Inspired by Songs.......Gongfourz Oneshots (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

The Great war

All that bloodshed, crimson clover
Uh-huh, sweet dream was over
My hand was the one you reached for
All throughout the Great War

Taesan's knuckles were bruised, dark like the violet blooms of a battle long past. The walls around him bore the marks of his frustration—scratches, dents, and shattered glass from his pent-up rage. His body ached from the chaos, but the sting of his own anger hurt more. He could still hear the echoes of the argument—his voice, rough with fury, cursing Leehan even in his sleep, bitter words lingering in the silence.

Leehan sat on the couch, an air of casual amusement about him. His legs were crossed, eyes glinting with something unreadable. He never shouted, never raised his voice. Instead, he knew exactly how to handle Taesan—pushing him to the brink and pulling him back before he could fall into the abyss.

"Is this how it always ends?" Taesan's voice cracked, hoarse from the weight of his words. His fingers trembled as he clenched and unclenched them, trying to will the pain away. "We fight, I bleed, and you just... watch."

Leehan tilted his head, an innocent smirk curling on his lips. "You knew what you were getting into," he said, cold and unaffected. "You always come back."

Maybe it was the pride. Maybe it was the ghosts of old arguments that never truly ended. Taesan didn't know anymore. His mind flickered with flashes of crimson and shattered glass, of whispered accusations and harsh goodbyes. All that bloodshed, crimson clover.

Leehan sighed, stretching lazily. "The war's over, Taesan. We survived."

"Did we?" Taesan's gaze burned, frustration mingling with a deep, gnawing pain. "Because it sure as hell doesn't feel like it."

Leehan had made his attempts—empty apologies, half-hearted promises, gestures meant to mend what had been broken. But Taesan? He had shut himself off, retreating into the ruins of their past, drowning in a poison that came from within. He'd drawn the curtains, shut the door, and left everything outside, including himself.

"You need to trust me more," Leehan had once said.

But trust was fragile, easy to break. And when love felt like a war, trust was the first casualty.

"Maybe it's just the past speaking," Leehan's voice softened, cautious now. "Maybe you're still fighting a battle that's already over."

"Or maybe I'm punishing you for things you never did," Taesan admitted, his eyes falling to the ground. His fists unclenched, but the pain in his chest remained—deeper than any bruise.

Leehan stood, stepping into Taesan's space. He placed a hand on Taesan's chest, his touch gentle yet firm. "You love me too much to leave," he murmured, his voice rich with control, as though he already knew the answer.

Taesan looked at him, the arrogance in Leehan's eyes, the way he reveled in the power he held over him.

And yet, Taesan didn't pull away.

The battlefield between them, cold and harsh, began to thaw, just a little.

That was the night he almost lost him.

That was the night he realized—he didn't want to.

"We can't go back," Taesan whispered. "Not to the bloodshed. Not to the war."

Leehan smirked, trailing a finger up Taesan's jaw, brushing against the raw tension there. "Then don't fight me."

Their fingers hesitated before they intertwined.

The war was over.

They had survived.

And maybe, just maybe, Taesan would always be Leehan's to break.

But Taesan wasn't the only one breaking. Leehan hid it better, but he was breaking too.

As their breaths mingled in the dim light, Leehan moved closer, his touch finally soft, the games they played falling away. "I don't want to fight anymore," he whispered, voice barely audible. "I just want you."

Taesan exhaled sharply, his body still taut, but the edge began to soften. "Then show me," he whispered, challenging him.

Leehan's smirk softened as he leaned in, his lips brushing against Taesan's. It was a slow, lingering kiss—a silent apology for everything left unsaid. Uh-huh, sweet dream was over. Taesan gripped the back of Leehan's neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, finally allowing himself to let go of the war they had waged for far too long.

Leehan melted into him, his fingers tracing over the bruised skin, making a silent promise to replace every wound with something softer, something sweeter. My hand was the one you reached for, all throughout the Great War.

In that moment, as they lost themselves in each other, as the tension and anger that had defined their relationship ebbed away, Taesan knew—this was the only battle he never wanted to win. The past, bloody and bruised, would never fully heal, but their future—now that was something they could rewrite. Together.