step one point five: the morning after is nothing short of terrible.

[a shorter chapter, but really at this point... it's so fun to write Jeonghan angsting over his crush and being oblivious to Seungcheol's every attempt. This is from Jeonghan's perspective, so he's just terribly unreliable as a narrator.]

The world is relentlessly white and cold on his cheeks. Static grovels behind his ear, cupping his skull in a merciless cradle. Jeonghan blinks once, twice, and winces when the door to his room cringes open. There's a murmured apology lost in the careful footsteps that follow. Jeonghan tries to sit up, but there's a heaviness pining him down - every thought stifled, every breath reduced. There's a wreck in his head that he attempts to navigate, but the rubble of last night's drunken folly has him groaning again. His lips part, dry and rough. 

"You're awake," someone says, a little too loud.

It's not Jihoon - the timbre of this voice is not unfamiliar, but there's a wariness that lingers in opposition to Jeonghan's idealism. That, and the fact that his head simply hurts. His bed dips to accommodate a new figure, and Jeonghan has to reorganise his uncooperative body to fit the requirements of this new terrain. But everything is so much harder. 

"Yes," Jeonghan croaks, grimacing.

The words taste sour and musky on his tongue, but he swallows the bile down anyway. It must have been the whiskey, then.

The responding chuckle is warm and forgiving in spite of everything. Someone is helping him up, propping him against softer pillows. Jeonghan groans, and relaxes into the firm, gentle hold that his elbow is accorded. A hand is pressed to his cheek, in an equally warm and tender fashion. Jeonghan stiffens, unsure, but also so full of longing that he has half a mind to doze off. A thumb traces soothing circles against his cheekbones, and the bed shifts again. Jeonghan blinks himself awake, and sees a blank face right in front of his.

"You're such a lightweight," Seungcheol finally says. 

Jeonghan blinks. It must be the alcohol. 

Seungcheol shifts away, out of focus, and returns quickly with something. His callused, broad hands wrap around Jeonghan's in awful mimicry of genuine affection. Jeonghan thinks he might just have ascended straight into heaven, but accepts the cool glass of water. 

Seungcheol smiles at him. "It's for the hangover. Drink."

Jeonghan takes the pill and swallows. "Thank you."

The glass of water sits precariously in his slack hands, but that's the least of his concerns right now. Right now, it's. He can't figure out if he's delusional, or if this is a side effect of drinking. His head clears a little, and he lets it hang backwards, stretching his neck in cautious little movements. So far so good. When he brings his head back down, and widens a bleary eyes, Seungcheol's still there, albeit a little dazed.

Seungcheol coughs. "I could have poisoned you."

Jeonghan places a hand over Seungcheol's, and shrugs. His searching fingers run over Seungcheol's knuckles, caressing every uneven detail like the spoils of war. Here, eyes closed, he can pretend that Seungcheol wants, too, and that the shiver of his own fingers are echoed by Seungcheol's careful yearning. His pride, small but reckless, treads slowly, quietly in favour of hoarding this memory. Soon, Seungcheol will retract his hand, retract his judgement and vanish from Jeonghan's life - or worse still, remain at the periphery of Jeonghan's sight, always close enough but also too far away. 

But Jeonghan wants, still. 

"I trust you," Jeonghan says, selfishly. "...In the capacity of... Jihoon's friend."

There's a low, measured exhale from Seungcheol, and he shifts his hand. Jeonghan tries to mask his disappointment, but it turns to shock as soon as Seungcheol flips his hand over and weaves his fingers in between Jeonghan's.  

"You're so unfair," Seungcheol says, ironically. "How much did you drink?"

Jeonghan, lost in the contours of intimacy, takes a moment to answer, "A glass. Joshua might have drugged me."

Seungcheol chuckles at that again. "I'm sorry for waking you up."

"No it's okay," Jeonghan says, but catches Seungcheol's knowing look. "Okay, so maybe I want to sleep again."

Seungcheol's hands are there again, charting the coordinates of Jeonghan's spine - a finger sweeps past his neck, and Jeonghan shudders immediately, prompting a hushed apology. He swipes that away, reaching up aimlessly to tug at Seungcheol's shirt, and finds his way to his collar. Seungcheol accommodates even this, and envelopes a hand over Jeonghan's wandering one. 

"You should go," Jeonghan whisper-croaks.

Seungcheol shakes his head, and presses a soft, tender palm to the side of Jeonghan's cheek instead. He brushes Jeonghan's hair out of his face, which is surely sticky with sweat and gross oils and everything. Briefly, Jeonghan allows himself this luxury of being taken care of, and nudges into the inviting hand like he's touch-starved. Seungcheol lets out an amused sound somewhere above him, and indulges him. 

"You're really pretty, Jeonghan."

Jeonghan instantly replies, "You're only saying that because I'm sick."

He doesn't need to open his eyes to figure out that Seungcheol's frowning, eyebrows knitted together in polite denial. "No, really-"

And then his door swings open again. Jeonghan knows it's Jihoon this time, because Seungcheol rips his hands away from Jeonghan's face and hand. The bed dips awkwardly, and then Seungcheol is standing altogether. The bile threatens to rise up his throat again, and Jeonghan has to force his ribs firmly back down, suffocating every last bit of irritation. He forces his eyes wide again, and readies his everyday smile. Jihoon's amused face is looking down at him. Behind him, Seungcheol is flushing heavily, unable to look at Jeonghan, and this sight leaves him far more vulnerable than any hangover could.

"Hangover, huh," Jihoon says, poking his stomach. "Seungcheol wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Shut up," Seungcheol says, awkwardly moving his arms.

Even in the relative safety of his room, Jeonghan feels like he's intruding on something. So he sighs, "Thank you."

Seungcheol's eyes flit to his face, a mocking shade of worry, but Jeonghan is already reaching for his phone. He'll busy himself with checking his schedule and praying to the highest gods that he'll be allowed to mope in peace. Jihoon, attuned to Jeonghan's bouts of introversion, retreats, and shoves Seungcheol out of the room.

"We'll leave now so you can sleep. I'll call you an hour before your afternoon lecture," Jihoon calls, and shuts the door gently.

Jeonghan exhales, grateful and guilty all the same. The kind touches that Seungcheol had bestowed upon him earlier has his heart flaring and fluttering to the skies; the same quick escape of those hands upon Jihoon's arrival crushes Jeonghan back down to the cold stark earth. It's so hard to hate Seungcheol for being a perfect gentleman. Jeonghan smiles bitterly at his self-inflicted plethora of emotions, and turns his phone off. He'll sleep it off for now.