Right Now

Cheeky, he thinks watching the screen of his phone turning on, shining in neon. He shakes his head in disapproval yet he opens the applications, lets his voice fill the hollow of the room, husky and velvety. It spreads over his mind like hot chocolate on a windy day, it warms his heart as it has always happened. If he closes his almond eyes, he can imagine that he is here, by his side, sitting with his chin on his shoulder, his curls under his lashes, as he has promised. Instead, he is miles away, breaking a commitment he has made to him.

He sighs, defeated. He knows that Seungyoon has been waiting to do a VLive, for the fans, to celebrate his activities, to reassure them that he still has things ongoing. He can’t be angry at that, not when he, too, has his own, personal issues. But it has been so long since they could be together, it feels unfair, foul, taste tart and sour.

Jinwoo blinks at the brightness of the screen, flicks through the comments, let a bitter chuckle fogs his lips: he is so full of himself, he wants to be there just to prove them right – just to demonstrate that Seungyoon can’t even lift the paddle, less of all be the master of table-tennis as he is proclaiming. He shakes his head, all of his hair falling on his sides, long locks of silky, inked tresses. He brushes them out of his frame, locks them behind his ears as Seungyoon would do if he were there – but he is not and it doesn’t seem that he has any will to come home any time soon.

He is getting impatient, watching the hours go by, watching Seungyoon on the phone instead of with his own two eyes, touching him with tender fingers sinking on his skin, caressing the back of his neck, pushing him in until his lips could brush his mouth in a soft kiss, just the way Seungyoon loves – slow, burning sweet, the flavour of his lip-balm travelling down his tongue, carefully drinking the air from his lungs, drowning into the immensity of his eyes, pools of cosiness, the essence of his home. Tempting just enough to set up ambers, but not rough or passionate, they don’t need that, flames like flowers, devouring each other. They like it paused, measured, complacent – and Jinwoo likes to see the pout on Seungyoon’s expression whenever he releases him, when his hands stop gripping, holding onto his hips, protesting as if the sun had set and there wasn’t more light in the whole universe (as if the stars were dying on the sky).

He heaves, again, watching him talk about nothing important. It could have waited, fans could wait – they have, another day wouldn’t change their affection towards Seungyoon. He could have come, do it from home – do it with Jinwoo cuddled into his arms, interlocked hands, breathing the same oxygen, laughing at the same lame jokes Seungyoon always put off. However, he is not here and there is nothing he can do to bring him, to drag him to the place he belongs – and he sinks into his absence, the void he feels whenever they can’t meet, all the space between them that is now tangible, palpable, known (he can name all the streets and centimetres keeping them separate). And it hurts to be so insignificant, so forgettable, even when he has promised to be with him. It pains him that he has given so much for this relation and, yet, he gets nothing but dust in return.

He knows he is being acerbic and resentful, that he has been holding his thoughts, bottling his emotions again – that it’s not that deep, that Seungyoon will be back, just later than agreed. It’s not as if he has truly forgotten him – he would never, Jinwoo trust his heart, has seen his commitment, his loyalty, the strength of his feelings that have grown more profound, deep as the foundation of the world. He is being silly and ridiculous, partially because he has his mind clouded with the flavour of the soju Seungyoon should be in-taking with him, half-gone down his throat to swallow the emptiness left in the flat. He takes another sip, just to clear his head – just to have an excuse to drink up. He finishes the bottle and changes the channel: the drama they accorded to watch has already started. He tries to follow the plot but, without Seungyoon nags and complaints, without his waterfall of questions regarding the events of the story, it is not fun – not at all, even if his favourite actress is there and he is missing half the episode in favour of glancing over at Seungyoon, the little picture of him moving on his phone. He is chatting, sitting in his studio at the agency. He has been there before – he has been there to help him settle down, moving his stuff, installing all the electronics devices. They have made out in that couch, before it was a couch at all, on the rug covering the floor, all packed boxes and phosphorescent lamps. Jinwoo had kissed him with his chest bare, fingers wandering over the surface of just reckoned muscles, drawing ribs, touching his heartbeats. He had taken him there, on the table, until morning came and he was panting, coarse, all his flesh reddened and rough, calloused with nails and tongues. Now, he is thinking too much, missing the trace of his smile, the curb of his back, the gentleness of his hips that feel so perfect between his paws. He misses the taste of his laugh and the shades of his music, his voice singing just for him, playing the music that lingers inside of his core and that is imbued with the force of his love.

He feels so stupid all alone, he loathes it – hates the person he is when he becomes so clingy, so needy of Seungyoon. He sends the text before he is able to change his mind, waits for an answer he is sure that won’t come.

He is wrong because Seungyoon sees it straight away, giggles on the camera and tells the viewers about their plan of meeting. 

“I promised Jinwoo hyung to spend the night with him,” he explains, “so I better hurry up and go”, and Jinwoo feels secured, feels that Seungyoon is already getting closer. “But let me go through the scrip once more before calling it a day,” he adds the brat. He is being too insolent and sassy, the little gall. He ends the record, bits his congregate “wells” and the screen glows again, blinks once before turning off, all black.

It is five minutes past since Seungyoon has finished the VLive show and Jinwoo is getting ready to bed: it is pointless to wait for him when he has said he has still work to be done – and, as much as it bothers Jinwoo, he understands that it is important, that Seungyoon is a perfectionist and he has to perform well to get more gigs, to spread his name. He is not that annoyed, they can date any other day, it wasn’t that special – just to spend some time together, that’s all.

He is about to get into bed when the door clinks and opens and Seungyoon rushes in, bringing the flavour of the night and the taste of the wind. Jinwoo looks at him, who has come in unexpectantly, uninvited - though he will always find a willing heart to welcome him. 

“I have to practise a kissing scene," he explains, panting, short of breath, his hair a mop of messy curls and whirlpools, coming one step closer to Jinwoo, a mischievous grin tinting the warm brown of his pupils, "I thought you could help me,” he says, his hands stretching to hold Jinwoo’s frame.

Jinwoo raises a bow, suspicious: Seungyoon really has some guts: he has just said to be occupied studying the script for his upcoming filming. He rolls his eyes, allows him to envelop his waist, pushing him inside of his arms, the sweet perfume of Seungyoon tickling his senses, drowning onto his nerves, and he relaxes, exhales the frown between his brows, lets the sulkiness go, Seungyoon's embrace soothing him all. 

“ ”The Voice” is a thriller," he points out, remarking the fault on Seungyoon's plot. "There is no romance going on. Certainly, not with your character," but he giggles, feeling snow falling on his cheeks, on the tip of his nose, Seungyoon's lips warming up after the cold that he has brought in with his arrival.

He doesn't mind the trick and the little lie - he can't care, not when, after all, Seungyoon has come, as promised.