Chapter Text
Lee Anton, 4 years golden medalist in the Boxing State Championship, drops out of his best season start yet.
“Mr. Lee, are the doping rumours true?”
“Is it true that Anton Lee is retiring?”
“Anton? That prick wouldn’t quit for anyone other than himself.”
“Why are you headed back to Korea mid-season?”
Anton is shaking in his airplane seat. He is gripping his knees with dread over the long flight that awaits him. He only has one thing in his mind: the white-clad boy that awaits him in Seoul.
It has barely been a week since he kissed him goodbye and promised him another gold, on the doorstep of his expensive loft, on the eve of an early flight.
Anton can’t stop tapping his foot during take off. His manager has to give him a pill just to take the edge off, and when it doesn’t knock him out cold, he takes another. That seems to do the trick because Anton slumps back, three hours into the flight, but release isn’t sweet.
Submerged in his artificial delirium all he can see is Wonbin before he leaves, unusually swollen with a strange rash covering his glossy skin.
He should have stayed. He should have listened to his heart and stayed, for nothing could have prepared him for the video call he received a few mornings later.
“Chanyoungie,” Wonbin’s voice shook. His eyes looked darker than usual. “Are you asleep?” A small, fond smile.
“It’s late here, hyung.” His voice was thick with sleep. Wonbin bit his lip on the other end.
“I need you.” His voice broke, setting alarms off all over Chanyoung’s wakening mind. “I have to go to the hospital and…” a soft hiccup. “I’m really scared. I want to see your face.”
“Hyung.” Anton blinked warily under the yellow lights of his hotel room, no trace of sleepiness left in his voice. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“It really hurts.” The weakness had returned, like every word sent a buzz of pain through him.
“Chanyoung-sshi,” the voice of a middle aged woman shook him from his reverie.
Clad in white, Wonbin is asleep in his hospital bed, breathing catatonically through a tube taped to his mouth. His gown is undone and there are chords all over his chest monitoring an erratic rhythm. There is an old, vertical incision between his pectorals. It’s supposed to be discreet, handiwork of great care, but under the bleaching light of the clinic, it’s offensive to the eye.
Twenty hours after the phone call, Wonbin is still unwell, heavily medicated and closely monitored.
“He will need a transplant.”
Anton’s fists clench and unclench, suspended in time. His vision waters at the edges but he just stares. He stares at Wonbin, blueish from poor circulation. “Does he know?”
“No. The doctor didn’t want to scare him.” The voice of Wonbin’s at home nurse, Mrs. Choi, is gentle and motherly, having closely monitored him for almost five years. “The waiting list is really long and, you know Wonbin-ah, he’s so scared of these things.”
“Thank you for looking after him.” Anton lets out a long sigh and palms at his tired face. “I’ll tell my dad to look into clinics in the States.”
The woman nods and her retreating steps are lost in his peripherals. Anton approaches the bed with great caution and settles on the chair next to it, placing a crumpled bouquet on his bedside table. He has to fish for Wonbin’s gangly hand under the bed sheets but, eventually, he finds home and their fingers wrap together. It feels like he can breathe again, his forehead barely touching his lover’s shoulder as his head finds rest on the mattress.
When he wakes up again, Wonbin is sitting. He has one hand in Anton’s hair and one hand is holding a book in his lap. Wonbin doesn’t notice Anton opening his eyes at first, so he takes the chance to look at his face, droopy with tiredness but lively despite his poor prognostics. He looks at his hands next, at his nails that have been mauled down and makes a mental note to scold him later. “What’s that?” Anton’s voice comes out groggy and Wonbin startles, his fingers tense and relax again.
“Some cinderella story. Mrs. Choi left it here.” Wonbin smiles gently. They had replaced the tube with a mask after regaining consciousness, so he could speak behind the rhythmically fogging plastic. “Ain’t no Han Kang.”
“You don’t even read normally.” Anton sits up. He groans and stretches his spine, pins and needles all over his body. After he’s done with his show of poor posture and back pain, he leans in and presses a long kiss to the side of Wonbin’s head. He immediately abandons the book he has been nursing to wrap both his arms around Chanyoung, folding into him, face against his broad shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m here now, hyung.”
“I got so scared.” Wonbin inhaled shakily. “My heart started beating so hard I couldn’t see from the pain. I thought it was a heart attack.”
“It was a very bad bout of arrhythmia." Anton starts to massage his scalp and behind his ear, where he knows it relaxes him the most. "You’re okay. Hear that,” They both hold their breaths to listen. The monitor beeps back at them rhythmically. “It’s all easy now.”
Wonbin shakes his head. “It’s all the meds.” He leans back very slowly, searching for his lover’s eyes. “Antonnie, am I dying?”
“It’s–“ The stutter could be fatal. Wonbin gawks at him. The little colour he has left drains from his face and tears prickle his eyes and Anton has to grab his cheeks to keep him from spiralling. “No! But you need surgery.”
Wonbin’s mouth opens, his expression is confused, his hand flies to his chest to pat around his faulty heart. Anton keeps his head craned towards him. “What surgery?”
“It’s a transplant. It’s giving out, Wonbin.”
It comes in waves. Wonbin’s eyes open wide, his mouth hangs open and he lets out a shaky exhale. Then there comes acceptance, his brows relax and his expression returns to numbness, there is a thickness to the way he swallows and Anton knows he’s making peace with the inevitable. For the longest time, neither of them speak. Wonbin just stays blinking slowly, his hand massaging circles over his pectoral where the beating heart of a twenty year old was meant to be, healthy and unopened.
“I’m probably not gonna make it.” Wonbin whispers out, finally, shyly. His eyes droop and there is some redness breaking the bruising blue of his complexion. He's holding back tears.
“Don't say that.” Anton starts pushing Wonbin’s hair out of his face, trying to get him to focus and maybe let it out. He doesn’t. He never does. "We'll get the best people. We’ll do the surgery abroad if we have to.”
Wonbin laughs. His hands are trembling when he cups Anton’s wrists, his lover's hands still attached to his face. “It would probably burst like a balloon before we landed anywhere.”
“Hyung, I said stop.” Chanyoung presses their foreheads together despite his oily hair. “We’ll talk everything out with your doctor, okay? Stop second guessing everything.”
Wonbin nods slowly, his teeth biting his lower lip in a way that says he isn’t done, but Chanyoung has learnt it’s better to stop him than let the spiral continue. After a moment of quiet, Wonbin whispers:
“What about your tournament?”
Anton swallows, his eyes bat away, and this time, he’s the one that tries to retreat. Wonbin stops him by the wrists, clamping down hard, eyes wide. “Chanyoung? What about your tournament?”
“I said…” Anton looks everywhere but into Wonbin’s eyes. His lover stares at him expectantly, like he’s about to say something stupid. “I said I’d drop out.”
Wonbin’s mouth droops, blinking slowly, stupefied. He lets go of Anton’s hands to grab the hem of his shirt instead and the fight he shows kind of comforts Anton, makes him think it will all be okay, eventually. “You are not dropping out of shit, Lee Chanyoung.”
“I got scared.” Anton defends himself with whatever he has, his hands twisting nervously into Wonbin’s bedsheets. “I thought I’d come back and you might be…” a thick swallow. Wonbin’s expression falls. “But it’s fine, you’re fine, and from the looks of it we are going to the states anyways.”
Wonbin’s brows furrow, his fingers slowly uncurl and he lets Anton breathe again. “How do you know?”
Caught red handed, Anton bites his cheek. “Mrs. Choi said the waiting list here is very long.” Wonbin tried to speak, but he didn’t let him. “I don’t care if this puts me into debt. I’m not risking your life. Plus,” His hand rests softly on Wonbin’s cheek, warmer, much warmer than Wonbin. “I promised you a gold. I will get more than enough to fix you up.”
Wonbin trembles with something akin to reverence, oozes with what he can only describe as adoration. His heart makes a pathetic leap in his chest and his cheeks are pink, so pink Chanyoung kisses his chapped lips. He breathes out, it’s a short one, barely a caress for they are both too taken with each other. “When did you get so old, Lee Chanyoung?” Wonbin lets out a breathless laugh, their foreheads touching gently. “You speak like a man now.”
“Your man.” Anton corrects. He cups Wonbin’s jaw and tips his face to the side to press two long kisses at the junction of his neck, close to his ear, where he knows Wonbin likes it. “I love you, hyung.”
They’re released from the hospital later that day with a small pack of medical documents as a parting gift. They’re filled with all sorts of instructions, from what Wonbin should be eating, to what he should avoid doing until he gets the green light from an organ donor. Anton misses out on one fight. He spends the majority of that time on the phone with various clinics in the States trying to determine where Wonbin could be treated the fastest. Three months’ wait was the shortest they managed to get, and that, too, came with a lot of sweet talking and bribery. While on the phone, Anton watched Wonbin paddle around their flat, packing for the long few months ahead. Anton paid Mrs. Choi four months in advance, wished her the best while they were away, and signed an updated version of her contract of employment, discussing a short term relocation to the States while Wonbin recovered from the surgery.
“Antonnie,” Wonbin sighs from the floor, legs spread, sweat clinging to his forehead despite their A/C. “Will we see a rodeo bull?”
Anton blinks at him, long and confused bats of his lashes. Right. Wonbin has only ever been to the States to visit Anton’s dad in Jersey. “What exactly do you think of the South, hyung?”
“Uhm. I don’t know.” Wonbin shrugs, shoving a questionable pair of flashy underwear in his suitcase. “Cows? Cowboys?”
“Right.” Anton, despite his disbelief, nods. “I don’t know if we will.”
“Boring.” Wonbin rolls his eyes at him, closing the lid of his suitcase to make sure it shuts with relative ease.Their flight is in the morning, so Wonbin spends the afternoon out with his best friend, Shotaro. Anton took the chance to make sure everything is right, that Wonbin has packed all his medications and his prescriptions and that their travel documents are intact. His mind drifts to Wonbin, wondering if he’s being careful outside, or, more accurately, wondering how careful he’s being— He hopes he isn’t shopping in the heat. Shotaro can make one walk for hours, and it seems that Anton has found a new source of worries regarding his fragile little boyfriend. He finds his hand itching for his phone, for a small check-in text, but he fights the urge and sinks deeper into their couch.
Wonbin returns home that night a little bit past eleven and, guiltily, Anton kisses him to check for the bitterness of an alcoholic breath. He’s only met with what is characteristically Wonbin and the after taste of strawberry bingsu. Anton sighs gently and Wonbin takes it as a sign to look for more, eager lips press on and his neck cranes to make up for their height difference. Anton just about forgets everything he has been worrying about till that point. He bends at the knees to cup the back of Wonbin’s thighs, and, like a rehearsed waltz, his lover’s arms wrap around his neck as he hoists him up. Wonbin idles with Anton's lips like a teething toy while he lowers him on their kitchen aisle.
“Had a good day?” Anton whispers with a gentle smile, lips red and swollen from biting, his hand resting at the side of Wonbin’s stomach.
“Mhm. Really good.” Wonbin slowly sinks his weight into the heels of his hands, his eyes not leaving Anton once. “Taro said he will visit us in the States eventually.”
“Yeah?” Anton noses away at Wonbin’s forehead, trying to push his fringe out of his face. “That’s great. You won’t be as lonely like that.”
“I’ll have you.” Wonbin smiles, sickeningly sweet, his hands curling at the edge of Anton’s shirt. “Can I come watch you train?”
“You’ll get bored.” Anton laughs quietly, his forehead pressed into Wonbin’s like he doesn’t want anyone else in the world to hear.
“Of what? Watching you all sweaty and angry?” Wonbin’s smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “I’m more worried about causing a scene.”
“You’re crazy.” Anton pecks him to quiet him and Wonbin bites his lips again, like a twisted little game that Anton loves to fall for. He grabs the back of his knees and pulls, the abrupt movement causing Wonbin to fall flat on his back on the tabletop. His hands cup Anton’s face before they start to really go at each other. His mouth gives after Chanyoung’s tongue drags across his lip and he reciprocates, kittenish licks that leave behind more of a mess than he intends to.
Anton lowers his weight on the countertop and he’s chest to chest with Wonbin, his hands massaging the sides of his hips, where Wonbin feels most tired after a long day of walking. His lover purrs happily and inches closer, his core engaged as he drags Chanyoung’s upper lip between his teeth. Eventually, he lets go to nuzzle his neck, possessive, thinking of all the bruises in Anton's body that make him burn with jealousy. He makes haste adding more, biting down below his jaw with hunger.
Anton lets out a pathetic cry and his hips stutter, the sting travels from his neck and to his loins and it’s like Wonbin has been anticipating this, the chance to lock his legs behind him and pull their hips snug. “Hyung, hyung, no.” Anton rasps, hand curling into a fist next to Wonbin’s head. “The flight is too early. We can’t.”
“Can’t we?” Wonbin teases, face flustered and eyes glassy. “Are you being lazy, Chanyoungie?”
“It’s not…” Anton fumbles his words, Wonbin looks too good underneath him, panting and smiling and red. Lying is an easier option. “Yes.”
“Okay.” Wonbin gives him a cheeky grin and kisses his ear. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Being babied by his hyung isn’t half bad, so long as he gets to carry him to bed and press him into their crumpled sheets every night. They spend another eternity kissing and petting each other sick, until Anton’s eyes start drooping and Wonbin takes pity on him and lets him sleep.
Wonbin tries to do the same, though he ends up tossing next to him for a good twenty minutes before giving up. He gets out of bed and goes to the kitchen as quietly as he can to dig around the drawer containing kitchen utensils a cooking slob like Anton would never use to retrieve a pack of cigarettes. Wonbin doesn’t smoke nowadays, it’s a habit reserved for mounting stress. He thinks that an open heart surgery warrants breaking his clean streak.
He slides into a pair of worn converse turned to slippers and heads downstairs. He doesn’t want to smoke inside the apartment, knowing that Anton will smell it the moment he wakes up. Instead, he crouches by the main entrance of their building and lights up his cigarette, savouring it with the knowledge that it's probably going to be his last one for months. He thinks he looks ridiculous, in pyjama shorts and a tight tank, smoking his worries away like his ears aren’t adorned with rows of golden jewellery. There is a heavy, silver band on his ring finger, and he knows that the insides read his name and Chanyoung’s. Looking at it makes his heart race, solid, expensive proof that Anton sees him as something serious. Wonbin feels his cheeks warm up for no good reason and tries to calm his racing heart. He cuts his cigarette time short with a renewed urge to feel Chanyoung, his skin warm and sticky from the summer air.
Their apartment is air conditioned, so Wonbin feels relief just by tipping his shoes off and shuffling back inside. He takes his sweaty tank off and tosses it in the dark.
Anton wakes up to the feeling of Wonbin’s breath caressing his neck, his soft hair pressing into his cheek. He grunts and pats around grumpily. He first finds his waist, then his shoulder, and realises that he is indeed naked. Not unlikely for Wonbin, but his ragged breaths are telling of something more.
“Antonie,” Wonbin is whimpering, lips smushed into the side of his neck, brandishing every syllable into his skin.
“Baby.” Anton hums, then smiles a little when Wonbin’s breath falters like he’s been caught. His hand finds his lover’s hair and pulls him closer, holding him gently. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t.” Wonbin gasped, eyes closed. His fingers move sloppily behind him, stretching himself wide and digging around for his spot. “I want you so bad.”
He’s straddling Chanyoung, face pressed into the mattress by his shoulder, hips suspended in the air, arm cramping behind his back. Anton groans and starts kicking his boxers off. “You’re so fucking hot, hyung.”
“Hyung’s going to make you feel good.” Wonbin promises, feeling hands on his hips, pushing him back. He takes his fingers out and uses the lube stuck to them to slick Chanyoung’s dick up, reaching blindly behind himself to stroke him to hardness. “You won’t last a minute.”
It hits Anton like a brick, the feeling of his cock breaching Wonbin open, the weight of his trembling hips sinking back into him. He bites into his lip and cries, his hands grabbing Wonbin’s thighs to keep his back from arching off the bed. “How do you feel so good?” Anton pants, pupils blown, staring Wonbin in the eye like it was the first time all over again.
“Quiet.” Wonbin whimpers, he’s too worked up, and Anton’s words are making him burn. He doesn’t wait for their breaths to ease, he starts rolling his hips hard, grinding down lazily, and Chanyoung’s dick pokes through his stomach and it kind of hurts, but Wonbin feels frenzied, gripping his lover’s knees behind him and moving like it’s a speed race.
The bed creaks cacophonously, Wonbin’s hips press Anton down with each thrust and Anton twitches inside him, so hard his dick almost slips out but Wonbin isn’t letting it happen, he has his hand behind him in a moment, realigning him, and the poor boy cries his name out like he will melt from one minute to another.
“Gonna cum.” Wonbin mewls desperately, his hand fisting his little cock in a pace that’s almost painful. Chanyoung grabs his waist and starts fucking into him, desperate stutters of hips before he cums, spurting deep into Wonbin and filling him up. Wonbin looks down at him with his lip between his teeth, his eyes wide and fixed on his face as he points his dick downwards with each pump. His jaw goes slack and he does his best to keep his eyes open while he shoots all over Anton’s chest and neck, each stain making him convulse with mind numbing pleasure.
“Oh, God,” Wonbin slumps into him, trembling with exertion, and Anton holds him, pressing kiss after kiss into his messy hair.
After a few moments of silence and breathing, Chanyoung whispers: “Did you have to do all that?”
“I can’t.” Wonbin murmurs, arching back into the touch of Anton’s hand caressing down his spine. “You looked so hot I wanted to cum on your face. It didn’t reach, though.” There is a distinct pout in his voice that makes Anton laugh.
“You’re a freak.”
“Let’s wash up.” Wonbin ignores him, tracing shapes in his bicep with his finger.
“This is why I told you we shouldn’t fuck.” Anton grunted, craning his neck to look at his digital clock on the bedside table. They had a little over four hours of sleep left. At this rate, they’d be lucky if they got two.