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“Wrong, do it again.”
The music cuts in the middle of a phrase, starts again with a press of a finger. Wooyoung sighs, out of breath even from this, his eyelids too heavy, his limbs too weak to still be going at this hour. He gives himself a moment to rest, stands with his hands on his knees for a bit.
“You gonna do it or not?”
Half past one in the morning, the clock on his phone tells him. They really should go home.
Rolling his eyes, Wooyoung stands up, waves his hand as a sign to restart the song. He barely gets through ten seconds before the music cuts again.
“You’re doing it all wrong,” Hongjoong tells him again, standing with his hip cocked by the mirror, looking at Wooyoung with an almost-smile he very obviously tries a bit too hard to suppress.
“It’s not even a real challenge,” Wooyoung half-whines, half-laughs. “You made it up, it’s not like we’re filming it.”
The practice room is mostly dark, the others have long since gone back home. Not Wooyoung though, he’d stayed behind, wanted just an hour or two for himself to practice, record himself over and over and over again, pick out the tiny little details no one else would be able to catch.
He had been in there for over five hours when Hongjoong had found him star-fished out on the floor half an hour ago, staring frustrated holes into the ceiling. He had lied down next to Wooyoung in silence that had lasted about five minutes, one thing led to this thing, both tired and half out of their minds in the middle of the night, coming up with a ridiculous dance to get their minds off their own choreography for a bit.
Wooyoung’s legs feel like jelly, he’s pretty sure he’d feel them shaking if he had the energy to pay attention.
“No one’s making you do it,” Hongjoong teases, because there’s really no reason for Wooyoung to still be doing as he’s told.
Wooyoung knows Hongjoong is tired too, barely has to look at him to see it. He had heard it in the quiet way the door had opened, the quiet sigh and heavy steps when Hongjoong had realised that Wooyoung, unsurprisingly, was still in there. He’d heard it in the thud of him lying down on the floor after a few long hours of slowly driving himself insane trying to cram in some studio time after a full day’s schedules, always trying to force extra hours into days that seem to end too quickly.
Wooyoung doesn’t have to look at him to know, but he still does, and the circles under his eyes are too dark, his blue hair lies flat against his head without styling after showering, his face is always a bit slimmer after a comeback like this one. But there’s still that smile, almost on the verge of crazed, somehow still fond underneath the exhausted teasing.
You’d think after living practically on top of each other for the past years, Wooyoung would have gotten used to seeing it. Wooyoung would have thought so, had he not been so painfully aware of the feeling that still never fails to make its appearance in his stomach any time it’s directed at him.
It’s there now too, of course, mixed with some inexplicable need to bundle Hongjoong up, swaddle him like a baby until he can’t move, until he’s forced to stop working for even a few minutes.
Seonghwa has always fit the motherly role best in their group though. Wooyoung’s brand of affection is too loud, he thinks, too on the nose. But it feels fitting at times like these, when Hongjoong’s lack of energy seems to transfer onto Wooyoung too, when worry settles under his skin, just deep enough to be unable to scratch away, even though he knows Hongjoong will ultimately be fine. It’s the same feeling that pushes him to keep his phone off do not disturb until Hongjoong has come home, the same one that urges him to cook for him at home when he really doesn’t have the time or the energy, even when Hongjoong lacks the patience to ask for it nicely.
“We should go home.” It’s pointless, but Wooyoung still includes Hongjoong in that statement. Because they should. They’re both tired and they both have things to do tomorrow, even though it’s not at the ass-crack of dawn for once.
Hongjoong smiles, nods, turns off the speakers and unplugs his phone.
“Yeah, it’s getting late,” he agrees, silently handing Wooyoung his by now lukewarm bottle of water. To anyone else, that might sound like accepting the unspoken offer. Wooyoung has done this enough times to know better though. “Want me to call a cab?”
“My car’s here, I’ll drive,” Wooyoung reminds him, takes two big chugs of water that end up sitting slightly wrong in his throat, he has to cough to get it right. “You’re not coming?”
He tries to sound surprised, because sometimes that helps, sometimes it manages to hit the part of Hongjoong’s brain that feels guilty for not constantly being there with them despite the reason for it being that he’s working essentially for them. Wooyoung doesn’t like aiming for it, doesn’t like to add to Hongjoong’s feelings of selective inadequacy in any way, no matter what the intention behind it is. But tonight, Hongjoong looks too tired, and Wooyoung wants him to come home.
“Uh, I mean,” Hongjoong starts, averting his eyes, taps the screen of his Apple watch, rubs one eye with the back of his hand and sighs when he realises just how late it really has gotten. “I’m just gonna finish some things, I’ll come later.”
“I could wait until you’re done?” Wooyoung suggests, can’t keep himself from being just a little difficult, pretend like he doesn’t know that Hongjoong means he’ll be here for another who knows how many hours. “Give you a ride home?”
There’s something there this time though. Something that’s not usually there at times like these. A split second of genuine hesitation in Hongjoong’s eyes, an odd light in them that reveals that Hongjoong, despite what he thinks as his better interest, actually considers it, if only in hypotheticals, in imagining what it would be like to give in for once.
So Wooyoung grasps at whatever little chance he gets, clutches it in his hands as hard is he can lest it escapes him.
“I’ll let you get ready last tomorrow,” he tries, bribes Hongjoong with sleeping in, if only an extra thirty minutes, tries to figure out how much he can push without pushing too much.
And if nothing else, it gives him a smile, tired but genuine, the corners of his mouth pointing up as his lips stretch, his tired eyes narrowing.
It’s a strange mix of feelings, wanting to kiss someone so bad it aches while simultaneously needing to slap them around until they stop being stupid.
“I’m sure Jongho will be fine with that,” Hongjoong says sarcastically, annoyingly realistic, unfairly pretty.
“I’ll get up first and make you breakfast,” Wooyoung keeps pushing, ignores any attempts at deflection, grabs Hongjoong’s hand and shakes it for emphasis.
Hongjoong rolls his eyes before letting them drop to their hands, never stops smiling. Wooyoung can’t not look at his face, but he feels every little movement of Hongjoong’s hand in his, counts the seconds until he feels Hongjoong holding him back.
“Come on,” Hongjoong tells him, quiet but still with an increasingly infuriating undertone of teasing. “You know you wouldn’t do that.”
“Of course I would,” Wooyoung argues, tries his best to keep it light despite the undeniably real sense of offence behind his ribs. “I’d walk on fucking burning coal for you, hyung.”
It’s exceedingly dramatic, even for Wooyoung’s standards, the last thing he thinks is for Hongjoong to take it as anything but another joke, more banter. He doesn’t know quite what to do, then, when Hongjoong turns his eyes to meet Wooyoung’s again, when his smile changes into something even softer, something very new in its silent intensity, something nearly apologetic.
“I know you would, Wooyoung.” Quiet, soft, sincere. Wooyoung is suddenly completely out of his depth.
Just like that, he feels the late hour settle on him like a boulder. That’s all it takes for his brain to catch up with the strain in his muscles, the heaviness in his legs and arms. He can’t help it then, not with Hongjoong looking at him like that, not with Hongjoong touching him, telling him something so bizarrely genuine, can’t help but cross the short space between them to lean on him, arms around his waist, face against his shoulder.
If Hongjoong is bothered at all by having Wooyoung’s sweaty body pressed against his after having already showered once, he doesn’t say it. Maybe because of the lack of cameras, the lack of pressure to react appropriately, be aware of what looks like what in front of millions of strangers. Maybe Hongjoong’s just as tired, just needs someone to lean on too.
“Go home, Young-ah,” Hongjoong still tells him, even after all that. “Hyung will be there in the morning.”
In a momentary surge of frustration and lapse of self-preservation, Wooyoung tilts his head down just the slightest bit. He breathes him in, softly presses his lips against Hongjoong’s shoulder, only shielded by the thin material of his t-shirt, wants to forcefully get Hongjoong to understand what he’s really trying to say. And he isn’t pushed away, there’s no slap to his back, no squirming. He tries not to think about it, tries to get the disappointment in his stomach to settle down at the complete lack of any sort of reaction, positive or negative.
If he did notice at all, Hongjoong makes an impressive effort not to show it. He still holds Wooyoung right back though, with arms around Wooyoung’s shoulders, with his thumb resting against the exposed skin of Wooyoung’s tattoo, with his heart pounding against Wooyoung’s chest. He hums out a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it laugh against the side of Wooyoung’s head as he’s slowly swayed from side to side.
“What are you doing?” he asks, following along as if it doesn’t really matter either way.
“Dancing,” Wooyoung explains into Hongjoong’s shirt, presses against it firmer.
He could just tell him. With the two of them alone like this, pressed close, comfortable and quiet, Wooyoung almost does. It’s on the tip of his tongue, words he never seems to be able to get out unless it’s baked into a joke, followed by some fondly demeaning remark Hongjoong’s learned not to take too seriously. He’s sure Hongjoong knows. Still, Wooyoung wants to tell him.
“Thought you were tired.”
They’re just beyond reach though, and no matter how Wooyoung strains to force them to the surface, they quickly disappear again, the words swallowed by the dark and the slight mechanical buzz of the speakers and the empty corridors outside. And somehow, it doesn’t really matter, never really does.
“Not too tired to dance with you,” Wooyoung tells him instead, can’t help but smile when a very predictable, fake-displeased noised makes its way out of Hongjoong’s throat.
He moves again then, tilts his head to the side just enough to reach bare skin, presses his lips against Hongjoong’s collarbone, smile growing when he feels the same sound vibrate in Hongjoong’s throat. He’s still not pushed away though.
“Gross,” Hongjoong complains, but it’s something, some little form of acknowledgement that it happened at all.
Wooyoung’s heart does an embarrassing flip when he’s held a bit tighter. “You’re gross.”
“Says the guy transferring his sweat stains onto me.” Hongjoong’s voice is quiet, soft, the way he sometimes speaks when he wakes them up from unplanned naps, the way he sometimes sounds in the early hours of the morning, sneaking into someone else’s bed to get an hour or two of sleep before the next day starts.
Wooyoung’s been on the receiving end of that countless of times by now.
Sometimes it wakes him up in the middle of the night when the mattress dips, careful arms holding him from behind, a nose against the back of his neck. Sometimes he doesn’t notice until it’s already morning, when a manager or his own phone startles him out of heavy sleep, with an irk on his mind cursing himself for not having woken up earlier, to have just a few more minutes of closeness before Hongjoong leaves to get ready.
He's been the target of it increasingly many times recently, ever since they moved dorms there really is only one option besides Wooyoung if Hongjoong doesn’t want to go through the trouble of sneaking into one of the other dorms. Some part of him longs for that not to be the only reason though. A surprisingly big part of him, he finds, wants the reason for Hongjoong ending up in his room to have less to do with convenience, everything to do with Wooyoung.
Tonight, Wooyoung doesn’t want to let him leave at all. He’s not ready to let him go, isn’t ready to sit by himself in a dark car with his thoughts running a hundred miles per second while his body screams for rest. He’s not ready to let go of the soft silence that seeps into his head when he’s draped over Hongjoong like this.
“Come home with me,” he tries, just one more time, drops some of the vagueness, because maybe something has changed in the past five minutes.
He doesn’t expect it to have, not really. But he can always hope, and he always does.
“I need to finish some things,” Hongjoong sighs, but it sounds weaker than last time, more tired, his head maybe just as quiet as Wooyoung’s is right now.
Head loopy from strain and exhaustion and Hongjoong, Wooyoung figures he can push it a little more tonight, just to see what he’ll get away with, just to see what happens. With great effort, he lifts his heavy head from its comfortable resting place on Hongjoong’s shoulder, and presses a kiss right under Hongjoong’s ear, something more obvious, something a little bolder. Something that Hongjoong can’t possibly explain away to himself as a mistake or just Wooyoung’s regular inclination for affection through physical touch.
“You need to sleep,” Wooyoung argues, even though it’s pointless, even though he knows Hongjoong is already more than aware.
“Yeah,” Hongjoong agrees hesitantly, already lost in his own thoughts again.
Wooyoung lets him think, doesn’t rush it, tries to stay as close as he can to show Hongjoong that this is better, this is what he wants, still swaying them to some tune he himself can’t even hear.
And maybe tonight is different. It definitely is, because Hongjoong doesn’t move away when Wooyoung keeps trailing kisses along his neck, he doesn’t laugh and squirm when goosebumps start forming on his skin.
He does turn his head a little to the side, a hand comes up to unstick a few strands of stubborn hair from Wooyoung’s sweat-damp temple, lips come close to press against the side of his face. That, if anything, is not something that has happened before.
“Okay,” he finally says. Wooyoung really can’t for certain say that it isn’t all a hallucinated product of a too long day.
“Really?” Wooyoung asks, tries not to scare him off by being overly enthusiastic, lifts his head and tries not to freak himself out with the knowledge of how close they’re standing.
“Yeah.” Hongjoong’s eyes move back and forth, back and forth, something Wooyoung tries his best not to point out or acknowledge, tries not to smile at the effort Hongjoong puts into not averting eye-contact. “I’m exhausted, probably won’t get much done anyway.”
“Yeah,” Wooyoung echoes, can’t bring himself to step away just yet. “Good.”
Hongjoong’s responding breath is as close to a laugh as breaths go. His eyes do drift eventually, down Wooyoung’s face first, until they settle somewhere safely to the side as one of his hands come up to play with the hair at the base of Wooyoung’s neck.
Wooyoung lets him take his time, lets Hongjoong breathe for a few seconds, squeezes him a little when he comes closer again, leans his head against Wooyoung’s shoulder. They’re so close Wooyoung can practically hear Hongjoong rearranging the night ahead of him in his mind, the walk back to his studio exchanged for an elevator ride to get to Wooyoung’s car, bright screens and never-ending piles of side projects swapped for warm sheets and hopefully good enough sleep.
“Thank you.” It's barely a whisper against Wooyoung’s shoulder, hardly anything more than lips moving against his shirt.
But Wooyoung feels the weight of it, feels the weight Hongjoong lets himself let go of, if only for a moment.
Oh, the things Wooyoung could say, had he known how to. All the no, thank you’s, all the long rants that lie just below the surface, all his gratefulness and his worry and admiration and affection just bubbling to boil over any moment now.
But it’s late. It’s late and they need to get going if they want Wooyoung to be able to drive at all without falling asleep at the wheel.
“Of course,” he says, soothed by the inexplicable feeling that somehow, Hongjoong must know anyway. “Anytime.”