But Haneul reached up on his toes. Threaded both hands behind Seungho’s neck.
Pressed their foreheads together.
“Fall into me,” he murmured. “You already did.”
The music swelled.
Seungho’s hands found his waist. Fit there like they’d always belonged.
And then—he kissed him.
No warning. No hesitation. Just kissed him.
Open, molten, breathless. The kind of kiss that cracks you open from the inside. The kind that says I remember you, even if I don’t know from where.
Somewhere, a few drunk patrons clapped. A voice hooted. Someone whistled.
But Seungho didn’t hear it. Neither did Haneul.
There was only pressure. Heat.
And the taste of salt, makgeolli, and the missing words they’d never managed to say.
Haneul pulled back just enough to blink up at him, eyes glassy, braid a mess, lips swollen from the kiss. “...Well,” he panted, “that was—"
“You’re done talking now,” Seungho said, voice low and wicked.
“What—?”
And without warning, Seungho grabbed him.
Not for another kiss. Not for a whisper.
He bent down and hauled Haneul up—one arm under his thighs, the other braced across his back, lifting him clean off the ground in one fluid motion.
“YA—WHAT THE—” Haneul shrieked, thrashing instantly. “Put me down, skyscraper bastard! I can walk!”
“You’ll walk tomorrow.”
Laughter burst around them—drunken clapping, catcalls, someone shouting, “Get it, big guy!” and another whistling through their teeth.
Haneul was kicking—uselessly—and swearing, but the tips of his ears were red and his smile was split wide open.
“You are going to regret this—” he howled, pounding a fist against Seungho’s back.
“No,” Seungho said, striding across the deck with full, smug, six-foot-three confidence, “I’m going to ruin you.”
Someone yelled, “Take him home, King!”
“I hate you—”
“Sure you do.”
And under the blur of laughter and lights and the pounding rhythm of some new song, Seungho carried Haneul back through the night like a storm he’d finally stopped running from.
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Chapter 40 –Where It Didn’t Hurt
