Chapter Text
𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝
𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝
𝙸 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞
𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍
𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑
𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘
— 𝚂𝚊𝚢 𝙸𝚝, 𝙼𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚎 𝚁𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜
Soobin doesn’t think something’s up with Yeonjun.
He knows.
It’s not an easy tell, but the signs are all there. They’re on the sixth full run of new choreography for a b-side track when Yeonjun misses a beat. Then, another. It introduces a strange sort of tension to practice as Yeonjun’s missteps only pile up: a lost beat, a bungled transition, and a clumsy landing at the bridge. Don’t get Soobin wrong; they’re all messing up the choreo. In fact, everyone else’s fuck-ups are ten times more obvious in the mirror than Yeonjun’s. But it comes down to this: Yeonjun dances. He doesn’t repeat mistakes.
Today, it’s clear that his mind is somewhere else.
The music fades on another run full of errors. Kai's already spouting “sorry”s at having made the most noticeable ones, but it’s not him on the other end of Malibu-noona’s withering glare—it’s Yeonjun. The reason for her tough love is obvious. She's said it so many times over the past two days that Soobin can recite it in his sleep. They’ve got less than a week till the first recorded comeback performances, and if she remembers right, amateur hour ended four comebacks ago. At this point, she expects nothing less than absolute focus.
A long, tense silence stretches on as they linger in their ending formations, unsure of what to do or say. There’s a scorched look in her eye, a reprimand on her tongue. She breathes deeply for a long moment, letting everything out in a sigh so sharp that it has them cringing. Not an action wasted, not a word spoken, she spins on her heel and leaves them. The door clicks resolutely behind her.
Nobody moves a muscle.
“That hasn’t happened in a while,” Taehyun comments with a jarringly neutral disposition. It’s a bit of an understatement; she hasn’t walked out on them since they were trainees. But just like that, the tension in the air drips away like sweat off their necks.
“It’s my bad,” Kai squeaks, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “Sorry… my mistakes keep throwing everyone off.”
Beomgyu laughs, patting Kai’s shoulder in assurance. “If yours threw us off, mine sent us into outer space.”
“We’re all a little off today,” Soobin says, wanting to defuse the situation without making light of it. “Can we take 15 and try again?”
Yeonjun nods, already splitting off from the group. He’s noticeably quiet. Listening, but not really there, entirely devoid of the silly little comments he’d normally make.
Again, odd.
Nonetheless, no one disagrees with Soobin’s assessment. They disperse quickly for their water break and Soobin takes his usual spot in the corner, turning his attention to Yeonjun, who wanders towards the other side of the floor. From the mirror, Soobin watches Yeonjun’s expression turn grave as he contemplates something on his phone. Tapping quickly on the screen, he scrambles to his feet and rushes out of the room, pressing the phone to his ear.
Huh.
Whatever’s bothering Yeonjun, it’s probably something private.
Soobin could ask… but he doesn’t want to pry. He doesn’t want to ponder it either.
See, here’s the thing:
It was twelve months ago that Soobin began the slow and painful process of distancing himself from Yeonjun.
Yet twelve minutes is all it takes to rewind the clock. Because twelve minutes later, when Yeonjun slips back into the practice room, Soobin forgets that they’re not really talking. All he sees are the tell-tale signs: the reddened tip of Yeonjun’s nose, the tacky shine on his cheekbones, and damp streaks on the wrist of his grey long-sleeved shirt.
That’s how Soobin really knows.
Something’s wrong.
𖧵
“Oh, um… There's a part of the choreo I need Yeonjun’s help with. Go ahead without us, okay?” Soobin announces to the others when they linger by the door, bags packed and staring at him expectantly.
There’s no denying how ridiculous it sounds. Soobin has never attempted to stay back for choreo—in fact, he’s usually vocal about how glad he is when it’s over, and much prefers practising in a corner by himself if he’s unsure. Everyone knows that.
Kai’s face scrunches up with concern.
Beomgyu shoots him a quizzical look.
Taehyun blinks, interest piqued.
Eyes, eyes, eyes, on him.
Soobin’s mind goes blank.
“I just. I like the way hyung does the chorus,” he says, glancing at where Yeonjun is resting by the mirror’s edge, body turned towards the wall. Suffice to say, today’s not a great day for probing. Beomgyu raises a puzzled eyebrow at him and causes Soobin’s panic—and heart rate—to spike. “What? I can’t like how Yeonjun does the chorus?”
Beomgyu turns to Taehyun who’s leaning against the turntable and jerks a thumb towards Soobin. “He’s acting weird, isn’t he?”
Taehyun’s wide eyes meet Soobin’s wider ones. At that moment, Soobin knows it’s over. Nothing really escapes Taehyun, unless he’s busy fixating on something weird like whale behavioural patterns as they migrate through the Arctic, or something even more specific, like the psychology behind determining the exact amount of stock for each snack in Big Hit’s employee fridges. Point is, Taehyun is the wizard of truth and Soobin’s brain isn’t nearly quick enough to crack up a convincing lie. The last thing he wants is to draw any attention to Yeonjun, so Soobin sighs, surmising that he can just text Yeonjun later. “Fine, I’ll just—”
“We’ll go over it tomorrow too, if you need to run through it again.” Taehyun cuts him off, eyes flicking briefly to Yeonjun before lingering on Soobin for a second longer than usual. He swings his gym bag over his shoulder and makes a beeline for the door. “See ya.”
“Hey, wait up,” Beomgyu snatches his tote and just like that, the both of them take their leave, the older of the two already noisily inquiring about the shadow boxing routine that Taehyun will teach him today.
“I’ll… be at the music room, if you need me,” Kai says reluctantly. He fixes Soobin with a worried look, and it’s obvious he has questions, but Soobin waves him off with an assuring nod. As the door clicks shut at Kai’s departure, the sound of footfall grows distant enough that Soobin can finally focus on Yeonjun, who had rolled onto his back at some point to stare listlessly at the ceiling.
Soobin ignores the tension. He puts his bag down, pads over to Yeonjun’s side, and carefully sprawls out on the floor next to him, close enough for their hands to almost touch. Turning on his side to peek at Yeonjun’s profile, Soobin doesn’t expect conversation at all. His only intention is to keep Yeonjun company. Really, it isn’t that deep—whatever it is that he’s facing within, Soobin just doesn’t want him to fight it alone. Yeonjun seems to know this, because he turns his head to meet Soobin’s gaze.
It’s just the two of them, now.
Soobin knows something is wrong. He feels the urge to hold Yeonjun’s hand, but doesn’t. See, somewhere behind those placid eyes, Yeonjun struggles to keep a flood of emotions from bursting forth. Even the lightest touch could destroy the facade. Thankfully, Soobin knows better. Or he thinks he knows better, until—
“We broke up.”
The room is quiet, as if shocked still by Yeonjun’s revelation, emptied of everything except the tight-lipped smile sealing his face. Soobin can’t believe the words, because there’s only one person Yeonjun could be talking about.
Her.
“Agh,” Yeonjun lets out an embarrassed laugh, averting his gaze. “It happens, right?”
Thing is, Soobin has known Yeonjun long enough that he can see through every artifice, from the stillness in his lips to the steadiness of his voice. The nonchalance in his words is caked-on, nothing more than a clownish facade when Yeonjun looks like all he wants to do is cry. Like he’s been crying, quietly, inside, privately, everywhere he could without prying eyes.
When Soobin grasps for words—comforting ones, commiserating ones—he finds that there’s nothing he can say, really, that could make anything better.
“Why?” Soobin asks softly.
Yeonjun sighs gently, sliding his hands over his face. Only now, when it’s so far from reach, does Soobin realise how much he aches to see Yeonjun smile. “It’s me,” his voice cracks as it muffles into his hands. Then, a short, shuddering breath. “Was my fault, from the start.”
Oh, the words go watery. Yeonjun’s features twitch into a grimace, his chest heaving up and down, helpless to the torrent of despair that overcomes him. His tears thud gently on the floor, the first sign of cloudburst.
“Hyung,” Soobin coos. “Don’t cry. It’s okay, just– just—just look at me—Yeonjun hyung…”
He grabs Yeonjun’s arm, waits for Yeonjun’s gaze to flicker back to him. His feelings flow freely now, dripping pitter-patter onto the practice room floor.
“Just follow me, okay?” Soobin breathes.
One breath in, another out. Soobin places a hand on his chest to punctuate the rhythm. Like boats rocking toward each other at sea, Soobin scoots forward till their foreheads bump—and Soobin’s eyes shut at the nose-to-nose feeling, his untrained hand trailing over Yeonjun’s heaving chest to calm it. He caresses the stuttering heartbeat, a gentle pressure that tethers Yeonjun to reality while the boy fights for his breath. Floating at the very centre of the world, Soobin lets Yeonjun twine their fingers almost desperately. Then, they breathe. Yeonjun’s fingers are icy, seeking Soobin’s warm hands like a life raft.
Soobin looks at him, taking in the fox-like eyes that slant down with his frown, and the roundedness of his chin as his throat locks up. Those features, Soobin hasn’t surfaced to memory in a long time. How long has it been since Yeonjun has been vulnerable with him, this close?
Oh, he knows how long it’s been. One year.
Just one year ago, when Yeonjun told Soobin about her.
𖧵
Back then, it wasn’t an explosive revelation like most would expect—just three soft knocks at Soobin’s door that opened to a fidgety Yeonjun, and a hasty “I need to tell you something.” They’d barely settled on the edge of his bed when Yeonjun told him everything. Most of it, at least. Soobin didn’t recall the specifics beyond mutual friend and she dances; all he knew is that every single detail sounded thrilling. The friendly group BBQs with his middle school friends, the way she shyly confessed to him, and every surprising new thing they had in common.
Soobin found it all so taboo—because, wow, this was actually happening. They were idols who belonged to everyone but themselves, beholden by a contract which had stated in no uncertain terms that dating was highly discouraged. Yet Choi Yeonjun broke the rules anyway. Yeonjun was the first of them to actually date someone, and she wasn’t an idol.
“But… is that okay?”
Yeonjun’s eyes met his, and Soobin found himself frozen, a tiny heart-knot in his chest, face-to-face with a reality which had managed to sound like a fairy tale up till the moment it dawned on him. Yeonjun had a girlfriend. He tried and tried again to imagine it: Yeonjun, holding hands with this nice girl he liked, but he couldn’t. The picture didn’t feel right. Soobin had been careful not to let anything slip because Yeonjun was watching him, silently gauging his reaction. Yeonjun’s expression didn’t betray emotion, yet the crease between his brows was devastating all the same, holding an unfathomable sense of fragility that Soobin felt responsible for—yet he couldn’t figure out what Yeonjun wanted to hear.
He couldn’t figure out why it felt like he was losing Yeonjun, somehow.
“You can tell me if it isn’t okay for any reason,” Yeonjun assured, though he’d been toying nervously with the edge of his tank top. Soobin felt sick, suddenly, words locked in his throat.
“If… you get together with her?” he managed.
Yeonjun nodded, and the way Soobin’s stomach lurched felt like a nightmare.
Soobin wondered for a moment why it was his decision to make. But then it all made sense—ah, he’s the leader, see. Of course Yeonjun confided in him when everything he did would impact the group. One careless move and a dating scandal could stall all of their careers, ruining everything they’d worked so hard for, especially for a group as young as they were. Yeonjun was always the daring one of the group, one step ahead of carving his own path even if it meant leaving them behind. The fact that he approached Soobin meant that he was trying to be a team player; he was asking for permission. Not for advice. It made sense. This was duty, nothing more, and Soobin would’ve done the same.
So he had no reason to feel crestfallen at the way Yeonjun idly took his hand, thumb grazing gently over his. Even if it felt like a consolation. How could he be second place? Yeonjun was there. Sitting on a bed close enough to touch. Lost in a private pocket of the universe where no one could ever find them. Did it matter who Yeonjun was with, when they would always have each other? When Yeonjun was right across the hall, one door away? When they shared lunches, practice rooms, and schedules every day?
“No,” Soobin whispered then, squeezing Yeonjun’s hand. “No, of course, hyung—you have to.” He beamed with a leaderly smile, convinced he really, really meant it. “Come on, I—I’m so happy for you.”
He thought he saw a doleful sadness bubble up in Yeonjun’s eyes. But Soobin didn’t have time to examine it before Yeonjun caught him in a long, soft hug, face hidden against his shoulder.
It felt precious, this.
Holding Yeonjun. Being held in return.
Soobin was lucky enough to have known at least this, even if he would never know the rest.
It didn’t matter that Yeonjun was sweet, and flirty, and looked at Soobin like he fetched sunshine from the mountaintops. The visions went up in smoke, like a magic trick that clipped his heart right from his chest. Maybe it was selfish and stupid for Soobin to have hoped they could be anything more. So it was here, in this quiet embrace, that the realisation shuddered across the entirety of him like the beginnings of an avalanche: he really, truly had fooled himself into believing that Yeonjun would one day be his.
Wasn’t he a fool?
Soobin closed his eyes because he had to. The grief was instantaneous, deep and dark and miasmic, choking him up from the inside. Of course Soobin liked Yeonjun. But Soobin also disliked him. From the moment they met, Soobin knew that Choi Yeonjun was exactly the type of person who’d break a person’s heart, over and over—and not once notice all the love left in it, burning like a flame in an airless cave.
When he pulled back, he lingered on Yeonjun’s features for what he felt would be the last time, and saw Yeonjun do the same to him.
That day, Soobin let go of what wasn’t his.
And so began their year-long winter: the bitter cold of barely-there glances, missed team movie nights, and the absence of a person Soobin thought would have loved him enough to break the ice.
𖧵
But even the harshest winters fade to gentle springtime.
A year later, the first snowdrop buds through the snow in Soobin’s heart.
Yeonjun is still sniffling about the break-up when Soobin pulls him into an embrace on the practice room floor, whispering the only thing he believes: it’s her loss. You know it’s her loss, hyungie. He says this into Yeonjun’s hair in a warm, velvet tone, just as the boy’s lips begin to tremble and his breathing comes in short, halting gasps.
The grief crests in waves. Soobin feels it ebbing beneath his fingers as he rubs slow circles all over Yeonjun’s back, soothing away the horrible, wracking sobs. He’s not sure how long they lie there entwined, but for once, Soobin is grateful for how big the HYBE building is. They’re in the practice studio closest to the cul de sac, and no one is coming; there’s no need to explain their tangle of limbs. Soobin isn’t sure he’d know what to say either, to be honest.
He just wants Yeonjun to be okay.
Yeonjun’s voice eventually comes, muffled by their hug. “Thanks, Soobin-ah.”
If Soobin didn’t just watch him fall apart, he might think that Yeonjun was fine. Because Yeonjun looks up at him, puffy eyes and tight lips, the barest hint of a smile returning to his face. The expression is so achingly familiar but it feels new, suddenly, to see it up close after so long. “I–” Yeonjun clears his voice, “I always knew you had a soft spot for me.”
Scandalised, Soobin moves to flick Yeonjun’s forehead, only aborting the action when Yeonjun plunges his face back into Soobin’s hoodie.
“You wish,” Soobin scrunches up his face. “You don’t even bother watching anime with me.”
He feels Yeonjun shaking with laughter before he hears it, the realisation pulling his cheeks taut with a hesitant smile. Yeonjun lifts his head then, and Soobin’s heart stutters at how much his face resembles a puddle, puffy crescents filled with unshed tears. Soobin has never seen Yeonjun so unguarded, those damp cheeks shining like twin moons, and the sight takes the breath right out of his chest. Yeonjun doesn’t seem to notice. He raises a thumb to Soobin’s cheekbone just to trail it to his ear, where he pinches the lobe and rolls it between his fingers.
“What?” Soobin blinks at the intimacy, keeping his expression carefully blank. He doesn’t know how else to act when Yeonjun trespasses the boundaries that normal people have. Not when Yeonjun appears so close to breaking, only a ghost of a smile lingering on his features.
“Nothing,” he says, and Soobin’s skin prickles as Yeonjun’s honest gaze lands on his eyes, his nose, his lips, then back. “I’m just lucky I have you.”
The words are petal soft but they carry weight, like an anchor that sinks gracefully into the deep blue. Soobin realises its importance. These things, people only tell you once. So Soobin shuts his eyes for a second and memorises the impression of it as it sails through his brain, the rounded edge of Yeonjun’s voice, the wake it leaves there. Persevering. Unafraid. Gentle. Yeonjun’s fingers curl just behind Soobin’s ear, warm and real, sending shivers up his spine. “It means so much. Really.”
Soobin really doesn’t expect his throat to close. He swallows it down, pushing the unwanted emotions aside. It’s ridiculous. It’s just Yeonjun. It’s just…
Soobin didn’t know they still meant something to each other.
“Stop being sappy,” Soobin says, a shaky smile showing at the corner of his lips. “You’re better at being annoying.”
“It’s what I excel at,” Yeonjun winks but it’s really a blink, till all his tears cascade to the sides of his face at once. Soobin cradles Yeonjun’s face to catch the sideways waterfall. The redness under Yeonjun’s eyes is too obvious for his liking.
“You’re such a mess, hyung. We’ll ice your eyes tonight, okay?” he mutters, thumbing at those running tears one by one.
Their phones light up with a text from Taehyun, asking for dinner orders. Soobin doesn’t even notice—it’s Yeonjun who pulls away from their embrace first, sitting up to gesture at the lit-up phone in his hands.
Soobin gets up too, pausing when he finds Yeonjun staring at him with familiar affection. It’s the same way he always looks at Soobin whenever someone in the room cracks a good joke, or when Soobin ‘ums’ and ‘ahs’ his way through scripted rehearsals. It doesn’t usually affect him—but today in the quiet of their practice room, it takes hold of him entirely. All Soobin sees is the magnitude of their bond, and this odd tenderness between them that Soobin has seen before, but long tried to forget.
Yeonjun leads Soobin all the way to the carpark and pulls him into the company van without a word. It’s only when they’re snug in the back, thighs squeezed together, that Soobin realises that Yeonjun is looking at him in a vulnerable way again. Up close, inches away.
Soobin reminds himself to breathe.
“Don’t tell anyone, okay?” Yeonjun tells him softly, privately, shadows flitting across his features as their van pulls out of its lot. There it is, in the depth of his stare—the insecurity that Yeonjun always tries so hard to hide. It works most times, with most people, but Soobin is a keen observer and it’s not the first time he’s spotted the worry of Yeonjun’s brow or the dazed look he wears when he’s fearful of falling short.
He squeezes Yeonjun’s hand and opens his mouth to speak. He’s the leader, see. He should have something helpful to say.
But Yeonjun expects nothing more. He lays his head on Soobin’s shoulder, and Soobin forgets words entirely.
In the middle of the drive, Soobin traces the slope of Yeonjun’s nose to his eyelashes, and he can’t help but think: pretty. Then Yeonjun’s eyes flutter open, dazed and sleepy until it locks onto Soobin, who’s stunned into staring back at him. He feels exposed, somehow, caught admiring all the pretty on Yeonjun’s face.
“Q-Quit worrying, hyung,” Soobin sputters, forcing his attention away from Yeonjun and beyond the tinted window, where the promenade blows by them. Flickering images, everyday scenes. Yeonjun’s familiar hand reaches for his, the touch so tentative and uncertain that it makes him hold on tighter. “I won’t tell anyone you cried like a baby.”
That earns him a rough shove to his arm, but it’s worth it. Yeonjun lets out a soft chuckle—his first laugh all day.
It’s warm and radiant, like Soobin remembers.
𖧵
Five years ago, Soobin would never have associated the word warm with the sound of Yeonjun’s laughter. The first time he heard it was after Yeonjun had pranked him on his first day at Big Hit, after all; Yeonjun had snickered and nudged Soobin and laughed with the entire trainee batch about how cute it was that Soobin had believed they were the same age so easily. Maybe Yeonjun did it just to be friendly; but the sound of their laughter ricocheted like knives against the walls, Yeonjun’s included, and Soobin felt the colour drain from his face at being the new guy, the ditzy one, the butt of the joke, so soon—and for what? Yeonjun’s amusement? Everybody else’s?
All the trainees around the practice room awaited his reaction; Soobin plastered on an uncomfortable smile, hoping it was enough. He didn’t feel like laughing after all. Was it really laughable for him to have assumed he could’ve been friends with Choi Yeonjun?
Yeonjun had thrown an arm around Soobin then, ruffling his hair and showing him the basic drills. Soobin should’ve been grateful for the attention. But some part of him struggled to reconcile the considerate, helpful side of Yeonjun with the B-L-T that had seemed so obnoxiously confident and popular, bestowed with the unfair power of making the entire room think highly of such a stupid prank. It got on his nerves, almost.
The sound of Yeonjun’s laughter grated on him.
It was a whole six months after they met, on a day unlike any other, when Soobin began to reconsider.
“For you,” Soobin raised his voice over the beat-drunk music playing through the speakers. He fished out an icy can of Americano from the plastic bag slung on his forearm, and placed it next to the hoodie-clad lump on the vinyl floor.
The lump shifted. The hood lifted. Underneath it: Choi Yeonjun.
The boy’s eyes popped wider, clearly surprised to see Soobin in the dimly-lit practice room he was known to frequent—actually talking to him. Soobin was well-aware that Yeonjun had thought Soobin hated him. Which was untrue, for the most part.
Avoiding someone was different from hating them.
As used to attention as he was, Choi Yeonjun probably didn’t know the difference.
Yeonjun sat up at Soobin’s arrival, hastily cutting the music from his phone. Then he lifted the canned Americano and stared at it for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was there.
“Oh… thanks, Soobin-ah,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion. “I was just about to doze off.”
“You should go home and rest, hyung,” Soobin nagged, belatedly realising how dumb it had sounded coming from him, who hadn’t had a good sleep in weeks. “How are you, after… everything?”
Everything. A neat little codeword for the shitstorm yesterday had been, when their trainee manager sat all the trainees down before class to announce Yeosang and Wooyoung’s decision to leave Big Hit. People came and went; it wasn’t typically earth-shattering news, but this time, it was. Everyone knew they were two of Yeonjun’s closest friends.
The room had buzzed, a mess of turning heads and curious murmurs from the other trainees—but Soobin focused on Yeonjun, who sat at the front of the practice room. His expression was stoic, unseeing, resigned, but his body was stock-still, as if suspended in time, lost in a frequency no one could reach. They met eyes in the mirror, and Soobin offered a sad smile. Yeonjun couldn’t even smile back.
Yeonjun wore that same dead-eyed expression now, just one day later and alone, wrapped in his hoodie. Soobin knew the look; after all, he himself had been running a tally of four breakdowns per month and it’s been little projects like these—buying egg tarts with his closest trainee friend Hueningkai, or picking something up at the store for someone like Yeonjun—that kept him going, at this point.
“How am I? Tired, lonely, sad, I guess,” Yeonjun said, then sighed long and deep. When he looked up, his gaze was piercing but forlorn. “But it doesn’t change anything. They still left. And I’m still here.”
Soobin plopped down next to him, staring at their twin reflections in the mirror.
“You haven’t lost them forever,” he said, “They’ll meet you onstage, won’t they?”
“Yeah,” Yeonjun said, with less conviction than Soobin was used to. “They’ll make it at KQ. I’m just… I’m more worried about myself now, to be honest.”
“Why? But you’re already– already there. It’s… the rest of us that need to do better,” Soobin smiled reassuringly despite how insecure he truly felt. The tell-tale lock of his throat only tightened when Yeonjun looked Soobin in the eye.
“That’s untrue,” Yeonjun said simply.
There was a steeliness there, in Yeonjun’s gaze, like he really meant it.
If only he understood.
Soobin had given up, a little, on ever being as good as Yeonjun, or Wooyoung, or any of the other dancers. They were so much more charismatic. They took up space wherever they went when all Soobin wanted to do was to shrink himself into a corner. Of late, he was way too tired to do anything beyond show up and check out mentally for hours. It didn’t feel like he belonged—not when everyone else had been training way longer, way harder, and they’d all already racked up their share of gilded track records on monthly rankings while Soobin struggled constantly to maintain his perennial average grade.
Why was he here? When they weren’t?
Soobin really didn’t want to give up entirely. After all, he’d already come so far. But it was one of those days again, where the regret lingered and Soobin wondered if he was more suited to a life outside of the limelight. Maybe a cashier, a librarian, a clerical worker… anywhere but here. He’d be ordinary, but at least he’d be happy. With how badly he’d been doing lately—mentally and on the ranking board, it was a natural conclusion: everyone here would simply be better off without him.
Yeonjun too.
“Well, I’ll be your fan when you debut,” Soobin hugged his knees, staring at the sports shoes his mum bought him before he came here, now grey and fraying from being scuffed on the practice room floor every day. “So don't forget me.”
“Hey, Choi Soobin, don’t be crazy,” Yeonjun dismissed with a wave of his hand, like Soobin’s utter lack of confidence was something as benign as a passing cloud. “You’re going to be there. With me.”
Soobin hesitated to believe it.
It always hurt more to hear a hopeful thing said with certainty; the false security of it was just another disappointment waiting to happen. As trainees, they were never guaranteed anything. The notion of being there onstage, or conversely, not being there made Soobin’s entire body sick with worry, not hope.
Perhaps he was too fragile to hope for the future.
So Soobin bit his lip and braced himself, silently, against the warmth of those words. He counted the seconds down, took a deep breath, and waited until his heart didn’t squeeze quite as painfully with the fear that he would never live up to something Yeonjun thought of him.
Besides, Soobin already cared too much. He didn’t want to care what Yeonjun thought, too.
But it was odd.
He didn’t think Yeonjun thought anything of him at all.
“How do you know?” Soobin asked, finally.
Yeonjun raised an eyebrow, like it was obvious.
“Because you’re lovable,” Yeonjun answered. His gaze set itself on Soobin’s face and never wavered, like he expected some sort of epiphany to take place. When it didn’t happen, Yeonjun pouted before looking away.
“This is just my opinion, but… I think there’ll always be somebody out there who’s in love with you.” Yeonjun said offhandedly, cracking open his Americano and suddenly unable to look Soobin in the eye. “Like, real, actual love. I think it’s the way you smile, Soobin-ah, it… it just hits like sunlight. You make people want to be near you. And it’s a feeling that changes their lives, makes them crave more and more of it. That's your light. You… you probably don’t even know. You don't see it either, because you’re the source of it. It’s just who you are—a person born to be loved. That’s why you’ll debut.”
Yeonjun glanced at him then, and time stopped.
A speck of silence.
A spark within nothingness.
One boy. Dim room. Soobin looked at Yeonjun like he was a lodestar, lighting up the dark.
Disbelief swelled in Soobin’s chest. It eclipsed him entirely, like the looming shadow of a mountain face he had never been able to conquer. To be described in herculean terms only felt like a mistake; yet there was no other way to explain the way Yeonjun looked at him, filled inexplicably with the belief he lacked, holding it out for him like an oxygen tank in the bitter cold, those kindred eyes desperate with kindness.
Yeonjun wanted to save him.
The realisation shook him, made him lose the careful composure he’d built up over the months of continued bathroom breakdowns and a constant state of anxiety. Yeonjun’s words caught in his chest like earth’s first flame, more warm and sincere than he’d ever imagined.
“Y-yeah, well, you’re actually crazy,” Soobin protested with this new ache in his chest, blinking back the tears. He hadn’t planned for a breakdown today, yet here he was again, right on the cusp of one. It was all Choi Yeonjun’s fault. Trust him to have ruined Soobin’s day one more time.
Yeonjun eyed Soobin’s crumbling expression, but was careful not to scrutinise it.
“I’m going through a hard time too,” Yeonjun admitted, dropping his gaze. “I— I’m just trying not to think about it. The pressure.”
“I know,” Soobin wiped at a tear that had escaped, which smeared it all on his cheeks. “You act like you’re so tough, hyung, but you’re just like everyone else. I have four scheduled breakdowns this month. How many do you have?”
“One everyday this week,” Yeonjun caught Soobin’s eye, and there was a sad flicker in it that told Soobin he knew he missed Wooyoung and Yeosang more than anybody would ever know. “Maybe except for today… since you came with Americano.”
Both of them laughed. Wildflowers bloomed in the ruins of their friendship. In some dark corner of his mind, Soobin still couldn’t believe this was happening.
Choi Yeonjun was actually winning him over.
“Please, you already drink five Americanos every day. What’s the difference?” Soobin elbowed Yeonjun’s side, trying to cheer him up.
“You,” Yeonjun said, eyes turning into crescents. There was a smile there, on Yeonjun’s face, lingering in a way Soobin couldn’t understand. He seemed to melt at the wide-eyed look on Soobin’s face, which compelled him to reach out and ruffle Soobin’s hair. “See, that’s why I think you should debut,” Yeonjun said as his adoring gaze travelled over Soobin’s features, down to his cheek. “Those dimples could save the world. It’s saving me right now.”
Yeonjun’s thumb grazed over Soobin’s dimple, the slightest movement that sent the world outside spinning in the other direction—and Soobin curled his toes at the touch, his entire body feverish, yet he couldn’t decide if he wanted to stay or go.
“So… don’t give up on us,” Yeonjun grinned, silly romantic, chuckling softly when he realised how it sounded. He laughed in a shy, self-conscious way, but Soobin felt the sincerity in it like starlight behind his darkened eyelids.
Warm. Radiant.
It felt like something Soobin would remember for a long, long time.
𖧵
Don’t give up on us.
The words weigh on Soobin’s mind as he stops outside Yeonjun’s room at midnight, holding a gel eye mask specifically for facial swelling. His knuckles rap at Yeonjun’s door, the frosty cold from the refrigerated mask seeping into his palm.
He almost misses the faint footfall behind Yeonjun’s door and even then, there’s so little warning before it opens slightly to reveal a weary Yeonjun, clad in a home tee and a pair of cotton sweatpants. That’s all Soobin has time to notice before he’s pulled from the darkened hall without a word, door closing behind him.
“Hyung,” Soobin almost stumbles into Yeonjun, unsure of what to say at first.
Sleeplessness weighs on Yeonjun’s features. Unfocused gaze, puffy aegyo sal, lips bitten red. He doesn’t say a word till his attention lands on the hot pink eye pack clutched in Soobin’s hand.
“For me?” Yeonjun asks, so softly that Soobin might have missed it if he wasn’t listening intently.
Soobin lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Yeah, I told you I’d come, didn’t I?” Soobin twitches his eyebrow, amused, and Yeonjun manages a lopsided smile back. He grabs Soobin’s gel pack-laden hand and presses it to his cheek.
“Well? Not gonna help me put it on?” Yeonjun says with a little pout.
Soobin laughs. “Can’t you put it on yourself?”
“Nope,” he deadpans. But the way Yeonjun’s smile arrives is slow and brilliant as a sunrise, cresting over the ocean of his cheeks. Precious. Would it disappear if Soobin looks away? Quietly, he lets Yeonjun tug him by the wrist in the direction of his bed, weaving them through the citadel of stacked PR deliveries and boxes spaced across his floor.
It’s surreal. Soobin has honestly never sat on Yeonjun’s bed for more than a minute, or been in his room for more than a half-hour for that matter—privacy matters, okay—so this is new territory. Unlike Odi’s friendly odours, the air in the room is fresh, smelling faintly of Yeonjun’s usual breezy sea salt perfume. His desk is organised to a fault but pretty sparse, with pictures of his family and middle school friends pinned to a corkboard on his table, flanked by old Lego figurines of Thanos' infinity gauntlet and Venom’s head. The only spot that looks lived-in is his bed, where a variety of pillows and toy cushions lay strewn over ruffled bed sheets, much like someone had lain there and simply tossed and turned all day.
Yeonjun dives into it, scooting towards the wall edge of his bed where he pats the space beside him. It’s a single, so the space is tight. Soobin stacks a makeshift backrest out of the cushions on the side of his bed, and stretches his legs out on the rumpled bed sheets. Next to him, curling up on his side, Yeonjun’s eyes are already shut, giving Soobin his first good look at the swelling that has only gotten worse since the afternoon. Placing it above Yeonjun’s nose, Soobin wraps the gel pack around Yeonjun’s head, adjusting it so he sees Yeonjun’s eyelids through the little eye holes. It’s pink and floral, which suits him somewhat. Even if he does look ridiculous.
“For god’s sake, hyung. Quit rubbing your eyes,” Soobin says softly.
“Mm,” Yeonjun hums, clearly enjoying the scolding. Long breath in, deep sigh out. He snuggles up against Soobin’s thigh, muscles relaxing into the sheets. “Feels good.”
This is new, Soobin thinks fuzzily. There’s something too honest about the way Yeonjun holds him when no one else is watching. A peaceful look descends onto his face, like this simple intimacy is a sense of comfort he’s never quite allowed himself before.
It should be strange.
Yet, faced with the thought of gently nudging Yeonjun away, Soobin finds himself motionless as a rooted tree. At a crossroads, Soobin sees the truth laid bare: he has always liked this. The proximity, the honest closeness, the way Yeonjun wants with his body. And that is, perhaps, what makes it all impossible to fathom.
Soobin chooses not to think about it.
Instead, he soaks in these sensations: the coolant frosting his fingertips, Yeonjun’s bodily warmth pressed against his leg, and the sight of Yeonjun himself curled up like a baby amidst it all, so pliant and child-like with his eyes closed. It makes Soobin feel weightless, like they’re nothing but mingling motes floating in an empty room. He grounds his fingers in Yeonjun’s hair, repeating a raking motion multiple times, listening to the way Yeonjun’s breathing goes deeper and longer.
Needing a moment to calm his heartbeat, Soobin taps on the wall switch that plunges the room into darkness, and he waits.
Here, right next to the window, Soobin can hear the distant honking of peak hour traffic, many apartments away. There’s the occasional Beomgyu shriek that pierces through the silence, and television sounds that float around the living room as the protocol team winds down for the day. Cocooned in this liminal space, Soobin feels safe. Safe enough to breach the snowy distance for the first time in a year, and ask.
“Hyung,” Soobin tries to keep his voice even. “Did you like her a lot?”
Yeonjun’s eyes crack open, slowly.
He lifts his chin to meet Soobin’s eyes upside down. Just like this, the vast world narrows down to just the two of them. It’s funny, the unfamiliar—they’ve never really talked about love before. Of course things like ideal types, shoot shag marry, spicy campfire talk with chicken and beer on the table—but always, always with the maknaes to wit their way into a room full of laughter. Between the pair of them, they’re backed into a corner next to each other, separated by nothing but the walls they’ve built and broken in their heads.
Yeonjun opens his mouth. Seals it. Swallows, nervously.
“Something like that,” Yeonjun mutters with a mirthless smile on his face. “Sometimes I felt like she knew me better than I know myself. Remember when she sent a hamper after we won at Music Bank?”
Soobin snorts at the memory. How could anyone forget?
“You sobbed in the living room,” he says, failing to dodge the requisite smack on his thigh from a nonplussed Yeonjun. “Actual drama queen behaviour.”
“They were customised snacks, okay?” Yeonjun rebuts, as if that alone explains his overreaction. “There were even some for you, which is the touching part. She thought about you guys and I didn’t even– I didn’t– even… ask her to.”
Ah.
A clipped word. The awful quiet of a held breath.
Then—the tail end of Yeonjun’s shuddered sigh catches in the air. It’s a broken sound. Yeonjun lifts the eye mask to wipe at his eyes, but Soobin grabs his wrist just in time to stop him. Yeonjun’s eyes catch light, pooling with tears at the corners.
“Hyung,” Soobin calls, a futile sound.
For a long moment, Yeonjun struggles to complete a breath.
“I– I just don’t know if anyone will be this kind to me again,” Yeonjun’s voice wobbles off, like it’d crumbled away before he could hold on to it. “You know?”
She would’ve had her reasons. Perhaps she met a better guy. Maybe she got tired of sneaking around, or maybe she realised that Yeonjun isn’t the hot rod he advertises himself to be. To Soobin, the reasons aren’t important.
Because people who love Yeonjun look past all of it. They hold onto the pleasant surprise he is: goofy, silly Yeonjun who loves to dance with his heart on his sleeve, and they love him for his unmatched tryhard energy and the tenacity to touch his dreams, the dedication he shows to people he loves, and even the way he overthinks about how he’s perceived. The way he struggles to depend on someone else, like how he stops Soobin’s hand when Soobin touches his face with a tissue.
In the moonlight filtering through the window, Yeonjun’s sharp eyes look so sad, so doleful and soft. Soobin watches them flutter shut, and he wonders how the space of fingers could feel like lightyears away.
“Then I’ll be kind to you,” Soobin says. “I'll buy you a hamper too if it makes you happy. Okay?"
Yeonjun is silent. Too silent. Soobin watches him under the shroud of darkness, how the line of his lip trembles, and how the tears slip down the side of his face. Without even thinking, Soobin crosses the distance with his hands. He follows the tracks with his fingers until they dry. Yeonjun sighs, a soft whimpering noise, and it twists like a knife in Soobin's gut.
He's been broken like this before. He knows the shape of this hurt, and how it lasts.
All he wants is for Yeonjun to never feel this way again.
"Okay," Yeonjun says.
"You're thinking crazy thoughts, hyung," Soobin scolds, trying to laugh.
Despite everything, Yeonjun cracks a tiny smile.
“You’re the crazy one,” Yeonjun says. “Where do I have space for another hamper, huh?”
Soobin glances at the fortress of half-opened boxes on the floor, sending Yeonjun an accusing look. “You would if you cleared this storeroom.”
“I’ll get to it, okay?” Yeonjun sniffles, but he’s already smiling, much to his chagrin. He whacks Soobin’s thigh, upset at his own emotional volatility. “Agh, why won’t you let me be sad before complaining?”
They’re both cracking up now, falling over each other while Yeonjun whines throatily, smacking Soobin’s butt with his free hand. Really, Soobin doesn’t mind. It’s where they left off. It’d taken them so long to get here—to be a place of comfort for each other, where they toed the boundaries of teasing. Touch and go.
It’s… them.
Soobin misses them all the time.
It’s been a year since they’ve been this close. A year of missed suppers, Kakaotalk messages on read, a series of old expectations he knew Yeonjun wouldn’t be able to meet like he used to because of one simple fact: Soobin wasn’t his girlfriend. It’d all built up, in Soobin’s heart, until they barely spoke any more—because Soobin couldn’t stand it, feeling like he was sitting by a radio and listening to their chopped-up wavelength, feeling every second go by with a cavernous lack of Yeonjun’s voice, the huff of his laughter. The truth was: Yeonjun was never around, and it was for a girl, and Soobin wanted so badly to understand why.
Did he even have any right to feel as jilted as he did?
Things go forgotten with time, Soobin thinks. But not the shape of your love for someone, which stays locked in your nervous system like muscle memory. Soobin knows it better than anyone. He feels it, his feelings for Yeonjun, awakening from within the frost buried at the sub-zero depths of his own mind.
There’s nowhere else to hide.
Because Soobin is there. Sitting on Yeonjun’s bed, close enough to touch, lost in that private pocket of the universe where no one can ever find them. How could he wish for more than second place?
It didn't matter that Soobin spent a year burying his heart.
“The right person will love you no matter how hard it gets,” Soobin says, combing Yeonjun’s fringe outwards and away, as if it might help him see Yeonjun clearer in the dark. “They’ll look at you and think they’re lucky, even when you’re not around to know it.”
For a moment, there is only stillness and space between them; Soobin’s wishful words spill into the night like a translucent haze, like a ray of light on a lonely journey to the other side of a pitch-dark galaxy.
He thinks about grey hoodies, dim rooms, one boy at the centre of it. His lodestar.
The one that saved him, once.
The one he’s saving, right now.
Yeonjun wraps his arm tighter around Soobin’s thigh. Staring up at Soobin’s face, and down to those dimpled cheeks, the boy trembles, the breaths coming in shorter and shorter spurts. Yeonjun tugs his gel mask back over his eyes, lifting an arm as if to shield himself from light.
“Thank you,” Yeonjun finally squeaks, just the barest impression of the word from a wisp of breath in his throat. “Stop. Stop, Bin… you’re making me cry again.”
Like a lonely astronaut beholding a planet’s beauty from space, Soobin regards Yeonjun, the nearness and farness of him all at once. In this instant, Soobin wishes he could travel galaxies in seconds. Maybe one day, he'll know what it would feel like to be the first man in Yeonjun’s heart.
Soobin threads his fingers into Yeonjun’s hair, just to show Yeonjun that he’s there.
Time melts into a steady flow in this pocket of the universe. It feels like the tender old days, before the winter that Yeonjun got attached and left Soobin in a standstill, wondering what to do with the feelings piling like snowflakes in his chest.
Chapter Text
Soobin wakes up in a dream.
It feels like one. It has to be one.
Because the first thing he feels is a steady warmth by his side. The outline of a lithe body pressed against his, squashing his arm into the mattress. The softness of someone’s hair tickling his chin, belonging to the head resting on his chest. However unfamiliar it is, it feels… right. All Soobin wants is to go back to sleep.
Ready to slip back into the ether, he inhales deeply, willing himself to relax.
Immediately, the earthy scent of heavy treatment shampoo floods his senses. In the back of his mind, Soobin vaguely remembers that he’s smelled this before.
It’s the smell of home, wafting around the shower after a long day.
It’s the white bottle at the corner of their shower rack.
It’s the one Yeonjun uses.
Yeonjun.
Heart in his throat, Soobin’s eyes slide open to find Yeonjun bundled in his arms, both of them lying flat on Yeonjun’s bed with no recollection of how they got here.
They must have fallen asleep some time in the night. Yeonjun’s hot pink gel mask is askew around his head, flipping up his fringe and sending his hair poking in absurd directions. Yet for all the un-glamour, there’s a fragility to Yeonjun, who appears so innocent and unprotected in his sleep that he embodies something so much softer than his usual sharp-eyed intensity. Murmuring in his sleep, his eyebrows knit and lips press together intermittently, probably just him being defiant and whining about everything even in his dreams, like a baby.
Soobin chokes a small laugh at that.
Oops.
Yeonjun stirs at the upward movement of Soobin’s chest, moaning softly, tipping his head up groggily. His eyes are barely open, blurry and thankfully less swollen than before. They flutter shut when he glimpses Soobin staring at him.
Wait for it.
Yeonjun jerks awake suddenly, hands gripping the pillow underneath Soobin’s head to push himself up, a comical response to the scattered thoughts in his brain. His wide eyes flood with the sudden clarity that they’re actually… cuddling.
“S-Sorry,” Yeonjun whispers in a scratchy voice, even though there’s nothing to apologise for.
Soobin smiles in reply, helping to pull the gel pack off of Yeonjun’s head. The action seems to put Yeonjun at ease, enough for him to lower his head onto Soobin’s chest again—albeit slowly and very, very, carefully, not once breaking their eye contact. Which means they’re close enough for Soobin to see even the faintest creases above Yeonjun’s deep-set eyelids, the sleep lines that curve upward from his cheek, and the supple curve of his lip when slightly agape.
Time grinds to a halt. The world pauses its orbit. They stare at each other at this unfamiliar distance, unsure what it means. The moment is strangely peaceful. Soobin will need time to regain feeling in his left arm, but it’s okay.
“You look insane,” Soobin comments pleasantly. Sleepy as he is, even he can see that Yeonjun’s bedhead is incredible. It was mostly the mask’s fault, but it’s not like Soobin cares; Yeonjun can tell as much, judging by the roll of his eyes.
“Good evening to you too,” Yeonjun groans, nuzzling the crown of his head against the crook of Soobin’s neck, like how it was when they woke up. Hopefully he can’t hear how Soobin’s heart rate picks up. “What time is it…?”
Soobin glances at the gentle white light emitted by Yeonjun’s bedside clock.
“2AM,” Soobin sighs. It’s not ideal to wake up now when their day starts at 7. They’ve only got a couple of days left to rehearse for their comeback before they’re careened off into breathless press runs and recordings at dusk, so it’s vital that they stay in top form… which usually entails sleeping in their own beds instead of squeezing into Yeonjun’s single.
Common sense dictates that Soobin should leave.
Alas.
“Mmph,” Yeonjun murmurs, making no effort to move.
“It’s 2AM,” Soobin repeats—just in case Yeonjun didn’t hear him the first time.
But Yeonjun lays still, dead to the world, probably already hurtling back into dreamland. Soobin clicks his tongue. The smack he lands on Yeonjun’s thigh has the boy jolting in place. “Having fun?”
“Can’t… move…” Yeonjun muffles into Soobin’s t-shirt. “I’m sorry, but why are you so comfortable?”
“Sorry, but why are you a leech?” Soobin can’t help the retort.
“Sorry, but why are you a pillow shaped like a man?” Yeonjun whines.
“Yeah, but why are you so annoying?” Soobin draws his eyebrows together.
“Okay, but why are you so noisy?” Yeonjun mirrors his expression of insolence. “It’s 2AM.”
Yeonjun be damned. Soobin raises himself by the elbows and plants a foot on the floor, fully intent on leaving in a huff—for fun, of course. He doesn’t expect Yeonjun to wrap his arms around him and trap him in with his leg, digging his nose deeper into Soobin’s chest.
It brings them closer than before, which Soobin didn’t think was possible. Soobin freezes; his entire body forgets movement.
“Wait, wait,” Yeonjun pleads, croaky voice sounding properly repentant. “Just stay for another five minutes… please?”
“Huh. You’re not exactly letting me leave,” Soobin gives in and withdraws his leg from the floor, but not before giving Yeonjun’s hair a playful tug. There’s a stupid needy whine that Yeonjun makes as he pouts the pain away, something he’d never do in front of the maknaes—and Soobin has to resist the urge to smile. Everything in this bed between them feels golden, every touch is warm, and the knowledge of it is big, looming, hopelessly inescapable, and so, so beyond his understanding.
Almost Yeonjun’s entire body has settled on Soobin now, radiating warmth like a human hearth. Yeonjun presses a smile into Soobin’s collarbone, the ticklish sensation causing a quiet hitch to his breath.
“I like it when you take care of me,” Yeonjun mumbles softly, words muffled with sleep. “It’s my favourite thing in the world.”
It’s just like Yeonjun to say things like that—skirting silly and sentimental in one breath like it’s nothing, as if it doesn’t flow into Soobin’s veins and shake his soul. Needing a moment to calm his stuttering heartbeat, he finds Yeonjun’s hair between his fingertips and strokes the strands, focusing on the way it feels beneath his fingers.
“I like it when you let me,” Soobin says, speaking to the darkness above them. How intimate it is—he realises—to be in Yeonjun’s bed after midnight in the dark, surrounded by lingering traces of his cologne, to sit in his bed as a welcome visitor and touch his hair in a way so many others have only fantasised about. It’s almost too much to have felt so close to Yeonjun all day, to have watched him fall apart and helped piece him back together, and Soobin wonders if these were all lines he shouldn’t have crossed because now everything between them feels different and though Soobin can’t pinpoint why, he can pinpoint exactly when.
Now.
Now, because Yeonjun gazes up at him through the half-light of the room, fond and gentle, like a scene stolen from somebody’s dreams. There are probably countless possible worlds that he’s seen this exact expression on Yeonjun’s face, worlds where maybe they weren’t bandmates—maybe flatmates, or maybe-schoolmates or maybe-friends who were on the precipice of something new or silly or awkward. But this world’s Yeonjun puts his palms on the bed and pushes himself upright slowly, eyes looking down at him with some latent desire, and it’s at this moment that Soobin feels his heart lurch in his chest as his fingers scrunch the sheets, suddenly acutely aware that girlfriend or not, Yeonjun has always looked at him in this funny way. There’s something under that stare. Soobin fears it, knowing that hoping for it might take him down the road of losing himself in that fatal sense, yearning for a thing he'll never have.
So he raises himself by the elbow too, blinking blankly. Like he doesn’t see love in every angle of Yeonjun’s face. Like he isn’t lying here on Yeonjun’s bed, wondering stupidly what it would feel like if Yeonjun kissed him.
“What?” Soobin says instead, finding himself overwhelmed by the thought.
“Nothing,” Yeonjun says in perfect imitation of his tone, fondness getting bigger and softer still. “You’re just extra handsome when you’re taking care of me.”
“Riiight,” Soobin stalls, nervous gaze falling to his lap. “I’m always handsome though.”
“That’s true,” the agreement comes too easily, with a brief chuckle afterwards. Then Yeonjun looks down at the hand on his chest—Soobin’s hand—and Soobin realises that at some point, he’d tried to stop Yeonjun from coming too close, as if afraid Yeonjun might hear his heartbeat otherwise.
Yeonjun doesn’t know this, of course. So he averts his gaze awkwardly, smile drooping at its corners, and all the pomp he displayed while making little demands of Soobin dissipates into the silence between them. “You can go to bed now, Soobin-ah. I’ll be fine. Thanks.”
“Sure. Um, let me know if you need anything, hyung,” Soobin mutters, wishing he had better words to give. “I’ll come. Just… just tell me.”
“Yeah,” Yeonjun stares at him, wistful or relieved or pained, and for once Soobin can’t actually tell what Yeonjun is feeling. There’s a trace of an empty smile on his face, images and mist behind the eyes that he blinks away, quiet. The moonlight from his window carves his features out of porcelain skin, and Soobin finds himself searching as if for constellations—tiny blips or imperfections he may have never had the chance to study on his face before. The mole beneath his right eye flits into the shadows as Yeonjun lowers his head.
When he meets Yeonjun’s gaze again, something keeps him there. Intention, flickering in Yeonjun’s eyes, like candlelight with a blue flame at its centre. When did it start feeling normal to be at the centre of Yeonjun’s attention?
“Um, Soobin,” is all Yeonjun says before he gently dips forward. His warm hand rests around the back of Soobin’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair. Soobin is confused for a moment before he realises that Yeonjun is closing in, balmy lips touching Soobin’s cheek, a soft breath reaching Soobin’s ears. His lips touch Soobin’s skin, whispering a soft “thank you”. Low and deep. Meant just for him. Then Yeonjun’s fringe brushes past Soobin’s ear, a small sensation that snaps him back to the present, heightening every other point of contact inside and out—the heartbeat pounding in his ears and the heat within his own skin, like a window on fire filled with nothing but Yeonjun. It’s Yeonjun who has him locked in a hug, and Soobin has to steel against the goosebumps that erupt all over his arms.
This is new.
Yeonjun has held him a million times in front of camera, in jest, as a way to tease, but none of those times have ever felt like this. It’s solid yet surreal and there’s no one watching but him as Yeonjun pulls away, gaze solemn and wet, offering a tight little smile, snorting as he loses his nerve and looks away. God, it’s awkward and too honest and they’ve gone too long without a joke, and the worst part is: this is real.
This feels real.
Soobin realises, with a breath, this is a side of Yeonjun no one else sees. Real, and raw, and not pretending, insecurity all out in the open. It’s all the things he hides behind make-up—the fact that there’s so much broken in him, so much fear of being seen like this. Really seen.
Soobin feels his cheeks heat up when their gazes lock.
“Don’t thank me, stupid. Just sleep.” Intent on changing the topic, Soobin tugs repeatedly at the blanket underneath them until Yeonjun lifts his butt and gets properly in bed. Soobin casts it over him like a fishing net and slides a questing hand along Yeonjun’s sides, tucking him in like a half-assed sushi roll. Yeonjun wiggles away violently.
“Stop, ah, it tickles,” Yeonjun giggles, wrenching his arms free. “Okay, okay, I’ll sleep.”
Then, this: Yeonjun grabs Soobin’s palm and kisses it gently. Soobin’s laughter fades.
“Okay, go,” Yeonjun scolds, and his crinkled eyes fall shut, a soft smile settling over his features. Soobin lets himself take it in for only a moment.
Then he goes.
𖧵
That night, Soobin buries his face in his pillow only to realise he can still feel it—the phantom touch on his cheek, his palm. Yeonjun’s lips, like a sunbeam over his skin, out of reach yet reaching into him, touching even the darkest places in his soul. Maybe, Soobin thinks, this is what it feels like to be afraid of your own mind. Like when you’re not sure what happened was even real, if it leaves an imprint on your life at all, or that anyone even cares that you can’t stop playing it over and over in your head and wondering if it means what you think it means.
Soobin doesn’t want to remember what hope feels like, but all he knows is this:
In his dreams, Yeonjun tells him to stay.
And he does.
𖧵
It’s not like things are weird. They’re not. At least to Soobin it isn’t. See, he’s perfectly capable of handling his own feelings. The only thing that’s changed is that he glances at Yeonjun’s shut door more often after work, waiting for Yeonjun to burst through and bother him, or ask for company to the convenience store, or tag along for team suppers again—all the things he used to do before he got a girlfriend.
But Yeonjun doesn’t seek him out for days.
To be fair, it’s not like Soobin can blame him. The week leading up to their comeback is brutal. Between dance rehearsals, variety, vocal practice, V-Lives, workouts and pre-recorded interviews, there’s barely even time to take a nap, let alone stumble their way through a secret conversation about emotions. Soobin could just pull Yeonjun aside and ask, sure; it’s as easy as how are you, but it’s not as easy in crowded dressing rooms, surrounded by staff who were intentionally kept in the dark about Yeonjun’s relationship in the first place. Being housemates is no advantage—not when the first thing Yeonjun typically does when he gets to the dorm is to hole himself up in his room. Soobin doesn’t know if Yeonjun even wants to talk about it. Words were never Yeonjun’s strong suit; nor were they ever Soobin’s, honestly.
“Have it,” a soft voice snaps him out of his reverie at the Inkigayo cafeteria. “I’m not hungry.”
A half-eaten container of tteokbokki scrapes across the table towards Soobin, guided by Yeonjun’s hand. Soobin freezes mid-chew.
“I’m sleepy today,” Yeonjun explains, sheepish. He rests his chin on his palm, staring at Soobin with a soft smile. Idly, Soobin tries to recall the last time Yeonjun ever left any lunch uneaten, only to realise this is the first time it has ever happened. He wants to chide Yeonjun for not taking care of himself—to shove the tteokbokki back and tell him to try harder or something, but Yeonjun’s eyes quickly fall shut, and a peacefulness descends onto his face that Soobin can’t bring himself to spoil.
Later, their manager calls. They traipse to their dry run, meandering through busy hallways filled with staff and idols. Getting into the elevator after Yeonjun, Soobin can almost see the unspoken thoughts spill out of his ears. He’s stiff as the hairspray on his parted fringe, glossy lips sealed and bitten, statuesque. Soobin wants to ask. He wants to ask, how are you, and tell me the truth, hyung. It’s almost like Yeonjun can hear his intentions, because Yeonjun glances sideways at him with fragility in his expression, lips parting too, like he’s about to say something. Soobin hears his soft intake of breath. But the elevator doors open with a ding and Yeonjun says not a word because he’s always like that, hiding in plain sight, and Soobin should know not to expect anything more by now.
It’s pure impulse that compels Soobin to seize his chance, exactly like this: the motion of five gentle fingers, curling surreptitiously around Yeonjun’s elbow as they walk out of the elevator. Yeonjun finally looks up at him, gaze questioning enough to be felt even from Soobin’s peripheral vision, so much that his dimpled cheeks tickle with pinpricks of self-consciousness. Soobin falters, ready to let go, but Yeonjun clamps a hand over to stop him from leaving.
And he doesn’t let go.
Each time Soobin thinks Yeonjun might, he doesn’t. The heat of Yeonjun’s palm sweeps across his hand, millimetres at a time, rolling just over the bumps of his knuckles the way the morning sun travels across a clear sky. They pass from room to room like this, anchored to each other’s naked touch, and the way Yeonjun’s fingers slide over his is unmistakably intentional, filled with a fire that could very well leave marks on Soobin’s skin. The feeling lingers long after they part for final touch-ups.
It doesn’t stop there. They do this at every music show, until it becomes a habit. Slowly, Soobin’s transitory touches become their own language: one squeeze for I’m here. Two strokes of a finger for you’re doing great. A hand on his thigh means are you okay, to which Yeonjun takes to replying with a pinch to Soobin’s ear, and a shy grin that Soobin can’t bring himself to glance at for more than just a second. Maybe it’s just Soobin, but—it makes a difference. Yeonjun laughs a little harder, smiles a little wider when he’s near. A raspy giggle, face tilted skyward and forgetful of appearances. More importantly: he doesn’t leave leftovers anymore.
It’s not much, but it’s more than Soobin thought he would ever have with Yeonjun.
So, for once in his life, Soobin chooses to pretend.
He pretends it doesn’t matter as much as it does.
𖧵
Unfortunately for Soobin, he isn’t very good at pretending.
“So, who’s the lucky person?”
That’s the sneaky thing about Kang Taehyun. His tone is so disarming that Soobin almost mistakes it as an innocent question like what’s for breakfast later, or what movie did you fall asleep to last night, or how are your non-existent ab workouts going—something, anything that doesn’t make Soobin halt in his tracks in the middle of their ass-crack morning walk along the outskirts of Yongsan Park, and make him hiss: “Wait, what?”
Taehyun is one streetlamp ahead before he realises that Soobin isn’t keeping pace. He turns around, the impression of a sharp eyebrow raising beneath his baseball cap.
“Well, we’ve been walking for ten minutes and you seemed preoccupied, so I thought I’d let you sort your thoughts before asking.” Taehyun bites back a tickled grin. “But now I’m really too curious. Who’s on your mind?”
Soobin’s amused, to say the least.
“What? Why do I have to be thinking about someone? Why can’t it be something?”
“Whoa, whoa, I’m just kidding,” Taehyun chuckles, throaty and child-like. It brings a smile to Soobin’s face despite the apparent interrogation. “But don’t tell me you were thinking about cryptocurrency, like I really thought?”
Soobin guffaws, hand clutching at his chest.
“Wooow, how did you know?” A smirk breaks past Soobin’s (mostly) convincing poker face. Damn it. Taehyun huffs a laugh but Soobin isn’t deceived—his dongsaeng’s gaze remains heavy with expectation, nudging Soobin to say more. He’s spent years taking morning strolls with Taehyun at odd hours before and after the peak of comeback season, walking circles around their harshest self-evaluations, yet he’s never quite gotten used to being scrutinised like that. Taking a deep breath, Soobin focuses on kicking the rocks on the ground as he resumes his stride, wondering how to explain the tangled knot in his chest.
The stillness of early dawn floods the space between them, punctuated only by the crackling of gravel beneath their feet and the rhythmic chirp of cicadas hidden in the trees. Soobin is grateful that Taehyun doesn’t rush him for answers.
“Yeah, so, um. Guess I was. Thinking.” Soobin hesitates. He worries about telling Taehyun, for a second, before he remembers that Taehyun cares not just for him—he cares for the team, too. That’s reason enough for Soobin to drop a few hints. “It’s just… Yeonjun hyung has been feeling a little under the weather lately.”
Barely any reaction. Taehyun hums a thoughtful sound, low and wise, looking out to the trail illuminated by stark sheets of light.
“You knew?” Soobin asks, eyebrows raising in surprise.
In the darkness, Taehyun tilts his head, like he doesn’t understand the question.
“Well—Yeonjun hyung isn’t exactly subtle,” Taehyun says. “All of us felt his mood drop. Something happened, right? Right before our comeback. You stayed back with him.”
So they knew. Of course they did. They just didn’t know how deep Yeonjun’s wounds ran, or that it had anything to do with his relationship at all. And even if Soobin shared it, how could he ever hope to describe the gravity of what happened afterward? He can’t bring to words the tender way Yeonjun looked up at him when they were alone, of that gleaming puddle on a Yeonjun-like face, of the way shadows fell wider and longer across his features—just inches away—in the darkened van. The tangled feeling in his chest that took root slowly, burying tendrils in the pit of his heart. And how it cut like a shard of glass when Yeonjun whispered to him, don’t tell anyone, okay?
“Hey, you don’t have to tell me what happened if it’s sensitive,” Taehyun comments coolly, and Soobin can’t help but huff at his prescience. Taehyun digs into his pockets, staring at their slow, synchronised strides. “Whatever it is, it makes sense that you’re the one helping him through it. You know... since it’s Yeonjun hyung.”
Soobin snorts, not unkindly.
“Me? You’re so much better at giving advice,” he elbows Taehyun’s arm, regretting it instantly when Taehyun answers with a playful shove of his own that nearly knocks Soobin off the path.
“Since when does Yeonjun hyung ask for advice?” Taehyun guffaws with a shark-like grin, eyes twinkling with mischief while Soobin regains his footing.
“Maybe not,” Soobin muses, earlier chagrin forgotten as he pictures Yeonjun’s face. The gaze he sees is soft, willing, open, so different from the machismo he projects to everyone else. Warm hands, opening to his. A toothy grin, a nasal giggle, a steady presence by his side. He blinks himself out of his thoughts, realising that Taehyun is staring. “I guess I’ve been trying to be there for him in other ways.”
Taehyun’s eyebrow jumps. “How?”
Images flit by, vivid as fresh paint: Yeonjun crying into Soobin’s hoodie in the practice room that day, trying not to tremble. Yeonjun’s head resting on Soobin’s thigh on the bed, eyes obscured by that ridiculous hot pink gel pack. And Yeonjun melting into a doleful expression, fingers tracing over Soobin’s hand from one green room to the next. In these memories, there are never words between them; there is always touch. Yeonjun sought the dependable harbour of Soobin’s touch when he needed it, knowing that he wouldn’t be denied.
“Reminding him I’m here,” Soobin says. It feels like a confession, and a strange anxiety rises in his chest at describing what feels like a private game of tactile ping-pong between them. “I think—I think it’s working. I think he’s getting better.”
Soobin looks up, and the relief in Taehyun’s expression surprises him.
“I think it is. Thanks for being there for him, hyung.” Taehyun’s gaze is sincere—like he really, truly, means it. It’s times like these that Soobin realises the depth of Taehyun’s care for Yeonjun, who trained and toiled with him before any of them did. “You know how he is. He’d really rather die than worry us.”
Soobin laughs at that, and they share a knowing look reserved specially for discussions about Yeonjun. Taehyun’s eyes are all-seeing crescents, glinting with curiosity as they walk past yet another street lamp. “Besides, you and Yeonjun hyung weren’t talking for a while. It’s nice of you to reach out first.”
Soobin blinks.
He didn’t expect his petty cold war with Yeonjun to be a topic of conversation, but trust Kang Taehyun to call him out.
“Are things better now? Between you two?” Taehyun asks.
“... Yeah,” Soobin admits, albeit reluctantly. This truth is simple enough. “I missed him.”
Their shoes crunch against gravel as the street lights flicker off, shrouding everything in the blueish tint of morning light. Taehyun stops in his tracks; the act demands Soobin’s attention, turning him around. They stare at each other in the dimness.
“He missed you too,” Taehyun says. “You know, right?”
Soobin pauses, heart in his throat.
He can’t let himself believe that. His expression must say as much, because the most perplexed look settles on Taehyun’s features, eyebrows pinching together in confusion.
“Hyung,” Taehyun prompts, again, but Soobin has no idea what to say—so he shrugs, gaze falling somewhere between the gravel, remembering what it was like to have once been so sure about what Yeonjun felt. About him. About them.
It still stings, how wrong he was.
“Well, I think Yeonjun hyung dotes on you the most,” Taehyun’s voice rings out, his strides towards Soobin punctuated by crunchy footfall. “Is it weird to say he ‘chose you’? From the beginning, he already decided he wanted you to like him no matter what.”
He knows what Taehyun is getting at. It’s not like Soobin hadn’t noticed over the years—the snuck glances, the perpetual hover of Yeonjun’s hand, the little pet names he saves just for ‘Soobin, Soobin, Soobinnie’—it all added up. It was what once made Soobin feel so certain and secure.
He just didn’t know other people saw it too.
“It’s an age thing,” Soobin laughs, coming off a little too forced. “You know how old-school Yeonjun is about that.”
Taehyun pretends to consider it. He even plays it up by drumming fingers over his chin, as if it isn’t blatantly obvious that he disagrees whole-heartedly.
“Nah,” Taehyun decides. “It’s more like a Soobin thing. Really. You’re Yeonjun’s catnip.”
Soobin snorts because he doesn’t really believe that, but also the mental image of Yeonjun as a cat makes way too much sense. “Yeah? Why is it me?”
Taehyun’s signature cheek dimple belies the concealed grin on his face, and Soobin isn’t sure he likes the look of it. His eyes are filled with a familiar twinkle, lips pursing in amusement.
Oh, hell. Whatever Kang Taehyun says next, it’s going to cut too close to the truth.
“Does Yeonjun hyung need a reason to love you?”
Now, wait just a darn second–
“Hold on, he doesn’t love me,” Soobin says a little too quickly. Memories flood back, and the phantom sensation of Yeonjun’s lips are like an imprint against his cheek that suddenly feels visible, somehow, in the brightening morning light. His hands curl over the spot instinctively but he plays it off mid-action, reaching for the back of his ear instead. Taehyun cocks an eyebrow. “That’s. That’s ew.”
“Ew indeed,” Taehyun agrees, nodding along with a tight grin. “I see. Well, I love you, hyung. Hope it’s mutual.”
“Okay—thanks, and I love you too—but I just meant he doesn’t love me in that way,” Soobin stutters because the laugh in Taehyun’s smiling eyes only gets more and more amused. “Like you— you were implying.”
“I wasn’t implying anything, but…” Taehyun smoothly links arms with Soobin, a deliberate and deviously effective attempt to sidestep Soobin’s overreaction. The feeling of Taehyun pressed next to him calms him down a great deal, long enough to hear him out. “See it this way. I once asked Beomgyu this: the sea hugs the shore. Why? Guess what he said?”
Taehyun looks at him with latent excitement, as if completely unaware of the full-body dread that drowns Soobin from within. Oh god, Soobin hates guessing. It’s been five years of friendship—how does Taehyun not know he hates guessing?
“Something like the sea and the shore are really good friends?” Soobin cringes at his answer.
“Close, but not really,” Taehyun nods kindly. “Gyu thought about it for a while. He took it more seriously than I thought he would. Then instead of saying anything, he just came close to me. And, um.” Taehyun lets out a childish chuckle at the memory. “He hugged me. Once, twice, then thrice. I was confused until he told me, with this sagely smile on his face: ‘maybe it feels as nice as this.’”
Soobin smiles at the thought of Beomgyu taking the question seriously, like most questions that come from Taehyun.
“He’s really surprising, isn’t he? I thought he was gonna say the moon’s gravitational pull, because that’s the common misconception—when it’s wind patterns, actually, that create most waves—and I just wanted to share that factoid. But when he said that, I realised that can be true too. Maybe it just feels nice. Maybe seawaves tumble to shore when they’re tired, sink into the sand and disappear for a while. It’s just like a safe harbour. Right?”
Taehyun looks at Soobin meaningfully and that, alone, says everything he intends to say. Soobin averts his gaze, cheeks hot.
Feels good, Yeonjun had whispered into Soobin’s thigh on that night, in surreal twilight where everything had felt so see-through. Everything was a hue of transparent darkness, and Soobin had felt like a blind man seeing for the first time, amazed but unable to truly understand what he saw.
“He’s just happy around you, hyung,” Taehyun continues, ever the voice of reason even as he lets the topic go. “Accept it. Why think so hard about it?”
𖧵
Herein lies the problem: Soobin can’t stop thinking about it.
A month ago, Soobin wouldn’t have given his relationship with Yeonjun a second thought. But since Yeonjun’s break-up, it’s like the forbidden floodgates in Soobin’s mind have all but flung open. These days, it’s all he ponders about. Soobin spends breaks between practice imagining and re-imagining the feeling of Yeonjun’s head on his chest, that warm, smaller hand interlaced with his, that innocent brush of lips against his cheek. Not so much the touches themselves—but what it might mean.
It’s rare, Soobin realises, for anyone to see Yeonjun free from the pretences, the cool guy antics, the idol-like image he projects to everyone else. There’s a sense of determinism that brought them together that day. If he had to do it all over again, he would always let this broken version of Yeonjun find him; he’d fall and tumble and sink into Soobin’s every pore, the way seawater lays its claim on every patch of soft sand. Watching Yeonjun unravel had felt like the end of a year-long wait, like Yeonjun’s restless sea finally found Soobin’s shore again, sinking inside, around, and all over, until the shore was left wanting more.
It felt like coming home.
So maybe, in that same deterministic way, it’s the hand of cosmic fate that finds Soobin outside Yeonjun’s room on their first weekday off since their comeback, surprised to find Yeonjun packing a tote bag inside at 7AM in the morning. Soobin hovers awkwardly by the door, wondering whether to ignore the sight and continue trudging to the bathroom; but he takes way too long to consider—because when Yeonjun glances in his mirror, a hand threading through his dampened hair at a wicked angle, he spots Soobin standing in the reflection of his doorway.
Soobin, forever the smooth operator, is the one who jolts halfway out of his skin.
“Wow, hyung, don’t scare me,” Soobin whines, rubbing his chest like an actual ahjumma. Winded as he is, he takes secret pleasure in the loud snort that shoots from Yeonjun’s nostrils, and the sunrise smile that lights up his face. Soobin has seen this before. He sees it all the time, directed at him.
This time, Soobin steadies his gaze instead of looking away. Yeonjun’s smile widens.
“Okay, why are you up this early?” Yeonjun laughs, brows scrunching up in disbelief. Beneath the incredulity, there’s a tinge of nervousness in Yeonjun’s tone, like this is the last interaction he expected to be having this morning. And he’s not wrong—it’s 7AM, which is ass o’clock on a day off as far as Soobin is concerned; even Taehyun isn’t up yet.
“Washroom, duh,” Soobin says. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, watching Yeonjun throw on a black leather trench coat. “Hyung, it’s. It’s 7AM. You have plans?”
“Had plans,” Yeonjun corrects, then goes uncomfortably quiet. His eyes soften when he gazes up at Soobin. “I’m going to the aquarium. I actually booked tickets a month ago, for. You know. To go with, um.”
His ex. Soobin blinks a few times and shifts his weight a little, feeling way too big for the doorframe and woefully unprepared for this conversation. “Oh. You didn’t cancel?”
“No, I forgot. And I kinda want to go out anyway, so…” Yeonjun collapses on his roller chair and spins, looking like a trapped bird. Soobin instantly feels bad. “I was asking my friends to go last-minute, but they’re all working on weekdays so I think I’ll just go alone, or something.” He eyes Soobin for a second too long before blinking away, an unreadable expression on his face. “It’s not a big deal.”
“You don’t want to stay here?”
Yeonjun shakes his head. “Nah, it’ll be… weird?” He presses his lips in a thin line, a little dimple showing. “They’ll ask, won’t they?”
Soobin knows he’s talking about the kids, who are nosy in the most caring way and will definitely make today about Yeonjun if they find out he’s staying in today. He usually spends vacation days visiting home or at his girlfriend’s place, so this is definitely unusual. It’s the first time in a while that Yeonjun has ever looked so fidgety and uncomfortable in his own skin.
“They’ll ask why I’m in the dorm, not with her. It’ll be a whole thing, and…” Yeonjun sighs. “And it’ll be a waste of the tickets anyway, so I’ll just go alone. It really isn’t a big deal–”
“Should I go with you?” Soobin blurts.
The question stuns Yeonjun for all of three seconds. Then he shoots Soobin a sceptical look. Now, normally Soobin would find this rude, but maybe Yeonjun’s assumptions are kind of right: on a day off, Soobin would laugh out loud at the thought of going out at 7AM for anything.
Yet something tells him that today isn’t a normal day.
Everything is quiet for a moment. Soobin stares at Yeonjun, whose sharp eyes are unblinking. Yeonjun tilts his head questioningly.
“But… it’s early,” he says slowly, “You hate mornings.”
Soobin nods solemnly. “That’s true.”
“And you hate going out.”
“Also true,” Soobin says. Across from him, Yeonjun squints into an awed grin. It makes Soobin smile back with a tilt of his head, daring Yeonjun to question further.
“What? You hate all that and you still want to come?”
Soobin nods ardently, face scrunching up in a pout. “Didn’t I say you could ask me if you need anything? If you needed a substitute, you could’ve just asked me out.”
Soobin doesn’t expect his words to have the impact they do—because there it is, the burgeoning softness in Yeonjun’s eyes, the thing that Soobin has wanted to see again since that night in the dark of Yeonjun’s room. Emboldened, he continues: “And I’m really popular on off-days, okay? You’re so lucky you caught me before my schedule was fully booked up.”
Yeonjun laughs at the obvious lie, muffling the sound in his hand, but it does nothing to conceal the mischievous grin on his face. A sliver of gratitude twinkles as he blinks slowly, looking Soobin up and down like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Right. Fine. I guess I’ve got myself a boyfriend today, huh?”
The word hits hard, like a bullet to the heart. Boyfriend. It’s the same teasing way Yeonjun uses words like darling and sweetheart in V-Lives and shoots, but everything feels different when they’re doing none of those things and it’s just Soobin in pyjamas with an unbeatable bedhead, looking like an actual trainwreck. There aren’t cameras here for them to favour. Today, they are at least trying to be ordinary people, so why the heck is Yeonjun flirting? And why is Soobin getting all flustered about this?
“Who said anything about being your boyfriend?” Soobin sticks his tongue out, secretly relieved that Yeonjun, too, sticks his tongue out in response. He pivots on his heel, feeling like his entire body is underwater; his brain buzzes with what feels like pure static, keeping him from thinking or hearing anything else. “Gross, I’m gonna shower.”
Curse his overactive imagination. Soobin shuts the bathroom door behind him, cheeks warming.
He’s not going to think about it.
𖧵
Of course he thinks about it.
Soobin stares at himself in the mirror, eyeing the outfit that Yeonjun picked out for him. It’s a mix of Yeonjun’s clothes and his own: a manila-coloured coat (Yeonjun’s) over a simple crew neck (also Yeonjun’s), paired with his own tapered denim pants that he literally hasn’t seen since altering them a year ago. The coat ends at a crisp length just midway of his calves, and a perfectly-matching pair of black high-tops sit by the mirror, waiting for him. It’s classic and faultless, inoffensive enough that Soobin likes it—and he hates that he does, because this means that Yeonjun knows him. Really knows him. Down to the perfect length of pants in his closet, which is filled to brim with a couple of wrong sizes he never returned or resold.
Just one more thing to add to the turmoil in his head. God, and why does he look dressed for a date?
There’s a soft knock on Soobin’s door.
“How is it?” comes Yeonjun’s voice on the other side.
Soobin schools his expression into something appropriately ambiguous, arms folded, cheeks puffed with feet tapping impatiently. “I guess it’s not bad. I could do better, but. Expected worse.”
Yeonjun is there in his doorframe suddenly, beanie-clad, filling the room with a hum of appraisal. Soobin already knows that Yeonjun likes the outfit—but his critical eye darts over niggling things like proportions, measurements, and precision. The details are everything. He looks at Soobin up and down, head ducking and rearing up animatedly, sharp eyes scrutinising Soobin with a smirk on his face and a snarky comment on his tongue. Soobin can feel it. Their shared gazes thrum with challenge but instead of the suckerpunch punchline that Soobin expects, Yeonjun chuckles, low and nasal. The sound breaks a tension that Soobin didn’t realise was there.
Something simmers behind Yeonjun’s eyes, then. Yeonjun leans towards Soobin’s side, hot breath tickling his ear. “You look really handsome.”
This close, Yeonjun could do anything. This close, he could poke a tongue out at Soobin for fun. This close, Yeonjun could even part lips and take Soobin’s earlobe between his teeth. Is that what boyfriends do? Soobin freezes, barely registering the hand that gently flattens the collar of his trench, and the tiny smile that Yeonjun gives him before turning away. “The car’s waiting downstairs.”
For a long, breathless moment, he stays rooted by the doorway.
Look, it’s not exactly alien—just one thing to add to the list of tactile things Yeonjun usually does when he’s with Soobin. Pinching earlobes, fakeout kisses, careless hugs—and now, zero respect for personal space. It’s the same variety, Soobin tells himself, but he can’t help but think that now, it feels different.
The air that replaces Yeonjun is overwhelming, ballooning against the confines of his chest. Soobin’s heart pounds with a chaos he can’t explain.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Chapter Text
Whatever that was (and Soobin fervently busies himself with the art of Not Thinking About It™), it doesn’t take long for Yeonjun to return to his petulant self.
Less than an hour into their aquarium visit, in fact.
“Stop taking selfies and take boyfriend photos of me,” Yeonjun demands shamelessly, whiny and insufferable and every bit the menace Soobin knows he is.
Dragged by the elbow against his will, Soobin somehow finds himself racing against the clock to snap as many pictures of Yeonjun as possible at the jewel-toned jellyfish display, where a photo-taking queue has already begun to form.
“Are you even going to post these?” Soobin complains extra loudly, squatting down and struggling to frame a symmetric shot of Yeonjun blocking almost the entire circular display, a halo of light outlining his silhouette.
Soobin tinkers with the exposure settings as he goes and he peers over the phone at Yeonjun, who’s working his angles a little too well to pass off as a sheltered Korean tourist.
“Hyung, tone it down a bit please, people will notice.”
Unfortunately, Yeonjun is Yeonjun. He angles his chin up, locking his knee in a high-fashion bend as he flips the tail of his coat. In one dangerous moment, Soobin gulps and glances at the people in line waiting for their turn, where a handful of small kids and parents have started to peer at them—but thankfully, no one seems to recognise them yet. He adjusts his mask and keeps his head lowered, taking the picture.
Why does Yeonjun always look so good?
“Nearer?” Yeonjun suggests amid tweaking his pose, and Soobin chases the profile shot—going closer when Yeonjun’s slackened hands rise to fill the edges of his frame, fingers disappearing into his hair. A duality of deep pink and turquoise light sets the sides of his face awash with moody colour, painting Yeonjun’s snowy complexion above his mask like a strip of light above abyssal darkness. His eyes go half-lidded but intense as they stare at Soobin through the phone lens. With the focus on him, all else is secondary. The pinks and blues of the jellyfish exhibit behind him simply blur into a psychedelic swirl in the backdrop.
Soobin holds his breath. He doesn’t think he’s that great at taking photos, honestly—but Yeonjun makes it so easy. A stray lock of hair falls artlessly into Yeonjun’s eyes as he adjusts his beanie, and Soobin reaches out to brush it away without thinking, fingers curling around Yeonjun’s ear and drifting down to his jaw.
They lock eyes at the unexpected contact. Soobin pauses, his face burning with an odd sense of shame, like he’s just been caught doing something he’s not supposed to—so he hesitates, his hand awkwardly suspended in the air. Of course Yeonjun doesn’t let him live it down; his twinkling eyes squeeze into a laugh, soft exhales pushing his mask outward. Oh, oh, oh. Soobin readies the phone camera. That’s the one. “Wait, hyung. Like that. Look at me.”
He instantly regrets asking Yeonjun to look at him, because all it does is trigger a fresh fit of giggles. Yeonjun breathlessly ducks out of the frame, ruining Soobin’s shot. “Ugh, you look so serious, Soobin-ah. It’s so cute.”
Maybe it’s not the words, but it’s the way Yeonjun’s laughter jumps two pitches upwards as he cracks up again, the way he grabs Soobin’s wrist in a vice grip like he needs it to keep himself upright—that makes Soobin feel like the centre of Seoul. He smacks Yeonjun’s shoulder (who yelps and jabs Soobin’s arm back), blaming him for wrecking his pro photographer flow. The whole time, Yeonjun just looks at him in this strange, knowing way, nodding over-zealously and mollifying him with oohs and ahhs and is that sos, and that’s when Soobin feels a foreign emotion swelling in his chest like spring’s first bloom, a sugar rush that makes him feel like his soul is spilling from his own skin.
See, time slows. Yeonjun’s eyes go crinkly again. The patterned lights caress his skin like a veil, oscillating like a spell that holds Soobin’s heart—squeezes it, engulfs it, keeps it captive in the warmth of an unshakeable grip. Soobin lowers the phone, wondering if this is what she must have felt when she fell in love with him.
Something shifts in Yeonjun’s gaze, smile fading as he senses the change in Soobin's mood, and the air dips into something heavy and irreversible.
“Let’s move on,” Soobin mutters, abandoning the photoshoot, sounding entirely more upset than he is. He knows that Yeonjun’s staring at him, a little lost in the eyes, which just makes everything worse.
Without waiting for a response, Soobin picks a direction and walks in it. He just needs some space away, some breathing room.
For a while, it works.
He immerses himself in white noise. No prattling from Yeonjun, no requests for photos, no difficult feelings. Just the crowd murmur and blissful anonymity, the glowing exhibits his only companion. If he’s going to survive today, it’s important that he doesn’t dwell.
The laneway leads him into a kaleidoscopic exhibition hall: Crustacean Cove, the gaudy overhead sign reads. It’s one of the more crowded areas of the aquarium so far, he realises, weaving himself expertly into the steady stream of families and couples drifting along the meandering walkway.
Soobin keeps as close as he can to the walls, avoiding the crowd mindfully with his head ducked and slowing down at as many of the exhibits as he can without attracting attention. He jolts in shock when a squealing high school girl bumps into him, and for a split second of fear Soobin is sure that the brunette is a fan. She’s going to cling onto him and scream—which means it’s only a matter of time till a mob of MOAs surround them. She glances at him and Soobin gulps.
But instead of grabbing him like he expects, the girl brushes by. She barely even looks back at him to apologise, bounding forward towards the starfish pool where she reunites with a friend in a warm embrace. Soobin’s racing heart just keeps going, and going, and—
A squeeze, right on his elbow.
“You okay?” a soft voice asks. Without even looking, he knows it’s Yeonjun, whose presence is solid and unmistakable by his side. His silver earring loops dangle as he turns back to check behind them. “It’s fine. We’ve got the hyungs with us at the back.”
Following Yeonjun’s gaze, Soobin cranes his neck to search for the two plainclothes protocol members assigned to follow them, who are an appropriate distance away by the first exhibit, taking some time to observe the mudcrabs. They glance around periodically, nodding at Soobin once they catch him staring, but otherwise do a great job at blending in while staying close enough to intervene if anything were to happen.
Soobin sighs with relief. As much as he loves his fans, the thought of being discovered by a crowd of them isn’t his idea of a great day off. It’s been so long since Soobin’s been out that the thought of having to escape from a mob—especially indoors—leaves him bloated with nausea.
It’s only when Yeonjun slips a firm arm around his waist that he realises he’s been staring at the hermit crabs for a while. More than a while. It’s been five minutes, he realises with a start, as his senses return in fullness one by one: the burbling of crowds passing by, the cool glass panel under his hand, and Yeonjun bundled at his side. Yeonjun, a boy who looks at him like there’s no one else in the room, an arm tight around him without caring how it might look. Soobin catches a note of his scent, a calming aquatic musk that he wears every other day. Home, Soobin thinks, it smells just like this. Comfort feels like Yeonjun with no makeup on, all forehead and eyebrows beneath his beanie.
“Juuuuunnie wants to stay close to Binnie.” Yeonjun bumps his nose on Soobin’s shoulder, syrupy sweet. He’s just doing it to get a rise out of Soobin; it’s obvious. Yet despite a valiant attempt at a poker face, Soobin can’t help but snort softly at the way Yeonjun’s mask juts out from the force of his pout. “Can he, please?”
“No,” Soobin scowls at Yeonjun’s shitty aegyo, leaning away, perhaps too cruel a response.
Nonetheless, it’s like Yeonjun can sense his anxieties: he doubles down, tugging his mask down and propping his chin over Soobin’s shoulder. It’s the closest thing to a hug in public, which causes Soobin’s heart rate to spike until he squeezes Soobin’s waist exactly once.
One squeeze, for I’m here.
Soobin recognises their language instantly—and he can’t help it, the shudder that washes over him. The fond smile that Yeonjun sends him is pure and incandescent from the exhibit’s aquamarine lighting, his Cheshire eyes glinting like an underwater sunrise.
“Come on, I think I know a spot you’ll like,” Yeonjun says, pulling him out of the hall and away from his thoughts.
Yeonjun explores the aquarium with a certainty of someone who’s researched everything before coming, moving quickly through the smaller exhibits. They walk under several painted archways before the space opens into a massive viewing gallery, clearly the main event, where everything is swathed in what looks like blue-tinted moonlight. The floor-to-ceiling aquarium wall teems with hammerhead sharks, yellowfin tuna, and king crabs all along the tank bed, blocked by clingy hand-holding couples who take turns snapping selfies with the human-sized manta rays. Soobin looks down at where Yeonjun’s hand links with his own, an unfamiliar anxiety spreading in his chest. He half-expects Yeonjun to drag him to the front for photos again, finding himself pleasantly surprised when Yeonjun walks them to the quiet side of the massive tiered gallery instead. It’s out of the way, but with an elevated view of the spectacle from afar. The inane chatter and noise of the crowd washes away, and all Soobin can really focus on is Yeonjun’s smiling eyes, looking back at him periodically to make sure he doesn’t trip over the steps.
“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” Yeonjun plops down on the aged seat, excitement shining through as he pushes against his knees.
“I love it,” Soobin settles down next to him, not missing how Yeonjun immediately reclines to snake an arm around Soobin’s seat. “It’s the kind of spot I can stay for hours, hyung.”
Yeonjun stays silent for a little while, staring at the schools of fish as they weave around each other effortlessly, like a choreographed dance. “I wish we could,” Yeonjun sighs round and deep, smiling contently. Just like this, he’s a portrait in cerulean tones, an otherworldly creature that belongs here more than anything else in the room. “We’ve got the best seats in the house.”
Soobin blinks himself back into reality, turning his head to take it all in. Quietly, he hums at the swirling spectacle of sea creatures floating toward each other, then further away, just beyond the glass.
Gently, Yeonjun tugs on his arm. And tugs. And tugs, until Soobin’s head finally rests on his shoulder.
Soobin tries his best to resist a smile. “Is this one of your go-to moves or something?”
From Soobin’s peripheral, Yeonjun’s nostrils flare as he presses his lips together, stifling a guilty smile. “Yeah, so?”
“Wooow, smooth.” Soobin pats Yeonjun’s thigh in consolation. “Doesn’t work on me though.”
“Don’t pretend it doesn’t,” Yeonjun’s laugh is pitchy, clearly getting self-conscious about his game. “It has a 100% kill rate.”
Soobin mock-retches into the neighbouring seat before dropping his head back onto Yeonjun’s shoulder like a lifeless corpse. “I just died from cringe, so maybe you’re right.”
He isn’t looking, but he already knows Yeonjun’s expression is priceless. Yeonjun’s shoulders vibrate with laughter, and something about the feeling makes Soobin feel warm and gooey inside.
“You’re getting the full boyfriend experience today, so just get used to it,” Yeonjun teases, linking their arms. It surprises Soobin how easy it is, to fold into something so intimate with a hyung he'd always been a bit more careful around. When Yeonjun is as certain as he is, it’s hard not to be swept away. Underneath their trench coats, Yeonjun grasps his hand, fingers filling the spaces between his own so fully that it feels as encompassing as the gentle blue light washing over them.
Maybe it’s okay.
Maybe it’s nice to be Yeonjun’s, just for a little while.
“Hmph,” Soobin intones, taking care to sound extra nonchalant. “Not sure how I feel about that.”
A soft snort. There’s pressure on Soobin’s crown as Yeonjun leans on him too.
“Just nap, sleepyhead,” Yeonjun whispers, knowing Soobin’s eyes are already closed. “I know you want to.”
Soobin is sleepy. Yet behind darkened eyelids, his mind runs off without him. There are so many reasons not to like Choi Yeonjun; most of all is how distracting he is, like how he noses at Soobin’s hair and presses a kiss there, like he’s hiding a secret no one else can find.
It takes a while to fall asleep.
𖧵
It’s a numb arm, two drool-soaked tissues and three exhibition detours (code for: the penguins were hard to find) later that they finally take the fancy chrome-plated lift to the fully glass-panelled observatory on the top floor, where Seoul’s towering cityscape sprawls out from under their feet like a cosmopolitan carpet. Yeonjun scans their tickets with the attendant while Soobin drifts off into the atrium in search of a nice vantage point, which is unexpectedly difficult when most of the viewing area is hogged by loving couples and teenage lovers enjoying their own weekday off. It takes a bit of searching, but he finds a spot behind a pillar that no one seems to have noticed yet. Score.
The visage of downtown Seoul rushes forward to surround him, offering some comfort for the sudden realisation that he and Yeonjun are probably the only bachelors in this place. He wonders if Yeonjun feels it too, all the love in the air. He wonders if it’s bittersweet.
He’d planned to come here with her after all.
In the reflection, Soobin sees Yeonjun already waving and striding towards him, so he wastes no time pressing against the plexiglass, absorbing the iconic arcs of the Han River Bridge that seem nearer than they’ve ever been, and how all the buildings are so low-rise compared to where he stands. He doesn’t have to look to know when Yeonjun arrives by his side, his boots scuffing softly on the glass floor.
“You planned this well,” Soobin smiles though no one can see, savouring the rare moment that he has experiences like these without any cameras around, or anyone watching him. “The view is so pretty.”
“Yeah, and you can see HYBE from here.”
“Where?” Soobin asks, scanning along the riverfront buildings.
Without warning, a hand rests on his waist as Yeonjun steps forward, leaning over Soobin’s shoulder. Maddeningly close. He grasps Soobin’s hand and clenches it into a fist, index finger pointing outwards, guiding it like a plane straight into Soobin’s dimple. It’s the exact spot, which he finds perfectly even though Soobin is wearing a mask. “Here.”
Yeonjun is all pressed up against him, without a shred of decency to be found—and even though no one’s really watching them, Soobin feels his face heat up. He swats Yeonjun away like a housefly until the boy bounds away with a yelp.
“Whoa, whoa, angry bunny,” Yeonjun raises his hands in defense, indulgent and exhilarating and so fucking flirty, again, and Soobin has to try so hard not to smile at the stupid trick.
Yeonjun looks out at the view now, and there’s sun on his face, shining back in those crescent eyes of his. Soobin stares and stares, and he can’t find a trace of the pain he saw there just a month ago.
He hopes it’s because of him.
“So… I don’t know about you, but I want a photo,” Yeonjun says suddenly, averting his gaze and swinging his arms. “Of us. Like, a selfie of the two of us.” Yeonjun glances at him like a mouse, seconds away from retreating. “Is that okay?”
It takes Soobin by surprise, because they don’t typically take selfies unless they’re posting them on Twitter. It must be the view that Yeonjun wants to capture, Soobin realises.
“Yeah, uh, we can use mine,” Soobin twirls around and props his selfie phone up so he can find an angle that favours him. In the preview, he watches Yeonjun attach himself to his side, arms looping tight around his waist even though it’s out of frame. While searching for the perfect angle, he scoots forward and backward and left to right all while dragging Yeonjun along—his hyung rolls his eyes and feigns irritation, pinching his side aggressively, which only makes Soobin laugh more. Laughing, Yeonjun yanks their masks down in the phone camera.
“Hate you,” Soobin says, smiling so hard it’s in his eyes, spamming blurry selfies of them. Yeonjun looks at him then, edges closer and sing-songs the words back at him—hate you too, endearing and insufferable all at once, and Soobin feels his heart take flight. He feels all of 63 stories beneath them, like they’re floating in spring air with nothing to hold but each other, and he hates it: how much he loves this.
Yeonjun glows with a blinding smile as he flicks through the photos. Against the afternoon shine streaming through the glass, Yeonjun is a darkened silhouette, glinting gaze lifting to meet Soobin’s eyes at just the right moment.
It’s almost as if time itself stops, giving Soobin a moment to commit every detail to memory—the squeeze of Yeonjun’s eyebrows, the crescent shape of his smiling eyes, the way his full lips twitch into a lopsided grin, giving way to his front row of whites.
Soft.
Fuck, he’s staring, isn’t he?
Blinking, Soobin snatches the phone from Yeonjun’s hands.
“MOAs will get the wrong idea,” he mutters as he flicks through the photos. There’s one where Yeonjun has a hand curled round Soobin’s nape, sporting a disarming half-smile as he stares at Soobin in a way that can only be described as smitten. He panic-scrolls through the other selfies and thinks they might be good enough to post on Twitter, but an antsy feeling grows in his gut when he finds himself staring at the same selfie again, like it’s the key to some hidden truth. “It…” Soobin laughs awkwardly, realising there is no easy way to say this. “It, uh, really looks like we’re on a date.”
His eyes are glued to the photo, but he’s not really seeing. He’s listening. The silence between them stretches over the length of seconds, and never before has it sounded so loud.
“It does,” Yeonjun states. The certainty of that response has Soobin looking up, only to find Yeonjun sporting a devious little smirk. “Why? Does it make your heart flutter?”
Deny deny deny.
“No,” Soobin scoffs, waving Yeonjun and his insufferable questions away. “I just… didn’t know we looked so… like… like…”
“Like boyfriends?” Yeonjun completes with a goofy smile, and the word itself is enough to send Soobin’s heart into freefall. How else did it look, when they came out alone today without the other members, knowing all of them would’ve been free to tag along?
At Soobin’s silence, Yeonjun’s smile fades.
“Oh. Does it bother you?” he asks quietly. It comes out more serious and vulnerable than he probably intended, and Yeonjun seems to realise it, albeit belatedly. His lips part again, about to take it back.
“No,” Soobin replies quickly. It’s a struggle to school his expression into one of calm stoicism, but he does it anyway. “You?”
Yeonjun searches Soobin’s eyes. “No,” he says, shaking his head.
“Cool,” Soobin says, shoving his phone into his pocket. He tries very, very hard to look aloof.
“Cool,” Yeonjun parrots back, but he’s never been any good at masking his emotions either. The edges of his lips twitch upward as he looks away.
Couples weave paths around them, a delicate dance between sheets of sunlight, like little fish chasing each other’s tails all over an aquarium built for the sky.
The pair of them? They fit here. Soobin knows they do. Then let’s date, he wants to tease. He almost does, just to see Yeonjun’s flustered reaction. But his plans are foiled the moment Yeonjun tugs at his elbow, pulling him close enough to lean on his shoulder. All Soobin can feel is the woolly fuzz of Yeonjun’s beanie, gently grazing his cheek.
“Send me the photos, kay?” Yeonjun whispers, like it really matters to him.
Soobin’s heart thumps, and a warm yearning flares from within, engulfing him entirely. He nods.
In a way, Soobin has always yearned for this. It reminds him of a younger version of them: back when their little flirtations and knowing gazes meant he could have Yeonjun in this small way, for his own. He loved the heat of Yeonjun’s attention, so intoxicating that he really believed he would own it forever. That is, until Yeonjun fell in love, and it wasn’t Soobin.
Does Yeonjun still think about her?
The mere thought of it is enough to silence him, filling his chest up with thick molasses that make it impossible to breathe. It suffocates a hope Soobin didn’t know he still harboured with so much dedication. It was only a year ago that he bottled up his feelings and threw them into backward tides of his mind, to be carried to a place he’d never need to face.
He could do it again. He could.
But maybe it’s different this time, because now he knows.
He can't stand the thought of Yeonjun being with someone who isn’t him.
𖧵
Day slips into night. Seoul’s temperatures dip, but that’s not why Soobin’s heart feels like ice.
The entire world folds into an alleyway with just the two of them, but it’s as if Soobin hasn’t moved an inch from the aquarium, floating in the ocean with his own thoughts. Under the incandescent glow of street lamps, Soobin wonders if they ever stood a chance.
“Bin?”
Yeonjun moves into his field of vision, warm palms closing in to squish Soobin’s icy cheeks. Sensations flood back: they’re in a BBQ restaurant’s back alley, having snuck away after dinner to go for a private walk without their managers. The alcohol scent in the air follows them all the way here, no thanks to the soju that Yeonjun had earlier spilled onto Soobin’s sleeve. How much did they have earlier—one and a half for Yeonjun, and a half for Soobin? He’s not as tipsy as Yeonjun is, but he’s definitely cotton-headed enough to overthink everything between them. The minty breeze of Seoul’s rainy evening billows through them, but the edges of Soobin’s eyes burn long after it has passed. Yeonjun seems to sense it; of course he does. He’s looking right at Soobin, into him, all over him, concern welling in his stare. Too much. Too inquiring. “What are you thinking about?”
It’s difficult.
Soobin can’t exactly say it, the words.
What are we doing, hyung?
He labours over a breath, letting it plume into little puffs of smoke through the gaps of his mask.
“I’m cold,” he manages.
“My Soobinnie is cold?” Yeonjun despairs, like it’s preposterous that he ever allowed it. He looks silly, all unfocused yet extremely concentrated on the thought, and it’s clear he’s had one somaek too much to drink.
Soobin stifles a laugh. That is, until Yeonjun shrugs off one side of his trench and stretches it over Soobin’s shoulders, ignoring Soobin’s sounds of protest. He tugs Soobin close, and the alcohol beneath his skin turns Yeonjun’s skin into a peachy sort of red which, on closer inspection, starts from the base of his neck. He’s a human furnace that Soobin can’t help but lean into and hold, arms circling around his waist. Yeonjun’s waist is slimmer than he remembers, slender from the stress of comeback and his own self-imposed dieting.
Soobin holds on tighter.
“Hyung is here,” Yeonjun says, startlingly close, and it makes Soobin realise a few things. There’s barely any space between them. Barely any space to think. Yeonjun holds him like a lifebuoy and they sway in place for a while, weary eyes falling shut. His oceanic fragrance is faint, masked under the lingering smell of barbecue in their hair. Distant beats and pitchy vocals from the pubs and bars flow from every direction, sounding so far away that it’s easy to believe Yeonjun is the only person here that matters.
Then Yeonjun does this: he reaches down and intertwines their fingers, again, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and he massages Soobin’s hand. The little action spreads heat all over his palm, trailing all the way to his cheeks. The way he fills the space between Soobin’s fingers feels almost too intimate, too close to something they aren’t allowed.
But Soobin lets him.
Soobin always lets him.
Parting the snow in Soobin’s chest, spring’s first snowdrop blooms.
“I really, really wanna walk near the river,” Yeonjun says into his shoulder, and the vibrations of his voice seep into Soobin’s bones. “Y’know, sober up… but we can go home if you’re cold.”
When Soobin pulls away to second that, there’s a watery look on Yeonjun’s face and a pout that Soobin once tried building defences against, to no avail. He knows that look all too well.
He knows better than to think he can overcome it.
Folding their arms together, Soobin walks Yeonjun out of the alleyway where the calm waters of Han River await just beyond the promenade. The reflection on the water’s surface glows with orbs of white from the faraway streetlamps atop the pedestrian bridge, arches shimmering like streaks of wet paint. They arrive on the promenade walking trail and Soobin lingers by the edge of it, watching the scene from afar, silently wishing he had more days where he could see the Han River from up close for no reason other than to enjoy the sight. A childlike smile grows on Yeonjun’s face, so riveting that Soobin only snaps out of it when Yeonjun glances back at him.
“We’ve been busy,” Soobin comments. “I’ve looked forward to our day off for weeks.”
Yeonjun nods, smile dimming.
“Thanks, Bin-ah,” he whispers, sounding far away as he turns to face the darkness surrounding the waterfront. “You spent today with me. You didn’t have to.”
“Hyung, you did the planning,” Soobin tries to sound cavalier about it, but he knows how important it is for Yeonjun to hear this; he always shortchanges himself, like everything he does is never enough when he pours himself into every little thing. “I didn’t do anything.”
“It’s not just today, though,” Yeonjun’s words are starting to slur but he swallows, slowing down and enunciating every syllable with an endearing amount of concentration. “I mean… everything, like the breakup stuff. You noticed and you were there, and everything…” Yeonjun lets out a shuddering breath, “You didn’t have to do any of that. So, thank you.”
The smile is gone from Yeonjun’s face entirely, like a crescent moon disappearing from its cradle in the sky. His eyes are wet and dark. It feels like glimpsing into an empty well and finding yourself at the abyssal bottom, looking up at where the sun should be and finding only a black lid in its place.
Is this how lonely he’s felt, all this time?
“Of course,” Soobin leans in and places an arm over Yeonjun’s shoulder. He doesn’t know how else to anchor Yeonjun here, with him, in reality and not the hell in his head. “Anything for Yongsan Hot Guy.”
It seems to work for a while; the twinkle returns to Yeonjun’s eyes, called forth as if by magic, and the lingering effects of alcohol make him quick to tease.
“So you finally admit that I’m hot," Yeonjun smirks, shoving his hands in his pockets and snapping his head towards Soobin. “How hot is Yongsan Hot Guy?”
“Well...”
He knows what Yeonjun wants to hear. Soobin has a heart, alright, so he coughs out a pitying laugh.
“Fine. You’re kind of hot. Like, only when you’re not being annoying.”
“Really? When am I not annoying?”
“Never.”
The teasing in Yeonjun’s gaze is even more blatant with the alcohol flush creeping up his neck. “You know, you’re a horrible fake boyfriend.”
Soobin scoffs. “That’s not what you said earlier. Liar.”
“Hm? I never said anything. You’re the liar.”
“And I’d be a good boyfriend, mind you,” Soobin huffs haughtily. “Maybe even above average.”
Contrary to his expectations, Yeonjun doesn’t sputter with laughter. There’s only the echo of a smile left on his face.
“You really would, Bin-ah,” Yeonjun nods. “Better than I was.”
The words lack any of his usual bite and sarcasm—it’s matter-of-fact and sincere, like he really, truly believes it. The gravity of it throws Soobin off centre, like the world’s a few inches off.
As if for a sense of security, Yeonjun’s arm tightens around Soobin, fingers digging into the fuzzy fabric of his coat like an anchor—and they’re here again, at the edge of something unknowable and uncharted, of the break-up that puts fear in Yeonjun’s eyes. Tugging him by the hand, Soobin takes Yeonjun closer to the water’s edge and sits them on the faded stepstones, and lets the sounds of the running river fill the gaps between them.
“Yeonjun,” Soobin says softly. “What’s wrong?”
It’s not anything dramatic, like Soobin imagined. The words are simple. They fall into the air before them, and as if following the movement, Yeonjun drops his gaze to his shoes on the darkened riverfront. Soobin had pictured this reaction, too, but that doesn’t make the suspense any easier to endure.
“You can’t tell me?” Soobin tries to lighten the mood. “Hey... I came out at 7AM for you.”
At least it earns a wry smile. But Yeonjun seems to melt around himself, shoulders drooping, chin tilting down. Soobin wonders if he’s ruined things, taking the light in Yeonjun’s eyes away like that, leaving him pensive and quiet and alone in his own head.
“I feel guilty,” Yeonjun states. For a split second, Yeonjun looks like he might cry again—like he did the first time in the practice room, staring listlessly at the ceiling. “Did I tell you why she broke up with me?”
Soobin shakes his head, looking ahead to the horizon to give Yeonjun time to collect himself. The other side of the city shines back at them—a kaleidoscope of passing cars and blinking buildings humming at a consonance that can’t reach them. It’s quiet, for the time being; the universe quivers with invisible energy. Soobin closes his eyes to the world, falling into its vibration, listening for the words in Yeonjun’s heart.
“I couldn’t love her,” says the tiniest of voices beside him; when he turns to look, Yeonjun’s gaze is wet, his breath trapped in the cage of his throat. “It always felt like I was… running, somehow, trying to catch up with what she felt. She was always so kind to me… and I tried so hard to be good to her. To give her my time, to message her everyday… I wanted to be the boyfriend she wanted. But for me, it always felt like a picture that wouldn’t hang right. I would do things, sort of on auto-pilot, and she knew me, right? Better than anyone. She could tell how distracted I was. So that day, on the phone, she asked me point-blank… if I had feelings for anyone else.”
Soobin snaps his gaze to Yeonjun.
“I couldn’t say,” Yeonjun says, letting out an embarrassed huff. “She was waiting, on the line, so I told her maybe t-there was a boy.” There’s a choked sound in Yeonjun’s throat as it squeezes around nothing, a broken note he can’t control. “I wanted her to scream at me, or be mad, or hate me—but she did none of that. She was quiet. For a while, she didn't say a single word. But when she finally spoke, do you know what she told me? You should really go tell him, Yeonjun-ah.”
Yeonjun blinks away the pool of tears in his eyes, but it only overflows, dribbling down his cheeks. “And I just felt relieved,” he says, turning to Soobin with a sad smile. “That she knew I was confused. She saw the things I couldn’t admit to myself, and she was so kind to me even when we let each other go, and she was struggling not to cry on the phone.” Now he swallows, chin tilting towards the ground, suddenly afraid again. “She knew, she could see it, and I think—it’s true. I think I’ve always been in love with someone else.”
Yeonjun’s eyes lift to meet Soobin’s.
A pang of sadness takes shape in Soobin’s chest, and settles there.
Grief.
Familiar grief.
It’s hers. It’s been a year of letting this feeling cut into him; Soobin knows it by now, like a thousand paper cuts to the heart. The shape of it is hers, and Soobin feels it in his heart, like twin kindred spirits who love the same man and suffer because of it. Soobin finds himself transported to that moment, one year ago: in his room, on the edge of his bed, with Yeonjun in front of him, talking about being with someone else when Soobin was right there.
When Soobin had always been right there.
“Who is he?” he hears himself ask distantly, like his mind and his body are miles apart.
Yeonjun’s arms come up to wrap around himself like a layer of protection, head laying to rest on drawn-up knees. The watery sliver of his eye peeks at Soobin—a moment so important that it feels like every origin event of the universe—fireballs bursting in the ether, the reckless expansion of space, galaxies spawning like a string of light-ups—have all led to this, the hefty swell in Soobin’s chest that longed for Yeonjun to just… say it. Say something about the tension between them, coax it out of the air like a flicker of magic, and make it real.
The boy is him. Soobin knows it is him.
But Yeonjun shakes his head, silently pleading with his eyes.
He can’t.
Yeonjun reaches across the cosmos for Soobin’s hand, but Soobin flinches—he can’t deal with the closeness, not when his heart feels like ash, prone to crumbling at the slightest touch.
“It’s—It’s okay. I’m happy you realised, hyung,” Soobin forces a smile that feels too small for his face. He means it, in every sense of those words, so much that it felt like ripping into his soul and turning himself out, pouring his feelings asunder—so he avoids looking at Yeonjun, lest his eyes betray the wilt of his disappointment. He looks up at the moon and its perfect imprint in the sky, the way it looks like someone had plunged their nail into perfect darkness and pierced through it like tin foil. “It sounds like she loved you.”
“Soobin…”
“I’m… actually really, really tired,” Soobin tries to laugh, but it comes out like a sigh. “Let’s go home?”
Soobin doesn’t realise he’s already walking away until he feels the breeze caressing his face, and that awful sting in his eyes again. The truth is, he wishes he could point a finger at Yeonjun and blame him for all the brokenness he felt. For disappearing like a ghost for a year. For trading away their off-day lunches and team movie nights. For, ultimately, being with someone who wasn’t Soobin. But most of all, Soobin blames himself. Because despite all of those things, he couldn’t stop staring beyond the empty horizon for a year, clutching onto the fatal hope that Yeonjun would return to him, the way a wandering tide finds its way back onto shore.
All he holds onto are fragments of their bond like pieces of driftwood, now turned to dust.
There’s a splash of touch on Soobin’s elbow. Somebody’s fingers. “Bin, wait, Bin-ah,” comes the sound—and it’s Yeonjun who blocks his path, stopping them near a streetlamp. “Please?”
Face-to-face, the conflict is clearer on Yeonjun’s features, patterned by a web of shadows from the swaying trees overhead. He genuinely looks devastated, like a lost child seeking forgiveness, gazing up at him speechless and struggling with the words. Soobin didn’t even know he was mad at Yeonjun until it pours out of him in one sigh—and he lets it go, gone with his fleeting breath.
Because it’s Yeonjun.
Yeonjun. Always so, so bad at speaking his heart. Yeonjun slowly angles his face into the crook of Soobin’s neck, and the reaction is instant—Soobin goes breathless, hands shooting up to steady him. It feels like a continuation of the intimacy they shared in the practice room—their very own private universe as all the noise around Han River simply drains away, leaving only the sounds of their breathing. Yeonjun doesn’t budge for a long moment, arms secure around Soobin’s waist. “Binnie, please,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. Don’t hate me. Please…”
Soobin wishes he could stay mad. But with Yeonjun pressed against him like this, he struggles to remember a reason for ever being mad at all. Silly. He’s so silly, thinking Soobin could ever hate him.
“I can’t hate you,” Soobin mutters into Yeonjun’s beanie. It feels like saying too little, yet too much. There’s a lump in Soobin’s throat when Yeonjun pulls back from the hug to gaze at him—and at once, he feels translucent, like all his feelings over the past year are written all over his face.
“I can’t hate you too,” Yeonjun repeats back with a warm smile, even as his eyes fill slowly with tears. “God, I’m so stupid.”
It’s the tipsiness, Soobin thinks, that makes it harder for Yeonjun to control his emotions—because they flood out of him, the deepening creases on his face, the anguished frown he can’t hide. “It’s just that I spent the last year trying to get over this boy I like,” Yeonjun raises a gentle hand to Soobin’s cheek, and the action alone thaws at the iciness in Soobin’s heart. It’s so warm it feels like a starburst—the blinding birth of a new world, one that illuminates the entire galaxy in Yeonjun’s eyes. “And I thought getting into a relationship would help me forget him. I’m an idiot, right?”
Soobin feels lost, groping in the dark for an answer. Despite that, Yeonjun looks at him with so much hope. Like Soobin is the lighthouse covered by clouds. The murky hope in pitch-black waters. The tip of his compass, his destined arrival.
That alone: it tells him everything.
Soobin’s heart almost stops.
“You know who I mean, Bin.” Yeonjun tries to smile, a false show of confidence, but that’s before the galaxy finally spills from his squeezed eyes, leaving a trail of stars against his cheeks. “Don’t… make me say it when I’m already so embarrassed.”
Soobin swallows, fighting to damp down the prickling sensation behind his eyes. The truth is, Soobin has been wishing for years that Yeonjun would say something. He’d wondered for so long if perhaps he made up their tension in his head. Now, out loud, the words feel tenuous—like they might disappear one day, like Yeonjun almost did for an entire year.
Soobin knows. He knows it’s always been him. But why couldn’t he believe it?
“Please tell me,” Soobin manages to steady his voice. “I hate guessing, hyung. I really hate guessing.”
The visage before him is confronting: Yeonjun stands drenched in a pool of light, shining tracks on his cheeks, bottom lip bitten red from the struggle of fighting a war within. Weary. Battle-worn. It’s more stunning than any other time he’s seen Yeonjun under the glare of blinding spotlights—practised, poised, and ready for anything. Right now, he looks anything but.
Yeonjun’s worried gaze sweeps across Soobin’s features, eyes shimmering like transparent pools.
“It’s you,” Yeonjun admits, words going shaky and unpracticed, like they’re wrenched from a place within him that has never seen light. “When I was with her, I wished it was you instead.”
For one long moment, Soobin wonders if he misheard. So he waits, breath caught in his throat—he waits for Yeonjun to continue. The rolling Han River rustles onto the rocky bank some distance away, but Yeonjun stays silent, at arm’s length; he’s visibly flustered, throat locking up, absent-mindedly fiddling with the buttons of his coat. It’s the ghost of him—the one Soobin knows, the person he missed for a year. Why does he look sadder than Soobin remembers?
Yeonjun looks so small like this, head tipped downward as if to fold himself away, out of sight. So Soobin takes Yeonjun’s arm, pulling him forward until his head rests on Soobin’s chest, and raising gentle fingers to play with the back of Yeonjun’s hair. The boy inhales, goosebumps raising on his neck, breathing going slow and even.
“I didn’t want to make things weird by telling you,” Yeonjun says into Soobin’s shoulder. “I’m not asking you to feel the same way. I’m happy, I promise. I’m happy with us. I don’t need you to say anything, or reciprocate, or act any differently. Nothing has to change… okay?”
Yeonjun pulls back to look at Soobin. He attempts an assuring smile, but even in the darkness, he looks so close to tears. Soobin feels his heart squeeze.
He knows this fear.
He’s known it since they were trainees, too fragile to hope, afraid their dream would never come to pass. Back then, it was Yeonjun who showed him how to hope again.
Maybe it’s Soobin’s turn to remind him.
“Liar,” Soobin says, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “At least try not to look like the world’s ending.”
“Shut up, you’re the liar,” Yeonjun chuckles through the snot that dribbles out of his nose, sniffling aggressively. The sight is ridiculous and so unbecoming of an idol that Soobin can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up from his belly. It’s a little too public a place to have this conversation, as the pavement begins to crowd with people on their post-work jogs—so he grabs Yeonjun by the elbow and guides them down the stairs, towards the empty tunnel underpass below the bridge. Save for a few abandoned bicycles along the water’s edge and the overgrowth of weeds, and it’s remote enough to assume that fewer people pass through here. Soobin stops them behind a tessellated pillar that casts shadows long and sharp and dappled on the asphalt, with only the yellowed tint of the tunnel lights offering the barest hint of visibility. Yeonjun avoids looking up at Soobin, sniffling softly. The fragments of light catch on the tears still gathered in his eyes.
It’s private. It’s quiet. Yeonjun looks like a vision in a dream just for him, and it’s surreal enough that Soobin finds himself captivated, moved by the desire to be truthful. Just this once.
“We’re both liars,” Soobin admits. “I was mad when you got a girlfriend, hyung.”
Yeonjun’s expression flickers.
“A part of me wished you hadn’t. Which is ridiculous because we weren’t even anything, right? What difference would it have made?” Soobin whispers, voice shaking, hating the fact that he was never really any good at hiding his true feelings. “But I wished it was me. Every day, I wished it was me. I didn’t know how to say that I felt like I was losing you. That you were mine, before you were hers. We treated each other that way, didn’t we, hyung? I thought maybe I imagined it all. Because if you liked me… why’d you go and date someone else?”
Soobin swallows. It feels like black tar, a layer over his throat, choking him from the inside. Saying it out loud hurts in a way he can’t even fathom. “I really tried to let you go, hyung. The past year, I really tried to be okay with just… letting you go.”
Soobin feels his lip wobble.
Damn it.
Slowly, Yeonjun tips Soobin’s chin up.
“You didn’t imagine anything. I… I never let you go, even when I was with her,” Yeonjun looks gravely serious now, like nothing has ever meant more to him than these words. “It’s just… I liked you. Binnie, I liked you for so long. It was starting to hurt, just looking at you, being at work with you, seeing you so often at shoots and rehearsals and at home and… and I wanted to stop hurting that way. I thought it was hopeless. That if you liked me back, you would’ve said something. You looked so happy for me, when I told you about her…” Yeonjun’s entire expression falls, the mirror opposite of how he’d looked that day. “I just stopped hoping, but I never stopped loving you.”
It’s surreal, to hear his own feelings over the past year echoed back at him.
Back then, Soobin’s feelings had felt like a tsunami in his chest, impossible to carry with words that felt like paper boats. The easiest thing was to let Yeonjun go. But it was also the most difficult thing. He didn’t want to spend so much time feeling desperate, grasping for a liferaft. He didn’t want to feel like drowning every time he laid on his pillow. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he’d fallen for Choi Yeonjun, just like everybody else—but he did. He’d fallen into the sea, and it would always cling onto him, find home in the scent of his skin, know the shape of his lungs.
The only difference was: it was hopeless, but Soobin still hoped.
“You asked me if it was okay to date,” Soobin says softly, with the care one might show to a freshly reopened wound, held under running water. This is tender and raw, still—for both of them. “Of course it’s okay, hyung. It’ll always be okay, if you love someone. I was happy for you because I want you to be happy. With or without me. What else could I have said?”
He lets Yeonjun come closer. He links their fingers together, chin tilted down as if he can’t bear to look at Soobin too closely.
“Well, you could start with something like ‘I love you, Yeonjun hyung,’ or… ‘You’re so sexy,’ or maybe even ‘Date me instead, hyungie,’” Yeonjun chuckles at his own suggestions, but the embarrassment has him verging on tears again. That’s Yeonjun. Too honest. Too heartfelt. Too silly, to come up with anything calculated or cunning. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve kissed you, we would’ve kissed for the entire year, and we would’ve been married by now.”
Oh, Yeonjun logic. Yeonjun smiles proudly, like he didn’t just say something entirely ridiculous. Why does it still take Soobin’s breath away? Thing is, Soobin has spent so long building defences against this. Yet no matter how many times he’d tried to stave these feelings away, Yeonjun always found a way to make Soobin fall in love with him again.
“You watch too many dramas, you dumbass,” Soobin blurts, offering a shaky smile.
Yeonjun breaks out into soft laughter. It makes him double over, forearms resting on Soobin’s chest. Close, almost nose to nose—but never close enough. He bites his lip as he mulls over his words. “I just… I’m sorry. Bin, I’m so sorry. For everything I put you through. I’ve missed you. I still miss you. I miss you right now.”
It’s just like Yeonjun. All heart, no punchline. But there’s something so pure and honest in his rambling thoughts, like it’s the meandering map to a secret uncovered—the key to Yeonjun’s heart, the buried treasure on the ocean floor, waiting to be cherished.
Soobin won’t let it go.
“It’s okay,” And Soobin means it this time. It’s really okay. To his relief, his world remains intact, even as his vision begins to blur. Even as he blinks the detail away— the trees, the river, the streetlights—and all that’s left is Yeonjun. “Hyung, I missed you too.”
In the dark, their gazes lock.
Soobin places a gentle hand on Yeonjun’s chest, walking his hyung backwards until his back touches the wall like a butterfly on a pinboard, held in place by Soobin’s stare. It’s intoxicating to realise the amount of power he’s always had over Yeonjun. Soobin can feel with his fingers how Yeonjun’s breath hitches—but the boy forces composure, labouring through an inhale before bravely meeting Soobin’s eyes, speechless.
“Don’t date anymore,” Soobin says, one year too late.
Slowly, Yeonjun covers Soobin’s hand with his own. It feels right, like they were always made to fit together perfectly. How did they miss this? How could they know this and go back to being friends?
Soobin doesn’t let himself think. He leans forward, stopping just inches away from Yeonjun’s lips. Close enough to feel his breath. Far enough to wish away the distance. The words dry up between them; by now, Yeonjun has to know what Soobin is doing. The boundary he’s toeing. There’s a spark of realisation on Yeonjun’s gaze when Soobin finally steps closer to crowd him, hand going up to touch his jaw, gaze dropping to those balmy cherry-coloured lips and realising he’s never wanted to ruin anything more.
Five years of waiting.
One second to end it all.
Soobin closes his eyes.
The first thing Soobin feels is resistance. Because Yeonjun doesn’t wait, either—he crosses the distance, pressing their lips together, and they melt into each other’s space. Buzz, goes Soobin’s mind. Every single thought fizzles out, turning into foam. And everything, it all washes away. They give and take between their mouths, halting breath with every gentle tug, and there’s a carnal need to feel all of it at once, in tandem, with their eyes closed. With grip, with suction, with heat—they meld into one, their lips and roaming hands the only instrument. Slowly, the air gets tighter in their chests, a symphony in parts: bumping noses. Silent gasps. Tentative fingers travelling along their backs. Soobin flexes fingers into Yeonjun’s hair and over his beanie, the wool soft beneath his fingertips, and Yeonjun seems to melt into him, making a needy sound in the back of his throat. His hands travel south to cup Soobin’s ass, a gesture that almost makes Soobin laugh—because the action is familiar, but it feels entirely different now.
Yeonjun holds back a laugh too, coming to the same realisation. Soobin feels Yeonjun’s smile pressing gently against his lips. It’s a strange, special feeling he never even knew he wanted.
From here, it feels like the world moves on without Soobin’s knowledge. All he can do is flow with time. Soobin feels the shivering breath in his throat and allows himself a tiny smile; it’s everything he imagined. Like bone-deep belonging, and the smell of home. He kisses Yeonjun one more time, messy with feeling and passionate in approach, losing himself in the renewed fullness of his senses. Then another. When Yeonjun tries earnestly to deepen the kiss, Soobin’s heart leaps.
“We should stop… someone will see us,” Soobin whispers against Yeonjun’s lips. Words die in his throat when he opens his eyes at the exact same time that Yeonjun does. It takes a moment for the boy to regain his wits, but he eventually nods, pouting adorably.
“Yeah,” Yeonjun swallows, throat bobbing as he looks around, visibly relieved that the coast is clear. Blinking rapidly, his gaze lifts to read Soobin’s. “Bin? Did we just…”
“Y-yeah,” Soobin shrugs, like it’s no biggie. He’ll always play coy, even if his cheeks are burning with embarrassment. “Someone needed to stop you from crying again.”
The smack on Soobin’s arm is immediate.
“I can’t cry after that,” Yeonjun laughs wetly, rubbing a hand on his own chest. “I just… can’t believe it’s real. Is this real? Really, really real? My heart is racing.”
“Oh, what?” Soobin’s smirking now, a little cocky despite how he cradles his arm. “Too sexy for you?”
He expects Yeonjun to be flustered, but there’s a look in his eye that’s a little too alive for Soobin’s liking.
“So fucking sexy,” Yeonjun vehemently declares, eyeing Soobin with passion as his chest heaves. There’s something to be said about how direct Yeonjun is about the things he likes; Soobin wishes it didn’t make him blush, but he’s still not used to it. It must be the soju, Soobin thinks blearily, that makes Yeonjun more loose-lipped than usual.
Yeonjun looks up at Soobin, lips parted just so—and Soobin can’t help but fixate on the glint of his pink tongue, swiping over his bottom lip before he slinks closer to Soobin’s ear. Every movement Yeonjun makes is suddenly accentuated ten-fold, keeping Soobin taut on edge, like the fall of a whip dragging along his skin.
“Bin-ah, let me make it up to you,” he whispers. “My room, later, okay?”
Warm breath, kissing the shell of his ear. The words land like hot coals in his belly, a heat that Soobin has never expected from Yeonjun before.
Soobin doesn’t miss the implication.
𖧵
Okay, look.
He’s not going to pretend he hasn’t imagined it. Countless times, he’s wondered what Yeonjun’s lips would feel like. Now that he’s had a taste, it’s all he can think about. Any more than that? Well…
Truth is, wherever they were—whether it was on shoot, in practice studios or in backstage waiting rooms, Soobin always found himself assailed by visions of what it would feel like to kiss Yeonjun, to slide his fingers past Yeonjun’s half-open lips, to skate a hand between the folds of his stage costume and take his time to memorise the smoothness of Yeonjun’s skin.
Some days he’d blame the stylists, other days he’d blame Yeonjun’s natural charisma. There was no excuse; these scenes would come to him on days and nights unbidden, and while he’d initially felt bad about involving Yeonjun in his fantasies, it was the only small way Soobin could recoup the closeness he felt they’d lost after Yeonjun got a girlfriend.
Besides, little things like these never caused many issues. He’d only be caught staring at Yeonjun for a beat longer than necessary, earning a few knowing looks from the staff members.
Sure, he’s thought it.
It was filthy. It was a little embarrassing.
But no one really needs to know. Maybe Soobin feels a little bad thinking about it on their ride home, in the safety net of the backseat of their van. Half-asleep, Yeonjun grabs his hand and interlaces their fingers—an innocent touch that makes Soobin’s heart twinge.
What does this mean for them?
The thought of it has Soobin drumming his feet on the edge of his bed after they’ve finally reached the dorm and had their showers. So far, he’s successfully escaped the members’ questions about their outing, fed Odi, and went through his entire skincare routine. He’s even dressed for sleep—t-shirt and sweatpants. There’s officially nothing holding him back from curling up in bed and calling it a night.
Maybe he can deal with his newfound relationship tomorrow.
Unfortunately, his phone lights up.
yeonjun hyung: comeeeeeeee ):
yeonjun hyung: did you fall asleep baby?
The flirty pet name inspires a double-take and damn well near sends him into cardiac arrest—but it’s the dumb sad-face emoji that cracks his resolve. Ah, fuck it. He picks up his phone and taps out a response before he can think too much about it.
bin: impatient
When he knocks gently on Yeonjun’s door, Soobin finds himself overwhelmed with anxiety and an odd sense of deja vu. But there’s no fanfare, like he thought; the door opens to a sight Soobin has seen a thousand times before: a freshly-showered Yeonjun, black-rimmed glasses on, with extra-puffy hair from the blow dryer. He’s in a black muscle tee and basketball shorts, both of which hang off of his lean stature and toned limbs.
The second thing that hits Soobin is the faint floral scent coming from Yeonjun’s room. Now that’s unusual. Soobin knows for a fact that Yeonjun has barely used the diffuser his mum gave him since debut.
“Welcome,” Yeonjun says, grinning serenely. Behind him, his laptop is toppled haphazardly on the bed like he’d rushed to answer the door. Not to mention, Soobin can actually see his floorboards, with all of the delivery boxes and PR packages that used to plague it now gone.
Soobin breaks out into a smile, anxiety forgotten. “Hyung, you cleaned your room?”
“What? I just felt like cleaning,” Yeonjun’s eyebrows furrow adorably. “It’s not like I did it for you or anything, okay.”
Bullshit. He totally spent the last hour preparing for Soobin’s little visit. Soobin can’t keep the pleased grin off his face. “Okaaaaay.”
He tries not to think too much about how Yeonjun goes to close the door, not-so-surreptitiously locking it. Too bad Soobin knows the telltale click. It’s deafening to his ears.
“So, um…” Yeonjun says, crossing the room to sit on the bed. “I was thinking…”
Soobin gulps, breath frozen as Yeonjun eyes him with a hopeful look. Those lips—did he just apply lip balm, too?
“Maybe we could watch some… anime?” Yeonjun suggests with a jump of his brow.
“What?”
“What?”
“No, just.” Soobin sputters, trying to understand what he’s hearing. Is this what Yeonjun meant by making things up to him? God, why? That is not what he implied. “Why?”
“I was trying to think of things you’d like,” Yeonjun pouts. “Hey, what? You think I can’t appreciate anime?”
Soobin laughs, dodging Yeonjun’s vicious attacks on his butt. Anime—not quite what he had in mind, but… they’ve never watched it together before, and it’s oddly touching that Yeonjun even thought about doing this. Yeonjun said he’d make it up to Soobin, after all. For all the movie nights he missed and more. “Weirdo. But I’m always down for anime. Move over.”
There’s not a lot of room for more than one butt on this bed, but Yeonjun scoots himself flush to the wall, glancing at Soobin excitedly. Yeonjun has an episode of Talentless Nana loaded—which is honestly sweet, because Soobin has gushed about how much he loved the series in front of practically everyone.
He just didn’t know Yeonjun was actually listening.
He already knows that the series is not quite Yeonjun’s taste. Unthinkingly, Soobin crawls into the bed and loads the first episode of Puella Magi Madoka Magica instead. Emotional? Emotional. Yeonjun might like it more. Satisfied with the streaming site he’s found, he leans back into a nest of pillows that have somehow materialised behind him, allowing Yeonjun to lodge one earphone gently into his ear and wrap an arm around him in one smooth manoeuvre. Soobin adjusts himself so he can rest his head on Yeonjun’s shoulder.
They don’t say a word; everything falls into place. Their earphones fill with Madoka’s panting as she races through a chequered dreamscape—ah, the opening scene. Soobin has seen it all before but it feels new, somehow, being in Yeonjun’s bed, next to him, breathing the same air. This close, the sweet scent of Yeonjun’s body soap seems to overwhelm him entirely.
They sink deeper into the bed as the episode goes on, almost flat on their backs now with their heads propped up by the pillows. About halfway through, Yeonjun starts to play with Soobin’s hair, deft fingers finding his scalp and dragging the dark strands outwards.
It’s distracting, to say the least. To be honest, Soobin couldn’t give less of a fuck what Madoka is doing anymore.
The last straw comes when Yeonjun’s boyfriend arm, which has been politely motionless all this time, ventures around Soobin’s waist where his shirt has ridden up. His fingers curl over Soobin’s bare skin—gentle, but intentional.
Oh.
He caresses Soobin like this. It’s casual enough, just light touches, like warm tides lapping on his side. But everything stops when Yeonjun’s fingers trail along the waistband of Soobin’s sweats. Clipped fingertips play with the edge of the band, prising under and smoothing over. Breathless at the feeling, Soobin tries to shoot Yeonjun a pointed look.
Only to catch Yeonjun’s dark eyes, staring right at him.
It’s funny. Soobin has seen Yeonjun in just about every way—styled to the nines in tailored designer outfits, sweating through a tank top after a performance, or throwing on casual chic to the mart. But it’s the sight of Yeonjun the non-performer, the ordinary boy with black-rimmed glasses and no make-up on, his hair dishevelled from the pillow and his muscle tank askew on the crinkled bed sheets, that renders him so entirely captivated. It’s Yeonjun before anyone else gets to have him. Lips like a baby petal’s bloom, eyes like a predator’s, his expression clouded with want. Yeonjun’s gaze darts down to his lips, unabashedly, and selfishly, he knows what he needs Yeonjun to do.
But Soobin’s tired of waiting. So fuck Madoka. Pushing himself up by his arm, he leans over and kisses Yeonjun till the earphones fall out of their ears.
Yeonjun takes the lead on their kiss just as soon as Soobin starts it—his hands hold Soobin’s face in place, sliding his tongue over Soobin’s lips until Soobin opens his mouth to reciprocate, and fuck, it feels like a conquest with how needy and desperate they get. Soobin can’t breathe.
That is, until Soobin tugs at the comforter and unseats Yeonjun’s laptop. It knocks against the wall with a thud, startling them into breaking apart with a gasp. On the screen—which thankfully still works—the end credits of Puella Magi roll.
“Shit,” Yeonjun curses, getting up in record time to put the laptop away. “Shit, shit, shit, give me a sec…”
Soobin bursts into belly-deep laughter, folding over into Yeonjun’s bed.
“Oh, god, sorry, hyung,” Soobin gasps between giggles. “I think you’re gonna need a new laptop soon.”
“I’ll ask the staff, I’m sure they can rig a To-Do ep for me,” Yeonjun chuckles.
The bed dips from Yeonjun’s weight. Yeonjun sets a hand on Soobin’s chest, pushing him gently backward until his head hits the sheets, with Yeonjun hovering right above him. He’s not wearing his glasses anymore.
“Right, where were we?” Yeonjun says, running a hand through his fringe handsomely, his voice taking on a dangerous, dark edge. Soobin can’t resist the snort that leaves his nostrils. Okay, who exactly is Choi Yeonjun trying to impress here?
“I don’t know, hyung...” Soobin tilts his head mischievously, dimpled cheeks showing. “That was a bit of a moodkill, don’t you think? I’m not really feeling it anymore.”
The instant despair on Yeonjun’s face shouldn’t be so funny, but it is. Soobin sinks himself deeper into the mattress, tucking his chin to the side and biting back a smile, pretending to close himself off. Cruel? Maybe. But Soobin figures he’ll never tire of messing with Yeonjun this way.
A moment passes. Soobin peeks through his eyelids only to discover how Yeonjun stares at him like he contains the entire universe. Yet the struggle in his expression—the twitch in his brows, the subtle pout—is so, so obvious. Agh, cute. It’s so cute, that for a second Soobin has no idea what to do with all the love in his chest.
“Soobinnie,” Yeonjun pleads, pouting harder. For a second, they brush noses, and Soobin is so sure that Yeonjun is going to kiss him. But he doesn’t. He keeps his distance, eyes wide and sincere. “I want you to do it again. Please?”
“Do what again?” Soobin can’t keep the amusement out of his voice. Yeonjun sighs, clearly frustrated.
“Kiss,” Yeonjun says softly. It’s more honest than Soobin is used to. For a moment, all Soobin can do is stare at the earnest expression on Yeonjun’s face.
Soobin doesn’t want to let this go.
Never wants to let this go again.
But he can always afford a little teasing.
“Ah, Yeonjunnie,” Soobin plays up a knowing smirk, hand curling around Yeonjun’s neck. “You like me that much?”
Yeonjun looks away, overwhelmed by an inner war with his pride, but the tremble of his lip says enough. Where words escape him, his hopeful expression says it all. This picture, this private moment—it feels like watching a sunrise at the end of the world and realising it’s yours alone. To love. To cherish. How did he ever come to be worthy of that look in Yeonjun’s eyes?
“Yeah, I do,” Yeonjun says, suddenly resolute and made almost entirely of a fond smile. “What about it, huh, punk?”
God, he’s so unoriginal. Soobin doesn’t even realise the matching smiles on their faces until Yeonjun’s thumb grazes his cheek, down to the divot of his dimple. It’s like Yeonjun forgets Soobin is there. The way Yeonjun regards him changes, slowly, like the clouds clearing on a sunless sky, opening to a soft gaze. Precious, sentimental, like he is. Yeonjun swallows. His lips part, like he’s trying to say something.
He can’t.
Not with words.
In silence, Soobin understands perfectly.
They bring their lips together again, like two waves meeting—and Soobin lets the tide take him. Everything flows. The gentle pressure of Yeonjun’s body, pinning him onto the mattress. The freshly-laundered scent of Yeonjun’s sheets, all around him. The gasps and smacks of their lips meeting and parting and delving, over and over and every way they know, lost in time until they find forever.
Everything. Soobin wants everything. He glides across the scentless balm on Yeonjun’s lips and licks deeper into his mouth, holding his head to taste more of the spearmint in his breath. Soobin is so engrossed in the feeling—the more, more, more of it that his breath stutters when Yeonjun’s touch drops, unexpectedly, to his chest like a flare, lighting up the dark. It feels like arrival, the opening of a new path, an invitation to go further. So Soobin does the only thing he knows. He follows the signs: Yeonjun’s hitched breath, his shuddering sighs. He drags an experimental palm down Yeonjun’s hips—and it feels surreal, yet real at the same time, when his hand finally squeezes Yeonjun’s ass, hovering just over Soobin’s sweats. It shouldn’t feel so good—Yeonjun is his hyung. Since… since the beginning. But Yeonjun drops his head to let out a soft, breathy mewl right into the shell of Soobin’s ear, and fuck.
Every thought flies out of Soobin’s brain.
All he feels is everything, and he still wants more.
Soobin barely knows what he’s doing, but he knows this; every dip and curve of Yeonjun is gaping, asking for his touch. So Soobin listens. His fingers catch the fluttering edge of Yeonjun’s top and slides up his body—all lean planes of muscle, warm and firm under his palm. It’s addictive, he thinks, working Yeonjun up when he’s so reactive, breathing shakily at every new feeling.
Creeping up Yeonjun’s back like the morning sun, Soobin drives his hands along the gentle peaks of Yeonjun’s spine, past the protruded cliff of his wing bones, through the hole of his shirt to the clearing of his nape, where he caresses the undercut that’s grown out a bit since their promotions ended. Fabric bunches around Soobin’s forearms, revealing most of Yeonjun’s back to the room.
“Mm,” Yeonjun moans softly, resting his forehead on the mattress, like all the strength has been sapped out of him from just these simple touches. “Bin…”
“You like this? Hyung?” Soobin murmurs, low and deep.
Yeonjun nods, eyes closed, nudging his nose between Soobin’s neck and the sheets underneath.
It gives Soobin the permission he needs to go on; so he continues with the same slow pace, dragging his hands down either side of Yeonjun’s naked waist, which turns the boy’s breathing even sharper. Travelling over the firmness of his navel, Soobin splays his fingers, skimming over the ripple of Yeonjun’s ribs. His warm hands floating upwards with an obvious destination in mind—and it’s at this moment that a switch flips and Yeonjun kisses him deeply, an anxious clashing of lips and meeting of tongues, arms tucking under Soobin’s neck in a hug that brings Soobin’s fingertips even closer to where he wants them.
He thumbs Yeonjun’s nipples with a gentle flick; just to feel it, at first. Yeonjun flinches with a gasp into Soobin’s mouth, his back curving towards the ceiling at the unfamiliar sensation; Soobin can’t help himself, drawn to Yeonjun’s pleasure, rubbing and flicking them until Yeonjun is whimpering above him. It’s a matter of time before Yeonjun is kissing him again, interspersed with heavy breaths and muffled whines from the constant stimulation.
“Ah, ah—” Yeonjun whimpers, dropping his forehead on the sheets again, arching away, trying to stop Soobin’s ministrations. “Bin-ah, Soobin-ah, wait…”
In the midst of his squirming, Yeonjun’s thigh slides higher between Soobin’s legs and presses deliciously against his crotch. An instant realisation freezes them in their tracks: Soobin is hard. Repeat, Soobin is hard. Soobin is hard in Yeonjun’s bed and Yeonjun’s knee is pressing against his big dick and it feels so fucking good but what the fuck. Their members are right outside this room, sleeping. Their fans are writing love letters to them on Weverse. Their mums are at home, watching a drama on their couches, probably never in their wildest dreams imagining that Soobin would be wide-eyed and rock hard in Yeonjun’s bed, consumed by an existential crisis.
Soobin swears it’s like nothing moves for an eternity. Good lord. They’re bandmates. And now they’re horny bandmates. Because of Soobin?
What would Bang PD think?
“I see,” Yeonjun says casually, like the discovery of Soobin’s massive dick is a fun little surprise. One might think he opened a Kit-Kat and found four sticks instead of two.
Oh god, Soobin wants to die. And kill Yeonjun. Maybe both. Maybe at the same time.
“S-sorry,” Soobin says anyway. He tries to manoeuvre Yeonjun off of him, but Yeonjun grips Soobin’s wrist, and Soobin freezes.
He lowers it, slowly, until Soobin’s palm lays flat against Yeonjun’s crotch, over his basketball shorts.
It’s hard to the touch. Yeonjun breathes a shaky sigh at the contact.
“Hyung,” Soobin whispers, eyes wide, overwhelmed by the newness of this entire situation. He’s never touched this part of Yeonjun. Never seen him with sex on his mind, eyes glazed over as he strains against Soobin’s motionless palm. He is one squeeze away from hearing Yeonjun moan—and he wants to, he really wants to. It’s Yeonjun, his colleague, his friend, and now… whatever they are, after today. If they go ahead with this, Soobin fears he can’t ever write this off again. He can’t ever, ever play pretend anymore. No matter what they say from now, they’ll never go back to before.
Somehow, eventually, their members will find out.
Whatever Soobin’s expression says, Yeonjun leans in and kisses him. It’s a chaste peck of the lips, and he inhales at Soobin’s cheek before he pulls away. The feathery feeling pours warm honey in Soobin’s chest.
“I can hear you thinking,” Yeonjun whisper-laughs, and it’s his turn to feel shy, a little awkward under Soobin’s wide-eyed stare. “Is this weird?”
Soobin really tries to compose himself. His hand retreats to the safety of Yeonjun’s waist, where they’ve hugged a million times before. The rising anxiety in his chest grows so huge and roaring that it’s all Soobin can hear in the silence of Yeonjun’s room.
“It’s… different,” he ends up saying.
“Yeah,” Yeonjun smiles hopefully. “It’s… new?”
He brushes aside Soobin’s fringe like a curtain, peeking through it. Yeonjun’s eyes are like spotlights, where every doubt is brought to light.
“We can stop if you want,” he says softly. His eyes are wet but adoring. “Bin-ah, is this too fast?”
“Not really, it’s just…” Soobin takes a deep breath to calm himself, considering his next words with a tight smile. “We’re crossing a line I never thought we would cross, and… I don’t know why, but I feel like your mum is watching me, okay? Let me feel guilty for a moment.”
Yeonjun bursts out laughing.
“Same, agh, same,” Yeonjun laugh-cries next to Soobin’s ear, his body landing sideways on the bed. The sound lights a bigger smile on Soobin’s face. “But I’m so, so desperate. You have no idea how much I want you.”
“You’re just a perv,” Soobin’s face scrunches in mock distaste, though he turns to slap Yeonjun’s butt just to appease him. “Are you happy now? I’ll have you know that this is a HR violation.”
“Go ahead, report me,” Yeonjun laughs, reaching down to squeeze Soobin’s ass. “I’ll just report you back.”
Ugh. Brat. Soobin rolls his eyes, hugging Yeonjun close to his chest. “Then I’ll report you twice, don’t think I won’t,” Soobin threatens, but there’s no bite in it. Fond, fond, fond. Yeonjun reaches up with his lips and locks them in a long, languid kiss, his boner rocking gently against Soobin’s pyjama leg. Soobin can feel it hard and pulsing, in want of touch. The knowledge of it sends a flood of heat to his cock that has him feeling light-headed, on the verge of insanity.
“Bin-ah,” Yeonjun breaks their kiss, breathing raggedly. “Is your moment of guilt over yet..?”
“Long gone,” Soobin fends off the smile. “I just enjoy making you wait.”
Of course Soobin knows exactly which buttons to push.
But there’s just one thing: so does Yeonjun. He throws a leg over Soobin, settling his butt on Soobin’s clothed dick and grinding just enough for Soobin’s mouth to pop open at the pressure.
“I’ll make you regret that, Choi Soobin,” Yeonjun says, ever the challenger.
He starts with the slow roll of his hips, the soft flesh of his butt rubbing in circles against Soobin’s dick, and it’s too fucking much—Soobin lets out a loud sigh, hands grasping onto Yeonjun’s thighs. Guttural arousal pools in his dick and Soobin grinds shallowly upwards, the heat between their clothes only growing. Acting on instinct, Soobin makes quick work of pulling the muscle tee off of Yeonjun, now tugging at his silky basketball shorts to no avail.
“Now who’s impatient? Wanna feel you first, Bin-ah,” Yeonjun’s eyes turn cat-like as he raises his hips and curls a hand around the elastic band of Soobin’s sweatpants. “When I said I’d make it up to you, I had something in mind.”
“Yeah..? Not anime?” Soobin laughs, trying to get his mind off his nerves.
“That too,” Yeonjun giggles, licking his lips. “But also this.”
Without warning, Yeonjun’s hand sinks into Soobin’s pants and gropes him over his underwear. Soobin jolts, the heat of his hand so tantalising, so lost in the sensation as Yeonjun’s fingers enter through the seams and trail along his erection—testing the waters with soft, teasing touches that soothe an itch Soobin has always wanted to scratch. Then Yeonjun surges forward to kiss him urgently. While they’re both distracted, Yeonjun tugs the underwear down and finally wraps his hand around Soobin’s cock, swallowing the soft moan that Soobin makes.
“Good?” Yeonjun asks feverishly, pumping a fist over the head of Soobin’s dick once, twice, three times while Soobin turns his head into the pillow, nodding. He can’t help the urge to glance down at the tip of his dick underneath the sweatpants, disappearing and reappearing in Yeonjun’s fist, slick and wet with pre-cum.
“You’re so big, Bin-ah, I’m… kind of nervous about how it’s going to fit in my mouth.”
When Soobin looks back up, he’s surprised to find Yeonjun staring at him like he’s in a trance, eyes half-lidded and puffy lips parted—so plainly pornographic from Soobin’s position underneath him, almost like he’s jerking himself off to Soobin’s face. The words don’t even register till the last fucking second, and when it does, Soobin’s brain just fails to function. Mouth?
“Will it fit, Bin-ah?” Yeonjun asks again in a low voice.
“Hyung…” Soobin barely gets a word out before Yeonjun is already peeling Soobin’s pants and underwear under the swell of his ass, dragging them down until they bunch at his feet. Soobin kicks them away. For a moment, Soobin feels self-conscious about having his cock out, suddenly cold without the heat of Yeonjun’s hand—but the way Yeonjun sits back on his heels and stares at it brings all the warmth back to his face. Ten-fold.
“Oh, Binnie, you’re…” Yeonjun sighs dreamily, trying—and failing—to hide the smile on his face with his clean hand. “Beautiful.”
Okay, Soobin has never considered his cock beautiful. It’s well over the average length and girth, maybe just a tad overwhelming when standing erect, freed from the tightness of clothing. Like… a mini-monument. Staring at his own cock, he really tries to see what Yeonjun sees, and everything after happens in slow motion: Yeonjun lowers his open mouth, licking a long strip along the side of Soobin’s cock, mouthing the shaft with his plush lips along the way. He plants his lips around the head, laving the tip with a warm rush of saliva and tongue, eyes flicking upwards to stare at Soobin. The heat. The wetness. The eye contact. Fuck, the feeling is so mind-numbingly delicious that Soobin has to press a hand to his mouth to muffle the string of involuntary moans.
“W-wait, hyung, f-fuck,” Soobin pleads. He’s not ready, he’s not ready, he’s not—
Immediately, Yeonjun pops off of him.
“Not okay?” Yeonjun asks, eyes round with worry. Soobin genuinely feels like he’s in a sitcom. This has to be a joke. 4th Gen It Boy. Legendary Trainee. His stupid hyung. His dumb crush. Choi Yeonjun. Sucking his dick? Asking if it’s not okay? How did they get here again?
“No, hyung, it’s okay, but—” Soobin breathes, feeling mildly hysterical as he attempts to reconcile with the reality of Yeonjun’s tongue having made contact with his cock, but it’s too much to multi-task when he’s already struggling to formulate words. “Are you sure? We don’t have to–”
Too eager to please, Yeonjun takes Soobin’s dick back in his mouth like a vacuum. Both of them moan. Loudly. The wet, obscene sounds that follow are almost too loud to Soobin’s ears, and for a terrifying moment he wonders if the entire dorm can hear Yeonjun sucking the ever-living soul out of Soobin’s dick. Scratch that—he knows they can. The walls aren’t even soundproof. But fuck everything, right?
“T-They’re gonna hear,” Soobin warns, the danger spiking like pure adrenaline in his veins, dragging a hand down his face while holding back yet another moan-turned-whimper. Yeonjun’s lips pop off of his cock with a wet smack. Soobin’s eyes water, the infernal arousal in his groin refusing to let up. “They’ll hear us, hyung, and nobody even knows you broke up with your girlfriend so they’re gonna think we’re—”
“Then let them hear,” Yeonjun smiles. He kisses the underside of Soobin’s cock for good measure. “Sadly for them, I stopped caring 5 seconds ago.”
“And they’ll hear me,” Soobin whines ruefully.
“Hey Captain, it’s not my fault our dorm isn’t soundproof,” Yeonjun snorts. “Maybe you should do something about it.”
Soobin may or may not be ashamed that his dick twitches at a nickname that Taehyun coined. So he distracts himself in the sloppy noises that Yeonjun makes as he lowers his head to lavish attention on Soobin’s cock, drooling and lapping eagerly just below the head. “Ah,” Soobin moans, but it sounds like a sob. “Junnie, fuck, Junnie…”
Yeonjun keeps his jaw loose as he drags his mouth up and down the shaft, focused on testing a combination of how deep he can go and how wet he can make it. He doesn’t let his tongue rest, either. The base of Soobin’s dick turns slick with saliva as Yeonjun pauses at the end of every descent, licking enthusiastically, dropping lower and deeper each time. Then, finally, Yeonjun swallows enough of it to hit the back of his throat, nose nuzzling into Soobin’s pubic hair, and the tightened feeling on his dick is so intense that Soobin clenches off the bed with a breathless gasp, sweating beneath his thighs. Yeonjun takes the chance to start fondling Soobin’s balls with his free hand, the twin sensations speeding Soobin further and further out into the stratosphere.
Yeonjun gags eventually, his eyes filling with tears as he struggles against the urge, coughing softly as he presses the back of his hand to his spit-slick mouth.
He’s so beautiful, Soobin thinks. The sight of Yeonjun on his hands and knees, so turned on and determined to swallow cock, just for him—it does something to Soobin, makes his heart stutter. Not one to be deterred by obstacles, Yeonjun takes a breath and sinks down on Soobin again with his mouth. The wet sound it produces is, frankly, beyond anything Soobin’s ever heard in porn.
“Wait, Y-yeonjun, shh, shh– shit,” Soobin hisses, getting up on his elbows, fingers combing through Yeonjun’s fringe to see his face. Bless Yeonjun’s quick learning—there’s a specific way that he angles his mouth that has Soobin’s dick hitting the back of his throat every time, and he just keeps nailing it. His mouth is pure velvet heat, his lips are reddened and ruined with drool, and just the fact that Yeonjun is the one sucking Soobin’s dick right now in the dorm, is so incredibly arousing that Soobin can only whimper as he takes it. Then Yeonjun tries humming around him like a vibrating fleshlight, and Soobin swears he’s on the verge of succumbing to that full-body hitch, that rocket to the moon. There’s no way this is Yeonjun’s first time sucking dick. “Y-Yeonjun, you’ve done this before?”
“I studied,” Yeonjun says sheepishly, like giving the best blowjob of Soobin’s life is just a piece of choreography to him. He can’t help but perk up at the praise. “Is it good…?”
It is good. It is so good that Soobin has to labour over his breathing to not bust a nut right fucking now. It is so good that Soobin is pretty sure this is what heaven feels like. Or it could also be hell: there’s a knowing look on Yeonjun’s face, one that has Soobin flushing in embarrassment.
“How good is it? You’re gonna have to tell me,” Yeonjun says, hands going limp and motionless as he hovers over Soobin’s cock. His divine mouth, that warm and wet heat—so close, but not where Soobin needs him. Just like that, Soobin thinks he might’ve just discovered the most frustrating feeling in the world.
“Hyung,” Soobin flusters, half-laughing, feeling like a mic has just been thrust in front of him while he has his dick out. All the PR training in the world couldn’t have prepared him for this moment. “What do you want me to say? I don’t think people have conversations? In times like these? Right? This isn’t the opening scene of a porno?”
“Just tell me,” Yeonjun insists, lips glossy. There’s a rough edge to his voice that lights a little fire in Soobin’s belly—knowing that he caused it. The words, too, there’s a vulnerable undercurrent; they’ve already spent a year not telling each other things. It makes Soobin’s heart hurt with the longing to be honest with Yeonjun from now on.
Soobin takes a shaky breath.
“I like it… a lot,” Soobin relents, pressing his hands to his face because it’s still too embarrassing. “It’s so hot. I’m struggling not to cum right now… But it’s like your mouth makes me see god, or something, it’s… I feel both dead and alive, okay? Can’t you tell already? Don’t make me talk now, hyung, oh my god—”
The rave review seems to be enough for Yeonjun, who goes down on him again in one heated motion. “Fuck…” Soobin exhales sharply, pressing his nose into Yeonjun’s ridiculously soft Welsh Corgi plushie, which has been quietly watching them from the edge of the bed.
Soobin’s fingers trail slowly into Yeonjun’s hair, a silent question, but it’s redundant when they’ve already learnt to read each other’s bodies. Eyeing Soobin, Yeonjun slips a hand over his, and pushes his own head down on Soobin’s cock until it collides with the palate of his salivating mouth, letting Soobin hold him down. Soobin’s entire body jerks, toes curling into the bedsheets.
“Yeonjun…” Soobin whispers, trying not to thrust into the heat. “Oh god, you’re so, so good.”
Yeonjun moans at the praise, hips sinking down to find friction on the bed. There’s an obvious tent in Yeonjun’s shorts now, the shape of his dick so pronounced that it looks painful. Instead choosing to focus on Soobin’s pleasure, Yeonjun swirls his tongue under the head, sucking the reddened tip. Velvet electric.
The visual alone almost does it.
Soobin wants to cry.
“Hyung, I’m s– I’m so close,” Soobin sighs shakily. “Come here, please? I… I want to touch you too.”
Yeonjun pauses to consider it, his grip tight on Soobin’s dick. He kisses the head with his swollen lips, mouthing and licking the slit for one last taste. Soobin flinches on the bed, hand gripping the sheets before they find their way around Yeonjun’s slim waist as the boy crawls to his side. There’s something in the embrace—warm, naked, comforting—that feels like coming home.
His precious ocean wave, returning to shore again.
They meet lips. Soobin feels Yeonjun’s tongue dive into his mouth, giving him a taste of his own musk and the saltiness of his skin. That’s what sex tastes like? Soobin’s heart thumps madly in his chest. They’re so close, almost chest to chest—and Yeonjun is all he can see, the vulnerable knot in Yeonjun’s brows as Soobin slips the basketball shorts off of Yeonjun slowly, finally revealing the pink head of his dick and the smooth shaft, leading down to his balls. The gentle friction from his clothes has Yeonjun shuddering through a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s glistening, sticky everywhere.
“I’m— I’m close too,” Yeonjun squeaks. “Don’t think I can last…”
“Then don’t,” Soobin kisses his forehead. Then he rolls his way to his all fours, planting his knees between Yeonjun’s open legs, leaning forward to place his elbows above Yeonjun’s shoulders so he can hug him at kissing distance. Reaching his hand down their bodies, he closes his fingers around Yeonjun—which earns a tiny yelp. Too cute to even comprehend. Soobin gives him a few solid pumps, surprised at all the wetness that meets his palm. It’s slick with all the pre-cum Yeonjun leaked while sucking him off; he’d been so much more turned on than Soobin thought. Yeonjun whimpers, clutching onto Soobin’s shoulders and rutting into Soobin’s hand.
“Oh, fuck…” Yeonjun whispers, like he can’t believe it. “Soobin…”
His hand outsizes the girth of Yeonjun’s dick—almost swallowing him whole with every pump—a fact that Yeonjun seems to enjoy a lot, if his sounds are any indication. Yeonjun grabs onto Soobin’s dick, jerking him off in tandem, and it’s only a matter of moments before they’re gasping into each other’s mouths. In bed, a voice like Yeonjun’s is a song just for Soobin, a rousing symphony of moans and gasps as he jolts in rhythm to Soobin’s fist.
Yeonjun squeezes a hand over Soobin’s ass. He rocks him closer and oscillates his grip close to the sensitive head of his dick in a way that drives Soobin damn near insane—because when he looks down, he finds Yeonjun’s hips rolling in a mirrored motion. Their eyes meet and Soobin is forced to take it all in, at once: those swollen lips, the wide-open panting, the way Yeonjun jerks up on the bed each time Soobin thrusts forward. And now, hovering over Yeonjun, Soobin can see it. He can see himself fucking Yeonjun with this exact expression on his face. Yeonjun sees it too, because he rolls his head back, exposing his neck, mouth hung open with soft ‘yes, yes, yes's and it’s the hottest thing Soobin has ever seen in his life, the perfect way to picture himself driving his cock into Yeonjun over and over, and he lets the vision light him up inside like a fuse, like he’s running straight into an exploding supernova.
He thumbs Yeonjun’s nipples, revelling in the way Yeonjun’s mouth goes slack, his sighs get shakier, locked in a silent scream. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Soobin speeds up, humping Yeonjun’s waist as they roll their wrists around the slick heads of each other’s dicks, the shared feeling coiling so deliciously in his stomach that he can’t think of anything but Yeonjun, his moans, his touch, his nipples, his mouth, his hands that close into a fist as if Soobin’s fucking into his hole—
“Hyung, I’m gonna—”
“Fuck, Soobin–”
He thrusts into Yeonjun’s fist one last time, and the feeling is blinding. Warm cum splashes across Yeonjun’s navel, splattering up to his collarbones, but Soobin only stutters for a second before continuing to jerk Yeonjun off, listening to his sharp intakes of breath before he tenses, toes curling with a soft whine, hot cum spurting all over Soobin’s hand.
They’re panting now, too winded to say a word. Soobin’s ass is still in the air when he rests his sweaty forehead on the sheets, but he doesn’t quite mind. He could sleep, like this, in Yeonjun’s embrace, pools of cum drying in the gaps between their bodies. His mind has practically been blown out of his body, so maybe he’ll even need a few days to recover from that.
To keep himself awake, he finds the nearest patch of skin on Yeonjun’s neck, pressing a kiss there. The funny thing is, now that he’s started, he can’t stop. His butterfly kisses quickly turn to playful sucking.
“Mmm,” Yeonjun sighs a happy little sound, too tired to say much. “Marks… People will see.”
Soobin laughs into the spot where Yeonjun’s shoulder and neck meet.
“You woke the whole world up with that blowjob, hyung,” he says. “And you’re worried people will see?”
“It wasn’t that loud…” Yeonjun mutters to himself, with a reasonable degree of confidence. Which fades almost as quickly as it came. “Right?”
“It was so loud that your mum probably heard it from her living room couch,” Soobin snorts.
“Hey… don’t bring my mum into this,” Yeonjun whines.
“Fine. My mum heard it from her living room couch,” Soobin rolls his eyes affectionately. “Hyung… everyone outside definitely knows we had sex. Unless you want to say you were watching really loud porn?”
The reality only sets in now. There’s an incomparable look of terror on Yeonjun’s face. Soobin just looks on in amusement.
“Oh my god,” Yeonjun groans. “What do we do, Bin-ah?”
“Own it?” Soobin suggests. “They probably texted.”
“Did they? Could you check? My phone’s right there with the tissues,” Yeonjun gestures towards the bedside table with his chin.
Soobin grabs the stuff and gets to work wiping the mess off of Yeonjun’s navel, but quickly finds himself defeated by the ticklish cum pool in Yeonjun’s belly button that has the boy curling up violently. Laughing, Yeonjun snatches the tissues away to clean it himself—so Soobin reaches for the phone, admittedly a little curious about the state of their group chat.
hueningie: it’s a little… noisy… [11:20PM]
director kang: ??? @yeonjun [11:20PM]
director kang: oh [11:20PM]
director kang: protocol team can hear you btw [11:21PM]
gyu: i did not know i could see with my ears until today [11:21PM]
gyu: i don’t like it [11:22PM]
director kang: we’re going to the mart, let us know if you need anything [11:26PM]
gyu: you need jesus but he’s out of stock [11:30PM]
Soobin smiles, his little dimple showing. Of course they wouldn’t be that mean about it. Not yet, anyway.
He types out his response quickly.
yeonjun: ???? i was just watching porn [12:13AM]
Soobin snorts.
Prepared to lock the phone, Soobin swipes up to Yeonjun’s homepage when a familiar background image catches his eye, behind all of Yeonjun’s little app icons.
It’s their selfie.
The selfie they took at the observation deck.
Slightly blurry, like it’s lost in time, even if it was only taken today.
They’re clearly messing with each other in the photo. Soobin’s face crinkles with mischief as he swings Yeonjun around in that little glass box 63 floors above the ground. Yeonjun? Yeonjun’s smile is half-open, caught mid-laugh, as he stares at Soobin with a fondness that could rival the sun. There are people behind them, but they all fade away. All Soobin sees is the love Yeonjun has for him, so big and blinding, that looking at it makes his heart ache. The funny thing is, it’s such a shitty photo. Soobin sucks at taking them. Yet everything about it is perfect because Yeonjun is there.
It’s just a phone background. Yeonjun probably changed it in the last hour, thinking about Soobin. Thinking about them. It shouldn’t be surprising by now, but it’s the depth of love that Yeonjun holds that feels like an endless fall into space, with nothing to keep him from that sinking vortex, the love that feels like quicksand. Right now, Soobin is lost in the hollow of it. He wants nothing more than to close his eyes and fall into the galaxy of Yeonjun’s gaze.
When did he earn that? When did he deserve it?
“Ah, that,” Yeonjun says. “It’s a cute one, isn’t it?”
They’re still naked when Yeonjun rests his chin on Soobin’s bare shoulder. The skin-to-skin contact brings Soobin back to reality, sense by sense—from the warm pressure on his back, to the faint lavender fragrance in the room, to the sound of Yeonjun’s soft little snort—and it’s only then that Soobin realises he can’t see at all, not through the film of tears in his eyes.
“W-Why are you so sentimental?” Soobin tries to laugh, voice shaking. He feels caught red-handed, and he doesn’t know what else to do. “We took these today and you’ve already changed your background?”
Yeonjun is quiet for a second, surprised by the emotion in Soobin’s voice.
“It’s my new favourite photo of us, Bin-ah,” he whispers, and it really is as simple as that. He wraps his arm around Soobin gently. They linger like this, looking at the photo together as Soobin shakes through the billowing winds in his chest, like a leaf taking its time to fall. Yeonjun noses at Soobin’s hair, inhaling deeply at the milky scent of his conditioner. Because he can.
Now, he can.
Soobin remembers a time when saying this would’ve been difficult. He remembers a time Yeonjun told him he was lovable, and that there would always be someone out there who was so in love with Soobin it would change their whole entire lives.
He remembers wishing it could be Yeonjun.
He hadn’t known, back then, that it was Yeonjun all along.
“I– I like you so much, hyung—you know, right?” Soobin says, finally. His brain-to-mouth filter is all but gone, in the wake of what they’ve already done together. He waits for a response, but Yeonjun looks shocked into stillness, staring back like a mirror.
Tears shine in Yeonjun’s eyes like stars. His throat constricts, the strangling sensation of a love that feels too big for mortal bodies like theirs, floating in the yawning void of space, struggling for air. But he shares the burden with Soobin, and he nods. “Don’t cry, Bin-ah,” he says, as the first thing, and begins to laugh. Warm and radiant. “Don’t cry, why are we crying?”
Soobin doesn’t wish for Yeonjun’s love anymore.
He knows it, like the bloom of springtime in his heart.
“Just stay here tonight, okay?” Yeonjun tells him against the shell of his ear, his hand wandering along Soobin’s naked hip, and Soobin has to close his eyes.
He stays.
Notes:
wow. if you read this far, fuuuuuck—thank you for your trust. it means so damn much to me. ngl, my friends… this fic has subsumed a piece of my soul. over the few months spent working on this in my free time, it almost became therapy for me to come back to this and add, subtract, restructure it like a madman HAHA. i thought really long and hard about posting it at all, knowing that it would always be more perfect in my imagination than in a published work. but if you saw this and liked even a piece of it… then y’know what? i think it was worth it.
i’m SO incredibly thankful for the time you spent reading this. add me on twt, i love making new friends AND i'll be sharing the other bits that didn't make it to the final fic over time (usually for narrative reasons). please lmk if you had favourite scenes/lines!! ❤️ drop a kudos+comment if you liked it, or even if you hated it LMFAO c'mon, just dish it! i can take it.
p.s. i’ll go back to working on boy wonder now (SORRY if anyone’s waiting 😭😭😭) and i'll probably do a few pwps for this canon!verse after i’m done~
update: yeonbinchive made an edit for this fic 💛
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Last Edited Wed 14 Jun 2023 03:13PM UTC
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