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So. This is not ideal. Seungcheol tries to be brave, puffing up his cheeks as he surveys the territory, hands on his hips. He’s powered through a lot of things before. No big deal. It’s fine. It’s cool. Totally.
He can do this.
“There’s only one bed,” Jeonghan’s voice cuts in, flat and already tired. Reality comes crashing back in, a tidal wave that roars in Seungcheol’s ears.
Seungcheol deflates. Right. There’s one bed in front of them. One that they have to share, one that they have to possibly risk invading each other’s space by morning time, one that puts Seungcheol much closer to Jeonghan than he’s been in weeks. If this wedding had only happened a month ago – what a difference a couple weeks make, seriously – then it wouldn’t have made a difference. Seungcheol would have happily starfished onto the bed and Jeonghan would complain about how much space Seungcheol took up, only to squeeze in and wrap himself around Seungcheol anyway, because Jeonghan has trouble sleeping at night and gets cold easily and having Seungcheol there solves most of those problems.
Seungcheol is willing to bet anything that Jeonghan still has these problems. He wouldn’t know, though — the first thing he did was move out of their shared apartment. Thought it would hurt less.
Seungcheol doesn’t know much about what Jeonghan’s like these days. In a way, that stings more.
Anyways. Back to the issue: there’s only one bed in this hotel room, because… he and Jeonghan didn’t tell the happy couple that they’d broken up.
“I can take the floor,” Seungcheol declares, ever the gentleman.
A bony hand shoots out to grab the scruff of Seungcheol's collar, nearly choking him.
“No, you’re not,” Jeonghan mutters obstinately. He closes his eyes and furrows his brows, as if to weather the incoming headache.
“It’s easier this way,” Seungcheol tries to argue, but it doesn’t seem to have much effect when he’s garbling. Jeonghan’s grip on the back of his shirt stays firm. “The floor’s cold.”
What he doesn’t say is, I’d lay down at your feet if it meant you were more comfortable. You’d just have to ask.
Even now, Seungcheol is pathetically, hopelessly, forever in love with Jeonghan. Always has been. There is no one else.
Jeonghan opens one eye to glare at Seungcheol. “We’re old. Your bones are going to thank me for this later.”
Seungcheol gulps, looking at the bed, adorned with flower petals and a – is that an elephant? Oh god, there’s the trunk. Yeah, that’s an elephant. There’s barely enough space for Seungcheol to fit, let alone Jeonghan too. This is a queen?
Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, just pads quietly to his designated corner of the room. Seungcheol tries his hardest to pretend like his eyes aren’t already tracking the movement.
Seungcheol sighs. The elephant sits cheerfully on the bed, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.
This might as well be his grave.
In the morning, Jeonghan is the one who wakes up first.
“Don’t worry,” Jeonghan’s voice trembles as he teases, unhooking Seungcheol’s arms from around his waist. “I won’t say anything to the kids.”
For a moment, Seungcheol’s brain is scrambling to catch up, wondering whywhywhywhy , when it hits him — Seungcheol isn’t supposed to do this anymore. He’s not allowed. Their bodies are still used to the feel of each other, slotting in perfectly; it knows exactly the angle he needs to hug Jeonghan from the back for optimal cuddling, one that softens the bony juts of Jeonghan’s shoulder blades rather than emphasizes them. Seungcheol lies there, pretending to be asleep, while Jeonghan forcibly extricates himself from his grasp.
Jeonghan doesn’t have any embarrassing sleeping habits for Seungcheol to even the playing field with. He is ridiculously lovely in the morning, hair all disheveled and more prone to offering drowsy half-lidded smiles. An angel.
“Seungcheol-ah,” Jeonghan croons. “Did you forget? I lived with you for three years. I know you’re awake~”
Shit, he’s been caught. His eyes shoot open. “I’ll, uh, shower first,” Seungcheol coughs, flushing, hastily shooting out of bed and making a beeline for the shower.
He nearly brains himself on the granite when he hears the bathroom door open while he’s butt ass naked. Seungcheol yelps, hands immediately going to cover his important bits. The glass panels are frosted over, but he still feels raw and overexposed and on display.
Am I the only one? Seungcheol thinks desperately. How come Jeonghan seems so okay with everything? He’d never been that good at acting. Not with Seungcheol. Never to Seungcheol.
“Relax, it’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before,” Jeonghan calls nonchalantly. “I just need to pee.”
Finally. Seungcheol detects a tense undercurrent, so imperceptible that only those who have known Jeonghan for a long time could parse it out. Or you know, those that have dated him.
“Sure, sure,” Seungcheol hums his assent, then forces his head back under the spray. Just a couple more hours. A couple more. He can do this. He can.
His heart roars on, thunderous.
“You didn’t tell them?” Soonyoung asks at the rehearsal dinner, incredulous. He’s always had problems with modulating volume, so all guests within a two-table radius turn to locate the origin of the noise. Seungcheol smiles sheepishly, lifting up two fingers in a sort of sorry salute. Hopefully Jeonghan got lost at the sauce bar, far far away from whatever this is.
Seungkwan swats at him, hissing. “Shut up! It’s too late now, Seungcheol should just suffer the consequences of his actions.” Seungkwan takes the opportunity to stop midway and glare at Seungcheol, who flinches. “You made your bed, now go lie in it. Stop whining.”
Predictably, Soonyoung is a bit slow on the catch up, but once he does get the pointed remark, he gasps, covering his mouth in exaggerated theatrical fashion. “You slept in the same bed?”
Seungcheol groans and shoves his face into his hands. “He wouldn’t let me take the floor.”
“The proper thing to do,” Seungkwan mutters as he fidgets with the place setting, “would have been to tell Seokmin as soon as it happened. Like an adult.”
Seungcheol doesn’t have anything particularly witty to say in response to that, so he just sticks out his tongue at Seungkwan. Downing his cocktail — some terrifying mix of liquors and spirits he was a bit afraid to ask the bartender about — is looking more and more appealing by the second.
“How’s the food?” Seokmin pops up, eyes sparkling.
Immediately there’s an intense shuffling, hushed whispers, two stinging smacks handed out by Seungkwan (underneath the table of course, so Seokmin can’t detect anything). Seungcheol lets out a hiss, rubbing his thigh. So does Soonyoung.
“Guys?” Seokmin’s smile wobbles a little bit, worry lining his voice. “I knew it. I told Shua that everything was too much. I mean, yeah, sure, you only get married once — that’s the hope at least — so you should go big, but this…it’s too excessive, right? I mean, these bites are so small, I got nervous and ate like ten plates of them before and they still didn’t fill me up. How ridiculous is that? Ugh, Mingyu’s gonna be so smug when I tell him he’s right…” He goes on and on and on, talking a mile a minute.
“Seokmin-ah,” Seungcheol interrupts gently, flashing a weak smile. “It’s great. It really is.”
“Really?” Seokmin’s eyes are wide.
“Really.” Seungcheol is sincere. Happiness looks really, really good on Seokmin. It does.
Seungcheol hypes himself up internally as Soonyoung and Seungkwan cut in to steal the conversation; Seokmin’s wedding is what they’re here for, and Seungcheol is a shit friend if he brings his interpersonal relationships (or lack thereof) into it.
“Seokminnie!” Seungcheol tears his gaze away to find Jeonghan running towards them, silverware already in hand.
Seokmin’s grin turns even more devastatingly bright. Jeonghan’s always been Seokmin’s favorite, between him and Seungcheol — though when pressed about it Seokmin would deny it to oblivion. Seokmin throws his arms around Jeonghan, who returns it with more vigor than Seungcheol has seen from him all night. As the two of them chat animatedly, Seokmin’s worries from just moments ago evaporate into thin air. Already forgotten.
Seungcheol pretends that the churning that erupts in his stomach is purely a result of the heavy cream in the pasta, and nothing else.
In the end, everything goes well. Without a hitch. So smoothly, in fact, that some sick, twisted part of Seungcheol kind of wishes that it did go wrong. Just so that Jeonghan would know that that’s what life would be like, without Seungcheol it in. And then Seungcheol could swoop back in, without a word, like he’d been waiting this entire time, to set it right.
Seungkwan keeps sending Seungcheol worried looks the entire time, tugging on Hansol’s sleeve and whispering into his ear. Gossip, no doubt. That brat.
Soonyoung tries his best to make Seungcheol feel better about it by serving as a literal human shield and bodyguard, running ridiculous amounts of interference. He intercepts any and all requests Jeonghan tries to send Seungcheol’s way, to the point where he nearly upends a water pitcher and Wonwoo has to tell him off while simultaneously profusely apologizing to the waitstaff.
While Seokmin’s parents’ are busy blubbering through their speeches, Jeonghan quietly asks, defeated, if Seungcheol could fix his tie.
In another life, Jeonghan wouldn’t have needed to ask — Seungcheol would have caught it before they left the hotel room. In this one, Seungcheol has shaky hands. Jeonghan holds his breath the entire time Seungcheol leans in, and Seungcheol is so distracted by their closeness that he can’t tell if he made it better or worse after he pulls away, with a pained smile and a, “There you go.”
A friendly pat on your ex’s shoulder is acceptable, right? Seungcheol startles as his hand makes contact with Jeonghan’s shoulder, who flinches like he’s been electrocuted.
Ah, fuck.
“Thanks,” Jeonghan lifts his lips up in an approximation of a smile. It never reaches his eyes. Seungcheol mirrors it.
Oddly enough, that’s the thing that makes Seungcheol feel like crying the most.
Everything is polite. Congenial. Perfectly perfect. There are no angry jabs, no biting remarks, nothing like the last time they ever spoke to each other. He and Jeonghan have reverted back to being acquaintances.
It’s worse, being strangers.
At the end of the night, Seungcheol finds himself sitting alone. Everyone else has either made their way towards the dance floor, or snuck away and back to their hotel rooms. He swirls the drink in his hand, watching the way the alcohol makes its way around the ice.
After the breakup, he used to think that he’d be okay with having Jeonghan in any capacity, but. He might have to recapitulate, if this weekend is anything to go on about.
Maybe this is the one thing he can’t be brave about. Maybe this is the one thing he can’t do.
He sighs, defeated. Sips on his whiskey.
Someone taps him on the shoulder.
“Hi,” Jeonghan smiles softly, gaze not quite meeting Seungcheol’s. There’s something about it that makes Seungcheol’s heart ache. Quietly. Predictably. Gently. Even after all these years. A warm kind of love.
“Hi,” Seungcheol offers back cautiously.
“I think I might go dancing.” Jeonghan jerks his head towards the dance floor. Seungcheol swivels his gaze to look. Seokmin and Jisoo are off to one corner, Seokmin’s head nestled in the crook of Jisoo’s shoulder. They sway side by side silently, so loudly in love with one another by the way they remain oblivious to anyone else in the room.
After a long while, he turns back around. Jeonghan is still looking at him.
Seungcheol’s heart kickstarts again, painful thudding again the confines of his chest.
“Okay,” Seungcheol says carefully, gazing steadily up into Jeonghan. “Need a partner?”
“That’d be nice.” Jeonghan bites his lip to keep the delight from spilling over.
Seungcheol takes Jeonghan’s hand. Lets him lead, this time.
“Wherever you wanna take me,” Seungcheol murmurs, “I’m yours.”