Ateez Hurt/comfort - Tumblr Posts

the fight w/ choi jongho

kind of proof read but also kind of not….

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as your boyfriend turns to face the counter, expression stern and shoulders tense, you realise that that’s it; you’ve reached the end of your argument. there’s more you want to say, more you feel you should say, but then jongho says, “i’m done talking about this,” in a tone so strict that immediately your mouth snaps shut. you swallow your words but they seem to get stuck in your throat, a painful lump forming in their wake.

you’ve been crying for a while now. the anger from your argument had manifested itself in the form of hot tears that streamed down your cheeks as you stumbled your way through an argument that erupted over something that seems entirely irrelevant now. something to do with the dishes; the cause of it all is foggy, just like your vision as you angrily swipe at your eyes. you want to fight back and have the final word, but the words still refuse to come out.

so you turn around and walk away. if you can’t have the last word, then you need to find some other way to cool yourself down. it makes you feel a little toxic when you pull your car keys from the table but your blood is boiling just enough to make it seem rational for you to leave jongho alone for the night. he hates going to sleep when you’re still mad at each other, you remind yourself, but you hate sitting and stewing in his frustration as you wait for him to finally be ready to talk about it. if he wants to talk about it later, he can wait until you come back tomorrow.

“where are you going?” he yells through the apartment as the keys clink in your hands. you don’t answer, a petty part of your brain wanting to give him the silence that he claimed to want. it doesn’t surprise you when you hear his heavy footsteps thud down the corridor, a shoulder softly brushing past yours as jongho moves to block your exit, “you’re not going anywhere alone at this time of night.”

you shrug, bending down to grab a pair of sneakers which you lift up by their tied laces. your fingers fumble over them as you desperately try to get them undone. it hadn’t occurred to you that your hands were shaking until now; until you desperately needed them not to be. it’s humiliating to stand before the man you love, angry tears washing away your makeup as you fail to do a task so simple that even children can do it. you let out a growl of frustration as a new wave of hot tears fill your waterline, threatening to fall free the moment you decide to blink. they cloud your vision making your task even harder, so you squeeze your eyes closed to rid yourself of them.

you feel them roll dramatically down your face, tickling your skin as they reach your jawline. they drip from your face, toppling onto your fingers and making your impossible task even more impossible. in a fit of annoyance, you toss the shoes to the ground and throw your hands up to your face. the shoes can fucking win, for all you care; what’s one more fight lost?

but then you hear a sigh and the quiet tap, tap, tap of feet and suddenly you’re enveloped in a pair of warm arms. you can practically feel the annoyance flowing from your boyfriend’s body as he moves to pet the back of your skull, but you can also feel him trying to hide it. his movements are soft despite his breathing being heavy, and his hug is just as tight with love as his jaw is with rage. even through his own anger, he’s taking care of you; you can’t help but feel a little guilty at that.

“forget the shoes,” he grumbles, voice still just as stern as it was moments before, “i wouldn’t have let you go anyway.”

“you can’t keep me trapped here,” you sob into his jumper. his grip only tightens.

“i’m not trapping you here, dingus,” his lips are hot as they press a firm kiss to your head, “it’s dark outside and if you can’t get your laces undone then you certainly can’t fucking drive. i’m mad at you but i’m not about to let you put yourself in danger, idiot.”

“fine, then,” you whine, “you drive me to my parents house.”

“is that what you want?” he asks as he settles his cheek against your forehead. it’s warm and soft and it feels so natural rested there. you cant help it when you nuzzle into it, just like he can’t help the fond hum that fights it’s way through the wall of anger to escape his lips. instinct takes over as you subconsciously wind your own arms around his waist, tugging him closer to your shaking form.

and for a moment, everything seems normal.

“well?” he purrs, voice slightly muffled by the way your head squishes his face.

“i don’t know,” it’s not really an answer, but at least it’s honest.

because in truth, you don’t know. the smothering weight of jongho’s anger is almost too much to take sometimes, suffocating you as he takes himself off to somewhere private to stew in it until he’s ready to talk. most of the time it’s okay. you can live with sitting alone in the living room until he’s ready to come crawling to you with his tail between his legs as he searches for affection. when it involves you, though, you really can’t. because then it’s not just his frustration you’re sitting in, but your own too and that’s just all too much. if he doesn’t want to talk it through right now, before your brain had time to find a million reasons to blame yourself, then you’re going to have to step away.

just for tonight, just until the anger is over.

but jongho lets out another heavy breath, a contemplative hum coming immediately after. the hands that still rest heavy on your body seem to tighten, dragging you in unfathomably closer. just by the way he’s touching you, it’s not hard to tell that he hates the fact that you leaving is still on the table.

“what can i do to make you sure?” he purrs, voice softer than you’d heard it all night. it’s almost like he’s talking to a scared dog, trying to soothe it just enough so it doesn’t run. you can’t help but feel every bit like that dog; cornered and scared yet so in need of the slightest bit of love that for a second or two, it considers just giving in. that dog never knows. maybe this time won’t be as bad as the last, after all. maybe it won’t need to run.

“talk,” you reply.

“baby, lat—”

“not later, jongho,” there’s a crack in your voice, warning you that if you push yourself too far the tears will come right back. jongho seems to notice it too; he keeps his mouth shut, not wanting to cause any more anger between the both of you. you suck in a deep breath, “i don’t want to sit in my head for hours until you decide you’re ready, jongho. being left alone in the knowledge that you’re in the next room just completely mad at me makes everything worse.”

there’s a few beats of silence, the only sound filling the room being your sniffles. there’s no more rage-filled breathing from him, no more sobs from you. it’s simply the remnants of what has happened; a few post-cry sniffs that remind you that despite the warmth you feel standing in his arms, none of this is as good as it feels right now.

and yet none of it is as bad as it seemed just moments before…

“i’m still annoyed with you, honey,” it certainly doesn’t feel it by the way he has you completely enveloped in his arms. his stance is so protective, his fingers so soft and his cheek so warm. it’s certainly not the posture of someone who doesn’t want to be around you for a little while. “i can’t talk about it with you until i know for certain that i won’t get angry; i don’t want to say anything i don’t mean.”

weirdly enough, as much as you want to hate it, you understand where he’s coming from. you’re still mad too and as much as you can tell yourself that nothing bad will happen, you know deep down that there’s a good chance it will. you don’t want this to be any worse than it already is, but you know that jongho’s method won’t exactly make things better. you’re at an impasse.

“i just don’t like the sitting and waiting, wondering when you’re going to walk through the door and tell me you’re ready,” you sigh into his chest, “it feels wrong, like i’m waiting on death row for my punishment to finally come.”

“so we don’t go to different rooms, then,” he offers, “we go to the bedroom together and we sit with one another until we’re ready to talk. we don’t even have to acknowledge each other if we’re still that angry, but at least you’ll know i’m there.”

“and you’re sure you’ll want to be with me even when you’re mad?” a hand snakes up your spine to pet gently at your hair.

“i always want to be by your side, honey.”