Archive of Our Own

It begins with an itch.

One that rattles beneath Heeseung’s skin and makes him twitch almost uncontrollably. The cause of the itch and the foreign sensation it brings along with it? It’s easier to think of the answer in the confines of his mind where no one is judging him for it, or at least, not quite. Heeseung doesn’t know if his self-judgment counts. He likes to think that remains in a middle grey area; his brain not completely the safe space it should be, yet not tormenting him as deeply as was once commonplace.

Typically, he doesn’t dwell on these sorts of things; compartmentalizing is said to be his specialty after all. But it’s different this time.

As is with almost everything that happens to spin him into a tizzy lately, Sunghoon is at the center of this particular dilemma as well.

Heeseung’s sitting with his back against the wall of their practice room, basking in the relief of the 15 minute break their trainer had called. He’d been short of breath and close to passing out, practice bleeding into the early morning, and had only barely stifled a relieved groan at the call for a time-out. He presses the cool metal of his water bottle against his cheek and relishes it.

Around him, the members are splayed in various positions.

There’s a loud screech and Heeseung looks over to his right where Riki is engaged in a game of tug of war with Jake over the latter’s beloved snapback. They’re configured in such a way that Riki’s bent over Jake’s strained form, hands clutching either side of the cap, like a lopsided pretzel in the way Jake throws a leg over the back of Riki’s thigh to keep him in place. Making sure he doesn’t make away with it, likely

“Come on Riki,” Jake’s saying, a hysterical edge to his voice as he fights for control over his cap. “Seriously! Give it back!”

Personally Heeseung thinks it’s in vain, the sharp glint in Riki’s eyes all but proclaiming that this too will be joining the rest of the pilfered belongings in his closet, bestowed a new home to reside in despite the protests of its owner.

Riki shakes his head, grinning. He’s laughing hard, doubled over even while his hands persist in their stubborn grip over Jake’s.

“As if, hyung. This would go great with the jacket you got me last month.” Riki says. “You wouldn’t want to deprive me of the opportunity of a great look, huh?”His eyes widen, a mock-pout gracing his lips as he all but yanks the cap out of Jake’s hand, stumbling back at the force of his pull.

Jake’s resounding sigh of defeat paired with Riki’s look of triumph—childish, gleeful, making him look much younger than his age of 19, which is already young as it is— has Heeseung laughing too

From the corner of his vision, he sees Sunghoon straighten out of the crouch he’d fallen into some time ago.

“Wow, Jake got beat by Riki. Again.” Sunghoon says in blatant amusement, the corners of his eyes crinkled and focused on the two. “At this point you’re just letting him win, you know.”

“Am not.” Jake refutes instantly. He stands up, sending an extreme stink eye at Riki, who only grins smugly back at him. “It’s not my fault he’s freakishly strong and covets everything that isn’t his.”

While Jake says this sullenly, there’s no real derision accompanying his words; words that might have held a different meaning if it weren’t Jake of all people. Jake who indulges their youngest in almost everything, who hardly denies him anything, who plays with him like this and doesn’t get short-tempered even when that would be an understandable reaction, who is clearly Riki’s favorite for all these reasons and more.

Sunghoon just shakes his head, his laughter hitching and cutting off with raspy giggles, eyes bright.

There’s a faint sparkle to them, Heeseung realizes belatedly. Sunghoon’s eyes. He doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, the sleep deprivation melting away at his retinas maybe—kind of like how his LASIK surgery years ago cut his corneas open—or if the handful of stars in Sunghoon’s dark eyes are very much real and there when he squints.

The sound of their staff nearby and the rest of the members laughing at the spectacle has Heeseung blinking back into reality, remembering where he is.

He ignores the clench of his stomach at the sight of Sunghoon, sweat slicking his over-grown bangs back and the rolled up sleeves of his shirt bunched up at the shoulders baring his pale arms, lips curling into a sharp—yet pretty, Heeseung thinks—grin as he wanders over to Jake to tease him some more.

They eventually get ushered back into practice by Jungwon but Heeseung can’t fully curdle the skip of his heart whenever Sunghoon steps into position near him.

It usually doesn’t take him that long to realize he’s been fixating on something. Or someone.

Heeseung, like with everything else he does, falls into interests and obsessions with heated intention. Dizzy and all-consuming. His one-track-mind blurring out the background and focusing into sharp precision at the object of his attention.

Like when he was 14 and began checking out auditions for idol agencies both online and in-person; the appeal of a life spent on stage burgeoning. Or, as a kid, watching a suspenseful basketball game that reworked his brain chemistry and begging his older brother to teach him how to play the game properly.

With all those things, he’d been aware he was channeling his energy into them—failed audition after failed audition only doing the opposite in extinguishing the flames ignited within him, the slap slap sound of the ball bouncing off the backboard and on the floor as he missed shot after shot and his brother groaning aloud as Heeseung made him keep playing with him until he got it right.

Sunghoon no longer being at the edge of his periphery, now front and center like he’s never been before, startles him. It’s like a bucket of freezing water is dumped over Heeseung’s head; the shocking clarity in which he regards Sunghoon now undeniable.

Because, there’s Sunhoon accidentally tumbling into him while walking and Heeseung immediately steadying him, hand on his elbow. “Sorry hyung” Sunghoon says sheepishly, the warmth of his breath fanning across Heeseung’s face but disappearing when he moves back.

“It’s fine,” Heeseung hears himself saying, his face growing warm. Sunghoon smiles at him, lovely, and the moment should be over but Heeseung flushes deeper, avoiding eye contact as is his default.

Because, Sunghoon always takes the longest ordering when they go out to eat and it’s become something he’s embarrassed about lately, so when the waiter comes back to ask them if they’re ready to order, Heeseung quietly tells him they still need a couple more minutes, his arm resting around Sunghoon’s shoulder. He thinks the sidelong glance Jay gives him when Sunghoon thanks him with a lovely smile, tone grateful, and his swallow is very much audible is worth it.

Because, thoughts of Sunghoon invade Heeseung’s mind more and more daily. He can’t go an hour without thinking about him. He’s not losing sleep over it, but might as well be with the way he can’t focus on anything but him.

Heeseung sees Sunghoon in tiny puppy plushies in claw machines, he thinks of him when he’s out with Jungwon at a coffee shop and there’s tiramisu on the menu, wonders if he’s hungry when eating out and if he should get him something to eat without even checking in, naturally gravitates towards him when they’re choosing cars to ride in, finds himself brushing back Sunghoon’s hair unbidden when it gets into his eyes and craving the sound of his laughter and the sight of his crinkled eyes constantly—Heeseung indulges in Sunghoon’s competitiveness by playing games with him more often, and takes his side when he and Jay bicker, and it’s obvious Jay knows something is up by now but Heeseung can’t help himself.

His tongue is loose when he freely calls Sunghoon cute all the time, savoring the pleased expression it brings forth on his face even while he tries to hide it.

‘I’m not cute hyung,’ Sunghoon will protest, brow furrowing adorably when Heeseung giggles despite himself.

Heeseung is losing his mind. He doesn’t think he entirely minds it.

Sunghoon’s been out of it today.

Heeseung picks up on it after he makes his third mistake in a video they’re shooting for an event. The camera’s supposed to pan over to Sunghoon after Jungwon finishes speaking, and he’s meant to say his lines, reading off the teleprompter behind the camera guy, except he keeps stumbling over the words or coming in a second early or late. He bows his head repeatedly, apologizing to the director and staff, but they wave away his words good-naturedly and tell him to start all over again.

Even after they eventually wrap up the video, everyone glad to have it over with, Sunghoon looks upset. Heeseung can tell—because he’s always been able to tell, so in tune with Sunghoon it should scare him—by the small downturn of his mouth and how he avoids eye contact with them when they’re piling into their van and stays quiet for the duration of the ride.

And sure, Sunghoon’s usually quiet if there isn’t something in particular he wants to say, but Heeseung sees how he hunches in himself, like he’s trying to make himself smaller, and the way he shies away from Jungwon’s attempts to coax him out and make conversation, and he knows it’s more than that.

(“Ah,” Sunghoon says, regretful. It’s after the video has been shot and he’s sitting in the makeup chair near Heeseung. “I think I could’ve done better.”

Heeseung says nothing, feeling like he’s not really being spoken to.

Sunghoon is blank-faced and he’s staring into space, eyes dull and unseeing. The urge to do something, anything, to get rid of that expression itches at Heeseung. Just as he strives to do just that, they’re being called for at the exit by a manager and the opportunity is gone.)

The thing about Sunghoon is that he's the hardest on himself. It’s not unexpected; after all they’re idols who are supposed to be perfect, the best at everything, not a single mistake allowed to peek through their sparkling veneers, to show how human they are just like everyone else. And Sunghoon takes it to a level that even Heeseung has come down from, the years flying by softening him somewhat in comparison to his trainee self.

Sunghoon is meticulous, a well-known fact. He does everything with straight edge precision; from continuously going over their choreography long after the practice room has emptied out and the halls of the HYBE building are bereft of most people, to straining his voice just to perfect a take in the recording booth. His dissatisfaction when he doesn’t get things right instantly is easy to see—a sharp inhale and shake of his head, something more sour than sheepishness flitting over his face—and only further propels his need to do better. To apply pressure to himself in a way only he can, like he’s a diamond in the rough and to think otherwise is wrong.

They’re not unlike two sides of the same coin, Sunghoon and him. In their efforts to carve out what makes them weak, supposedly undeserving, they often hit a brick wall that leaves them aimless and spiraling. Heeseung, once upon a time, liked to ignore the signs of his own breakdown. He would push past the lines of his limit, would tell himself that he knew what he could take, and in doing so would only temporarily halt his impending nervous breakdown.

It was futile, in the end. Certain things have a way of becoming reality that is very hard to prevent. Heeseung learned this firsthand. Thankfully he had his members to pick up the pieces of the aftermath—his pieces; their hands gentle and their faces non-judgmental.

Mostly.

Jay had slid his therapist’s card into Heeseung’s hand, some time later. “I know you hate this kind of stuff, and I get it, but I really think you need someone to talk to.”

Before Heeseung could interrupt, say he already had people he could talk to, Jay clarified, “that aren’t in this group.” Which was low, and Heeseung had told him just that. Jay only smiled, lopsided and well-meaning.

He’d given in eventually. And life had smoothed out, week after week of therapy materializing a cushioning of sorts in many aspects of his life. Heeseung thinks if debut him could see him now, no longer as avoidant and neurotic as before, he’d probably faint. It’s for the best that time travel hasn’t been invented yet.

Now, Sunghoon stands in the corner of the elevator of their apartment building, unspeaking. Heeseung watches him from the corner of his eyes and only jumps a little when the doors open up for the lower floor members with a beeping sound.

The members exit quickly and Heeseung’s about to return his attention to Sunghoon when a hand touches his shoulder.

It’s Jungwon.

“Can you keep an eye on him? Maybe talk to him?” he says, voice barely audible and most likely on purpose. His eyes flick toward Sunghoon and back meaningfully.

Heeseung nods.

Jungwon smiles at him gratefully and then finally steps out of the elevator, catching up with Sunoo who was waiting behind for him. The last thing Heeseung sees before the doors shut again are the two of them shoulder to shoulder, Sunoo’s head of dark blue tilted towards Jungwon’s head as he says something that has the latter laughing.

As much as all of them were excited for bigger dorms with less people in them and more room, one drawback is not being as accessible to one another. Jungwon deals with this problem the most in Heeseung’s opinion. Before he could talk to them one-on-one when something was bothering them, but now he lives a couple of floors below more than half of the group, so nowadays Heeseung finds himself doing the task more often than not.

It’s still less than the countless things Jungwon has done for them over the years and a small thing to ask for in the grand scheme of things—plus, Heeseung doesn’t mind, not really—so that’s that.

“What did hyung want?” Riki asks him, bringing attention to him inside the elevator.

“Nothing really,” Heeseung says. “He told me not to forget that we’re going to check out that new coffee shop tomorrow.” It’s an obvious lie because he could’ve just texted him if that were the case, but no one notices it, not Sunghoon, still quiet and unmoving, and the other just two nod in understanding.

Their stop arrives and they all get off, Jay and Riki ahead of Heeseung and Sunghoon behind him.

After Heeseung enters, he holds the door open for Sunghoon and doesn’t take it personally when Sunghoon immediately goes straight for his room without a word, the curtain standing in for a door fluttering behind him.

He decides he’ll give him some time.

He waits a moment, collecting himself, before sticking his head past the billowing curtain. “Hey.”

Sunghoon doesn’t make any move to signal he’s heard Heeseung, sitting in the middle of his bed, phone near his thigh. After a second, he looks up and recognition sparks in his eyes, previous dullness fading away a little.

“Hey,” Sunghoon says back, voice quiet. He’s freshly showered, wearing a thick hoodie and a beanie pulled over his eyebrows.

“I’m going for a walk. Wanna come with?”

A blink—he hadn’t expected that, Heeseung notices, a little amused—and it’s almost obvious the way Sunghoon processes the offer, biting his bottom lip in contemplation.

“Okay.”

And so that’s how the late hour finds them strolling side by side past the convenience store near their dorms and down the street.

The air has a mild chill to it, it’s only mid September but the weather has been unusually cold this week, and Heeseung’s glad he chose to also wear something thick before impulsively asking Sunghoon out for a walk.

They don’t speak. Or better yet, Sunghoon doesn’t speak.

Heeseung comments on random things, like how he can’t wait for a new artist’s release or what he’s almost one hundred percent sure is a piece of mold growing in their fridge, courtesy of a slice of cheese being forgotten in there long past its expiration, or how he’s enjoying the dark shade of brown their coordi noona dyed his hair, the faint sheen of red clinging to it flattering in the sun.

All miscellaneous things, with no weight or gravity to them. Sunghoon hums occasionally but stays quiet for the most part. Heeseung doesn’t mind.

He hadn’t planned on asking Sunghoon about earlier. It’s not his style; even while having been therapized, he dislikes the interrogation path. It might work for Jungwon, who makes having information lightly plucked from you with ease feel nothing like being interrogated, but he’s not Jungwon.

Heeseung has always been painfully aware of his position in the group, among the members.

There’s a carefully learned way of navigating everything.

To say that being the oldest makes you cautious in demanding information that isn’t necessarily yours to be demanded is a big understatement.

Instead, he’s found ways to be trusted by the rest that don’t require power of hierarchy or anything in that vein. It’s nice.

They come across a well-worn bench situated above a patch of grass and just as Heeseung’s about to walk past it, Sunghoon gestures to it and says, “Let’s sit, hyung.”

So they sit. The space between them is nonexistent, their thighs squished together, and Sunghoon’s body heat is pleasant.

The park is practically empty because it’s almost midnight, though in the distance Heeseung sees a group of high schoolers crouching on the playground slide. They’re far enough that their rapid-paced conversation doesn’t disturb Heeseung and Sunghoon’s bubble.

“Do you ever feel like there’s anything else you could be doing, at any moment of the day?” Sunghoon begins abruptly. “That you’d maybe not feel so unconfident about? Because I just… I feel that way sometimes.” His voice isn’t exactly loud, but there’s a frustrated undertone to it.

He’s not looking at Heeseung, eyelashes fluttering as he tilts his face upwards. The yellow glow from the lamp post across them washes him in gold. His pale skin is burnished in amber and Heeseung tries to pay attention and not stare.

He contemplates Sunghoon’s question.

Sometimes he does. When there’s a dance teacher scolding him for missing a part in front of everybody. When the comments online turn vicious and gouge the soft parts of his body out. When he looks in the mirror and can’t find any semblance of an idol in the corners of his face, only the silly, noodle-limbed teenager he used to be staring back at him, wide-eyed and unsure of himself.

Heeseung was notoriously known for holding himself to a high standard—the title of ace haunting him long after he wasn’t a trainee anymore and their survival show had ended—and that same standard would have him reconsidering the path he’d chosen in his life.

But now those thoughts don’t come as easily as they used to. He’s happy, more often than not. It’s hard not to be, when the members exist around him and their career is going well and he’s finding peace in the smallest of things.

To Heeseung, there isn’t anything else in the world he’d like to do more.

Being an idol has brought him joy in ways he could’ve never imagined. It’s brought him his members, the fans, and now, watching Sunghoon with his eyes open and gazing at Heeseung as he patiently waits for a reply, he thinks it’s brought him something else too.

“Sometimes I do feel that way. It’s hard not to. What would it be like if I didn’t nitpick at everything I could’ve done better? If I didn’t make those mistakes in the first place. But then I remember that mistakes and insecurities are small and fleeting, that what we have here, right now, as a group and as individuals, is stronger than any of that put together.” Heeseung says simply. And he means it. Believes it too. With more conviction in his heart than he’s had for anything else.

Sunghoon shakes his head. “What the fuck, hyung. How do you always know how to say the right thing?” He sounds both awed and disbelieving.

Heeseung laughs, embarrassed. He shifts a little, shoulder brushing against Sunghoon’s. “Sorry?”

“No, no, don't be. I asked you, remember?” Sunghoon sighs out loud and scrubs his palm against his face. “It’s not that I don’t feel that way too, because I really do, it’s just that. I don’t know. The overwhelming sense of dread when I get even one thing wrong makes it feel like nothing else matters? If that makes sense.” Sunghoon glances at him, uncertain.

Heeseung nods. “I get it.”

“Well, yeah. It’s just that mainly. And I know I shouldn’t but—”

“You still feel that way?”

Sunghoon nods, sighing again. “Exactly. And I’m working on it, I am. But it takes time and you know me,” He waves at himself. “I get stuck on these kinds of things and I always want to do better. And I don’t want you guys to lag behind because of my incompetence and not being able to get things done.”

Heeseung hums, thoughtful. “But you’re not incompetent, are you? You're human and these things happen. And we’ll always be there to help you up when you need it. Besides, you’re the last person I’d say gets nothing done, Sunghoon-ah. You're our focused and skilled Sunghoonie, who dances so well and sings prettily, who always works on himself and is so devoted to the group.”

As he speaks, Sunghoon’s face becomes redder and redder, until he’s the spitting image of a tomato.

“Hyung!” Sunghoon shoves him away and at the same time turns his face to the other side. The tips of his ears are heavily flushed.

Although he’ll sometimes bug and poke at them for compliments and flattery, whenever it gets too raw and real Sunghoon is left to fidget in uncomfortableness.

“What? Did I lie? Heeseung asks, pretending to be confused. He’s sure he’s smiling too widely.

Barely turning to look at him, Sunghoon says awkwardly, “I didn’t ask you to praise me. You didn’t have to.” It sounds like he’s pouting, and Heeseung’s proven correct when Sunghoon faces him fully, mouth pursed. He barely crushes the urge to pinch his cheek and coo, sure that would have Sunghoon gaping at him and most likely running back to the dorm in embarrassment.

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.” Heeseung says honestly. “You’re a hard worker and it never hurts to let you know just how much you contribute to the group, Sunghoon-ah. And as for what you said before, these things happen. You get in your head and it ruins your day and you feel like you can’t stop thinking about it, but in the end you will. You’ll remember that you don’t have to be perfect and that we’re here for you when you need us,” Heeseung pauses, and then adds a bit more meaningfully, “and that I’m here if you need me.”

He’s sure he’s blushing at this point too, but he doesn’t make any attempt to look away from Sunghoon.

Sunghoon’s mouth falls open a little, eyes wide. His cheeks are rosy.

“Oh wow.” he says finally, after neither of them say anything for a while. “Thank you, Heeseung hyung. That means a lot to me.” The smile he gives Heeseung is shy, just a little quirk at the corner of his lips, but the sincerity in his voice is unmistakable.

“Of course.” Heeseung says, knocking his shoulder against Sunghoon’s. “That’s what I’m here for.”

There was a time, back when they barely knew each other, when Sunghoon would keep his distance from Heeseung. He hardly remembers it now, so accustomed to the Sunghoon who easily shares his mind with him and has long crossed that self-made boundary of formalness. But even then, it would nip at him a little. The polite smiles and even politer words, Sunghoon’s expression shuttering whenever Heeseung would join the circle of trainees huddling together during their break.

That same politeness is still ingrained in Sunghoon. He’s not like Jake, who sometimes forgets that he’s not really the same age as Heeseung, or Jongseong, who has long forgone even a semblance of maintaining whatever etiquette is expected when you’re younger than someone—and Heeseung doesn’t really mind, thinks it’d be stranger if Jay tried to be someone he isn’t, deferential and timid, prefers the way he speaks his mind unabashed and has been a welcomed presence at Heeseung’s side for almost a decade.

Sunghoon is so careful about respecting Heeseung and is the last person to drop honorifics and attempt banmal that it only endears him to Heeseung more.

It took awhile, of Heeseung always starting the conversation and offering little snacks for Sunghoon to try, of listening attentively to him whenever he had something to say, of small pats on the head and arms thrown over shoulders, for Sunghoon to let him in.

It was worth it, he thinks.

In another world, they could’ve been opposite each other. As rivals. Pitted against each other. Heeseung saw the writing on the wall, though, and he thinks Sunghoon did too, deep down. They swerved around that pothole and chose what they wanted to be to each other. For each other.

He’s glad that they’re close. That Sunghoon trusts him and considers him someone to come to when things get difficult. That he doesn’t mind when Heeseung pulls him in close and ruffles his hair and calls him cute.

After that, there isn’t anything else to say.

It’s easy for them, like that. To offer words of comfort and take them as given. There’s no extra complication, at least not on Heeseung’s side. He likes to go with the flow and see what happens from there. It’s sometimes been a point of contention for certain people, but Heeseung thinks Sunghoon doesn’t mind it all that much. Like he said before, they’re more similar than is obvious.

Sunghoon’s eyelids have slowly been drooping for some time now. Every time he realizes he’s about to fall asleep, he catches himself and jerks awake.

Heeseung moves closer. “You can rest for a bit if you want.” He offers up one shoulder.

Sunghoon blinks, surprised. This close, the stars in his eyes eclipse everything else.

“Oh if that’s okay with you…” Sunghoon trails off at Heeseung’s encouraging wiggle of his shoulder and laughs softly. “Ah thanks again hyung.”

The weight of Sunghoon’s head on Heeseung’s shoulder is both substantial and barely there. He lays his head lightly, ever conscious, and a content sigh leaves him.

“I think I needed this. Someone to talk to, I mean. I feel like I even started my day wrong and that was an omen for how everything else would go.” Sunghoon says, his voice dragging like it does when he’s on the cusp of sleep. It’s a little muffled and softened. “I feel a lot better now. Funny how that always seems to happen when you’re around, hyung.”

There’s something in his tone that Heeseung can’t put his finger on, but it warms him inside.

“I’m glad we met each other. I think there’s always been a part of me that was saved for you, hyung.” Sunghoon lifts his hand and presses it against the center of his chest. “Right here. You fit so well that I can’t imagine a life without you.”

Heeseung’s heart leaps into his throat.

He wonders if Sunghoon realizes what he’s saying and how it basically sounds like a confession.

Knowing Sunghoon, he hadn’t said what he did expecting a response. Especially when it seems like those words—I think there’s always been a part of me that was saved for you, hyung, You fit so well that I can’t imagine a life without you—were the product of being half-asleep and not something Sunghoon had planned on saying to him.

Heeseung isn’t sure if this is him hoping that’s the reason or wishing he had actually meant to say it.

He wonders why the steady thrum under his skin that’s been building up the entire evening while he was by Sunghoon’s side feels so charged and exhilarated. Why, for the past month—and maybe for a long time now—he’s wanted to prolong every moment spent with Sunghoon, why he looks at him and feels the urge to touch him in some way or another; feel the press of his cupid’s bow against his mouth and the weight of his hand in his own—why there’s an unnameable emotion that rises up in him whenever he looks at Sunghoon.

Heeseung wonders what kind of face he’s making right now in his silence. In his daze.

Then it comes, the epiphany:

A stray leaf in the air falls onto Sunghoon’s cheek, over his mole, and Sunghoon wrinkles his nose, eyelashes fluttering at the feeling. He makes a displeased noise and tries to sweep it away with his fingers but misses it.

Heeseung is reaching over, careful not to jostle Sunghoon on his shoulder, before he even knows what’s happening. He plucks the leaf and tosses it to the side.

Sunghoon grins at him, canines sharp, and his face bunches up with the force of it. “Thanks for that.” The cool night air has turned the tip of his nose pink, and his beanie is still pulled low over his eyebrows.

Oh, Heeseung belatedly realizes. I’m in love with him.

Surprisingly nothing much changes after that.

Life goes on after Heeseung learns he’s in love with Sunghoon. It’s not the end of the world; an infinite path full of possibilities to the contrary. But it’s one thing to harbour feelings for your member and another to act on it. There’s a part of him that thinks he wouldn’t know how to navigate a relationship even if he were handed a manual book for it. So while Heeseung doesn’t squash his feelings, he puts them in the back of his mind where they can’t distract him.

He focuses on their upcoming comeback, pulled into the hectic hurricane of its preparations and allows himself to get lost in the repetitive cycle of meetings and rehearsals and studio sessions and jacket shootings; no room for thoughts of doing something about Sunghoon.

It might seem a little cowardly but Heeseung has never claimed to be brave.

He can’t sleep one night, tossing and turning in bed, so he gets up for a change of scenery. He sees Riki’s door is ajar and peeks in. Riki is sprawled across his sheets, face peaceful as he sleeps, chest steadily rising and falling.

His phone is clutched loosely in one hand by his pillow and Heeseung can see the faint glow of Riki’s contact name for Jungwon, GOYANGI HYUNG, and the ongoing two-hour call that’s running.

Riki has made it a habit to call Jungwon every other night and spend most of the night talking to him. It’s something new and delicate so Heeseung hasn’t commented on it—and he won’t until Riki himself comes to him.

Jay probably doesn’t even know about it considering he rarely sleeps in his own room anymore.

Jay’s not here tonight either, having made a beeline for Jake’s room long ago after they arrived. Jake and Jay are basically back to being roommates again with how often they spend the night in each other's rooms. Heeseung doesn’t know the details of that too, and would rather not if the noise complaints they’ve received from their neighbors says anything, a miserable Sunoo recounting how embarrassing it had been to be sat down by Yuki hyung and be told front desk said they have to keep their affairs quiet.

“They’re incorrigible, hyung. I want to move out!” Sunoo had been moaning to Sunghoon once when Heeseung had passed by, and he’d quickly sped up so he wouldn’t hear anymore about how noisy Jake got when he was getting head.

There are some things you don’t need to know about people.

Heeseung silently fixes Riki’s pillow so his neck doesn’t cramp and pulls his comforter to his chin, making him jolty a little in his sleep before he settles again.

After a moment of contemplation, Heeseung grabs his phone too. He moves a little away, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

Some rustling, “Is that you Heeseung hyung?” Jungwon whispers. There’s the sound of sheets crinkling in the background like he’d just sat up.

“Yeah it’s me, Jungwon-ah. Riki-san fell asleep.” Heeseung says, glancing over at his still form. “The call was still going on though.”

Jungwon laughs quietly. “I know. He was mumbling and drowsy ten minutes in so I told him to sleep but he asked me to stay on so I agreed. ”

Jungwon sounds affectionate and Heeseung thinks he’s sounded this way a lot lately—this way while talking about Riki, and not the normal endearment he holds for everyone else.

“That’s nice of you Jungwonie. Do you want me to hang up, or should I put the phone next to him?” Heeseung asks.

“If you wouldn’t mind hyung. Riki will be upset in the morning otherwise. Why are you up anyway? It’s like 1am.”

Heeseung shrugs, but remembers Jungwon can’t see him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Jungwon hums. “Not tired?”

“It’s something else.” Heeseung replies, walking back to stand by Riki’s bed. He pauses, waiting for the inevitable:

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jungwon asks mildly.

It’s to be expected. Jungwon is always ready to lend an ear, to offer a shoulder to cry on, rare as that is for them to accept. Never once has he disregarded any of them, especially the ones older than him, as unneeding of comfort or help. Heeseung appreciates him more than he’ll ever be able to put into words.

Still, Heeseung declines because it’s late and he’s not prepared to voice just how much he feels for Sunghoon. Unprepared to expose the underside of his belly to Jungwon and let him dissect him thoroughly then stitch him back together.

“Okay hyung,” is all Jungwon says when Heeseung says no and he wishes him a good night. Heeseung carefully places Riki’s phone by his pillow, the proximity allowing Jungwon to hear Riki’s quiet breathing.

He leaves the room and goes back to his own and doesn’t fall asleep until there’s only an hour before his alarm blares.

A week later finds Heeseung sitting on the floor of their living room, bleary eyed.

He’s hardly gotten any sleep lately and it’s been affecting him. He needs to do something about it he knows. But it’s difficult because whenever Sunghoon is even near, Heeseung’s throat closes up and the only thing he’s capable of doing is not making a complete fool of himself.

The thoughts of Sunghoon that plague him at night when he can’t do anything about them are starting to become a problem with how he’s dozing off at work and responding in gibberish when spoken to. Heeseung doesn’t know if he can endure another aggrieved sigh from their coordi-noona when he drifts off and mushes his fully-made-up face against the arm of a couch, ruining her work.

It’s a little funny because it’s not like he keeps a healthy sleep schedule when he’s not dealing with Sunghoon-related problems; Heeseung can usually be found parked in front of his PC until the early morning. Maybe the difference between that and this is this time he’s not willingly depriving himself of sleep.

A plate of eggs and kimchi is pushed into his face and Heeseung looks up in dim surprise.

Sunghoon’s in front of him, a white apron that spells out KISS THE COOK in black lettering tied around his waist—it may or may not belong to Jay who may or may not have been gifted it by Jake—and he smiles at Heeseung. “Here, I made breakfast for us since it didn’t look like you were going to.”

He’s teasing him, lips curved and eyes glinting. They’re going to be in the practice rooms all day so Sunghoon’s hair is unstyled and sweeps over his forehead. His bare face glows like he’d applied his skincare routine recently.

Heeseung blinks, then accepts the plate and the chopsticks in Sunghoon’s other hand. “Thank you Sunghoon-ah,” he says dutifully. “It looks good.”

And it does. The eggs are fluffy and scrambled, a warm yellow, and the kimchi’s softened and it’s all very appetizing to Heeseung, the last thing he ate having been an energy bar scrounged from Jake’s backpack during the ride back last night.

Sunghoon blushes, two red spots blooming on his cheeks. Heeseung wonders if they’d feel warm beneath his fingertips.

“It’s nothing. I only barely managed not to burn them. Jongsaeng would’ve made something more filling if he was here,” Sunghoon says lightly, plopping down next to Heeseung. He watches Heeseung go at the plate with thinly-veiled fascination.

“You should have more confidence in yourself,” Heeseung scolds with his mouth full. He waves his chopsticks at Sunghoon, “You managed to feed two entire human beings. That’s not something to scoff at.”

Sunghoon giggles. “I guess you’re right.” He brings his knees to his chest and tilts his head. “Is it actually good? Be honest, hyung.”

Heeseung gives him a look, glancing pointedly at his empty plate. He’s not just being nice, which he would be if Sunghoon had really made him something inedible.

Sunghoon laughs again. “Okay okay, fine.” Heeseung, assured Sunghoon is aware of his compliments being genuine, sets the plate down and leans back against the wall.

After a moment, without saying a word, Sunghoon leans into him.

Heeseung tries to not make it obvious that his heart is beating like crazy and he can smell the scent of Sunghoon’s orange blossom shampoo. He has to clench his hands into fists so as to not do something stupid like pull Sunghoon closer.

“Eunkyung noona says the car is gonna come at 9,” Sunghoon murmurs a couple of minutes later. It’s almost 8.

Heeseung makes a sound that hopefully sounds agreeable. He doesn’t want to move at all if possible.

Unbeknownst to them, Riki comes in a while later and freezes when he sees Heeseung and Sunghoon out cold, Sunghoon’s head on Heeseung’s shoulder and their bodies curved towards each other. They look extremely cozy.

Riki says nothing, doesn’t wake them up or anything, but he does snap a picture of them.

If Heeseung thinks about it—like actually thinks about it and not just accepts it and does nothing about it—it’s less that he’s struggling with coming to terms with how he’s feeling and more that he doesn’t know if Sunghoon feels the same way.

He knows Sunghoon likes him, knows that Sunghoon likes spending time with him, is glad to have his attention and even preens under it sometimes. But that doesn’t equate to reciprocating the blazing torch Heeseung holds for him. And by now it is blazing.

The truth is: Sunghoon loves all his members. He’s open about it, the unwavering devotion that trickles out of him without a care whenever he’s with them and the quiet awe that shines in his eyes when he looks at them. I can’t believe I have this, I can’t believe I got this lucky, he seems to be telepathing. Heeseung knows that since the very beginning, when half of them were practically strangers and they were still working on fitting their pieces together, Sunghoon was already determined in making it work.

In making them work.

Sunghoon had grown up lonely, not having many friends as a child athlete who spent most of his life on the ice, and his shy demeanor had only isolated him further. So the group is his life more than anything else, especially after he’d taken a leaping chance as an idol when all he’d known was figure skating. Which doesn’t mean the rest of them don’t feel the same, but it’s different for Sunghoon. Different in a way it could only be for a boy who only knew the rink and competing within it; until he’d been scouted and the beginning of the rest of his life had begun.

Sunghoon says it regularly, that even though he was still skating then, telling himself gaining a wider repertoire in the arts would help him improve, a part of him had already set his eyes on a future diverging from ice skating.

“Our members are precious,” Sunghoon had once said in an interview. He’d been teased about it later, but was adamant in the sentiment. His earnestness is shaped by a quirk exclusively him.

Another thing:

Sunghoon, for all that he seems to have a reserved personality, and as a result, a cautious approach to life, easily and quickly falls head first into love.

Heeseung isn’t blind; way before he was the one looking at Sunghoon in a way that couldn’t be mistaken for platonic affection, he’d witnessed the two times Sunghoon had lost his heart to someone else.

If asked, Heeseung will say Jake left him the most functional. The bond between those two is something able to withstand even the worst-breakups, though it never came to that.

For all the things he has in common with Heeseung, Jake was careful in how he handled Sunghoon’s fragile feelings for him.

Sunghoon had exited Jake’s room, back when they were still living in the cramped dorm, and Heeseung happened to be watching tv. The expression on Sunghoon’s face had been rueful, his eyes red and puffy, but he’d mustered a weak smile for Heeseung.

Heeseung had taken one look at him—well aware of the past two years Sunghoon had pined after Jake, big happy smiles on his face in Jake’s presence, constantly clinging to him and an adoring undercurrent in how he spoke his name—and gestured for him to sit beside him.

They hadn’t said anything. Not when it was clear Heeseung already knew and Sunghoon didn’t want to talk about it. He only rested his head against Heeseung’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Jungwon had found them like that when he came home and immediately whisked Sunghoon away, no doubt offering the overt comfort Heeseung was unable to that only he could as the leader.

Later that night, Jake had told Heeseung over a bowl of ramyeon, looking worn-out himself, that they would be giving each other space for a little bit. They would be okay, Jake assured Heeseung, but he didn’t want to make it harder for Sunghoon to move on from him.

Essentially, get over him. Heeseung had nodded, understanding. It wasn’t easy being on the other end of the confession. Jake loved Sunghoon in all the ways that mattered except the one; yet there he was explaining himself, lips thinned to a straight line and with the knowledge of how it felt to break your soulmate’s heart.

Still, they mended their relationship and several months later Sunghoon was back at Jake’s side and vice versa. Heeseung thinks it made them stronger, going through a rough patch like that.

There isn’t a lot he can say about Sunghoon and Jay. Just that Jay never noticed, and Sunghoon had always looked at Jongseong, had always seen him; it was a shame Jay hadn’t looked back.

Sunghoon saw that Jay could love someone like they were the center of his universe and that he would never be that someone, and he simply accepted it. He’s more resilient than given credit; able to roll with the punches sent his way, or in this case, the realization that Jongseong wouldn’t ever consider him as a romantic prospect.

There’s a bruise on Sunghoon’s heart where Jay’s concerned. What perhaps rubbed salt into the wound further was the unabashed way Jay acted when he did like someone.

The day Jake and Jay got together was not a good one for Sunghoon.

The guy who’d rejected him, albeit gently, and the one who didn’t even know about how he felt. Back then Heeseung had the thought that if it were him, he’d probably spiral out of control and never let himself feel anything ever again. He’s dramatic like that.

Sunghoon bore the weight of seeing his two best friends together, and not a bitter word left his mouth. Most likely thanks to Sunoo helping him work through the tangle of emotions, bless him.

If Heeseung were Sunghoon, he wouldn’t give anyone else another chance.

Maybe that’s why deep down Heeseung’s so scared of even the thought of telling Sunghoon how he feels. He could be rejected, and maybe he’d be fine like Sunghoon was fine—or maybe, it would pierce him and make all the air gush out of him like a balloon.

He’s scared of Sunghoon’s reaction more than he likes to admit. Sunghoon is kind, but so is Jake and that hadn’t stopped him from bursting Sunghoon’s bubble. And maybe Heeseung is being unfair; you can’t force what’s not there after all, but fear makes him irrational.

Sunghoon makes him irrational.

After his shower, Heeseung’s passing by Riki’s room when he hears a muffled yell through the door. He pauses, curious, and ends up turning back the way he came from to turn the doorknob.

Inside the room is Riki himself, and Jay. They’re sitting on the floor in front of Riki’s tv, playing a race car game that appears to be the reason for the yell. The glass table that usually takes up that space is pushed back.

Riki looks agonized as he grips his controller tighter, attempting to overtake Jay for 1st place. He’s wearing an oversized thrasher hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, and shorts that Heeseung’s 95% sure weren’t originally his.

They’ve yet to notice his presence.

“Fuck,” Riki says adamantly as he’s bumped to 4th place, the graphics of the game exploding in color to inform him of the change.

“Language!” Jay retorts. His hair’s pulled back with a headband and his glasses are perched on the very end of his nose, probably having slipped off every time Riki bumped his shoulder against him.

Today is one of their rare days off, the ones that occur once in a blue moon, suddenly and unexpectedly. Most of them don’t know what to do with their free time besides laze around the dorms. Heeseung had woken up a little past noon and immediately hopped into the shower to freshen himself. He hadn’t seen anyone else on his way to the bathroom, and really, it’s common for him to go hours without coming across another soul in the dorm.

You can’t underestimate the appeal of holing yourself up in your room without disturbance, not when they’re constantly on the move; practicing, jet setting across the world, working, working, working, without reprieve. Sometimes, doing absolutely nothing is all they could ask for.

Still, Heeseung’s not surprised that Riki and Jay are here, gaming together. Lately, out of the four of them living on the upper floor, it’s the two of them that tend to gravitate towards each other when they’ve had their self-mandated hours of solitude. Jay has never been one to sit still, he likes to be productive during their, once again, extremely rare time off. Either practicing playing his guitar, or exercising, or cooking, or just bettering himself in a way that’s so Jay—so Jongseong—of him that Heeseung can’t help but admire him for it.

And Riki, well. He usually ropes one of them into playing with him, his need to be around the rest of them ever present. It’s not that he can’t sit still, Heeseung thinks Riki has incredible self-restraint these days, but that he finds no reason to when there’s always a member who won’t mind spending time with him, even on a day off like this.

Having enough of watching the two, Heeseung shuts the door loudly behind himself

Jay whips around and catches sight of him standing there, Riki a beat behind him, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the screen.

“Hyung!” Jay exclaims, “When did you come in? No, when did you get up?” There’s an air of disbelief in his tone, likely shocked that Heeseung isn’t still asleep, or in his room.

To his mild chagrin, it’s a recurring theme for him to not step outside his room until the sun has set.

Heeseung shrugs as he comes to sit on the couch, sinking into it. “A little while ago for both questions. You guys were too engrossed in the game to notice.”

As if to emphasize his point, the screen lights up in blue and recaptures their attention again.

Riki groans loudly at the sight of it. “No, shit! We lost the podium.” This time Jay doesn’t even bother scolding him because he’s also frowning at the tv where neither of them have managed to find victory.

“Damn, that sucks.” Heeseung says empathetically.

They both sigh but the loss seems to have concluded their desire to game because Riki grabs both controllers and sets them down on top of the console and shuts off the TV.

While he’s doing that, Jay turns so he’s facing Heeseung. “Have you eaten yet?” he asks.

Heeseung shakes his head. “Nah, just got up, remember?”

Jay’s already pulling out his phone. “I’ll order for us then.” He’s on one of their most used delivery apps. “Any requests?”

“I want japchae. And nothing too spicy.” Heeseung says, feeling agreeable.

He usually loves to eat spicy food but his stomach’s been a bundle of nerves whenever he eats it recently, so he’ll err on the side of caution.

Jay, pleased that he’s not taking his sweet time to order and argue with him over the selection, salutes him. “Ay ay captain.”

He hadn’t originally come in here with the intention of eating with them, but now that it seems like that’s what’s happening, he isn’t going to protest. His eyes fall closed, only the whir of the AC and the occasional sound of Jay asking Riki if he’ll eat this or that—their maknae will usually eat anything, but Jongseong is nevertheless considerate when it comes to him—piercing the silence.

“Hey hyung,” Riki says suddenly, scooting forward to lie his head on Heeseung’s thigh.

Heeseung hums, eyes still closed. “Yeah?”

“What’s up with you and Sunghoon lately?”

Heeseung’s eyes snap open.“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says automatically.

Riki flops over so his chin rests on Heeseung's knee, clumps of his inky hair sticking up, his face pensive. “Yeah you do. You know.”

Jay glances up from his phone, a wide smirk plastered across his face. He grins when he sees Heeseung looking at him and winks.

“I know?” Heeseung says in faux confusion. “What.”

He’s estimating the distance between the couch and the door, and whether he’ll give anything away if he makes a mad dash for it. The chances are extremely likely, Heeseung mourns.

Riki doesn’t roll his eyes but it’s a close thing.”Come on, hyung. We’ve all noticed. You're kind of–” Riki makes an aborted motion, fingers interlocking, and then shakes them. He gives Heeseung a look. “You like Sunghoon hyung.”

It’s not a question.

Heeseung’s face is blank. “What. No, that’s not—it’s not like that—why would you–what?” Heeseung laughs tensely, shoulders rigid, the weightless, floaty tingle that had overcome him the last couple of minutes receding as quickly as it had come. There’s an anchor dropped in his stomach.

“Well it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Jay inserts, leaning forward, a no-nonsense expression on his face. He looks serious.

Riki nods.

“Ah, I’m not sure what you guys mean,” Heeseung says feebly. “I mean.” He pauses, debates with himself for a second, then adds, “What do you guys mean? Like, say, if what you said, um, did happen to be partially true, am I really that obvious?” The pretense of denial is extremely threadbare at this point, but Heeseung is nothing if not stubborn.