Work Text:
Woo Jiho still wakes up with the haunting memories of their past reckless indulgences plaguing his mind. He’d tried not to let things affect him this much, but if he wasn’t careful, thoughts of his brother still found their way into even his compositions. He can’t count how many projects were scrapped when he realized Taewoon was the inspiration.
They’d been so stupid. That time in the past, the once or twice it happened, when they’d gotten wasted and hooked up. Every time was the same; followed by tense, overwhelmingly frustrating spans of silence from Taewoon the next morning. He never could face what they were doing. Jiho was the only one who had the balls to demand answers.
He’d thought confessing was the right thing, but in retrospect, maybe those thoughts really should have stayed hidden.
Taewoon was horrified by the words he’d said, he could see it on his face. For him, this was just physical, a means to an end, something only he felt Jiho understood. Even the second time, as he tried to claim it was a mistake and a lapse of judgement, Jiho had called him out on the fact he’d still kissed him.
If it was just sex, what was the point of that excessive need for connection? Why would he have given his brother even an inch of hope, only to coldly and completely reject the truth that had spawned from their continued touches and moments of weakness.
Shortly after that, Taewoon started to date someone seriously, and Jiho had done the noble thing and let go, he’d backed off. Even years later, even after the breakup of a pair of people so horrendously mismatched, Jiho never once brought his feelings up to Taewoon again.
Taewoon knew. The confession was out there in the open. Maybe one day he would acknowledge it the way Jiho really wanted. Until then, he really wished the memories wouldn’t linger so strongly, and that the emotion would have faded.
He’s sitting up in his bed after another fitful night of sleep, exhausted in more than one way. He’s just about to go in search of melatonin or something to help him at least when there’s the sound of knocking from his door.
Jiho frowns, squints at the digital clock on his microwave. 7:06 am ?? Who the hell would be here right now? He shuffles to the door, pulling it open a fraction and croaking out a ‘hello’
He’s barely got the word out when he’s pulled into a strong embrace by a very familiar set of arms.
“Ji, can we talk?” Taewoon whispers into his ear…