hismelody | I'm on waves, out being tossed

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I'm on waves, out being tossed

Eventually, the lack of sleep was always going to catch up to him. Through three sleepless nights, or at least mostly sleepless, S knew it, exhaustion increasing, though easy enough to push past with so much else to focus on. Still, it was only ever a temporary solution at best, nothing that could have lasted much longer than it did. With that being the case, it shouldn't be such a surprise when, after that third night, on their third full day together, he hits a wall, no longer able to keep his eyes open, drifting off while sitting on the couch. He isn't expecting it all the same, though even that, he barely registers, just as he's only half-aware of J ushering him back to bed, too tired to protest or to focus on why he should.

It's different when he wakes up. S grew accustomed a long time ago to sleeping and waking up alone, though it was one of the most difficult things about all that solitude, no longer having a warm body beside him at such times. He and J shared a bed for years, even before their relationship became more than platonic, cuddling together for warmth in the one bed in their small studio when the weather began to change. Of course, he felt it then, the beginning of something more, and it wasn't all that long after that they admitted their feelings for each other, but they spent ages like that. Even when they fought, even when J would barely speak to him, he still had the anchor of J's presence at his side, the distance sometimes easier to breach that way. It was comforting, always, but like so much else, he never thought he would lose it until he did.

He had months, though, after J left, after J died. At some point, following the former, it just became routine, as sad and empty as everything else about his life, J's absence as tangible as it ever was to be with him. It shouldn't, then, have taken only three nights to change that. They've hardly been apart in that time, though, save for brief moments of one going into another room for something or other. He's spent every night holding J as he slept, so overwhelmingly grateful to be able to do so, determined to do anything in his power to keep him safe.

So, when S wakes up distinctly alone, disoriented and unaware even of how long he's been asleep, the first thing he feels is cold, sheer terror.

For moments — sometimes hours, even — at a time, he's managed not to dwell on it. It's always been there, though, never too far from his thoughts, always ready to creep back in, the memory of how J sounded that first day on his couch, what S was so fucking scared he might do, J's promise not to stay, but to try. Even that was more than S could have asked for, and yet he knows it's not a guarantee, either. And while the past couple of days have been good more often than not, there's no telling what might happen with J alone, left to his own thoughts. Believing that a couple of decent days would be enough to override all that darkness would be entirely too naïve, even for S; it isn't as if he ever stood a chance against it before, and things are far worse now than they ever were then, even if, in some ways, they're better, too. He doesn't know how long it's been, he doesn't know what might have happened, and it's too much, his chest so tight that it feels like he can't breathe. Despite still being tired and out of sorts, it takes him only moments to pull himself out of bed, trying not to move quite as frantically as he feels but unable to take his time about it.

Not so very long ago at all, he woke up to find out, not very long after, that J was already gone. Now, as he moves out of the bedroom and down the hall, he silently prays to whatever deities might exist that he won't be too late again. He only just got J back. He isn't at all ready to lose him again.

He's dimly aware of a few things — muffled noise that he can't distinguish, the fact that the bathroom door is still open and the light off, which is something of a relief in its own right, though he doesn't really feel it until he rounds the corner and sees J sitting on the couch, watching TV. Overwhelmed and breathless, trembling with worry, he presses his free hand to his chest, the other resting against the wall for support he's surprised to realize how much he needs. "You're alright," he finally manages to say, though it's more to himself than anything else, his voice so small he's not even sure it will be fully audible over the sound of whatever J is watching. He doesn't care, just taking in the sight of him, mercifully alive and alright, relief mingling with the panic he can't yet shake off.

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It scares J now, how big he dreams. He knows how that ended before, and he's always wanted so much. Faced with the prospect of outlining another one, even an idle fantasy, he finds himself hesitating a moment, having to remind himself it's alright. Though he's always had grand ambitions, he's also known that part of what prompted him to want so much was knowing that he would likely never get any of it. A house has never seemed like an actual possibility. Maybe, maybe, if he'd fulfilled his dreams as a composer, he might one day have been able to make it happen, but it's always felt like something contingent on so much else having to go right first, and if it doesn't seem possible, if it doesn't feel almost but not quite in reach, then it can't be as dangerous as something he could have if only. There's nothing about a house to kill for.

Why S still looks at him like his dreams are something good about him, he doesn't know. They frighten him now.

But a house, a house might be okay.

"It's nothing fancy," he says, prodding around a piece of bulgogi. "A little one, just on the edge of town, I think, so it's quiet but not far from everything. Just a couple of bedrooms, so we can use one for... whatever we want to do that week." He huffs out a laugh and takes another bite. Though his true passion has never wavered, there are plenty of things he might have liked to try if he'd had the time or the money to indulge in new interests. Maybe now he can. "With a kitchen as big as this one, and a nice bathroom. Maybe... a little garden. I don't think I'd be any good with plants, but it'd be nice to have some flowers. Trees, like I said, to hide behind, and a porch to sit on." He could, he knows, go on. Once he starts spinning dreams, it's easy to get swept up in them, especially when he's sharing them with S, but he wants S to be able to chime in. Also he wants some more tteokbokki, so he picks up a bit, and nods to S. "What else?"

S smiles as he listens, soft and affectionate and a bit more relaxed. At least for the moment, it seems like this was the right choice after all, something to focus on besides what's obviously gone unspoken. Even now, he has to bite that back — his instinctive answer, if they're talking about a dream house, is still a piano, maybe space enough for two pianos so they can both play without having to take turns, despite the fact that he barely plays anymore and would give it up in a heartbeat for J's sake — but it's easier to redirect his own thoughts, easier not to question if it would be better to talk about it or better not to. Simple as all of it may be, he wants this so much, all the more so for hearing J say it. J's dreams were always grander than his, but his own were the more domestic, dreams about their future rather than his career. Even more than it ever was before, that's all he could want now, a chance to have the life together that was stolen from them the first time around.

"Let's see," he says, lips pursed in exaggerated thoughtfulness. There isn't much else that comes to mind, really; there isn't anything else he could ask for. He almost says as much, but since J has started this, he figures he can reach a little further, dream a little bigger in turn. "A TV," he decides. "But a really nice one. Ah, they make them so big now, with a picture so clear. I've seen some in store windows. We'll have one of those."

Pausing for a bite of food, he considers what else they could have in this house of theirs, trying to stay within the same realm of not impossible but not immediately within their grasp. "Some kind of spare room," he adds. "Like a study or something. One that's all yours, so you have somewhere to go when you need space. And... a nice tub in that nice bathroom. A big, deep one."

Even this TV is nicer than anything J has had before; it's a novelty to have one at all, after months in that quiet room on campus with only a radio and his failures for company. He likes the idea of it, though, if only because it's something they could do together, curling up on the couch and watching whatever nonsense comes on.

It's the rest that touches him, though, his smile soft, faintly grateful. In another time, another life, he knows what he would put in a study. In this one, it matters more to him that S put it in these terms than any notion of what he would do in it. "All of that," he agrees. "A tub so big we could just rest in it together without being cramped. And — and it would be good, a room like that, where... if I need to be alone, I can just... close the door." It wouldn't have to be more than that. He doesn't need to be able to lock the door or anything, and he thinks S would feel better if he can't, though maybe that's bringing too much reality into the dream. But if he needed that space, it would be good to have a way to signal as much gently, especially if he doesn't feel like speaking. It isn't like he doesn't want S's company specifically. There are just times when he needs to be entirely on his own, at least for a little while, and he knows S knows that, but still, with how he cruelly he behaved before, it helps to hear S suggest this, gives him hope that he might be able to take those moments in time he needs without S taking it personally. There was a time when he wouldn't have, but J is gradually adjusting to the understanding that he made that difficult.

"Just until I feel like a person again," he says wryly, though sometimes the problem is that he feels far too much of a person. He gives a little gasp as a thought occurs to him which isn't actually dramatic at all. "Yah, you know what else we should have? A washer and dryer in the house." They have it in the basement here, but even that is a luxury to J. He's never once had that kind of thing for his very own. Most of his life, he washed his clothes by hand — or, really, very often his mother did it while he was at school — and they hung it up to dry, or else they walked to a laundromat. But if he gets to build a dream for them, then it's going to be one where they don't have to make their way into town or wherever every time they run out of clean clothes and sheets.

There was a time when S wouldn't have thought much of that at all. Even at their best, it wasn't always easy to be living on top of each other, with no real way of having any privacy, and J needed that more than he did, he thinks. Having a spare room probably wouldn't have saved their relationship when everything began to unravel, but it couldn't have hurt. Back then — before then — if he could have afforded a bigger apartment for them, he would have done it in a heartbeat. He was so at home in their little studio, and he never really felt like he needed more, but it certainly wouldn't have hurt. He knows J, anyway, knows that sometimes he just needs to be alone.

He knew that, anyway. Now, it's more like he has to remind himself of it. Despite having the one to suggest it, despite J's response being largely what he would have expected, he still has to stop and tell himself that it isn't personal, that it wouldn't be about J needing to get away from him, just needing space, nothing more simple or more complicated than that. In a proper house, with more rooms, maybe it would just start feeling natural, anyway. Maybe, given enough time together, he won't be so fucking clingy, wanting to spend every moment at J's side, as if needing to be assured of his continued existence.

Thoughtful, he then brightens at J's suggestion, nodding in agreement. "We should," he says. "That would save so much trouble." Not having to go to a laundromat or even just down to the basement, it wouldn't feel like nearly as bothersome a task, something they could do in their own space, on their own time. They wouldn't have to save change or make sure to have a set of clean sheets on hand if they could do laundry at home as needed, too. "I'd really like that," he adds, warmer. "A place that's just our own."

They may never get that. As much as J would love for this to be real, he knows that might not be possible. Houses cost more money than he could ever dream of saving at the kind of work he's done before, and he's suited for even less now. Even if he could still pursue music, that's hardly a career likely to make him rich by any stretch of the imagination. He hasn't finished college and he can't even wrap his head around the idea of ever going back, even if he could attain a scholarship, and he jumps at shadows. Odds are, they'll never have more than an apartment.

But this apartment is more than they had in Seoul. Being here at all, alive and physically well, with the man he loves, he would have made do with a place as small as they had before. He can't pretend, though, that it doesn't help that they have more space here, even as he knows he won't be able to take advantage of that for a while. He's not all that inclined to be away from S for long anyway, and he thinks S needs his presence even more.

"It would be nice," he agrees. "Close enough to town it isn't an ordeal to get groceries, but somewhere quiet and calm." He laughs softly. "Where we can make as much noise as we want without pissing off the neighbors." He arches an eyebrow, giving S a significant glance. Here, at least, without any piano on hand and the pair of them currently not inclined to argue, there's really no other kind of noise they could make. He's thankful as it is that the walls in this apartment seem much sturdier than the ones in Seoul, because he's not particularly interested in or practiced at being quiet, and he doesn't need nosy neighbors making guesses about what they're up to. "Mm, I like this apartment though. I'm happy here."

Just that, a statement so simple, means more than S would know how to say. It's been a long time since J was happy living with him, or it had been until the other day. Part of him, if he's honest, still fears that it won't last, but mostly, it's the best thing he can imagine, more than he could ever have hoped to have again. When he first moved in here, just a little more than a week ago — if it could even be called moving in, when all he had were the clothes on his back, J's journal in his pocket, and the packet he picked up at the train station — this place felt so sparse and empty, not even like somewhere he lived, more like a very large hotel room, somewhere nice enough to stay but not meant to be settled into. Doing a small amount of shopping, strictly for the essentials, made little difference. It still felt almost like he should keep his presence as minimal as possible, like a guest in what was, apparently, his own apartment. It seemed just as well, too. If part of him died when J did, then it really could only stand to reason that he left another piece behind in the studio they shared, even if that hadn't felt like home, either, in J's absence.

It's different now. S doesn't need to think twice about it as he nods again, his smile widening just a bit further. "So am I," he says. Despite all the crying they've done tonight and the panic he woke up in, he's so fucking happy, far more so than he thought he ever would be again. He's home, sitting at a small table with his boyfriend, a ridiculous amount of food still in front of them, discussing a hypothetical future but pleased with their present, too. "I like it, too. I'm in no hurry to leave."

J will know this, he feels fairly certain, but it seems worth saying anyway. Nice as it is to talk about potential ideas — dreams, really — for the future he thought they wouldn't get to have, he likes their present, too. He would have been just as happy, for that matter, in a studio as small as their last one, in an apartment even smaller. He never needed much to be content with J. If anything, that's truer now even than it used to be. "One day, maybe, we can have all that, but this... this is nice."

J smiles bright at that, nodding in turn, pleased what he said went over well. He doesn't want S to think otherwise, after all. There have been times when he spun stories of possible futures because he was discontent with his present, they both know that. Dreaming about a house now is just an idle fantasy, a hope for the kind of life they might have. The important thing is that they have one together at all. He doesn't want S to misunderstand and think him unhappy to be here so quickly.

"One day, maybe," he agrees. "And by then, we'll probably have all kinds of things filling this place and no idea how it filled up." In spite of their shifting moods, though, it's been a nice night — a nice day overall — and it feels good to sit here like this and see S looking happy. It wasn't very long ago at all that he was in a panic and J barely knew how to help, and it feels like, somehow, he managed to get it right. It's an unfamiliar feeling these days, the quiet contentment of being useful to someone else, reassuring, providing love and comfort. Getting things right instead of ruining everything.

He glances up from another spoonful of samgyetang and tips his head to the side. "Ah, I think already I would miss this place. It feels important. Where we had a fresh start. But I wouldn't miss sharing walls with neighbors."

S can't help the way his expression brightens in turn at the way J smiles. He's always, always loved seeing that — even when they were still just friends and nothing more, he would attempt to get a laugh or a smile out of him — but especially once they became a couple, and then more so as J's moods started getting increasingly dark. When he could manage it, it felt like a little victory. This time, he hasn't so much made a point of trying to accomplish that, but there's still the sense that J is pleased with what he's said, and it feels so good, all the more so for how upset they both were not very long ago. That conversation was probably one that needed to happen, really, but it's still reassuring to have so thoroughly moved past it for the time being, to be in near-total agreement on this.

If they never live anywhere else, he'll still be happy as long as they're together. If they wind up broke — again — and have to move into some shoe box apartment, it still won't matter. He isn't about to be picky when he was never supposed to be with J again at all. Still, he wants it, this little future they've collectively imagined for themselves. He doesn't expect it, and he won't be disappointed or regretful if it never happens, but it's a nice idea for the future, a dream for the two of them to share this time.

"I like it even more when you put it like that," he says warmly, head ducking for a moment, though he doesn't look away from J for long, even while still taking bites of his food. "I was thinking about what it was like when I first got here, but you're right. It's where we got to start again. It's... home, now."

It's going to be a while, J thinks, before he stops circling back around to that, how lucky they are. There's a lot that he's still scared of, a lot that hurts, and he knows that it's probably going to get a lot worse before it gets better. He's pushing too many things back as hard as he can. It isn't sustainable, he knows that, and he isn't going to try to keep it all tamped down forever; sooner or later, he'll need to talk about these things. All things considered, it'll probably be best for both of them to do so. For now, though, his main goal is to do what he has to do to stay alive. Talking about things, working through everything he's done and how he got to this point, none of that is possible if he lets himself get so weighed down he can't keep going. It's a hell of a lot easier said than done, and there's no way to shut it all out, but he can try, at least, to face it just a little at a time. And, in doing so, it's easier to face it with S, to let S be here for him, and to recognize how incredibly fortunate they are to have that chance.

So the apartment may not be anything special at a glance, beyond being notably more spacious than anywhere else he's lived previously, but it means a lot. Their studio gave him a similar feeling — they moved there under such grim circumstances, but it was home, the first place they had that was theirs and no one else's, the place where they fell in love. Or, anyway, where they admitted they had done so, since J is pretty sure he fell in love sometime before that without having put a name to it. It's never been something he could pinpoint with any precision. Figuring out he had fallen in love was a more distinct moment than having done so to begin with.

"Home," he agrees softly. "I'm glad it's home." He really didn't want to leave, but he was so determined to do so if he felt it was necessary. Though he hasn't yet felt nearly as desperate as he did that first day, when he fell apart so utterly he only half-remembers any of it, he knows now he had it backwards. If he's a threat to S in any way, he thinks, he'll figure that out fast; he's hyperaware of the possibility and on close guard. He's much more of a danger to himself, and if he were on his own — he knows how easily he can fall into despair, how utterly without warning. And if S has trouble sleeping now, J can't imagine him sleeping at all, knowing J was by himself in this state. "Things haven't felt like home in so long, and now..."

He shrugs. It's hard to find words for how overwhelmingly good it is to feel this way again. Even after he left S and moved back in with his mother, that brief while before the professor invited him to stay on campus, it didn't feel like home anymore, like he'd somehow grown too big for his childhood spaces, took up too much room, all jagged limbs jammed into awkward corners. He needed this, needed to find a way to feel at all like himself again. Needed, more than anything else, to be with S.

Even having been the one to say it himself, even having thought it several times over the past few days, S is still struck by how good it feels to hear J call this place home, too. Nodding, he hums quietly, expression softening a little, though not displeased. All of the best things lately have been bittersweet-tinged, that much better for how long it's been since he felt half this good, while also serving as a reminder of how hard it's been all these months. He really thought he would never have even a fraction of this again. Granted, he'd thought the same before, too, only for that to prove not to be the case after all, but it was different then, when he had J as an anchor, not just left drifting. Melodramatic as he knows it would sound, until these last few days, he had nothing left — just a place to stay, his memories, and his grief. The whole world has changed since the afternoon he found J out on the sidewalk, newly opened up in a way he was certain couldn't still be possible.

"It hasn't," he agrees, quiet. "I... didn't think anything ever would again." It's too serious, probably, heavier than this moment should be, but he can't not say it. In a way, it just seems fitting, too. He was a child the first time he lost his home, reeling from the deaths of his parents, clueless how to move forward. So fucking hopeless, he didn't know how he would ever feel good or right or at home again, and then he and J forged one for themselves, pieced it together in that ridiculously small apartment, until he wound up, in spite of everything, the happiest he'd ever been. He was still sad, too, but then as now, the two coexisted, happiness and grief impossibly intertwined, one grown out of the other.

None of this should even have been able to happen, though, so of course he thought any actual home would be out of reach. He lost that when he lost J. That studio could never have been home anymore in J's absence, when just being there reminded him of what he used to have; that reminder was the same reason he wouldn't have left on his own. Now he's gotten J back and a home as well, and there aren't words for how grateful that still leaves him. "I'm glad it's home, too," he echoes, which is a start, if also an understatement. "I'm glad we're home." He huffs out a breath. "Even in a place as strange as this."

Hearing S say that makes something ache in J's chest, sympathetic and adoring and regretful. Even if things hadn't ended as they did, they probably never had a chance to put it right. He'd gotten too much far too wrong. Even so, it stings to think he left S alone with that, facing a future by himself. Eventually, J has to believe, he would have found happiness, whether in something or someone else. He can't pretend, though, that he isn't thankful that never had time to happen, however impossible it might be that they're here.

He nods, small, and then, without quite thinking about it, gets to his feet. Walking around the table to S's side, he bends down to kiss him. It's probably ridiculous. The table isn't that big and they probably don't have much longer before they both decide they're done eating anyway. He doesn't care. He just wants to kiss his boyfriend, to touch him, a hand on S's shoulder and the other at his cheek. This time, he's determined, he won't fuck it up. At least, he intends not to fuck up in the same ways, not to take for granted how incredibly fucking lucky he is and what a supportive, loving boyfriend he has. Isolating himself from the rest of the world is one thing, perhaps entirely necessary as he regains his balance, but he won't shut S out again.

"I love you," he murmurs when he draws back, crouching slightly. He isn't just going to run off back to his side of the table, not yet, enjoying the proximity too much. His thumb brushing along S's cheek, he smiles, quietly fond. "I think anywhere we found ourselves now would be strange. We're here. That's enough."

S is expecting what he's said to bring the mood down at least a little. He's still figuring out how to talk about any of this at all, and how to strike a balance between being open with J and not saying anything that will upset him too much. As much as he might like to, though — as much as he did, around any and everyone else — he can't pretend that he was alright all those months he was alone. He doesn't have to come right out with the blunt truth of it, to admit just how fucked up he was, but there's only so much there that can be smoothed over. At any other time, he might at least try to talk around it a bit, but J only just finished asking S to talk to him. Holding it all back would feel worse right now than saying it, uneasy though he feels as he waits for J's response.

What he isn't expecting is for J to get up and walk over to him. Still, S doesn't hesitate to respond in kind when J leans into him, eyes half-shut as he returns the kiss, one hand reaching up to curl gently over the back of J's neck. This, this is good, a better reaction than he'd honestly hoped for. They should finish eating, probably, and take care of the leftovers so they can go curl up together again, but for the moment, savoring this feels far more important.

"I love you, too," he says, just as soft and impossibly fond. "And it is. It's enough. It's... everything." As long as they're together, he doesn't give a damn where they are. This, them, is all that matters. The rest can all just fit around that. "If it had anything to do with our both being here, I think that strange is a good thing, anyway."

J hardly needs to tell him that he, too, thought nothing would ever be home again. As it is, he's still aware that this here, this quiet peace, is the lull in the storm, because there's a significant part of him that still doesn't believe he deserves to be allowed to come home. Or to be alive at all. They both know that. S is, in fact, painfully aware of how precarious J is. Right now, though, like this, he feels good again, safe in the certainty that he's loved for precisely who he is. S's hand feels good at his neck and it's tempting to draw him forward, to pull him into J's arms and lead him back to the couch.

He settles instead for leaning in for another kiss. "We were always weird anyway," he murmurs, at once wry and affectionate, once he draws back. Straightening up, he presses a kiss to S's hair, making himself move back around the table to take his seat again. "Might as well live in a place that should be impossible." He ducks his head, reaching for his chopsticks again, mostly to keep himself from changing his mind and returning to S's side. "I'm looking forward to seeing more of it later. You can show me around."

As easy as it would be to keep kissing, as much as a part of him wants nothing more than to go curl up in J's arms again, S thinks it's probably for the best that J goes to sit back down when he does. Soon enough, they'll be able to go sit down or lie down. Especially having bought all this food, though, it'll be better to finish eating now so they can go relax after. He probably won't be able to eat very much more anyway, though he can't say he regrets ordering in excess. There should still be enough for both of them to have leftovers tomorrow, saving him the trouble of cooking. Even if he sleeps well tonight — even if he sleeps at all, now that he feels more like he can — he suspects he'll still be worn out when he wakes up, the past few sleepless nights and the intense panic of a little while ago having taken their toll on him. Maybe they can just stay in again, save any further outings for another day or so.

Despite that thought occurring to him, he nods in agreement to what J has said, smiling at the thought as he reaches for his own chopsticks again. "I'd like that," he says. "I haven't seen very much, but I can show you what I have seen. And we can see the rest together." It's a little bit like he imagines it would be if they ever got to travel, or at least it will be at first. That's out of the picture now, for obvious reasons, but they might as well be tourists until they're more settled here. Almost teasing, he adds, "I like being weird, too. I like that we both are."

"Good," J says immediately, "because we're stuck like this." He grins, reaching for a little more tteokbokki. Everything else should heat up fine, but tteokbokki is always a little tougher after it's sat awhile, and it's the thing he was most wanting anyway. "You were weird from the minute I met you. I don't see that changing."

Admittedly, he's pretty sure S did a good job of blending in both before and after that. J saw him now and then, being in the same class, but he didn't really pay him very much attention. He didn't know S was different from the others until S made it clear he was nothing like them, not in the ways that counted. S, he knows, admired his confidence, his bravery, back then, but to J, S is the one that made everything happen, the one who was brave enough to be kind, confident enough to wait for J to trust him.

"I don't want it to," he adds. "I like how weird you are."

"You'd better like how weird I am," S says with a laugh, following J's lead and reaching for some more of what's left of the tteokbokki. Even as he speaks, though, he nudges J's table under the foot with his own, affectionate and teasing. "Since you're just as much so." That much is unquestionably true. In their respective, complementary ways, neither of them ever really seemed to fit in with everyone else. Growing up, S thinks that was, on J's part, somewhat due to his background, but he's not really sure either of them would have stood a chance at fitting in or seeming particularly normal regardless. All joking aside, though, it's nice. At least to some extent, it's part of what brought them together, their friendship forged out of both being misfits.

His smile softens a little after a moment. Under more typical circumstances — if such a thing even exists anymore for them, or could for a long time — he might just leave it at that, let the humor speak for itself. They've only been back together for a couple of days, though, after he spent so long having every reason to believe they would never even see each other again, never mind reunite like this. For all the panic he felt earlier, so impossible to contain, there's just as much fondness, spilling out of him with every chance it gets.

"I like how weird you are, too," he adds, warm. "Always have."

J knows that, of course. They wouldn't be sitting here now if that weren't the case, if S hadn't been curious and kind enough to take interest in him all those years ago, if he hadn't liked all the ways J never quite fit in. But it's been a long, long time, and they were apart for what felt like — what was, really — a lifetime, and it feels good to hear, something warm and sweet curling in his chest.

"Mm, I know," he says, lightly teasing, though he can't hide that he's pleased. "You always had really bad taste." Still, he nudges his foot against S's shin in turn, enjoying the quiet blend of fondness and levity. It's a nice pause after the evening they've had, and it makes it very difficult for him to try and be reasonable. When he wants very much just to cuddle on the couch, taking care of the food they haven't yet eaten feels like a lot of effort. "We should order from this place again sometime."

"You like that I have bad taste, though," S retorts, shooting J another smile, his nose crinkling a little. He doesn't really believe that he does, of course. There are probably plenty of people who would think that and worse if they knew about his and J's past — knew about the two of them at all — but he has no intention of ever saying a word about it, and he doesn't give a damn what anyone else would have to say about it. He knows who he loves and what he wants, and it's him and this, a lifetime of it, no matter where or when they are. His not caring about other people's opinion is part of how they became friends in the first place. Never once has he regretted it, no matter how terribly he thought their story ended.

Still he can't manage to be anything less than utterly fond. It's so nice to sit here like this, sharing a meal and teasing each other, savoring the utter normalcy of it. "And we should. This is good. Plus we'll get another meal out of it for sure."

"Ah, definitely," J says, shaking his head. "I think I might be done." As tempting as it is to keep stuffing himself, he probably shouldn't. If nothing else, his stomach still isn't quite used to having this much to eat anymore. "And there's still a lot."

The thoughtfulness leaves his expression, though the pout remains, but it turns into a kind of a smile when he glances from the food back to S. "Of course I like that you have bad taste. It means I get to be with you." He suspects that, now that he's not eating — trying, at least, to keep himself from picking at food when he's not even hungry now — S will be done soon, too. But he's not about to get up and start putting things away until they're both sure they're finished. Instead, he's content to lean with an elbow on the table, watching S. It's cozy, just sitting like this together over a meal. They can't yet get through a day without tears, but they can eat dinner happily enough, and he's enjoying how comfortable it feels.

"I think I'm about finished, too," S replies after one last spoonful of samgyetang, considering what's left on the table for a moment before nodding a little to himself. Already he's eaten more than he expected to be able to, having not been particularly hungry at all when he first came out here, too rattled to have much of an appetite. All of that feels strangely far-off now, and yet present, too, the threat of it remaining even as it seems distant, foggy, like it happened to someone else or happened a long time ago, or else like he hasn't fully settled back into himself yet, though he feels infinitely better than he did a little while ago. This normalcy, the pleasant warmth of sitting close to J and eating dinner together, does him a world of good. Even something as mundane as this — or maybe especially — is still surreal after such a short time back together, but in the best way, when it means more than he would ever know how to say.

He nudges J's foot with his own again, contact mostly just for the sake of it. "Ah, and if that means I have bad taste, I wouldn't want it to be any better," he says, once again teasing and earnest in equal measure. He really doesn't think he has bad taste at all, or that his feelings for J are any indication of that, but he wouldn't want to want anything other than this. It doesn't matter where they are, really; he's exactly where he's supposed to be. "Not when I get to be with you."

It's really just about what J expected S would say, but it doesn't make him any less happy to hear it, a gentle warmth settling around him. S looks content, and J has come to savor that, taking pleasure from the smallest looks of happiness. He made S miserable for far too long and caused him too much distress. It feels good — both satisfying and simply right — to make S feel good instead.

So he slides back in his seat and gets up again, walking around to S's side and holding out his hand. "That's good," he says warmly, "because I have no intention of letting you go this time. Come on, let's get this put away. I want to go sit with you again." He wants, really, to cuddle, but he's pretty sure he doesn't need to say as much. If nothing else, S probably wants the same. He was pretty shaken up earlier, and though he seems to be doing much better, it can't hurt to hold him more. They'd do as much anyway.

Edited 2021-08-02 11:23 (UTC)

S hums contentedly at J's suggestion, wanting little more than that himself. No matter how much calmer and more settled he might be now, he still can't think of anything better or more soothing than staying in J's arms for a while. Really, now that he's eaten, he's not sure how long he'll stay awake anyway, but that's all the more reason to go curl up with his boyfriend. If J isn't ready to go lie down yet, he can just doze on the couch while J watches something or other on TV. All that really matters is that they're together.

Self-conscious as he feels for having been so panicked, and for being so worn down, he supposes it makes sense that his composure would give in such spectacular fashion. He said as much the other day, and he suspects J already knew it anyway, that when things are difficult, he tries to hold together whatever he can, to maintain any flimsy shred of control. He's fallen apart plenty in the past couple days, but there's a lot he's held at bay, too, and in a way, it just stands to reason that it would come rushing to the surface at once. There's no taking it back, so he may as well let himself lean on J instead of trying not to need anyone. It's what J asked him to do, after all.

"I want that, too," he agrees as he gets to his feet, hand staying curled around J's for a moment. He lets go in short order, though, if only because they can't very well put leftovers away while holding hands. "As soon as we've taken care of the food."

J nods once, firm, and then leans forward to kiss S's cheek before he moves away. It won't take too long to get these put away, since it should all fit into the little storage containers they have. They should probably do the dishes, too, but he figures just rinsing them off and leaving them in the sink for later should be fine. It's a mess to be dealt with later. Right now, he just wants S in his arms.

He suspects S wants that just as badly, maybe even more. J remembers vividly how upsetting such attacks can be — not just the attack itself, but how badly he wanted S just to hold him, how often he tried to hide that because he didn't know how to explain what was happening. Shutting S out was his mistake, time and again. He doesn't expect S to do anything half as foolish, but he can still step in and try to offer what he wishes he'd accepted. He was too stubborn, too paranoid and proud, and they both suffered for it. Now, though, all he wants is to take care of S. Carrying plates and containers back into the kitchen, he sets them on the sink and goes looking for storage tubs.

"Some of it can just stay in the container, I think," he muses. The samgyetang, what remains of it, will need to be moved into something else, but it's not like the fridge is so full they can't just put some of these straight in.

Even something as simple as putting food away is more than S really wants to deal with right now, reminded of just how exhausted he is. That's all the more reason, though, to get it taken care of as quickly as possible, so they can go relax together again, preferably without any more crying this time. If it happens, it happens, and he does expect that there will be more of that in their future, but there's been enough of it for one night. These past few days, it's been hard to predict what turns the mood will take, what might prompt one or the other of them to fall apart, and S knows that it's with good reason and that they're important conversations to have, but all the same, they could do with a break. Whether back on the couch or in bed, he just wants to hold his boyfriend and be held for a while, until he can fall asleep again.

"I think so, too," he agrees, turning to open and peer into a cabinet, retrieving a container from inside it. "Here, this should do for the samgyetang. I'll make some room in the fridge." It's hardly packed full or anything, but even so, crossing to it and pulling the door open, he sets a few things aside so they can fit their leftovers in neatly. As much as he may not usually order to excess like this when getting food out, in this case, he thinks, it was very much worth it. He wouldn't have wanted to have to cook, they're a bit more comfortable in terms of money now that J has decided to stay here, and it's nice, really, to do something a little bit special. Besides, it's good to know there's a restaurant nearby where they can get good food like they would have gotten back home.

J takes the container, smiling as he sets about transferring the soup. It won't take long like this. Some of it can be combined so they take up fewer containers, maybe, but there's enough room in the fridge that he doesn't think it's worth even that amount of effort right now. "Thanks, darling," he says, draining the last of the broth and setting the lid firmly in place. "Here."

He sets the container next to the rest of the food and starts moving plates into the sink, rinsing them under warm water. Really, with the red sauce and the cheese, tteokbokki makes too much of a mess just to wash off without a bit of scrubbing, but he doesn't want to linger for too long here. Now that they aren't eating, he feels aware all over again of how fraught this evening was, and he just wants to pull S close. With that in mind, he plugs the sink and runs hot water, pouring in a little detergent. "I'll let these soak or the cheese will just stick to it all. That should be fine for now, right?"

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