Warm.

Jihoon feels warm.

He’s cocooned in a blue blanket adorned with stars; his head resting on the softest pillow he’s ever encountered. It feels like heaven, and Jihoon feels like he can sleep forever like this. His own bed isn’t this comfortable – his bed in the rented Malibu house, though comfortable, never feels like home – here, it’s soft, warm, and smells like Seungcheol.

Smells like Seungcheol.

He peels his eyes open, and he stares up at the ceiling, which looks just like any other ceiling he’s ever seen. He has no idea where he is (he’d established the fact that he’s not in heaven, because he reeks of alcohol), and his senses awaken him, alarm bells ringing. He’s not in a familiar place, and that’s enough to set him off.

Jihoon rolls out of bed (at least he thinks that he’s sleeping in a bed), crashing onto the floor in a fit of panic.

“Whoa!” Seungcheol wakes up with a jump, as Jihoon thumps loudly onto the floor. He’d fallen asleep in an armchair, watching over the drunk blond. Seungcheol looks around in confusion to look for the source of the loud sound; his brain just about to wake up. He notices Jihoon in a fluffy heap on the ground, groaning in pain. “Oh. Good morning, Jihoon.” A little smile adorns his face, with a hint of dimples, when the surfer sees Jihoon. His morning voice is a low rumble, and he rubs sleep away from his eyes.

“Is this your place?” Jihoon pulls himself up to a sitting position and looks around, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself.

It’s a studio apartment, with everything jammed into one room: the bed, the living area and the kitchen. A sliding door hidden by curtains lead to the balcony outside. The furniture is mismatched, probably second-hand items saved from garage sales, giving off a quirky vibe; and there’s a pile of clothes on the unmade bed. It’s just a typical bachelor pad, almost mirroring Jihoon’s shoebox back in Seoul, only significantly larger. Of course, there a few surfboards proudly arranged in their own rack in what’s probably the cleanest part of the room.

“Yeah. How do you feel?” Seungcheol replies, stretching in his seat.

“Crappy.” Jihoon croaks. “Did you sleep in that armchair?” He realises that he’d been sleeping on a sofa (which is notably much more comfortable that the couch he’d nested on at the party last night). He assumes that he must’ve had too much to drink last night, given his massive hangover – he feels like trash. He’s still wearing what he wore to last night’s party; his splitting headache makes him feel like his head’s going to explode, and his throat is as dry as the Sahara Desert; in addition to a bad case of halitosis, his breath stinking of liquor.

Seungcheol, on the other hand, looks well-rested, and he’s even changed into matching blue pajamas. “Seems like it. I do it all the time.” He pads over to the kitchenette in the corner of the apartment. “You need some aspirin?”

Jihoon can only nod. Seungcheol’s by his side in a flash, offering him two white pills and a glass of water. Without hesitating, Jihoon gulps them down; his sloppy movement causing some water to drip down his chin.

“Slowly.” Seungcheol grabs a tissue from its box nearby and wipes Jihoon’s chin, gently holding the smaller blond’s face in his large hands.

Jihoon notices that Seungcheol has impossibly adorable dark chocolate eyes, but before he can fully appreciate them, the surfer pulls away with an annoying little smirk on his face; walking back to his little kitchen. “Coffee?”

“No.” Jihoon’s trying to keep his caffeine-free streak, at least here in Malibu. It takes a while for the aspirin to kick in, but that sloppy drink of water makes him feel only slightly better.

“I’ll make some tea, then.” Seungcheol fiddles with the kettle.  

Jihoon’s got the question on the tip of his tongue as he watches Seungcheol shuffling around the kitchen, looking for mugs.

What happened last night?

Jihoon’s ears turn red at the notion. Nothing happened, right? He has no memory of last night – the last thing he remembers is…absolutely nothing. He has no clue how he ended up here, in Seungcheol’s cozy little apartment; and that’s a story he’d like to know. His legs feel like they’re going to fall off soon, so he grabs the pillow he’d used overnight and smashes his face into it, silently screaming.

“Do you want eggs?”

Jihoon mumbles an incoherent reply into his pillow, and Seungcheol takes that as a yes. The older guy busies himself around the kitchen as Jihoon tries to fall back asleep, wrapping himself up into the blankets on the floor. He doesn’t feel like doing anything today – he’s never been that wasted before.

“Here.” Seungcheol pops up beside him, handing him a steaming mug of tea.

Jihoon has no appetite; all he wants to do is sleep for the next ten years. He slowly sits up and graciously accepts the drink; taking a hesitant sip, almost burning his tongue in the process.

“It’s still hot, be careful.” Seungcheol follows up with a plate of scrambled eggs. “Eat up. You’ll feel better.”

Jihoon eats them in silence, as Seungcheol watches him. The blond feels conscious as Seungcheol watches his every move – like, do you want me to feed you or something? He’s too used to doing things on his own (being with Soonyoung doesn’t count), and there’s a nice warm feeling creeping up his neck when he thinks about someone waiting on him, greeting him good morning with the best smile on earth, making him breakfast, and taking care of him in his hungover state – though Jihoon doesn’t want to fully admit that he was piss drunk last night.

“Do you want to go home? Soonyoung might be worried about you.” Seungcheol asks, his eyes trained on Jihoon, who’s still finishing up his food.

No, Jihoon’s answer pops up instantly in his little head – I want to stay here forever.

Between mouthful of eggs, Jihoon spies his phone on the coffee table, and reaches over for it. His text messages are empty, apart from a million work emails that came through last night – at this poi