[CONTENTID1]7[/CONTENTID1]

[CONTENTID2][/CONTENTID2]

[CONTENTID3]

They were playing a game.

It was simple enough—the one who spoke less words until the clock strikes 4 pm, or as people say, the winner, would have the right to ask whatever they wanted from the losing one. It wasn’t really exhilarating for Hyukjae, but Donghae was competitive and clingy, and Hyukjae needed to distract him long enough so he could submit this one hell of paperwork due 4 pm today.

And now, that ridiculous boy was stapling himself on his arm. Like a leech. A cute leech, to be precise. Hyukjae didn’t have the heart to sprinkle some salt on him—after all, Donghae was such a cute leech, and the man didn’t actually mind a pretty boy climbing his arm.

If only that little horror would stop poking him on the cheek.

Hyukjae grunted and tore his gaze away from his working tablet. He was met with a toothy grin from his young lover, eyes wide as a deer and as mischievous as the jester. Was he making a mistake, by creating such a game? This game was supposed to keep Donghae occupied and thus stopped bothering him with his antics and let Hyukjae do what he must do. He must be making a mistake. This entire set-up, the cute leech in his arm, was a mistake. He shouldn’t let a leech stapling his arm in the first place. He needed to sprinkle some salt.

Donghae lifted his eyebrows, as if challenging him to utter a word. Hyukjae, who wasn’t into the game, glared.

“Stop poking me.”

The boy gasped. Three, he showed him his tiny digits. Three more words were added to Hyukjae’s word count, an addition of his previous five (is the basketball match on?). In comparison to Donghae’s two (hyung! hyung!), it looked rather devastating, knowing well that Donghae was the chirper between the both of them.

Earlier, Hyukjae had put the boy on the couch and the TV (is the basketball match on?), sit there for a while whereas Donghae had his focus solely on the match—before tiptoeing back into their bedroom to resume his paperwork. An hour later, while he was only halfway through it, Donghae paraded inside the bedroom, his face all folded up—realizing that Hyukjae had put on the match to keep him occupied. Like a toddler.

Usually, Donghae wasn’t like this—he was very understanding when Hyukjae had some work left to do on Saturdays or Sundays—but it was one of his Clingy Day it seemed, maybe because Hyukjae had just left him abroad for two weeks straight and had just came back only yesterday night. His lover missed him. Hyukjae knew it for sure, and so did he. He missed Donghae dearly, and wanted to spend his precious days off to hibernate with Donghae cuddled in his arms. 

After this one, Hyukjae promised himself, again holding himself back from uttering any more word towards the owner of the finger poking his cheek. After this one I shall hibernate.

He drowned himself in his work, numbing himself from any disruption coming from the clinging boy on his arm. Or so he thought he numbed himself, but it was when Hyukjae finally, finally submitted his paperwork, he realized that Donghae had fallen asleep, curling around Hyukjae's left arm, his hand holding onto the older man’s single finger.

One would say Donghae looked angelic in his sleep. Well, he was—long lashes fanning over his cheeks, a petulant pout forming on kissable lips. He was already innocent-looking in his wake, let alone his sleep. Cherubic. Seraphic. Whatever you say. But Hyukjae knew better; this mischievous boy was actually the Devil. Manipulative. Those eyes and that pout were a crime. Someone once said that Hyukjae was weak for a pretty boy.

“Baby…” Hyukjae began, but immediately halted. He couldn't even salt the leech. What made him think that he had the heart to push Donghae off his arm so he could shift into a more comfortable position?

And then there he was, struggling to find a better position because he was weak for a certain pretty boy—inconvenient, as he said before. His whipped behavior towards Donghae was an inconvenience. A human error, perhaps. He shouldn't be like this. Never in his life Hyukjae thought that this wild little thing could bring him to his knees. Because—for the love of God. His left arm and his index were going to purple soon and later the doctor was going to have it cut off.

Hyukjae stopped squirming after a few minutes. He took liberty of staring at his boy's sleeping face, from the rise and fall of his chest, a slight drool on the edge of his sugar-spun pink lips, and how it seemed like Donghae had managed to somehow thwack himself against whatever. Did a random cat land on him again yesterday? There was a small band-aid close to his hairline, something that Hyukjae hadn't noticed before because Donghae's bangs got in the way.

(or that he was too busy working)

“Such a menace.” Hyukjae grumbled fondly. His baby was wearing a wrist splint today—perhaps the intense piano lessons had started to catch up to him. It was nothing serious, Hyukjae had seen Donghae wearing it every once in a while, and they for sure had consulted an orthopedic beforehand. Still, although it was nothing serious, seeing Donghae wearing it had spurred a bit of Hyukjae's protectiveness—his lover was too precious for an injury, even for the littlest thing such as a kitten's scratch.

Hyukjae held the hand that bear the wrist splint and kissed the little fingers poking out of it. Donghae stirred, still not awake and deep in slumber, although he nuzzled a little closer against Hyukjae. He made him hungry, only this time, not in an intimate way. He wanted to eat him whole and keep his sweetness inside his soul forever, wanted to crawl under and inside Donghae's skin and stayed there forever. A mere day apart from Donghae suffocated him. He was harboring the line of feeling overwhelmed by the things he felt for Donghae—and what even was this? This mischievous boy was holding onto Hyukjae's single finger with his whole hand. A habit, perhaps. Like a baby. Like he was such a little thing.

Hyukjae pushed away the urge to squeeze his baby and struggled to reach his phone. If he couldn't crush this boy into a big hug, then for sure he should preserve this precious moment in his phone gallery.

Even the sound of his camera shutter startled him. He forgot to turn it off. Hyukjae froze, in fear that he might have awakened Donghae, but it seemed like that was not the case. Donghae stayed still, still sleeping soundly as he was, clearly undisturbed by Hyukjae's one hell of a loud shutter sound.

A picture from an angle above his face, to capture the length of his lashes. One closer to his face, to get that petulant pout. Another to get a close-up look of his endearing mole just shy of his chin. A few minutes later, he had a whole gallery of pictures of his lover taken from different angles, enough to fill up an entire bundle of photobooks.

He suddenly felt like a ert. But did he? If this was the quality to be a ert then Donghae would be a total ert (all those -me-daddy moments, Hyukjae thought in amusement). To be fair, Donghae had taken an unreasonable amount of Hyukjae's pictures as well—and not all of them were presentable.

Hyukjae's quiet chuckle was what made Donghae eventually stirred. He sat up,