Chapter 1: A Feast of Wanting
The key turned in the lock with a scrape of metal on metal.
Donghae didn’t move from his perch on the kitchen counter. The cold marble seeped through his thin sleep pants. He leaned back on his palms, the muscles in his arms flexing, and let the pendant lamp above paint his bare chest in warm gold and long, distorted shadows. The remains of his earlier, solitary dinner sat beside him—a cardboard container of cold tteokbokki, a half-drunk glass of red wine. He’d reheated it, but eating alone had tasted like nothing.
The door swung open.
Hyukjae stepped in, shoulders slumped with a familiar, tired grace. He dropped his keys into the ceramic bowl by the door with a definitive clink, the sound echoing in the quiet apartment. He shrugged off his jacket, not yet looking up.
“Took you long enough.”
Hyukjae’s head snapped up. His eyes widened, taking in the scene: Donghae, shirtless, draped over the counter like a offering. The tired lines on his face softened, replaced by something warmer, more surprised.
“You’re here,” Hyukjae said, his voice a little rough from disuse.
“Where else would I be?” Donghae purred. He shifted, spreading his thighs just enough on the marble to make Hyukjae’s gaze drop and his breath hitch. A slow smile spread across Donghae’s face. “Come here. Worship me properly. I’ve been waiting.”
Hyukjae let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking his head. He crossed the space, his socked feet silent on the floor. “Worship you? Your ego’s gonna crack the ceiling.”
“You love my ego.”
“I tolerate it.”
Hyukjae stopped between Donghae’s knees. His hands came up to rest on Donghae’s bare hips, thumbs brushing the sharp lines of bone. His touch was electric, a direct current after hours of static loneliness.
“You’re cold,” Hyukjae murmured.
“You’re warm.”
Donghae hooked his ankles behind Hyukjae’s back, pulling him closer until their bodies aligned. He could feel the coarse weave of Hyukjae’s sweater against his skin, the solid heat beneath it. He brought a hand up, cupping the back of Hyukjae’s neck, fingers threading into the short hair there.
“Missed you,” Donghae whispered, all the earlier teasing gone from his voice, replaced by a raw, simple truth.
Hyukjae’s eyes searched his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. The silence was too loud. The apartment… I could see nothing in this chapter without you in it.”
The words hung between them, more intimate than any touch. Hyukjae leaned his forehead against Donghae’s, their noses brushing. He smelled of outside air, his own subtle cologne, and a faint trace of studio sweat.
“Pretty sappy,” Hyukjae whispered, but he was smiling.
“You love it.”
“I do.”
The kiss started slow, a soft press of lips, a re-acquaintance. Donghae tasted the faint remnant of coffee on Hyukjae’s tongue. Then it deepened, fueled by the hours of waiting, by the sheer, stupid joy of having him here, in his arms, real and present. Donghae’s hands slid up into Hyukjae’s hair, angling his head, claiming his mouth with a fervor that made them both gasp.
Hyukjae’s hands left his hips, sliding around to his back, pulling him impossibly closer until there was no space, no separation, just the frantic meeting of mouths and the hard line of the counter digging into Donghae’s thigh.
When they broke apart, panting, foreheads still pressed together, the world had narrowed to this pool of golden light, the hum of the refrigerator, the sound of their shared breath.
“Welcome home,” Donghae breathed.
Hyukjae’s smile was quiet, brilliant. “Yeah.” He traced the line of Donghae’s jaw with his thumb. “This is what I was thinking about all day. Just this.”
“Just this?”
“Well. Maybe a little more than this.” Hyukjae’s thumb brushed over Donghae’s lower lip. “But this is a really good start.”
Donghae captured his thumb between his teeth, biting down gently, watching Hyukjae’s eyes darken. “I had plans, you know. Big plans. For your return.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm. Starting with getting you out of these clothes.” He plucked at Hyukjae’s sweater.
“Your plans sound suspiciously like my plans.”
“Great minds.”
Hyukjae kissed him again, softer this time, a silent agreement. When he pulled back, his expression shifted, a shadow of the day’ fatigue returning at the edges. “I need a shower. I smell like a studio and regret.”
“I like the way you smell.”
“You’re biased.”
“And horny. Don’t forget horny.”
Hyukjae laughed, a real, full-bodied sound that filled the kitchen. “Noted.” He disentangled himself from Donghae’s limbs, his hands trailing down Donghae’s arms until their fingers linked. “Give me ten minutes.”
“Five.”
“Seven.”
“Deal.”
He watched Hyukjae walk toward the bathroom, the familiar shape of him moving through the dim hallway. Just before he disappeared, Hyukjae glanced back over his shoulder, a soft, unguarded look on his face. “Don’t move.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
The bathroom door clicked shut. The shower started, a distant rush of water.
Donghae stayed on the counter, listening. The faint scent of spicy ramen and his own lonely night still hung in the air, but it was being overtaken, moment by moment, by the promise of steam and Hyukjae’s skin. He looked down at his own hands, then at the empty space between his legs where Hyukjae had just stood. The apartment, which had felt like a set of empty stages before, now simply felt like a home waiting for its other occupant to finish washing the world away.
He slid off the counter, his bare feet meeting the cool floor. He picked up the glass of wine, finishing the last swallow in one gulp. The bitter tang burst on his tongue.
Seven minutes. He could wait seven more minutes. He’d waited years, after all.
He walked to the bathroom door, leaning against the frame. Through the fogged glass, he could see the blur of Hyukjae’s shape. He closed his eyes, just listening, and let the warmth from under the door seep into his skin.
When Hyukjae emerged, hair damp and skin flushed pink, a towel slung low on his hips, Donghae was there. He didn’t say a word. He just reached out, took Hyukjae’s hand, and led him toward the bedroom, the silent dark beyond the kitchen’s gold light.
Hyukjae followed, his fingers laced tightly with Donghae’s. “No more waiting?” he asked, his voice a low murmur in the hallway.
“No,” Donghae said, pushing the bedroom door open. “No more waiting.”