Work Text:
“You love Hoyoung more than me,” Gyehyeon says, running his fingers along the underside of Dongheon’s jaw. There’s an absurd impulse to grab his face and jerk it down, to make Dongheon look at him instead of the stupid television. Just another thing Gyehyeon is used to swatting away like a mosquito. “I understand though.”
“I don’t love him more than you. It’s not comparable.”
Dongheon pats his cheek, but Gyehyeon feels it like a slap. He waits for the elaboration he wants; watches the electric light flash around the angles of Dongheon’s face. He wants Dongheon to turn the TV off. He wants Dongheon to kiss him until his lips are bruised, to whisper worship against his skin and fuck him until there’s no brain power left to doubt. Mostly, he wants to be more important than whatever he’s watching.
Dongheon laughs along with a stale laugh track.
Gyehyeon’s chin trembles. Stinging salt in an old wound, torn open over and over. It hurts so badly to be the one that always cares more.
He clears his throat. “Everything is comparable when you place it side by side.”
“No it isn't.” Dongheon bends down to kiss his forehead and gives him a silly grin. “I’m older, I know more than you.”
Logically, Dongheon is probably right. But logic does little for him on his good days, and cuts like a knife on the bad ones. Already wounded, there’s no sense in pushing for more, not when the only thing that will stop the spiral is reciprocated intensity. He lays helpless in Dongheon’s lap, staring at the open door to the room where Hoyoung is still asleep. The television is a low, buzzing annoyance, but it keeps Dongheon from witnessing the pain on Gyehyeon’s face. He worries his hands, links his fingers together and pulls them apart, a physical exercise to keep him from the mortifying vulnerability of crying.
His thoughts slingshot in response to the rejection, a long slide into familiar depths. Of course it isn’t comparable. Hoyoung doesn’t need constant reassurance. Hoyoung doesn’t think himself into depressive frenzies. Hoyoung is sane.
Hoyoung is sane and Gyehyeon is broken, a fault line running deep through his foundation. He shouldn’t be pushing it. It’s fine enough that he’s a mostly lovable hazard with the warning: caution, flammable. He should be thankful that they care enough to navigate his minefield of a disposition. He should, but it’s not enough. He wants to be better for them. They deserve a better version of him.
He can’t hold it in—makes the mistake of taking a shaky breath through his quiet tears, drawing attention to himself. As much as he wants the attention, crying for it is manipulative. But it’s too late now; Dongheon’s face falls and Gyehyeon’s face is between his hands and Gyehyeon wants to die, because this isn’t what he wanted, he didn’t want to force it—
“You were serious?” Dongheon asks. He still hasn’t turned the TV off. “Baby, I—” His shoulders fall. “This is about last night.”
Gyehyeon feels even more like a child with his cheeks squished and his nose running, but he lets it happen. Maybe because Dongheon is right.
“You’re wrong,” he says anyway, through squished lips.
“I don’t think I am.” He releases Gyehyeon’s face to cradle the back of his neck and lays the flat of his palm onto Gyehyeon’s stomach. “Even if you don’t realize it.”
Gyehyeon doesn’t want to think about last night, but the memory filters back regardless. His subconscious is always so eager to remember the things that hurt him, to have them waiting and ready like an I-told-you-so when people eventually leave.
Hoyoung is distinct against the bright lights of the bar around him, twirling the glass of whatever non-alcoholic drink he bought just to have a place there, with them. He sent Dongheon away because they need to talk, and Gyehyeon is sure this is some horrible confrontation about their shared partner—Hoyoung was here first, after all. He’s scared, his heart is pounding, but he’s also preemptively pissed off, so he affects his bitchiest stare and leans against his hand, playing off his fear as impatience.
“I don’t know how you’re going to feel about this, but—”
“It doesn’t matter how I feel.” Gyehyeon drains the rest of his drink, wishing this weren’t his first. If Hoyoung notices his hand shaking, he doesn’t say anything. “Just don’t sugar-coat shit.”
“It matters…”
Hoyoung trails off, like maybe he wants to finish the sentence, but expects Gyehyeon to argue. Neither happens, so Gyehyeon raises his eyebrows in an impatient manner, waiting for Hoyoung to stop inspecting the brick wall behind Gyehyeon and just spit it out.
“Alright, well.” He’s nervous—his accent is thicker than normal. He shrugs and at least has the decency to meet Gyehyeon’s stare, as cold as it is. “It’s been a few years since we met. I’m glad you moved in when you did. I like having you around. I like it when you spend the night with us.”
Gyehyeon looks over at the bar where Dongheon has at least two bartenders and three patrons engrossed in whatever story he’s telling. “You didn’t send him away to tell me you like fucking me.”
“I understand why he loves you.” He smiles for some reason Gyehyeon can’t interpret, and makes a show of taking a sip of his drink. “‘Cause I think I love you, too.”
Gyehyeon knows, from experience, that the worst thing you can say to a love confession is nothing. But he was so prepared for the worst: “I’m tired of sharing my fiance,” or “We’re finally getting married so you need to move out,” or something equally as final. All of his defenses were manned for the attack, but to hear that—
It’s not a joke, because Hoyoung isn’t funny. It’s not a joke, because the corner of his mouth is twisted into a pinch of worry and his focus jumps from Gyehyeon’s face, to his hands, to the table, and back again. But Gyehyeon can’t think, and he certainly can’t speak, and he knows his face is still locked into bitch mode because he can’t think well enough to figure out how to react.
Hoyoung breaks the silence first. “I mean, I don’t love you as much as I love Dongheon. But I still do. Love you, I mean.”
I don’t love you as much as I love Dongheon.
I don’t love you as much.
I don’t love you.
Because no one will ever love you.
Not really.
And that’s how it stayed, dug its roots into his thoughts and kept him up all night, reminding him that neither of them will ever love him the way they love each other; the idea is wholly impossible. They care about him, maybe, the way you’re obligated to care about a stray that’s picked you.
Gyehyeon sits up from Dongheon’s lap and retreats to the other arm of the couch, a safe distance away from pity touches. He rests his forearm on his head, effectively hiding his expression behind his bicep, and pulling at the ankle of his sweats with his toes. The words swirl, too fast to think any thoughts to completion, but deep enough to feel them—don’t, never, not, no one.
“You’re going to spiral,” Dongheon offers.
Don’t tell me to have a conversation, Gyehyeon wants to say. But he only thinks it instead, and gnaws on the inside of his lip. “What else is new?”
“Definitely not that you’re gonna cover up being hurt with being a bitch.” Dongheon flops over into the center cushion to pull Gyehyeon’s arm away from his face. “Go talk to him.”
“He’s asleep.”
“Wake him up.”
“I don’t want to.”
“He’d want you to wake him up if the alternative is a panic attack.”
______
So Gyehyeon toes into their bedroom— their bedroom, not yours, his brain supplies—and stops as soon as he's out of Dongheon's view. The room is dark, the only light filtering in from around the drawn curtains, and the soft glow from Dongheon's night light by the door. Hoyoung is asleep on the near side of the bed, turned away from Gyehyeon with the blankets bunched around his waist.
He shuffles around the foot of the bed, mentally dragging his feet as he physically does it as well. He craves the relief of being honest, he does, but he's never directly spoken to Hoyoung about his— problems. Hoyoung is smart enough to know they're there, and probably a good portion of what goes on, but Hoyoung inferring on his own time and being confronted with how much of a baby Gyehyeon is are two different things.
As he slides into Dongheon's side of the bed, he watches Hoyoung's face in its open state. He's always nice to look at, but there's something special about being allowed to see someone like this. A privilege more than one person allows him. It’s a soothing thought; he doesn’t get to indulge in it long before he crashes and burns, wondering if Hoyoung and Dongheon were forced to have a talk about him last night before they slept.
He says Hoyoung’s name to no answer, and considers simply falling asleep like this, rather than the stress of a confrontation. It would be ideal. But the thoughts won’t let him sleep until it’s solved, one way or the other, so he says his name again while softly nudging his arm. He’s obnoxiously picturesque as he wakes up, adjusts his body with a gentle grace before opening his heavy eyelids and giving a half-hearted smile.
Gyehyeon fakes a smile back. “Morning.”
He reaches out to poke Gyehyeon’s nose, before huddling his whole body down into the blankets. “Good morning starshine, the earth says hello.”
It’s a considerate peace offering, considering the way Gyehyeon acted last night. But if Gyehyeon doesn’t talk now—right now—he’s not going to say anything at all. He can feel the panic building, growing up from his stomach into his lungs, where it will sit heavy and painful.
It comes out as a rushed scramble, something like a long sentence made of only one very long word, and not for the first time he wishes he could be more precise and eloquent when he’s upset, but well—he has no brainspace left for that.
“I’m sorry that I was a jerk last night, but you said you loved Dongheon more than me and I haven’t been able to sleep and he made me come in here and wake you up.”
Hoyoung’s face falls tender. “Oh, love.”
He hates it. He hates the pity in it. And Hoyoung reaching out for him is all it takes for the fissure to seep, for him to jerk back and for the tears to fall now without a barrier. He shoves his fingers in his mouth to bite down and keep from outright sobbing. There won’t be any conversation if he starts blubbering.
“I’m sorry,” he says around his fingers.
“No, I triggered you. I’m sorry.”
Gyehyeon sniffles. “I’m not triggered.”
“You’re crying in my bed at—” Hoyoung raises his head to look at the alarm across the room, “—seven in the morning.”
Fine. Maybe it triggered something. But he feels so goddamn stupid for his inflated reactions, for waking him up crying, for always making things more complicated than they have to be.
“I shouldn’t have said it,” Hoyoung continues. “I felt vulnerable, too. I was afraid of rejection, so I tried to soften the blow for myself. But that wasn’t fair to you.”
“Are you trying to say it wasn’t true? I know better than that.”
“I’m not trying to backtrack or make excuses. I’m trying to apologize in a way that feels good for you. But I don’t think I’ve quite figured out how to yet.”
“I’m sorry I’m so difficult.”
Gyehyeon curls into himself, legs tucked under and arms wrapped around his head. He does this in preparation for a sob, one that he knows will look and sound ugly. It tears through him, ripped from his core because he's been swallowing it down, months since he's let himself really sob. He fists his hair and gives in, finally, allows the emotion to ravage him from head to toe.
“Gye—”
“I'm sorry that I'm always upset and that my moods never make sense and that I'm so fucking sensitive.” He pauses for another choked sob. “I know I'm high maintenance and hard to be around and I don't have any excuses, but I promise I try—”
It feels pointless to keep babbling through his tears and snot, face pressed into the pillow. The words do little justice to describe the hectic mess inside him, except that he does try, meticulously every day to reign in his reactions and stomp down his feelings. He keeps so much inside, so many ugly things that no one can ever see. But the parts that manage to overflow are bad enough; the things that slip past his fingers he can never take back, his rotten core inevitably a spreading stain on whoever is unlucky enough to witness who he really is.
“There's nothing good about me, I know, and I know you're both just too nice to say it.”
There. It’s out in the open now, and Hoyoung can just admit it. It’s safer that way.
“I see you and I hear you. I have things to say. But I’d like for you to finish first.”
Gyehyeon slams his head into the pillow. “I’m done. I guess.”
“I can’t fight what’s in your mind,” Hoyoung says, an apology in his tone like he wishes he could. “And you don’t have to tell me what it is. But I can tell you how I honestly see you. I'd like to do that for you.”
Honestly. What a gamble. But he’s willing to listen, if only because Hoyoung’s voice is soothing with depth from sleep, and all his attention is on Gyehyeon, and that alone quiets some of the voices in his head.
He drags his face from the pillow, turning to chance a look at Hoyoung. It’s a gift of trust, even if Hoyoung doesn’t realize it; to reveal his tears and his red eyes. A certain ugliness that has nothing to do with his face. To let anyone see how easily they have an effect on him is to open a door just for the opportunity for them to slam it in his face.
He nods, and sniffles with a jerk, and stares at the mole on Hoyoung’s neck because his eyes are too much right now, regardless of what’s in them.
Hoyoung sighs, but it’s not a sigh of impatience that whispers to Gyehyeon that he's too much . It just sounds sleepy and thoughtful, like he’s thankful for the opportunity to speak.
“One of the reasons I love you is how much you pay attention. That speaks volumes about how deeply you care. You can play it aloof and I won’t challenge you in front of others, but you remember how I take my coffee, and the spot behind my ears that makes me shiver, that I like ice cream when I’m sick and why I can’t drink. I didn’t have to tell you any of these things more than once—some of them I didn’t even have to voice.”
The ugliness in his mind wants to argue, but it comes up empty. Because what Hoyoung said about his memory and attention is true. Does that mean the rest of it is, as well? The words loosen the noose around his neck. A shower of relief—he cares, he cares. He sees something in Gyehyeon worth keeping.
Gyehyeon looks past him at the open door. “Anyone can do that.”
Hoyoung chuckles. “Not everyone can, and more importantly, not everyone does.”
The praise settles something tight between his shoulder blades, and he lets his body flop out of the curled up, defensive position to the side.
“Why else do you love me?” Gyehyeon asks.
The question makes him look happy, and Gyehyeon would like to ask why, but he doesn’t want to interrupt.
“I don’t know why you hate your sensitivity so much. Maybe someone along the way convinced you it was a flaw and that’s why you try to hide it. But it helps you in ways that you don’t consider, I think. You can read people so well, it’s almost like intuition. The smallest change in a facial expression, or a different way of speaking. I kind of wish I could do it.”
“But it makes me do stupid things like freak out because you said a few words that I didn’t like.”
Hoyoung brings his arm out from under the blanket. “Can I touch you now?”
Gyehyeon blinks. “Yeah.”
Hoyoung runs his hands through Gyehyeon’s hair. “It’s not an inconvenience to me that you have feelings and that you tell me when I’ve hurt you. It’s an element of being my partner. It would be much worse if you didn’t. Dongheon feels that way, too, even if he’s overly concerned with keeping the peace sometimes.”
Gyehyeon feels a rush of warmth in his stomach and flushing in his cheeks. “You called me your partner.”
“Oh—yeah. Shit. I kind of just—I didn’t mean to assume. You don’t have to say anything. That’s a discussion for another time.”
“I like it.”
“What do you like?”
“The idea of being your partner.” Gyehyeon runs his fingers in a nervous design on the bed between them. “But it’s complicated. I’m a lot of effort. To put it nicely.”
“This is how I see it.” Hoyoung presses his hand to the middle of Gyehyeon’s chest, palm flat and fingertips curling in the fabric of his shirt. “Your heart is in a labyrinth, and it needs to be there to keep you safe. It takes someone with patience to find it. I’m not there yet, but I’ve caught glimpses along the way, and the sight is beautiful. I won’t give up because the path is long.”
Gyehyeon wrinkles his nose. “That’s really gay.”
Hoyoung tries to take back his hand, but Gyehyeon holds it where it is.
“Thanks, being gay is my modus operandi.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means that I love you whether or not you have mood swings.”
That feels wrong—not incorrect, not anymore, but like some kind of cosmic injustice. Because Hoyoung could love anyone in the world, and it would be so much easier if it weren’t Gyehyeon. But it feels like the truth. And Gyehyeon is good at being selfish.
“Do you wanna know why I love you?” Gyehyeon asks. He hopes it’s enough; that it’s a confession enough on its own, without having to reveal too much.
Hoyoung breaks into a grin and wiggles closer. “I always want to hear more about me.”
Gyehyeon rolls his eyes, but Hoyoung can be infectious. He manages to at least keep his smile from showing teeth.
“You’ve always known how to talk to me.” Gyehyeon brings Hoyoung’s hand up to kiss at his fingers one by one, hoping that the action will say more than he’s ready to. “You don’t try to fix me or argue with the bad thoughts. You just talk over them.”
“I am good at talking.”
Gyehyeon means to say something—something smart or something reassuring, he isn’t sure which. But the relief of coming down from the panic and the sleepless night of fear hit him all at once, and he closes his eyes and releases Hoyoung’s hand to go limp against the bed. Hoyoung continues talking anyway, his voice floating from one side of Gyehyeon to the other, says something about him being heavy as fuck, and Gyehyeon is too slow and sleepy to realize that he’s trying to cover him with the blankets he’s laying on until they’re on top of him.
“Sorry,” Gyehyeon slurs again through sleep.
Hoyoung hushes him and he hums in response, too tired to argue; he’s still sorry for so much that he has yet to say and do. But at least now he feels like Hoyoung will stay long enough to hear the apologies.