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Luke had been released the same afternoon, though not without what felt like a full college lecture’s worth of instructions from the nurses. They sent him home with a thick packet of guidelines and a firm reminder that top surgery wasn’t something you just recovered from, it was something you carefully and religiously managed.
His mom held the instruction sheets like they were sacred scripture, nodding vigorously as each rule was explained. Luke sat propped up on the edge of the hospital bed, still groggy from the anaesthetic.
He had to keep the compression vest on at all times for the next few weeks, only removing it for short, supervised showers. He needed to sleep on his back and slightly upright, and he wasn’t allowed to lift anything heavier than a half-filled water bottle. The nurse emphasised he couldn’t raise his arms above his shoulders at all. He couldn’t bend or twist his torso, couldn’t let water run directly onto his incisions, and under absolutely no circumstances could he sleep on his stomach or side. They repeated that he had to take his pain medication even if he didn’t feel too bad, because waiting for the pain to hit would make the next few days far more difficult. He was also told he needed to walk around the house every few hours to keep his blood flowing properly, but only in short, slow intervals.
“Just be gentle with yourself for a while,” the nurse said, fastening Luke’s vest and checking the drains one last time. “Everything will heal beautifully as long as you follow the rules.”
Luke nodded but winced as even the small motion sent a tight ache radiating across his chest. He hated the feeling of helplessness more than the pain itself, but this was the price of freedom.
On the drive home, his mom recited the do’s and don’ts again, interjecting occasionally with anxious motherly commentary, and his dad kept glancing in the rear-view mirror as if expecting Luke to faint. Gabe sat beside him in the back, knees bouncing, tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh.
Luke wasn’t sure when exhaustion set in, but it hit him hard. By the time they pulled into the driveway, he didn’t want to move at all. His body felt like a delicate instrument wrapped too tightly, and his limbs seemed to belong to someone else entirely.
But as soon as the car stopped, the front door opened. Youngjae was standing there.
Luke didn’t know whether Young had been pacing by the window or sitting just inside the hall waiting for the sound of tyres crunching on gravel, but the moment he appeared in the doorway, Luke felt a strange breath hitch in his throat.
Young stood with his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, shoulders held rigid, trying desperately to look calm and neutral in front of Gabe and Luke’s parents. If Luke didn’t know him so well, he might have believed the act. But he could see it. Could see the hollow worry behind Young’s eyes, the tension in the line of his jaw, the way his stare kept flickering toward Luke like he was checking if he was still breathing.
“Hey,” he said quietly, almost cautiously. “Everything go okay?”
Luke nodded (which was a mistake because pain pricked beneath his binder) but he forced a small smile. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Gabe slipped out of the car before Luke could say more. “Here, man. Help me get him inside.”
Young jerked slightly, startled by the instruction, but he nodded quickly and stepped forward. Still, even then, he kept a careful distance. When Gabe supported Luke under one arm, Young hovered at the other side but hesitated before touching him, as though worried one wrong move might reveal exactly how desperately he wanted to. Eventually, he reached out and steadied Luke by the elbow, the touch brief but gentle. And just as quickly, he let go.
Inside the house, the parents fussed immediately by adjusting cushions, laying blankets, setting out medication and bottles of water as if creating a little recovery shrine. Young hovered near the wall, hands tucked back into his pockets, watching everything with the intensity of someone trying very hard not to give himself away.
When Gabe left the room to grab pillows, Young and Luke were left alone for a moment. It should have been a relief. It should have allowed Luke to breathe. But Young remained where he stood, leaning lightly against the wall, pretending to be absorbed by the family photos lined up on the shelf. His eyes kept flicking sideways, checking on Luke in quick, worried glances.
“You can come closer,” Luke whispered, barely audible.
Young’s head snapped toward him, eyes softening instantly, but then he looked toward the hallway where Gabe had disappeared. His expression tightened with apology. “I can’t,” he murmured.
The words weren’t angry. They weren’t dismissive. They just… hurt. Because Luke understood exactly what Young meant. Gabe was home. Gabe had no idea. Gabe could walk back into the living room at any moment. So Young stayed leaning against the wall, trying too hard to appear relaxed when he clearly wasn’t.
Luke hated it. Not Young, no. Never Young. But he hated the distance they were forced to keep. The secrecy. The pretending.
Young met his gaze again, and in that one look, Luke could see everything Young wasn’t allowed to say out loud; I was worried. I want to hold you. I wish it was me sitting beside you. I wish I didn’t have to stand over here, pretending I don’t care.
And Luke knew that Youngjae’s restraint wasn’t indifference, it was fear. Not for himself, but for Luke. For what he might risk if the truth came out too soon. Young wasn’t avoiding him. He was protecting him. But fuck, Luke wished he didn’t have to.
Gabe returned with an armful of pillows, nearly tripping over the rug as he dumped them beside Luke with unnecessary enthusiasm. “Right,” he said, clapping his hands together, “we’re setting you up like royalty. No moving. No complaining. No being stubborn. And if you need literally anything, shout. Or whistle. Or throw something.”
“Gabe,” Mom sighed, “he can’t throw anything.”
“Right,” Gabe corrected. “Point at something, then.”
Luke let out a tired laugh that caused him to wince, and Young’s eyes flicked toward him immediately, worry sharpening across his face.
Gabe sat on the edge of the sofa, chatting away about how he and Young had been fixing things in the basement for the past few days because of a leaky pipe, and how Young had nearly electrocuted himself, and how Dad should buy them proper tools before something exploded.
Young groaned quietly. “It was one loose wire.”
“You screamed like it bit you,” Gabe shot back.
Luke watched them banter, the familiar sight making warmth bloom in his chest even as exhaustion tugged at his eyelids. Young wasn’t laughing with his whole face the way he normally did. His eyes kept darting to Luke, checking on him every few seconds, always returning to rest there as though he couldn’t help himself.
Dinner was soft and quiet after that. Mom made soup because she wanted something easy for Luke to digest with all the pain meds. Gabe attempted to tell funny stories from college but everything he said came out a little too loud and slightly slurred, and both Young and Dad kept giving him sideways glances.
Had he been fucking drinking?
Luke squinted at him. Gabe didn’t really smell like alcohol and he had been at the hospital all day. So surely, there wasn’t much time for him to get some drinks. Right??
Young barely touched his food. Luke noticed. Of course he noticed. Young’s fingers kept fidgeting with the spoon more than he used it. Every now and then, he’d look up, meet Luke’s eyes for a fraction of a second, then quickly look away as though the eye contact burned him.
Luke wanted to reach for him. He wanted Young to reach back.
But Gabe was there. Their parents were there. They were trapped in the most agonising kind of nearness. Close enough to breathe the same air, yet forced to pretend it meant nothing at all.
Eventually, dinner was cleared away and everyone drifted into the living room for a bit of TV. Luke could barely keep his eyes open and his body ached all over, but he refused to fall asleep while Young sat across the room on the armchair, looking like he wanted nothing more than to be beside him.
When it was finally time for bed, Luke’s parents fussed over him again, reminding him of the rules—sleep on his back, don’t roll, take his meds exactly on time. Gabe adjusted the pillows around him happily.
Young stood a little behind them, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, the picture of restrained longing. He didn’t come closer, didn’t touch him, didn’t say anything that might give them away. He just murmured a gentle, “Goodnight, Luke,” after everyone had said theirs, and Luke felt the words settle deep in his chest.
The lights eventually went out. The house grew quiet.
But Luke stayed awake.
He lay perfectly still, partly because it hurt to move, partly because his heart was racing far too fast for sleep. He stared at the ceiling, listening to every small noise in the hallway. Every creak of the floorboards. Every muffled footstep.
God, he wanted Young. He wanted to see him, to talk to him, to feel his hand in his. He wanted the quiet whisper of Young’s voice saying it was okay. He wanted the warmth of Young pressed against him, even if they couldn’t do anything more than hold hands.
He waited.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Twenty.
He wondered if Young would come. He wondered if Young was lying awake too, down in his basement, wanting exactly the same thing.
Just then, Luke heard a soft creak. A shadow under the door. Luke held his breath. The handle turned ever so slightly and Luke’s heart leapt into his throat. Then a familiar silhouette slipped through, carefully closing the door behind him with the quietest click. He stood there for a second, looking almost guilty, almost unsure… until Luke whispered his name.
“Thank God, Youngjae.”
That was all it took.
Youngjae crossed the room in three silent steps, dropping to his knees beside the bed as though pulled by a string he couldn’t resist. His hands hovered for a moment, probably wanting to touch but obviously being too terrified to hurt him. Luke huffed and grasped his boyfriends hand, pulling it firmly up to settle on Luke’s cheek like he knew the older boy wanted to do that.
“I’m sorry,” Young breathed, leaning closer. “I know this is probably really fucking risky, but I couldn’t sleep without knowing you were okay.”
Luke’s chest tightened. “I’m glad you came. I was waiting for you,” he whispered.
Youngjae exhaled shakily, relief flooding his features. He leaned in cautiously and their lips met in a soft, careful kiss, all tenderness and pent-up longing. Luke melted into it immediately, the pain in his chest fading beneath the warmth spreading through him. Young kissed him again, a little deeper this time but still careful, still mindful of every breath Luke took.
When they parted, Young’s forehead rested against his. “How are you feeling?” he whispered, thumb brushing lightly along Luke’s jaw.
Luke let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Better now.”
Young’s lips curved into a soft smile. “I was worried about you all day. I kept thinking about the pain meds wearing off, and whether you’d sleep okay, and whether someone was here in case you—”
Luke pressed a shaky kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’m okay.”
“I was fucking terrified. Nearly cried like a baby when Gabe told me to go home,” Young admitted, voice barely audible as he closed his eyes and allowed Luke to brush his hair back, tucking a strand behind his ear. “Seeing you in the hospital… I hated it.”
Luke’s hand slid down from Youngjae’s hair and curled in the fabric of his t-shirt instead, tugging him closer. Young immediately leaned over him, careful not to put any pressure on his body, settling on his side against the mattress.
Luke whispered, “Thank you for being here.”
Young’s brows pinched as if he couldn’t comprehend why he wouldn’t be. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Luke’s heart fluttered helplessly. “You make me feel so… safe.”
Young dipped down, kissing him again. It was slower this time, letting Luke feel every ounce of what he wasn’t brave enough to say out loud. When they broke apart, Luke couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. God, he felt good again. Not physically (his chest still fucking ached) but everywhere else inside him felt steady and warm and alive.
Youngjae kissed the tip of his nose. “Try to sleep.”
“I’m not tired. You can stay, right? Just for a bit?”
Youngjae didn’t even hesitate. He shifted onto the bed, carefully sliding his hand into Luke’s, intertwining their fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world as he lay besides the bruised boy. “Just for a while,” he murmured.
“Okay,” Luke whispered back. “I wanna talk to you.”
“About what?”
“About anything,” Luke said. “I just missed you.”
“Okay but we have to be quiet,” Young said.
“Yeah,” Luke whispered back. “We don’t wanna wake anyone up.”
“Yeah,” Young replied slowly. He shifted a little closer. He was still careful. He was still treating Luke like he was made of glass. He brushed his thumb along Luke’s knuckles and his eyes softened as he looked down at him in the dim glow from the hallway. “This might sound like weird,” he murmured, “but I can’t wait to see how everything turns out. Once you’re healed, I mean. Like, I can’t wait to see what it looks like. You’re going to feel so much more like yourself. I can’t wait to see you for the first time. To feel it. To kiss you there.”
Luke’s cheeks burned immediately. He squirmed a little under the blankets. “Me too. But jeez, don’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not?” Young asked, confused but smiling.
“Because it makes my stomach do weird things,” Luke muttered.
Young huffed a quiet laugh. “Good weird things?”
“Shut up.”
Young squeezed his hand. “I meant it, though. I’m excited for you. Like… genuinely excited. I think you’re going to look amazing. And feel amazing.”
Luke’s whole face went red. If he could have hidden under the covers, he would have. “Why are you like this? Why are you making me all—” He gestured vaguely at his chest and then winced. “—all flustered?”
Young smirked, leaning in just enough to brush a kiss to Luke’s jaw. “Because you’re cute when you’re flustered.”
Luke’s breath caught, heat curling through him far too easily. Maybe it was the pain meds, maybe it was having Young this close, maybe it was just the two of them finally being together properly. But suddenly all Luke wanted was more. More kisses. More touching. More closeness. He tugged weakly on Young’s hoodie and whispered, “I kinda want…”
“Kinda wanna what?”
“You know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stuff,” Luke mumbled. “I wanna do stuff.”
Young’s eyes widened a little. “Excuse me? Luke, you had surgery…today.”
“So?” Luke frowned, trying to tug him closer again even though his range of motion was pitiful. “You can just… be gentle.”
Young stared at him like Luke had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Are you insane?”
“Maybe,” Luke muttered.
“Definitely,” Young corrected.
Luke’s lips pushed into a stubborn pout. “I want you.”
Young nearly groaned. He actually had to close his eyes for a second to steady himself, before leaning down and kissing Luke’s forehead as if trying to soothe away the thought entirely. “I want you too,” he whispered, voice strained. “Trust me. I always want you. So much. But no. Absolutely not. Do you have any idea how mad your surgeon would be if I let you try anything right now? You’re swollen, stitched up and doped up on pain meds. You can barely even lift your arms.”
Luke scowled. “I could if I tried.”
“No, you couldn’t,” Young said, brushing a thumb under Luke’s lip where it jutted out in a pout. “Look, you’re adorable, but you’re also delusional right now. There’s no way.”
Luke huffed dramatically. “This is torture.”
“Shh,” Young whispered, glancing at the door as Luke’s voice raised a little.
“Sorry,” Luke mumbled.
Young laughed softly, lowering himself so he could nuzzle into Luke’s hair, their noses brushing. “You’ll live. It’s not the end of the world.”
“But I want you,” Luke whispered stubbornly, fingers clutching Young’s hoodie again.
“And you’ll still want me in six weeks,” Young murmured.
“6 weeks?!”
Young snorted at that. “Have I created a sex demon or something? All we’ve done is try humped.”
“Exactly. I want more,” Luke grumbled.
“And you’ll get it. But only when you’re healed. I’m not holding back after that, trust me.”
Luke shivered.
Youngjae smirked against his skin. “For now? You’re getting cuddles. Only cuddles.”
Luke huffed. “Fine. But I’m still mad.”
“You can be mad while I hold you,” Young said, easing onto the bed and curling his arm around Luke’s waist without touching his chest. “Come here.”
Luke grumbled, but he still melted instantly into Young’s side, resting his head under his chin.
“Still mad?” Young whispered.
“…A little.”
Young smiled into Luke’s hair. “Good. Stay mad. I like you clingy.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yes, fuck me,” Young whispered back.
Luke felt his whole body warm. Fuck. There was no way he was waiting 6 whole weeks to feel Youngjae’s body back on his. Nope. No way.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
The next few weeks crawled by slowly (painfully slowly) but also in the softest, gentlest way Luke had ever known. Healing was a strange thing. Some mornings he woke up aching and foggy, frustrated with how limited he felt. Other mornings he woke up feeling lighter than he ever had in his entire life. Every day, inch by inch, he watched the swelling go down. Every day the bruising faded a little more. Every day he felt a bit more like himself.
And through it all, Youngjae was there. Just… not always close.
Whenever Gabe was around, Young kept a careful, deliberate distance. The kind that made Luke’s chest ache in a different way. Young never hovered, never lingered too long at Luke’s side, never let his hand brush Luke’s unless they were completely alone. Around Gabe, he switched into “big brother’s best mate” effortlessly: playful, teasing, supportive…but nothing more.
Luke hated it.
Not because Young was doing anything wrong. If anything, Young was being cautious and smart. But every time Gabe walked into the lounge or the kitchen, Luke felt Young melting into the background.
And every time it happened, Luke wanted to shout at him. But he said nothing.
He knew why. Of course he knew why. Gabe wasn’t just protective; he was Gabe. The same Gabe who had actually wanted to step between Luke and Noah at prom. The same Gabe who lost sleep worrying about Luke’s safety. The same Gabe who was quietly struggling with some sort of addiction. The same Gabe who still didn’t know that his bestest friend in the whole entire world and his only little brother were tangled up in something far more complicated than neither of them meant to start.
Luke knew that if he told Gabe now in the middle of his recovery, when everyone’s emotions were already frayed thin, it would be a disaster. So he kept the secret too. He let Young put a polite metre of space between them in daylight hours. He let him pretend everything was fine. He let him slip out of rooms early or sit on the opposite side of the sofa. He let it happen, because the alternative… well, the alternative was losing Young, and maybe even Gabe, completely.
But nights were different. Nights were theirs.
Young always waited until Gabe was asleep or distracted. Luke would hear the soft knock (three taps, barely a whisper against the wood) and he would already be smiling before he even opened his door. Youngjae never climbed into bed fully; he always kept to the side, careful of Luke’s bandages and healing chest. But he held him close, kissed his forehead, whispered how proud he was and how good Luke was doing and how amazing he looked. He kissed him like the whole world was theirs.
And Luke… well, Luke fell harder every night.
It was one of those warm, late June nights where everything felt sleepy and still. Luke and Youngjae sat on opposite ends of the living room sofa, not because they wanted distance, but because Luke’s parents were still awake somewhere in the house, drifting between the kitchen and the dining room as they finished cleaning up after dinner.
The TV hummed quietly in front of them, some mindless sitcom neither of them was actually watching. Luke’s parents popped in every so often with comments like “You boys okay?” or “Anyone want tea?” which meant Luke and Young couldn’t exactly slip upstairs… or even sit too close.
Gabe, thankfully, was out on a date with Maddy. Luke hoped it went well. He hoped it lasted hours. Preferably days.
Young’s knee bounced quietly beside him, the only sign of restlessness he allowed himself when others were nearby. Luke watched the way his hands and fingers fiddled with each other every now and then.
After a while, Luke muted the TV.
Youngjae glanced over. “What are you doing?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” Young said. “I’m fine.
“You sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Luke swallowed. His heart thudded. “Well, maybe because we need to tell Gabe.”
Young went very still. Not tense. Not defensive. Just… still. He stared at the muted TV screen, jaw tightening a fraction before he finally said, “Yeah. I know.”
Luke’s pulse sped up. “Then why do you look like someone’s asked you to wrestle a bear?”
Young blew out a slow breath. “Because Gabe’s not going to like it. You know he won’t.”
“I know,” Luke said quietly.
Young raked a hand through his hair. He didn’t look angry though. If anything, he looked guilty. “I’m more worried about losing him than I’m worried about him being mad.” He paused. “Because I could handle him being pissed off at me. He’s done that before. We’ve argued and stuff, but we always found a way back to being friends, ya know? But… I couldn’t handle him cutting me off. I…I don’t think I could cope with that at all. I need him.”
Luke felt that in his chest, hard. He slid a little closer. “Gabe won’t cut you off.”
Young scoffed softly. “He nearly killed Noah”
“What?” Luke blinked.
Young looked over at Luke and rolled his eyes. “That night after prom. I kinda told Gabe what happened.”
“What? Which part?”
“The part where that dick grabbed your arm.”
“Oh,” Luke mumbled.
“He was pissed,” Young continued as he stared down at his lap. “He nearly stormed away to find you but I managed to calm him down. So yeah, we know he’s protective. But this? It’ll be worse because i’m not just some random guy. I’m his best friend. He trusts me, Luke. I think he very well might kill me.”
“He won’t,” Luke said sternly. “He wouldn’t get mad. Well, he might. But he won’t stay mad. Not when it comes to me.”
Young finally looked at him. Really looked. His expression softened instantly. “Not to sound selfish, but it’s not you I’m worried about,” Young murmured. “It’s me. I was an idiot for years. I did everything backwards. I hurt you. I confused you. I kissed you when I shouldn’t have. I pushed you away when I shouldn’t have. I dragged you back when I shouldn’t have. And now I’m—”
“Now you’re my boyfriend,” Luke cut in gently.
Young blinked.
They both heard Luke’s parents laughing faintly in the kitchen. The clatter of dishes. A kettle clicking back on.
Luke lowered his voice to a whisper. “And Gabe needs to know that.”
Young nodded, but his eyes flickered with hesitation. “Can we wait until you’re fully healed? At least a few more weeks? I don’t want you stressed while you’re still recovering. And whilst he’s recovering too, as a matter of fact. I know he’s still struggling not to drink as much. So maybe we wait a bit.”
Luke considered it. He really did. And maybe Young was right.
Maybe telling Gabe now would be too much for all of them. But he also didn’t want to keep hiding.
Luke leaned back into the sofa, sighing quietly. “Okay. A few more weeks. But not months. We’re not doing months.”
Young’s shoulder dropped with visible relief. “Deal.”
And then, very carefully, he reached over and brushed his fingers against Luke’s. Just for one second. Just a small touch. But it warmed Luke from the inside out.
Young whispered, barely audible, “I’ll tell him with you. I promise.”
“Good,” Luke murmured.
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