Chapter Text
The knock came like a hammer. Firm. Impatient.
Seonghwa almost dropped his favorite teacup.
He opened the door, eyebrows raised—and found Hongjoong standing there.
His face, as usual, arrogant and irritating, but his left arm was bleeding. His shirt was torn and stained a dark color.
"Pleasant evening, isn't it?" Hongjoong said. "Unfortunately, I brought a souvenir."
Seonghwa looked at the wound, then at Hongjoong.
"what the heck?"
"I was hunting. The deer turned. My friend panicked. The bullet missed. And boom."
Seonghwa clicked his tongue. "What does all that have to do with me?"
Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. "You're a doctor."
"I'm a veterinarian."
"A human is just an animal with self-esteem," he replied, without losing his teasing tone. "Please get the bullet out before I lose this hand."
Seonghwa sighed. Deep. Long. He glanced at the sky, as if pleading for strength.
Then he looked back with a weary expression. "Come in. But don't touch anything. I don't want to renovate again this month."
Hongjoong walked in with a light step, despite the blood dripping from his fingers. He sat down at the dining chair as if he were already accustomed to being there.
"Have you eaten anything?" Seonghwa asked, opening the first-aid kit.
"My deer escaped, Doctor," Hongjoong replied. "But honestly, your cooking is better even without venison. Would you offer me dinner?"
"Be quiet or I'll leave the bullet in there."
Hongjoong chuckled softly. For the first time, he laughed like that—not threatening, not insulting.
Then, as Seonghwa approached with needle and thread, his hand touched Hongjoong's skin—and the man held his breath. Not because of the pain. But because of the warmth of the touch.
"Are you always this gentle with the dogs you take care of?" Hongjoong murmured, staring straight into Seonghwa's face.
"If they don't bark when they're hurt, yes."
"I'm not barking."
"No. You're annoying even when you're quiet."
Hongjoong just stared, a small smile haunting the corner of his lips.
And when the needle pierced his skin, he didn't complain. He didn't make a sound. But his eyes never left Seonghwa's.
Silently, swallowing the pain while stealing attention.
Because it turned out, being looked at by Seonghwa... was more pleasurable than being healed by him.
Seonghwa finished removing the bullet and stitching the wound with a relieved breath, though his chin was tense from focusing. He pulled back slightly, then stared at Hongjoong with a sharp gaze—as if saying, "Your life is saved, now get out."
But Hongjoong... didn't move. Still sitting. Still silent. Still looking at him with eyes too deep for a night too silent.
"It's finished, right?" Seonghwa asked, putting away his equipment.
"Technically, yes," Hongjoong replied.
Seonghwa looked at him suspiciously. "Why does your tone sound like you don't want to leave yet?"
Hongjoong raised his newly stitched left arm, gently shaking it while groaning dramatically. "I lost blood. This arm... feels heavy. Maybe if I walk home, I'll faint on the way."
"Your house is only ten steps from here."
"But it's dark. And slippery. I might slip and this wound will open again. It would be a shame, a veterinarian having to redo surgery."
Seonghwa narrowed his eyes. "If you want to stay over, at least be logical."
Hongjoong smiled, too relaxed. "You know I'm logical. This is all for safety. Besides, who knows, maybe there are wolves out there."
"Wolves are more afraid of you, I think."
"True. But wolves aren't as beautiful as you."
Seonghwa almost threw the sterile gauze at his face.
After so much drama and frustrated sighs, Seonghwa gave in.
Hongjoong was allowed to sleep on the living room sofa, with a thin blanket, a makeshift pillow, and a stern warning.
"Don't enter my room. Don't open the refrigerator. Don't play the piano. Don't touch anything. And don't breathe loudly."
"Honestly, you talk like an ex-lover who still cares."
"Be quiet, or I'll bite your wound."
Midnight.
Seonghwa was just about to sleep when he heard soft footsteps. Then... the door opened.
He turned quickly—and found Hongjoong standing in the doorway, his face a little pale (whether real or acting), one hand holding his wound.
"My wound throbs again," he said softly.
"Take the medicine I gave you."
"I did."
"Then?"
"I can't sleep. Can I be here? Just for a little while. Then I'll go back to the sofa."
Seonghwa looked at him, then looked away. "...If you die standing there, it'll be bad news for me."
Hongjoong carefully stepped inside, like a cat entering its enemy's house. He sat on the edge of the bed, then slowly leaned against the pillow, saying nothing.
"Don't touch me," Seonghwa said.
"Okay," Hongjoong whispered.
A few seconds. Silence.
Then his arm gently wrapped around Seonghwa's waist. Seonghwa immediately stiffened.
"I said—"
"Let me hold you so you don't fall off the bed. That's... preventative action," Hongjoong replied, half asleep.
Seonghwa let out a heavy sigh. "You're crazy."
But he didn't move.
And that night, Seonghwa slept in the arms of the person he avoided most... and for a reason he didn't want to admit, he slept more soundly than on previous nights.
Seonghwa woke up with a strange feeling on his body.
Because when he opened his eyes, there was an arm around his waist. There was a leg tangled with his. And there was breath on his neck.
Hongjoong. Still there. And worse, still sleeping. Soundly. In his bed.
Seonghwa froze. This wasn't a dream. Not a hallucination.
With super slow movements, he tried to lift Hongjoong's arm from his body. Failed. Tried to gently shake his shoulder. Failed. Tried to jerk himself—
"hngg," Hongjoong murmured, still half asleep, his voice deep and hoarse. "Wake me up in five more minutes. Or ten. Three hours is fine too."
Seonghwa desperately wanted to push him off the bed, if not for the wound on his arm, "Hongjoong!"
Hongjoong opened one eye. Stared. Smiled. "Okay, I lose, good morning, protector of fauna."
"Get out."
"Is it noon?"
"Eight o'clock."
"Good. Breakfast at nine."
"AT YOUR HOUSE."
"But my house doesn't have you," Hongjoong tightened his hug like a snake knowing its prey's weakness. "Let me remind you, I almost died last night."
"Your wound is only on your arm, not your brain."
"But my soul is traumatized."
Seonghwa gritted his teeth. "Hongjoong."
"Yes?"
Seonghwa slammed the pillow against his face. Hongjoong just laughed, then slowly got up from the bed… still with an innocent air.
A few minutes later, they were sitting at the dining table.
Seonghwa cooked breakfast—with a flat face and quick movements. Hongjoong? Sitting sweetly, his arm still bandaged, but his demeanor like a king waiting for his wife's cooking.
"You know," Hongjoong said, sipping his tea, "if we wake up together more often, you might get used to it."
"If I get used to it, it means I've become numb," Seonghwa murmured.
"Do you know how funny your face is when you sleep?"
"WHAT!?"
"Like a kitten who just had a nightmare. I almost kissed your cheek. But I held back. Because I respect you."
And sure enough, Seonghwa finally threw his spatula at Hongjoong.
"Impressive throw," Hongjoong chuckled as he dodged it successfully.
And that's how that morning went. With burnt eggs, cold tea, and someone who was shameless.
Because in Seonghwa's planned and calm world, there was now a chaos named Hongjoong who had arrived.
Hongjoong sat on Seonghwa's sofa, his left arm still bandaged, but his eyes stared at the ceiling as if hiding something. Seonghwa, standing in the kitchen, watched in silence.
"Do you know," he finally said, "your wound is too clean for a hunting accident."
Hongjoong didn't answer.
"Bullets don't usually penetrate so neatly. Not at an angle like… this," Seonghwa continued. "I'm a veterinarian, but I'm not stupid."
Silence. Hongjoong still didn't speak.
"You shot yourself, didn't you?"
Finally, Hongjoong took a breath.
"I think physical injury... is the only reason you'll open the door."
Seonghwa looked at him. Sharply. But also wearily.
"So you think by hurting yourself, I'll—"
"Let me stay," Hongjoong interrupted. His voice was flat, but his eyes were glassy. "And that's true, isn't it?"
Seonghwa wanted to be angry. But what was the point? Anger couldn't erase the feelings that hadn't yet faded.
"You're crazy."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Seonghwa exhaled. "It's because I feel sorry for you."
"No," Hongjoong murmured. "It's because you still love me. And that's more painful than any bullet."
Seonghwa didn't answer.
He approached. Slowly. Stopped right in front of the sofa.
"And if I let you be like this, tomorrow you'll shoot your leg? The day after tomorrow your heart?"
Hongjoong bowed his head. "Maybe. If that's the only way to survive in your life."
Silence hung heavy.
Then Seonghwa bent down slightly. Staring at Hongjoong closely. "If you want to come back… don't come through a wound. Come through courage."
Hongjoong looked up. "What do you mean?"
"Knock on the door. Without blood. Without bullets. If you're brave, then I'll open the door easily."
And Seonghwa turned. Towards his room. Without looking back.
Hongjoong sat on the sofa, frozen. His hand on his wound. But for the first time in a long time, his chest hurt more than his arm.
Finally, he decided to go home.
Tomorrow morning, he would stand in front of that door.
Without blood. Because he wasn't a coward anymore, because Seonghwa apparently still kept his name in his heart.
Fin -