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If It's You (Then My Body Is Not Wasted)

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It's quiet tonight.

Quiet, but not silent, because all the minute sounds of the night gather in a susurrus of muted noise.  The wind against the windows is a mournful howl; the distant clatter of the air conditioner cycles on and off; the roof settles, creaking and thumping as the structure cools.  

It’s dark, too, but not completely dark—not in this particular room, where the smoky, inconstant light of the moon splashes across the dance floor, shifting and sliding underneath the thin clouds that squeeze their way in front of it, and the broad face of which is just visible from where Hanbin’s sitting against the far wall.

Along that far wall, well away from the distracting glow of moonlight, the planes of Hanbin’s tired face glow in the wash of bluish light from his laptop screen.  The computer whirrs quietly on his lap, balanced across his knees.

His watch tells him it’s just past midnight.  He’s not bothered by the lateness of the hour, however; in fact, he relishes the clearheadedness it affords him, the cluster of pressing thoughts in his head allowed to flow freely, unimpeded by all the demands of his busy schedule.  In those deepest hours of night, when boogeymen emerge from the shadows, when the ceiling tiles above his bed become just a little too familiar, Hanbin finds a sort of peace, a sort of freedom in escaping the occlusive air around his bed.  

The walk to the studio had been refreshing, the cool wind patting his cheeks and ruffling his hair fondly, and the huge building—or more specifically, the vast emptiness it contains just now—is daunting, almost frightening.  Hanbin hadn’t minded, at least at first.  He’s not particularly superstitious or nervous; he’s always prided himself on his strong nerves, and even in the face of such tremendous dark silence, he’d just shrugged to himself and climbed the three flights of stairs to their practice room.

And yet something’s got the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, something working on his nerves like a file, and he tries to reassure himself that he’s spooking himself over nothing.  Nobody’s here now, he reminds himself.  Nobody else would be here now; everyone’s at home, asleep.  This is Hanbin’s entire building, as far as he’s concerned.

The roof settles over his head once more, and Hanbin tries to pretend to himself like he didn’t just jump.  He takes a deep breath, forcing himself ruthlessly to relax, trying to reorient his strained nerves around the tiny, natural noises of the building around him.  He closes his eyes, lets his mind creep out along the rafters, sensing rather than hearing all the little shifts of metal shrinking minutely in the cold night air.  

And yet—is that really the sound of the wind buffeting the side of the building, or is it hiding a voice somewhere inside it?  Is that only the shadow of a cloud scudding across the face of the moon, or is it the darkness itself moving imperceptibly, the darting outline of someone else’s shadow wandering the dark, silent corridors?

He’s so goddamn jumpy, and he can’t put his finger on why, exactly.  He flattens his hair restlessly with one hand, impatient with himself.  Must be Chanwoo’s creepy video games getting to him.

He closes his eyes, takes another deep breath, recalling the breathing exercises Bobby taught him in their trainee days.  Three seconds in, hold, five seconds out… He does it again, recentering, the prickling of his flesh finally receding.

“You’re here late.”

His head jerks up, his laptop nearly goes flying as he sits up straight; Hanbin’s held breath catches in his throat, and it’s only that which keeps him from screaming.

He hadn’t even heard Yunhyeong come in.  All Hanbin can see of him is the black silhouette of his body, broad and powerful, and again reflected in the mirror, his stance calm and collected and yet somehow imposing even all the way across the room from him.  Hanbin can almost imagine his expression, hard and cold and greedy, with no love in him at all.

The idea that Yunhyeong had snuck past his guard is terrifying enough on its own.  The reality that he’s here now is worse.

“Hyung?” Hanbin says, the word weaker than he’d like in his suddenly dry mouth, as if he hasn’t spoken aloud for hours.  Well, he hasn’t, but that’s not why he sounds so scared.

“Should know better than to leave your door unlocked.” Yunhyeong hums, his voice only just louder than the murmur of the air conditioning, yet Hanbin hears every word.  He’s skewered, helpless, motionless against the wall by Yunhyeong’s seductive, menacing presence.

He doesn’t realize he’s trembling already, wild polar surges of cold excitement and hot arousal flashing through his belly.  He’d been expecting this, though he can’t pretend he’d expected it tonight, nor would he have thought Yunhyeong would choose here.

“Don’t you think it’s time to take a break?” Yunhyeong says.  Before Hanbin can react, he’s looming over Hanbin like a shadow of ill omen, tugging the laptop out of Hanbin’s hands and setting it to the side.  Their eyes meet briefly, and the contact feels like two wires shorting out against one another, a flashpoint, as if Yunhyeong had just struck him a physical blow.

“No.” Hanbin says weakly, and they both know it’s a lie.  Hanbin’s cock twitches interestedly in his pants, but he can’t help flinching when Yunhyeong kneels in front of him, one hand on the wall by Hanbin’s head, cornering him like the pathetic prey he is.  Pulse pounding deafeningly in his ears, he opens his mouth again to protest, only to learn that Yunhyeong seems to have stolen his lungs.

Yunhyeong’s hand leaves the wall, and Hanbin cringes preemptively as it slides teasingly around the back of his neck.  Responding gooseflesh shivers pleasantly down his arms, a tremor of pleasure shooting down his spine to curl warmly in the pit of his belly.  His cock twitches again, fully hard now.

Yunhyeong’s grip is stronger when it circles the column of Hanbin’s pale throat next.  Hanbin tries vainly to lower his chin when he senses this, trying to deny Yunhyeong a choking grip, but Yunhyeong’s quicker than he is, sharper, crueler.  He digs the tip of his thumb into the soft spot below Hanbin’s jaw, and Hanbin whimpers, his tongue thickening in his mouth with the pressure until he can barely breathe.

“Come on, Bin.  Play with me.” Yunhyeong whispers, and it’s pure poison, pure alcohol, straight to Hanbin’s addled brain.

“Hyung, I need to finish this by morning.  Let go.” Hanbin says bravely, and his voice doesn’t shake at all this time, and nor does his hand when he pushes Yunhyeong’s hand away from his face.  He leans back, scrambling away along the wall, a rush of hysteria lending him speed and strength.

And it’s as if everything slows, suspended between breathing in and breathing out; and just as slowly, just as deliberately, Yunhyeong reaches out and calmly drags Hanbin back beneath his body with a hand around his wrist.  Hanbin fights, pulling desperately, but Yunhyeong’s touch seems to sap all the strength out of him.  Yunhyeong straddles him to hold him down, pins Hanbin’s hands to the floor, but Hanbin’s so powerless that it’s unnecessary; he holds Hanbin down because he can.

He tries to sit up, but Yunhyeong’s hand flashes across Hanbin’s face, slapping him viciously back down onto the floor.  Everything crashes back to normal speed, suddenly deafening, his head ringing with the impact.  Hanbin’s face stings, then burns; he’s breathless and paralyzed with shock, too rattled even to react.

“I wasn’t asking.” Yunhyeong says, pushing a knee roughly between Hanbin’s legs.  Red-hot pain licks through him, with the unmistakable liquid pleasure of arousal on its heels.  Hanbin curses himself for being so easy, so pathetically stupid, so eager to please when Yunhyeong is like this—like a stranger to him now, cold and ruthless.  He hadn’t liked it at first, hadn’t wanted to like it, but this terrible, obscenely dominant version of Yunhyeong is the bull’s-eye to all of Hanbin’s soft spots.  He’s helpless against it.

One of Yunhyeong’s hands is busy at Hanbin’s belt, undoing it swiftly before starting to work on the button of his jeans.  Cold panic slashes through him again, panic he can’t reconcile against the truth—it isn’t real, Hanbin thinks desperately, it’s a game, it’s just a game—

Hanbin knows Yunhyeong will stop the instant he commands it.  That’s not the point; it isn’t real, but Hanbin’s fear is real enough for both of them.  Seeing Yunhyeong in the glare from Hanbin’s laptop, excited by his terror, scares him even worse, makes him weak.

But Hanbin doesn’t want him to stop.

No…” Hanbin whispers, trying feebly to pull Yunhyeong’s grip loose as Yunhyeong gropes him through his underwear, laughing under his breath at finding Hanbin hard and ready through the thin cotton.  “Hyung, p-please…”

“Please what?” Yunhyeong says, voice low, hot, husky.  It’s like a torch to the tinder of Hanbin’s fraying nerves, the sheer selfish desire in his voice.

“Please, s-stop.”

“Stop?” Yunhyeong hums, palming Hanbin through his boxers again, and Hanbin quivers, stifling his moan into a hiccup.  “When you’re so hard for me?  You don’t mean that.  Am I supposed to believe you when you say you don’t want this?” He leans forward, pinning Hanbin to the floor by his neck, hands warm and strong where they span his throat.  “Don’t lie to me, Hanbin.”

Hanbin’s trying to draw breath enough to plead again, tears forming in his eyes.  He whimpers again, almost keens, and then that too stops, his whole body chilling when he feels the gentle, dangerous, icy slide of a knife blade running along his skin, just above the line of his underwear.  “That got your attention, didn’t it?” Yunhyeong croons mockingly.  “So glad we understand each other.”

Hanbin finally begins to breathe again, and with it his heart stumbling over a few stunted beats before regaining its rhythm.  Yunhyeong sets to work slitting Hanbin’s shirt down the front, the hideous ripping noises explosive in the early-morning silence, like the tearing of fibers directly out of Hanbin’s heart.

But oh, god, Yunhyeong ripping his clothes off like this gets him so hot.

“Please don’t, please don’t hurt me.  I’ll—I’ll do anything.” Hanbin moans, and to his surprise and shame, the emotion in his voice spills over into a sob, tears finally dashing from his eyes down over his temples.  He’s losing control faster than ever, so aroused he’s leaking, and his body lights up like a firework against the hard hand Yunhyeong presses into his crotch.

Anything, huh?” Yunhyeong repeats thoughtfully, dragging the tip of the knife across Hanbin’s collarbone, and Hanbin goes still again, breath knocked right out of him.  The contrast of cold metal, of danger and the promise of pain in the sharp edge, followed by a warm hand tracing the same path, makes a wave of pleasant gooseflesh crawl over his skin.

“Please—please—whatever you want…”

“I already know what I want, and you’ll already do what I want you to, if you want to stay in one piece.  Keep begging, though.  I like that.”


Hanbin’s thin voice vanishes among his jagged breaths as Yunhyeong sets the knife aside and yanks his jeans and underwear down around his thighs, the denim scraping across his oversensitive skin, exposing him.  For all his pleading, he’s ignored, or forgotten, or disobeyed, because Yunhyeong’s simply going to take what he wants.

He rolls Hanbin onto his stomach with an almost casual movement, unbelievably strong—or maybe Hanbin’s just so limp now that he can only obey, only accept what’s being done to him.  Tears still leak from his eyes, but he’s pliant, almost hypnotized, almost paralyzed.  

Yunhyeong reaches forward, gripping him by the chin and lifting his head until his throat is exposed.  Hanbin shivers, and they both know he’s thinking about the knife, even though it’s nowhere near Yunhyeong’s hand just now.  The thought is enough.

Yunhyeong could do anything to him just now.  Anything at all.

“Do you hear yourself moaning for me to stop?” Yunhyeong says, moaning a little himself on the word, mocking Hanbin.  His other hand, the one not holding Hanbin’s face, wraps around Hanbin’s waist instead, stroking the desperate hardness of his cock and finding him wet and painfully aroused.  Hanbin shivers, whimpering.  “Your lips say no but this right here says fuck me.  You’re such a slut.  Do you always give in so easily?  Or is it just for me you cave like this?”  And as much as he hates it, Hanbin has to admit that Yunhyeong has a point, after all.

Yunhyeong releases his chin, which is a relief; his other hand leaves Hanbin’s cock only reluctantly.  His relief is short-lived, however, because Yunhyeong probes at Hanbin’s entrance with a finger just barely slick with precum swiped from the tip of Hanbin’s achingly hard dick.  Hanbin jerks with effort, shocked back into wakefulness as Yunhyeong pushes in a little way, the catch and pull of sensitive flesh against dry fingertips too much, intense nearly to the point of pain.

“Please don’t do this.” Hanbin hears his own whining voice as if from a distance.  His back arches, pushing into the intrusion of Yunhyeong’s fingers, and shame washes over him at being betrayed by his treacherous body.  He can’t fight anymore, can only protest weakly.  He wants this so badly it hurts, wants Yunhyeong to get on with it, wants it to be over

Yunhyeong’s belt clanks loudly as he tugs it open, and the brief sibilance of a zipper in the quiet room sounds like a match being struck, like the light to Hanbin’s pyre.  It sends a renewed quiver of anticipation and terror down Hanbin’s spine, but he can’t seem to do anything about it.

“It’s okay, Hanbin.” Yunhyeong murmurs, removing his fingers carefully and reaching forward to pat Hanbin condescendingly on the hair.  Then there’s the sound of a cap being flipped open.  “No one’s here, remember?  You can scream as loud as you want.”

Hanbin’s chest heaves with the effort of choking back his sobs, and then he holds his breath at the wet sounds of lube on flesh.  Yunhyeong hasn’t prepared him at all, and the smooth, slick press of the head of Yunhyeong’s cock against his entrance almost has him bolting, but he can’t move, his body unreactive, strangely separate from the intense urge to get away.

But holy fuck, Yunhyeong is so big, Hanbin thinks he really could scream, or he would if he could find his voice; he seems to have swallowed it along with his sobs.  Yunhyeong takes his time, slow and patient as he gauges Hanbin’s readiness, forcing Hanbin to open to him a little at a time while allowing him the time to adjust to such intrusion.  One hand rests light and warm on Hanbin’s lower back, the other keeping him in place on his hip, and it’s both a cruel and strangely tender touch.

Hanbin’s sure he’s going to split in two, his body protesting every step of the way, his head swimming with the overwhelming effort of taking Yunhyeong.  It doesn’t hurt, not exactly; the sensation is deeper than true pain, something worse, like shame, like humiliation.  His mouth stretches open in a silent scream; a lightning-strike of panic makes him buck wildly, trying to throw Yunhyeong off, his body and mind finally reconnecting:  I can’t, I can’t do this

Yunhyeong slaps him again, hand stinging across the back of Hanbin’s thigh, and the cold shock of it makes Hanbin’s back bow sharply in surprise.  And just like that, it all comes together, Yunhyeong sinking in all the way with some measure of ease.  Yunhyeong’s open zipper presses into the back of Hanbin’s thigh, and he’s so keyed up it feels like the knife all over again, like the anticipation of white-hot pain.

Hanbin is sure he’s going to fly apart, breathless and straining with exertion, surprised to the point of overwhelmed; the pain is lessening, but the pressure is simply too much to bear—surely, something has to yield—

Hanbin finally finds his voice, the pressure surging back and forth wildly inside him, and he chokes on his next breath, coughing, retching, sobbing, pleading.

He’d been meaning to scream, if only to relieve some of the intensity.  Instead something else buried deep inside him releases, bursts, like a valve exploding outward, jetting steam furiously into his veins and finally from his eyes in tears of pain and panic.

The first thrust of Yunhyeong’s hips, shallow and slow, makes Hanbin claw at the floor, raw sobbing and the fullness inside of him leaving no room even for air.  He tries to speak, but his voice drowns in the violence of his shaking chest, his aching lips shaping words without sound.

Hanbin himself is what finally gives way.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it of the mist stealing over his senses, but he’s crying worse than ever now, unable to cope with the crushing surge of emotion and sensation battling it out inside him.  His knees protest their long contact with the hard dance floor, his body rejecting and yet welcoming Yunhyeong’s familiar size and shape, his heart trampled to slush in his ruined chest.  

He feels so good.  So bad, but so fucking good.  Yunhyeong hurts him like this, hurts him so perfectly, and Hanbin needs it.  

It’s pathetic how he caves to Yunhyeong, giving himself over completely; and it’s brutal and pitiless the way Yunhyeong takes him in turn—though there’s a conflicting, betraying tenderness in the way he cards one hand softly through Hanbin’s hair.

“What are you?” Yunhyeong snarls, the slow pass of his hand suddenly brutally tight in Hanbin’s hair, each slow stroke of his hips deeper, faster.  Hanbin twists up into him, greedy, helpless, utterly defiled, wanting more and hating himself, hating Yunhyeong for it.

“A—a slut.” Hanbin finally chokes out, though his voice is thin, almost unintelligible.  Yunhyeong hums.

Whose are you?”


“That’s right.” Yunhyeong whispers, and like before, Hanbin can hear every word even over his own noise and the wild hissing in his ears.  Yunhyeong bends down, his thrusts becoming smoother, gentler, more rhythmic.  “Mine.”

Slowly at first, so slowly Hanbin doesn’t notice until it’s almost too late, comes that inexorable heat of orgasm, stoked hotter and hotter inside him each impossible thrust of Yunhyeong’s cock.  He finds himself holding his breath, trying to seek it out; though whether to pull the trigger or throttle it, even he’s not sure.  The tide rises higher and higher, and more and more Hanbin finds himself not wanting to come in the midst of such exquisite humiliation.

But as with everything else, Hanbin doesn’t have a choice; Yunhyeong possesses him, consumes him, owns him.  Hanbin’s suddenly coming hard, his orgasm torn from him almost against his will, heat and pleasure exploding through him in wild pulses that seem to go on forever.

“See?  I knew it, Hanbin.  Look at you coming, all for me.” Yunhyeong whispers in his ear, hot breath sending ricochets of residual pleasure across Hanbin’s skin.

Hanbin collapses right there, slumping into the cold puddle of his own cum as his knees finally give out.  With a suddenness that makes Hanbin flinch, Yunhyeong slips out of him; then Yunhyeong moans, his fingers finding Hanbin’s shoulder, fingertips digging into the flesh tightly.  The wetness of his orgasm splashes across Hanbin’s lower back, with little abortive trembling movements Hanbin can feel through where Yunhyeong’s legs are still pinning him to the floor.

And then, as suddenly as it’d happened, it’s over.  Hanbin doesn’t even have time to roll to one side before he hears the door click shut, and the sound is almost lost in the onrush of nighttime sounds suddenly flooding back to him: The sound of the air conditioning cycling on, the melancholy whisper of the wind, Hanbin’s own fragmented breathing.

He winces, propping himself up onto an elbow, dragging his fingers desultorily through the sticky, salty wet aftermath of Yunhyeong’s orgasm splattered across his lower back, his nose full of the scent of chlorine and sweat.  Everyone will know tomorrow; the room will still reek of sex when the rest of them show up for practice.  Yunhyeong will sit against the mirror across from Hanbin and smirk, and Hanbin will flush with embarrassment and pleasure.

A tickle on his cheek makes him wipe his hand across it automatically.  It’s a tear, making its way slowly down the curve of his cheek.  Without warning, the shame and pain of what had just happened washes over him, renewed in strength; now that the fear has receded, he’s no longer able to keep it at bay.  It’s like a fever breaking, his body sweating and trembling with the painful ebb of adrenaline from his system.

He doesn’t know what to do, one hand covering his eyes.  After a moment, he realizes his other hand is clenched in the remnants of his shredded t-shirt; he drapes it over his head, muffling his own sobs.   Hiding from the painful weight of reality encroaching on the boundaries of their fantasy world, hiding himself from the thundering conflict of disappointment and relief that it’s over.

He doesn’t even realize he’s still half-naked and utterly desecrated, with pants and underwear tangled around his thighs, though he cringes when he hears the door open again.  He dreads the reaction he’s about to receive, panic welling up inside him before he can quell it, though his body is too heavy to do anything about it; he doesn’t want to be seen like this, desecrated and humiliated.

He especially doesn’t want to be seen by Yunhyeong.

But then Yunhyeong himself is kneeling next to Hanbin, prying the old ripped t-shirt away from Hanbin’s face, though at first Hanbin refuses to let go of it.  Yunhyeong strokes his hands until Hanbin’s grip releases.  A cool towel licks across Hanbin’s swollen face, soothing his feverishness and gently wiping the tear tracks from his hot cheeks.

“You were really brave.  I’m so proud of you.” Yunhyeong murmurs.

Hanbin says nothing.  He can’t speak.  He’s still shaking as if he’d just been hauled from cold water, inert when Yunhyeong lifts him gently into his lap.  Yunhyeong’s voice is like the gentle stroke of the towel over Hanbin’s skin, murmured praise flowing past Hanbin’s ears without leaving a trace of meaning behind as Yunhyeong removes the evidence of his own brutality from Hanbin’s skin.

The shame is ebbing with each gentle pass of Yunhyeong’s ministrations, and it’s replaced with embarrassment as Hanbin finds he can’t stop crying, can’t choke back his sobs.  Yunhyeong doesn’t try to, either, letting Hanbin cry, the warmth and softness of his voice never faltering, his praise spoken and repeated almost to meaninglessness against Hanbin’s hairline.

And eventually, slowly, Hanbin’s raw sobbing does subside into ragged little breaths and tremors, fingers curled against Yunhyeong’s bare sternum.  Yunhyeong rocks him, soothing, consoling, loving Hanbin back to himself.

“You okay?”

Hanbin nods, sniffling.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.  Just scared.” Hanbin croaks, wiping his nose on Yunhyeong’s sleeve.  Yunhyeong makes a sympathetic noise.

“I’m sorry.”

“You are not.” Hanbin says, with a weak laugh that dissolves into a weaker sob.  Yunhyeong brushes the last of the tears from beneath Hanbin’s eyes with a sweep of his thumb, tenderly smearing the dampness across his cheek.  “But did you hear me safeword?”

“No,” Yunhyeong admits thoughtfully, “I was worried I’d taken it too far towards the end.  You push yourself too hard sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Hanbin says.  “It’s okay, you did fine.”

Yunhyeong smiles.  “Promise me you’ll stop me if I don’t.”

“I promise.” Hanbin murmurs.

They’re silent for a little longer, Hanbin’s rapid heartbeat finally slowing, drawing strength from Yunhyeong’s tight hold.  Exhaustion moves in to fill the cavernous place that had been so recently occupied by his fear, and when Yunhyeong speaks next, he’s barely awake.

“Thank you, Hanbin.”

“Mmm?  What?” Hanbin hums into Yunhyeong’s neck.  Yunhyeong tips his head up with a gentle hand, brushing a kiss across his lips that has Hanbin shivering again, this time with pleasure.

“Thank you.  I’m really proud of you.  You did so well.” Yunhyeong repeats.

Hanbin hums again, a rush of affection filling his chest like the warmth of a shot of liquor, embarrassing and maybe a little intoxicating.  He hides his face in Yunhyeong’s shirt, his face heating with pleasure but too abashed to acknowledge the praise.

“You wrecked my shirt.” Hanbin says by way of response.  “I can’t walk home like this.  Fuck, I’m not sure I can walk at all.”

“Well, no.” Yunhyeong agrees.  “You should probably pull up your pants first.  And I brought you another shirt.”  He reaches down to help Hanbin pull his underwear and jeans up, but gives up trying to button them after fumbling singlehandedly for several seconds.

“Almost like you planned this or something.” Hanbin mutters without opening his eyes.

“I’ll carry you home, if you need me to.” Yunhyeong says calmly.

Hanbin sighs deeply, tucking himself back into Yunhyeong’s neck, and Yunhyeong realizes a moment later that he’s asleep.  Yunhyeong’s ass is going numb, his back stiff and uncomfortable where he’s sitting against the wall, in the same spot he’d found Hanbin not an hour ago.

Hanbin’s lighted watch dial tells Yunhyeong it’s just past two a.m., and he knows they can’t stay here for too long.  If he falls asleep, they’ll stay here all night together, the both of them half-naked with Hanbin indecent in Yunhyeong’s arms, with Hanbin’s filthy, stained, destroyed t-shirt on the floor nearby, the entire room stinking of sex.  

Everyone will know what happened in here.  

He should get up and open the window to air it out; he should really wake Hanbin and get him dressed, walk him home and put him to sleep in Yunhyeong’s own bed, where he’ll thrash and moan in his fitful sleep, processing the night’s events in his dreams.  Waking up in Yunhyeong’s bed, held close, will make everything right again.

And yet, though he knows what he should do, though he knows sleeping here is unwise, he thinks he’d like nothing more than to do just that, aching and stiff against the cold wall with Hanbin tucked into him, warm and trusting as a kitten.  Perhaps the same awful part of him—that which is so inflamed by a Hanbin scared and protesting—might even like everyone knowing what had happened here, likes the idea that he’d left his mark on Hanbin for everyone to see.

He sighs, closing his eyes, breath stirring Hanbin’s damp hair, listening peaceably to the quiet sounds of the air around him.

The air conditioning cycles off, making space for all the other subtle little sounds of the night.  The susurration of the wind hums gravely along the window.  Hanbin’s laptop fan whirrs quietly a few feet away, half-closed, cold blue light reflecting off the floor.  Hanbin’s deep, slow sleep breaths are warm against Yunhyeong’s bare collarbone.  Above them, the roof settles again with a loud thump.

It’s only them, alone together in the vast company building, in these last few darkest hours before dawn.  Yunhyeong blinks stubbornly, trying to keep it at bay, but his eyelids sink lower and lower in spite of himself.  He wraps Hanbin up a little tighter in his arms.  Hanbin sighs in response, as if reassuring Yunhyeong in turn.

Whose are you?

I’m yours.

Yunhyeong smiles to himself, eyelids sliding shut completely.  Whatever happens tomorrow, Yunhyeong’s ready to handle it, for Hanbin’s sake as much as his own.

Me, too.