Ship/Member: Seungcheol/Jeonghan Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: second chances, exes to lovers, gratuitous references to taylor swift lyrics Permission to remix: Yes
i saw state of grace and ran with it. ***
The most important lesson that Jeonghan has learnt in his life is that love is a ruthless, ruthless game. It’s unforgivable. It takes, and takes, and takes, and you’re left reeling when it’s gone; left reeling when you have nothing left but jagged pieces of your heart in your hands.
Seungcheol is the one who first teaches him this, but it’s reinforced many times - too many times, honestly, enough that Jeonghan feels embarrassed and small - by too many people.
There’s Mingyu, who wore his heart out on his sleeve, open and ready for anyone to take, but he was so tall, it was out of reach. Jeonghan barely grazed it with his fingertips.
Joshua, who was a mirror of Jeonghan’s soul, but still couldn’t connect, still found him too less, still found him unreachable.
Soonyoung, who was too energetic for Jeonghan to keep up with, because he’s nothing if not lazy, nothing if not unwilling to put in extra effort, even though he wants to. He wants to put in effort, wants to be enough more than anything, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He doesn’t know why.
There’s Seokmin, who had the sun in his smile, but Jeonghan hadn’t been wearing his sunglasses when he met him. He got blinded by his brightness, and sometimes still sees the after-image of the hurt on Seokmin’s face when he closes his eyes. It twists his already wrung out heart, and the phantom ache in his chest after that one never leaves him.
It’s a perpetual pain, Jeonghan thinks, to love. Every time he falls in love, it’s a waiting game - he waits, sitting at the edge of his seat, until it hurts, until it bleeds, until it fades with time. He waits until he’s left alone again, waits until he’s told he can’t connect, waits until love becomes nothing but a burden; until the words remain nothing but a carcass of what he imagines the emotion to feel like.
Love is a ruthless game, he tells himself when he turns around in his bed to find nothing but a cold pillow, love is a ruthless game and you’re better off without it.
The armour he’s been building around his heart since Seungcheol, since he was nineteen and stupider, is almost impenetrable now.
Almost.
///
Seungcheol walks back into his life when he’s at the grocery store.
He looks good, Jeonghan can’t deny it, built bigger and warmer and looking much happier than the miserable college student he was. He’s wearing a flannel shirt and a pair of sandals and Jeonghan is only a little surprised when his battered old heart stutters to life against his hardened ribs.
“Jeonghan!” Seungcheol looks surprised when he sees him at the dairy freezer, “It’s been so long!”
“Seungcheol,” It doesn’t hurt to smile, not as much as Jeonghan expected it would. “How have you been?”
Seungcheol grins.
///
The armour falls.
Jeonghan wishes he could say he was surprised.
Seungcheol had always been different; had always understood Jeonghan at a wavelength that no one had before. When Jeonghan felt competitive, he’d smirk and draw up their scores on a wrinkled piece of paper; when Jeonghan felt petty, he’d stick his tongue out and say equally cutting words; when Jeonghan felt lonely, he’d curl up around him and let him rest on his broad shoulder.
It’s no different now, Jeonghan muses, when he and Seungcheol are in the midst of cooking dinner. Seungcheol’s phone lies on the counter, a recipe for pasta open on the web browser, and Jeonghan’s phone is leant against the knife-stand, a note open on the screen with the number of times either of them have spilt ingredients typed in victorious, bold Helvetica.
It’s comforting, in a way. Nothing has changed since nineteen, but everything has.
Seungcheol walks back into his life a lot more self-assured than he was when he left, and the armour falls and breaks and disintegrates. Jeonghan can’t say he ever saw him coming, not for the second time, but he thinks it’s better this time around. He knows he’s never going to be the same again - he can never build the armour back to what it was if Seungcheol leaves now.
Somehow, he feels Seungcheol will stay. That Seungcheol too has been inexplicably, irreversibly changed.
He hopes he’s right. This state of grace that they’re in, where they both need each other more than the skeletons in their closet try to fuck it up; where they’re finally fighting for it, fighting for a chance to last, is delicate. It’s delicate and balanced on equal legs, and Jeonghan has both feet in for the first time.
Seungcheol confesses to him one night, his deep voice interrupting the silence of Jeonghan’s apartment. “I’m scared,” he whispers, “I’m scared you’re going to leave.”
Jeonghan’s heart hurts. “Why would I?” He traces the shape of Seungcheol’s cheekbones; counts the eyelashes fluttering against warm skin. Why would he ever leave, when he has everything that he needs here, everything that he never thought he had the right to have again?
“You left last time,” Seungcheol brings his hands to rest on the small of Jeonghan’s back. “You got scared and you left. I can’t handle it if you leave again, Hannie, I can’t,” he sounds fierce, and sad, and absolutely lovely.
“I won’t,” Jeonghan thinks he might cry, “I can’t leave you again. I’ll stay here,” Forever, he doesn’t say. He thinks Seungcheol knows anyway.
“Don’t let go,” Seungcheol presses into his mouth, his fingers bruising the skin around Jeonghan’s sharp hip bones. The jagged pieces of their broken hearts form the most beautiful mosaic art, fragile and new, yet unbreakable.
Never, Jeonghan kisses him back, more confident than he’s ever been. Never.
///
Love is a ruthless game, he tells Seungcheol one day, but he doesn’t know if it’s true anymore. How could it be, when he and Seungcheol feel the way they feel - when they have what they have?
“Love is a ruthless game,” Seungcheol says with mirth in his eyes and love in the hands that cradle Jeonghan’s cheeks, “Unless you play it good. Unless you play it right.”
[FILL] all we know (don't let go)
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: second chances, exes to lovers, gratuitous references to taylor swift lyrics
Permission to remix: Yes
i saw state of grace and ran with it.
***
The most important lesson that Jeonghan has learnt in his life is that love is a ruthless, ruthless game. It’s unforgivable. It takes, and takes, and takes, and you’re left reeling when it’s gone; left reeling when you have nothing left but jagged pieces of your heart in your hands.
Seungcheol is the one who first teaches him this, but it’s reinforced many times - too many times, honestly, enough that Jeonghan feels embarrassed and small - by too many people.
There’s Mingyu, who wore his heart out on his sleeve, open and ready for anyone to take, but he was so tall, it was out of reach. Jeonghan barely grazed it with his fingertips.
Joshua, who was a mirror of Jeonghan’s soul, but still couldn’t connect, still found him too less, still found him unreachable.
Soonyoung, who was too energetic for Jeonghan to keep up with, because he’s nothing if not lazy, nothing if not unwilling to put in extra effort, even though he wants to. He wants to put in effort, wants to be enough more than anything, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He doesn’t know why.
There’s Seokmin, who had the sun in his smile, but Jeonghan hadn’t been wearing his sunglasses when he met him. He got blinded by his brightness, and sometimes still sees the after-image of the hurt on Seokmin’s face when he closes his eyes. It twists his already wrung out heart, and the phantom ache in his chest after that one never leaves him.
It’s a perpetual pain, Jeonghan thinks, to love. Every time he falls in love, it’s a waiting game - he waits, sitting at the edge of his seat, until it hurts, until it bleeds, until it fades with time. He waits until he’s left alone again, waits until he’s told he can’t connect, waits until love becomes nothing but a burden; until the words remain nothing but a carcass of what he imagines the emotion to feel like.
Love is a ruthless game, he tells himself when he turns around in his bed to find nothing but a cold pillow, love is a ruthless game and you’re better off without it.
The armour he’s been building around his heart since Seungcheol, since he was nineteen and stupider, is almost impenetrable now.
Almost.
///
Seungcheol walks back into his life when he’s at the grocery store.
He looks good, Jeonghan can’t deny it, built bigger and warmer and looking much happier than the miserable college student he was. He’s wearing a flannel shirt and a pair of sandals and Jeonghan is only a little surprised when his battered old heart stutters to life against his hardened ribs.
“Jeonghan!” Seungcheol looks surprised when he sees him at the dairy freezer, “It’s been so long!”
“Seungcheol,” It doesn’t hurt to smile, not as much as Jeonghan expected it would. “How have you been?”
Seungcheol grins.
///
The armour falls.
Jeonghan wishes he could say he was surprised.
Seungcheol had always been different; had always understood Jeonghan at a wavelength that no one had before. When Jeonghan felt competitive, he’d smirk and draw up their scores on a wrinkled piece of paper; when Jeonghan felt petty, he’d stick his tongue out and say equally cutting words; when Jeonghan felt lonely, he’d curl up around him and let him rest on his broad shoulder.
It’s no different now, Jeonghan muses, when he and Seungcheol are in the midst of cooking dinner. Seungcheol’s phone lies on the counter, a recipe for pasta open on the web browser, and Jeonghan’s phone is leant against the knife-stand, a note open on the screen with the number of times either of them have spilt ingredients typed in victorious, bold Helvetica.
It’s comforting, in a way. Nothing has changed since nineteen, but everything has.
Seungcheol walks back into his life a lot more self-assured than he was when he left, and the armour falls and breaks and disintegrates. Jeonghan can’t say he ever saw him coming, not for the second time, but he thinks it’s better this time around. He knows he’s never going to be the same again - he can never build the armour back to what it was if Seungcheol leaves now.
Somehow, he feels Seungcheol will stay. That Seungcheol too has been inexplicably, irreversibly changed.
He hopes he’s right. This state of grace that they’re in, where they both need each other more than the skeletons in their closet try to fuck it up; where they’re finally fighting for it, fighting for a chance to last, is delicate. It’s delicate and balanced on equal legs, and Jeonghan has both feet in for the first time.
Seungcheol confesses to him one night, his deep voice interrupting the silence of Jeonghan’s apartment. “I’m scared,” he whispers, “I’m scared you’re going to leave.”
Jeonghan’s heart hurts. “Why would I?” He traces the shape of Seungcheol’s cheekbones; counts the eyelashes fluttering against warm skin. Why would he ever leave, when he has everything that he needs here, everything that he never thought he had the right to have again?
“You left last time,” Seungcheol brings his hands to rest on the small of Jeonghan’s back. “You got scared and you left. I can’t handle it if you leave again, Hannie, I can’t,” he sounds fierce, and sad, and absolutely lovely.
“I won’t,” Jeonghan thinks he might cry, “I can’t leave you again. I’ll stay here,” Forever, he doesn’t say. He thinks Seungcheol knows anyway.
“Don’t let go,” Seungcheol presses into his mouth, his fingers bruising the skin around Jeonghan’s sharp hip bones. The jagged pieces of their broken hearts form the most beautiful mosaic art, fragile and new, yet unbreakable.
Never, Jeonghan kisses him back, more confident than he’s ever been. Never.
///
Love is a ruthless game, he tells Seungcheol one day, but he doesn’t know if it’s true anymore. How could it be, when he and Seungcheol feel the way they feel - when they have what they have?
“Love is a ruthless game,” Seungcheol says with mirth in his eyes and love in the hands that cradle Jeonghan’s cheeks, “Unless you play it good. Unless you play it right.”
The armour’s long gone now.