“You are loved,” said Yoo Jonghyuk. “This is a threat,” said Yoo Jonghyuk. (слэш)

“Kim Dokja.”
“Did you break into my house to just say my name?” And then, frowning, “How did you even break into my house, actually. Light does not count as public transportation.”
The man breathes in, and out.
And then, he is hugging Kim Dokja tight, so very tight, as if he wants to open his ribs and tuck Kim Dokja inside them, to keep him close and safe; as if to so much as give Kim Dokja room to breathe would be to let him dissapear. As if Kim Dokja is sand and he the fool trying to cradle it. He is holding Kim Dokja like he is precious, like he is important, like he knows him and knows him well, and his touch is as gentle as it is desperate.
He presses his face into Kim Dokja’s shoulder, and breathes.
The man is shaking.
Kim Dokja thinks getting murdered might have been easier to deal with than this.
“Um.” Kim Dokja pats his back, awkwardly. “There there?”
The man starts crying.
Well, Kim Dokja thinks. Shit.