Chapter 1: Waiting and Wanting
The kitchen smelled of garlic and slow-cooked meat, the steam from the pot fogging the window where the afternoon sun cut through in thick, golden bars. Donghae hummed, a tuneless little thing, as his hands moved through the warm tangle of laundry fresh from the dryer. His fingers found the sleeves of Hyukjae’s grey shirt, the one with the tiny thread pull on the collar he kept meaning to fix. He folded it with a surgeon’s care, tucking the arms in, smoothing the cotton over his knee. He imagined the weight of Hyukjae’s shoulders filling it, the way the fabric would stretch across his back.
A key scratched in the front door lock.
Donghae’s heart did its usual, familiar leap. He set the shirt down on the pile, his smile already forming.
Boots scuffed on the entryway tile, heavy and slow. Then Hyukjae was there, framed in the kitchen doorway. He looked carved from dust and shadow, the sun catching the fine grit on his knees, the tired lines at the corners of his eyes. He dropped his bag with a thud that seemed too loud for the quiet kitchen.
“Hey,” Hyukjae said. His voice was rougher than usual, worn thin.
“Hey you.” Donghae crossed the space between them, not running, but moving with a purpose. He wrapped his arms around Hyukjae’s waist, pressed his face into the cool leather of his jacket. He smelled of outside—of concrete, exhaust, and a distant, dry wind. Underneath it was the familiar scent of his skin, but fainter, like it was hiding. “Long one?”
“Mm.” Hyukjae’s arms came around him, a solid pressure, but his hug felt like an afterthought. His hands patted Donghae’s back twice before falling away. “Something like that.”
Donghae leaned back, keeping his hands on Hyukjae’s hips. He searched his face. “You okay?”
“Just tired. Starving.” Hyukjae attempted a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. He peeled off his jacket, letting it drop over the back of a chair. “Smells good in here.”
“It’s your stew. The one you like.” Donghae turned back to the pot, giving him space. He lifted the lid, releasing a richer cloud of aromatic steam. “Sit. I’ll get you a bowl.”
He listened to the sounds of Hyukjae settling—the creak of a chair, the soft sigh as he sat. Donghae ladled the stew, careful to get extra meat, the potatoes he knew Hyukjae favored. He set the bowl down in front of him, along with a spoon and a glass of cold water.
“Thanks.” Hyukjae picked up the spoon. He stared into the bowl, his gaze distant.
Donghae went back to folding. He picked up the grey shirt again. “How was the site? The foundation poured okay?”
“It was fine. Everything’s fine.” Hyukjae took a bite, chewing mechanically. “This is good.”
The words hung in the air, flat and final. Donghae folded a pair of socks, rolling them into a tight ball. The quiet between them wasn’t the comfortable kind they usually shared. This one had edges. It was filled with the clink of Hyukjae’s spoon against the ceramic, the rustle of fabric, the distant thrum of the city outside.
After a few minutes, Hyukjae pushed the half-empty bowl away. “I’m gonna grab a shower. All over dust.”
“Sure.” Donghae watched him stand, his movements stiff. “I’ll be here.”
Hyukjae paused, his hand on the doorframe. He looked back, his expression softening for a fleeting second. “I know you will.”
He left the room. The shower kicked on, a distant roar.
Donghae stood over the abandoned stew bowl. He picked up Hyukjae’s spoon, still slick with broth, and set it in the sink. His fingers traced the rim of the bowl. He looked at the laundry, at the perfectly folded grey shirt waiting for its owner.
He walked to the bathroom door. Stood outside it, listening to the water drum against the tile. He thought about knocking, about stepping into the steam and just holding him, feeling the heat of the water and the solidness of him until whatever was clinging to him washed down the drain.
His hand raised, then fell back to his side.
He returned to the kitchen. He emptied the bowl, washed it clean, dried it, put it away. He finished folding the laundry, stacking Hyukjae’s clothes into a neat, careful tower on the table. He wiped the counters until they shone.
The shower stopped. The house was silent, save for the drip of a faucet and the low hum of the refrigerator.
Hyukjae emerged in a cloud of steam, a towel around his waist, his hair dark and dripping. He looked cleaner, but the exhaustion was still there, etched deeper now without the layer of dirt.
“Feel better?” Donghae asked, leaning against the counter.
“A bit.” Hyukjae’s eyes fell on the stacked clothes. His shirt on top. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
“I wanted to.”
Hyukjae walked over, the floorboards cool under his bare feet. He stopped close enough that Donghae could smell the clean, sharp scent of his soap. He reached out and took Donghae’s hand, lacing their fingers together. His thumb stroked over Donghae’s knuckles.
“Sorry,” Hyukjae said, his voice low. “Today was just… a lot.”
“You don’t have to talk about it.” Donghae squeezed his hand. “But you can. If you want.”
Hyukjae was quiet for a long moment, his eyes on their joined hands. He shook his head, a barely-there movement. “Later, maybe.” He leaned in, his forehead coming to rest against Donghae’s shoulder. Not a hug, but a lean. A weight surrendered.
Donghae wrapped his free arm around him, holding him up. He pressed his lips to Hyukjae’s damp temple. He could feel the tension humming through him, a live wire barely insulated.
“I’m here,” Donghae whispered into his skin, the same two words, his only mantra.
Hyukjae nodded against his shoulder. He took a deep, shuddering breath that sounded like it came from a great distance. When he straightened, his mask was back in place, the edges sealed tighter. “I’m gonna get dressed. Then maybe we could just… watch something. Nothing with talking.”
“Yeah,” Donghae said. “Anything.”
Hyukjae picked up the pile of clothes, his fingers brushing over the folded grey shirt. He gave Donghae a look he couldn’t quite decipher—gratitude, maybe, and something like regret—before he turned and walked down the hall to the bedroom.
Donghae stood in the sunlit kitchen, the golden light now stretching long across the floor. He listened to the quiet sounds of Hyukjae dressing. The stew aroma had faded, replaced by the lingering clean scent of laundry and soap.
Everything was in its place. The house was orderly, peaceful, warm.
And yet, a cold, slender finger traced a path down his spine. He had wiped the counters and folded the fear into neat, manageable squares, but it was still there, stacked on the table. Waiting. He looked at his own hands, at the simple, domestic world they maintained, and for the first time that day, he felt a tremor in them.
Something was wrong. Something was not right with Hyukjae, and the not-knowing was a hollow space beginning to open up inside their warm, sunlit kitchen.
Something was not right with Hyukjae, and the not-knowing was a hollow space beginning to open up inside their warm, sunlit kitchen.
Donghae shook his head, a quick, sharp motion. He was being an idiot. Hyukjae was just tired. The man worked his body to the bone every day. Sometimes he came home talkative, buzzing with stories about the crew. Sometimes he came home like this, quiet and inward, all his energy spent on just holding up walls and making things level. It didn’t mean anything was wrong. It meant he was home.
Donghae took a deep breath, the tightness in his chest loosening. He finished wiping the counter, folded the dishcloth neatly over the faucet. Then he walked to the bedroom.
The door was ajar. Hyukjae was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in the soft grey cotton pants Donghae had just folded. He was staring at his own hands, turning them over as if reading a map written on his palms.
“Hey,” Donghae said softly.
Hyukjae looked up. The distant look was gone, replaced by something warmer, more present. A little sheepish. “Hey.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
A real smile, then. Tired at the edges, but genuine. “Yeah. I’m just… drained. Empty. But I’m here now.” He patted the space beside him. “C’mere.”
Donghae went, the mattress dipping under his weight. He sat close, their thighs touching. He reached over and took one of Hyukjae’s hands, threading their fingers together. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss to the knuckles, over the faint scars and calluses. “You don’t have to be anything but here.”
Hyukjae let out a long, slow breath, his shoulders sinking. He turned his head, his nose brushing Donghae’s temple. “I missed you today.”
“You saw me this morning.”
“Still missed you.” Hyukjae’s voice was a low rumble. He nuzzled into the soft hair at Donghae’s neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell like home. Laundry and stew.”
Donghae shivered at the contact. He turned his face, their lips a breath apart. “You smell like my soap.”
“Is that okay?”
“It’s my favorite scent on you.”
The kiss started slow, a gentle press. A rediscovery. Hyukjae’s hand came up to cradle Donghae’s jaw, his thumb stroking his cheekbone. The tiredness was still there, but it had transformed, melted into a deep, yielding warmth. The kiss deepened, Hyukjae’s tongue tracing the seam of Donghae’s lips, and he opened for him with a soft sigh.
It was all the invitation Hyukjae needed. He shifted, his body turning, pressing Donghae back gently onto the bed. He settled over him, his weight a familiar and welcome anchor. The kiss turned hungry, languid but intense, all soft lips and searching hands. Donghae slid his hands under Hyukjae’s shirt, relearning the landscape of his back, the firm muscle, the dip of his spine.
Hyukjae broke the kiss, breathing heavily. He looked down at Donghae, his eyes dark. “I was quiet tonight.”
“I know.”
“I just needed a minute to shut the world off. To remember what matters.” He leaned down, kissing the corner of Donghae’s mouth, his cheek, his jaw. “It’s you. It’s always just you.”
The words dissolved the last of the hollow feeling, filling the space with a glowing, certain heat. Donghae arched up, sealing their mouths together again. His hands pushed the shirt up, and Hyukjae pulled it off, tossing it aside. The late afternoon sun painted gold over his shoulders, his arms.
Donghae traced the lines of him, his touch reverent. “My turn,” he whispered, sitting up enough to peel his own shirt off. Hyukjae’s hands were immediately on him, skimming over his ribs, his stomach, pulling him closer until they were skin to skin, chest to chest. The feeling was electric, a circuit completed.
They moved together in the dusty sunlight, a slow, steady rhythm of touch and kiss and whispered reassurance. There was no hurry. The world outside, the one of dust and noise, ceased to exist. Here, there was only the slide of skin, the catch of breath, the creak of the bed, and the low, sweet sounds they drew from each other.
Later, tangled in the sheets, the room darkening to twilight, Donghae lay with his head on Hyukjae’s chest. He listened to the strong, steady beat of his heart under his ear. Hyukjae’s fingers were combing through his hair, slow and rhythmic.
“The stew really was good,” Hyukjae murmured, his voice thick with spent pleasure and approaching sleep. “I’ll eat the rest tomorrow. Promise.”
Donghae smiled against his skin. “I’ll warm it up for you.”
Hyukjae’s arm tightened around him. “And the shirt. You folded it perfect.”
“I always do.”
Hyukjae hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest. He was already slipping away, his breathing deepening. His hand stilled in Donghae’s hair. “Love you,” he breathed, the words barely audible.
Donghae closed his eyes. The kitchen was quiet, the house was still, and the man in his arms was simply, beautifully, tired. He pressed a final kiss over Hyukjae’s heart.
“I know,” he whispered back.
“I know,” he whispered back.
Donghae woke to sunlight and the smell of coffee. The space beside him was warm but empty. He heard the low murmur of Hyukjae’s voice from the other room, the cadence sharp and professional, followed by a short, crisp laugh that wasn’t the one he knew.
He padded out to the kitchen. Hyukjae was at the counter, phone to his ear, dressed in tailored charcoal slacks and a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked like a different man from the one who had collapsed into bed last night. His posture was straight, his free hand gesturing precisely as he spoke about deliverables and timelines. A successful businessman who had been away for a while.
Hyukjae saw him, and his entire face changed. The corporate mask dissolved into a smile so bright it made the morning sun look weak. He winked, holding up a just-a-minute finger.
“Yeah, Kim, email me the deck. I’ll gut it before noon.” Hyukjae’s tone was final. He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the counter. It clattered against the marble. “The vultures are already circling,” he said, but he was grinning.
“You’re up early,” Donghae said, his voice still rough with sleep.
“I’m on Seoul time again. And I have a priority mission this morning.” Hyukjae crossed the room in three strides. He didn’t kiss him. Instead, he swept a hand under Donghae’s knees and the small of his back, lifting him clear off the floor with a grunt of effort.
Donghae yelped, clutching at his shoulders. “What are you doing? Put me down, you maniac!”
“Mission parameters are clear,” Hyukjae said, staggering theatrically towards the bedroom. “Subject must be returned to bed for optimal comfort levels.” He pretended to trip over nothing, sending Donghae’s heart into his throat before righting himself with a chuckle. “Transport is slightly defective. Recall might be issued.”
Donghae laughed, the sound bursting out of him, free and unexpected. He felt Hyukjae’s arms tighten around him at the sound.
“There it is,” Hyukjae murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He laid Donghae back onto the rumpled sheets with exaggerated care, then followed him down, bracing himself on his elbows. He hovered there, his face inches away. “That’s the fuel. Morning, baby.”
He wasn’t moody. The grey emptiness of last night was gone, burned away by sleep and purpose. This was the Hyukjae he knew. The one who filled spaces.
“You’re ridiculous,” Donghae said, still smiling.
“For you? Always.” Hyukjae dipped his head, catching Donghae’s bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently before soothing it with his tongue. It was a kiss that started slow and sweet, a languid good morning. But Hyukjae’s hand was already moving, sliding under Donghae’s thin t-shirt, spreading wide over his ribs. His thumb stroked a slow arc just below his pectoral.
Donghae arched into the touch. “Mission, huh?”
“Critical mission.” Hyukjae kissed the line of his jaw, his breath hot. “Intel suggests a certain someone was worried last night. That he did a lot of folding.” He mouthed at Donghae’s throat, sucking lightly. “My job is to unravel him.”
He moved down, peeling the shirt up and off, tossing it aside. The morning air was cool on Donghae’s skin, but Hyukjae’s mouth was warmer. He mapped a path down Donghae’s sternum, his tongue dipping into the hollow at its base. His hands smoothed over Donghae’s hips, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his sleep pants and drawing them down, achingly slow.
Donghae’s breathing hitched. This was different from last night. Last night was about reconnection, about solace. This was deliberate. A campaign.
Hyukjae looked up, his eyes dark. “Just lie there,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. “Your only job is to feel good. Can you do that for me?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He took Donghae into his mouth, and Donghae cried out, his fingers flying to tangle in Hyukjae’s soft hair. Hyukjae hummed in approval, the vibration shooting straight up Donghae’s spine.
It was relentless. Hyukjae worked him with a focus that was almost devout, his hands pinning Donghae’s hips to the mattress, his mouth a slick, perfect pressure. Every flick of his tongue, every deep pull, was calculated to dismantle. Donghae felt himself climbing too fast, a coil winding tight in his gut.
“H-Hyuk—wait, I’m gonna—”
Hyukjae pulled off with a wet sound, blowing cool air over the heated skin. He kissed the inside of Donghae’s thigh, nipping lightly. “Not yet,” he chided softly. “We’re just getting started.” He reached over to the bedside drawer, the movement fluid. The snick of a cap was loud in the quiet room.
The first slick touch of Hyukjae’s fingers made Donghae gasp. Hyukjae watched his face, his own breathing shallow, as he worked him open with a torturous, gentle patience. He crooned nonsense praises, his other hand stroking Donghae’s flank. “That’s it. So good for me. You take it so pretty.”
When he finally sank into him, it was with a groan that seemed ripped from his core. He buried his face in Donghae’s neck, his body trembling with the effort of moving slow. “God, I missed this,” he gritted out. “Missed you. Every damn day.”
He began to move, a deep, rolling rhythm that had Donghae seeing stars. Hyukjae shifted his angle, pulling Donghae’s leg over his shoulder, and the next thrust punched a sob from Donghae’s throat.
“Right there?” Hyukjae asked, a grin in his voice. He did it again, and again, his pace steady, unyielding. “That’s the spot. I remember.”
He leaned down, capturing Donghae’s mouth, swallowing his moans. The kiss was messy, desperate. Hyukjae’s hand slid between them, wrapping around Donghae, his stroke perfectly in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming. Donghae was babbling, a stream of yes and please and Hyukjae’s name.
“Look at me,” Hyukjae breathed.
Donghae forced his eyes open. Hyukjae’s gaze was locked on him, fierce, unwavering. Sweat dripped from his temple onto Donghae’s cheek. He was completely in control, driving them both towards the edge with a focused intensity. But in his eyes, there was a raw, unfiltered joy. This was his fuel. The sounds he was pulling from Donghae. The sight of him coming apart.
“Let go,” Hyukjae commanded, his voice rough. “I’ve got you. I always have you.”
The coil snapped. Pleasure tore through Donghae, blinding and total, wrenching a shout from him that echoed off the walls. He felt Hyukjae’s rhythm stutter, then fall apart, a deep groan shuddering through him as he followed, his own release punching through his controlled facade.
For a long time, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Hyukjae collapsed beside him, pulling Donghae halfway on top of him, their legs tangled, skin slick.
The smell of coffee and sex hung in the air. Sunlight pooled on the floor, having climbed higher up the wall.
Hyukjae pressed a kiss to Donghae’s damp hair. “Mission accomplished,” he whispered, his chest still heaving.
Donghae laughed, a breathless, shattered sound. He felt boneless, unraveled exactly as promised.