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Sungmin hates crying.
He never cries, not really, not in public, and very rarely in front of several thousand screaming fans. Not properly. The tears he occasionally sheds for the cameras are usually brought on because the members around him are crying, and it would be wrong for him not to cry along with them. He knows the role he’s supposed to play, he’s known it since the first moment he was told that he was part of Super Junior.
Sungmin cries when it’s expected of him, just like when he pretends to be cute and cuddly for the fans, because that’s who he’s supposed to be. Cute, bubbly Sungmin who likes to overdose on pumpkin and cover his bedroom in anything pink. He cries on those occasions because it’s easier to pretend than it is to explain how he hates letting people see his emotions. Especially when those people are virtual strangers — strangers who love him irrationally, whether he’s done anything praiseworthy or not, and he is forever grateful for them, but strangers nonetheless — who have no idea what it’s like being him.
When Sungmin cries — really cries, not just tears shed because the group has won an award and crying would be the proper reaction — he shuts himself away, too afraid that the raw emotion would raise too many questions about why, who, what is making him feel the way he does. He’s spent many a night standing under the blast of a hot shower after a long, frustrating recording session (especially after hours singing in Mandarin, which is a slippery language to wrap around his tongue, let alone sing), feeling the hot water run in rivulets down his back while he sobs into his hands, hoping that the sound is muffled. Those occasions are always wonderfully relieving, and he emerges feeling drained but renewed, ready to take on the next challenge facing him.
The problem right now, though, is that the fans are chanting and screaming and loving them so much that it’s hard to resist the calls to cry. Sungmin can hear Hyukjae’s fractured bawling through the noise of the crowd, can see that Zhou Mi’s face is shining and bright in the spotlights… and yet he can’t find it in himself to react the way they want. He feels bad, horrible, that he can’t return their admiration in the way they want him to, but he can’t do it. Not now, not in front of everybody.
Then Donghae tells him that he should cry for all the fans, and Sungmin wants to hit him, because that’s not fair, and because Donghae should know. They all do. Sungmin only lets his guard down when he knows nobody is watching. When they used to share a room, Kyuhyun would carefully never ask if anything was wrong after Sungmin came in after a prolonged shower, focusing on his laptop instead, or digging out some special vintage of wine and asking Sungmin for a drink. Ryeowook makes pumpkin muffins and sits down with Sungmin in order to make sure he eats every one. Hyukjae takes him out for ramyun (although that’s an entirely different story).
But Donghae always has to be different. He has to be the annoyingly optimistic, alarmingly sensitive type, who despite years of living and working with Sungmin, stubbornly refuses to let him be. Donghae wants to talk about feelings and he’s not averse to crying at the slightest provocation.
(Just like how he loves to sling an arm around Sungmin and pull him into a tight hug, crushing nearly all of the air out of Sungmin’s lungs before releasing him and turning red. Donghae always turns red when they engage in a little bit of skinship. He doesn’t do that with the other members.)
“Don’t be sad, hyung.” Donghae’s smile is always so wide, so disarming. “You don’t look so handsome when you’re sad.”
He rattles Sungmin, precisely because he is everything that Sungmin is not; open and affectionate, endlessly positive. Everybody adores Donghae, wants to spend time with him and cheer him up whenever he looks like he might be upset. Donghae holds no secrets, because he’s useless at keeping them, whereas the secrets Sungmin holds inside himself sometimes threaten to overwhelm him. He’s careful and controlled, where Donghae is pure passion and sensation. They’re entirely different elements, not meant for mixing.
So Sungmin waves at the fans, says he’d rather smile for them instead of cry, despite Donghae’s insistent prodding. He turns his million-watt smile on the crowd and listens to the cheers that come his way, even as Hyukjae wipes his face with his grubby towel and sniffles. Part of Sungmin wants to go over and hug him close, but they’re already getting into position for the next song, and Hyukjae has stopped looking for Sungmin to confide in for a long time.
As he goes through yet another dance routine, Sungmin keeps his gaze out in front of him. He tells himself to ignore the looks Donghae keeps shooting his way. There’s no point getting distracted over something that might not even be there in the first place — Sungmin’s learnt the hard way not to get his hopes up, and Donghae is much too unlike him, really. Why tempt fate?
***
It isn’t fair, he thinks to himself, as he turns on the spray. He’s not jealous of Henry. He’s just tired of having to work so damn hard just to get by. Already the bubble of hysteria is working its way up his chest, into his throat. Sungmin opens his mouth and heaves out a dry-sounding sob that bounces against the wet walls of the shower cubicle.
Once the first is out, Sungmin feels the dam inside him start to give way. He leans against the wall of the cubicle, which has been lined with expensive looking marble, and lets the sobbing take over his body. Each gasp of breath tears the exhaustion and frustration out of him, turning Sungmin inside out, and the tears running down his cheeks feel like a confession, his admission of all his private fears and grievances.
Turning his head to the spray, Sungmin pushes a hand through his wet hair. He washes himself and feels his anger release its hold on his senses and his fatigue lift fractionally. He cries because he can now, thinks back to the looks of expectation on the fans’ faces and weeps to get rid of the guilt because he could not give them what they wanted.
Sungmin doesn’t hear the door to his bathroom open until he feels a draught of cold air hit his wet skin. He looks behind him, clutching a bottle of shower gel and about to throw it at his intruder when he realises who is staring back at him.
“Come out of there, hyung.” Donghae looks drawn and worried, his expression unusually serious. “I want to talk to you.”
Somehow it doesn’t occur to Sungmin to refuse him, or to question how Donghae got into his room in the first place. He wipes at his eyes hurriedly and turns off the tap. Silence envelops them as easily as the lingering steam. Then Donghae opens the shower door, reaches in and takes Sungmin’s hand.
“Come on,” he says, pulling gently. Without a word, Sungmin lets him, although he still doesn’t know why. Donghae takes one of the giant fluffy towels off the rack nearby and pats Sungmin down, his cheeks reddening as he works his way down Sungmin’s body.
“Hae,” Sungmin starts, when Donghae is crouched down at his feet and wiping water droplets off his feet. “Hae, what is this about?”
Donghae looks up and opens his mouth. He stares at Sungmin for quite a long time, until the weight of his gaze becomes uncomfortable, and Sungmin shifts uneasily, too aware of his nakedness in contrast to Donghae’s tank-top and baggy bermudas.
“Uh.” Donghae finally regains the power of speech after a good minute or two. He frowns, licks at his lips. “I — um. I wanted to come and apologise.”
It occurs to Sungmin that he could take this opportunity to do what he’s best at doing; he could just say that he has no idea what Donghae’s talking about and that he’s very tired because it’s been such a long day. He could tell Donghae good night right now, and it wouldn’t have to be so awkward. But then Donghae stands up, and they’re looking at each other and Sungmin feels the heavy awkwardness of the moment. Feels trapped.
“Let’s go outside,” he says instead. Holding hands like a pair of schoolboys, they make their way back into the bedroom. Sungmin’s old t-shirt and a pair of faded boxer shorts are lying on the bed and he puts them on while Donghae shuffles behind him.
“So,” Sungmin begins when he’s feeling decent again, “how the hell did you get in here, Hae? I’m pretty sure I locked the door.”
Donghae looks guilty, mouth turning down slightly at the corners. You can always tell what Donghae is feeling, Sungmin thinks. Maybe that’s why he’s so popular with the fans, because he shows his emotions off without meaning to. Perhaps the same fans think he’s too calculated, too reticent, for refusing to cry.
“Aww… I got the keycard off one of the manager-hyungs. I said I left something in your bag by mistake and they let me have one of the master cards. I’m supposed to return it later.”
Sungmin snorts. He can picture the pleading look on Donghae’s face a little too well. With a sigh, he lets himself sit down on the down-filled quilt, pats the space next to him. Donghae takes this invitation in much the same manner Sungmin imagines his puppy would: he bounds onto the mattress, bouncing a little before settling down. Sungmin can’t fight back a giggle. He pokes Donghae neatly in the ribs.
“So, tell me what you wanted to say.”
The thing about Donghae’s honesty is that it can be a little too straightforward and confronting at times. He purses his lips, all seriousness again.
“I’m sorry I told you to cry with all those people watching, Min-ah. I guess it was because of the moment, and I know it’s a dick move, wanting you to follow all of us like that. You don’t do those sorts of things, and I kind of realised too late, but you know me, I’m a sucker for those fans. Always have been.”
He puts a hand on Sungmin’s thigh. Squeezes lightly. Sungmin tells himself it’s just a friendly gesture. Donghae is physical in his affection with all the members, it doesn’t make him special. “That doesn’t make it okay, though. You’re more of a private guy, Minnie. I get that about you. I’m not dumb, I know not all of you are as open and honest as me.”
Sungmin rolls his eyes and mimes a gagging motion, but smiles anyway. “Everyone in the group knows, Hae.”
“Yeah, but — ” now Donghae shifts closer, so that their knees are touching. Sungmin doesn’t trust himself, though he doesn’t pull away. “I wanted to tell you something else, Min. I want you to know that I see the way you act sometimes. Like you feel you need to carry all this shit around inside yourself, because if you tell anyone what you really feel, they’ll think you’re weak or afraid. But you’re not.”
Donghae’s hand on his thigh still hasn’t moved. Sungmin doesn’t know where to look, finds himself staring straight into Donghae’s wide brown eyes. His heart skips a beat, and he thinks back on all the times before this. The stolen moments in rehearsals when Donghae would squeeze his hand and tell him that it would all be over soon, or how he would be able to sense when Sungmin was about to snap, the veneer of his cold self-control beginning to slip, and would hurriedly make a stupid, silly joke to break any tension with laughter.
Donghae is always so careful with Sungmin, never venturing further than propriety dictates is absolutely necessary, even though he could clamber all over the other members, and nobody would blink an eye. Sungmin doesn’t understand it at all. He’s never tried to puzzle out why Donghae behaves the way he does, not because he’s not been willing, but simply due to the fact that he doesn’t think there’s anyway it could mean something significant.
“Min… I’m trying to say you don’t have to keep it all to yourself. I’m saying that I can be here for you. Bottling your feelings up the way you do isn’t healthy.”
He sounds so sincere, and Sungmin wants to believe that it would be all right, just this once, to let his iron-clad control slip a little bit. He wants to trust in Donghae’s words and forget the rest of the world exists. But he looks at Donghae, at his honest eyes and concerned expression.
And falters.
Sungmin wants to spill his secrets. He wishes he could be like Donghae and not care about whether the world sees him when he is at his most vulnerable, but he can’t let go. Not now, not after getting so far because he’s kept a lid on his emotions.
“Hae,” he starts. Is about to add another excuse to the mountains of others that he’s made up for different people over the years. Don’t get too close, don’t care too much, I’m doing ok, there’s nothing to worry about here. I’m fine, I’m not weak. “I —”
Sungmin doesn’t get any further. Donghae’s hands move up, and now they frame the sides of his face. They’re staring at each other now, and even though Donghae’s hands tremble and he looks more anxious than Sungmin has ever seen him, he’s not pulling away. Vaguely, Sungmin remembers the last time Donghae did this, in front of a screaming studio audience at the taping of Saturday Night Live. It was a gesture played for easy laughs, but now that there isn’t any audience to watch them, Sungmin can’t decide how to proceed.
“Stop it.” Donghae’s voice is hoarse. “Please stop trying to hide. I’m so tired of watching you beat yourself up because you don’t get one line in a song sung just right, or you haven’t spoken up enough on one of those stupid variety shows. Who the fuck cares? You can’t be so fucking perfect all the time. Stop acting like nothing’s wrong!”
“Why do you care so much, Hae?” A twist of frustration thrums through Sungmin. He tries to look away, but Donghae won’t let him. Sungmin knows he could easily break the hold. He should pull away. Instead he lashes out with words, which are harder to wield than the martial arts weapons he practices with, and more lethal. “Since when do you care what the fuck I think? Everyone else understands that I want to be left alone sometimes, so why can’t you?? Why do you keep doing asking! I’m fine! I don’t need anyone to talk to me about what I feel!”
Unbidden, Sungmin feels something roll down the side of his cheek. He raises his hand to swipe the tear away, but Donghae is there first, smudging it with his thumb. He does the same with the next tear, and then the one after that.
“For someone who’s supposed to be such a smart guy, you’re pretty oblivious, hyung.” This time Donghae does blush. He ducks his head.
Sungmin can’t stop himself. His tears are running over Donghae’s fingers, dripping off onto the bedsheets and now Donghae looks at him, fierce and determined. “Don’t you get it? Do you need me to spell it out for you nice and slow?”
Donghae leans in, and Sungmin closes his eyes, too afraid to hope for what comes next. He feels Donghae’s lips press against the wet trails his tears have left, light as a feather’s touch. Refuses to acknowledge the hope that rears in his chest.
“The others, they care about you a lot, Min. Everybody gets worried when you clam up like this. But I… I guess I care a bit more than the rest of them.” Donghae pauses to gather his thoughts. “I mean, I care a lot more. Maybe I haven’t always noticed because I’m kinda slow about these sorts of things. But I’m not blind. I can see what you’re going through trying to be Mr Perfect for the world. That’s the thing, though. No one cares if you slip up every now and again, okay? No one who matters.”
“Who believes the crap you spout?” Sungmin says, his voice very soft. “You’re such a silly idealist, Hae. Maybe you should try living in the real world with the rest of us. Stop watching those stupid Disney movies.”
He expects Donghae to be offended, to go away and forget he ever came in the first place.
Donghae sees right through him.
“Sure, I am silly. I’m not that good with the brainy stuff. I’ve got no problem admitting it.” Donghae smiles crookedly. “But you’re such a stubborn ass.”
Despite himself, Sungmin snorts. “Only a little.”
“Then give in to me for a change. It can just be for tonight, if you want, but I need you to stop trying so hard to be something you aren’t. One night, that’s all I’m asking.”
Again, Sungmin bites back an unnecessarily harsh remark. He takes a deep breath, meets Donghae’s eyes. “What do you want me to do?”
“Cry.” Donghae makes it sound so easy. “Cry on me. Stop hiding away from me, Min. Let go of being perfect.”
Sungmin’s laugh sounds choked to his own ears. “I — I don’t even know where to begin with telling you how ridiculous that sounds. Or kinky. That sounds really unnatural, you know. Crying on somebody; like some kind of fetish thing you read about in trashy novels.”
“Stop stalling.”
Donghae’s hands don’t leave his face, so Sungmin rolls his eyes and indicates that he has no idea how to start.
So Donghae leans close, his lips moving against the curve of Sungmin’s ear, the hair at the nape of his neck brushing Sungmin’s nose. He smells fresh and clean, harsh hotel shower gel mellowed by the subtle scent of his skin. Sungmin tells himself he’s only breathing in more deeply because he’s not used to having Donghae this near.
“Close your eyes, Minnie. Block out everything else.”
“It won’t work,” Sungmin mutters. But he does so anyway, allows Donghae to stroke fingers down his neck. In some corner of his brain, it registers that whatever they’re doing, it has long since crossed the bounds of platonic friendship. Sungmin thinks he’s fine with that, although he doesn’t know how he’s come to that conclusion.
“Try.” Donghae’s voice raises goosebumps on Sungmin’s skin. “I want you to forget about everything outside this hotel room. Tell me why you’ve been so quiet recently. It’s not just because you can’t speak the language, is it? There’s something more to it. You keep pretending to be cute and nervous, because that’s what you think the fans want to see. But you’re scared, aren’t you?”
Sungmin jerks back almost instinctively. Donghae can pretend to be clueless and immature and all the rest of it, but Sungmin hates how perceptive the other man can be when it’s least expected.
“I’m not scared.” Even as the words leave his mouth, they taste of a lie. To his credit, Donghae doesn’t call him out on it straight away. Instead, he nuzzles at Sungmin’s neck, draws a gasp from Sungmin’s lips.
“Tell me what you’re scared of.”
For a minute, Sungmin contemplates pushing Donghae away and asking him to get out. The impulse passes, and he finds himself opening his mouth, much to his surprise, the words escaping him in a sudden rush.
“I… I just — I hate the thought that the people watching see right through me, Hae. I keep thinking they’re waiting for me to slip up and say the wrong thing because I don’t understand the question. I mean, I don’t even know why they put me in M in the first place. You being here makes sense, Hae. You know how to talk to the girls. Siwon-ssi looks so handsome, Kyu and Wookie are the singers. Henry’s a loveable idiot and Mimi holds everything together. Hyukkie can dance, when he’s not trying to be clever. But what do I do? Nothing, Hae. I stand around looking cute. Sometimes I say I don’t understand anything, because it’s true. I hate that I can’t say that I’m fine. No one believes me when I say that in M.”
Sungmin doesn’t realise the tears are streaming down his face until one drips down onto his bare leg. He sniffs loudly, coughs.
“That’s why you don’t cry?” Donghae’s arms are winding themselves around Sungmin’s waist. He rests his head on Sungmin’s shoulder. “You think that’s too much of an admission that you’re struggling?”
“Maybe. Maybe I hate the thought of anyone getting upset because they see me crying. I know that it was a happy video they put up, but… I couldn’t do it, Hae. I don’t want them to see me like that. I wouldn’t be able to bear it. I’ve given so much to this company already… I don’t want every part of my life to be public.”
“Unlike the rest of us?” Donghae asks, and Sungmin thinks he could kick himself. Before he can apologise, Donghae says, “No, I think I see what you’re saying, Min.”
He doesn’t sound as though he’s being insincere. He’s not mocking Sungmin. Donghae’s just stating a simple fact. He understands Sungmin, and is passing no judgement.
With that realisation, Sungmin feels himself breaking down, the tension in his chest that chokes him each time he finds himself facing an expectant audience with nothing to say slowly melting away. Unable to stop himself, Sungmin buries his face in Donghae’s thick hair and finally lets out the sob that’s been strangling him. He cries and cries and cries, thinks of all the times he’s ever been unsure of himself, each time he’s read a bad review of one of their songs, seen an angry message from a fan on his blog because Sungmin never acknowledged the gift they sent, or been told how he has no real talent, is only in Super Junior to make up the numbers.
He thinks about how speaking Mandarin seems to reduce him to a stuttering wreck, how his few stock phrases learnt over two years ago have deserted him completely, how the fans stare in expectation, willing him to be the idol they’re all used to seeing onstage. Sungmin shakes in Donghae’s arms, feels Donghae holding him in some kind of death grip, Donghae’s man-boy scent assaulting his senses. He cries for what feels like an eternity, his deeply buried fear and anger finally being expressed through the sound of his sobs and his messy tears, each breath forcing out yet another painful memory. Still Donghae holds on, stubborn and immovable.
Something fundamental has changed; until now they’ve always been so careful around each other. Friendly, but alert to an unspoken agreement, an understanding. Sungmin thinks of how Donghae’s always around him, hovering but not making himself a nuisance. Affectionate, but never more than necessary. Who decided they had to be like this?
Don’t get too close.
Sometimes, after a concert and a few celebratory drinks, Donghae will snuggle too close in the minivan on the way back to the dorms, or he’ll hold Sungmin a little longer than he normally does. Other times Sungmin sits on Donghae’s lap because it makes the other members laugh and tease Donghae about getting a proper girlfriend whilst Donghae goes red and laughs feebly. Yet, they’ve never acted upon any of these secret hints or cues. There always seem to be too many issues and difficulties and other people in the way.
Now, though. Now they’re wrapped up in each other and Sungmin thinks about how comforting this is, how Donghae seems to know what he needs without him asking. His tears have soaked Donghae’s hair and trailed down his neck, glistening mutely. Sungmin’s arms have been hanging limply at his sides, but now, acting on impulse and little else, he traces one finger through the squiggly line of moisture he’s left on Donghae’s skin. After a while the sobs subside and his breathing slows down. Sungmin feels wrung out and hollow, drained of all emotion, and yet strangely refreshed, as though he’s just finished a long run in the rain.
“I…” He has to pause to catch his breath properly. Is proud when it doesn’t come out quite as shakily as he’d feared. He forces out a strained-sounding laugh.“I’m so sorry, Hae. I’ve wet your hair.”
Donghae mumbles something indistinct. Pulls himself upright and brushes at his eyes. If he didn’t feel so exhausted, Sungmin would laugh at the way Donghae’s eyes are so red, and how he’s making little hiccuping noises as he fights to get himself under control. Instead, Sungmin mirrors Donghae’s earlier gesture, smudging away tears with his thumbs.
“Damn it,” Donghae sounds annoyed. He shakes his head. “Min, this was about me comforting you, not the other way round!”
This time, Sungmin does laugh. “You’re such an incurable softie, Donghae-ssi. I wouldn’t expect any less from you.”
His thumb slides down and finds the corner of Donghae’s mouth. Sungmin doesn’t pause to think about what he’s doing — later, he will say that he was much too tired out by earlier events to think, even though Donghae will say that it is a lie — but pushes it against Donghae’s lips, only to gasp in surprise when Donghae’s tongue presses against the pad of his thumb.
They hold each other’s gaze for a long moment. Sungmin counts each beat of his heart, feels the time stretch out, anticipation clawing at him.
Stop thinking. He tells himself, only it’s not that simple. Not with several years’ worth of accumulated half-hearted signals and unspoken secrets piled up between them. Sungmin holds his breath, aching. Waiting for Donghae to do something, yelling at himself to move.
Then Donghae is yanking on Sungmin’s t-shirt, and they’re tumbling back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and they’re laughing like children, dazed from their mutual catharsis and heady with the nearness of each other. Sungmin ends up on his back, twisting and putting up only a token struggle as Donghae pins his hands above his head, his body arched over Sungmin’s, skin flushed with exertion.
He looks down at Sungmin, really looks, and his face goes solemn again. Donghae bends down nervously, reverentially, his lips brushing ever so lightly against Sungmin’s skin. His tongue darts out and he licks gently at the drying moisture that Sungmin’s tears left on his cheeks, tasting the flavour of Sungmin’s skin mingled with the saltiness of his tears. Donghae does this on one side of Sungmin’s face, drops kisses along Sungmin’s jaw to reach the other side, where he performs the same ritual.
All the time, Sungmin doesn’t move, too frightened by the thought that Donghae might actually stop and this magic might end if he so much as twitches a finger. Donghae’s lips tickle, and he wants to laugh, wants to make Donghae laugh with him. He wants this to last much longer than they have time for, wants Donghae to stay here with him, just like this, and have the world go on without them. They don’t speak to each other, and then Donghae pauses in his ministrations.
Sungmin takes the chance to catch Donghae’s lips with his own. They kiss tentatively, and Sungmin can feel the tension in Donghae’s body, as if he’s uncertain about what Sungmin’s reaction would be. So Sungmin places his hands on Donghae’s shoulders, pulls him down, even as his tongue sweeps into Donghae’s mouth. They kiss more deeply; Sungmin can taste the salt of his tears on Donghae’s tongue. It excites him more than he expects. His fingers dig in, holding Donghae tight.
After being emptied out by his crying, now Sungmin feels as though he’s being filled up with so much heat. Perhaps he should be frightened at how fast things are progressing, but he isn’t. He isn’t scared at all. There are a thousand things pulsing through his head, but they all strangely coalesce into one urgent thought.
He wants Donghae.
Fortunately, Donghae seems to have come to this same conclusion. They fight with clothes, Sungmin nearly tearing off Donghae’s flimsy top and pushing down his own shorts, tossing aside random items of clothing until nothing separates them and they are pressed flush against each other’s bodies. Sungmin murmurs in appreciation as his fingers map the smooth curve of Donghae’s back, moans loudly when Donghae uses his lips and tongue and starts a tortuously slow exploration of his neck and shoulders. He hears Donghae whisper something about wanting this for the longest time, how he’s so sorry that he’s such a failure with the proper words, and if he’d had time to really think about what he wanted to say…
Then, just as suddenly as they fell together, Donghae stops. Gets off Sungmin and sits back on his heels, his brow furrowed and his lip stuck out in what Sungmin recognises as his thinking expression.
“Wait — wait,” it sounds as though Donghae’s in pain, but when Sungmin starts to ask what’s wrong, Donghae puts a hand up. He looks adorable when he’s confused.
“Min, I think you’re amazing. Like, I feel like I’m going mad when you get all upset because you think you’ve failed at learning Mandarin or whatever. You’re so much better than you think you are. Shit, you want to know what your purpose here is? It’s giving us someone to follow, to look up to. You work so hard at trying to be better, Min. All of us see that, I wish you could too. Fuck. Ah, I’m not good at this word thing… So here it is: I think you’re incredible. Amazing. Incredibly amazing, okay? I want you. I want you so bad… I mean. You’ve probably noticed, huh?”
Sungmin says nothing. He has noticed, of course. Though he’s never allowed himself to hope as much as he is hoping now. Instead, he smiles at Donghae, hoping it’s reassuring, and is heartened when Donghae smiles back.
“Okay… Okay. Here goes; I want you, but I’m not gonna push it, Min. I’m not that kind of bastard. I know you’ve been through a rough couple of weeks with all these promotions for M. So… I can leave if you’re not sure about this. About us. Or I can stay. It can even be just for tonight if you want. Or…”
Donghae trails off and blushes. “I meant what I said about helping you, Min. No one should have to carry all that crap on his own and not let it out. What I just said about me wanting you, though? That can wait a while. I know you’ll probably want to take it slow and that’s fine, I —”
Sungmin can’t take it anymore. He tugs on Donghae’s hand, places it on his chest. Takes the other hand, slides it lower down his body. For the first time in a long while, his mind seems crystal clear. Sungmin’s not certain about many things in his life, least of all the future, but he’s sure about what’s going to happen right now.
“Hae?”
“Yeah?” Donghae looks awestruck, his hand already sliding down the curve of Sungmin’s ass, their hips moulding together as if they’ve done this a hundred times before, his lips enticingly close.
“Shut up; it can definitely be longer than just tonight. Now, stop talking and kiss me again.”
***
Tomorrow is a new day.