17. Chapter Seventeen
Ryowoon
It’s too quiet.
That’s what wakes me, the absence of sound. Two days of rain hammering the roof, and now it’s just gone. The silence feels wrong, like the world outside hit mute.
I blink, frowning at the window. Clear sky. Pale blue washing through the glass, early morning light pooling on the floor. The storm broke sometime in the night while I was dead to the world.
Something shifts against my chest and I go still.
I look down. In the dim warmth beneath the covers Seyeon is pressed against me, his back flush to my front, every line of his body molded into mine.
My arms are wrapped around him, one curled beneath the pillow under his head, the other draped across his waist with my palm spread flat against his lower belly.
Our legs are tangled, skin against skin, and I can feel the knobs of his spine against my sternum, the shallow rise and fall of his breathing.
My nose is buried in his hair. I don’t know when I pulled him this close.
Sometime in sleep I must’ve just gathered him in.
I don’t move now either.
I press my face back into his hair and breathe.
He smells warm, like sleep and soap. Clean skin, a sweetness I’ve never been able to place.
My hand on his belly twitches, feeling the soft give of muscle beneath the surface, the trail of fine hair below his navel brushing my fingertips.
I dip my head lower, press my nose to the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, just to feel his pulse tapping slowly and steadily beneath the skin.
My body just wants him closer, wants to press into the heat of him and stay there.
Which is, predictably, what happens. My cock stiffens between my legs, thickening where it’s nestled against the curve of his ass, tucked snugly between his cheeks.
The warmth of him, the softness of his skin against mine, the way his body fits against me.
I can feel every inch of contact and my blood responds, without restraint. Just want, pooling in my gut.
He stirs with a small shift, his hips adjusting, and I know he feels it because his breathing changes.
Slightly quicker. I hold still, watching the side of his face as he turns his head on the pillow.
His lashes flutter, soft brown eyes blinking open, unfocused and hazy with sleep.
He finds me over his, blinking slowly, and then his lips curve.
Recognition and warmth settling into his features as he feels the press of my body around his, my arms holding him, my face inches from his.
“Sorry,” I murmur against his shoulder. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
He shakes his head lazily and reaches back.
His fingers thread into my hair, sliding through the messy strands, curling at the back of my skull and pulling me forward.
He kisses me. His lips warm and pliant from sleep.
My stomach clenches, flips over itself, and I kiss him back because I can’t not, my arm tightening around his waist as his mouth moves slowly against mine.
He tastes like morning. He tastes like mine.
He leans back, barely an inch, his lips still so close I can feel the shape of his words when he mumbles, “S’okay.”
His eyes are more awake now though. Clarity sharpening behind the sleepiness, the subtle shift from soft to calculating, and I should’ve known better because Seyeon has never been one to leave an opportunity on the table.
His hand slides from my hair, trails down my arm, slips beneath the blanket between us.
My breath catches as his fingers find my cock, hard and straining against his backside, and wrap around it with a loose, teasing grip.
His mouth curves again, wider. Eyes half lidded as he glances back at me.
“Now that I’m awake,” he says, the rasp of his voice going through me like a current, “maybe we should take care of this?”
His thumb drags across the tip and my hips jerk involuntarily, pressing into his grip, teeth clenching as heat floods south. I open my mouth to say something, probably something stupid, probably yes please god yes, when the rattle of metal sounds from the front of the store.
We both freeze.
Yuro barks from the hallway where he’s been sleeping, followed by the distinct clatter of the roll-up doors being pushed open and then a voice, female, familiar, carrying through the store.
“Hello? Boys? Where are you?”
Seyeon and I lock eyes. For one suspended second we just stare at each other, his hand still on my cock, my arms still around him, naked under the blankets in the growing daylight, and then we both move at once.
Blankets fly. Seyeon rolls off the mat and grabs his borrowed sweatpants from the floor, yanking them up his legs, hopping on one foot as he reaches for the t-shirt I gave him.
I’m right behind him, shoving my legs into jeans and cursing under my breath as I fight with the zipper.
Seyeon pulls the shirt over his head, rakes both hands through his hair to flatten it, and turns to look at me.
His gaze drops. Lingers.
“Uh.” He presses his lips together, and I can see the bastard fighting not to laugh. “Do you need a minute?”
I look down. My cock is still straining visibly against the front of my jeans, the denim doing absolutely nothing to conceal the situation. Fuck.
I hold up a hand. “Go.”
Seyeon’s smirks before he schools his face, pushes the bedroom door open and disappears into the hall.
I can hear him greeting his mother, his voice pitched casually.
I close my eyes, press the heel of my palm against the front of my jeans and will myself to calm down.
Think about plumbing. Think about the broken freezer compressor.
Think about the pile of rotting ceiling insulation I pulled down yesterday that smelled like mildew and rat piss.
It works. Slowly.
I run a hand through my hair in front of the small mirror inside the dresser, push the worst of the mess into place.
I look rough. Dark circles, stubble coming in, the piercings in my ears glinting in the morning light.
My tattoo sleeve is visible below the hem of my t-shirt and I tug the sleeve down a fraction, an old instinct, useless.
I shove my hands into my pockets and step into the hall.
Seyeon and his mother turn at the same time.
Yuro breaks away from them and trots over to me, tail swishing, the full body wag he does where his whole backend swings side to side.
He butts his nose against my thigh and whines softly, looking up at me with dark eyes.
I crouch down and scratch behind his ears, feeling the velvet of them fold against my fingers as his tail picks up speed.
When I straighten Seyeon’s mother is smiling at me.
It fills up her whole face, reaches her eyes, lights them up the same way Seyeon’s do.
The resemblance between them has only gotten stronger with time.
She has his bone structure, or he has hers, the elegant lines that turned Seyeon from a scrappy kid into the kind of man people stare at.
On her it’s softer, worn with years but still striking.
Her hair is shorter than I remember, streaked with grey now, and her hands when she reaches for me are thinner, but the warmth in them hasn’t changed.
“Ryowoon, dear.” Her voice catches just a little. “There you are.”
I bow, properly, the way she taught me when I was too feral and poorly raised to know how.
Dip my head low and hold it. When I come up she’s already closing the distance and then her arms are around me, pulling me down because I’ve been too tall for her to hug comfortably for years now, her hands gripping the back of my shirt.
She holds on for a beat longer than a casual embrace.
Strength in her thin arms, fierce, my throat tightens.
She pulls back, keeping one hand on my cheek. Her eyes move over my face, scanning for damage, for new scars, for signs of wear. I see them pause on the tattoo sleeve, the briefest flicker, and I keep my expression neutral, respectful. She doesn’t comment. Her hand drops to my bicep and squeezes.
“I’ve brought breakfast,” she says, her smile returning full force. “Come sit down. I’m sure the both of you are hungry and probably driving each other nuts after being stuck in here for two days.”
I grin. “Not far off the mark.” I catch Seyeon’s eye over her shoulder and he gives me a look that clearly says behave. I turn back to his mother and nod. “Good to see you again, Auntie.”
She hooks her arm through mine and steers me toward the back of the store, her palm rubbing circles on my back as we walk, the same absent soothing motion she used to do when I was a kid sitting at her kitchen table too wound up to eat.
“It’s been too long, Ryowoon.” Her voice is gentle but pointed, accusation dressed up as affection. “You know that, don’t you? I have to make up for it in meals now.”
“Auntie, you know I don’t turn down free food.” I glance down at her. “But I need to remind you I’m not a fifteen-year-old and don’t have the metabolism of one. If you plan on making me eat ten years’ worth of meals I’ll be out of shape by the end of the month.”
She laughs brightly and squeezes my arm tighter. Behind us I can hear Seyeon’s footsteps and the click of Yuro’s nails on the floor.
Seyeon and I wipe down the wooden platform in the courtyard while his mother unpacks containers from the bags she brought.
The morning air is clean, fresh by two days of rain, everything smells like wet earth and stone.
We sit cross-legged around the spread she lays out, Yuro stationed below us, ears perked, nose working overtime.
Seyeon’s mother has packed enough to feed a small army.
Rice, rolled eggs, seasoned spinach, braised tofu, grilled mackerel, pickled radish, kimchi, a container of soup that’s still steaming when she pries the lid off.
I stare at it and my stomach growls audibly, which makes her beam with satisfaction.