His First Love

Chapter 16

Chapter 16 — Home Again

The ride back from the hospital was quiet, almost reverent. Jeonghan sat close to Seungcheol in the backseat of the sleek black car, his fingers entwined tightly with his lover's, as if daring anyone to try and pry them apart.

Seungcheol leaned his head back against the seat, exhaustion still heavy in his eyes. His throat was bandaged, his voice barely above a whisper when he spoke. "Feels strange."

Jeonghan tilted his head. "What does?"

"Being alive," Seungcheol said simply, lips quirking. "After what I did. After... what I made you promise."

Jeonghan squeezed his hand sharply, cutting off his spiral before it could begin. "Don't. We're not talking about that right now. You're here. That's all that matters."

Seungcheol fell silent, but his thumb brushed against Jeonghan's knuckles, slow and deliberate.

When they reached the mansion, the brothers lined up at the entrance — stiff, awkward, unsure of how to greet their leader after everything. Jeonghan helped Seungcheol out of the car, keeping a firm arm around him.

"Don't hover," Seungcheol muttered under his breath.

"I'll hover all I want," Jeonghan shot back, glaring at him. "Try stopping me."

It was so unexpectedly sharp, so classically Jeonghan, that Seungcheol chuckled hoarsely. The brothers, watching, exchanged glances — relieved and chastened all at once.

Inside, Jeonghan fussed over him relentlessly. He arranged the pillows on the couch, scolded Chan for bringing snacks too close, swatted Mingyu's hand when he tried to help lift Seungcheol's legs.

"Angel, I'm not an invalid," Seungcheol groaned, though he allowed every touch, every adjustment, his eyes never leaving Jeonghan's face.

"Shut up and take your medicine," Jeonghan replied sweetly, pressing the pills and water into his hand.

The rest of the evening passed in quiet domestic chaos. Chan and Hansol argued over the TV remote, Jun tried reading but kept glancing at Jeonghan as if memorizing his every move, and Mingyu attempted to sneak Jeonghan into a baking session in the kitchen, earning him a glare from Seungcheol.

"You're not stealing him away," Seungcheol rasped, half serious.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. "You're ridiculous."

But later that night, when the brothers had retreated to their rooms, the house finally still, Jeonghan found himself curled up against Seungcheol on the oversized couch. The lamp cast a warm glow, the air heavy with the scent of tea cooling on the table.

"Cheol," Jeonghan whispered into the quiet.

"Hm?"

"Promise me something."

Seungcheol cracked an eye open. "Depends."

Jeonghan's voice softened. "No more... proving points with knives. If you want me to understand, use your words, not your blood."

The rawness in his tone made Seungcheol's chest tighten. He turned his head, pressing his lips against Jeonghan's hair.

"I can't promise I'll stop being a monster," he murmured. "But for you? I'll try."

Jeonghan lifted his head, meeting his eyes. His smile was gentle, but unshakable. "That's all I want."

They stayed like that until Seungcheol drifted into sleep again, Jeonghan's fingers idly tracing patterns over his hand. For the first time in weeks, the house felt like a home.