Chapter Text
It always starts the same.
Mornings in the apartment are half-lit, full of low voices, the sound of shower water running, and the hiss of Mingyu’s fancy espresso machine—a machine Vernon still doesn’t know how to use. The three of them have fallen into a rhythm that’s quiet but oddly intimate. Mingyu wakes up first. Always. Wonwoo stirs not long after, groggy and grumbling. Vernon stays in bed the longest, tucked beneath his blankets until the sun pushes through the curtains and responsibility calls.
They’re adults now. No more shared dorms, no more chaotic piles of laundry or ten other people yelling across tiny rooms. Vernon lives five blocks away in a sleek, rented place with too many windows. But he spends more time here—on their blue couch, in their kitchen, half-living between their walls.
Mingyu and Wonwoo share this apartment.
"You might as well move in," Mingyu joked once, passing him a plate of fried rice at midnight.
Vernon laughed. Didn’t answer.
Their days are packed. Dance rehearsals, solo schedules, brand shoots, radio interviews, and the ever-growing grind of their adult idol lives. But they still train together. Still regroup. Always back to the practice room. Always pushing for more.
It’s comforting. Familiar. But something’s shifted.
Vernon notices it before he understands it. Not all at once. Just in pieces.
Mingyu’s always been physical. Friendly. Touchy. That hasn’t changed. But Vernon has started to see the way Mingyu touches Wonwoo like the rest of them don’t exist. There’s weight to it now. Intention.
At first, it’s just the usual stuff: a hand on Wonwoo’s back when they enter the studio, adjusting his mic, brushing off his hoodie. But then it lingers. Fingers curling briefly around his wrist. A hand to the small of his back that doesn’t disappear right away.
Wonwoo rarely reacts. He stays unreadable, eyes lowered or half-lidded with tiredness. But Vernon sees the flush behind his ears. The way his shoulders tense, just slightly.
The rest of the members don’t seem to notice. Most of them live scattered around the city now, catching up only for rehearsals or shoots. They even might know. They probably know. But say nothing, as usual.
So Vernon watches. And starts feeling something in his chest he can’t quite name.
It builds. Quietly, then all at once. Like a song you didn’t know you remembered. Like a hunger that creeps in while you’re already eating.
Today, they’re rehearsing at the company’s main studio, prepping a new routine for an upcoming festival stage. The choreography is challenging—quick footwork, controlled transitions, lots of paired moments that require total trust.
Mingyu and Wonwoo are always paired. It’s not even decided. It just is.
Vernon ends up with Jun. Which is fine. They work well together. But across the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, Vernon sees them.
Wonwoo’s hair is tied back in a loose bun. Mingyu reaches out, murmurs something, and adjusts the hem of Wonwoo’s shirt without being asked. His hand brushes just under the fabric.
Vernon’s breath catches.
It’s nothing. It’s everything.
The choreographer calls for a reset. Everyone moves to their places. Vernon feels sweat trickle down his back, and not from exertion.
As they run through the partner lift again, Mingyu places a hand firmly on Wonwoo’s waist. The grip is secure, confident. It lasts longer than it should before they break apart.
Wonwoo doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t look anywhere but at Mingyu.
Vernon looks away first.
He misses a beat in the next count. Jun glances at him, concerned. Vernon forces a smile.
They return to Mingyu and Wonwoo’s apartment after practice. The routine’s become normal now—Vernon trailing behind, shoes half-kicked off, flopping onto the soft blue couch while Mingyu disappears into the kitchen.
Wonwoo pads in behind him, freshly showered, sleeves pushed up. He leans on the kitchen island while Mingyu fusses over dinner, tasting sauces, humming.
Vernon’s always been the guest here, even though he has a toothbrush in their bathroom and three hoodies in their closet.
They eat together on the floor, watching a movie Vernon won’t remember later. Wonwoo’s legs are crossed next to Mingyu’s, thigh pressed tight to thigh. They don’t move. Don’t need to. Like it’s normal.
Vernon laughs at something on the screen. Mingyu smiles. Then reaches out—without looking—and casually squeezes Wonwoo’s knee.
Vernon doesn’t know why it makes his throat close.
It shouldn’t matter.
But it does.
And he’s only just beginning to realize how much.
---
Later that night, Vernon lies awake on their couch.
The glow from the hallway light spills in just enough to silhouette the edges of the ceiling, and the sounds of the apartment settle into a kind of lullaby—faint hums from the fridge, the wind tapping against the windows, a door creaking closed down the hall.
He hears laughter. Muffled. Soft. From Mingyu’s room.
Or is it Wonwoo’s?
They don’t label things, the two of them. Vernon has noticed that too. Their things blur together. Drawers half-shared. A closet full of black hoodies and cologne that smells the same. A single pair of mismatched slippers by the bed.
Vernon turns onto his side, gripping the throw blanket too tightly. His chest aches, and not in the way it does after dance.
It’s something else.
A question he’s too afraid to ask. A feeling he’s too scared to name.
He’s spent years surrounded by love—by brotherhood, closeness, fans who scream his name. He’s known affection. He’s known safety. But this... this is new.
This is jealousy. Maybe even longing.
Maybe more.
He doesn’t want to want this.
He doesn’t want to want them.
And yet, every time Mingyu leans in a little too close to Wonwoo, every time Wonwoo doesn’t flinch away, every time Vernon’s name feels like an afterthought in their quiet world of two—it feels like he’s losing something he never had to begin with.
He shuts his eyes. Tries to sleep.
But he dreams of warm kitchens, familiar hands, and someone reaching for him without looking.
---
The next morning, it starts the same.
Espresso. Shower. Mingyu humming to himself in the kitchen.
Wonwoo’s voice, low and still scratchy with sleep: “Is he still asleep?”
Mingyu chuckles. “Probably.”
A beat.
Then: “He stayed again.”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. Water boiling.
“I don’t mind,” Wonwoo says, so quiet Vernon almost thinks he imagined it.
And Mingyu replies, just as soft: “Me neither.”
Vernon lies still on the couch, heart beating too loud in his ears.
His eyes are closed, but he’s never been more awake.