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Seonghwa comes home looking scraped thin.
Nothing went wrong, nothing was horrible. The day was just long in that way that makes him a little too aware of how thin the soles of his boots have gotten and how nippy the weather is outside. He doesn't say anything, just shuts the door soft. His shoulders stay high and tight, even as he remembers San and Mingi are out for the night. A roommate's night out that Seonghwa had politely declined when he realized he wasn't going to get out of the practice room till nine.
But Yeosang is already on the couch.
He's curled small, folded on his knees and entertaining himself with his journal and a pen. It's the cream skirt that makes Seonghwa’s breath hitch. That and the cropped silvery top with near-sheer sleeves tugged over half his palm on each side.
The bow sits on the table beside him. That big, ridiculous, red, sparkling thing they bought at the department store half as a joke. At least Seonghwa had thought that Yeosang thought it was a joke. Now he isn't so sure.
Yeosang looks up when Seonghwa enters.
He doesn't speak or wave or call out a greeting. He just lets out the smallest, breathy "arf!" Barely a sound.
Something in Seonghwa’s chest breaks open. "…Yeosang," he says, voice cracked at the edge.
Yeosang doesn't answer. He slips off the couch silently, padding toward him on his hands and knees. He's meant to wear his kneepads when he's crawling around like this, and Seonghwa will surely scold him for it later. But not now. Not when he needs this so bad.
Yeosang’s skirt sways with each step. He lets out another little bark, higher this time, and Seonghwa exhales shakily as Yeosang settles in front of him.
"Hey," Seonghwa whispers, hand itching to move from his side. "Hey, pup."
Yeosang tilts his head, waiting with an unreadable expression on his face. He eyes Seonghwa's hand.
And then, softly, deliberately, he nudges his forehead against it. A place for Seonghwa to put his touch.
Seonghwa’s fingers come up on instinct. They settle in Yeosang’s hair, trembling for only a second before they find steadiness in the familiar strands.
Yeosang closes his eyes, presses in a little more. A quiet hum escapes him.
Seonghwa shudders. "My boy knows just what I need," he murmurs, almost a laugh.
Yeosang takes Seonghwa’s other wrist gently between both hands, lifting it until Seonghwa’s fingers rest against his cheek. The motion is shy, but his intent is clear. He wants to be touched, wants to be warm for Seonghwa. Anything and everything for him. Whatever he could need.
Seonghwa, of course, cups his face automatically, his other hand coming to help cradle his pup's face between his palms.
Yeosang melts with a high sighing whine.
His strength wavers the tiniest bit, skirt brushing against the floor before he gets himself all the way back up, on his knees with his back straight. He nuzzles into Seonghwa's hand, breathing him in before finally leaning forward, letting his cheek rest against his hyung's legs.
Seonghwa's palm flies back up to his hair, scratching at his scalp lightly, grounding himself in every inch. "Sweet boy," he praises. "You're perfect. You're so perfect."
Yeosang’s breath stutters, but he doesn't speak. He just waits until Seonghwa’s touch becomes confident again.
When Seonghwa finally pulls back, his gaze falls to the bow waiting on the table. He swallows hard.
"Did you dress up for me?"
Yeosang smiles and sits up just enough that he can wiggle his butt a little.
Seonghwa does laugh, a little more watery than he'd care to admit. Then he watches Yeosang jerk his head toward the side table, a more insistent bark now.
Who is Seonghwa to deny him any longer?
Seonghwa crosses over the few steps and picks up the bow with reverence, almost afraid to tear it as he brings it back to where Yeosang waits patiently.
"Hold still for me."
Yeosang obeys so beautifully like always. His breathing slows, his hands resting quietly on his thighs, fingers curling into the skirt fabric.
Seonghwa brushes aside a section of brown hair, thumb grazing Yeosang’s temple. Yeosang leans into it, eyes fluttering shut, a tiny whine caught behind his teeth.
The bow clicks into place. Red. Sparkly. Ridiculous. Perfect.
And when Yeosang opens his eyes again, he's looking at Seonghwa like he's waiting to hear if he did enough. If it helped. If he helped.
Seonghwa touches his cheek with both hands this time. "My darling boy," he whispers.
Yeosang lets out a soft, relieved bark, nuzzling into his hand once more.