Chapter Text
Sion wasn’t sure how or when exactly it started. He also wasn’t entirely all too sure why it even started in the very first place. It was this odd and unsettling, almost animalistic and raw, mixture of jealousy and nausea—it was a bizarre concoction of feeling painfully sick whenever Jaehee sat next to Yushi instead of next to him, and feeling like the ground beneath him was giving in whenever Riku’s hands lingered on Jaehee’s knee for a little longer than needed. It wasn’t unusual for these things to happen. But, despite not being unusual, they hadn’t exactly been common occurrences in the past, either. And, now? Now, they made Sion’s skin crawl. Now, they made Sion uncomfortable.
Sion had always had a particular way of seeing things. He had always had a particular way of seeing Jaehee—he often felt almost as though he could hear Jaehee’s voice in his mind, could almost tell when he was lying. Other times, he could see his shadow under the door to his room: uneasy, undecided. Sion had always thought Jaehee to be beautiful. An ocean bled through his veins, making him melt; making his hand hold onto the sun to shield those around him from the heat. The air within Jaehee had always been red and cold, and there were days, maybe even some nights, where Sion tossed and turned around in bed, unable to sleep, imagining Jaehee’s tongue in his mind, caressing his uneasiness: tender, warm. He could almost feel Jaehee’s eyes bore into his, remembering. And as he peeled the sheets away from his body, a hand trailing down his chest, lingering right over his stomach, he wrapped his mouth around Jaehee’s name and swallowed.
It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. Especially not when he could hear Jaehee’s laugh from the living room—a sound that to Sion, was almost hollow: because in Sion’s warped mind, no one could make Jaehee laugh as well as he could. Sion pretended the hand underneath his skin was Jaehee’s. He pretended the tunnel leading to his soul, red and narrow, was the same tunnel where he would later curl his body inside, just to see right through Jaehee. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to remember words, but he was trying. He was trying to come up with excuses for his behaviour, but all he was doing was lying to himself. He could barely even remember what was happening by the time white coated his stomach—he could barely register the knock on the door by the time he cleaned himself up and tugged the covers around his waist.
”Come in.” Sion’s voice wavered slightly, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care, not when he knew who was standing at the other side of the door. Jaehee had always carried light with him wherever he went—he’d always carried the light for Sion, so he couldn’t bring himself to hide the fact that his hands were shaking at his sides. He couldn’t bring himself to hide the fact that his bangs were glued to his forehead and his cheeks were flushed from the overstimulation.
Sion subtracted the air from his lungs as soon as the door cracked open, all for Jaehee—all so Jaehee could breathe him in. He let himself shed his own skin, just so Jaehee could put his wet mouth against his bones, against his muscles and his tendons. Just so the very next sound Jaehee would feel would be the sound of Sion’s white body bleeding, uncaring, unbothered: because, with Jaehee, Sion would always be all right.
“Hey,” Jaehee shut the door behind him and padded towards Sion’s bed. “We’re all planning on ordering dinner. You want anything?”
Slowly, a light grew inside, painting shadows under Sion’s skin, spreading slowly: tide-like. It flooded his fingers and his limbs, it sealed his eyes. He felt almost as though he were waking from a dream, where motion was stillness. He knew, deep down, he would stir the stars to feed Jaehee’s eyes, even if that meant drifting alone in his dreams. He wasn’t exactly hungry, but at that very moment, he could feel a sudden urge to chew on limbs. He could feel a sudden urge to gnaw on skin, to leave it painted red and purple, to leave his mark. Under the dark light, Jaehee’s skin looked golden, but the truth remained unspoken.
”I’m fine,” Sion hoisted himself up on the bed and leaned on his elbow, naked torso facing Jaehee, who couldn’t seem to look at him. “I already ate.”
Jaehee nodded, but instead of opening the ajar door, he closed it with a socked foot—his mind and his limbs interwoven. Sion wondered, then, if Jaehee would admit to something he shouldn’t. He wondered, then, if the souls he had gathered were enough to make Jaehee realise that Sion was the one for him. The one who would love, and care, for him. And, through the tunnel carved in the thickness of the air wrapping around the both of them, Sion felt like he was falling. He could almost see the colours shifting and vaporising. He could almost smell the ocean in his hands, even though it was slowy disappearing. With thin and boneless fingers, he searched for the truth deep within Jaehee’s eyes, only to find emptiness and darkness and something visceral simmering beneath the surface.
”I wanted to talk to you,” Jaehee started, taking quick and quiet steps towards Sion’s bed before sitting right next to where his knees were slightly poking out from underneath the covers. “It’s not bad.”
”I’m all ears.” Sion could see the dawned light rise, up around the edge of the sky. He could almost reach up into the night, grab a handful of stars and collect heads. He could almost feel himself drift off while all the millions of fools clawed at Jaehee’s skin, searching for something else in the folds of his blunder. But, Sion? Sion didn’t have to claw at anything, because before he could process what was happening, Jaehee’s fingers traced the outline of his stomach, drifting down.
”I wanted to apologise,” Jaehee’s voice sounded worried, and Sion wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to hear that same exact voice whispering up against his ear, not apologising. “I haven’t been good to you. I haven’t been paying attention or giving you attention.”
Sion considered that. “So, you came to my room at two in the morning halfway through dinner to apologise?”
“I wanted to fix it.” Jaehee looked down and fidgeted slightly, but his hand remained teetering near the band of Sion’s basketball shorts.
”Fix the fact that you’ve been making me unnecessarily jealous? Or, fix the fact that you haven’t fucked me in over two weeks?” Sion’s mouth, once healing, was screaming and breathing red. It was bending, then breaking, then cracking. Jaehee’s mind was a lie, and a lie, to Sion, had always been a line spinning in a spiral. That redness, it morphed into dust, and Sion felt almost as though he was uselessly screaming while chewing at his bottom lip.
”Both.” Jaehee’s fingers trailed down. Sion took hold of his hand, stopping its movements.
”And do you think you deserve my forgiveness?” It resided within Sion, the sickness. The lust. And lust? Lust was the equivalent of disgust. His mind was a red sucking tongue, and he yearned to allow for it to touch Jaehee’s insides. But, he held himself back. Instead, he brought Jaehee’s fingers to his mouth and licked at them, gently at first, then, harsher—he fed on them, tasting butter and Jaehee’s shadow. Something stirred deep within his stomach, plaster and sawdust and lust: so much lust. Jaehee had promised, time and time again, that his bones were Sion’s bones. He had promised, time and time again, that Sion would never be alone.
”I’ll be better,” Jaehee curved his fingers in Sion’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue. “I’ll be the best for you, I really will. I mean it this time.”
”You always say you mean it, only for you to end up ruining things because of how greedy you are for everyone else’s attention.” Sion detatched his mouth from Jaehee’s fingers with a lewd sound, and breathed in deep, allowing Jaehee to creep closer to sever the seam, to cut him up into little pieces. Sion’s near was Jaehee’s far, and under his gaze, Jaehee’s freedom had always been fake—his name replaced, his mirror Sion’s face; in his universe, Sion’s prayer had become a curse, but the question wasn’t: why? The question was: what? Yet, Jaehee had never told Sion the answer, claiming the answer was much worse.
”I’m serious this time.” Jaehee tried.
“If you’re so serious, prove it. Fuck me like you mean it. Fuck me like you couldn’t care less about anyone else. Fuck me like there’s no one else around,” Sion pulled the covers back, hand wrapping around Jaehee’s waist and pulling him towards his body. “Come on. Come take what’s left.”
Jaehee’s hands were wrapped around Sion’s throat while Sion was splayed there, half naked and alive. He wondered, for a split second, if this was it—if this would be the moment where Jaehee admitted to being as obsessed with Sion as Sion was with him. But, at the very same time, he felt as though they had been drifting goodbye, abandoning each other for someone better, their bones ground to dust as the sky seemed to bruise where their fingers touched. Jaehee’s lips were on his neck, on his mouth, on his chest and on his stomach, trailing further and further down, while Sion writhed in the sheets. Jaehee seemed to be tracing Sion’s shape with his tongue, surfing the slight whines and moans that spilled from his mouth before going back for more until there was nothing left. There were no more words to be shared, no more things to be said.
There were bruises on Sion’s skin when Jaehee raised his head and licked at Sion’s spit before pulling his body closer, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and forgetting where he began. Sion had always felt like the stranger in Jaehee’s mirror, like a body gently spinning, like a stone in a house in the woods, like a poem that had once been written on the backside of Jaehee’s eyelids. He had always felt like the power he had faded whenever Jaehee got a little too touchy with someone, even with Sion. But, tonight, it seemed as though Jaehee had a different plan, because he remained there, unmoving. Hands caressing the back of Sion’s head.
”Are you alright?” Sion’s arms wrapped around Jaehee’s waist, gently. Tenderly.
”Just missed you,” Every word was a new beginning when there was nothing left to give. And for some odd reason, Sion couldn’t find it within himself to move. He couldn’t find it within himself to stand before Jaehee, polished and golden, like a globe of light, his eyes eroded and blinded by derision. So, he chose to stay like that, humming in agreement. “I’ll make it up to you. Tomorrow. Everyone else will be out. They’ve got schedules.”
“Just get some rest for now. You’re tired,” Sion started. “You can do whatever you want to me tomorrow.”