#*the after

Three brass numbers stare back at you, their dulled shine throwing your distorted reflection in your face. Behind those numbers, a different life was lived—one that saw more smiles on your face and laughter tightening your belly. Now, they served as a jabbing reminder to that past life.

You let out a huff, expelling those pleasant memories past your lips to wither in the air with the last remnants of summer. Your knuckles tap twice on the rough grain of the door before falling to your side, your fingers fiddling with the cuff of your jacket sleeve to calm the jittery flutters of your stomach. 

A muffled shuffling can be heard from the other side before a brief pause. The deadbolt clicks back and the door creaks open slowly. His presence finds you with a gentle wave of warmth like a lingering stream of sunlight that never quite liked having to yield to the moon just yet.

You cannot look him in the eyes, not yet, so you settle for somewhere in the middle of his chest, although, it is not much of an improvement. The smooth mounds of his pecs are outlined by his white t-shirt and it takes all of one heartbeat to remember how his muscles feel under your hands. Your breath stutters in your chest and the greeting that perched on your tongue plummets off. 

He, it seems, is content to wait for your silent spell to lift.

It takes effort, to push those memories and sounds away, but you hurriedly shove them back into that box in the neglected corner of your mind and slide the lock in place.

“Hey, Hyunwoo,” you say to his shoulder instead. 

He shifts to the side, opening the door all the way to let you in. “You made it,” he answers, something grated catching the tail end of his words. But, it is gone before the next comes, “I could have dropped the box off at your work. Save you the time.”

You step over the threshold, the box in question sits ahead on the coffee table in the living room. A life condensed to one cardboard cube. You shake your head at his suggestion and reach into your pocket to retrieve a set of keys, holding them up between you. 

“It’s alright, I need to leave these for Mr. Lee anyway.”

Hyunwoo lets out a small hum of understanding. You still cannot look at his eyes. So, you opt to look around the apartment. It is a small space, but it feels larger now, and not because of the lack of your share of things. It is still warm, still him, but a definite something is gone. You do not have to stretch your thoughts much as to what. 

A melancholic twinge pinches your heart and the urge to grab the box and leave immediately shoots through you.

“I think I got everything in there,” he is saying now, a tanned hand reaching up to play with the hair at the back of his neck, “but you might want to look around to make sure.” 

“Okay.”

There is a pause; It is deep and full of questions, but Hyunwoo does not push. You don’t have the answers, anyway.

“Hey,” he says then, quietly, testing the waters at your toes, and carefully steps to you again. “It’s good to see you.”

You can hear the unsaid words and bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to stop the ones you want to say. 

“You cut your hair,” he continues. Unconsciously your hand reaches up to finger the freshly blunted ends; an impulsive decision in the tumult of your emotions. Strong fingers gently pull the lock of hair from your own and he thumbs the strands fondly.

Unwillingly, your eyes look up to find his. He’s staring at you, his chocolate eyes lightened and burning with the setting sun coming through the window. Fondness clouds his gaze, but something else cowers behind it; a fresh wound still too raw and bleeding to cover. He’s letting you glimpse it, you know, but he won’t speak of its pain out loud, content to bury it under a thick facade so it doesn’t lash out and cut you, too. 

But that makes you hurt all the more, to see him hide his pain, to know he’s hurting like you but is still too in love to lay bare the full brunt of it to you. He still protects you— after every ugly thing that happened—an action as natural to him as breathing. It’s infuriating. You want to scream at him to show you, to let you share in the burden that both of you are carrying.

It takes a moment to register the touch, your senses otherwise occupied with your thoughts, his proximity, and the comforting scent that clings to his tee. Your now empty fingers twitch, wanting to gather the fabric and remove it from him. 

Instead, they rise, pressing into the firm skin of his forearm to nudge his hand away.

“I’m gonna take a look around, now.”

It doesn’t take long, but you find a handful of forgotten things—a tube of lipstick at the back of a drawer, a pair of slippers kicked under the bed, and a few shirts mixed in with his. You add them into the box and close it. A crease appears between your brows as you take in the size of the box; it’s a little too wide for you to be able to carry comfortably. Before you can wrestle with the indecision to ask Hyunwoo for help, he offers it for you. You quietly accept with a nod and sidestep to move past him but are stopped by his fingers on your wrist.

He smooths a thumb over the sensitive skin, a habit he picked up after arguments when he couldn’t find the right words to say. A silent request; a plea.

“Stay,” he whispers, bowing his head to rest atop of yours.

It’s a familiar feeling—the weight of his head on yours, the rough pad of his thumb smearing unspoken words across the canvas of your wrist, and the way his breath against your ear wakes something deep at the bottom of your belly. 

It’s a feeling you know and yearn for when the moon is the only one to see your tears; when the nights feel too cold and hollow for the season. It’s an ache that sits heavy behind your ribs, digging and tearing into your exposed, tender heart, and one that you wish to rid yourself of so badly regardless of the repercussions. If you give in, would you be able to staunch the flow of the reopened wound?

The decision two months ago was final, you swore, but now, with all the comfort of him right at your fingertips, that promise was beginning to fray.  

When the silence stretches too far, and your answer dances tauntingly out of reach,  Hyunwoo’s fingers slide a warming trail up the inside of your arm.

“Just for tonight.”

Once. Only once wouldn’t hurt, right? He wants this as bad as you—it’s evident in the way his breaths come quicker and the weight of him against your side. This could heal you both, could dislodge that lump in your chest that makes it so hard to breathe every day.

But you think of the wound it is covering, preventing the full flow of the pain from seeping down to break your brittle bones. A scab that should remain untouched. This could hurt you more, prolonging the healing and stoking your suffering into even greater anguish. 

Hyunwoo’s fingers have found their way to your jaw and he tilts your head up to his, catching your eyes before you can make yourself look away. Dusky pink and lavender light bloom in his eyes and contour his face, tinting his skin with a soft golden glow and sighing sweet longings onto his lips. 

His expression isn’t hard to read, for once, his emotions and intent displayed openly across his features. 

Your resolve wavers, the thread of your promise struggling to stay whole. But, with the way he looks at you, the way he feels against you, the way the unbearable need kicks restlessly against its bony confines, you don’t imagine the thread can hold on any longer.

And so, it snaps.

You lean into his chest and close your eyes, parting your lips to await the arrival of your salvation. Hyunwoo dips his head to brush the petals of his lips against yours, testing, before pressing for a deeper kiss that breaks open the floodgates.

A heat, a relief, surges over your worn nerves, so intensely that it has you stifling a cry against his mouth. For the first time in weeks, you are touched by the sun, given the grace of its warm refuge within the circle of his arms. 

At once the pain against your heart ceases; a warmer, happier, lighter thing blooming in its place. The frigid, lonely nights of the past months fade to the background, succumbing to the scorching flames of the reddening sunset. The joy of having him again, of his lips searing white-hot love against your skin, blinds you to the steady trickle of a freshly reopened wound and the poison it seeps into your marrow. 

Hyunwoo pulls you closer until your heartbeats thrum together, chests rising and falling with shared breaths. He continues kissing you with an insatiable hunger, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other splayed across the small of your back. His larger frame cradles you against the firmness of his torso and your fingers delight in the discovery of his heated abdomen beneath his shirt. Skimming tips over his happy trail, you take your time ascending. You can map out all that you feel under your palms with your eyes closed—the small mole here, the raised scar there, the dips between his formed muscles. It is all familiar and just as enticing as before. 

Your hands reach his collarbones and spread outwards towards his shoulders, curving over the rounded and tensed muscles. A gentle tug against his shirt has him reluctantly releasing you to raise his arms and his shirt is removed with a hurried flourish.

The sun delights in peppering gold and red-tinged kisses against his skin and you find yourself wanting to follow suit. Hyunwoo’s hands reach for you again, wrapping around your waist as yours find home tangled in his hair. A contented sigh flows from his throat and over his kiss-swollen lips at the contact.

He angles down to tongue indigo flowers against your neck, nibbling lightly with white teeth when it coaxes those breathy noises from you he so loves. Wide hands travel south to cup your ass, giving an appreciative squeeze before descending lower and you react to the familiar request. You stand on the tips of your toes, pulling yourself up in time to the lift of his sturdy arms. 

Hyunwoo smiles up at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that always has your heart oozing in love. There is a small moment, taken by you both, to simply look at one another, eyes locked and air stalled in lungs. 

But now you can see the finer details—the deep purple crescents that color the skin under his eyes, and the way the stubble across the cut of his jaw and upper lip fails to hide the fact that his cheeks are not as full. You are sure your face mirrors what you find in his, but does it hurt him the same way it does you? Does his heart clench in guilt for the sleepless nights and untouched meals, too?

You almost want to ask, but instead, brush away the inky fringe from his forehead.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” you say with a kiss to his cheek.

He moves, walking with easy footsteps away from the living room and down the short hallway to the room. 

He places you down gently at the edge of the bed and you remain sitting, eyes level with his navel. The trail of black hairs disappears beneath the low rise of his charcoal grey joggers and you wet your lips at the thought of where they lead. Your focus moves to the ‘v’ of his hips, a little more prominent now, likely suffering a similar fate as his cheeks. A surge of guilt rakes across the weeping edges of your heart—a reminder that it is a result of your actions.   

You lean forward, shifting slightly to place your lips against his left hip—your own plea for forgiveness. Deliberately, you mark affection-tinted kisses down his hip until you are stopped by the waist of his sweats. You withdraw a fraction, ghosting light breaths against his goose-bumped skin until you reach his right hip and repeat your actions. By the time you reach the end of the line, his breaths are coming in shaky, shallow huffs, and there is a noticeable strain under the grey fabric. 

A midnight blue nail hooks the waistband and drags it down until the upper line of curly black hair appears. Your eyes glance up to find his looking down at you, hooded and churning with a deep well of need. He doesn’t move—controlling and holding back with well-practiced patience. But that doesn’t fool you—beneath the calm veneer a golden lion waits, eyes fixed on you to find the perfect opportunity to pounce and gain the upper hand. For now, he lets you lead and play with your pretend hold of power. The thought has warmth spreading through your belly to gather in a burning sunspot between your thighs.

Holding Hyunwoo’s gaze, you slowly pull his sweats all the way down, allowing yourself to delight in the way his thickly muscled thighs feel under your fingertips. He steps out, kicking the bundled fabric to the side before resuming his position before you. 

The length of his cock is lightly veined, rushing scorching blood to the swollen head that has already begun to bead with translucent pearls. You can taste him already and eagerly wrap a hand around his base, leaning in to lead the tip to your mouth.

From your periphery, you spy his hands move to the back of your head, but he pauses just before he can gather your hair between his fingers, and drops them back to his sides. 

No, you think, bring them back. Pull my hair and guide my head like those many passion-fueled nights where we couldn’t contain ourselves. You didn’t want him to restrain himself; you needed to know that he still wanted you in all the ways he did before, even if only for this brief moment. You shed your protective walls, opting instead to expose the rawness of your emotions and give in to their whispers, but Hyunwoo is fighting his. Where he seemed so sure of what he wanted back in the living room, he now looked to be warring with his inner turmoil—unsure if he can really give in and give you every last splintered shard of his destroyed heart. The whole of it is already yours, anyway. 

But you want it, want him and are more than willing to give him all the broken pieces of yourself. If only to feel whole again for one night. To have him mend you and make you complete.

You want to do the same in return. Let us pretend that we can stitch each other back together. Please.   

And so you ask him for such, lifting his larger hand in yours and painting rouge blossoms across the rise of his knuckles. He opens his fist, turning it up and softly caressing your cheek. You lean into it as he rubs a line over your cheekbone. 

“Don’t hold back,” you murmur into the heel of his palm.

He watches your eyes for a moment, quickly made decisions flickering behind his pupils. He nods once, pushing his hand up through your hair to rest slightly at the back of your skull. A gentle smile sits in the corner of his lips, one that holds years of fondness and familiarity at the act. With a light touch of pressure, he coaxes you forward and you take him into your mouth. The salt of him on your tongue has your pupils dilating with pleasure. 

Despite being a bit too large for your mouth, you take in as much of him as you can. With steady movements and practiced touches that know exactly how to elicit the soft moans that spill over the pillow of his lips, you pleasure him. You bring him to the edge several times, delighting in the way his abs flex to stave off his release. A hard suck on the head of his cock has a loud whoosh of air gushing out of his open mouth, resulting in a fisted hand in your hair pulling you off. Saliva dribbles down your chin as you grin up at him, his pupils blown wide. 

Hyunwoo runs a thumb over your bottom lip to clean away the remaining spit before dipping it between your lips. You roll your tongue along the digit and suck. He smiles and withdraws his hand to grip your chin and brush a kiss to your temple.

“Good girl,” he whispers into your hair. “It’s my turn now.”

His hands curve over your shoulders, pressing you back against the mattress. Rough fingertips tickle the bare skin under the hem of your shirt before he lays his palms flat over your sides, pushing up your shirt as he explores the smoothness of your tummy. You lie there, watching the ever-growing desire pool deeply in his eyes. His hands reach the rounds of your breasts and you arch up into the touch—he takes advantage of your movement and makes quick work of the clasp of your bra. Together, he helps you remove both garments. 

Hyunwoo’s lips waste no time in latching onto the already peaked buds of your nipples. He dotes on each in turn; massaging, licking, sucking, tweaking, until you are melting and whining under his touch. He plays your body so well and you are already begging to return to how things used to be. Your heart plays tricks on your brain and for a moment, as Hyunwoo descends with a trail of wet kisses, you believe that maybe you two can work this out. Maybe you can glue the splintered pieces back together despite the gashes being sliced into your hands.

But that makes you a fool. Your mind knows this, but your heart has covered its ears and refuses to listen. ‘Maybe! Maybe!’ it shouts.

Your hands reach out to card through Hyunwoo’s hair as he slips off your pants and pushes open your thighs. All thoughts of who to listen to vanish with a single lick of his tongue over your folds.

He eats you with a ravenous hunger—not the gentle, loving Hyunwoo of typical days gone by, but the starving, mind consumed with only one goal-Hyunwoo who has not tasted you in far too long. He works you over with his skilled tongue, lapping up every drop you have to give between the mind-numbing sucking his plump lips bestow upon your swollen clitoris. 

And just as pleading whimpers tumble from you in rapid succession, he slides two fingers into your heat and beckons for you to let go.

You come undone into his waiting mouth and he lets out an audible moan, devouring you more until you writhe in overstimulation under his strong grip.

“Hyun-Hyunwoo,” you stutter, hands uselessly swatting his head away, “Too much!”

He removes his lips with one last wet kiss and his hands instantly wrap around your ankles.

“Come here,” he says, a command wrapped in a low growl rumbles from his chest. He tugs you down closer to the edge of the bed and taps your hip. A silent signal.

You flip over obediently, coyly wiggling your ass in front of him.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

An impatient hand digs into the soft curve of your hip, the other hand, you imagine, is wrapped tightly around his cock. It makes you drool at the thought.

You let out a soft mewl as he slides his length between your dripping lips, covering it with your slick arousal. He is already hot against you and your muscles clench tightly in desperate need to have him inside already. 

Never one to make you wait, Hyunwoo answers your wish and pushes himself in deep. A shiver dances down your spine at every delicious inch of him you feel slide inside. His fingers are locked in a vice grip on your hips but you welcome the bite of pain; bruises mean nothing when he is buried in you.

“Move, please,” you gasp, breathless to feel more.  

He cedes to your body in an instant, allowing himself to drive into you in a euphoric state. Each stroke is purposeful with careful intent to coax out the utmost pleasure for you both, but that does not mean it lacks any power.

His thighs and balls slap against you in a lewd rhythm, and he plunges inside of you so passionately that strength quickly leaves your arms. You bury your face into the sheets and let your eyes close, ignoring the string of drool that leaks from your open mouth. 

God, you missed being thrust into oblivion by this man.  

A tense arm slips around your waist and a sticky heat drapes over your back as Hyunwoo pulls your bodies closer together. His lips find your shoulder before biting down, sending a burst of pleasure spiking through your blood. He nudges your head sideways, exposing your neck and littering it with destitute kisses and not-so-gentle nips.

“You feel so fucking good. So wet,” he whispers, tugging on your earlobe as his fingers gather the wetness between your legs.

“Only for you.” 

He hums approvingly and guides you back down on all fours, picking back up his almost desperate pace.

“Deeper,” you beg.

Hyunwoo grunts behind you and rocks you forward with a particularly hard snap of his hips. “I’m already balls deep.”

“Bullshit, I know you can do it.” Your view spins suddenly and you blink up at Hyunwoo’s large frame looming over you. A band of sweat gathers along his temple and his toned chest billows with exertion. 

He cups his hands under your knees, pushing them up to your chest and out slightly. He keeps them in place by leaning forward, letting his body weight hold you down. A sharp breath is sucked into your lungs as his cock glides back in farther than before, touching the spot that has your toes curling. Your lips turn up in a triumphant smirk.

“Shut up,” Hyunwoo says in return. His pace is slower, a gentleness lacing through thanks to the close proximity of his face to yours, but the urgency and need continues to boil steadily behind his pounding heartbeat.

You take the opportunity to connect your mouth to his and your heart flutters as he responds to your kiss. It is deep and easy, communicating all wants and words that are too fragile to be spoken aloud. 

Tiny cracks begin to reach out from the back recesses of your heart; damning reminders that every happy thing you are feeling now is a lie; a false mask that will shatter and break away when it ends.

And ever the fool, you jerk away from them and turn your back. You will face this setting sun and soak up every last flickering ray it has to offer.

You join Hyunwoo in this final “love”-making, imbuing each other with the last drops of your broken and bleeding hearts. 

Nails cut fresh crescents into sweaty skin; tongues and teeth and lips lavish dark marks on flesh, and words of unyielding love die in the air before they can soak into souls.

A calloused hand brushes against your throbbing clit. You twine your fingers in Hyunwoo’s hair to pull him close and clench around his length. With practiced ease you bring one another tumbling over the edge in ecstasy, his hot seed spilling slowly from your slit. Your ears catch the way your name rolls off his tongue; a plea thinly disguised as a moan of pleasure.  

You lie in each others’ embrace for a moment, basking in the heat and euphoria of being joined. But slowly, the warmth leeches away, sucking with it the blissful feelings. What is left is something cold and forlorn, a hollowness that gapes even wider than before. 

The grip of your fingers in his hair weakens and Hyunwoo rolls off of you, careful not to touch any more of you than necessary. The loss of his comfortable weight and the emptiness as he slides out of you is a painful punch to the gut; a reminder that he is no longer yours. 

He turns his back to you as he stands from the bed and gathers up his clothes. You do the same, accepting your shirt wordlessly from him when you cannot find it. 

“I’ll take your box out now,” he says, pulling on a fresh shirt.

“Thanks.” 

He gives a short nod but does not look at you. He is already distancing himself, but that small action feels as if he is standing on the other side of an ocean. You suck in a tight breath, forcing the tears and the hurt to stay back. There will be time to cry later.

You follow Hyunwoo out into the hallway and to the living room. He lifts the box with ease and waits patiently for you to open the front door. A quiet goodbye leaves your lips as you give one final look over the apartment; a farewell to many happy memories and the place that housed them all. 

The walk to your car is quick and quiet. Hyunwoo maneuvers the box into the backseat, shutting the door and opening yours in smooth succession.

“Thanks for your help,” you say again, slipping through the open door. He waits for you to get behind the steering wheel before closing it after you.

“No problem,” he answers through the open window, still looking anywhere but at you. “Are you sure you can carry the box on your own?”

“I’ll manage.”  

An awkward silence falls heavy around you, both of you at a loss for what to say next. Before, silences with him were full and comfortable, a calm peace that never demanded more. A pause that was content to wait for words or actions. Now, it sat wavering and jagged, uncertain of what to do. Another piece of your heart chips away in response.

When the spell is finally broken, it is by a quietly whispered wish from Hyunwoo, laden with the final remaining crumbs of whatever ardent feelings he once held for you.

“Be careful.” 

He looks at you, his eyes full of soft warmth. Your chest aches at the sight.

“You, too.”

One corner of his mouth lifts into a half-smile and he steps away, shoving his hands into his pockets. He watches you drive away and you watch him in the rear-view mirror, but he turns away first.

The emotional damn you hastily built up finally collapses in on itself, and through salty tears, you drive to a new, unfamiliar home.