Work Text:
Junmyeon
He screams in his head, blowing away the sleepy cobwebs of yet another draining week ahead,
"Why the fuck did I go and wander my hand to his face?Stop rolling around! Stop being restless! Just stop and behave! Why can't you lie dutifully on your side like he does since day one! Follow the damn example!
Seriously, Jun, you're getting too comfortable with your surroundings! Too comfortable with your 5years long feelings! You know how uncomfortable he becomes at any touch from you! For fuckery's fuck sake, he's a child... well three years younger... But still a fucking child! Taking away his freedom by agreeing to this sham of a marriage, wasn't enough for you? Stay away Junmyeon. Fucking stay away and keep your hands to yourself!"
"I woke you... I-I didn't mean to." He Stands to flee their bedroom, not wanting to give time to what his husband may coldly throw at him.
Sehun
Movement across the bed.
A slight pulling at the covers.
A warm hand lands on the side of his face. Sehun, instinctively jolts and makes his turn.
Bright bunny eyes seemingly caught in the headlights, stare up at him. An apology strangled in the squeaks of embarrassment colouring his puffy cheeks.
The hand quickly retracts only to hover in the air, under Sehun's groggy but now alert gaze down to the man.
He lies there, watching a war of emotions wage through his face. Ugly contortions of regret, shame, and mortification mar that ethereal face. Most of all, it the sadness that prompts Sehun to shuffle the covers, to snapping the man out of his reveries.
"So... s-sorry. I forgot myself, there Hunn-" the man visibly collects his foggy brain and his tongue, "Sorry Sehun, it was a mistake."
That awkward owner of that hand, was Junmyeon. His husband.
A sigh escapes, when Sehun recognised or yet feels, his husband move gingerly in a sitting position with his back to him.
Sehun stifles a groan at the low hang of the head. He may be still mad at how they were brought together, but he can never find it in himslef to continue being mad at him too.
Sighing at the continuous inner turmoil involving the man with his back to him.
On nights like this, Sehun is already shuffling to his own feet to chase after the man, whom, like always, finds him standing at the far end of the long dining table. Staring, unseeing, at a spot on one of the chair's backrest. So small and troubled looking. His tight grip, adds to the body's tension as he visibly shakes in front of his eyes.
"Forget everything and come to bed." He's not sure, where he got the courage to speak those words without wilting or backtracking the sincerity with a detached shrugged.
Pushing the disappointment or relief at the lack of response, he goes his self-comfort. Detachment for the sake of... preservation?
"Junmyeon," Solemn is the call, alas the owner of the name, jumps at the unintended hardness of his tone, "place that glass back on the table." Because I fear you may squeeze it to breaking point, and hurt yourself, and I will worry and panic even more, at the compounded helplessness of this entire situation to begin with. But he doesn't say that. He has zero confidence to say any of that.
Instead he pointedly looks at the glass, and hopes Junmyeon will follow his gaze to the table. Not before showing Sehun his hurt at his rigid refusal to call him Hyung. With the delicate extension of his husband's fingers, the glass barely makes a sound on the wooden surface.
The silence is deafening.
Snow will fall soon. Sleeping Seoul twinkles around the pair, the surrounding buildings envelope them, but the large panoramic windows contain their privacy. Snow will fall soon. Atleast the privacy of their stilted words remains.
Two years on, he's still unable to evoke the 'hyung privileges' Junmyeon bestowed on him, on the very first conversation they stuttered through.
"Junmyeon, get back to bed. It's late."
The Stubborn Pout has reared its merciless head, well any Junmyeon Pout for argument's sake, will someday be the death of him. Quote that. File it and bring it out on the day of his funeral.
"To avoid interrupt... I- I mean disrupting your sleep by knocking you around-"
"You didn't disrupt-"
"Its just work has been a lot lately... not enough sleep-"
"Its okay, I'm fine-"
"Then I became cl- clingy and needy... unconsciously m-moving towards you-"
"And I am yet to complain-"
They continue that back and forth tonight, similar to other nights. They were such a far cry from the strong-willed, shrewed CEOs, they were reputable for. Junmyeon looking smol wringing his fingers together, while talking... no mumbling... no babbling to them.
Sehun does his best to keep the frustration at bay of being talked over, not listened to and mostly misinterpreted. He just about loses himself.
"FOR FUCK'S-" his fraying reigns on his temper are almost gone.
He visible collects himself when they both take an involuntary step back. With his head now the one hanging low, pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice comes out shaky. Overwhelmed by emotions he is still coming to terms with in the last year and a half.
"For fuck's sake Junmyeon, please go back to our bed and we'll make a wall of pillows, if need be, to keep your adventurous hands at bay."
As innocent as those words had been intended, he swallows a smug smirk at his husband's bashful eye-aversion when the double entendres sinks in between them.
The older shifts to quell his heated face with a choked cough. Sehun slouched against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.
"The couch is fine." He indicates by pointing with his trembling finger at the long L-shape. The first clear sentence of their late night routine conscious interlude. Although, lately he has been entertaining thoughts of more, married life, late night interludes particularly with his Junmyeon. At the office. During long tiresome meetings, at lunch, being driven home. Any time away from his husband, so rightfully the thoughts flood his consciousness.
He sighs, rubbing a tired hand across his face.
However there were routines, and part of the many they had unconsciously established, was for Sehun to not argue. With a small nod, he lets his husband know he concedes, he understands and he accepts his decision. He's nod is received by a smaller nod across the room accepting his invitation to come back but is resolute to stay where he is. Like all nights likes this.
"Fine," Sehun allows his feet to back him away down the passage, "Good night, then." But the other man was already pulling out his throw from the inconspicuous storage drawer and fluffing a scatter cushion or two, then disappears in front of the couch's backrest.
Should this week persist like this until the end of it, Minseok hyung will be sure to summon him again. Interrogating why his bestfriend was stiff to nearly limping, without an actual dicking down to show for it.
"Hun... Aish..." He sighs for the umpteenth time.
Although the bestfriend and his own bff- Baek, know and have been worried for them since their engagement was announced to the elite business society.
He makes a mental note to throw himself at the wolves first thing in the morning, instead of waiting for them to tag-team him, storming into his office at midday.
He walks in, straight to his phone, to set the alarm five minutes before his husband would wake. Stands at the foot of the massive bed and takes a picture.
He sighs, throwing himself away from his side of the bed.
Because a small stubborn, latching-their-claws-into-the-hard-concrete-surface, part will not be caught dead snuggling a pillow. Arms tightly wrapped around, with knees as close to his chest as possible, to allow his husband's soft lemon zesty shampoo scent be his lullaby.
On some lonely nights, a stubborn tear will forcibly make its drop and disappear in the fabric just reminding his mortified soul of how susceptible it is to human feelings opposite of cold and detachment.
Longing.
.
Oh sure, when the hurricane bustles in the form of his husband, whizzing through, the pillows were to the photo's near-identicle copy. Sehun lay faced to the now opening window curtains, like he was when the hand came into contact with him. Sehun hopes his grumpy groan is as convincing of his grogginess, as are his re-decorative skills.
"How are you this sunshine, every single morning?" He mumbles, already missing the pillow.
His husband's frozen perplexion, midway placing down the remote with the hope of making as little noise as possible. But Sehun had been watching through his half-lidded eyes.
"Well... I... this is nothing new. I always have to open the curtains or you... you'll be happy," he bashfully gestures to the room at large, aimlessly, "T-To do everything in the dark and forget to open them when you leave."
"How-" He's the perplex one, now. He's always the last to leave, so the cleaning staff and Junmyeon are close in communication than they have ever been with him.
But Sehun knew them first!
"The staff and I... over dinner... when you're away or your turn to work late-"
The indignation evaporates, instantly. Of course Junmyeon would do that. Check in on the people around him and do his best to offer comfort or ease their burdens however way appropriate or possible.
Just a hestiant distance away from Sehun. This time he groans, because it takes two to tango. His actions are why Junmyeon reacts like that toward him.
"Ah, I see." He nods.
Suddenly with an irritable pull at the covers, overhead. He fails to miss the Wounded Pout making its way to the shower.
"Oof... not so early in the morning, before I can gather my defenses." An uncharacteristic whimper, he hopes is muffled by the cover and the distance.
.
"I've already... um, made breakfast..."
Oh.
That was a new development. Usually Junmyeon forgoes the whole meal in general. The staff on hand make breakfast only for Sehun.
"I- I mean, I've already eaten.. my my share and yours is warm in the oven... with um, your lunch pack."
This is definitely not of their routine. Not the same routine since they were forced to be lifetime roommates.
The butterflies are fully awake, and galloping away in his stomach. He pushes aside the physical discomfort of the solar plexus effect.
"Yeah, right. Thanks, I guess." He sheds his PJs on his way to the bathroom, ignoring the embarrassed turn of head, away from his walking form.
"Well, I mean if you don't like-" the diminishing mumbling, was muffled into silence, when he accidently shut the door louder than the intended push.
Cockiness or the innate animalistic need to show off and impress your mate. Whether be a mate of your heart's choice or chosen for you.
He sighs away his own embarrassing backfire, convinced it's the former.
He visibly shudders in the bathroom, picturing Junmyeon's own quail and possible pale at the loud bang. Definitely misinterpreting not just that one act of Sehun's, but all his entire actions, since they were first introduced at that business gala. Both unknowingly, staggered and strut into their fancy trap to have them attend the same event on behalf of their CEO bosses who happen to be their much loved parents.
He scoffs on both their behalf, at both sets of parents. Surely an aggressive splash and vigorous scrub, will wipe away the morning grumpiness.
He pushes all the rushing memories, and is comforted by the resumption of the tentative patter of those cute bunny feet on the plush carpet of their walk in closet. He pushes aside his misunderstood flinch last night, which his bones welcomed all the warmth of the man lying next to him, while he fought the wild rampage of the butterflies.
Sehun's shy smile creeps up on him, when he thinks of how the sound of those feet will be drown out by the rushing shower falls.
He knows, when he has given the man outside enough time, Sehun's full outfit for the day will be dressed on the blazers stand, coat and shirt on their hangers, his pants carefully laid across his lounging chair and brouges at the foot of that same chair. A tray of his neck ties, of course, complimenting the chosen three-piece suit, next to the tray of his equally complementary watches.
Junmyeon trusts Sehun's cologne choices, although the older man orders and purchases them along with his own.
A wry smile slips at him, having come to an understanding that there were no choices to the cufflinks he wore. What Junmyeon placed in front of him, is what he will always be glad to wear. No questions asked.
After all, with a somewhat resigned husband as his companion, is slowly becoming Sehun's happy life. His chest pangs with more physical discomfort at the ease of admitting that revelation to himself.
His rigid frame nearly turns to mush, standing over the threshold, taking in this particular routine he's coming to love every waking day.
That morning, it were his most expensive, custom Dior that Junmyeon somehow had them made for him. Never once, has Sehun questioned his 2 years, 4 months and 15days long husband's taste.
Snapping out of a daze, he rushes throughout the rest of his grooming routine, for some feeble hope that Junmyeon, may have forgotten something or was running late, hence why he may see him whirling through their penthouse, in an incoherent babble to reach his driver on time, while not forgetting anything he may need for his day.
But, Junmyeon will definitely be gone, already. He muses, staring out the window at the year's first snowfall.
He fights the droop of his shoulder, by standing taller and shrugging off the 'hyung privilege' he hopes one day he'll have the courage to surprise Junmyeon with. Hopefully then the fluster will be the good type instead of panic, worry or suppressed anxiety.
He may just break his record of the amount of sighs he's accumulated before setting foot out of their home, let alone their bedroom.
"When will I ever be able to tell you how harder and deeper I fall for you, everyday, Junmyeon hyung?"
He sighs at their messy bed and floor, shutting their door to pass through the same comforts.
Just another day.
FIN.