๐ก๐๐ง ๐ฃ๐๐ ๐ฌ๐จ๐ง๐ &ย solitaryspiritsโ:
In both his working and personal lives, Simonโs opening lips are so often met with groans and rolling eyes. His pessimistic nature, pretentious air, his unprompted opinions and tendency to ramble - particularly in subjects he finds interesting - are justly greeted with signs of discontent. As a result, he keeps to himself. He purses his lips and folds his hands and presses himself against walls to make room for others.
But Han sits. And waits. Not only does he listen, but he smiles, and Simon knows heโs heard.
He knows shattered teacups can never be truly mended; their severed limbs will never return to the same strength they once had, but as Simon takes the second glass of wine for himself, he thinks itโs for the best that not all shards can be glued back together precisely. Going back to staring at Han from across the room? Idle touches and hungry gazes, only to sleep alone each night? Simon doesnโt want that - heโd shatter a hundred more teacups and dinner plates before that. He longs for something not unrecognizable, but not returned to its original state: something new and whole in its own right.
โLive for me. Live with me. Lay by my side and take your last breath with me, when the day inevitably comes,โ He imagines his bones bleached white and indistinguishable to Hanโs - his rib, Hanโs rib; they were one in the same, in the end. โIโm afraid reversing history is not an ability I possess. I canโt forget about the bullet I put in your shoulder. Nor that letter opener you drove into my back. But I donโt want to, either. I canโt keep returning to my quiet home alone night after night. Not when I know your own bed is as empty as mine. Han I wantโฆI want to glue those broken pieces back together. I want something touched by your hand alone. That teacup may not sit the way it used to or hold tea as well as it once didโฆbut it can still be oursโฆโ
Perhaps if he hadnโt been a coward when theyโd first met, Simon could have spared them both years worth of heartache, but the risk of losing the single friend heโd managed to grasp onto had left Simon burying even the potential for anything to happen between him and Han deep in his belly until his stomach was so full of poison heโd made himself sick; if Han hadnโt laced his drink with arsenic some months ago, only in due time would Simon have checked himself in the hospital with similar symptoms of nausea and vomiting from the toxic lies heโd swallowed to keep the truth buried.
โI think I punished myself long before I started punishing you. For what, having a friend? For feeling soโฆโ Words fail to define Simonโs feelings for the man who sits to his side in a simple manner. Intense? Infatuation? How could a single word explain how living with Han would never be enough? Language had yet to evolve to the point for Simon to easily say that he couldnโt be satisfied until their skin turned to dirt and became inseparable from one another. When Simon finally takes a sip from the glass Han poured for him, he thinks to all the dinners they shared in the past, where Han must have pressed his own lips to the rim and partaken in a drink. They had shared dozens, if not hundreds, of ghostly kisses before, but this time had been enough. โI made you watch as I pledged my life to another. I nearly watched you do the same, but I believe youโve always been the true owner of my heart. If doing so didnโt kill me where I sit, Iโd show you my own heart as proof,โ He looks to the piping soup that remains on the table just in front of Han. โThat may not be my heart, but it is just as close and personal to me. I hope itโs a close enough replacement for the real thing.โ
Rather than answer Hanโs question regarding what is in the contents of the soup, Simon gestures for him to eat before it gets cold. โThis is my gift to you. It would hardly be much of a gift if I were to partake in it myself, would it?โ Still, Simon does share silent agreement that sitting at the table with Han eating dinner draws back pleasant old memories of sitting begrudgingly side-by-side in the dining hall to work on their class project together over lunch ( they could have sat across from one another, but it at least gave them an excuse for their thighs to touch while still maintaining the false belief of their hatred toward each other ). Not returning to the experience by dining alongside Han is a tad unsettling, but watching the expressions on his face brings a much more satisfactory feeling than Simon eating the meal himself.
โTo answer your previous question, yes, it is Haejangguk,โ He at last nods once he watches Hanโs bulbous adamโs apple bob against his throat. โItโs the only thing my father ever taught me how to prepare, you know. We made it for my mother once, I believe,โ Heโd still been in high school at the time, but the one time he cooked with his father stands out in his mind. The kitchen had been so silent, save for the water boiling with bones and the knives slicing into radishes. โIโm certain Iโve made it for you before too - it does help with hangovers,โ And while Simon still considers himself a stranger to parties and social events, he had an intimate relationship with throbbing headaches and dry mouths the morning after heavy drinking. โI must make one last confession,โ He lays a single index finger on the table between them. โI have altered the recipe since those old college days of ours and no, you will not be recreating it; it will be the one secret I take with me to the grave,โ His smile returns. โThe rest of the pot is, of course, for you to keep and enjoy. But perhapsโฆโ Simon looks to the bits of broth that have clung to the corners of Hanโs lips and the savory film of broth made from bones and blood that must have coated the inside of Hanโs mouth. โPerhaps you could still offer me a tasteโฆโ
the intention behind those sentiments- the way it makes everything feel so rightโ is something to embrace and clutch. and as violent as he is, there is an overwhelming desire deep inside to wring and squeeze and strangle the life of those convictions. Han Jae Song has never wanted something so reciprocated. it's been so out of his grasp for so long that he doesn't know how to properly react. and, yes, he's been teased with these tiny revelations coming from Simon's mouth before. he's been forced to share for so long, that a part of him is still wondering if this is a twisted fantasy bred by his incessant daydreaming in Simon's presence. he hopes it's not the case. he hopes he no longer has to share this man before him. that this gift he's imparted is that resolution, and that Simon could forever and only belong to Han. on the same coin, he could finally give the other something he'd always deserved.
Simon was always slave to seclusionโ and Han sometimes wondered if it was something he thrived in, but for as long as they were both alive, he'd vow to never make him feel as such. he explains, "If it means anythingโ" he's careful in his wording, afraid that he's reading too much, "I promise you won't ever feel desolate in my presence." he continues to appeal and atone. "I promise I never meant what I said, when I implied that I no longer enjoyed your company." he straightens upโ his spine flesh with the chair on his back as the sound of those wooden legs scrape against the linoleum flooring. "I was lying." he blurts it out and even still it stings his tongue, "I'm sorry I lied to your face, and it wasn't easy for me to do, but I did it anyways." he takes a humble sighโ lungs afraid to fill due to the guilt that still weighed. would it finally find release? "I thought I nearly destroyed us with my cruelty, but there is no destroying us, is there?"
there is a sarcastic chuckle that bellows from bloodstained lips. he's always attempted to destroy those little beautiful thingsโ those tiny brilliant confessions are always ruined by his own hands. he knows that he is a problem. he knows that Simon has always put up with that problem. and certainly he's never needed to hear those words of affirmation ( that's what he told himself to get by ) โ he had prided himself on carrying on without them for years. that suffering and pining was the way of life when it came to his and Simon's story, and that he'd forever languish in those soft embraces they had shared in the past.
he'd considered itโ that maybe their love language was so cruel because of how unstated and how unexpressed it had always been between themโ that the reason why they were so awful to each other was because there was only room for that silent aggression and frustration with the reality of it all. that those emotions were teeming on edge in the instant that either one of them so much as looked at each other in the wrong way. perhaps it was that if there was ghost of their love and undying devotion that haunted their pretty little heads, that it would never materializeโ it would never truly be tangible. it would haunt and hover and disgrace that which was denied purity, nutriment, and decency. benevolence isn't a courtesy given to such ghosts. they would forever remain in a veil of blight and other decadent spoils. it was always skinny, yet flammable slow burning love.
Han was so certain that he'd carry around unspoken chains of fealty and fidelity around that organ in his chest forever. chains that were only meant for one, Simon Muhn. that even if there were others to come close to curing that ache he had craved, none of them would ever match the intimacy of looking into the depths of dark eyes. none of them would ever make him feel as warm as Simon's arms felt around him as they slumbered in his bed so many times so many years ago. umber and cedar colored irises sparked so much more in that soul of the man, and Simon was hardly one to ever grant him that eye contact. he hangs on every second of it, awed, and terrified all the same.
he speaks a single truth not only with words, but a lock in their gaze, "I apologize." he offers but one explanation, "I'm rotten." peripherals ย trace an invisible halo around Simon's head, and as he stares at his soul's one true counterpart, he's never felt closer. he gawks with a weakness, but letting his guard down, he realized poses no threat. honesty, it seemed, had only made things better between them, "I appreciate this gift." the words feel cheap in their admission as if they aren't good enough for what he's received. as if he couldn't properly state just how lucky of a man Simon had made him. there were so many ways he lacked expression, and this time he was certain he was failing. he's too drawn in by the mere fact of it allโ consuming the blood of his heartโs desire had that euphoric pull over him. he tries to continue, his tongue tracing his upper lip as he withers and swoons, yet again, against the taste of soup, "And I treasure it as it melts on my tongue." he sets his spoon down, a napkin pats at the residue on his lips, and he rises to his feet, ready to impart that taste, "I will never receive a greater gift."
the man swears he will be holding on to this moment tightly until the end of time. delusions are easier to cling to, but these are not delusionsโ not anymore. there was always a sense of a one-sided nature to the feelings he carried with him. it felt as if his erratic beating heart was a burden to carry since there was always something in the way of him and Simon. he feels lightheadedโ but he doesn't know if this is because of Simon's soup, or a second chance he finally is granted. does he deserve these chances? and would they be allowed to let the world fade into the background? could it be that they were the only pair in that kitchen while the rest of humanity remained ignored? his mouth ghosts the wordโ traces that wordโ unspoken but whispering in agreementโours. it's a necessary term in explaining how things should be, how they always felt, and where he intends on them to go. he knows that teacup can be fixedโ it has to be fixed. he would rather die without that union.
he likes the sound of that shared pronoun as it rolls off of Simon's tongueโ a tongue he wishes it to be entwined with his own. soon. the ease of the word traces the inside of his mouth to pick up on the taste Han's committed to his memory. but there is a hard truth he has yet to swallow with blood soup continuing to soothe him. his anxious mind continues to plague himโ he had killed for that man, would die for that man, do anything for him, but finally speaking his devotion felt far more difficult than receiving stitches from a gunshot wound. "Giving somebody your heart is the most profoundly horrifying action, and yetโ" his simpering swells into a smile. his statement flourishes into a question, "We're in agreement?" a delighted gasp of air expands into low chuckles as he nods this approval. a bite on his bottom lip attempts to sink that smileโ despite how wide it spread on his mouth. his slow steps intend to corner Simon into saying yes, but would this at all be predacious?
"Would you swear an oath?" his smile continues to twinkle as his hand reaches out for Simon's. a silent laughter speaks in his tone. he is happy. he realizes he's never felt happier. "And would you take mine in return?" he takes a pause, rephrasing, as fingers intwine with the other pair. he holds Simon's hand so tenderly in hisโ this is new. this is a change, but welcomed, he hopes. "Would you swear it?" despite this giant act of service granted to Han Jae Songโ and despite how passionately eyes burn into the other pair, he wants Simon's word. he places a kiss upon a single set of knucklesโ his lips press hard yet delicately so. "That you won't punish yourself anymore- that as long as I promise not to punish either of us that you'll do the same." he feels breathless in speaking of such ultimatums. even more breathless does he feel as he brings Simon's hand to the spot where he'd pointed that gun. he presses their palms against that edge of his shoulder and his chest feels fullโ the wound no longer aches. the past no longer burns. ย "Simon, this can be your home againโ as it was supposed to be." he tilts his head to the side, examining and trying to connect the once unraveled threads he'd snipped. "It's my wish too."
the gaze held isn't strong enough and falls to floor. his forehead rests upon Simon's for a moment as he takes his hallowed defeated breaths. he's never excelled with vulnerability nor intimacy in a way where it mattered. this felt like life and death, and perhaps until death it'd remain so inescapably trueโ the realnessโ the rawness ; it felt like an itch finally cured with jagged fingernails. he scrapes and scratches at the surface wanting so much more than he's ready to give. he's scared that even in these confessions, disclosure could be used against him. in the past it's always been painโ sweet unyielding gnawing pain. apologies are never good enough and they are buriedโ but now it resurfaces with an uncharacteristic timidness. maybe he is ready to give it all? he places his hands around Simon's neckโ two thumbs encircle the adam's apple he's historically fixated upon. he could end it allโ ย and though hands feel the need to squeeze and though his hands are horrid in longing to take that life for his own, they don't. they instead caressโ they linger and hold steady and pull Simon even closer. they tenderly wrap around the throatโ and through skin and muscle and tendons, Han closes his eyes to the balanced thrumming of the pulse under his palms. he feels that heart beating, and he wants it continue beating so long as his matched that same rhythm. slowly he lifts Simon's chinโ a thumb grazes the corner of the other's mouth. and as hands smooth away from that grasp upon his neck, fingertips entangle with the tufts at the back of the nape. words refuse to express how intoxicated Han feels in the momentโ he doesn't know how to explain how painful that longing had been.
and though he intends on speaking, only a whisper dances upon Simon's face. warm breath in its grave utterance brings fourth even more life. his nose nudges against Simon's as his face continues to nuzzle against the other's. he takes his time. he places more meaning on his words. he speaks so brashly, yet softly against Simon's features. "I never want to be without you again." and though words are spokenโ Han can't say with confidence they left his tongue. he was distracted in pressing the first inch of a kiss upon Simon's lips. it's placed delicatelyโ softly pecked against a mouth he desired to always hear from. lips caress the otherโs as fingertips remain entangled in the back of Simon's head. phalanges entangle in knots as his placements help guide his movements as he slowly teases the tasteโ
and despite how gradually lips move heโs certain for the next whisper to mumble against lips,ย โYou have to stay with me.โย
