Everything was still there in the haziness of Jongup's mind as he came to his senses, and perhaps he was relieved.

He never wanted to forget it; everything from the looks across the room to finally having Youngjae to himself.

He never wanted to forget how Youngjae had unravelled, falling apart under Jongup's every touch. How delicate, yet open he had been, how he’d never faltered. He hadn't let Jongup have him because he was weak and unable to hold his own, but because he trusted Jongup to have him.

He never wanted to forget that. He was relieved to find the memories fresh in his mind, not faded or altered by alcohol.

Every little sound Youngjae had made, every word he'd said – because that boy couldn't shut up not even while making love – Jongup remembered it all and in his half-awake state, with sleep still dripping from his eyelids, it made him smile.

The best part was that Jongup didn't only have the memories to hold onto. Youngjae was right next to him, still immersed in a realm of dreams.

He looked so peaceful. Jongup was afraid to touch him, to make a sound, to do anything that would disturb his peace.

Just as he thought that, the peace was indeed disturbed.

It was Jongup's phone, which he made sure to silence straight away. He tossed the device aside and immediately looked back to Youngjae, who was – thank god – sleeping just as peacefully with only the slightest movement of his lips and a little jolt of his wrist.

Jongup wanted to go right back to the warmth of the bed, to Youngjae and his graceful form tangled in a pure white blanket.

But he couldn’t. That phone call had been his call back into reality. Although he knew it was inevitable, he was no less frustrated with the fact.

He didn’t want to leave. He stayed for another minute or so, gaze fixed on the sleeping boy. Jongup had to look away, or he’d never leave.

He was careful while getting up, doing everything in his power not to wake Youngjae up. Once he was on his feet he stretched, glancing to the window that was letting in the soft morning sun.

It took Jongup a little while to find and gather all his clothes, but perhaps he was purposely stalling with getting dressed, postponing the moment he would have to walk out the door.

One hand on the doorknob, Jongup threw one last glance over his shoulder. He sighed, turned around and opened the door.

The sound of sheets rustling reached him and then a quiet, low voice.

“Don’t go,” whispered, a genuine plea coming from a not yet fully conscious Youngjae.

Those words alone were what made Jongup forget about everything else that awaited out there, outside of that bedroom where Youngjae was, looking at him with half lidded, tired eyes.

Jongup turned back around, let the door slide shut, and in a matter of seconds he had Youngjae in his arms again.