after the fall, chansung/junho, pg-13, 1400 wc, angst

The first thing chansung becomes aware of is the rustling of blankets, then the bed dips, and suddenly there’s warmth pressing from behind him. His nose catching familiar notes of junho’s smell, it’s musky and heavy, swimming under hints of a day old cologne, --his, theirs, junho has this habit of using his cologne when he’s away on a long schedule, or when junho’s in japan, distance, time and people standing between them and--, in junho’s own words, it’s a way of keeping him grounded when he’s out there, to remind him of home, of him.

He uses it when they’re alone, when the day is lazy and long and junho is wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of white socks. Drowning, chansung corrects, in a half buttoned up shirt, one size too big for his lean body, his hair all messy in its natural curls without tons of hair products slabbed on, and he’s giggling madly against chansung’s neck while chansung tries to tickle him , going from one sensitive spot to the other, until junho gasps his name, until chansungchansungchansung is the only thing junho whispers, until grips becomes gentle , and tickling becomes snuggling between the sheets becomes a slow in the middle of the afternoon. chansung pushing inside in one careful and junho’s rolling his hips, s himself back on chansung’s the moment chansung bottoms out, their mouths slacking open against each other and eyes shutting closed.

Chansung can’t help it now when a simple whiff of his cologne on junho’s skin makes his twitch, filling up shamelessly although junho done nothing more than just lying on his side of the bed.

“ chansung.” junho whispers out his name, his voice strained, and chansung hums in response, keeps himself from saying anything more. “ chansung, I missed you.”

chansung breathes out, which is a mistake because he breathes in after that and the scent of junho’s smell mixing with his cologne hits with full force and he can already feel the heat pooling in the pit of his lower stomach, the quiet thrum underneath his skin that waits and anticipates for something to happen, he could get off on only this, chansung thinks; he has, jerking himself off with only the mere memory of junho’s body beneath him, pliant and giving and a drop of his cologne to crank up his senses, to push him off the edge before he explodes in whites.  

Junho’s hand reaches to him as if he can read his mind, his fingers sinking in chansung’s hair,   gentle tips running softly against his scalp like it’s deciphering something hidden that only junho can find. His other hand finds the hem of chansung’s wifebeater, sneaking under, smoothing, splaying his palm open on chansung’s stomach, tips of his fingers following trails of fine hair leading further down. And then chansung feels lips, lips full and warm and half wet planting featherlike kisses on his nape, and his name being murmured so keenly, over and over, that chansungchansungchansung again between junho’s slow takes of breaths, like it’s a ing mantra, it must be, because chansung is shaking now, burning from the inside out, his fingers trembling with want, his throbs achingly, he’s breaking at the seams because this is junho and it’s maddening, --junho’s kisses, junho’s touches, it still is and every fiber in chansung’s body wants nothing but to turn around, pull him close and kiss the living daylights out of him like before, like always. But that--, that…, will not happen tonight.

It hasn’t been happening for a while now.

“ Junho please, i’m tired?” chansung says with a chuckle, but he’s not smiling. Neither of them is.

Junho pauses. His hands retreating defeated from where they roam, between strands of chansung's hair, and the warmth of his skin. It's quiet for a moment, but he knows junho’s not asleep yet. Junho has these calming long breaths when he's sleeping and chansung used to unwind just by the sound of it. He loves all Junho's breath. The fast and timely paced when they're practicing their choreography back when the group is still together, the light and bubbles with laughter when they’re joking around, the desperate, heavy and drenched with gasps when they're making love.  Chansung hears junho takes another breath. This time it's neither. This time it's deep and burdened.

" I'm,..I'm moving out tomorrow. Gonna get my stuff out of here in the morning. My sister is helping me."

Junho’s voice gets a little shaky at that and chansung knows this is where he’s suppose to turn around, grins widely and says nah, don’t do that, I’m just kidding , like it’s a joke. A really bad joke. Only it isn't. So he doesn’t.

" It's just that, I’m working on something in japan and I won’t be back so often and, well, there's no more place for my shoes here, better take them out before they cramps the place." Junho lets out a tired laugh and chansung can hear what he's trying to say, can hear the underlying brokenness, that he thinks there’s no more place for him here. Here as in their house or here as in his heart, chansung thinks it doesn't make a difference. " It's for the best. I think." Junho concludes.

“if you think so.” Chansung answers him, nonchalant, closing his eyes and pulling the blanket higher over his shoulder. He can be an when he wants to be one.

There are parts of him that screams in protest at that, though, the part that reads all those philosophical books, the part that cares about ethics, the part that preaches about forgiveness and being a better person and all that stuff.

The part that’s madly in love with Junho screams the loudest.

But he can’t.

Not when junho’s touch feels like burning iron on his skin. Chansung used to love it, craved for it, and swear to god he still does, but, he also hates it now, despises it, because with each press of junho’s fingers on his skin, each brush of his lips, chansung can’t help but think,

Did he touch her this way too?

" How do you heal from something like this?" How do you go on when something as simple as even breathing is painful, chansung asks wooyoung. The coffee in his cup still hot and it burns his lips like Junho's kisses used to. Chansung takes another sip.

" You don't." The sigh in wooyoung's voice says he's been through this. He's been in the same place as Chansung and he survived. He survived, the relationship didn't. " It's gets better with time though, somewhat. " wooyoung flicks his cigarette and takes a deep drag, puffing little smoky clouds to the crisp night air. Chansung wonders when wooyoung had started smoking, wonder what else changed in his bestfriend after what happened with nichkhun, wonder if he’d change too, then thinking that it’s inevitable, changes. One does not go through fire and come back the same person. " You have to really want it. To be better, to get better, to live over the pain and leave it behind. Work it out, for both of your sakes." wooyoung frowns. When chansung says nothing wooyoung leans forward on the steel railing, seoul is alive and loud below them, lights and sounds of a city that doesn’t sleep." That is, if you both think it’s worth it." wooyoung takes another drag, eyes dimming in his own memories.

" He's my everything." Chansung furrows his brows, feeling a knot tightening in his chest. “ I love him.”

" I know. “ wooyoung smiles to him, kind and, almost pitiful. “ That's what makes it so difficult, isn't it?"

Chansung thinks about the boxes he seen this morning, the absence of junho’s mess in their house, the absence of junho in their house, and wonders if this gaping hole he feels in his heart is where junho used to snuggle in , wonders if the wound will ever close, or will they ever make it through this. The smoke from wooyoung's cigarettes paints lines overlaying the night sky, streaks of white over dark blue that swirls swirls swirls until it disappears with the wind, so light and easy. Chansung wish the answer can come to him just as easy.