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He pulled the white Hyundai Santa Fe into one of the front spots, free hand clenching the wheel with a bit more force to make up for his other resting loosely against the car door, cradled by a spare t-shirt. As he looked up at the large red sign of Ssangmun-dong’s 24-hour walk-in clinic, he couldn’t help the heaving sigh. It wasn’t where he’d been planning to be at half past noon. Where he should’ve been was already halfway back to his apartment in the city, yet Gi-hun felt entitled to take him up on the empty dare to break his goddamn phone, and here he was.
Sang-woo told himself it wasn’t for Gi-hun’s sake, though part of him admittedly— and perhaps pathetically— wanted to hold onto the idea the man really would toss and turn at night fearing he might bleed out from a minor hand injury. Fantasy aside, logic was what really brought him here. He preferred full functioning of his hand over a severed tendon, especially since a majority of his work required both.
It took a good hour before he was finally called in by the only doctor on staff in the clinic that day, a doctor who appeared to recognize his face before he’d even scanned eyes over his file. “Cho Sang-woo? How long has it been?” the elder man asked, wearing a familiar smile he remembered from the pediatric clinic his mother took him to on a bi-annual basis.
Sang-woo bowed his head, offering a polite, “Seonsaeng-nim. My guess is over thirty years.”
As they navigated empty small talk, the doctor led him through a standard vitals check, making quick, illegible marks in his chart, “Mm. Avoiding half a cup of rice each night will lead you right back on track, okay?” he suggested idly, looking up with another friendly smile, “So what’s our esteemed SNU prodigy doing in the emergency clinic today?”
Sang-woo tried not to let that first remark sink in, at the same time suffering a sudden, hazy memory of Gi-hun last night in bed, murmuring what he swore had been ‘so soft’ between stomach kisses. He felt a self-conscious heat behind his ears, smiling stiffly while he used the careful unraveling of his hand as an excuse to ignore the indirect praise he could never escape in this town. He held it out, shard still sticking halfway out of his palm. The doctor raised a brow.
“I seem to recall you being an overly-cautious child. What happened?”
“An accident.”
“Mm,” another distant sound as the man took his hand, inspecting the damage, “Lucky accident. Looks like it barely missed one of the major tendons. Let’s get this out and stitch you up.”
A little under an hour later, he was walking out of the office side by side with the doctor, who was regaling him about something his mom had said back in the day— Sang-woo was hardly listening, instead looking down at the bandage wrapped around his stitched, half-numb hand. His watch read 2:18 PM, 27 minutes until the next train, as well as too late to get any real work done by the time he returned to the city. He sighed again, right before his gaze lifted to witness a lollipop getting shoved in his face.
“For old time’s sake,” the doctor said with a laugh, “Now, don’t make them a habit!” The man made a show of patting his belly before chuckling his way into the back offices.
It wasn’t until Sang-woo was back in the car buckling himself in that he muttered beneath his breath, rolling the strawberry sucker to the other side of his mouth, “Asshole.”
The train to Seoul was boarding. Sang-woo went through the trouble of buying his ticket the old fashioned way, thanks to his broken phone. Whether he intended to or not, Seong Gi-hun made his life a living hell. As usual.
Sang-woo settled into the window seat, bag and briefcase set in the empty spot beside him. Almost immediately, he tilted his head back and took a few calming breaths in-and-out, eyes closing to gradually allow the insufferable day so far to fade into the background. He was grateful when the train began its departure, the shaky sway of the carriage a temporary, soothing distraction for almost a full minute before the thought of Gi-hun clawed its way back into his brain. First came the pale, trembling way he’d dropped the phone from his hands— then, the pathetic way he’d turned from the toilet to apologize for himself fucking up— the sudden, furious way he’d shouted and turned red in the face— then the last, devastating moment where he’d held his hand as soon as he noticed him hurt, as natural as every other memory Sang-woo had of Gi-hun on his knees, inspecting bloody scrapes after Sang-woo had yet again lost his footing playing a game the boy dragged him into.
It was a good fifteen minutes before he finally opened his eyes again, as if waking from someplace deeper, far away from where he currently existed. The Gi-hun in his head had finally ran his way back to eomeoni’s after being called for dinner. He let out a short, steadying exhale.
Figuring he could fill at least an hour of his time with busy remote work like non-urgent emails, he pulled out his laptop and set it out on the small, adjustable table in front of his seat. But before he could open the internet browser, he hesitated on the memory of the files he’d secretly uploaded and sent to himself last night. The recordings.
His stare darted around the train car, noting a few people seated four rows up and another two people three rows down in the other direction— no one close enough to his own seat to make a difference. However, he still ducked his head as if seeking privacy, sticking a single wireless headphone into his ear before his mouse hovered over a hidden download folder.
He clicked on sg001.mp4 and minimized it to a corner of his screen, not having to wait long before he was in the frame, yanking Gi-hun off the couch, ordering him get on his knees, to stay and not touch until he says so, then to make his mouth useful. He fast-forwarded to him, irritated, telling Gi-hun they were adults and he could call it oral sex, then to the casually filthy way Gi-hun murmured, ‘You want your hyung to take care of you…’ All audio he’d conveniently cut from the version he’d handed to Gi-hun this morning, and which now had his body responding in a way too quick for him to stop.
As if compelled by impulse not entirely his own, he closed that video file for another, sg002.mp4. The other half that revealed them both recovering in the hotel bed, leading into something soft and entirely unplanned and if Sang-woo lost himself in it enough, something he could imagine for a future where Gi-hun was happily, willingly his.
Sang-woo sank a centimeter lower, hearing himself gasp in the video, ‘That—that way feels good. Don’t stop.’ A quiet shortcut and he was zooming in on the way Gi-hun bobbed his head in his lap, swearing that he could still recall the way the man’s lips had felt around him. His head turned, checking the aisle for movement before he lowered his hand to silently palm himself through his slacks.
“Ah! ” he hissed sharply, pain shooting through his palm as he remembered his dominant hand was out of commission.
In his head a curse echoed, gaze sweeping the train car as he checked to see if anyone had looked his way. He may have seen someone peer around a seat for a moment, but they’d already gotten over it, which his clouded head took as a safe enough sign to resume with his functional hand this time.
It didn’t take much to find a good rhythm, fighting to not breathe too loud, eyes closing in half-second intervals as he stole glances at the zoomed video, which now showed Gi-hun experimentally sucking at the tip of his cock.
A sudden shuffle was heard somewhere down the train car and he instantly shoved the laptop screen halfway down, hand jerking away from his arousal, which was now straining uncomfortably beneath the zipper of his pants. He readjusted, sitting up with his back a little straighter. He could still hear himself panting in his own ear, and as he sat there with his chest steadily rising and falling, the eventual ‘Sucha good boy, Sang-woo ’ was whispered in his ear, causing him to throb where he kept as still as possible, expression neutral. From behind him, he watched as a young couple moved from one train car to another, too involved in a hushed conversation to spare him a passing glance.
A few moments later, he was rushing to the nearest carriage bathroom, not wholly caring if he looked disheveled from hastily tying his suit jacket around his waist, nor from the sheen of sweat that formed against his forehead.
As soon as the door was shut and the lock turned, he was fumbling at the fastenings of his pants as if a man convinced he only had seconds left to live. The only thing in his head was Gi-hun, the man’s half-lidded eyes looking at him while his tongue worked him to an imminent orgasm. Sang-woo leaned heavily against one of the bathroom walls, dick already out, a hand he normally never used trying to adjust to the kind of stroking that would get him to where he needed.
Fuck, he needed him . Even after the disaster that was this morning, he couldn’t get the man out of his head, the way that Gi-hun had comfortably leaned into every lewd act as if it were normal, even despite all the background mumbling over how to please a woman.
Sang-woo bit his lip, muffling a quiet groan as he jerked himself faster, the back of his head pressing hard into the wall. In the heat of it, he wondered how easy it’d be for Gi-hun to come up with more female-based advice while pinned across the train car seats, Sang-woo shoving into him from behind, making him moan in that whiny way he was so good at—
Suddenly, a knock on the door tore him sharply out of it, the shock of being interrupted not mixing well with the high of being seconds away from cumming. His heart hammered almost painfully in his chest, panic replacing exhilaration.
“O-Occupied!” he managed to stutter out as a sense of decency finally crashed through him.
“Are you almost done in there? I’m afraid an old-timer like me can’t wait for too long.”
“Oh, ye— of course, sir. Just give me one more moment! Gae-sae-ggi.*”
Thoughts devolved into internal cursing as he shoved himself back into his pants as fast as he could one-handed, turning on the sink to both alleviate any possible suspicion and to actually wash up after having done something so… illegal.
That had only hit him after the fact. What the fuck had he been thinking? About Gi-hun, his mind answered for him, unwelcome in his own head.
He made an extra effort to splash the cool faucet water on his face, quickly unwinding paper towels to dry off before finally opening the door a minute later, likely looking no less disheveled than he did going in, suit jacket re-secured around his waist. He maneuvered around the elderly man he saw politely standing there, anxious impulse causing him to bow repeatedly on his way out and around him, water dripping from his bangs. “I’m sorry for causing trouble, eoreusin.”
“It’s quite alright, young man,” the elderly man spoke, sporting a friendly smile and perhaps a glint of amused concern over the inordinate apology. He waved a hand at him, “Plenty of time before danger, don’t you worry.”
Sang-woo finally let himself keep upright at those words, offering the man one last, minuscule nod and a tight smile before stepping back toward his car without so much as another word. Under his suit jacket, he was going swiftly soft due to the abrupt and anxious encounter, but the arousal still coiled hot and tight in his gut, unfinished.
And as he returned to his seat and sank into it, resting his face with silent shame in his hands, he could only confirm his earlier sentiment: Seong Gi-hun made his life a living hell.