𝗕𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗔𝗚𝗘𝗦 ‘𝗡 𝗙𝗜𝗫𝗔𝗚𝗘𝗦 ᘏ⑅ᘏ ┈─ park sunghoon!
PRECIS ╱ you never thought that just one night mixed with blood could ever change how you feel about sunghoon
GENRE ╱ fluff, tiniest bit of angst, enemies to lovers trope
WARNING ╱ mentions of blood, nicknames, implied fem!reader, profanities, mention of bruises and first aid kits
VAL TALKS ╱ hihi!! welcome to this new account. this has been a draft for over a year now but i finally found the motivation to complete it. listen to why by lany i literally got inspired by that amazing song. hope y’all like it <3
You rest idly on your couch when there’s a series of faint knocks on the front door. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you glance over at the clock to see it's past midnight now. Nevertheless, you head over and slowly open the door. You don’t think anything could have ever prepared you for the sight you’re welcomed by.
The crease between your brows automatically deepens as you glance at Sunghoon’s familiar figure, which looks not-so-familiar at the moment. There’s a subtle mix of blood and sweat coating the sides of his face. The blood, however, isn’t the worst sight until you look at his bottom lip, still swollen and bleeding from what looks like a fresh cut. Concern floods your features and, on instinct, your hands lace gently around his wrist to pull him inside the house. Closing the door behind you, your hands move to grip his chin before you can process it, and you turn his head slowly. Sunghoon breathes out deeply through his nose and glances down at you. His eyes scan your concerned face, and he attempts to force a smile the moment your eyes flicker to his.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he mutters hoarsely, his voice is surprisingly soft though you wouldn’t exactly expect him to be energetic after bleeding out. Your frown deepens at your thought, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Sunghoon.
“You should see the other guy.” His attempt at humour, however, goes in vain as you glare up at him.
“It’s not a good time for jokes. Read the room,” you mutter sharply which makes him keep his mouth shut. Your eyes scan him from head to toe, and one pained movement from him has you glancing at his clothed chest. There must be another bruise near that area. You look back at his face only to see his expression turn into one of shock, probably at the fact that you didn’t take the opportunity to just let him bleed outside your door,
“Does it hurt a lot?” your voice comes out quiet, which makes him frown even more.
“It’s not even that bad, I swear—“ His words get cut off as you drag him over to the couch, and he purses his lips in a straight line the moment he sits down because of the rush of pain caused by the movement.
Sunghoon clenches and unclenches his fist; a habit you’ve noticed of his, whenever he was trying to hide his pain. You gently make him lean back on the couch, hoping not to cause him any further discomfort. His eyes dart to your hand that still grips his arm firmly. It helps with distraction, he concludes.
“What happened this time?” you huff when you notice him immediately look down at his dirty sneakers as if they’re the most interesting thing in the world.
Sunghoon hears your deep sigh and he snaps his head to look at you. Guilt rushes through him upon seeing your disappointed expression, “You told me to come to you,” he mutters and shuts his eyes tightly when he feels you remove your hand from his.
He feels cold all of a sudden and when he opens his eyes back again, you’re still looking at him questioningly, “You told me to come to you when I felt like dying. Well… I was. At least physically.”
His words earn a scoff of disbelief. He raises his hands in surrender and hisses when the movement stretches one of the scratches on his upper arm.
You sigh softly, “Wait here I’ll be back.”
You quickly disappear into one of the rooms, leaving Sunghoon to stare blankly at the floor. He glances down at his bloody and bruised knuckle and lets out a curse under his breath. What would you think of him? If someone asked that question to him a few months ago, Sunghoon would’ve probably snorted. But now your opinion of him seems to be the most important thing, even covered in the blood of someone else and half his own, the only thought in his mind was you.
As if on cue, you return with a first aid kit and an ice pack. Sunghoon leans his head back into the pillow that you adjusted for him and stares at what you’re doing.
“Take off your shirt,” you say, still holding the supplies, making Sunghoon cough weakly despite his widened eyes. The action makes his ribs hurt, and he winces softly.
“I’m sorry?” he says in disbelief which only earns an eye-roll from you.
“I’m flattered, love. But usually women ask me for dinner first—“
“You got punched in the ribs didn’t you?”
Sunghoon’s throat goes dry at your words, and he struggles to form an excuse. Still huffing grumpily, he slowly reaches for the bottom of the shirt and, with a deep sigh, pulls it over until it reaches his chest. One small gasp from you is enough to tell him how bad the bruising is. He looks down at himself and finds hues of purple staring back at him almost mockingly. Once again your face twists into concern as you slowly take another step closer. He holds his breath as he watches your hand slowly reach out to touch the bruises, and lets out a hiss the moment your cold fingers come in contact with his burning skin. .
You place the ice pack over his wounds, He clenches his fist slightly at the cool sensation but, when he notices you staring at him, he pretends it doesn’t faze him. Sunghoon remains calm, reassuring you that he’s okay but his bruises are proof that he clearly isn’t.
“Hold this,” you whisper and watch as he does exactly what you say, slowly lowering his shirt. You open a few boxes to find something and Sunghoon watches in silence before speaking up softly
“Was I interrupting any plans?”
“No,” you answer shortly, still digging through the box.
Sunghoon nods to himself and glances up when you stand in front of him with a pink hello-kitty plaster. It makes him smile wide despite the dried blood on his lips.
“I’m not really a fan of hello kitty,” he mumbles under his breath, yet there’s a small smile on his face that you fail to notice as your gaze stays fixed on unwrapping the plaster.
“Yeah, well, you don’t have a choice either,” you mutter curtly, lips pursed, making him sigh and voluntarily give in. He watches as you blow on the small cut on his knee before you stick the plaster over the area. You place a small kiss on the plaster afterwards and it makes him scrunch his eyes and stare at you in awe.
However, once you’re done, you don’t even spare him a glance. He wonders whether you’re doing this intentionally or not. You walk back to him with a damp cloth in your hand and sternly grab his chin, making his eyes widen as you slowly rub off the dried blood on his lips.
Before you can disappear to grab something else, he grabs a hold of your wrist making you pause in your tracks
“Why are you not talking? Or even yelling? You can curse too if that’s what it takes for me to hear your voice..”
You look at him for a second, then glance down at the hand that was still covered around your wrist. Sunghoon doesn’t back down either and keeps his hand firmly locked where it should be.
“It’s no use talking,” you say, shrugging off his hold and dipping the cloth in water yet again and squeezing the excess in the waste bowl. This time you wipe the blood gently off the corners of his face, careful enough not to touch any other areas. “Who did this to you?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s too dangerous,” he whispers, his face grim for a mere second and he quickly morphs it, “Don’t ask me this again. Please,” he presses onto the word, making you sigh in disbelief.
You place the dirty cloth on the table and stare down at him with a frown on your face, “Then why ask me to talk at all? If you’re not going answer me honestly, I’d be better off talking to these damn walls. Besides, I’m not scared at all.”
Sunghoon clicks his tongue in annoyance, “Saying it is easier than proving it, you know?”
“And you proved it?” You point at his entire body, sending him a baffled look. “Try telling your body that. Hasn’t this been enough Sunghoon?” Your face twists once again into worry and you remove the a piece of lint from his hair slowly, “I’m assuming this is not the first time,” you chuckle dryly.
“I’m used to it. You don’t need to pity me,” Sunghoon chuckles bitterly.
You don’t respond to that, and Sunghoon glances to the cotton pad in your hands.
“It’s gonna sting,” you warn him.
“Go on, love,” he grins softly at you and places his arms around your sides, pulling you closer. You narrow your eyes at the action, but when Sunghoon tightens his grip, you ignore him and focus on cleaning the wound coating his lips instead.
“Do you want me to start a bath? It might help you relax.”
Sunghoon shook his head at the suggestion immediately. He didn’t think he could bear being alone in such a tight space.
Your gaze softens at his reaction, “You should rest.”
Here? he wants to ask, but the fear of you saying no keeps his tongue still. With you?
You answered the question without using any words by dropping your hand into his palm and squeezing it gently. You sit on the small bed nearby, adjusting the pillows behind you yet letting him decide for himself.
“Hoon,” your voice is firm, “you need to rest.”
The nickname that slips off your tongue has him capturing the moment. He hesitates but takes off his socks and lets you pull him onto the bed, guiding his head down so it rests against your stomach. His breath hitches as he drapes a tentative arm over your waist with uncertainty.
But when he feels the action of you dragging your fingers through his hair, soft and comforting, his eyes fall shut and his hold on you relaxes. A gentle breath escapes his mouth as you move your other hand to rest around his arm that was draped around your body.
Time seems to slow down, as he lies engulfed by your presence. Your fingers scratching lazily through his hair, his cheek pressing into the soft material of your pyjamas.
“Is black really your favourite colour?” he asks, not liking the silence despite the fact that it helped him calm his nerves. When Sunghoon thought about it now, he didn’t really know much about your likes or dislikes directly. Sure, he’d noticed the way your face scrunched up in distaste every time you ate something sour. But he’d never heard it from your mouth. Not once.
You let out a chuckle at his words, tracing the outline of his brows. It felt soothing he realises, “Is black really that bad of a colour that you thought I was lying?”
He made a small movement that could’ve been a shrug, “I just assumed you said that so I wouldn’t pester you anymore.”
“I don’t hate you that much to lie about my favourite colour,” you tease quietly, and he lets out a chuckle.
“Hate me? I’d say you want me by that look on your face just 10 minutes ago when I came looking like a bleeding dragon.”
“A dragon? More like a stray puppy,” You let yourself snicker proudly at your rather amazing comeback.
He hums against your stomach and mutters, “And yet, I’m in your apartment.”
“You— stray puppies would’ve bled out on my doorstep. Think of all the cleaning I would have to do.”
“Liar. I think you’re lying to yourself right now,” his voice drops down an octave, and suddenly the room feels smaller than it was. “You hated me when we met outside, but now you’re the one that can’t seem to look away.”
You look at him with widened eyes and shake your head slowly, “You don’t know me well enough to make conclusions about me.”
“I know you, and that’s enough,” he whispers back.
It’s the way those couple of words have your heart tightening against your ribs and before you could even process the hand splayed on your waist, he retreated it back quickly. Almost as if that one touch could’ve burned him.
You stare at him, gaze unflinching yet soft. He looks tired. Tired in a way that you could almost see the subtle, slow blinking of his eyes, the way he clenches his jaw to gain control of himself and yet it doesn’t scare you. Perhaps that had always been the truth. No matter how much you two fought and hurt each other, Sunghoon had never once scared you. Rather he’d become a sort of home, a secret that you couldn’t share with anyone but it had always been yours.
He had always been yours. Even before you knew it.
“You need to sleep,” you clear your throat.
He nods at your words but doesn’t make a move to follow it.
“I hate that you can hide your emotions so well sometimes. I have no clue what you’re thinking right now and I would be lying if I said it didn’t kill me,” he chuckles but it wasn’t filled with humour. It sounded almost desperate. It was as if the whole idea of him being able to read you was the reason why he fought with you each day. To keep knowing you in some ways than the other.
“You must probably think I came here just to mess with your mind here,” he says, looking down at his knuckles wrapped in bandages by you and then looks back up slowly. “I don’t do this with anyone. I don’t show up bleeding at someone’s house and trust that person blindly to treat me.”
“But?” you question, afraid even one wrong word might push him back in his shell.
“But… there’s you. Always so nosy, so curious in what I do in my life that even unknowingly I think of you. You look at me like I am the guy who brings the stars, despite forgetting that I was always the villain.”
It hits hard when he says it. Not like some melodramatic line, but a confession of something he’s always been afraid of becoming.
“I should probably leave before I say something stupid,” he lets out a tired smile and so suddenly your mouth cannot form words to stop him. He takes a shaky breath, pushes himself up the couch and walks himself to the door. Then he stops.
His shirt clings to his back stained with sweat and dried blood. His hand pauses near the doorknob and he tilts his head just enough to look at you with those mesmerising eyes.
You hum in response, gulping because his quiet, raspy voice is always so beautiful to listen to.
“Thanks for fixing what you didn’t break.”
The door clicks shut in a blink and you sink into the couch with a huge sigh. The silence now overwhelms the smell of antiseptics, the weight of his warmth and the quiet ache of something unfinished.
Your fingers brush against the wrapper of the hello kitty plaster lying on the table. He’s left his lighter next to it.
You roll your eyes despite the warm smile blooming your face. Exactly like a stray puppy. You had a positive feeling that he’d find his way back pretty soon.
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