm sorry."
To his forehead.
"I'm sorry."
To his lips.
They stay there for awhile.
In their own little world.
Holding each other, sorrys being whispered like a prayer. Maybe even a promise.
Then Kim Dokja opens his eyes, tears still clinging on his eyelashes.
He opens his mouth, looks into his eyes.
"I'm here."
And Yoo Joonghyuk surges forward.
"I'm home."
Lips against each other's.
Hands fisting black lapels.
Arms firmly wrapped around his waist and supports his back.
When they separate, a lone tear slides down Yoo Joonghyuk's face.
A trace of a bitter smile.
Golden eyes, filled with pain and longing.
(He caused that.)
"No, you're not."
The man bows his head.
Inhales.
Looks back into his beloved companion's tear stricken face.
(He hates himself.)
"But that's okay."
He traces the tear stains.
Kisses them.
"I can wait."
And they smile, bittersweet.
(He doesn't deserve him.)