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Dohoon likes this.
The thrill. The exhilaration. Not a second to breathe, the here-and-there and everywhere seeping into his bones and making him feel weak, muscles tight, and throat raw with overuse. It leaves him exhausted, a pile of mush at the end of every day, so tired that he sleeps soundly for the first time in months.
He's talking about the business of award show season, of course.
Although this is only the second time they're experiencing it as a group, it's infinitely worse than last year. Then, they had more grace — rookies, inexperienced, with little to give but their best. But now, established, building a name for themselves, they have to perform to perfection. Each choreography, each detail, down to the flick of a wrist or a simple gesture, formations and timings — it all has to be perfect.
Even with how much he loves it, the thrill of being on stage, cheers vibrating in his chest long after he's left the stage, Dohoon is not immune to the stress of it all. But mostly, he's not blind to the way it weighs on everyone else. Especially, understandably, Junghwan.
Dohoon sees it in his rigid posture, the way Junghwan's shoulders are always taut and pulled back, like there's not a moment in his day to rest. The way he always has a hand resting on his temple like it'll force the mind-bending headache away, and the tight-lipped smile he gives them at the dining table, when they're eating, and all he's doing is picking at his food and pondering.
He hates it. When Junghwan gets like this. Shuts himself off to the world like he doesn't matter, like it's for the good of everyone else.
It's why when Dohoon finds out they're roommates in Taiwan, he sees his opportunity, and takes it.
Junghwan's already losing it a little as they make their way back to their room. His posture is worse than usual, all hunched over. His face leaves everything to the imagination, not a single emotion peeking through. Still, Dohoon sees it, in the way he does everything to make it look like he's not stressed. With Hanjin's absence, changing things around at the last minute, the rest of the members on edge as five instead of six and without their resident Mandarin speaker — everything has been doubled in the past twenty-four hours.
"You don't have to pretend like you're not tired," Dohoon mumbles from behind him, ever so forward.
"I'm not pretending," Junghwan replies, not looking back. He fumbles with his pockets, attempting to look busy, by pulling out the room keycard, even when they're still a few doors away.
"I know you well enough to tell that you are," He bites back. Dohoon has learnt, in his years of knowing Junghwan, that if he doesn't push the limits, he'll never get anything out of him. Not a hint of his emotions, his problems, his struggles.
Junghwan stays silent, but if he had to guess, Dohoon thinks he's probably biting his lips nervously. Yet, he keeps walking, increasing his pace a little. The younger speeds up to catch him, grabbing his wrist.
"Shinyu?" He asks, ever so sweetly. There's something deeper laced in his words — regret, maybe. Tenderness. It's something neither of them can quite place.
"Dohoon," Junghwan replies almost reluctantly — but he doesn't remove the hand from his wrist. Instead, he turns, finally at their hotel room door, and swipes the keycard easily. When the lock beeps, it clicks open, and he slips it into his keycard.
Before Dohoon can move, Junghwan tugs him inside, presses him up against the wall, and kisses him.
His lips are wet, cracked and entirely familiar. As soon as the door slams shut on its own volition, Dohoon wraps two arms around his neck and pulls him down, just as eagerly. Junghwan lets out a little moan into his mouth, almost like a sigh of relief, as Dohoon lets his hands roam. One hand against the wall, the other gripping his ass rather tightly, squeezing, before Junghwan moves onto his waist, pinching. There's no objective, no end-goal — just a frantic release of pressure.
"I told you to wait," He mumbles against Dohoon, nipping at his bottom lip like he does his own. When they do this, it's almost like they mould together, their habits a product of both of them, rather than an individual quirk, "To say anything."
"I know," Dohoon laughs, toying teasingly with hair growing down the back of Junghwan's neck, "I didn't want to."
Instead of replying, Junghwan just kisses him again. His hands have moved up from Dohoon's waist to his neck, fingers resting around it and squeezing lightly. All Dohoon can do is kiss him back, hand hanging off of Junghwan's wrist like it's a lifeline.
"I need to change," He says, when the older finally lets him go for a moment, "These clothes aren't even mine."
(If Junghwan gets a weird look in his eyes, and furrows his eyebrows as he pulls away, Dohoon makes a point not to mention it.)
"Okay," Junghwan replies easily, like he does every time Dohoon asks him for something. It never gets old, the way he seems to bend to Dohoon's every will.
The younger moves over to the arm-chair sat in the corner of the hotel room. It's nothing fancy, but Junghwan's sleep shirt and infamous leopard-print pants are hung over the back, and Dohoon remembers him this morning, sleepy and bleary-eyed, putting them there as he changed, shirtless with a toothbrush between his lips.
Dohoon sits down gently, trying to ignore the giant Junghwan-sized puppy trailing behind him, and moves to untie his trainers. Before he can start to untie his laces, however, Junghwan kneels down in front of him, and takes his foot in his hands.
Without a word, he starts to pull apart the white bow nimbly, as Dohoon watches, a little in awe. Junghwan doesn't do things like this — not often, at least. His hands move with practised ease, and Dohoon watches, swallowing the lump in his throat, as he slips his right shoe off and places it to one side.
"You don't have to…" Dohoon mumbles, gaze never leaving Junghwan's hands. The older simply pinches at his ankle, and makes no move to reply.
He looks… good, like this. Still dressed head to toe in a suit and tie, while Dohoons sat looking rather debauched, tie pulled loose and blazer half off his shoulder. Junghwan has only one knee against the hardwood floor, legs slightly spread, elbow resting against the thigh of his other leg. His pants, ridiculously tight against his crotch.
Dohoon almost wants to drool a little.
But as he watches Junghwan's furrowed, concentrated face, as he struggles to untie the knotted lace of his other shoe, Dohoon finds he can't wait any longer. Not when Junghwan's here, in front of him, like this.
So, he presses his socked foot forward, and rests it ever-so-gently against where Junghwan's dick is.
It's an unexpected, uncharted territory. Something that Dohoon's never thought about doing, but in the moment, felt just right. He knows he's made the right choice when an unbridled, shrill moan is ripped from Junghwan's throat, entirely unconscious.
"Holy shit," He breathes out. Junghwan's hands have paused, and his ears are turning crimson. Yet, he doesn't move. Doesn't stand up, or even paw at where Dohoon's foot is resting. Just stays entirely, incredibly, still.
Dohoon takes it as an invitation.
His foot presses forward, digging into Junghwan's groin. Not hard enough to be painful — just the perfect amount of pressure. When the older flinches, Dohoon presses harder. Curls his toes inwards and moves his foot up and down, playing, teasing. He drinks up the hiss that Junghwan lets out, delving deeper, using his heel to create a firm weight against his growing bulge.
Junghwan's hands are shaking. His thighs are trembling slightly under the weight, and there's nothing he can do, except take it.
When he finally frees Dohoon's other foot from the shoe, he lets out a shaky breath and looks down, almost embarrassedly. Dohoon can see the flush in his cheeks, how much he's enjoying this.
"Dohoon," He says, breathlessly. A hand moves to rest around Dohoon's ankle, pulling him closer. In return, Dohoon grips the hair on the top of his head, forcing him to look down, at the defilement between his legs.
Still, Dohoon doesn't stop. He keeps pushing, that firm, sickening pleasure, until Junghwan's making cute little noises, holding his ankle like a lifeline. His sock is wet, Junghwan so hard that he's leaking through his pants fabric and onto Dohoon's foot.
When Junghwan start to whine, that's when Dohoon stops.
"What?" The protest falls from his lips, as Dohoon pulls his foot back, gently removing the hand from around his ankle, and smiles down at him. The blush has made its way down Junghwan's neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.
"You have to be patient," He says simply, moving to unbuckle his belt. As if nothing had just happened. As if this, Junghwan on his knees, begging, was an entirely normal part of their routine.
As he shuffles his own pants down from the waist, slowly undressing, Dohoon watches Junghwan's back and forth with himself, in his mind. First, that startling moment of clarity. No longer clouded by pressure, but instead the faint threat of release, as he looks up at Dohoon for the first time. Then, he looks back down, and the second stage of regret kicks in.
Still, Dohoon waits. Waits for him to work through it all in his mind. Patient, watching.
By the time he's pulled both his pants and shirt off and tossed them to the side, Junghwan has stopped shaking. He's back to being silent, but he's no longer stiff and frozen. It's the third stage that Dohoon has been waiting for: acceptance.
Not bothering to say a word, he grabs Junghwan by the lapel of his suit, and drags him up from the floor.
For someone so tall, he's ridiculously light and pliant. It's easy, for Dohoon to drag him along, push him onto the edge of the mattress until he's sitting, much like Dohoon was moments ago. The younger crouches down, feeling rather exposed, shirtless and pants-less, moving to mouth at where his foot just was.
"Dohoon-ah," Is all Junghwan manages. The constant back and forth, Dohoon giving him that pleasure he craves one minute, taking it away the next, and now with his mouth back over his painfully hard dick, even through two layers of fabric, has his mind turning to utter mush.
Dohoon starts by pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of Junghwan's thigh. He can't feel it, not really, but the anticipation is enough to have his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Dohoon moves, using his tongue to circle the wet patch, making a ridiculous point of it. So dramatically, so slowly, that Junghwan lifts his hand and tries to push the back of Dohoon's head towards his cock.
Dohoon catches his wrist mid-air.
"Relax," He mumbles. The vibrations have Junghwan shivering, toes curling, and he obeys, silently, "Be patient."
Junghwan can only try.
It's then that he notices his parted lips. There's saliva pooling in his mouth, and it almost drools out of the sides. Almost. The things that Dohoon does to him, that make him feel like this, are almost too much that he wants to stand up and run, every single time. Yet, it feels so good, now, in the moment, that he can do nothing but wait for Dohoon's ministrations to end.
The younger lets go of his wrist, and moves to grip at Junghwan's waist. Dohoon motions for him to shove his blazer off, and so he does, effortlessly. Hands slip under Junghwan's dress shirt, tight and slightly see-through, trailing up his bare stomach painfully slow. They reach higher, crawling greedily, until one of Dohoon's hands brushes gently against Junghwan's nipple.
It's not intentional — not at first. But when Junghwan honest-to-god yelps, Dohoon can't help himself. He notes it down, like a sacred memory, and does it again. Looks up at his hyung, the way his eyes are glossy with want, listens to the quiet, lewd noises he's making without even realising it. Then, brushes a hand over his other nipple, pausing, before taking it between his thumb and index finger and pinching lightly.
"Fuck," Junghwan squeaks out, body lurching.
Dohoon has never seen him like this. So needy, even with just his hands on him, still fully clothed.
"You like this," He observes out loud, a kind of wonder in his voice. He speaks slowly, as if he otherwise won't be understood, enunciating his words.
Junghwan nods.
At that, Dohoon pulls his hands away suddenly — much to Junghwan's displeasure — the cold air a cold contrast to the heat between his shirt and torso. Using the older as an anchor, Dohoon pulls himself up from the floor and swivels them around, until Junghwan's head is laid against the pillow and Dohoon has a knee on either side of his waist, looking down at him from above.
So, so, torturously, he starts unbuttoning Junghwan's shirt. Each button, its own piece of art. Dohoon fiddles with them clumsily, pretending like his fingers are clumsy, as Junghwan keens beneath him at every little touch. Even now, he can't rush this. Has to tease, has to push him, just enough that he can forget the thoughts running wild in his head until it's all Dohoon. Only Dohoon.
Finally, after what feels like forever, his tender fingers reach the last one, pulling the button through the slit in the fabric with a practised ease, and moving to peel Junghwan's shirt off his arms. Licking his lips, Dohoon leans down. Presses a light kiss to his waist, hand sprawling between the mattress and Junghwan's bare back.
Then, Dohoon leans down, and takes Junghwan's left nipple into his mouth.
The older lets out a sort of hiss, but doesn't move to stop him, and so Dohoon keeps going. He's never done this before — not with him, not with anyone. Even with Junghwan, much is to be desired. Normally, it's a frantic, wild affair. A moment of weakness, a stolen minute of clarity amongst the chaos. Dohoon's never gotten a chance to pick him apart like this — not in the way he's always wanted. So no matter how much Junghwan wants, craves, begs to be undone, Dohoon is going to take his sweet, sweet time.
He licks around the areola, ever so lightly, before pursing his lips and committing entirely, moving to suck lazily at it. Out of the corner of his eye, even from here, he can see the way Junghwan's hands curl into the sheets, knuckles as red as his face. Dohoon uses a free hand to intertwine their fingers, curling them together and pressing Junghwan's arm further into the bed, holding him there.
When he pulls back, lets go, Junghwan's nipple is red and raw, slick with Dohoon's spit. Still, he moves to the right one, and repeats his motions. This time, the older can't hold it in. The noises, the pleasure — it all comes flowing out.
"Fuck," He moans out again, louder this time, like it's the only word he knows, "Dohoon—"
Dohoon can only hum in response.
"Please," Junghwan whines, "Please, please, please. Dohoon-ah, it's so good, so good."
He says his name like a mantra. Like nothing else matters but him, over and over, and Dohoon beams with pride, pulling back to admire his handiwork. For good nature, he flicks each nipple once, and watches the way Junghwan starts up again:
"Dohoon-ah, please, I can't—"
"You can," He replies, cupping the older's jaw, "You can."
Junghwan shakes his head frantically, refusing to open his eyes, "Can't. I need you. Need it. Now, please."
Dohoon sighs. It's not disappointment, not really, but he needs to focus. On Junghwan, for Junghwan — he's doing it for him, after all. So, he presses a thumb through his parted lips, and holds his tongue to keep him quiet, until his words become a garbled mess and he's swallowing heavily.
"Patience, hyung," Dohoon says, using that honorific that rarely leaves his mouth in Junghwan's presence, because he knows it'll get his attention.
It works.
It gives Dohoon a peaceful moment of clarity. Even when he takes his hand away from Junghwan's mouth, moving to unbutton and pull off his suit pants, the older stays quiet, except for the sound of his quiet sniffles. Only once Junghwan is just as bare as him, shirtless, pants and underwear somewhere astray on the floor, does Dohoon speak up again:
"Do you want to… prep me?"
The words tumble out without warning. Junghwan isn't one to ask for things. Dohoon has to hand it to him on a silver platter, even when that means voicing every thought out loud, no ounce of shame behind it.
"Can I? Can I really?" The older asks, teetering on desperate, "I want to. Dohoon-ah, please."
"You've been so good, hyung," Dohoon replies sweetly, "Of course you can."
Junghwan whimpers. Sliding off the bed, Dohoon moves to brush stray hair out of his face. He's still frozen, looking at him, despite everything. Like he's scared to move, reach out, afraid of Dohoon's denial. He climbs back onto the mattress, swinging a leg over Junghwan's shoulders.
Then, Dohoon sinks down. Not too much, but just enough to feel that sweet wetness of Junghwan's mouth against his rim, with just enough room to breathe. His lips are puckered, ready, waiting, and in the absence of lube, it's a perfectly fine solution.
(It's not like it's his first time, either. The first time they did this, Junghwan had practically begged Dohoon to let him touch him like this. Had kissed him countless times, and waited, for him to be ready, for this sort of closeness he was craving. Now, it's rather routine. But this — Dohoon above him — it's new. And Junghwan finds he rather likes it.)
He wastes no time, no sense of slowness that Dohoon's been showing him all this time. He shoves his tongue between the tight ring of muscle and starts working Dohoon open with his mouth, getting everything slick and wet.
"Shit," Dohoon curses, under his breath, "I forgot how good you are at this."
(He didn't. But the praise is like kindling to Junghwan's fire, and only has him pressing harder, deeper.)
In return, Dohoon leans forward, and takes Junghwan's dick between his hands. Spits in his palm and wraps it around his length, moving it up and down at a snail's pace. It's nowhere near enough to get him off, not for Junghwan — but it keeps Dohoon rather entertained. He presses a few open-mouthed kisses to his stomach too, the angle allowing him to nip sweetly at the skin of his waist and press a tongue between his belly button, teasingly.
Really, he's doing everything in his power to push Junghwan to the edge. Just to reel him right back to where they started.
Dohoon feels Junghwan's murmured moans, pleas, and utterly pitiful sounds. All of it, vibrating against his skin in a way that hits him just right. His chest is warm from pleasure, and he presses a light kiss to the tip of Junghwan's cock.
That's when he hears it.
Junghwan's sniffles divulge into something deeper. He whines, splutters a little, pulls his tongue back for a moment to gulp —, and it's then that Dohoon knows he's crying. Not the weak, glossy expression from before. He can see it in his mind already: salty, globs of tears rolling down his face, making him look entirely and utterly wrecked.
"Oh, baby," He speaks against his skin, where his lips already are. Junghwan's arms move from where they lay heavy at his sides, and instead grip at Dohoon's back, nails sharp, running a hand down his spine and over his pelvic bone, "It's okay. I'm here."
"Does it feel good?" Junghwan asks, wetly, ignoring his reassurances, "I want you to feel good."
"It's perfect, hyung," Dohoon replies, softly, "You're so perfect."
"It's…. You're…"
"Take your time," He reassures. Overcome with some kind of overwhelming need to see Junghwan's face as he pleads, Dohoon swivels himself around once again, sitting back against his legs and pulling Junghwan up by the shoulders to take his face between his hands.
"I want you," The older blubbers, after a deep breath, choking on a sob, "Please, Dohoon-ah."
"I've teased you enough, haven't I?" Dohoon sighs, wiping away a tear with his thumb and kissing Junghwan softly.
He nods.
"Move back a little," The younger says. Junghwan shuffles back, until his back is against the headboard, and Dohoon moves with him, now entirely seated in his lap. One hand grips Junghwan's shoulder, for support, while the other reaches behind him. Using two fingers, he touches his own rim lightly. It's dripping wet, Junghwan's saliva leaving it slick, and he easily slips his fingers inside. He's already rather loose, Junghwan's tongue opening him up with a practised ease. Still, he pries his fingers apart and works himself open a little more, Junghwan shivering in anticipation beneath him.
"Just a second," He says, trying to appease one rather impatient Junghwan. He's not sobbing anymore — his chest isn't heaving, and his breathing is no longer shallow. Still, there's tears, and Dohoon feels them against his shoulder as Junghwan buries his face into it and holds onto his torso, like if he doesn't, Dohoon will disappear.
Dohoon pulls his fingers out after what feels like forever — but is really only a couple of minutes — and lifts himself up. There's no point waiting any longer. All of this, his incessant teasing, the way Junghwans become a rag-doll beneath him, culminates here. When he's finally high enough, Dohoon uses his free hand to line up Junghwan's painfully hard dick with his entrance, and sinks himself down.
Junghwan almost lurches forward, holding onto Dohoon like a lifeline, teeth grazing his skin as he whimpers with need.
Still, despite everything, Dohoon moves slowly. Uses all the strength he's built up in his legs from endless hours of dancing to keep himself up, only lowering himself down a little every few seconds. Junghwan's shoulder is red from his grip, and Dohoon can't wait to see the makeup artist try to cover that up tomorrow.
Still, what's a little more?
"Dohoon, please, all the way, feels so good," Junghwan's mumbling incoherently, relishing in the tight heat of Dohoon's insides. He's like a different person, once he's worked up. Entirely at someone else's mercy, chasing a pleasure rather than that control he always strives for otherwise. But to Dohoon, he's still the same Junghwan. The one he wants to take care of, to take away all of that weight on his shoulders until he's light and free again.
"I'm getting there," He hisses. The stretch burns only a little, but it still takes him a moment to get used to it. Yet, he's rather impatient himself, and the feeling of Junghwan inside him is so, so nice that he keeps pushing, pressing, until he's fully seated.
They're both silent for a moment. Just the sounds of heavy breathing, and nothing else. Then, Junghwan lifts Dohoon up and pulls him back down again, impatience getting the best of him. His grip almost slips, Dohoon's skin so sweat-slick beneath his hold.
That's all it takes, really, and everything after happens like a series of dominoes. Dohoon jolts from the stimulation, before his hips begin to move on their own. He rocks forward, inching closer to Junghwan, and brings him into a lewd, open-mouthed kiss as he starts to ride him.
It's rhythmic, a simple, skilful pattern that once he starts, he doesn't want to stop.
Even in this haze of pleasure, he kisses Junghwan like he means it. Insistent, all tongue and dirty noises. Dohoon grips his neck too, thumb pressing against his prominent Adam's apple, fingers curling tightly as if to show a sick kind of control.
Junghwan moves to take Dohoon's cock into his hand, as the younger moves back and forth with as much energy as he can muster. He fists it, just as frantically as Dohoon is moving, too far gone to care.
"Fuck," Dohoon moans against his lips, "I'm close."
"Me too," Junghwan sobs, hands never stopping. Dohoon's own move to snake around his back, pressing their chests together. It's nice, this closeness, even as Junghwan feels entirely blinded by pleasure, "Dohoon-ah, you're so—"
He doesn't get to finish his sentence. He's cut off by Dohoon biting down on his bottom lip, whining in his throat, as he twitches, and comes all over Junghwan's chest.
It's a sudden, violent orgasm, with no warning, and Junghwan stills in surprise. Dohoon's hands tighten around the older's neck as he shudders in pleasure.
Still, his hips don't stop moving.
The display beneath him has Junghwan closer than ever before. The overstimulation is so evident in Dohoon's face, scarlet with exertion and eyes screwed shut. He looks so pretty, like this. A sight for only Junghwan to see, a piece that belongs only to him. It gives him an overwhelming feeling of warmth, and he presses a heavy forehead against Dohoon's shoulder as his own orgasm washes over him in an unstoppable, crashing wave.
The relief is immediate. Junghwan thinks he almost blacks out for a moment, his entire body going limp like a taut string cut. Yet, Dohoon holds him through it, finally stilling, releasing the grip on his neck, and just holding him close, like a hug after years apart.
"You with me? He whispers into Junghwan's ear, once he finally opens his eyes again, blinking wildly.
"Yeah," He breathes out, lifting his head to look up at Dohoon. Properly, this time. At his flushed face, strands of hair sweaty against his forehead, "Just about."
They stay like that, for a moment. It's more peaceful than he's felt in months. The voices in his head, the ones reminding him of just how much weight there is on his shoulders, are blissfully quiet. His body hurts, sure, but it's the good kind of hurt, not the sharp sort of muscle pain that just doesn't go away.
Most of all, there's Dohoon. Holding him like he's something precious.
Junghwan doesn't know what he'd do without Dohoon. He's been there since Junghwan was old enough to understand his own struggles, a firm constant even when it feels like the world around him is collapsing, a star to guide him even in a never-ending darkness. He's everything, and more, and Junghwan feels so, so lucky to have him like this. To be loved by him like this.
Maybe it's stupid, to get sappy, when Junghwan's still inside of him. But it's these things that Dohoon does to him, that make him feel so special.
As if he could read his mind, Dohoon takes the opportunity of stillness to pull himself off of Junghwan's cock, and rolls off of him, utterly exhausted. The bed is small, merely twin-sized, and their arms stay pressed together. Dohoon grabs Junghwan's arm and pulls it around his neck, holding onto his hand gently.
He gives him a moment. Waits for him to have the clarity to speak, patience unyielding.
Then:
"I can't believe you came before me," The older scoffs. Because, of course, he'd say something stupid, after all of this.
All Dohoon can do in response is laugh. It's loud and unwavering, his face nuzzling into Junghwan's arm.
"I can't believe you came inside of me!" He replies, punching Junghwan's shoulder weakly with his free hand, rolling over so that they're face-to-face. Junghwan's face turns a delicious shade of red, and he huffs in embarrassment.
"You should've pulled off of me, then," He retorts, hand moving to mindlessly stroke through Dohoon's hair.
"It's okay," Dohoon beams up at him, "I like it."
"Pervert," Junghwan responds, a ridiculous amount of incredulity in voice. He takes Dohoon's cheeks between his thumb and four fingers, muffling him and forcing his lips into a pout, "You're a pervert, Kim Dohoon."
"I'm not the only one," The younger replies, easily, when Junghwan lets go of his face, and he can talk again.
Junghwan just shakes his head in amusement. He rolls over, pulling Dohoon closer, ignoring the sweat and sticky come drying against his skin, and presses their foreheads together lightly. Dohoon smiles, pressing a light kiss to his nose.
"Thank you," Junghwan breathes out.
"What for?"
"For this," He mumbles, "All of this."
"I don't get it," Dohoon blinks, looking right into Junghwan's eyes, still red-rimmed from crying, staring right back at him with more adoration than he's ever seen before.
"For taking care of me, Dohoon," Junghwan says, simply.
"Oh."
"Yeah, oh."
"It's not that," He shakes his head, "You don't have to thank me for that. I do it because I like it. I want to. I want to take care of you, hyung."
The honorific almost sets Junghwan alight. Like electricity searing through his veins, that warmth lying deep in his stomach only getting stronger.
"I know," The older says, thumbing over Dohoon's cheek, "But I wanted to thank you anyway."
"Stupid," Dohoon replies, fondly, "I'll always be here. Whatever you need. You don't even have to ask."
There's not much opportunity for these heart-to-hearts with a schedule like this. So Junghwan cherishes this moment, the honesty of Dohoon's words, stores it away in a cavern between his heart and his ribcage, a little fail-safe that he knows he can always rely on.
And instead of answering, Junghwan simply kisses him.
It's soft, this time around. Slow and gentle, like Dohoon's hands, the way they roam Junghwan's body like it's something to be savoured, to be cherished. Junghwan gives it back tenfold in a kiss, licking Dohoon's lips gently and cradling his face. Time doesn't matter — not here, not between them. It's not important, that they're hundreds of miles from the dorm they call home, that they have places to be tomorrow, thousands of unanswered responsibilities.
That's then, and this is now. Tomorrow can wait, when Dohoon's in his arms like this. With him here, all of it feels less like a crushing, drowning kind of pressure, and more like a mountain he's ready to climb.
Junghwan has really, truly, never been happier, to have Kim Dohoon all to himself.