A sudden humming kicks in, then the creak of the heating through the walls, pipes waking up with little rattles that somehow fill the liminal silences in between the sounds from the television. It plays low in the background of their scene, the ambience that supports the dialogue, and Key finds himself tuning into it on a level that doesn’t quite register as ‘noticeable’, but is enough to wash over him with a keen sense of familiarity. He relaxes into his position despite the way that he stares, longing, at the person across from him. Tense muscles tremble out into some semblance of stillness as he bows his head into his hands, and a wave of emotion washes over him, sudden, but building at the exact same time. When it hits its crescendo, his breath hitches, and he suddenly knows that even if he wanted to speak, he probably couldn’t.
The moment does not last long, and Ki-jung would like to allot the majority of its intensity to the amount of alcohol he has consumed, but he knows that would be wrong. He knows that if he did, he would be doing an injustice to everything it is that he’s actually feeling, and to the way that he knows he has kept Kiran here with him. Surely they must want to leave by now. Surely, their time is about to come to an end, and no matter how desperately he tries to grasp at it, there isn’t any way to keep it from slipping between his fingers like so much water.
Key rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands, dropping them away after a few moments, and then finally lifts his gaze to focus in on Kiran again. Where any of this is coming from, he is not sure, but all of it seems to be hitting him at once, and that makes it more overwhelming than he ever could have anticipated this night being. The reason for his hesitation is not because he doesn’t know how he wants to answer, but more because he’s afraid of how they’ll react. Afraid that he is overstepping some invisible boundary that they have erected, that he would be oblivious to up until the moment that he walks face-first into it. Maybe he doesn’t know them as well as he thinks he does. Maybe, he really is just some desperate divorcee, latching onto the first person that makes him feel anything real, because nothing his ex did ever could.
God, do I seem pathetic? Is that really what’s happening here
Swallowing thickly, Key’s eyes look black when he meets them with Kiran’s, and he seems to subconsciously scoot to the edge of his cushion towards them. There is a pull between them that he can’t ignore when he lets his guard down, and his body reacts, almost of its own accord.
“Honestly?” The word seems to shiver out of him on a breath, a thought, a whisper. It is a question, vulnerable and uncertain, but bold at the same time. “I just don’t want to be alone.” The second time he speaks, his whisper cracks into something a little sorrowful. A little embarrassed, too, maybe. Like its his fault that he feels that way. To him, it very well might be. There is another moment or two of uncertainty before he is able to carry on, throat feeling dry. “There aren’t any expectations, though, if that’s what you’re asking. I… can understand why you would wonder.”
Maybe because of the way that his gaze dips down to the curve of their lips, or how he always seems to be just a small movement away form reaching out to touch them. Maybe because he wants nothing more than to reach out and draw them into his lap, to kiss them and keep them and not let them go, not until the sun crests the horizon. And even then he might draw the curtains closed. Even then.
“You don’t have to stay. But I’m asking you to. Whether I should or not. Not for anything else, but because you make me feel less lonely than anybody has in a very long time.”
Key unravels on the rug like a work of art and all Kiran can do is watch. Tension hums in the air between them , trembles like a string pulled taut and plucked , like the surface of their heart as it beats. Key’s breath hitches , muscles tremble — through eyes muddled by gin , Kiran observes the crescendo of emotions across his perfect features , marveling , as they do , at how someone can make distress look so beautiful.
For years , now , romance has existed for Kiran only in literature. They’ve steeped themselves in it like a favourite tea , eclipsing loneliness with stories of companionship so that the nights are easier. Less lonely. They are an adult. They are too old to pine for soft kisses and gentle embraces — it was had and it was lost and life goes on. Kiran has and will go on. But the years don’t soften the dream. The plans to grow old with someone. To rock babies back to sleep and send them off to school and move them into apartments. To drink coffee on the front porch and whiskey on the back and settle into a bed warm with love. They are hard to love , they know. They are private and quiet and complicated. They don’t offer the same things as most. But they still want.
These are the thoughts that surface the moment their eyes meet ; in a single instant , a lifetime of companionship flashes between them , a lightning strike of possibility that steals Kiran’s breath and leaves them dizzy with something akin to hope.
The tension between them becomes something almost tangible , as if their heartstrings have become a single , quivering tether crossing the distance between them. Kiran can almost see it , extending from their chest , stretching across the coffee table , piercing the center of Key’s form. Kiran blinks , and they , too , have shifted effortlessly closer , mirroring Key’s subtle movements to close the distance. Like a sunflower growing towards the sun , they move perpetually towards Key’s heat , blossoming , blooming , growing beneath his gaze. Every second , coming closer to opening , to surrendering to him.
Can Key feel the helpless affection spilling from ever crack in Kiran’s composure? The gin has loosened their ties and they leak like a sinking ship , dangerously close to crossing the room and taking Key in their arms. Anything to soften the fierce dimple between his brows , the tautness in his jaw. Kiran was made to bear the weight of Key’s baggage ; they feel the truth of this suddenly , startlingly , somewhere beneath their ribs.
Key drifts further from shore with each word , grows small upon the horizon. So , then , Kiran will be his anchor.
A sudden spur of confidence follows Key’s request : for he seems to have read Kiran’s mind , has managed to echo Kiran’s own thoughts. That this place , this moment , now , with Key swaying on the stool , Kiran sinking into the armchair , and the sounds of the city below , is the farthest from lonely that they have felt in a long time. Gin swells warm in their belly and in a single breath they’re standing , unsure of where to go from here. There’s an aching need to speak something between them , to acknowledge the sameness they feel , and yet , for all their eloquence , the words seem to escape them.
Still standing , a tall tree swayed by the breeze , they find Key’s eyes again , can’t hold back the smile that tugs at their lips. And then , they take a deep breath and speak.
“I...don’t want to be alone , either. I — I’m tired of feeling lonely , too. I want...” So many things. To witness Key in the morning , blinking awake. To share coffees and burnt toast. To bicker over the bathroom and rush out the front door. How to put everything they want into a single word? They frown, bleary eyed as the pause catches them off guard. Then , a hoarse chuckle , a haphazard palm through ruffled hair , and they tumble recklessly over the cliff’s edge. “I want this , Ki-jung. You. Us. Whatever that is.”
