City of love
yfxhongbin:
Hongbin shields his eyes from the sun as he steps out of the taxi he took from the airport. The driver steps out of the car to help him retrieve his luggage from the trunk. He didn’t bring much with him, only a small suitcase becaus he doesn’t know how long he will stay. He thanks the man for his help and tips him generously before turning to face the building behind him. He takes a deep breath and glances at his watch.
It is early. Too early. He must have miscalculated when he had first looked up flights. Will Seokjin be home at such an hour? What if he decided to sleep at a friend’s house? Well, Hongbin figures he won’t know if he doesn’t go knock on the door first. He reaches inside the pocket of his coat and grabs the crumpled piece of paper that has an address scribbled on it. He looks at the paper, then at the street sign and finally at the number adorning the front of the building. Everything matches. Reassured, he shoves the paper back into his pocket, readjusts the straps of his faux leather backpack and grabs the handle of his suitcase before climbing the few steps leading to the porch. The doors are not locked. There are no intercoms either. Hongbin can’t help but wonder if this is a safe place to live. No locks to keep people who don’t live here at bay, no intercom to hear who is visiting before deciding to let them in? He’s not used to this, but in a way, he is thankful because it helps him with his surprise.
Because this is what it is. Seokjin doesn’t know that Hongbin is here, in Paris, to see him. The last time they had facetimed, Hongbin hadn’t mentioned anything about him visiting. He didn’t say anything either in their kakaotalk chat. It had been a sudden decision. Hongbin had felt an indescribable longing to see his boyfriend, to touch him, smell him, hear him laugh…and so here he is.
He climbs the stairs until he reaches the door with the number that matches the one of Seokjin’s apartment. Hongbin sets his luggage down beside his feet and runs his hands over his chest, smoothing down his clothes. He then runs his fingers through his hair, as if to make sure they were still styled properly even though he didn’t have a mirror with him to check. He pops a mint into his mouth even though he had taken the time at the airport to freshen up and brush his teeth. Another deep breath and he raises his fist to knock on the door. He then takes a step back and wait. He feels so nervous, which is completely ridiculous considering how long Seokjin and him have known each other, and yet here he is, feeling like he is about to meet his future in-laws for the first time.
sleep, that is where seokjin is. his body sprawled out on his bed, face buried into the pillow and avenger’s t-shirt and boxers visible after he’d kicked the blankets off his body in frustration. the night before had been filled with working in the kitchen, stuck out until the early hours to clean every fraction of the restaurant’s heart and soul. some of the teachers believed that such an experience would teach every chef how they worked, prepare them for the heat of the kitchen and the long hours that would consume their nights and days. no chef started at the top, with their own restaurant and hours, and neither would seokjin. even if he hated the smell on his hands from the chemicals they used to clean.
that could never be washed out of his skin.
the knock stirs him, nose crinkling and twisting his body over, away from the sound at first. sunlight burned over his skin, lit his eyes up with a dull red and he stifled his annoyed groan into the pillow. a faint memory of the knock scratching at his nape, trying to decipher if he had dreamed up the sound or not. one hand pressing to his face as he peeked at the time, pushing his body up slowly and tugging his disheveled shirt back into place, gently patting iron man back into place in the center of his chest. there was a dryness in his throat, but he habitually called out to the door in french, saying he would be right there. his apartment was small, suited to fit only him. a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen joined with a living area. just enough. the windows with the curtains drawn open, letting the warm light flood in how he liked it -- unless he’d had a late night and forgot to close them in the bedroom.
a pair of sweats were collected from the floor, one leg slipped in as he stumbled towards the door and then the second one. the elastic waist adjusted at his hips, untucking the hem of his shirt and fingers messily trying to brush his hair into place. the strands falling down around his face as he called out again, apologising in french and voice stronger. more awake than he was seconds ago.
by the time he reached the door, he had one eye squinted open and was self-consciously trying to fix the collar of his shirt. his gaze landing first on the persons feet, then lifting up to his chest and then the face -- seokjin’s brow furrowed, squeezing his eyes shut and blinking them open together this time. “bin?” came from his lips before his mind had caught up to what--who--was standing there in front of him. “what are you doing here?” the question seemed like an odd one, but for that moment, it was like they were back in high school and hongbin was a short trip away. distance of france and south korea trickling up his nape slowly, confusion gracing his features more and the sleep blinked away much firmer two seconds later. one hand reached out, touching his boyfriend’s chest now; confirming his existence there and his eyes widening. still warm.
seokjin can only hear his heart, beating loudly in his chest now and he’s stumbling closer, arms sliding around hongbin’s neck, repeating the question. “what are you doing-- how did you--bin?”
