How long will I love you?

As long as stars are above you;

And longer if I can.

He was speechless. Seungcheol had to hold his breath—he had to take it all in. He gaped, he knew he did, but who can blame him? The other was peeking at him through his hair, obviously shy. His mannerisms seemed controlled and hesitant, in stark contrast to his bright pink hair. His moment froze, everything slowed, he may be hallucinating, he may be light-headed, but he was sure everything, right there and there, slowed to the stop. It wasn’t helping that in the late autumn afternoon, yellow, brown, and orange hues provided a background, rays of sunset peeking through the glass walls, illuminating him like an aura, casting a beautiful glow around him, making him look more ethereal than he already is.

“Can I take a picture of you?” he slipped. He didn’t plan on saying it, but when he did, he realized that he needs to, he needs to lock this moment forever, but not without realizing he sounded creepy. “Nothing creepy, I promise.” He adds, panicked at the surprised look on the others’ face.

“Sure.” He nods slowly, and before he loses the smile on the others’ face, he snaps a picture of him mid-smile, and it came out beautifully.

“That’s perfect.” You’re perfect. He wanted to add, but considering this is the first time they’re meeting each other, he thinks not. Seungcheol has never had a relationship in his life, and apparently, according to Mingyu, this friend of him from college hasn’t had any, too, and he thinks they’d be perfect, setting them both up, mostly just for his amusement.

Despite his shaky (and honestly creepy) start, he has managed to carry a natural conversation with—Yoon Jeonghan—as he learns his name is, and makes him laugh multiple times, once even making him snort a little bit of water through his nose. “I’m disgusting.” He comments.

“No, you aren’t that’s my fault, sorry.” He mutters, still chuckling. He remembers that day, as clear as Jeonghan’s smiles in his mind, as clear as the details of the salmon they had for dinner in his tastebuds, as clear as the sun setting behind Jeonghan, as clear as he is.

Everything was perfect. From the twinkle in his eyes, to the sun in his smile, down to that small chip in his teeth; it drizzled a little while they were walking to the station, though, good thing he had his blue umbrella with him, because Jeonghan didn’t have one. They walked to the station, cramped together under the umbrella, giggling as they walked to the station.

He can still remember the smell of the air when Jeonghan he stares at Jeonghan, squinting for the sign on the upcoming bus, making sure it was his route. “Can you tell me what it says? My eyesight isn’t very good.” He pouts a little, making Seungcheol’s heart do somersaults in his chest.

When the bus stops and he confirms to Jeonghan that it is his route, he felt like he wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Jeonghan turns, smiles, and pats his face. “It was lovely to meet you.” He almost whispers.

“It’s my pleasure.” He replies quietly, as he watched Jeonghan turn for the bus, and right at that moment, he knew, this wasn’t just anyone—and he needed to see him again.

How long will I need you?

As long as the seasons need to

Follow their plan

And he did. Mingyu made sure of it. They see each other again in a dance class taught by a tall -dropping handsome, albeit lanky, Junhui, and his small, angry bird of a…friend (?), Jihoon, scheduled and schemed by his tower of a friend. He can’t keep his eyes off the other the entire time, he can see his back from where he stood, and he just can’t keep his eyes off him; he just can’t. He keeps quiet, though, and follows instructions for the remainder of the class, trying not be distracted by Jeonghan’s bright pink hair, which seems to have faded a little with the past few weeks that they haven’t seen each other.

So when the class ends, Seungcheol rushes to him, managing a quiet greeting. Jeonghan smiles back, still shy, but slightly more open than before. They make small chat as they both wipe their sweat away, sitting on a cramped bench to dry off before heading to the showers. “Would you,” he hesitates, but some force pushes him to get the words out. “Have dinner with me?” the newly emptied studio suddenly turned so much quieter, and the silence louder and louder, as Jeonghan stared at him. “Of course, I will.” He answers as if that’s the obvious answer, chuckling.

When Seungcheol finished showering and changing, Jeonghan was gone. He was alone in the locker room of the gym, the silence louder than ever. For the first time that night, he notices other things, the way the lights dim like they all need changing, they added new mats for the yoga room, and he never did notice none of the things he usually did, he was distracted all night, and now he’s just alone. Sighing in resignation, he hung his gym back over his strained shoulder, and heads out into the chilly night.

“Hey.” Seungcheol jumps in shock; scream suspended in his chest, as Jeonghan leans against the wall of the gym, just by the door. “Sorry if I startled you. Where did you expect I was?”

“I thought you left.” He admits shyly, appreciating the way Jeonghan grins at him, straightening up, and looking around the almost deserted lot.

“Why would I leave?” he walks ahead, looking back to urge Seungcheol to follow him. For the second time, he asks Jeonghan if he can take a picture of him, and Jeonghan agrees, and these are the types of moments that he’s glad he brings his camera with him everywhere. He wants it to be candid, though, so he just naturally walks beside Jeonghan, kicking fallen leaves with him, smiling about dumb things. It’s dark, it’s almost always darker during autumn, and the alleys are illuminated only by old, rickety, orange overhead lights, and the glow it casts on Jeonghan’s skin is magnificent. He slows, letting Jeonghan walk ahead, as he poises the camera to the angle that he wanted. Jeonghan turns to him, and he snaps a picture—perfect, mysterious, and immaculately ethereal. He is immaculately ethereal.

Seungcheol remembers that night, the quiet dinner in an almost closing diner with the best egg tarts he has had, laughing, and finally, exchanging numbers, with the promise to catch up and talk more often. He remembers the pink in Jeonghan’s cheeks as the wind grew colder as the night got deeper; he remembers offering to walk him home, and the pinker shade Jeonghan’s cheek got as soon as he offered. He remembers jumping in shock again as he felt another skin bump against his, as Jeonghan started to take his hand in his. “My hand is cold.” He reasons, apologetic about shocking him again. He remembers recovering from the shock, but not recovering from the almost panicked anticipation of holding his hand. Jeonghan locks his pinky onto his, and he melts into it, pulling his hand to hold it warm against his. He remembers that night.

How long will I be with you?

As long as the sea is bound to

Wash up on the sand

They’ve been texting, almost every hour of every day, attaching a permanent grin on Seungcheol’s face. Well, it is positively affecting his job, because a smiley photographer encourages everyone in front of the camera to smile as widely; and the pictures have never been better. Two weeks after the constant texting, Jeonghan called, and they talked, about themselves, about what they want, about what they need, about their hopes and their dreams—not even realizing its 3am and they have to go to sleep. Then it happens more often, the texting, the calling, and the meetings. They always both hung out on that always empty coffee library place Jeonghan loves so much. He asks Seungcheol to meet but he ignores him the entire time, and just keeps on reading.

But he doesn’t mind. He just sits across him, and stares. It may seem creepy, but he doesn’t consistently do it. He just observes him, his mannerisms, he takes pictures randomly, sips his coffee, as Jeonghan stays buried in that thick book, undistracted. You can see his eyes glaze over the pages, as if he’s transported another world, and he’s no longer in the coffee library, but in the world of the main character, an observer of the world in those pages. He scrunches his nose, his breathing grew heavier, and then he sighs, looking up at him in the middle of his read, looking up at him weirdly, as if studying him.

“What?” he self-consciously asks as Jeonghan’s expression went from immersed, to curious, to fear, to a soft expression he can’t quite explain.

“Can I sit beside you?” he closes the book, which Seungcheol thinks he just finished, and goes over to his side of the sofa wide enough for two people, and sits beside him. They stay quiet, as Jeonghan watches him scan through his photos from the past months, which they both realize, is comprised 90% of Jeonghan’s photos despite the fact that he’s used the same camera to shoot 3 different weddings from the past month. Seungcheol chuckles shyly, glancing over at Jeonghan. “If you were a fansite, what would you name yourself?” he asks quietly, leaning over close to him, sharing the same air space.

Seungcheol considers. He knows fansites; those were fans of their pop idols’ who followed them around to take random pictures of them anywhere and everywhere; which, as he now considers it, is what he would be if Jeonghan was a pop idol—and they always named their website in those catchy, descriptive, title which described their idols… or whatever. “I’d be Ethereal Jeonghan 1004.” He laughs, and Jeonghan does, too, eyes crinkling and shining. “Or maybe Trouvaille JH… or something like that.”

“What does ‘trouvaille’ mean?” Jeonghan leans, eyes soft and glazed over as he looked at him in the eye, smiling softly.

He clears his throat, shy about how he chose the word. It was when he was helping the marketing team choose a theme for a huge wedding they were covering. So he started looking for words, those unique words that you can sometimes find only in some languages—and he found it, trouvaille: “It’s a chance encounter with something wonderful.” Jeonghan’s smile fades, looked confused for a little while, before his lips turn up slowly, even slightly naughty.

“You think you’re the only one who knows fancy words?” he jokes, entrancing Seungcheol, him into his eyes; like Jeonghan is that book, and he can’t focus on anything else but in his world. “Right now this is basorexia.” Seungcheol gasps, but he’s prevented by Jeonghan’s lips pressing against his, chaste, warm, and simple. They separate for a short while, looking into each other’s eyes, treading the line they just had crossed and slightly backed away from. Jeonghan leans forward again, and this time, slower, pulling Seungcheol by his collar, kissing him deeply. He remembers that first kiss; almost too clearly in his mind. “Basorexia: the overwhelming desire to kiss.”

How long will I want you?

As long as you need me to

Longer by far

Jeonghan liked kissing him. That was apparent as the other had not left his lap for god knows how long, giving him quiet pecks across his face. He has never grown tired of Jeonghan; they fight, yes, just like all couples do, but he’s never tired of him. His eyes have been his fortress for more than a year now, his hands are his guide, his voice his strength—he doesn’t know how much longer he’s going to stay together with this man, but he’s sure it’s going to be for a long damn time. It’s been more than a year now, but there’s something that he’s put off for the longest time.

“Jeonghan?” he whispers against his hair.

 “Yeah?” he sits up straight, and cups his face in his hands. “What?” he leans close to press a kiss on his lips, closing his eyes and sighing in the process before letting go.

“I love you.” He whispers sincerely, making sure Jeonghan felt that—making sure Jeonghan’s knows it’s genuine and that he means it and that there is nothing in the world that will change that. Jeonghan stared at him for the longest time, absorbing the information. If that was a good thing or a bad thing, he didn’t know. Slowly, Jeonghan’s lips turn up into a small smile, as his eyes water.

“Oh no,” he leans over in panic, wiping the tear from his face. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said it. Don’t cry, please.”

Jeonghan chuckles, tears falling one by one, and leans again to kiss him, harder, and more meaningful. “Don’t say that.” Jeonghan whispers against his cheek. “I’m just… happy. I love you so, so, much, and I thought you didn’t feel it as intensely as I did.”

“But—”

“I know you like me, I know.” He nods. “But I thought I was the only one who was in love—and now I’m fine. Everything is fine.” Jeonghan’s smile widens, his chest heaves, his heart clenches, and he looks at him, and knows that this man—this is everything.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

How long will I hold you?

As long as your father told you

As long as you can

Seungcheol looks at his reflection in the mirror, in a tailored tux that fit him perfectly, hair styled perfectly, and eyes that shine in anticipation. It’s his wedding day, and he’s looked forward to something else more in his entire life. As Jisoo calls him by the door, telling him the ceremony is starting soon, he smiles widely, and thanks him, the friend that forced him to go on a blind date with a friend of a friend—the reason why this is all happening.

The organizers make him stand in a curve before the aisle, concealed from Jeonghan. As soon as Jihoon starts to play the piano to the tune of Pinwheel, the song on the café on repeat where they had their first date, he was urged to walk forward, exposing himself to the guests—and to Jeonghan.

Nothing compares to that moment he sees him on the other side, tailored tux also fitting him in the right places, his newly dyed short brown hair styled up, showing his forehead and the tears in his eyes. He smiled, as they both walk slowly towards each other, kicking the fallen leaves the tree above them shed more every time the wind blew. He reaches over to hold his fiancé’s hand, as the sunset cast a gentle glow around him. He remembers the first time they met, and it’s almost all the same, autumn with leaves falling behind Jeonghan, his shy, but open smile, the cold breeze of autumn, and the sound of the same song in the background, except that now, they’re getting married—and they have never been both happier. They both walk down the aisle, holding hands, squeezing each other’s hands reassuringly as they smiled at their friends and their family.

Seungcheol took a lot of pictures of his husband that day—every laugh, every smile, every tear—when he had the chance to, of course, the rest he assigned to the best photographers in the company, making sure to immortalize this moment for him. He even took a video of him.

“Husband.” He coos, taking Jeonghan’s attention, gulfing a slice of cake. He giggles, liking the sound of the word when it hit his ears. “What are you doing with that cake?”

“I’m hungry, stop judging!” he pushes him and his camera away jokingly as he swallowed the cake down with champagne. “And stop taking pictures, you’re supposed to be enjoying the party.”

“I’m enjoying it!” he reasons, tickling him.

“Stop that!” Jeonghan chastises, laughing. “Put that down!” he leans over as kisses his cheek.

“Okay, but one last thing.” Jeonghan gives him his attention, leaning over to cup his face. “What do you think about this wedding?”

“It’s perfect.” He answered without hesitation.

“Which did we do right, the flowers? The theme? The music?”

Jeonghan shakes his head. “You.” He leans over to kiss him, and Seungcheol puts the camera down, which he didn’t notice was still recording. “We could have just married in a mayor’s cramped office,” Jeonghan’s voice is clear, speaking to him gently although he isn’t in the frame anymore. “I will still say it’s perfect. Because you’re all I need to make it perfect.”

He sniffs, touched, and extremely, extremely, happy. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. So much.”

How long will I give to you

As long as I live through you

However long you say

Chan is awakened by the sound of music and talking in the living room, maybe it’s his dad and uncles Jisoo  and Jihoon again, talking and organizing weddings, up to the break of dawn, choosing music, picking themes, giving other people their perfect moment—but waking him in the middle of the night is breaking his perfect moment. He still has class early tomorrow. He glances at his digital clock and it says 4:39 AM, too early for him to be awake, too late for his dad to still be awake. He rose to tell him to decrease the volume, it’s not exactly loud and rowdy, but it’s enough not to put him back to sleep. He stares at the clock again, and he freezes.

It’s the 27^th of November—and now he’s not quite sure if he should disturb him. Hesitating, but moving, Chan opens the door to his room and takes a peek to the living room. He watched as his dad sat in the couch, flush against a mountain of pillows and his blanket, nursing a beer, watching his wedding video. He made on wrong step and the floor board creaked, making his father pause the video and call out. “Chan?”

“Yeah?” he answers groggily.

“Did I wake you?” he turns and looks at him apologetically. His eyes were still wet with tears, his skin pale, and his expression pained. “I’m sorry.”

Chan’s heart clenched, looking over the frozen smile of his daddy on the screen on their wedding day, and the pained, exhausted smile of his dad on the couch, totally, and utterly, heart-broken. He walks over silently and sits beside him on the couch. “Go back to sleep.” His dad urges, voice still hoarse and tired.

“You?”

“I’ll do in a while. I promise I’ll wake up in time to prepare you breakfast and drive you to school.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to.” Chan glances over, and decides to cuddle up to him, clutching his arm. “Are you okay?”

He smiles, stupid boy, of course, he’s not.

Five years ago, his daddy died in a car accident which broke 2/3 of all his bones, punctured his lungs, and disfigured him so much his dad lost it as soon as he saw him. He was 14 then, old enough to be as devastated and broken-hearted as his dad was, but not as much—not nearly as much. He remembers crying his eyes out; he remembers not knowing what to do. He remembers his dad blame himself for telling Jeonghan to come home early, telling him that he didn’t like it that he never is home anymore—he blamed himself for telling him to come home because he misses him.

And he remembers his dad, clutching him for dear life, color drained out of his face, pale and crying, and hysterical. His uncle Seungmin arrived after a few hours, peeling him away from his dad who hadn’t stopped crying, clutching his chest which wouldn’t stop hurting.

He remembers crying mostly because he saw everything—he saw how much they loved each other; the way they looked at each other, the way their voices sounded when they talked, the way their eyes sparkled when watching the other take care of him. Chan didn’t understand then—all he knew was that he knew they both built their world’s around each other—and him. And he saw that world crumble instantly when his father got into that accident. He saw the life leave his dad’s eyes—he saw everything happen, and he knew nothing was going to be the same again.

But in a few days—he was.

Chan wasn’t in kindergarten anymore, he knew his dad wasn’t alright. But on the 7^th day that he stayed with his uncle Seungmin and his family, he heard him and his dad fighting, urging him to straighten up for him, and to remember to take care the other thing Jeonghan loved more that his husband—his son.

The next day, the next week, the next month—he seemed fine, it was like his daddy didn’t even exist in the first place.

But on the anniversary of his death, always on the day, he allowed himself to mourn, he allowed himself to let go of the pain, and the longing he locks up for the rest of the year for his son—and Chan let him. Because this is the dad who set every shot of pain locked inside, this is the dad who stayed strong, focused, and faced everything all by himself, all for him. This is the dad who tried his best to be two fathers again—just for him.

And Chan allows him this day—he allows his dad to miss his daddy, he allows him to cry, he allows him to stay in bed all day.

“I’ve already arranged to carpool with the Kim’s next door, they already know the drill, they take me every year.” He hugs his dad tight, smoothing his back to assure him everything is okay. “I’ll be staying with Hansol-hyung until around 8pm, is that okay with you?” Chan has the entire day scheduled for years now, and it always end with him leaving his dad alone to visit his daddy’s grave, to let them talk in silence.

For majority of their marriage, Chan was there with them, and they were hardly alone since they day they adopted him—he feels like he stole him away all those years, so he’s giving him the entire day to dedicate to his daddy, then it’s going to be his turn tomorrow.

“Thank you.” He dad whispers against his hair, and he feels a tear fall on his shoulder.

“Anything for the both of you.”

How long will I love you?

As long as stars above

Longer day by day

“Hey.” Seungcheol’s dream became fragmented as he slowly gains consciousness. He’s snug against his pillow and his blankets, with Jeonghan looking down at him. “Wake up, let’s go.” He pulls him up enthusiastically. “Important day!”

He follows Jeonghan who’s prancing around the living room. He’s prepared toast, juice, and a lot of bacon. “That’s a lot of bacon.” He comments as he leans over the counter, watching him slice the crust of his sandwich.

“I got carried away.” He chuckles sheepishly.

That day, they’re going to the hospital as the mother who was giving them a baby was admitted last night to get ready for the birth.

He watches him hum, smile, and randomly kiss him out of nowhere, and Seungcheol decides, there is nothing that is going to be more perfect right now than to complete his family—and he thinks that’s perfect.

-

SONG PROMT: How Long Will I Love You by Ellie Goulding

Requested by: @shinaerinnn on Twitter