i.

(but it does hurt. sometimes the smoke is suffocating as he collapses into it and the air is overwhelming when he reforms.)

*

the flashing lights and heavy bass are disorienting. even the summer night outside is nothing to the heat of moving sweating bodies to the music.

sungjoo’s limbs are fluid and easy as he closes his eyes lets himself drown in the electronic sound surging in his veins, the double tequila shot exploding eagerly underneath his skin.

seungyoon ditched him ages ago, but sungjoo could hardly find it in himself to be angry at the other. after all, best friends know each other best and always come back home.

he’s about to leave the dance floor for water when a strong calloused hand slips around his wrist and tugs intently back into the mass.

and in a blink he finds himself at a stop in the mass of shifting bodies and looking up into the eyes of a lean chinese man with dark hair watching him expectantly. the flashing lights douse the crowd in almost dizzying multicolors that seem to sharpen the other man’s face. his eyeliner is minimal, but it’s his smile that makes it more piercing, with its effortless, wild confidence completing the image.

“wenhan.” the man’s voice is so low that would’ve been lost in the deafening sounds had it not paused at that moment to switch into something slower and more hypnotizing.

heated hands rest on sungjoo’s hips just as he replies with his name and the touch seems to burn right through the thin layer of tank top sungjoo’s wearing like a second skin.

a triumphant smi