#iaesus

Nostalgia is dangerous. Certain people could revive versions of you that you've convinced yourself were long dead and gone. Hanjae is one of few honest relationships growing inside shared ugly truths, so it’s easy to resuscitate old habits.

One thing Wenhan has always been is unapologetic, so this isn’t breaking into Hanjae’s place. Just like it wasn’t an invasion when he crawled into Hanjae’s bed in middle grade, highschool, undergrad. Always without warning, always after a fight within the family, though they both understood in that silent way between people that had known each other too long. 

With this simple act of treating a foreign place like his own, today becomes like yesterday from ten years ago, though the delicate lines in Hanjae’s forehead are new. They aren’t kids anymore, but Wenhan wears a half-cocked smile just as easily as he wears a shirt and sweatpants swiped from a closet that doesn’t belong to him. He’d wear Hanjae’s life on his shoulders again, just for a little bit. 

“What if I told you I’m homeless? Don’t you like taking in strays?”

A half truth that could become reality if his father’s threats were serious. 

Wenhan’s smile might be easy, but he grits his teeth after falling into Hanjae’s bed. That simple movement triggers a fresh needling of pain from a healing bullet wound. Though he pulls the blankets up to his chin and grunts at the ceiling.