Ship/Member: Seungcheol/Jeonghan Major Tags: implied/glossed over sexual content, mentioned breeding kink Additional Tags: post-breakup, dreams Permission to remix: Yes | on ao3
went into a fugue state, fell asleep, there were words in the doc. bone app the teeth.
***
Seungcheol knows that the dream isn’t real because Jeonghan can stand to look at him head on. He’s smiling in Seungcheol’s direction, which is something he hadn’t thought to miss, but he feels it like a tide grabbing at his ankles. The aching rips through him like an electric current.
He might remember this day, or at least some part of it. Early on when they were still learning each other. How to move from friendship to romance. Jeonghan had adapted faster. He was always better at that, coaxing Seungcheol into a new phase of life rather than dragging him along.
All of that changed, after, and he can't pinpoint the moment. The last days of their relationship were bookended by an uncomfortable silence that even Kkuma seemed to know better to try to break. All that filled the space was some old mix CD that Jeonghan had made him when they were in high school. All love songs, all ballads.
Sometimes, he lets the CDs spin in the ancient boombox he’d stolen from his parents’ house and lets the words wash over. This one was for a ceremony he’ll never have. This one, soundtracking their first kiss. When they’d moved into the apartment, the one that he’s standing in, the one where he’s asleep on the couch in the waking world, the song he hears distantly had been on a loop over and over and over. “This one reminds me of you,” Jeonghan had said, a faint blush dusting his cheeks before returning his full attention to the next box that needed to be unpacked.
In the end, Seungcheol had been left with the apartment, two boxes of shared memories, and a hand-written note. The words paralleled the first time they’d exchanged I love yous. Jeonghan always loved a full circle moment. He wonders how he would feel about this memory. This dream where they're still together.
In the dream, Jeonghan is wearing a coat he’d gotten rid of years ago, one that Seungcheol had told him had the scent of ashes lingering in the wool.
(Secretly, he used to love undoing the toggle buttons, fumbling them in his fingers before pulling Jeonghan in closer by the lapels to kiss. He doesn’t smell like smoke here, but clean. Cotton and cut flowers.
The first night that Seungcheol had to sleep alone, he’d piled every piece of clothing that Jeonghan had left behind onto his side of the bed, and fallen asleep with his face buried in a ratty t-shirt that used to belong to him. So much of his became theirs. He doesn’t know how to be alone anymore.)
“You know,” Dream Jeonghan drawls, holding out a scarf. He looks exasperated but fond. Seungcheol feels a pang of regret. “Just because you’ve gotten bigger doesn’t mean you can wear less winter clothes.”
He smooths a hand over his stomach, instinctive, but Jeonghan lassoes the scarf around his neck. The face he makes is another wave of regret. Why did he always fight this?
“Don’t start,” Jeonghan warns, covering Seungcheol’s hand with his own. They exchange a look, and Seungcheol’s stomach swoops.
(Jeonghan’s hand had moved over his stomach, months and months ago. Possessive. He’d been enthusiastic about giving Seungcheol what he’d asked for. Always had been, even when it meant giving him space.
Seungcheol had hidden his face in his hands, unable to look him in the eye. His skin was hot everywhere.
“Don’t hide from me,” Jeonghan had mumbled, fingertips trailing on the inside of his thighs. His breath tickled the thin skin behind his knee, hair shadowing his face before he’d leaned over, hips thrusting forward. “If this takes, everyone will know what I did to you.”)
Jeonghan’s hand moves, lacing their fingers together. “You’re perfect.”
“I’m not,” Seungcheol starts to complain, but Dream Jeonghan kisses him silent. His lips are soft and forgiving.
“I would love you even if you weren’t,” Jeonghan says, and Seungcheol’s next breath catches in his throat.
You wouldn’t, he doesn’t say, choosing to melt into the fantasy instead.
[FILL] it was you i was dreaming of
Major Tags: implied/glossed over sexual content, mentioned breeding kink
Additional Tags: post-breakup, dreams
Permission to remix: Yes | on ao3
went into a fugue state, fell asleep, there were words in the doc. bone app the teeth.
***
Seungcheol knows that the dream isn’t real because Jeonghan can stand to look at him head on. He’s smiling in Seungcheol’s direction, which is something he hadn’t thought to miss, but he feels it like a tide grabbing at his ankles. The aching rips through him like an electric current.
He might remember this day, or at least some part of it. Early on when they were still learning each other. How to move from friendship to romance. Jeonghan had adapted faster. He was always better at that, coaxing Seungcheol into a new phase of life rather than dragging him along.
All of that changed, after, and he can't pinpoint the moment. The last days of their relationship were bookended by an uncomfortable silence that even Kkuma seemed to know better to try to break. All that filled the space was some old mix CD that Jeonghan had made him when they were in high school. All love songs, all ballads.
Sometimes, he lets the CDs spin in the ancient boombox he’d stolen from his parents’ house and lets the words wash over. This one was for a ceremony he’ll never have. This one, soundtracking their first kiss. When they’d moved into the apartment, the one that he’s standing in, the one where he’s asleep on the couch in the waking world, the song he hears distantly had been on a loop over and over and over. “This one reminds me of you,” Jeonghan had said, a faint blush dusting his cheeks before returning his full attention to the next box that needed to be unpacked.
In the end, Seungcheol had been left with the apartment, two boxes of shared memories, and a hand-written note. The words paralleled the first time they’d exchanged I love yous. Jeonghan always loved a full circle moment. He wonders how he would feel about this memory. This dream where they're still together.
In the dream, Jeonghan is wearing a coat he’d gotten rid of years ago, one that Seungcheol had told him had the scent of ashes lingering in the wool.
(Secretly, he used to love undoing the toggle buttons, fumbling them in his fingers before pulling Jeonghan in closer by the lapels to kiss. He doesn’t smell like smoke here, but clean. Cotton and cut flowers.
The first night that Seungcheol had to sleep alone, he’d piled every piece of clothing that Jeonghan had left behind onto his side of the bed, and fallen asleep with his face buried in a ratty t-shirt that used to belong to him. So much of his became theirs. He doesn’t know how to be alone anymore.)
“You know,” Dream Jeonghan drawls, holding out a scarf. He looks exasperated but fond. Seungcheol feels a pang of regret. “Just because you’ve gotten bigger doesn’t mean you can wear less winter clothes.”
He smooths a hand over his stomach, instinctive, but Jeonghan lassoes the scarf around his neck. The face he makes is another wave of regret. Why did he always fight this?
“Don’t start,” Jeonghan warns, covering Seungcheol’s hand with his own. They exchange a look, and Seungcheol’s stomach swoops.
(Jeonghan’s hand had moved over his stomach, months and months ago. Possessive. He’d been enthusiastic about giving Seungcheol what he’d asked for. Always had been, even when it meant giving him space.
Seungcheol had hidden his face in his hands, unable to look him in the eye. His skin was hot everywhere.
“Don’t hide from me,” Jeonghan had mumbled, fingertips trailing on the inside of his thighs. His breath tickled the thin skin behind his knee, hair shadowing his face before he’d leaned over, hips thrusting forward. “If this takes, everyone will know what I did to you.”)
Jeonghan’s hand moves, lacing their fingers together. “You’re perfect.”
“I’m not,” Seungcheol starts to complain, but Dream Jeonghan kisses him silent. His lips are soft and forgiving.
“I would love you even if you weren’t,” Jeonghan says, and Seungcheol’s next breath catches in his throat.
You wouldn’t, he doesn’t say, choosing to melt into the fantasy instead.