ᴀᴅᴅɪᴄᴛᴇᴅ

【37】

the apartment is dimly lit, bathed in the soft amber glow of the single bedside lamp. outside, the city hums quietly, but inside, everything is still. warm. intimate.

seonghwa sits cross-legged on hongjoong's bed, his fingers idly tracing patterns into the blanket as hongjoong flips through a playlist on his phone. the low buzz of a song fades into another, softer now, slower—something dreamy, laced with lazy desire.

"this one's nice," seonghwa murmurs.

hongjoong hums in agreement, setting his phone aside. "figured you'd like it."

there's a comfort between them, an unspoken rhythm to their closeness. seonghwa shifts slightly, leaning into the pillows against the headboard, and hongjoong follows, settling in beside him like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"your place feels different at night," seonghwa says after a moment, voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

hongjoong tilts his head. "different how?"

"softer." seonghwa glances around, taking in the way the city lights filter through the half-drawn curtains, the way everything here feels like him—his scent clinging to the sheets, his presence in every scattered notebook and half-finished song on the desk.

hongjoong lets out a small laugh, barely more than a breath. "never thought about it like that."

seonghwa turns to him then, gaze slow and deliberate. "i like it."

there's something in the air now, something delicate but charged, and hongjoong feels it settle in his chest. the song playing in the background melts into a hazy lull, the kind of sound that lingers between heartbeats.

hongjoong shifts closer, just enough that their knees bump. "you always get like this when it's late."

"like what?"

"sentimental."

seonghwa exhales a soft laugh, dipping his head slightly. "maybe. or maybe it's just you."

hongjoong doesn't answer right away. instead, he reaches up, fingertips brushing against the fabric of seonghwa's sleeve, barely there but grounding.

"you're doing it again," hongjoong teases, voice gentle.

"doing what?"

"looking at me like that."

seonghwa doesn't look away, doesn't shy from the moment. he just smiles, slow and knowing, before finally leaning in—so close now that hongjoong can catch the faint traces of vanilla and something deeper, something distinctly him.

"maybe i like looking at you."

hongjoong's breath catches, and for a moment, everything else fades—the city, the music, the world outside these walls. it's just them, wrapped in the quiet hum of something neither of them need to name.

and when seonghwa finally closes the distance, pressing his lips to hongjoong's in a kiss that's slow, lingering, and just as soft as the night around them—seonghwa never wants this moment to end.