Hold both your hands

[dainuhsoar]

title: Hold both your hands
rating: r for homophobic language & non-graphic sexual scene(s)
pairing: woohyun x sunggyu
wordcount: 1k+

summary: a love story that goes backwards.

            i.

            they're 80-something years old, one of them is in a wheelchair, and the other can't remember names. one of them wheels the other out to the garden and sits on a bench with his friend next to him. they enjoy the breeze and the sound of cicadas chirping. the stifling heat leaves room for improvement, though.

            and then one of them forgets everything, blinks as if he has just woken up from a deep sleep and opens his mouth to ask, what am i doing here? when he turns his head and sees his friend sitting there, staring at him curiously. he smiles a toothless smile. he forgets to ask what am i doing here? and asks for his friend's name instead. he repeats the name in his head but forgets it in a moment anyway.

 

            ii.

            they're 70-plus years old and it's their first time holding hands in public.

 

            iii.

            they're in their 60s and they're playing with their first grandchild, a boy named hyunseok. he's only 3 years old and doesn't know how to write. he takes a stick and tries to write their names in the sand. one of them asks what hyunseok's writing because he's just scrawled stuff and pretended they were words. hyunseok says, grandpa and then he wrinkles his nose and asks, why do you two have the same name?

            the two grandfathers laugh and one of them says, darling, you know how bad i am with names, what's your name again? “darling” laughs harder and then holds his back and drawls, 'darling', i think. my darling, my legs are tired, i think we should sit down.

            and their grandson frowns in confusion and asks, grandpa, you call me darling too, why do all three of us have the same name?

            the darlings just laugh and take hyunseok's hands in each of their own.

 

            iv.

            they're 50-something years old when they feel the proudest they've ever been of their daughter.

            she's graduated from university and she looks so happy in her graduation robes, her arm around her boyfriend's waist and her boyfriend's arm around her shoulders. they squeeze together for a photo, their faces are glowing with happiness. they share a kiss just as another photo is taken.

            her fathers stand next to the board that says, congratulations, graduates! they watch their daughter, feeling as happy as she is. they think they can never feel prouder of their daughter. they think they can't feel prouder of themselves for raising such a fine lady, beautiful, smart and kind all rolled into one.

            they exchange a glance, knowing they're sharing the same thought and their fingers brush lightly against each other. “papa” retracts his fingers and pretends to scratch behind his ear nervously. “uncle” chuckles and fucks all and gently smooths the greying hair that has fallen in front of “papa's” forehead back for him. “papa” can't even get himself to feel shocked or nervous, too buzzed with the feeling of elation to care.

            faggots.

            “uncle” flushes angrily and pulls his hand back like “papa's” skin burned. he shoots a glare at the parent of another student, and the parent stares back defiantly, ugly sneer on his face. get a fucking room, will you? he spits at them.

            fuck off. their baby girl squeezes through bodies to get to them. and she glares at the other parent fiercely. she feels wounded for her parents. she knows her parents are over feeling wounded, she knows they're used to treatment like that, but she won't stand for it, no, no, nope. why don't you find a fucking hole and bury yourself in it? she seethes. the other parent turns red with anger, never before has he met someone so rude. he wants to slap her, he's going to slap her but “uncle” catches his wrist before he can do anything.

            we'll do the discipling, if you don't mind. “papa” says coldly.

            and then their daughter takes both of her dads' hands in each of her own hand and all but drags them out of the hall. her boyfriend, yijeong, trails behind her, not at all ashamed, in fact, he even seems happier and damn proud of his girlfriend.

            she turns to “uncle” and proclaims, i don't want to call you 'uncle' any more, i want to call you 'dad' and i'm going to call you, she turns to “papa”, papa. and you better do the same, honey. she shoots a demanding look at her boyfriend behind them. he smiles at her, eyes twinkling with plain love and respect. “dad” recognizes that look, so he shifts his daughter's hand into yijeong's outstretched palm.

            the two fathers watch their daughter clasp her lover's hand. they exchange looks, knowing they're both thinking they'll never feel prouder of her.

 

            v.

            they're forty-something years old and they sleep with their hands held together, even in front of the blaring television. their teenage daughter feels guilty as she drapes a blanket over their bodies before sneaking out to meet her boyfriend.

 

            vi.

            they're thirty-something years old and it's the first time their daughter, hyun-ae, runs into their arms crying about a bully. she points to the playground and wails, yijeong says you two are weird and i don't get it!

            they don't know how to face yijeong or yijeong's parents. they're forced to apologize for nothing at all. and this wasn't how they wanted to tell their daughter they're not 'normal' as seen from other people's eyes. they try to explain it to her but she doesn't understand and she keeps shaking her head and muttering, yijeong is an idiot, idiot, idiot. i hate him.

            they've already chosen who should be “uncle” ten years back. the next day, they hold each other's hands for support and tell her before school, you're going to have to call daddy “uncle” from now on, okay?

 

            vii.

            they're in their twenties and it's their first time seeing each other after 4 years.

            woohyun pretends he can't remember sunggyu's name and nudges dongwoon to ask, who's that sitting by the bar? because dongwoon knows everyone who comes into this gay club... everyone except the red-headed cutie sitting at the bar, apparently. woohyun chuckles, notifies him that he's gonna go over to talk to that cutie, and dongwoon just nods distractedly, too busy watching another bright red-headed cutie.

            woohyun places a hand on sunggyu's back and grins when sunggyu jumps, instantly leaning away from woohyun's touch.

            how much? woohyun asks, waggling his eyebrows.

            sunggyu first glares angrily at him, and then recognition and shock overtake his face, and then he begins to smile in delightful surprise, but then embarrassment distorts his blooming smile. he sputters, i- i'm not-

            i know. woohyun laughs and kisses sunggyu, not expecting sunggyu to kiss back with the hunger he's been carrying around with him for 4 years. he kisses like woohyun's lips are providing the water he's been looking for after wandering around the desert for hours; he kisses like he's been deprived of his favourite thing in the whole world; he kisses like he has never kissed anyone before because he's sloppy and bites a little. woohyun has to pull back and sunggyu seems to be dragged towards him by the lips. his eyes are hooded and his pretty red cheeks are visible even in the strobe lights. his arms hang loosely over woohyun's shoulders. he's so ashamed of the desire so apparent in his eyes that he has to look away.

            i'm sorry. sunggyu mutters, but woohyun doesn't know what for. he kisses sunggyu and this time, he makes sure it's slow and languid. he makes sure the kiss sends a buzz through sunggyu. he wants sunggyu's spine to arch from the kiss. and he makes sunggyu lose his mind. one of sunggyu's hands clutch the soft material of woohyun's shirt and his other is clasped in woohyun's hand. woohyun grips his hand tight, squeezes it as he sucks on sunggyu's tongue and when they part, he presses a soft kiss to sunggyu's fuller lips.

            they go back to woohyun's apartment and they fuck for the first time, and a second time, and a third time. they go to sleep with their hands clasped together. they wake up and they fuck again because they've wasted 4 years of hiding from each other and feeling ashamed for each other, and they can't afford to waste any more time.

            and then sunggyu asks, who's going to be uncle if our kid ever asks? he's just joking but woohyun looks him dead in the eye and says, you are, i'm too handsome to be called 'uncle', gross.

 

            viii.

            they're teenagers. sunggyu gives woohyun a quick blowjob in the locker room and after it, woohyun tries to stick money into sunggyu's hands. sunggyu's grin is completely wiped off his face, he crumples the notes and tosses it at woohyun's face. he flips woohyun off and runs away. woohyun sighs and scratches the back of his head and mutters, “fucking faggot” under his breath.

            they're teenagers. woohyun sneaks into sunggyu's bedroom that night and creeps under his covers. sunggyu turns his lamp on but woohyun shushes him and turns it off. darkness engulfs them so woohyun can pretend he doesn't see the glisten of tears on sunggyu's cheeks as he puts his hand down sunggyu's pants. after sunggyu's thighs are all sticky, he gets down on his knees by the side of the bed and woohyun sits on the edge and he thinks, “his legs must be tired.” as he forces himself to swallow the “sunggyu” on the tip of his tongue because he's supposed to not remember his name.

            they're teenagers. so sunggyu, on the other hand, doesn't stop himself from whimpering, “woohyun.”

            sunggyu's hand is on woohyun's thigh and woohyun's hand is right there too. their fingers brush. and their hands curl into fists.

            - fin -

a/n: I still remember I wrote this because I saw 2 old men talking while walking side-by-side in the middle of the night at a carpark. Then I thought up a life story for them. Half of the time, I creep myself out. The other half, I'm impressed I'm not dead yet.