Archive of Our Own

"Can you move?"

Euijoo didn't mean to say it that pointedly. The scowl he earns from Nicholas is instantaneous. Softer, he adds, "I was planning to sit there." It's too little too late, and he doesn't sound the least bit convincing even to himself. It's all pettiness and a sort of unwarranted hostility he's unsure of its sources; Nicholas didn't do anything to him particularly. This morning they had argued over shoes and socks, and maybe a charger cable and a few other things. Nothing to get this pissy over.

Actually, no.

The real order of events is that Euijoo had woken up on the wrong side of bed, late for how early he usually gets ready for the day, and accused Nicholas of stealing his socks, which he tends to fold inside his slide-on slippers before bed. And when Nicholas kept avoiding the argument Euijoo for some unknown reason insisted on having, he had gotten angry — angrier than he should have been, angrier than what would have been appropriate, if it even was appropriate. Nicholas had yielded, handing him a random pair of clean socks from his drawer, and Euijoo had thrown it back in his face in mild petulance.

It should have stopped there, truly. But Euijoo, tired and cranky, had yanked what should have been his charger from Nicholas' overhead plugpoint, and later denied having taken it when Nicholas was looking for his own charger — both five minutes late and out of patience and grace. When they found two chargers in Euijoo's bag, Nicholas hadn't said anything. Still, he didn't say anything on the elevator ride down, with just the two of them, because everyone else had left them behind, or rather, they had run from them in a hurry. And Euijoo, honest to god, did the unthinkable, and started another argument fifteen floors away from the garage. What should have been I'm sorry turned into you should have grabbed it first and I was half asleep why are you blaming me. And still, Nicholas — annoyed and visibly irritated — doesn't yell back.

But this time, Euijoo has really done it. Nicholas' glare is something that he's so used to, but it's only now that Euijoo realizes that rarely does he find himself subjected to it. Nicholas lifts himself up with a soft groan, knocking shoulders with Euijoo as he walks away towards where Taki is sleeping. There, he squeezes himself in the space by Taki's feet. Euijoo almost feels bad.

It's Yuma who asks. It's odd that he does because usually it takes Kei or a stressed-out Maki to get him talking, and in rare instances, a tired Fuma maybe. "Why are you guys fighting?"

Euijoo shrugs.

"You guys were perfectly chummy last night. What the hell happened?"

"We're not fighting," he insists.

From across the room, Nicholas — both eyes shut — loudly says, "Right, because you also get to decide that for us both."

Euijoo doesn't know what to think of it.

Nicholas is usually easy to figure out — he has an honest face, and an even more honest mouth that runs loose most days around Euijoo, because he feels safe and comfortable (too comfortable) around his best friend. 'Best friend' in air quotes, the way he likes to say it. The point is that he has never not been an open book to Euijoo, who doesn't necessarily pride himself in his skills in scrutiny — exclusive to Nicholas — but will gladly accept an award if there was one to be made.

But like this, Nicholas is scary to him. When he's impassive; when for once he schools his expression to mean something else and honesty is an afterthought carefully folded away in the layers of his mind. Euijoo doesn't know this Nicholas, even though he's met him a few times.

It's just another Thursday pretending that they're not fighting, even though at lunchtime Nicholas wordlessly unwraps and stuffs a straw into Euijoo's coffee before handing it over, and Euijoo saves him extra katsu pieces that he strategically leaves behind next to where Nicholas is still eating. They're not very good at fighting. And it's just another Thursday scarfing dinner down in the back of a van because sometimes there's not enough seats and they still have two more hours of shooting. Nicholas hands him a tissue from where he's crouched. Euijoo folds it and keeps it in the back pocket of his pants.

Nicholas regresses to his most familiar state by bedtime, or rather two hours past Euijoo's bedtime. His best friend had said always welcome and Euijoo's insomnia seems to think it's a challenge. The only thing Nicholas says to him when Euijoo dumps his bedding on him is, "Are you done being mean?"

Euijoo would flinch if he had the energy.

For a second, he wonders if he should shamefully gather his duvet and his pillow in his lanky, bare arms and trudge out of there with tears in his eyes. But still, Nicholas moves, like he always does. He wiggles towards the edge — too close to the edge — and lifts his legs to his chest so Euijoo can climb in and be cradled — body to body to wall.

"I wasn't being mean," he still insists, albeit quietly, as he crawls towards his self-designated sleeping spot on both hands and knees. Nicholas' mattress is way too thick and way too foamy to really crawl on. Euijoo feels like an idiot wobbling on top of it.

When he's settled and his pillow is propped up against the headboard, Nicholas turns to look at him. "You are, sometimes." Then, quietly he adds, "To me." Somehow the latter rings the loudest to Euijoo.

If he really thinks about it, he has enough energy to argue one last time before bed. They can make up tomorrow morning, and maybe wash it down with cheap liquor in the evening because drinking on a Friday night overlooking a day off on Saturday is a ritual they cannot abandon. But there's something in Nicholas' eyes that feel like a threat — like he's about to think Euijoo means it, like he would turn over and away from him so he could spend the whole night thinking it had something to do with him and not just Euijoo having a terrible day.

"I'm sorry."

Nicholas' gaze wavers, and his mouth gapes and closes. Then, he smiles with a soft swat at Euijoo's side, like he's saying I know you are.

His bed used to feel smaller, a few months ago when they started doing this. They had been roommates for so long — longer than they have not been — but rarely did they ever sleep in the same bed. They're not polite sleepers, both of them, so it had always been better to just not cross that bridge and wake up cranky and angry and raring to go.

But now that they're used to it, now that Euijoo knows Nicholas likes to sleep pretty far up towards to headboard, and likes to spread his arms and elbows in his sleep, subsequently he learnt to sleep a little lower so that Nicholas wouldn't knock into his head. And Euijoo likes to kick his feet, and snake them inside the hem of Nicholas' pyjama pants, so now the latter sleeps in shorts and just accepts it when he's woken up by cold feet against his skin. It's the little things that made it work, and now that they've learnt to exist around each other, it feels like the bed grew or rather it has always been this big and they just never knew how to be.

"Tell me a story," Euijoo whispers into the quiet of the room. The only sounds he can hear are the soft snorts Nicholas lets out occasionally, and the vibrations of his keypad as he furiously types on it.

"Hm?"

His typing halts as he peers down at Euijoo where he's curled up closer to him now than he was five minutes ago.

"A story," Euijoo repeats, far too awake for his own liking. If he checks the clock and it says 3 A.M. he just might truly cry. Maybe that's why Nicholas' digital clock is lying facedown on the headboard, like he knows. "A new one."

"You want a new story?" Nicholas muses, shutting his phone off to really prop himself up. "You always want a new story," he says, feigning exasperation.

Euijoo, on the other hand, feels like a child reprimanded. He wills away the pout threatening to form, eyes big and begging as he says, "Please?" Because Nicholas always seems to love it when he says please. Sometimes a sobering stray thought will still cross him — an inkling of what the fuck am I doing. Then, it passes, like a stone down a drain pipe, with sleepless nights and mindless tossing and a certain longing Euijoo is still unsure how to suppress.

It works this time too, like all other times. Nicholas turns to him and giggles before his mouth — red and open and distracting — says something about an emperor and a gold-thread robe. Tonight's story has no dragons, but still Euijoo listens, eyes fluttering shut as Nicholas stumbles upon words the way he always does when he's tired, and his brain is too numb to load the right words in the right languages.

Euijoo stops listening around the time Nicholas is describing the pond in the Northeast Palace — heart stilling slightly to a staccato that follows Nicholas' soft breathing.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

It's the middle of winter when they first move into their Tokyo dorms.

Euijoo, running a mild fever, and slumped with jetlag and the type of muted exhaustion that feels like a weight on his spine, had barely gotten the sheets fitted onto his company-provided mattress before he had collapsed on it.

The next day had been busy, and so was the day after that, and the one after that too. Home was now merely a place to sleep, and the kitchen was barely functioning and no one had enough energy or the patience to go out and buy cutlery. So, they didn't eat there either. Their meals came in giant plastic bags in paper or plastic cartons with disposable chopsticks and spoons. Most were eaten during commutes to and fro, and some were eaten huddled together in front of a make-shift table for some semblance of normalcy.

On the fourth day, they'd gotten home early for once, something about postponed fittings and the likes, and Euijoo had crawled into his bed just like the past few nights — barely conscious enough to pull the covers over himself.

Kei hadn't cornered him yet; Euijoo figured he would have by now. Fuma's passing remarks of gentle reassurance are missing, too. Nothing about moving countries feels normal to him at all, even if he should be better at adaptation by now (he thinks), and even less so when his usual emotional compasses weren't magnetising him towards getting used to it, like they usually do. Maybe there's no easy way to say it, Euijoo figures, especially not to him — brutal, stubborn, impassive, and comfort isn't always a luxury they can afford.

Nonetheless, it comes with little surprise when Nicholas is the one rousing him from his sleep in his dark room. Euijoo blinks awake and immediately clutches onto the hand on his shoulder, fingers curling around Nicholas' wrist. The other boy knows now to never shock him awake; it's always gentle calls and soft taps lest Euijoo springs up gasping for air like other times. It wasn't always like this. Living in a constant state of perpetual stress and tension seems to take a toll on him. (Byun Euijoo is not invincible; what a surprise).

The next thing that registers in his blurry consciousness is Nicholas' phone next to Euijoo's pillow — flashlight turned on and facing the ceiling, in likeliness to the way he always does when there's a power outage. Or in this case, to not shock Euijoo awake with his own room lights.

"Dinner is here," Nicholas says, voice akin to a whisper as Euijoo tries to make sense of his words.

"What time is it?" They both wince audibly when Euijoo croaks through every word.

"Almost seven."

The lights disappear from his range but Nicholas doesn't. He's grabbing Euijoo's slippers from wherever he had haphazardly thrown them off, to arrange them neatly at the edge of the bed, and Euijoo absentmindedly slips them on while still holding onto Nicholas' wrist. It's times like these that remind him just how much he hates taking unforeseeable naps — the heavy brain fog and exhaustion that seems to simmer under his skin after it feels inevitable.

"How long was I out?" he asks, rubbing a palm over his own face, eyes hazy as he tries to make out the general shape of Nicholas.

"An hour? I'm not sure, I conked out too."

The slow trudging they perform to the kitchen is almost comical. When the lights engulf them both, Euijoo sees how sleepy Nicholas still is. His quiet laughter is met with an exasperated smile, as they both gauge the state they're in. The hallway feels longer today, and for some reason Euijoo still has not let go of Nicholas' wrist.

"The others already ate," Nicholas mumbles. Euijoo lets go of him so the other boy can unpack their dinner.

His gaze is still blurry as can be, as he sits and watches Nicholas fuss around trying to set the table. Euijoo would help, yet his limbs refuse to move right so he just follows the other around the kitchen with his tired, heavy eyes.

"It might be a little cold now," Nicholas mutters as he undoes the tape seals on their take-out boxes. Someone had a lot of fun ordering it seems, seeing as there's a little bit too much of everything. "I was waiting for you to wake up, but then you didn't so I came to wake you up myself," he says with a little laugh dancing at the ends.

They don't engage in monotonous dialogue much anymore — tedious, unnecessary — not when it's just the two of them. The silence brings comfort, and familiarity so exclusive to only them that some days Euijoo craves enough to sit on Nicholas' room floor for. Nonetheless, there are days when Nicholas desperately tries to fill the space, as Euijoo watches him flail around trying to hide something else beneath it all. Most days it's worry, and some days it's disappointment. Today, Euijoo thinks it looks like loneliness.

Sometimes he cracks like porcelain in a kiln, and Euijoo would repeatedly weigh if he should burn himself trying to hold them both together like this, or if he should watch Nicholas try to do it himself. Today it's the latter, it seems, because over the muffled sound of his phone playing a random Youtube video, Nicholas asks, "Do you wanna go buy some stuff later?"

Stuff could mean a lot of things. Euijoo's too tired to really guess.

"I think the IKEA here closes pretty late."

— which, in hindsight to Euijoo, seems hilarious now. Because who in their right mind would be buying furniture at 9 P.M? But that's the thing, though — they weren't in their right minds, in all honesty, and Nicholas had said something about the room being empty and Euijoo didn't realize he wasn't talking about Euijoo's room at all until he was seventeen footsteps past the sliding doors.

Nicholas tells him something about home and belonging by the mattress section and Euijoo thinks he feels it more now; like an anvil to his footsteps, and arms in a crucifix even right as his hands are curled inside his pockets. He doesn't name it yet, but he sees it on Nicholas, too. And for a few bated moments as Nicholas grabs his hand to make him feel for three different rugs, he thinks he feels a bit of guilt too — for never noticing, and for always noticing a few moments too late.

Nicholas is homesick too, just like I am.

Passing by the room displays seem to lighten the mood, as they giggle through ideals and dreams and what colour they would switch out for the wallpapers and the hanging lights — small, minuscule details they can afford to nitpick because they've got nothing better to do, apparently.

"I think you should get this, Juju."

It's a showpiece decor — shiny, almost exhaustingly so — in the shape of balloon dog. It's farthest from what Euijoo would choose for himself, and yet joy is contagious, and so is excitement in the hands of sleep-deprivation-driven adrenaline rush, so Euijoo silently places it in their cart. Nicholas grins, pleased.

The longer they stroll down the area, the giddier Nicholas seems to get. It's a quaint little living room display with lots of dark wood accents and warm lights that make him stop in his tracks. "I could imagine myself living here," he says, fiddling with the faux door with an almost childlike glee.

"ただいま!"

The door swings open almost comically.

Nicholas' giggles are contagious, Euijoo realizes, joining him too.

"おかえり," he replies.

His grip on the faux door slips as his smile drops; Nicholas and his honest face.

There's this odd moment that passes, something akin to when bullets slow down in movies, or how certain people describe tumbling down staircases or falling flat on their faces on pavements — Nicholas is staring at him, features murky with an emotion Euijoo can't quite place. It almost hurts to stare back in those eerie, silent few minutes.

In the back of his mind Euijoo thinks of home; some place to rest his tired bones in, and a bed and a pillow that will hold his tears and maybe his nightmares. In the back of his mind, Nicholas is there. There's no fanfare to get used to, no flashing cameras, and there's no hand resting on the small of his back that trembles through airports and crowds. Instead, Nicholas is in front of him and not behind him for the first time in a while and Euijoo thinks — home, in a godawful, simmering way. There's warmth and life, and maybe a garden, and most definitely a dog, and a cat, because they've been talking about it for so long it would feel criminal to not imagine them there.

This one, like all other imaginations of a different life, scorches through him with the kind of yearning he's only ever felt once in his life — when he first dreamt of stage lights and sneaker marks on studio floors. They will argue about the colours, the textures, the fine print; Nicholas wants a blue front door, and Euijoo doesn't know why he remembers that. He would prefer mahogany, or something burnt maple, or dark walnut, but if Nicholas is convincing enough he thinks he wouldn't mind the blue. And if Euijoo wins, it will simply be because Nicholas let him. It has always been that simple.

The voice from the speakers resonate sharply, crinkling with static — closing in fifteen minutes — and Euijoo's chest tightens because this moment, like all the others before it, will pass them by, and they'll never talk about it again. Because what else is there to do? By Monday, the red blinking light of the films rolling will terrorize them in that all too familiar fear of too much and not enough and Euijoo will never quite figure out how to ask Nicholas if he feels it, too.

So, Euijoo looks away, towards where the voice is coming from, high up on the wall from speakers so carefully concealed, and in his periphery he feels Nicholas pull away even though he hasn't moved an inch.

On the way home, it's Nicholas who brings up the blue door.

Euijoo just smiles to himself because the last time they talked about it, it ended in an argument. He's still unsure why, but maybe it's because Euijoo kept bringing up the numbers, the unlikeliness of getting a house in the city, the statistics of real estate, and how apartment doors are all metal so Nicholas should look into spray painting it instead. Now, he lets Nicholas talk about it as if to make up for the last time — a silent apology for being too Byun Euijoo — until he gets bored of it and he grows quiet in his cab seat.

"I can't believe promotions are next week already."

Nicholas hums to let him know he's listening.

"I feel so... unready," Euijoo says with a soft sigh.

The paper bags lodged between the two of them crinkle as Nicholas props himself straighter to look at him. Euijoo cowers under his pointed gaze. "You are," he says, voice mellow and almost hesitant. "You always are."

It's the way Nicholas always seems to be so sure when it comes to Euijoo, like when he says Euijoo is a good person, and Euijoo feels nothing but self-doubt in face of it. It's a terrifying revelation on Nicholas's tongue, and Euijoo feels it in his spine some days — festering like a sin lodged so deep into his bones that he would need to bleed out to carve it out. Nicholas believes, and Euijoo has to be.

"Right," Euijoo replies, quiet and meek.

In the quiet murmur of traffic and untimely red lights, and the distant liveliness they can feel the city engulfed in, Nicholas reaches for his hand — past the shopping bags, past the quivering and the fretting Euijoo is subjecting the frays of his ripped jeans to — a firm, warm hand closes over the back of his own.

Byun Euijoo is allowed to be Byun Euijoo because Nicholas Wang lets him. Somehow that is the worst thing they have ever done to each other.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Shen Quanrui is a name that falls off of Nicholas' lips often.

Euijoo only knows him as Ricky. He's a nice kid — polite, soft-spoken — and at this point in his life, Euijoo just has to accept that having and living with highly extroverted teammates slash friends means he will always know too much of his friends' friends against his will.

It's several rapid fire rounds of Mandarin and English, and the occasional Hangul that slips out. Euijoo listens from his spot on the floor, upper body slumped against Nicholas' bed. They're talking about some galbi place in L.A. that Euijoo doesn't remember ever visiting even though Nicholas seems to be awfully familiar with it. It's odd to think about the fact that there are things about Nicholas he does not know of; they've been inseparable for a good four years at least, and Euijoo would argue that that's enough time to find out.

This is a position Euijoo is familiar with, even though he's not necessarily known for seeking people out. It's usually the other way round. The hotel floor is uncomfortable, he realizes, even though he chose to be here himself. Earlier today, when they were assigning rooms, Euijoo assumed Nicholas would pick him. So, it came with a bit of a surprise to him when he chose Harua instead, leaving Euijoo in a single room alone. In all honesty, he knows deep down why Nicholas would do that. They're all considerate towards him — both in quiet, subtle ways, and in honest, palpable ways. Nicholas is mostly the quiet type, even if he had murmured something about leader gets the single, and Euijoo — endeared, upset — hadn't had an argument loaded quickly enough to dispute it.

When Harua texted him to grab food outside about an hour ago, with Kei and Maki and possibly Yuma, Euijoo's dumb brain had instead thought about the otherwise empty room his best friend would be left in. In hindsight, Euijoo hadn't been bargaining about much at all; there's little he expects out of people, let alone Nicholas. But there had been a part of him that was waiting to be included, to be asked, the way Nicholas usually does, so it stings to find that his silent anticipation hadn't been conveyed very well.

Euijoo can hear Ricky's laughter even though he's not on speaker. Nicholas has no plans to hang up soon, and Euijoo has no plans to look pathetic on the floor any longer. He gets up with a subtle huff that he hopes imparts his quiet annoyance, before slumping face-down on Harua's bed with a soft thud. "Wake me up when he gets back," Euijoo says, voice muffled and tone flat. He feels the weight of Nicholas' gaze linger on him; satisfaction thrums in his veins.

Then it fizzles into disappointment when Nicholas doesn't say anything back.

For a good few minutes, or maybe closer to the half hour mark, Euijoo tries to fall asleep. He doesn't shift, he doesn't turn, and most of all, he tries his best to ignore the fact that he was acting childish and petulant for attention he wasn't sure he wanted for the right reasons. It's a few minutes too long listening to Nicholas' timber, and the soft rasp he gets when he's tired, until eventually Euijoo gets tired of pretending.

He gets up and hurriedly looks for his slippers, and tries to pretend Nicholas' confusion isn't a seething heat on the back of his head.

"Euijoo?"

It's not enough to stop his fussing; not until Nicholas wiggles to the edge of the bed to reach for him. "Was I being too loud?"

Except it's not about that at all. Euijoo doesn't quite understand why he feels so irritated, but Nicholas has been all wrong the entire night, and Euijoo feels like an unwelcome entity taking up space next to him. When he tries to wring his wrist free to grab his left slipper lying upside down next to Nicholas' bedside table, the other boy tugs at him with both hands. Euijoo braves one glance at him, and feels all the air knocked out of him in a millisecond. He doesn't remember Nicholas ever being this distraught.

"I'm sorry, you usually sleep really well when I'm on the phone."

Oh.

Euijoo didn't know that.

He has his own room, his own bed, and privacy that he would otherwise have begged for if he could — all handed to him so courteously. It all boils down to the fact that he wasn't chosen, and it still cannot sit right with him; because Euijoo would've picked Nicholas. He always has, because at some point they started being Nicholas and Euijoo, and it's a no-brainer when everyone assumes they come as a set now. Euijoo doesn't like the formidable wall of respect and consideration Nicholas has built between the both of them, but to address it now is both a tragedy and a fault. It will turn to guilt and a general lack of footing, and whatever good thing their friendship has going on will revert back to what it looked like before they got used to barren dorm rooms and faulty heating.

Seeing through all this, however, doesn't seem to make it any easier to avoid it.

"I should head back," Euijoo tries, voice coming out all wonky in his attempt to feign nonchalance. "I'll go order room service or something."

The smallest of slips, yet Nicholas catches it before Euijoo himself does.

"Can I join?"

It's most difficult to say no to him like this — when he's earnest and direct and deliberate in all the ways Euijoo doesn't know how to be. Maybe that's why Euijoo finds himself about an hour later sitting on the floor (yet again) of his own room, with Nicholas in front of him while they're eating so silently it almost feels like Euijoo hadn't thrown a mini-tantrum just at the thought of being ignored. They're not good at being upset at each other; Nicholas even less so. He crumbles and flails around in mild desperation, and Euijoo never quite knows how to handle his honesty.

And when Nicholas doesn't go back to his shared room with Harua; when he starts making Euijoo's bed and begins setting down his jewellery on the nightstand, and Euijoo doesn't know if he should offer his clothes to change into, or ask Nicholas if he brought his room card — it's the kind of consideration that makes his bones ache. L.A is familiar, and so is Nicholas when he's being so quiet about his ability to gauge Euijoo's wants just from his silence. So, Euijoo doesn't bring up the fact that the other boy is still in his jeans, with his face fully done and his hair crinkly from the hairspray.

Instead, he meekly hands him a towel from the basket next to the closet along with his travel-size toiletry bag. "You first?"

Nicholas smiles for what feels like the first time that day.

"Sure," he simply replies, and Euijoo watches him disappear into the bathroom with quiet anticipation; the kind that lingers despite several futile attempts to curb it.

Nicholas should ask about it, and Euijoo should tell him — the pill bottles that he chucked with his toiletries will pique his interest, and the slump that Euijoo refuses to call a slump is clearly starting to look like something else. But they won't, because they're Nicholas and Euijoo, and some things are better explained without words. Like in the way Euijoo, hair dripping and exhausted out of his mind, doesn't fall asleep the way he usually would even after Nicholas mumbles nonsense to him for a few minutes. Like in the way Euijoo, eyes heavy and hands clammy, repeatedly raises a question in the air just so Nicholas won't fall asleep just yet.

They can only keep up the ruse for so long.

Nicholas sighs before he opens his arms and beckons Euijoo into his hold. "Is it the tour?" he asks quietly. "Or is it something else?" His calmness is a facade Euijoo sees through, with the kind of quiet guilt that sits under your tongue; Nicholas' hugs are less tight when he's scared.

The hug is nothing new. They're both notoriously known for being cuddlebugs in their sleep, and L.A. brings back memories all too familiar — when it was just them and Kei and Taki, when they were suddenly too tall and falling short somehow, and the only future they knew was one they had to create all on their own.

"I wish I knew," Euijoo admits with a tired laugh.

There's a buzz in the back of his head, right at the base of his skull, that Euijoo thinks if he truly tried he could pry it out in a solid state and squash it in his hands. It feels like a void, or some sort of black hole — something hollow yet consuming — and Euijoo wishes nothing more than for Nicholas to place his hand over it. Still, he doesn't ask, because in the back of his mind Nicholas is shaking, and his hands are less stable than they had been at nineteen. He calls them nicotine jitters, even though he stopped smoking so long ago.

Euijoo doesn't burrow his head into the other boy's chest like he so often would, seeking for some semblance of comfort or something akin to it. Nineteen was for seeking comfort. Twenty-two is only for old time's sake. Still, Nicholas squeezes him tighter; it seems to help.

The room has too much white oak for the curtains to be such a deep sea-blue. His eyes keep wavering to anything to keep himself from thinking too deeply at all. If they pull the curtains back all the way, the city would still be lively and vibrant under them. Nicholas likes to sit by it, arms crossed over the window frame and chin resting on it, all while pretending he can make out the general shapes of people and their incessant fretting on asphalt and the scent of them burning carbon away little by little at every red light and every speed bump. Euijoo doesn't like L.A. and Nicholas likes to humor him by pretending he doesn't either.

Today they had filmed a vlog — seven hours after touchdown and check-in — they had been separated, and then Nicholas had further separated them. If Fuma had noticed Euijoo's sour mood, then he had been tactful enough not to press on it. Euijoo barely remembers the food or the streets or whatever irregularities they had encountered; he had operated on autopilot and let the other carry him through the whole ordeal.

"You feel smaller."

Nicholas tends to speak mindlessly even though Euijoo used to reprimand him so frequently for it. Now, he's built a tolerance, to the point that it almost feels empty when he isn't saying something so positively out-of-pocket.

"I shouldn't be," Euijoo whispers. "Maybe your arms got smaller?" The teasing is also natural, still.

The pinch to his waist makes him chuckle. Nicholas joins in.

And in the quiet laughter and mellow exhaustion that lingers, Euijoo has the nerve to ask — "It has to get better soon, right?" Because the night is thrumming but his own heartbeat is quiet, and Nicholas is warm, and the overhead AC is turned too far down for true comfort. Because Euijoo dreads being in L.A. as much as he dreads flying back home to Seoul only to touchdown for a few hours before they head to Tokyo again. Because Nicholas gets homesick too, yet he stopped talking about it when they both turned twenty and Christmas lights no longer looked like punishment for being selfish with their dreams. Because Euijoo is selfish. Because comfort is something that he seeks even at the expense of his best friend who seems to pull further and further away from him the more Euijoo leans on him.

In the air hangs something so stale Euijoo thinks the rot might drip and seep into his skin if he were to hand it back to Nicholas to look at — you never talk to me anymore; when did that happen? But Nicholas ties Euijoo's laces in the practice room and presses the buttons in every elevator before Euijoo's long, long arms can reach them. Yet, all he does is stare, and even when his mouth is moving and his tongue is curling on words so familiar to Euijoo's ear, he's not talking to Euijoo anymore. Not in the way he used to.

"You're just tired," the other boy finally answers him.

Euijoo thinks the hesitation might have devoured him whole in the time Nicholas struggled to find a viable response. He tries to pull away, exhausted and unnerved. The other boy remains unmoving.

"Fuma-hyung said you wanted to buy a leather jacket."

It stills him momentarily.

"I was just looking at it." Euijoo doesn't know why it makes him so nervous that Fuma had said anything to Nicholas at all.

"I would've bought it for you," the smile is apparent in his voice, "if I had been there."

Euijoo's hand spasms against Nicholas' flesh. "If you had been there, I think I would have bought it myself."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

It's a tired snort that escapes him, that gets cut into dead silence when Euijoo says, "I'm not very good at self-control around you."

Nicholas draws back from him with a quick, sharp breath. Hand on Euijoo's shoulder. Eyes slithered in the way they never are. The slight look of disbelief is almost foreign on him; Euijoo doesn't remember the last time Nicholas doubted him, if he ever even has.

"I have reasons to believe you are," Nicholas says rather flatly. It's the millisecond he spends flickering between his eyes and somewhere lower that does Euijoo in.

There's a part of Euijoo that knows the bathroom is a mere few feet away, and he could take slow, careful steps to not make his rejection feel like such a big thing. Instead, he follows Nicholas' gaze and finds himself leaning in before the other does. The tiny sound Nicholas lets out when their lips meet makes Euijoo want to pull back and crawl under the hotel bed to die there, but Nicholas holds him right over the base of his skull where the dull throb of something is still lingering. Euijoo succumbs.

Euijoo thinks he smells the subtle cherry scent of Nicholas' lip balm, yet he doesn't taste like anything at all.

The hand that creeps into the side of his shirt feels all too familiar, even though he's so sure Nicholas had never been brave enough to touch him like this at any point in both their lives, not that Euijoo made it any easier for him. He thinks he likes how Nicholas' palm is warm against his skin, as his thumb rubs circles on the supple flesh of his waist.

The nibbling, the suckling, the soft exhales, the quiet groans — maybe some day Euijoo will be brave enough to admit that kissing Nicholas is as good as it gets. He's soft, and tender, and safe, and his hands aren't invasive like Euijoo thought they might be. Not that he's thought about it much, really, but Euijoo makes criminally off assumptions about everything and everyone because that's the easiest part of being Byun Euijoo.

The hardest part, as of this moment, is admitting to himself that he's running out of air and trying not to mourn the fact that he's five seconds away from getting to suck on Nicholas' tongue.

"This is hard to do sober," is the first thing Nicholas says as he pulls away.

Euijoo snickers. "You say that like we've done this drunk."

"Didn't we? Back in July?" It was in the hotel pool, drunk off their faces in the sweltering summer night heat in Indonesia, next to an even more drunk Yuma, and Maki who had been just tipsy enough to not notice.

"We didn't kiss."

"I know, but we almost did."

It's honestly a stretch, Euijoo thinks. It wasn't close enough for a kiss — they merely breathed in each other's faces for about ten heated seconds before someone splashed them with a dive and the moment buzzed out into awkward silence.

"Are we supposed to count that?"

"Well, I did."

When Euijoo stares at him pensively, oddly quiet despite his expression clearly crossing a few off-the-chart ones, Nicholas adds, "What are we doing, Euijoo?"

If his lips form anything close to the words feelings and relationships and responsibilities, Euijoo's sure he's going to bolt. But Nicholas doesn't say anything more. In fact, he pulls away even further, palm closing in on itself as it leaves Euijoo's flesh completely.

"Tomorrow's a long day," he says, yet his dejected face is louder than his words are.

"Right," Euijoo replies.

Nicholas takes the opportunity of pretending to fluff up his own pillow to pull away from him entirely, to the extent that Euijoo loses all point of contact with him. "We should try and get some sleep."

Euijoo doesn't respond.

Sleep is a friend he has yet to make amends with, second only to Nicholas, best friend on his list. The sight of Nicholas' back turned to him is almost alienating. He has his arms crossed the way he usually does when he's trying to make sure Euijoo knows he's upset, albeit quietly, almost like he's hugging himself to sleep. Euijoo, nonbeliever of self-control in this moment, traces over his knuckles with a trembling finger as if in apology. Nicholas doesn't push him away.

It's always the worst like this — when Nicholas is close enough to touch but not enough to hold. He could if Euijoo would just ask. Yet, like all other times before, he doesn't.

July is a memory etched into the echo chambers of his mind. When they talked about it the day after it happened, Euijoo had said something along the lines of drunk, don't remember much. And Nicholas had stared at him in something akin to acceptance — as if Euijoo was so predictable to him — and then he had replied there's nothing to remember.

Euijoo should have told him then, that he dreamt about it for four nights straight, and that after that he had cried into his udon noodles in the little hole-in-the-wall shop fifteen minutes away from their Tokyo dorms, because he had asked Nicholas to come with and the latter hadn't immediately gone to look for his shoes. Instead, he had said no, and he had turned over on his spot where he had been lying facedown on the couch like Euijoo suddenly didn't matter enough anymore to elaborate why.

It's the small things that break his heart, even if most of it seems to repeatedly turn out to be his own doing.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Euijoo has trouble keeping his blonde highlights toned. The kids have resorted to calling it banana too, much to his chagrin. He realizes how bad he is at applying the toning mask even more by his third week with said hair, fresh out of the shower, as the yellow-ish blonde bits of his hair appears to not be the slightest bit toned down. When styled, it's half acceptable. When wet and messy with the sections undivided, it looks like someone's sad excuse of a marble chocolate cake gone wrong sitting on top of his head in a pathetic goopy pile.

He emerges from his room with an exasperated sigh, towel around his neck, and bracing himself for the teasing he's so sure will come. Instead, he's greeted by the others huddled around the living room table, a cacophony of noises greeting him the minute he steps into the space. It's Yuma and Jo's first time drinking with them — a sort of celebratory tradition even though they haven't done enough of it for it to truly be one. Kei had done it for Euijoo and Nicholas, made a whole dramatic deal out of it to the point that the whole experience just seems amusing to them in hindsight.

He doesn't realize when it happens; how every time another glass is filled and another shot is poured, they seem to shift gradually. Body to body, head to lap, arms crossed over someone else's. It's the feeling of halfway to sobriety you get when you're two beers in, and your skin heats up layer by layer until you're warm to the touch. Euijoo doesn't fully notice the palm holding his lower face until Nicholas is squeezing his cheek to check if he's fallen asleep. He's lying sideways on the floor, upper body on Nicholas' lap, who has an arm thrown over him. Some of his friends have a knack for holding his cheeks; this is nothing new.

What rubs Euijoo oddly is the gaze he is met with when he looks up, body turning with much effort. Nicholas is drunk, and it's so apparent because he's not exactly known for his ability to hold his liquor. (Read: Nicholas is a lightweight. Possibly worse than anyone Euijoo knows). The flush on his cheek is so heavy it bleeds into his temple, and then over to the shell of his ear, that seems to flush the deepest of crimsons. Euijoo trails his eyes over where he's blushing down the neck too, all the way down to…

His shirt is too flimsy, and the neckline is too wide.

Euijoo clears his throat before he goes back to the game on his phone — from a random ad he had stumbled upon this afternoon. A few feet away, the younger members — both drunk and sober — are battling it out on their communal karaoke machine. Someone's impulsive purchase, Euijoo doesn't quite recall when or why. Euijoo does mind the absolute chaos and noise, but every once in a while someone's voice cracks and that makes up for it enough.

"You didn't dry your hair?" Nicholas asks quietly.

Either he's going to give him a myriad of tips again or he's going to scold him; Euijoo hopes it's the former at the very least.

"It's worse when blow-dried."

Nicholas fiddles with the top bleached parts that are still refusing to dry completely. "I could help."

Euijoo feels it coming. He just smiles to himself. "I know. But after the toner, I just want to let it air dry tonight."

"You don't want me to help?"

That part Euijoo could never have predicted. He turns over only to be greeted by dejected and droopy eyes that look mildly endearing.

"Next time," Euijoo promises, even if the curl of his lips betray him.

"You don't trust me, Juju?"

Silly. Drunk Nicholas is always silly. He's honest in an almost child-like, petulant way and he hangs off of Euijoo's every word looking for clues that the latter might secretly hate him. Or at least, that's what it feels like to Euijoo.

"I trust you, Nichol," Euijoo says, amusement-laden voice still ringing like sirens to the skeptic in front of him. "Next time I'll come to you, okay?"

Nicholas is unconvinced. "You need to tone it again," he says, carding his fingers through the awfully fried strands. Euijoo pretends he doesn't feel the borderline painful tugs when his fingers catch on some parts. "Let's go tone it now, I'll teach you how I do mine." He hasn't had bleached hair in a while, but no one takes care of bleached hair as well as Nicholas does; Euijoo can admit that much.

It's the middle of winter, right at the height of it. In a few weeks, it'll be end-of-the-year awards season. But tomorrow, they get to have a day off after the hectic schedules and mostly as a little reward for the completion of Yukiakari — all recordings, filmings and shootings. They can get shitfaced and sleep in, and Euijoo had planned on drinking maybe a beer or two before calling it a night. So, it's a surprise to everyone when he lets Nicholas whisk him towards Bathroom #1 as they all like to call it, because the hot water there is most reliable and it's the only one with truly ample space.

Still, two six-foot guys cramped in one bathroom tends to never suffice in terms of spaciousness, and Euijoo is questioning his life choices when his hair is washed for the second time that night and the toner is in. Nicholas is watching him from the floor with a dopey grin, seemingly pleased with his work of art — he has Euijoo's hair put up in one giant mohawk, something akin to a character from Trolls. Euijoo's tipsy enough to not grow exasperated as quickly, and Nicholas is too drunk to truly milk the experience for himself. If it were under normal circumstances, Euijoo might not have said yes, and if he had, then Nicholas' phone shutter would never have stopped.

Ten minutes is a long wait-time for hair care in the middle of winter, Euijoo realizes. He's shivering mildly by the time the timer on his phone pings, and he tries to appreciate how gentle Nicholas is trying to be, even though he's far too intoxicated for ideal motor coordination. His quiet sorry-s are all that Euijoo has to make up for it. The rinsing part is easy. The real challenge is blow-drying it carefully enough that the top part of Euijoo's head won't look like a separate entity.

Through the loud whirring of the dryer, Nicholas is saying something to him that Euijoo can't quite make out — soft in volume and terribly slurred. Euijoo has to hold onto his hips to guard the swaying, secretly terrified that Nicholas might just topple over. Even the chair Euijoo's sitting on is wonky; none of this is ideal to him. When his hair is dried with one of Nicholas' expensive serums applied root to tip, Euijoo thinks he smells too much like him. Maybe that's why Nicholas keeps sniffing his head, almost like he's leaving phantom kisses at the top of it. The muted buzz of the alcohol is starting to fade, and Euijoo isn't prideful enough to not realize they're both shivering, and that this was a terrible idea.

"Pretty," Nicholas whispers, separating Euijoo's strands carefully until he's satisfied with it. Euijoo still feels the lingering touches on his scalp — Nicholas' fingers gently pressing onto it as he ran warm water over it.

He's blinking tiredly when he realizes Nicholas has stopped moving for a few seconds, staying mum and still. Euijoo spares him a glance. "Pretty," he repeats, but this time he's looking straight at Euijoo's eyes while his palm hovers over the sides of his face.

It's almost comical how quickly Euijoo shoots up from his seat at that. Drunk Nicholas is a handful on a good day. Drunk, sappy Nicholas? That's always five minutes from saying or hearing the wrong thing and breaking into tears? Euijoo's too exhausted for this. "We should go clean up," he says rather hurriedly, before he's sprinting out of the bathroom and towards the living room where the liveliness has muted down to only static from the TV. There's pattering footsteps behind followed by the distinct click their locks make. Euijoo assumes Nicholas is retreating to his bedroom and sighs to himself.

The kids have attempted to clean up at least. Euijoo stretches and shakes himself awake before he gears up to clean whatever of the mess had been left. He picks up each piece of trash bit by bit, then he puts the coffee table back towards the center, and then he turns off the TV. Adjacent to him, the others have left a passed-out Jo in the same spot on the couch Euijoo had seen him half an hour ago. He closes the window above him with a hushed laugh, and goes to grab a random blanket from the supply closet at the end of the hall. Euijoo would attempt to transfer Jo to his own bed, but alas, the boy is big and Euijoo has rubber arms. This will do, he thinks as he tucks him in.

He waddles towards his own room with a yawn, and locks the door behind him. Climbing into bed in the dark comes as second nature to him now, and Euijoo barely has his eyes open as he does. When he's greeted by warm flesh, he springs back up with a shriek.

"What the fuck!"

Immediately there's a phone screen lighting up the darkness, and Euijoo squints to try and make out who it is from the lockscreen.

"Nichol?"

It's a picture of Euijoo, sleeping, with his back turned to the camera. Euijoo would recognize that even with blurry vision and exhaustion heavy in his bones.

He receives a noncommittal hum.

"Shit. Warn a guy," he scolds with a swat to whatever lump of flesh he can get to. Nicholas' ow ow is by far the most satisfaction the day has brought him.

"—fell asleep," Nicholas murmurs.

Euijoo sighs. "Scoot over."

There's quiet shuffling and soft huffs before Euijoo can make out the space he's supposed to take. His bed is far too small for this, and they're both too grown now to sleep in a double bed, but they make it work (mostly). This is normal. This is all so normal that Euijoo is sleeping dangerously close to the edge. This is all so normal that Nicholas is sticking to the wall like he's about to become one with it. Euijoo could ask the impending question and grill Nicholas for an answer that would satisfy the monster in his guts. But the truth is that sometimes there's no real reason as to why they seek each other out. Sometimes it's because of something upsetting during a shoot. Sometimes it's a random stray thought that turned into something more petrifying, right around comeback season, where the fear extends to being terrified they might ruin it for everyone else. Other times, it's just because.

"I had a feeling you wouldn't come to my room," Nicholas whispers into the silence.

Euijoo chuckles tiredly. "So, you came to mine?"

"Yeah."

It's a few bated moments of staring at the concept of the ceiling (because he can't quite make it out yet in the dark) before he pipes up again, a tad more audible this time. "Maki said you told him about the Dragon King and the flute." It was a story Nicholas had told him a few nights ago, because Euijoo had had a long day and he had sat on the toilet in tears for a few minutes before he gave up and stumbled into Nicholas' room — teary-eyed and red-faced.

"I did."

Nicholas' quiet laugh is raspy and raw. "You know I made that all up, right?"

Euijoo figured that part out a long time ago; several months ago, when Nicholas would fall asleep in the middle of a story and remember nothing in the morning.

"I know," Euijoo admits.

What he will never admit though, is the fact that ever since the beginning, the thing that helped him sleep wasn't the stories. It was Nicholas' tired voice as he fought sleep and drawled on, until he would be snoring softly in Euijoo's hair and Euijoo's brain would think peace, and try to mimic it.

"I like it nonetheless, made up or not," Euijoo tells him honestly. "And all stories are made up to an extent anyways."

Nicholas groans softly. "It's not all made up, though. I'd call my mom from time to time, to make her tell me all the stories from my childhood. But then we're always so busy, and I would forget most of it by the time you come to me. So, I just… freestyled a little."

Euijoo snorts. Freestyled. Of course, he did.

"But I like that you always come to me."

Euijoo's head snaps towards him. Nicholas' face greets him in full view, duvet pulled up to his chin with his head halfway resting on Euijoo's pillow. He pulls back with a soft gasp. You're too close, Nichol, you're always too close. But Nicholas doesn't have the same kind of conscience Euijoo does; he, matter of fact, leans even closer. "Promise you'll always come to me?"

It feels like coercion, even though Nicholas has never been particularly known for being controlling or being territorial, aside from a few hangouts Euijoo had gone to without him and the subsequent faux-sulking and the less amusing slightly passive-aggressive Euijoo is so popular that would follow. But there's the lingering if you ever need me and the even louder when you need me that hangs off of him that Euijoo cannot ignore.

"As long as you keep making stories up," Euijoo nods.

What a way to seal his fate. If only Euijoo had known that that very same promise would come back to bite him in the ass.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Autumn is a season Euijoo secretly holds disdain for in a rather passive, noncommittal way. He doesn't care for it much in the same way he wouldn't really be stumped if it flew right past him. Right at the heart of it, October is an odd month that has a quiet, melancholic buzz to it. It simmers in the asphalt, and the hardwood and concrete floors. It dips low every sundown, and puffs away with the calm night breeze. Euijoo wishes it would all be over soon.

The in-betweens feel even more apparent now than it was in the summer. The commute feels longer, every phone call feels dragged out, and the doorway that should be familiar to him by now feels and looks more desolate than it ever has in over two years. In the distance, he sees the blob of wax they have failed to clean in almost a week — curdled in a messy splatter on the hardwood floor. It's always the first thing he sees when he comes home, and yet he puts his slippers on and promises himself tomorrow, I'll do it tomorrow. Except several days have passed, and Euijoo hates that even something as small as a wax spill is making his tongue curl in mild guilt.

He showers first; walks around the wax spill and focuses on the quiet humming coming from somewhere inside the house. Most of them are already asleep by now, so it's either Maki or Nicholas or the both of them. Euijoo doesn't bother to find out. Instead he trudges back out into the living room, equipped with a plastic fork — the only thing he found that wouldn't damage the floor — and he gets to work. It's only a mildly irritating task at first, until he starts to feel the day's exhaustion creep up his spine, and the lightheaded feeling burns through him gradually until Euijoo has to slump down in a fetal position in order to not topple over. All that work and he's being humbled by wax drippings.

Like everything else in the universe, Euijoo's misfortunes tend to pile up one after the other. Nicholas finds him on the floor like that, likely on his way to the toilet.

"Juju?" he calls, cautious.

Euijoo hums from his spot on the floor.

"Are you okay?"

The floor is cold. He should've gotten up a few minutes ago.

"Mm."

Nicholas walks around him too, around the wax spills, with less grace than he usually carries himself with. Euijoo's irritation grows a head. There's the sound of shuffling, and water being poured, as well as the notably distinct fizzing of a soda can being opened. Nicholas resurfaces, and Euijoo barely catches his silhouette in his periphery.

"Have you eaten?" he asks as he crouches down next to Euijoo. Then, he places the mug next to Euijoo's head, a water droplet running down the side of it that catches his eye.

"With the staff," Euijoo mumbles, hand rising to wipe the droplet before it reaches the bottom of the mug.

There's a question Nicholas so obviously craves to ask; it hangs between them — charged, and static-ey. Still, he's only wiping the bangs away from his eyes, fingers warm and solid as they push his hair back in the way Euijoo usually hates. "Long day?" he asks, voice hushed.

Euijoo grimaces. "Too long."

Nicholas' chuckle grates at his chest. "If it makes you feel better, it's past midnight. So, technically it's tomorrow now." Then, after a beat of silence he asks, "What are we doing on the floor?"

It's the way he phrases it; like it's the most normal thing to be curled up on the otherwise cold floor on a random Thursday night while trying to fight off the sleep that's beginning to creep up on him. Euijoo wordlessly points to the mess he made. At first Nicholas only hums in acknowledgement. Then, he sets his cider down to pick at the wax, too. First with his nails — his perfectly manicured nails — then with the poor thoroughly-abused fork next to it.

"Just leave it," Euijoo sighs.

But Nicholas is stubborn, and sometimes in all the wrong ways. When Euijoo spares a glance at him, his lips are pursed and his brows are furrowed, and his hair is falling into his face. He looks so awfully familiar, so much like himself; the one Euijoo could point at and go that one is Nicholas; so terribly strong-willed and uncaring of Euijoo's dilemma.

"Just let me do it on my own," Euijoo pleads, voice hoarse and low.

Nicholas stills completely, stealing a glance — once, twice — until he's sure Euijoo's not talking about the wax at all. When he retreats with heavy footsteps towards his own room, Euijoo keeps his gaze fixed on his back. He seems to have taken the autumn air with him, leaving only the chilly beginnings of winter in its wake.

Yesterday morning, before their flight back to Seoul, Euijoo had woken up cradled in Nicholas' arms, both their alarms blaring next to their heads. They had separated much like children caught in their misdeeds, and Nicholas had sat unmoving for ten minutes on the bed while Euijoo fretted around their hotel room trying to not lose his train of thought (read: distractions) — wallet, passport, earphones, wallet, passport, earphones, phone, wallet, passport, phone, charger and —

"I think I've run out of stories."

That's what Nicholas had said, yawning into it.

And Euijoo… lost, dejected and terrified Euijoo… had simply laughed along. The promise he made to himself to no longer knock on Nicholas' door at 1 A.M. was a silent one. So, he had knocked on Fuma's door instead. He had spilled into the older man's room, while Fuma himself only watched him with an odd look in his eyes and made space in his bed.

Is rejection supposed to hurt like this between friends?

Euijoo's whisper into the quiet room had had Fuma turning over towards him.

How else is rejection supposed to feel?

Euijoo doesn't have a definitive answer even now. I don't know, but not like this.

Fuma had laughed, airy and light, tickling Euijoo's skin wherever it reached. You really should stop fighting with him at every chance.

Except they weren't fighting; they never really are. If Euijoo's in the way, Nicholas walks around him. And if Nicholas is in the way, he simply moves for Euijoo. They don't scream, they don't yell — even though Euijoo's so sure Nicholas has the lungs for it — not at each other; never at each other. It's an all too familiar ache that settles in his bones, where he wishes Nicholas would just stop to look at him without trying to fix him for once; look at Euijoo and his mess, and see it for what it is. The gentler Nicholas is with him, the more it feels like violence for Euijoo. This remains impossible to convey.

Maybe that's why he waddles all the way down the opposite end of where his room is, cradled and tucked away safely in the corner with the bold marker fonts spelling DO NOT DISTURB on a washed-out blue door. There's little blocks spelling his name, too; Nicholas has a penchant for leaving marks. The courage it took to walk back up to where he promised to not be just a day ago, does not seem to extend to knocking on it apparently. Euijoo gathers his mess of bones and flesh and slumps against the door.

Sleep is a friend that carries the warmth of Nicholas in memory, Euijoo realizes, as he hugs himself to shallow slumber.

Yet, in the morning he wakes up in Nicholas' arms.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Attempting to control overactive and hyper young adults is always a feat Euijoo doesn't remember signing up for. The South-East Asian heat is something unfamiliar to them all, even though the South Korean and Japanese summers are already a nightmare they have learnt to build a tolerance to. The air in Jakarta sways to the rhythm of the hot blanket-like weather it seems enclosed in; Euijoo hasn't seen a red belt that intense in his weather app before.

July peaks with damp thighs on lawn chairs, water dripping down his legs; the night breeze feels warmer than ever, Euijoo realizes as he watches the others play tag in the pool. They probably should not have drank tonight, but something about the remnants of the concert buzz had swayed them it seems. Nicholas is flushed a deep strawberry shade, and Euijoo chuckles every time his eyes land on him. Adrenaline rush always looks funny on him — he has thrown Euijoo twice into the pool, which is why he has now resorted to sitting as further from him as he can. You're no fun, Juju! He makes everyone else repeat in a chorus of screams. 

The only resolution appears in the form of Nicholas trudging towards him with a rather sleazy smile, intention apparent on him even though he seems to think it isn't. 

"Tired?" he asks, plopping down next to him heavily.

Euijoo has to bite back the of you? hanging on the tip of his tongue. He's pretty sure he has water in both ear canals at this point, but the energy has not subsided for any of the others. Yuma's shrill shrieks are the most amusing of them all. "Almost," Euijoo replies, swatting water droplets away from where they drip on him from the tip of Nicholas' hair. 

"Today was amazing, wasn't it?" Nicholas muses, as he retaliates by pressing his forehead on Euijoo's shoulder. "I haven't seen you that excited in a while." 

Euijoo smiles, eyes roaming over the sight in front of the others; waves of water spilling over the edge of the infinity pool with the endless thrashing they have subjected it to. "Was I?" He knows it even if Nicholas doesn't answer. Still, he nods against Euijoo, nuzzling against him like a purring cat. 

"It's always nice when you're excited."

Nicholas has a mouth to him that never quite knows moderation when it comes to Euijoo it seems. 

"Come on," he says, nudging him pointedly. "It's only fun when we're all playing."

Euijoo knows what he's talking about; he tends to prefer watching things from the sidelines, and the others prefer when he's involved and indulging in whatever shenanigans they're up to. "Just a sec," he mutters. "My shirt is too heavy."

He really should have brought more appropriate swim wear, but Euijoo didn't think they could find time to wind down like this. Usually, post-concert rituals involve a heavy dinner and even heavier naps, with way less inebriation than they were currently under. He tugs at his soaked t-shirt with small sounds of frustration until Nicholas laughs, then helps him out of it. It's the wrong course of action apparently, because Euijoo's skin crawls wherever Nicholas' fingertips come in contact with it. And to make matters worse, he runs a finger down the side of Euijoo's ribs. 

"Hey!" Euijoo scolds, squirming in his spot. 

Nicholas cackles loudly before he tugs Euijoo's drenched shirt out of his hands to place it rather carefully on the lawn chair next to him. Then, he's pulling at Euijoo's wrist with a force Euijoo would complain about in other circumstances. 

The water is cool, but not cold, and it feels nice on his bare upper body. That much Euijoo can admit. The day had been hectic, and the heat had collected so deep in his flesh to the point that it feels like he's smoking cartoonishly the minute Nicholas drags him in. "Don't rush me," he scolds, feet wobbly on the pool stairs. When he spares a glance at Nicholas' face, the other's eyes are trained on his chest. Euijoo would feel self conscious under different circumstances, but this one time, he doesn't really care.

"You look more toned than usual," Nicholas remarks rather flatly. 

Euijoo laughs when he uses his free hand to grope his chest muscle. "Last minute pump with Maki seemed to work," he tells him, while feebly trying to fight off the crawling, overinvolved hands. 

"You could have asked me," Nicholas mutters, eyes meeting Euijoo's.

"You say that like you could get up at 7 A.M.," Euijoo tuts. 

Still, Nicholas doesn't look deterred. "I would have...," he says, voice low, "...if you asked."

Euijoo guesses that might be half-true. There's very little Nicholas doesn't agree to usually, especially if he asks nicely enough. In his periphery, Kei is mobilizing the others to play another game that Euijoo is pretty sure he has never heard of before, and it's far too much Japanese for him this late at night. The mental dictionary and vocabulary bank he usually has on-hand is tuned in for the night it seems. 

"You barely slept last night," Euijoo shrugs noncommittally, hoping the topic will be dropped.

Nicholas has a tendency to be extremely hard-headed. "Still," he says, swaying closer to the center of the pool with one hand still on Euijoo's wrist. The splashing has subsided slightly, with the others on one half of the latter end of the pool, where it's deepest. When Euijoo looks over Nicholas' shoulder, they seem to be playing some variation of red light, green light, even though the rules seem... wonky. He grins at the sight and pretends Nicholas' warm hand snaking onto his bare waist isn't distracting him at all. 

"You know I would do anything for you, right?" 

Euijoo blinks repeatedly, until Nicholas is the only thing in his line of sight.

The heaviness of the question paired with the even heavier gaze seems to mix quite well with the buzz in his blood; far too well, to the point that Euijoo thinks he's starting to warm up from the core. 

"I know," Euijoo tells him earnestly, voice barely above a whisper in his shock.

Nicholas is reliable. He's a constant Euijoo hadn't bargained very hard for, because he never quite knew how to bet his cards on what would truly serve him purpose. In hindsight, for the longest time, Nicholas was a teammate, and hardly ever a friend. Euijoo had seen dozens of those before; people that came in with a certain fire burning in them, that left dimmed-out and burnt away bit by bit until there was nothing to come back from. For a while there, Euijoo believed Nicholas would have been the same.

Instead, here he was, grappling onto whatever parts of Euijoo he can, like a lifeline of sorts. 

It had been this way for a very long time. 

And here he was, five mississippis away from Euijoo's face, expression riddled with the contemplation that is starting to feel utterly too recognizable for Euijoo — like he's weighing the risk and deciding that he likes it. For a moment there, Euijoo swears he feels Nicholas lean in. It's either that or he had been too close since the beginning, because he feels the faintest brush on his upper lip, and he can't quite make out if it's Nicholas' lips or his breath. It all feels the same to him — muted, distant. Still, he refuses to lean any further in, because to succumb first means to lose, and just this once Euijoo needs Nicholas to lose to him again.

Then comes a tidal wave, in the form of shouts and laughter, and a sudden splash of water knocking them off of their place. Euijoo wobbles while Nicholas does his best to ground the both of them. 

Tomorrow Nicholas will ask him if anything in particular happened. Euijoo will tell him that he was drunk, too drunk, and that he barely remembers getting in the pool. They'll both know he's lying, because Euijoo holds his liquor well. It's to the point that Nicholas has only ever seen him drunk twice in their entire course of knowing each other. When Euijoo asks, "Is there something I should remember?" Nicholas will avert his eyes and refuse to lift it back up for the entirety of the car ride to the airport. There's nothing to remember. The conclusion will sit tight in Euijoo's chest for longer than the almost-kiss lasted.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

There are times when Euijoo can tell he's overbearing. It comes with his personality of course, but most of it chalks up to his godforsaken position as the leader, in air quotes because most days he just prefers to let things play out.

Other times, it's Nicholas who gets this way, specifically with Euijoo and no one else.

"Third time today," he says with a mischievous grin, while picking up the piece of balled up tissue Euijoo had thrown his way, missing the mark (read: the trash bin) by a few centimeters.

The set of Samidare brings a sense of reprieve Euijoo had almost forgotten the feeling of. He feels younger almost, even though he's barely twenty-one with one foot into the world. So, even with grass in his mouth and mud on and possibly in his ears, Euijoo hadn't complained. The play-fighting had been fun, and so was practicing kendo with Jo. They're in their make-shift trailers with lunch (very, very late lunch) half-eaten.

Euijoo has a knack for wiping every piece of dropped food and most of all his lips every time he gets oil around his mouth corners. Nicholas has a penchant for picking up after him, in blatant, irritating ways where he has to make sure Euijoo sees him do it. It's better than nagging, obviously, so Euijoo would tell him sorry, next time I swear rather noncommittally. They both know how this goes by now. 

On the second day of shooting, after the group choreography part is done, Nicholas bids him goodbye while typing away at his phone, not looking up once. Euijoo shrugs it off as one of his moods, and goes home after making sure to thank whichever staff he runs into. On the car ride to the dorms, it's Kei who brings up Euijoo's not-out-of-the-ordinary quiet spell. 

"You're less chatty when Nico isn't here, have you noticed?" 

Euijoo would argue that it's a stretch, but right now even Jo is talking more than he is. And Jo rarely, rarely rambles the way the others do. He's a man of patience and very few words, and whatever he says becomes deliberate and well thought-out. Euijoo, on the other hand, has very few he wouldn't complain about. Most days it's the weather, some days it's the soles of his shoes, or wearing the wrong socks with slippery soles. But the most undeniable fact is that he spends more than half of his commutes arguing with Nicholas. Actually, no. It's mostly petty bickering, and not so much as arguing.

Nicholas is good at picking up on topics he knows Euijoo will disagree with him on, and then it's hook, line and sinker because Euijoo is not known for his ability to let things go. It's almost unfair how well Nicholas knows him, from his ticks and icks down to the smallest of his interests. It would all be so easy if he were just looking for ways to start a petty fight, but the truth is that Nicholas likes to toe that line dangerously close to the point that Euijoo loses himself in the argument; it goes round and round once more until they both land on the same side together. 

Because Nicholas for some reason always yields to him.

Because Euijoo is more predictable to Nicholas than he would like.

Because Euijoo knows Nicholas doesn't mean it. 

The truth is that Nicholas likes to ruffle his feathers, rile him up a tad; just for the sake of it, and nothing else. And Euijoo is good at giving him what he wants, at the very least. 

"I'm just tired," Euijoo tells Kei after a long while. The older boy has his head thrown back against the headrest of his car seat, eyes shut as he hums back in acknowledgement.

"It's cute," he starts, cutting himself off with a curt laugh. "You guys bicker so much, but you miss each other the most when you're separated."

Euijoo would argue that he doesn't miss Nicholas. It's barely been a few hours of separation — most of which had consisted of getting out of costumes, the commute to the company for briefing, and the commute back to the dorms from the company building. But he will admit that it's quieter without him around, even though he tends to sleep car rides away. It's like a persistent mosquito disappearing right by your ear, and you have to wonder where it went. Euijoo chuckles to himself at the mental comparison.

All memories of fondness disappears when Nicholas comes home at some time around 9 P.M. barely awake and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He wordlessly slumps down on the couch with a distinct thud, adjacent to where Euijoo is sitting, while the rest of them filter in with very little commotion than what would be normal on a different day. One glance at him tells Euijoo that he had indeed slept the whole car ride home. 

It's with mild annoyance that he does his best to undress Nicholas, who somehow obliges even though he refuses to budge very far. Taking his socks off makes Euijoo grimace simply for the fact that he severely dislikes taking people's socks off in general. Next comes the heavy, ripped cardigan that looks like it's barely hanging on. Then, it's putting his bag away, tucked safely next to the couch he's lying on. Euijoo folds every piece of extra clothing away with care, piling them neatly next to Nicholas' head, while the latter mumbles something about being hungry while still refusing to keep his eyes ajar. 

"What do you want?"

The reply he receives is entirely incoherent.

Euijoo takes his best bet and orders a kalguksu set Nicholas usually gets.

When Fuma walks past the living room towards the kitchen, Euijoo calls out to him. "You want dinner too, hyung?"

His answer is one that does not surprise Euijoo at all. We already ate. He was too sleepy so he didn't join. Usually, it's Euijoo's problem to force him to eat, especially when he's being stubborn and uncaring of his own well-being. For the first few months after their debut, Euijoo had to force him to comply with a routine he had set out for him — printed and pasted on the wall next to his bed. It gets worse when he gets in his rhythm of work-centric thinking patterns, where he has no idea how to wind down after all the tension and excitement.

Nicholas and adrenaline do not mesh well together.

On top of all this, he's good at functioning, or rather forcing himself to function, with the bare minimum. It's a phase where he barely eats, barely sleeps, but has more energy than any of them as if there's an untapped reserve in him somewhere that Nicholas himself never knew of. And then he crashes. Completely. Gets sick for weeks on end, and refuses to admit that a part of it was his own doing. Instead, he'll blame the weather, or the air-conditioning, or he'll accuse people of sneezing on his burgers. Anything that'll take the fault off of his back. Euijoo knows that dance by-heart.

Nicholas likes being taken care of, and being doted on, even if he would never admit it in his waking hours or even sober. He likes it as much as the maknaes pretend they hate it, and sometimes Euijoo rues this fact because they're both young enough to be the youngest in some other team. Sometimes it's easier to do it — taking care of him — especially when he's half-awake and chewing on his food with barely enough consciousness to register what exactly it is he's eating.

"What would I do without you, Juju?"

It's something he says so often that Euijoo tends to think it sometimes too. Between the hectic schedules and the frenzied mornings, and the wind-down that they have to force themselves to not crash into, Euijoo at least excels in care-taking, even if he has to use brute force sometimes. Like when he forces Nicholas to wash up after it all, still sleep-laden as they brush their teeth side by side. Euijoo leans against the bathroom door while he makes sure Nicholas doesn't collapse in front of the sink.

"Rinse," Euijoo instructs gently, and Nicholas moves as if on autopilot.

Then, he hands the half-full cup of water to Euijoo with his eyes squinting, and Euijoo is too busy laughing to himself to truly be put off by the toothpaste foam clinging onto the edge of the cup. Still, he takes it, foam and all, and presses his lips to where Nicholas' were, and pretends it's the most normal thing in the world.

"Shower?"

Nicholas nods. "You can go first," he says, words slurred. Euijoo doesn't trust him enough to not fall asleep completely in the time he does, so he proposes something that also should be completely normal —

They shower together. As if they were still nineteen and huddling together for warmth was a routine they abided by. Euijoo keeps his eyes on the tiles and passes the shower gel and then the shampoo, and Nicholas would make a snide remark about not using conditioner if he were any more coherent and awake. They come out of it smelling entirely of each other — well, more like Euijoo himself because the mosambi in his shower gel is working overtime.

It's no wonder that Nicholas trails after him like a lost dog when they emerge from the steaming bathroom. Euijoo sighs before he retrieves two sets of clothing from his closet and throws it to the barely-sentient being on his bed. He grimaces at the water dripping onto his covers, but doesn't remark on it. "Thanks," Nicholas says with a yawn, even though he's already climbing under the covers in his briefs.

"Put the t-shirt on at least."

Nicholas garbles something, but nonetheless, he springs back up to follow through.

"It's cold," Euijoo adds in explanation. The AC hums serve as a reminder.

Any other night, he might have asked why Nicholas was here and not in his own bed. Any other night, he might be too tired to complain, too. But it's something Kei had said today that still rings in his head — but you miss each other the most when you're separated. Like it was so apparent to everyone else that they had to be forced apart and not willingly. Like it was so apparent that they can barely function without the other. Euijoo doesn't know when he started depending on Nicholas so much, and vice versa, but he thinks he understands the clinginess now.

Nicholas claws onto whatever it is that brings him comfort.

Sometimes, it's a movie, or a song. Other times, it's a little trinket or a cute bag charm. Most of the time, it's Euijoo. And for a while there Euijoo didn't really get it. He couldn't quite mark why he stood out to Nicholas, who was friends with everyone; to whom everyone would go for comfort instead. He didn't realize he was special to the other boy until Nicholas pointedly called him his best friend in front of everyone else. Slowly, he's starting to come to terms with being Nicholas' safe space, the one he runs to when he wishes to fall apart, the one he knows would not look at his mess and flinch.

The summer of becoming. The end of spring and painful acceptance.

Nicholas falls asleep cradled to Euijoo's heart.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

"Why does it always rain when we're together?"

Nicholas' laughter rings through the space. His eyes glimmer, trained on the nightscape reflecting off of the Han river. "You should ask yourself," he says, "I'm a weather fairy. This is all you."

Euijoo rolls his eyes. To his right are discarded disposable ramyeon plates, soju bottles and empty ice-cream packets. The night breeze carries a distinct peace that permeates the air around them; something they don't always have the privilege to indulge in.

Tonight, it wasn't just Euijoo who had trouble sleeping. The text from Nicholas couldn't have arrived at a better timing, given that Euijoo had been tossing and turning for a few hours to no avail. Han-gang in five? How blunt and so typically Nicholas. He's known for his short, direct messages, and his lack of replies. Though, Euijoo had never been subjected to the latter. Even back when Nicholas could barely type Hangul, he would reply methodologically, with five typos in under a minute that he would stubbornly try to correct repeatedly while Euijoo would wait for him to be done.

"I never really saw the beauty of this place in the beginning," Nicholas tells him, eyes still trained on the water. "Not until you brought me here at night. I didn't really think much of it before that." Euijoo hums to tell him he's listening, because Nicholas has the tendency to get very upset when he doesn't. He hates being ignored more than anything in the world. "Remember how often we would come here?"

Euijoo chuckles. "There was nowhere else to go." Their life before debut was stifling, and thinking about it still suffocates him sometimes.

It's still drizzling, and the shed they've taken cover under has no working lights. Euijoo finds solace in the darkness, and in the safety of it, he trails his eyes over every part of Nicholas' face; how much he has changed, and how much he hasn't. Rarely, does he get to take him in this way, because in other circumstances, Nicholas is always staring back.

"That first night you brought me here, I already decided that you were going to be my best friend."

He meets Euijoo's gaze, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets.

"I shouldn't have brought you here, then," Euijoo deadpans, drawing a laugh out of the other boy. "I was not consulted with that decision."

There's an odd expression that crosses Nicholas' features, one where Euijoo can tell he's hesitating but not for what. Then, his mouth gapes a few times before he shakes his head, and turns back around.

"What?"

Nicholas hums. "I just think that's a little funny."

Euijoo waits for the next part with bated breaths. The other boy pulls his knees to his chest, resting his chin on it before he quietly adds, "For a while there, I think you were more my leader than my best friend." A heavy exhale. "And for a while, I thought you might never be again." The dry laughter that follows is one he's not sure he wishes to hear again.

It is indeed funny to Euijoo too, but for all the wrong reasons. He can never imagine a life where Nicholas doesn't become his headache, his safe space and his Achilles' heel, all in one at the same time. They have so much more yakisoba, unagidon and ramyeon by the Han river left to go through.

"Why would you think that?"

Euijoo knows he's not the most transparent, in fact, he's quite the opposite of an open book. But with Nicholas, he always liked to believe he was.

"You got quieter," Nicholas says, head turning to look at him before he gets up. Euijoo follows. "And you were already so quiet."

He wants to argue that Nicholas isn't exactly serving his own thoughts on a platter to Euijoo, but the truth is that he knows he gets it easier. Nicholas gets sad loudly, he gets tired loudly, and he expresses happiness like he's aiming to infect you with it. Euijoo crawls inwards, like a bug, and the older he gets the tighter he wounds himself.

They're slowly walking along the path, trash discarded in the bin next to them as they make their way back to the dorms when Nicholas pipes up once more.

"It was scary because I suddenly couldn't tell what you were thinking, and I was getting so good at that."

There's an apology hanging onto the tip his tongue.

I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was doing that. The city lights look pretty in your eyes. You are always my person, my best friend. You were, and will always be. In my efforts to spare you from myself, it seems I have only ended up sparing myself.

Instead, Euijoo gulps as he asks, "What did you want to know?"

Without missing a beat, Nicholas says, "When did it start?"

Ah, yes. The million dollar question.

"Sometime in April," Euijoo mutters. "It wasn't this bad initially. At least, not until the nightmares."

The rain has stopped. The pathway is soaked and it squelches under their shoes. Euijoo stares at every crack where life has persisted — a flower peeks up next to his left foot. Amidst the explanations about the anxiolytics and the SSRIs, his psychiatrist had asked him something that rubbed him in an odd, almost awful way —

And these nightmares. How would you say they usually play out?

Like all nightmares. Something chasing him through streets devoid of life. Sometimes he's the one chasing, only to let it escape him in the last second. He's always running nonetheless.

Do you think you're running towards something? Or do you think you're running away? Is there something you keep so well-hidden that it constantly haunts you, begging to be freed?

Euijoo had stared at his bitten fingernails in silence. That's how he has always lived — he runs and he runs and he ends up forgetting why he was running in the first place. For a short, short while, he had forgotten what the stage meant for him. And for a while there, he had forgotten why he started running away from his best friend, too.

Now, he stares at the back of Nicholas' head, mind roaring with the urge to succumb. Every step closer to the dorms brings back the question that started this whole period, this slump, because over their first summer break this year, Euijoo truly realized what it meant for him to ask it. When it happened during New Year's — the first time Euijoo truly noticed it — it hadn't really sunk in for him. Nicholas and his hickeys. The empty room at midnight and quiet footsteps in the corridor at dawn. The next time was in April, when they were getting fitted for new stage outfits. Euijoo should have just asked, clearly, now that it had been tormenting him longer than that split second of seeing Nicholas' bare body riddled with marks.

Did you hook up with someone?

But that was too direct, too crude.

Funny. It's like you want me to see those.

But what would that change?

At first, Euijoo chalked it up to be curiosity. It's normal to want to know, and even more so when you're kept in the dark about it. Then, it fizzled out into something uglier once Euijoo realized he didn't truly wish to know; that he'd rather the other person to remain faceless and nameless. That was until he started looking at every tidbit of Nicholas' friendships with suspicion and something more malicious.

"There's something else I've been meaning to ask, too."

There he goes. Running towards danger instead of away from it. Nicholas remains in his spot, right at the entryway of the dorm; Euijoo feels cornered even though Nicholas is merely standing in the way. He raises an eyebrow in question. Euijoo thinks he still looks a tad scary like this; like that first spring when he first met him, and Nicholas hadn't quite learnt how to soften his features.

"Where did you go during New Year's?" Euijoo tries to make light of it. Keyword being tries. "I'm just asking because you missed the countdown and—"

One step forward; Euijoo tumbles back two steps. Nicholas' eyes darken as his brows furrow, gaze flitting across Euijoo's face looking for something.

"—and you said you had something to tell me." Euijoo breaks off into a dry chuckle, cowering from the intense gaze he's held under. "What did you want to tell me?"

This close, he can pick up on faint traces of Nicholas' perfume. Euijoo scowls a bit because who wears perfume to Han-gang at 2 A.M.? It seems over the top to him. Well, it's that and… Euijoo can't stop trying to steal whiffs of it.

"You already answered, though."

Was there a question? Had Nicholas asked him one?

"I asked if you liked anyone, and you said yes. You said he was older, that he was good at taking care of you. You were so fucking drunk, and you wouldn't stop talking." Euijoo doesn't quite understand why Nicholas sounds so upset. To be completely honest, he was probably just talking straight out his ass in his panic.

"I— I don't remember that part," Euijoo admits sheepishly.

Nicholas doesn't seem amused.

"Two months ago, when you kissed me—"

Euijoo waves around, surprised. Nicholas sounds accusatory. "You kissed me."

"Huh."

Nicholas gapes as he stares, a hand covering his open mouth.

"You initiated the kiss, not me," Euijoo repeats just for good measure.

The other boy sighs as he crowds even more into Euijoo's space. "Does that matter?"

Yes. Yes, it does. Because Euijoo cannot live with the fact that he might have started something he didn't dare finish. To want something is simple. Euijoo has a long list of wants he would never act on even if presented with the chance. To go after something he wants so blatantly? That's uncharted territory. It didn't come with his Being Byun Euijoo built-in software.

Nicholas sighs before he goes on, chewing on the side callous of his finger out of pure nerves. "I tried to think nothing of it at first. Our lifestyle gets pretty lonely, and I was right next to you. It probably didn't mean what I wanted it to mean. That was fine. But I kept thinking back to January and how you would pull away more and more over the months, and I figured maybe he's trying to move on. Yet I couldn't figure out who it might be. Hell, for a moment I even thought it might be Fuma, but you weren't any different with him at all."

He tends to ramble; it's a habit Euijoo hopes Nicholas never grows out of. There's a beat of silence that passes before Euijoo swallows heavily as he asks, "What did you want it to mean?"

Nicholas laughs incredulously. "Don't give me that opening if you plan to run, Euijoo. I can see it in your eyes."

That's awfully unfair. Nicholas has a tendency to fall for a lot of his own self- assurances.

"Nichol," Euijoo calls, stern. "Tell me what it meant for you." It started as a request in his head, but tumbling out of his mouth it sounds more like a demand. Nicholas is pulling away again, like last time, even though he hasn't moved an inch; he's curling into himself like Euijoo would.

"I was happy just holding you to sleep," he admits quietly, eyes flitting to the floor. He's also good at deflection it seems, enough to give Euijoo a run for his money. "I was happy just knowing that I was someone you sought out for comfort. That I was different to you. You don't lean on anyone, that's just how you are. But in those small moments I got to hold you, I grew greedier. Then you kissed me, and suddenly I was the one losing sleep. And you never want to talk about it, because again, that's just how you are."

Euijoo has no idea where this was going. Still, he listens, as his palms spasm on both sides with the urge to reach out — pat down the frills of Nicholas' head, smooth the stress lines where both brows meet as they furrow, hold his face and force him to look at Euijoo.

"You kept running from me, and eventually I got scared, too. I suddenly didn't have the courage to keep chasing you. And I know I've been distant, even though at first I was so sure it was just you. I thought I could let it die down if I just kept acting like I always do, if I just acted normal, but this time it was impossible. You don't bounce back from things like that." Then, softer, he adds, "I like you just the way you are, Juju, but sometimes you make it so difficult."

There's a split second where Euijoo's completely lost; dizzying levels of words swimming around in his mind. Then, it sinks in like an anchor to the sea floor. I like you just the way you are. Maybe it's all Euijoo's been waiting to hear. All that running around — running from and running towards — all that might have just been for that one sentence that always brought more fear than relief in its anticipation. Now, it swivels down his spine as everything inside him throbs with acceptance.

It has never not been true, not even for one second. Even back when they were nineteen and Euijoo didn't dare to look at Nicholas square in the eyes. Back when he would cower away from his casual touches, when he would spare glances at Nicholas' side profile like a trembling fawn, and Euijoo would think I wish I had a face like that. Even when he would swallow down every bit of easy conversation and turn it into the most awkward exchange of both their lives. Even then. Nicholas hadn't run. He hadn't turned away and he hadn't cowered from it.

Euijoo could never explain to anyone else how heavy of an implication Nicholas is making; because when all else failed, and only Byun Euijoo remained in his pit of self-inflicted messes, Nicholas would sit there with him and accepted him so easily it should've been incriminating.

"Just for the record," Euijoo says, shaking as he reaches for Nicholas' wrist. "Just in case you want to ask, I'm not drunk. And you really, really talk too much."

"You're shaking," Nicholas remarks with a soft snort.

"So are you," Euijoo snickers, while tugging him closer. When Nicholas finally lifts his head, Euijoo swears he blacks out for a second. He's blushing high into his cheekbones again, flustered; he looks like everything all at once. Like comfort, like warmth, like his best friend from almost five years ago who insisted they were best friends. He has loved every version of Nicholas even though he tried so hard not to.

Still, Euijoo runs, one last time. "Kiss me," he pleads, voice barely above a whisper.

"What, so you can tell everyone that I kissed you first?"

No, because I don't think I can move with you right in my line of sight.

He doesn't get to reply. Nicholas sags into kisses it seems; Euijoo doesn't remember if he did last time. He likes to nibble and his hands are self-inviting, and his exhales are heavy like he's trying to steal Euijoo's air all for himself. The hand that roams into his shirt makes Euijoo shiver, gasping a moan into the kiss as Nicholas presses him against the wall. His lips are soft, softer than Euijoo remembers, if he even remembers correctly. He also likes to pinch whatever flesh he can reach it seems, because he's grappling onto Euijoo's waist and pulling off to curse.

"Why are you so fucking small?"

It's mostly rhetoric, Euijoo knows, but still he laughs as he leans back in to capture Nicholas' lips. Less talking, more kissing please. The hands roam further up his back, trailing a pattern upwards as Nicholas deepens the kiss; more mortifying sounds escape from the back of his throat. Euijoo's arms stay interlocked around Nicholas' neck, too terrified to touch anywhere else. When his tongue pries his mouth open, Euijoo moans. Louder than he should have for how quiet and late it was. Nicholas also smiles into kisses, he realizes, as the other boy suckles on Euijoo's tongue almost greedily. A thigh slots in between his legs, and Euijoo has to pull off to gasp when Nicholas digs his knees right into his crotch.

"N—not here," he babbles. He's not hard yet, but god, is he close.

"Where?"

Good god, the rasp on this man. He should not be whispering in Euijoo's face like this if he didn't want Euijoo's knees to buckle and fail.

"Your room," Euijoo decides. The mental image of how he left his room — haphazard and panicking — it's not a sight he's proud of. He's giggling when Nicholas predictably lifts him up and carries him over to the corridor separating their rooms. Giggles even more when Nicholas kisses his neck.

When he's lowered onto Nicholas' bed, Euijoo drags him closer, almost impossibly. Even when he feels so solid in his arms, it's still hard to grasp that he's real. Nicholas stares at him silently for a few moments, before he presses his nose to Euijoo's as he breathes. The first teardrop makes Euijoo gasp; wet and cold and trickling down his cheek. Euijoo leans back to look at him. Nicholas chokes.

"Nichol," Euijoo whispers, alarmed. "You're crying."

His entire faces wrenches as he cries, shoulders shaking as he struggles to breathe. "—m sorry, it's just—, he chokes again. Euijoo's hands pull back to cradle his face. The soft little sob he lets out makes Euijoo's skin crawl.

"Don't cry," he whispers again, unsure what else to say as he wipes his tears away with his thumbs. God, he's such a pretty crier too; how unfair. "You're so beautiful," Euijoo remarks before he can catch himself. "Why are you crying, Nichol?"

Nicholas slumps against him, nose pressed to Euijoo's cheek as his eyes fall shut. "I—I have wanted this for so long," he mumbles, voice quiet and tight. "I never— I just never thought that you— that I could have it."

Euijoo's heart stutters in its confines, face crumbling too as he gets teary. He reaches for the back of Nicholas' head, rubbing gently over his nape. "You can have it," Euijoo tells him, choked up too. "You can have it all."

When Nicholas lifts his head, and dips back down to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, Euijoo shudders. He sobs wetly, face burrowing as if to hide, as his whole frame quivers in Euijoo's arms.

"Hold me, please."

"I am holding you, Nichol."

A broken sob.

Euijoo tightens his hold.

"I'm holding you right now. You're in my arms," Euijoo reminds him.

"Okay," Nicholas says simply as he sags, all the fight leaving his body.

"I'm sorry," Euijoo tells him, even though he's not entirely sure why. "I love you so much and I'm so sorry."

It feels right to say it. He reckons it's all the guilt in his marrows seeping to the surface; of loving Nicholas, of not loving Nicholas enough, of never loving him in the way he wishes he could. For the escapist ideals, for the feelings he tried and failed to repress; for being Byun Euijoo in ways that only maims the boy in his arms.

"I know," Nicholas mutters. "I always knew. I just could never bring myself to believe it."

So, he ran, just like Euijoo did. They ran and ran and ran, until they got exhausted, until they ran themselves down to the bone; until they could only circle back to each other. To ground zero, where at the end of the day they were still both just Euijoo and Nicholas.

"Look at me please," Euijoo begs, because if he doesn't see Nicholas' eyes, he's terrified he's going to start disintegrating.

Nicholas, however, refuses to budge.

"Yixiang, please," Euijoo mewls, desperation clawing at his chest.

That seems to shake Nicholas up even more. Slowly, he unravels, arms straightening as he pushes himself up to look at Euijoo. "Again," he requests, and Euijoo's face falls at the sincerity in his eyes.

"Yixiang," Euijoo repeats. He rubs his palms over the tears tracks, then he's tracing his thumb over Nicholas' lower lip as he stares in utter awe.

"Euijoo."

"Mm?"

Nicholas closes the gap between them, lips soft as they close over Euijoo's. This time the hands are rougher, more demanding as they roam. Euijoo mirrors him, as his palm presses flat over Nicholas' toned torso. He's never touched him like this, always chalked it up to be forbidden, but now that he has he doesn't know how to stop. He wishes he could mark every bit of Nicholas' body to memory. The gasp Nicholas lets out when Euijoo snakes a hand past the waistband of his sweats gets swallowed, as Euijoo chases after him almost embarrassingly.

He's shaking even as he reaches past the soft tufts of hair on his pelvis; Euijoo wishes nothing more than for Nicholas to not notice. It's so warm, he thinks as he rubs down on Nicholas' dick, half-hard and pulsing. Carnal desire plays such a small part here, he thinks, because in his veins run something more sinister — the urge to consume Nicholas whole if he could. Yet he takes what he can, as he closes his palm over the hardening cock, and watches in awe as Nicholas pulls off to moan.

"Juju," he gasps, then whimpers when Euijoo rubs over his cockhead.

He's so visibly overwhelmed that Euijoo wishes he could play this moment back a hundred times over. Vulnerability looks good on Nicholas. Euijoo kisses a trail down his neck, sucking softly as he strokes him slowly to full hardness. By the time his cock starts weeping, Euijoo's pretty sure just watching him could get him over the edge.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath, hips twitching unintentionally. Euijoo keeps sucking on this one spot that makes him mewl, dissatisfied that the hickey won't darken the way he wants it to. "Are you trying to eat me?" Nicholas jokes, shaking to get him off.

"That's on the agenda, yes," Euijoo deadpans, completely on-board.

Nicholas stares at him, visibly amused. "You're so sexy when you're serious."

"Shut up."

His sharp tone doesn't match the blush at all. Nicholas kisses his cheek as he laughs.

"Why are you wearing a fucking belt?" he grits as he tries to undo Euijoo's jeans.

"I didn't plan on losing my virginity tonight, sorry," Euijoo jokes, giggling to himself. Then, he pauses when he realizes Nicholas has stopped dead in his tracks, staring down at him. "No, I'm not a virgin. Fuck off."

"Damn," Nicholas says, face pulled into a frown. "Both of my balls just twitched, don't play with me like that."

"Let me," Euijoo offers, retracting his hands to help Nicholas undo his belt. "Okay, maybe I'm a bit of a virgin," he admits sheepishly as Nicholas pulls his pants and briefs off.

The hand on his thigh squeezes. "How far?" Nicholas says through gritter teeth. Euijoo rolls his eyes as he tugs at the hem of his sweatpants. Nicholas huffs as he climbs off the bed to take it off. Under the dim lights, his legs look even more toned than usual. Euijoo has to catch himself before he starts drooling.

"Maybe this far?"

Nicholas whines as he mounts him again, palms pressed flat on both sides of Euijoo's head. "You want me to die, I swear," he mumbles, huffing as he presses his hips down, making them both gape as their lengths rub against each other. "Shit, you're so fucking pretty," Nicholas tells him fondly, though the harsh grab and squeeze at Euijoo's cheeks seem to contradict his words. "So cute," he grits, almost like he's angry. Euijoo swears he feels him twitch as he says it.

It pulls a stray giggle out of him that Nicholas doesn't seem to amused by. He retaliates by rolling his hips; Euijoo's breath hitches as he holds him by the waist. A hand creeps between them, closing around both their weeping, hard cocks. The tentative stroke has Euijoo keening, embarrassed at how sensitive he is.

He closes his palm over Nicholas', rocking gently into the hold.

The garbled moan he lets out gets swallowed by Nicholas' wet mouth, strokes fastening. Euijoo suckles on his tongue and tries not to kick against the mattress; the feeling of their wet tips kissing is almost dizzying. "I'm not gonna last very long," he admits in a wet huff.

Nicholas licks back into his mouth hurriedly. "It's been a while for me too," he mumbles against Euijoo's lips. In the back of his mind he remembers New Year's day, and the green monster at the foot of his bed. He remembers the feeling with an inkling of resentment — spiraling, and falling apart as he threw up for days every time he remembered it.

His hand crawls up to Nicholas' neck, nails digging into the flesh there as the other boy's mouth falls open into a moan. The wet squelch of their cocks rubbing together makes Euijoo squirm; Nicholas' rickety thrusts and the urge to let his eyes roll back. He doesn't stop Euijoo even as his hand tightens around his airway, eyes roaming to find displeasure and finding none. His flickering gaze tells Euijoo that it's getting harder to breathe for him, and still he says nothing. He just takes it, silent and awaiting.

"Promise it's only me," Euijoo whispers, voice coming out so odd and so raw.

Nicholas' eyes flutter shut, hips stuttering as he nears his climax. "Only you," he says, strained. "It's always been you."

Then, he's crying again, cock spurting as he sobs. Euijoo doesn't let go of the chokehold even as he topples over the edge too. there's something sinister about watching Nicholas fall apart in his hands; so trusting, so loving. When he finally loosens his hold, Nicholas collapses on top of him, body curling into Euijoo's as if he's begging again — hold me, please. Euijoo wraps both arms around his head, cradling him to his chest. Like he's trying to hide him from the world, like he could do it if he just held him tight enough.

It can only ever be you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The last time they came here, they had both been younger. More naive. And far more stupid.

Mid-Autumn Festival. Chuseok, as Euijoo knows it.

Nicholas had been homesick; far more every Chuseok than the last. So, Euijoo had gone home in the morning, and left for the dorms that same afternoon — to the boy waiting by the door, eyes heavy with longing.

It's a Taiwanese restaurant they had found two years ago after hours of browsing reviews and ratings. Nicholas had taken one look at their visual menu and decided this is the one. Euijoo had simply made the calls, and several notes taken later, he had brought Nicholas here. It's the closest taste of home he could bring to the boy who rarely talks about home at all.

"Do you remember last year, when people spotted us?" Nicholas asks, as he refills Euijoo's bowl with more meat, even though Euijoo never asks.

The pictures looked like something straight out of an insider scoop. First they had walked out of there with their arms linked, joy-riddled and high off of chili oil fumes. Then, they had heard camera shutters, and they had separated on the walk way like fucking idiots — at least five feet apart, even though they had no reason to be. It looked comical, Euijoo will admit that much.

Maybe they've always been that way — terrified of being found out, even when there was nothing to find out.

"Why did we pretend like we didn't know each other? Like, why was that our first reaction?" Euijoo muses, chuckling at the memory.

Nicholas snickers as he wipes the corner of Euijoo's mouth with a tissue. "I don't know. We're stupid like that. When we come together, we become idiots."

His laughter is infectious. But Euijoo's too busy staring at the sauce on Nicholas' bottom lip. He swipes a thumb over it before sucking it clean. Nicholas pauses and stares.

"At least we brought an umbrella today," he says, remembering the conversation a few weeks ago. Euijoo doesn't agree with Nicholas' bit about being a weather fairy, either, but it's too late to bring it up without sounding like a professional grudge holder.

"Nuh-uh, the forecast said twenty-percent."

He doesn't know yet that promptly an hour later, the weather will cash in on that twenty-percent and pour it over their heads. So, what if it always rains every time they're together? At least, they can huddle together under one umbrella and pretend they're pressed that close together merely because of the rain.

Nicholas will kiss him against the door, right before they go in. Euijoo will kiss him back. That's all there is to it.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The first time the doctor takes Euijoo off of his medication, he reacts the way a child would if you snatched away his comfort item. It's equal parts concerning as it is embarrassing. Euijoo wouldn't consider himself dysfunctional without his medication, but for the longest time they had to work around several factors to find what worked for him. And to strip that from him so suddenly, under the guise of it will clash with promotions, it feels like cruelty to him in all honesty. 

The initial nights were terrible, because besides his utterly crippling and new-found insomnia, there was the anxiety in his veins he couldn't quite scratch out even if he tried. So, he tried meditation, and calling his mom, and trying to catch up with an ex-lover who he knows has dealt with the same things. None worked, and some came with worse results than he had hoped for. 

Clonazepam. Escitalopram. Olanzapine.

And right at the bottom of his prescription, right above his diagnosis, the doctor had written get some rest like it wasn't the most obvious thing in the world. Euijoo would have done so if only he could. If only his brain could just work right, and switch off, or if he could just carve a spot for all the bad thoughts to leak out and he could drain it in the bathroom sink. 

On the fourth night, Euijoo had trudged out into the dead-quiet living room with a single pillow, even though he had resolved himself to accept that he was not sleeping tonight. 

The house is so quiet Euijoo swears he can hear his own heartbeat. He stays there for a good two hours at least, wondering to himself how any of them manage to pull all-nighters only to show up fresh as a daisy the next morning for hair and makeup. Nicholas excels in it, and Euijoo makes a mental note to ask him how in the near future.

"Juju?"

It's like his train of thought had manifested the other boy out of thin air. Nicholas hovers over where Euijoo has bent himself backwards on the arm of the couch. 

"What are you doing up?"

Euijoo wishes he could tell him without tearing up and making a complete fool of himself. Nevertheless, he sputters an inaudible answer before he's choking on sobs and something completely non-human leaves his tongue word by word until Nicholas is crouched next to his head and patting his hair down in attempts to console him. 

That must have been so awful, he says and Euijoo chokes. You must have had such a hard time, he says, and it soothes something so deep inside him that Euijoo wishes he could slash himself open to show Nicholas where his words reside. Anyone else would have asked him: do you want me to— would you like me to— should I? Instead, Nicholas maneuvers him gently until Euijoo is lying face-down on Nicholas' bed instead. Euijoo doesn't deal with frustration well. Patient as he is, when he hits his breaking point, no one takes things worse than he does. It almost seems as though the future is so suffocatingly bleak that he would rather just not look ahead at all. Nicholas, much to Euijoo's chagrin, figured that part of him out so quickly; way too quickly. 

He's not done crying even when Nicholas mimics motions of tucking him in, even though they both know the bed is more than likely to be a tight fit — a tad small — for two guys of their size. But still, Nicholas lets him takes up as much space as he wants to, because they both know Euijoo's petulance was half-honed by him at some point. Euijoo doesn't complain about the soft stroking on his head, or the quiet humming, because it's been almost a week of endless torture and being too terrified to bring it up to the two most responsible co-adults of the group — Fuma and Kei. The only person that knows is his manager, and that too was not upon his choice.

"Sleep here tonight," Nicholas says gently, while wiping and dabbing at Euijoo's tear tracks with balled-up tissues. 

Euijoo wants to argue that that's the point — that he can't sleep even though he knows he has to wake up in less than four hours, that it doesn't matter if it's Nicholas' bed or the world's most luxurious king-size 5-star bed. Still, he doesn't argue, because he has embarrassed himself enough for the night, and even Nicholas might get tired of him at some point in their lives, and he would rather not put that to the test.

"Do you miss home?" Nicholas asks after a while, still dabbing Euijoo's cheeks. He's crouched against the bed and the breath he exhales is warm wherever it reaches Euijoo. 

It's a silly question to ask, honestly, and Euijoo had plans to tell him as much until he realizes he doesn't quite know which home Nicholas is asking about. It's with this thought that another realization comes into play — he has lived equal amounts of his human years at his parents' home as he has in the HYBE dorms. It's such a sad, sad thought. He was so young. What was he in such a hurry for? But some days, it bleeds out of Nicholas too, that specific hue of longing that creeps through the crevices searching for light. Home means Seoul for Euijoo, just as home means Taipei for Nicholas. None other than their members had asked if they were adjusting well, if they found it difficult to navigate Tokyo in times when they couldn't afford to have someone else tag along. It was just something expected of them — to not complain, to take that longing and shove it to the back of their minds. 

Gratitude is a rather humbling thing to feel — its cradles feel the same way a false sense of security does. Humans are inherently good, Euijoo believes that always, but it also remains that humans are inherently selfish in a sense. So, being grateful for opportunities, experiences, and the likes, could never tempt down the longing and the what ifs of the entire ordeal. Euijoo wishes he could explain it to anyone else, but it seems only Nicholas will ever truly understand what it all means for them to make home out of their dorm rooms in Tokyo. It no longer looks barren, at least, but the feeling of it? Not much has changed in that department.

"Do you?" Euijoo counters the question rather belatedly. 

"Of course, I do," Nicholas answers easily. "But not in the way you do," he muses, "because I lived abroad very early. And it's only your first time." The quiet understanding seems to placate him. Euijoo frowns because he wishes it wasn't Nicholas of all people who shares this ache.

"Does it get easier?"

Nicholas chuckles softly. "It does, but I would also be lying if I told you it gets easier soon."

Euijoo groans like a wounded animal. Nicholas taps his cheek with an amused smile. "You're always so honest."

"I thought you liked that about me."

He's correct about that at least. Honesty is easy to navigate, and Nicholas is never hurtful with his. He's not blunt or brash. Instead, he carries himself in a way that makes even his criticism easy to take in. That's why he brings such a balance to the team, and Euijoo appreciates that more than he's told the other boy.

"Who said I liked you at all? We're coworkers at best," Euijoo jokes, but cries softly when the thought makes his chest ache. 

Nicholas, on the other hand, wholeheartedly laughs at his dilemma. 

"Do you want me to put you to bed the way Mama Wang does?" 

Euijoo knows enough now to realize Mama Wang is his grandmother, and not his mother like one would assume. It's sort of a family nickname, preceding Nicholas himself even. Nodding, Euijoo says, "This is going to be really embarrassing for you if it doesn't work."

Nicholas snorts. "It's going to be embarrassing for grandma, not me. If her methods no longer work, that's on her."

Euijoo joins in, until they're both laughing almost ludicrously. 

Then, Nicholas, way more determined than before, suddenly stands up. "Scoot over a bit," he says, nudging at Euijoo until there's enough space on the bed for him to crawl into. Then, he folds the comforter down, until he has a hand splayed on Euijoo's belly. It's ticklish, and Euijoo squirms at first. "This part is important," Nicholas insists. Then, he gently taps down with all fingers to a gentle rhythm. "A story should follow here, but I don't know if you would like any of the ones I know." 

"Try me," Euijoo mumbles, surprisingly drowsy after the crying fit. Still, this is how it always feels — he gets drowsy, and tired, and then he closes his eyes, only to fruitlessly keep it closed for hours until he has to get up and do it all over again. 

"Okay, close your eyes."

Euijoo refuses, slightly dubious of the method, still. 

"It's important that you close your eyes."

"You're pulling my leg, aren't you?"

Nicholas makes a frustrated sound from deep within his chest. "Just close your eyes, Juju. I swear I won't do anything funny." 

Still doubtful as ever, Euijoo closes his eyes.

Once upon a time, a white snake and a green snake living in a remote mountain became immortal and obtained super powers after centuries of practices. They transformed into two beautiful ladies and wanted to visit the human world.

…they ran into a very handsome young man with an umbrella under his arm. Lady White Snake fell in love with him. Just then, it started to rain and the gentleman lent his umbrella to the ladies. He told them his name is Xu Xian. The second day, they met again…

…Fahai told Xu Xian that his wife was not a human being but a devil snake. Xu Xian didn't believe him, then Fahai suggested Xu Xian to give his wife a special drink and verify it…

…One day, Xu Xian managed to escape from the temple and found lady White Snake. She revealed all of her story and admitted that she is a snake. Xu replied: "Human or not, I will love you always."

Good night, Euijoo. I love you. Sleep well.