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Han Jihoon is always getting himself into… situations, one way or another. They're like unavoidable truths, things he can never stop from happening, no matter how much he tries. In fact, the more he tries to prevent them, the more odd things keep happening to him.
Take, for example, the hardest day of elementary-school-aged Jihoon's life. When he had pretended to collapse in the streets to avoid another day of school, crafting, writing and running around with his friends. It hadn't worked, for obvious reasons, and only landed him a long walk to school, embarrassed, covered in dirt and knees scraped by asphalt.
Or, on the other hand, that time when he had vowed to bake for his noona's birthday. It had ended with flour on the ceiling and a brick of sponge that was barely edible. Not to mention the dishes he had to do, face covered in cocoa powder with nothing to show for it.
But this? This situation really takes the cake.
(Of course, he notes later, like everything else that goes wrong in his life, it has to involve Kim Dohoon.)
It's all Kyungmin's fault, really, if Jihoon's being honest.
He and Dohoon aren't doing anything that out of the ordinary. Play fighting, bickering, taking up space in Jihoon's bed together — normal things that friends and band-mates do. They'd just turned off the live, and Dohoon is unusually silent. He's been talking nonstop since he started it with Junghwan, moving to his and Jihoon's room so naturally that the younger had no choice but to join in too.
Jihoon's back is flat against the mattress, arms curled into the comforter as he scrolls through fan comments absentmindedly. Dohoon, instead of lying next to him like a normal, considerate person, has made Jihoon's chest his personal pillow. His head is resting against his collarbone, hair tickling Jihoon's chin, and Jihoon tries not to think too much about it. Or, to think much about anything at all.
Dohoon tends to get caught up in the moment, when they're like this. He's always touching, reaching, and grabbing, and Jihoon can never do anything to stop him. Can never pry Dohoon's fingers away from his hand or release his arms from around his shoulders. It's not that he wants to, that selfish desire taking over — but he just knows he should.
(It's not doing either of them any favours. Not Dohoon, who's simply being friendly, and not Jihoon, who doesn't know when to stop taking.)
"I'm tired," Dohoon mumbles into the skin of his neck, lips barely brushing against Jihoon, "But I don't want to get up."
"You're annoying," Jihoon huffs out, "Just sleep here."
"No," He whines, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. It's clear the day's activities have hit Dohoon all at once, and he's only really half there. "You'll kick me off in your sleep again."
"It's my bed!"
"Don't care," Dohoon mutters, "You like it when I'm here, anyway."
Jihoon stills. He feels cold, suddenly, even under the warmth of Dohoon's body and the thick winter duvet.
"I don't."
"Don't lie."
"I'm not," He insists, placing his phone down on the bedside table and flicking the lamp off, bathing both of them in complete darkness.
"Whatever," Dohoon sighs. He moves to roll off Jihoon, apparently deciding to resign to his own bed for the night. Yet, as Jihoon's stomach twists at the rejection, his hands twitch, and they move before he can stop them.
He grabs Dohoon's face between his hands. It's meant to be teasing. It's meant to keep him in place, just a little longer, so Jihoon can stir in the victory and think about the warmth of Dohoon's cheeks between his palms for the rest of the night.
It's not meant to end like this: Dohoon, seemingly changing his mind, and instead moving closer to Jihoon almost on instinct. Jihoon's hands are slipping, and their faces are barrelling towards each other until Jihoon plants a small, faint kiss onto the corner of Dohoon's mouth.
He blinks.
Kyungmin, with the worst timing in the world, chooses that exact moment to open the door, bathing both of them in harsh, artificial light, the shadows falling over their face and the convoluted angle making it look like, to him at least, they were kissing. Properly.
"I knew it," The youngest bursts out, as the two of them pull apart. Dohoon's looking at him, wide-awake now, gaze flicking between Jihoon's lips and where his hands now rest against Dohoon's neck, panic lacing his features, "I knew you guys were dating!"
"Dating?" Jihoon says, incredulously, spluttering, fingers curling into Dohoon's skin, "We're not—"
"Don't lie, hyung," Kyungmin replies, hands on his hips, like an overconfident child, "Why else would you be…"
He trails off, nodding his head towards them, as they are right now. Dohoon's legs bracketing Jihoon's waist, hand pressed against his chest, Jihoon's fingers tangled in the hair on the back of his neck.
Jihoon looks around, frantically. Between Kyungmin and Dohoon, back and forth. Then, he watches the way Dohoon swallows heavily, finally moving his head to look at the maknae. Jihoon knows, then, that he's about to make a terrible, terrible decision. He can feel it, thrumming beneath his fingertips, and everything in his stomach is sinking as he hears Dohoon say,
"Yeah," The words are hoarse, quiet, just enough for the two others to hear, "I guess you've figured us out, then."
Kyungmin hums happily, "Can I tell the others? We've been waiting for this. I can't believe I was the first—" He trails off into giddy mumblings, as Jihoon feels everything inside bubble up to the surface, until he feels hot and flushed and humiliated, that guilt wrapping itself around him, and he's still, still unable to move.
"Dohoon," He says, beneath his breath.
Jihoon shouldn't be surprised, when Dohoon places a hand over his mouth, and gets up to usher Kyungmin out of the room. Nothing is making sense, and everything feels sort of fuzzy. Even when Dohoon sits himself back down at the end of Jihoon's bed, whose now sitting up, cross-legged, biting his lip, it doesn't feel anything close to real.
"Dohoon," Jihoon repeats, almost hissing, "Why would you say that?"
"I don't know—"
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"It just. Came out, like that," Dohoon mumbles, wringing his hands together and playing with the too-long sleeves of his pyjama shirt like he's nervously waiting for a performance. Not like he's just flipped Jihoon's entire world on its axis, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
"You can't," Jihoon's voice is tight, and he's holding it all in the best he can, because a random Tuesday in November isn't the best day to tell your best friend you're in love with him, "You can't just say things like that."
"I told you, I didn't mean to!"
That, Jihoon thinks, is what stings the most.
To Dohoon, it's a slip of the tongue. A white lie, so as to not ruin the moment, an attempt to protect Kyungmin's childlike wonder. He doesn't think about it more than that, about the implications of what he just uttered. Perhaps worse than that, is that he's blind to the way Jihoon's crumbling.
The more Dohoon lies, the more Jihoon breaks.
"What are you going to do about it, then?" He asks, in response, gripping the sheets tightly so he doesn't explode out of his skin, "If you didn't mean it, then you have to fix this."
"I can't…" The older gulps, "I can't do that."
They can both hear Kyungmin's shrieks through the walls, the way Youngjae and Hanjin and even Junghwan are chiming in to his excitement.
"Then what do you suggest we do?" Jihoon asks, scrunching his eyes shut. Logically, he knows the answer. Yet, he doesn't want to hear it.
"We could," Dohoon pauses between his words, treading tentatively between the strain in Jihoon's own voice, and whispers, "We could pretend."
Jihoon doesn't reply. Just looks at him, and tilts his head to show that he's listening.
"It wouldn't be that hard," He starts, "I mean, we can act the same. Just… talk about it like it's not. Then, in a month, or so, we can say it wasn't working out, and go back to normal. Right?"
Dohoon seems unsure of it himself. Jihoon thinks that this is a recipe for disaster. Everything, every bone in his body and every coherent thought, the delicate skin of his heart and the throbbing in his hands that lingers every time Dohoon is near him, is protesting. Nothing about this is normal. Nothing will ever be normal, when Dohoon wants to give him what he's been craving all this time, just to cruelly rip it away, never real to begin with.
Then again. Han Jihoon and situations: they go hand-in-hand. So he's not as surprised as he should be, when he replies, cautiously, into the dark:
"I guess we could do that."
He hates the way Dohoon's sigh of relief sets him alight. Hates the fact that he's committing to this, every single constant in his life turning upside down in a matter of minutes. All because Jihoon just couldn't keep his hands to himself.
"We have to keep our story straight," Dohoon insists, now that Jihoon's agreed. It's like he's incapable of lingering too long on anything that requires feeling, that requires intimacy. It feels, to Jihoon, at least, like all of those months ago. When the debut group had been finalised, and every interaction felt like a business transaction on the line.
They'd grown past it, the six of them. But thinking about the time between September and early January leaves an odd, hollow feeling in his chest.
"I know," He agrees. Because he does, better than anyone.
Dohoon delves into a flurry of questions, of things they could be asked and what they'll say, almost like he's rehearsed this over and over. His tiredness is entirely forgotten, and although Jihoon's a little confused, he doesn't have it in him to question anything. He just sits, and listens, letting the older talk and talk, even in the absence of a response.
(It's not as hard as he expects it to be, working it all out. They stay up late into the night, going over details, and Jihoon has to pretend like he's not seconds away from snapping. At Dohoon, or at himself, he doesn't know. But both of them pointedly ignore the awkward tension lingering in the air. If it's not tangible, then it doesn't exist. It's simple, really.
Nobody bothers them the rest of the night, either. Kyungmin's word, probably — but Jihoon is entirely grateful, and dreads the morning to come.)
It's not as awkward as it should be.
Jihoon had expected some kind of tectonic shift. Like a visible change in dynamics, in the way that the other's treat them. Like, for example, Kyungmin making childish gagging noises when they sat next to each other at breakfast. Or Junghwan raising a cautious eyebrow, maybe pulling them aside for a leader-esque talk before they head out for the day.
There's none of that.
In fact, it's almost… easier, than usual. Nobody comments on their bickering, when Jihoon picks food off of Dohoon's plate like always, and the older protests with a pout. Or when Dohoon shoves their shoulder's together and smirks, causing Jihoon to whine in response. The others just watch, with fond smiles, and a silence that feels almost uneasy.
"Stop eating my egg!" Dohoon complains, picking rice off of Jihoon's plate in retaliation and staring him down, "You have your own."
"I know you're not going to eat all of that," Jihoon replies, easily, "You never do. Just let me."
Youngjae laughs, rather loudly, and still, Dohoon never takes his eyes off of him.
"You're both ridiculous," He shakes his head. Kyungmin pipes up in agreement, as Hanjin and Junghwan dissolve into fits of giggles at the other end of the table.
Jihoon thinks, absentmindedly, on the way to the company building, Dohoon asleep on his shoulder, that he could almost get used to this. Because, really, is this how they've been acting all this time? Like a couple?
It's rather baffling. That from the outside in, they could even be perceived that way.
To Jihoon, Dohoon has always, only ever been, a friend. Sure, sometimes when the older makes himself comfortable next to Jihoon in his bed and smells like him the next day, Jihoon almost wants to kiss him silly and whisper sweet things into his ear, things that Dohoon would almost certainly take as a joke, but Jihoon means wholeheartedly. Or, when he's practising, caked in sweat and wearing only a tank-top, Jihoon wants nothing but to curl into his lap and wrap two arms around his shoulders, pressing wet kisses to his cheek.
But his feelings mean nothing, when he knows Dohoon will never see him that way. Jihoon says it, over and over, night after night, that Dohoon is a friend. A band-mate, one of his closest confidants and his roommate, for God's sake, but regardless: a friend. So he keeps him at a distance, uses petty arguments as their own kind of shield, and tries to be happy with what he has.
It's why Dohoon so readily accepting the role of Jihoon's boyfriend, has him reeling and entirely off-kilter. Even the word, boyfriend — it feels foreign. He's not used it yet, not out loud, but Jihoon knows when the time comes, it'll get stuck on his tongue. Like hard candy on braces, fragile and brittle and still so deadly.
They woke up in the same bed, for the fourth time that week, Dohoon curled into his side like an octopus. They sat next to each other for breakfast, as they did most days, got ready together and took the same two seats in the car.
Everything feels so wrong, and yet nothing has changed.
"Jihoon?" Dohoon mumbles into his side. He's taking the rare opportunity for sleep, while Jihoon is staring out the window, taking in the city skyline of early-morning Seoul, like he does every day.
"Go back to sleep, hyung," He pokes his forehead gently.
"Okay," Dohoon breathes out, closing his eyes again, and then Jihoon is alone. But he feels Junghwan's eyes boring into the back of his head, and knows what's coming. His only grace is that Dohoon isn't awake enough to fuck up the lie. Not this time, at least.
"How long have you guys been together?" The leader asks, wasting no time.
They'd talked about this last night. If Jihoon sticks to the story, to the plan, he'll be fine.
"Only a few weeks," He says, easily, half-glad Junghwan can't see how red his face is. But he knows their manager is watching him through the rear-view mirror, and Jihoon can't decide what's worse.
"Really?"
"Yeah," Jihoon fakes a laugh, "I guess it took us a while to figure it out, huh?"
Junghwan goes quiet. The younger almost thinks he doesn't buy it, when:
"You could say that," He laughs, "It was ridiculous, watching you dance around each other like that."
"You—" Jihoon stutters, "You what?"
"Anyone with eyes could see it, Jihoon-ah," Junghwan states, like it's a universal truth, because maybe it is at this point, "Except you guys, I guess. I'm happy for you."
"Oh," He mumbles out, not quite able to find the words to reply, "Thank you, hyung. I mean, I'm sorry we didn't tell you, it was just… A natural progression of things. Something like that."
Junghwan is shaking his head, probably. Jihoon can't turn around to see, Dohoon still resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder.
"I get it," The older reassures, "I'm just glad we found out. None of us are mad, I promise. I know you worry about things like that."
God, Junghwan knows him so well. It's almost a little scary, that the older can read Jihoon better than he can read himself. Still, he blurts out, "Yeah, I do. Thank you. Really."
It's slightly awkward. They're still in a car full of people, and while he knows Hanjin is definitely tuned out too, Youngjae and Kyungmin are still listening. He's just glad his worry comes off like this, and not something else entirely. It's better, safer, that way.
"I'm proud of you," Junghwan says, finally.
Jihoon gulps, and wraps his fingers around the leader's hand when it finds his from the backseat. He ignores the thumping sound in his ears and Dohoon's gentle breathing against his collarbone, squeezing Junghwan's fingers tighter, and tries to focus on what's outside the window instead.
(It's impossible, with Dohoon so close. But at least Jihoon's trying.)
They carry on like that, for a little while. Their busy schedules help.
With four major award shows coming up, there's not really a moment to breathe. Every day is just practice, vocal training, dance practice, and more practice. Jihoon's always been the member to stay late, and now he does it more than ever.
(He tells them it's because of all the eyes on them, now, their latest song blowing up more than anyone had expected. He leaves out the part about it being an excellent way to avoid Dohoon's clingy, insistent touches, and the cute nicknames he calls Jihoon, now, without even thinking.)
The days have been blending together, more than Jihoon likes. Yet, between the long hours of practice, are short, sharp doses of Dohoon.
He's like a clock. Jihoon's day is split up not into hours, but into time spent with him. A hug to start the day. A ruffle of his hair when they warm up. Feeding him something to eat during lunch, even when Jihoon's perfectly capable of feeding himself. Little, unnoticeable things like these, that he's become ridiculously accustomed to.
As much as he wants to hate it, instead, he's grown to crave it.
Like now.
The rest of the members are long gone. Hanjin's at language classes, Youngjae and Junghwan are taking Kyungmin home so he can work on some last pieces of schoolwork before the CSAT. Only Jihoon and Dohoon are left at the company building, the older in the vocal practice room just a few feet over, Jihoon taking up space in the dance studio.
It feels deserted, in the absence of anyone else. Just him, the thrumming bass of their title track and walls lined with mirrors that do nothing but amplify the emptiness.
Before leaving to practice on his own, Dohoon had whispered gently in his ear:
"I'll wait for you." The others were packing up, and yet Dohoon's stuff remained tucked neatly into the corner, no sign of him moving to pick it up, or to wrap up warmly for the winter weather. "We should go home together."
"You don't have to," Jihoon had uttered, stretching while talking, "Just go home, hyung."
Dohoon had shaken his head, rather insistently. It's things like these that always have Jihoon so confused — things he doesn't have to do, but insists on anyway. He never waited with Jihoon before their arrangement, and he doesn't have to now. Everyone knows how tiring the life they chose is, and wouldn't doubt them if Dohoon just wanted to catch an extra hour of sleep.
Still, he stays.
"I want to," He had said, motioning to Junghwan and the others not to wait up for either of them, "I have to practice too."
"You don't," Jihoon had mumbled, honesty pouring out when the door swung shut, and they were finally alone, "You were perfect in the recording booth. You don't need to lie."
"I'm not…" The older had grasped the fabric of Jihoon's jacket, then, as if to drive his point home, "I'm not lying. Not all of this has to be a lie, Jihoon."
His voice had softened, towards the end, and Jihoon almost felt a little bad.
"I'm not saying it is," He had tried to respond, but it came out sounding all wobbly, "I just… I want you to get enough rest. You don't have to wait up for me all of the time."
"You're such an idiot," Dohoon spat out, unprompted, although it's not unkind. It's more fond, disbelieving, "We share the same room! Even if I didn't stay with you, you'd wake me up like you always do."
"Oh," Jihoon had given in. He wasn't in the mood to bicker, nor did he want to admit that their status as roommates had entirely slipped his mind, "I guess you're right."
Dohoon doesn't believe him, not completely — the Han Jihoon he knows would never agree so easily. But he doesn't pry. Just leaves Jihoon with the room number and a thick, endless silence.
He feels it more now, back against the cool wooden floor and staring up at the ceiling. It's painted the same colour as the walls, that old-style popcorn texture a treat for his eyes as he tries to keep himself distracted. From dance, from work, from Dohoon.
(It scares him, how much those three are intertwined. That, and the fact that they're impossible to get away from, no matter how hard he tries.)
Jihoon has been at it for two hours, he thinks. The same moves, over and over, until his limbs are heavy and everything is aching. He can hear Junghwan's voice in the back of his mind, telling him to go home. To get some well-needed rest. The nagging of Youngjae to 'eat something, please, Jihoon' or Kyungmin's pleas to slow down, just a little. But Jihoon can't. Moving is the only way to keep his mind blissfully quiet.
He can't put it off any longer, though, when Dohoon bursts through the door again. Jihoon is still on the floor, hair splayed out like a jellyfish and legs all crooked. He barely moves his head at the sound, just flits his eyes towards the familiar footsteps.
"I told you to take it easy," Dohoon complains, crouching down beside him. He doesn't look angry, but his brows are furrowed, and there's that pity in his eyes that Jihoon loathes so much.
"No, you didn't," Jihoon pouts, "I didn't even dance for that long."
"Yes, I did. I implied it," The older retorts, "And two hours is a long time. When will you get that through your head?"
"It's not!"
"It is," Dohoon says again, as his hand moves to pet Jihoon's hair, "You look exhausted."
Jihoon can't help but lean into the touch, even when he tries not to. When Dohoon runs his fingers through his hair like that, scratching at his scalp just the way Jihoon likes, it's impossible to ignore.
"I can't get this one move right," He complains, sighing.
"None of us have got it down either," Dohoon reassures. His other hand wraps around Jihoon's wrist, pulling him up from the ground, "There's always tomorrow."
Jihoon hums, feeling a little lighter. The words, his touch — it's all oddly comforting. It's the type of tenderness Dohoon shows Hanjin, and evidently not the way Dohoon is supposed to treat Jihoon.
Still, he's greedy. He's not going to stop it, not when the hands in his hair feel so good, and he presses his forehead against Dohoon's shoulder, breathing in his faded cologne and taking a full, deep breath for the first time in hours.
"Let's go home." It's so soft, the way he says it. They're wrapped up in their own little world, almost forgetting that they're still at the company and not in the warmth of their dorm.
Dohoon doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, he pulls Jihoon up by the wrist, his other hand shifting to rest against his back so he doesn't fall.
Then, as if it's something he does so often, he takes Jihoon's cheek between his fingers. Pinches it lightly, fondly, before he leans in, and presses a feather-light kiss to his jaw.
It lingers for a second. Just long enough for Jihoon to feel the warmth of Dohoon's lips on his skin, before they're gone again.
"What—" He starts to say, entirely bewildered. But Dohoon is already slipping away, far more interested in packing up his things now. He doesn't say anything, and doesn't press. He just leaves Jihoon to stew in silent confusion, and act like his world isn't collapsing right in front of him.
(It's only when they get home that Jihoon remembers — they were alone. There was no need to pretend — so, why?)
It's like something shifts, after that.
Maybe it's Dohoon's boldness, or Jihoon's lack of rejection, or a little bit of both. The chalk line between them, the thin boundary they walk along, has been erased by an onslaught of torrential rain, that comes in the shape of Dohoon's fingers. In the press of his hands against Jihoon's own and his cheek against his shoulder and every part of him that he shows to Jihoon bare, now, without ever asking.
But their dorm room, alone and bathed in quiet, isn't the place Jihoon should have to be worrying about this. There's nobody else there. There's no reason to keep up appearances. And yet—
"Are you okay?" Dohoon asks, peeking over the top of the divider that separates their beds. He's been doing that more, lately, and Jihoon doesn't really know what to make of it.
Jihoon hums, and nods. It's a thinly disguised lie — today had been harder than most.
Everything had started off on the wrong foot. Sleeping through his alarm, throwing on clothes he had found hung over the end of his bed, only to realise they belonged to Dohoon when they were already in the car, subjecting Jihoon to relentless teasing from the others all day. Then, he had slipped, sending both him and Hanjin crashing into a wall. It had ended with his side blooming up in bruises that he can feel, but have yet to show themselves, and a large gash running down Hanjin's arm.
Jihoon had been thoroughly scolded by Junghwan. Then again, by himself, all the way home.
"I'm fine," He grits through his teeth, refusing to make eye contact.
"You're not," Dohoon replies, poignantly.
"Why does that matter?" Jihoon is unusually gritty. Normally, he'd prefer to throw on a smile, to tease and joke around until Dohoon leaves him alone. Today, he can't bring himself to bother with any of that. He's exhausted, and everything hurts, and—
The bed dips next to him, and he can feel the warmth of Dohoon's bare shoulder against his. His hands linger awkwardly in his lap, as if he's going back and forth in his mind, until he finally snakes an arm around Jihoon's back and places a cold, gentle hand on the dip of his waist.
Jihoon flinches.
Of course Dohoon had to poke and prod at where he fell.
"Did you hurt yourself, earlier?" The older whispers. He doesn't mention Hanjin, or Junghwan's stern words, or anything else that had gone wrong that day — just Jihoon, like the entire world revolves around him.
"Maybe," Jihoon admits, shifting away from Dohoon's touch, ever so slightly, "It's not that bad."
"Can I see?" Dohoon presses. His hand falls away from the sore side, and instead, he shifts closer into Jihoon's right side, until his cheek is pressed against the younger's shoulder.
Something about his insistence feels like care. Not the kind Jihoon would expect from a band-mate, but something deeper, far more tender, a type that he can't even begin to place.
"Whatever," He gives in, so easily, because really, he doesn't have the energy to fight it today. With his free hand that's not trapped under Dohoon's warmth, Jihoon reaches for the bottom of his pyjama shirt and lifts it up, slowly. Just enough to reveal the left side of his torso, glowing under the warm nightlight, splatters of raw redness that he knows will be purple tomorrow.
"Shit, Jihoon."
"It doesn't hurt," He insists, before pausing, and trailing off, "That much."
"We have bruise cream in the bathroom," Dohoon jumps up, jostling both of them as Jihoon steadies himself with his hands pressed flat against the mattress.
He shakes his head, "I'm tired."
"And I'm not," The older says easily, "I'll apply it for you."
"You don't have to—"
"Let me."
There it is again. This thing that they have, when Jihoon says it's okay, that he doesn't care, and Dohoon disagrees, and does things anyway. It's more confusing, than anything.
Besides, Dohoon's already rifling through the bathroom cabinet for ointment before Jihoon can even continue his protests, and he decides, then, that it's not worth it to fight it. He comes back with a couple of tissues and a half-empty tube of bruise cream — Jihoon's rather clumsy, okay?
Dohoon crouches down, steadying himself using Jihoon's knee. He holds the cap between his teeth as he unscrews it with his free hand, pressing two dollops onto his fingertips and placing the tube onto the bed.
His hand moves from Jihoon's knee, up to his thigh, and he looks up at him from the floor, before saying:
"Can you hold your shirt up?"
Jihoon can only nod, and thanks every god in the world that it's dark, so Dohoon can't see the way his cheeks are flushing crimson red. He lifts the left side of his shirt up again, and the cool air hitting his stomach has him shivering, inhaling deeply.
Dohoon's fingers are even colder against his skin. They start below his belly button, swiping on some cream before rubbing it in with two, then three, fingers. He rubs it in in slow, light circles, moving up to his waist and then higher, carving a trail into Jihoon's skin.
They're both so, so quiet. Except for Dohoon's concentrated hums, the slick sound of his fingers and palms, and Jihoon's huffs of breath every few seconds. It's almost like he's holding his stomach in, like it'll cave in on itself and take him anywhere, somewhere, away from Dohoon's touch.
It doesn't. The older only moves closer, the further up Jihoon's torso his hands go.
"I think I got it all," He murmurs, leaning in to look at his handiwork more closely. Jihoon tenses, feeling Dohoon's breath against his skin as he blows on the cream to dry it faster.
"Yeah," Jihoon stutters out, when Dohoon finally, finally lets him free, standing up once again, "Thank you."
"Get some sleep," Dohoon smiles weakly, like he knows his words are pointless. They know each other's sleeping patterns like the back of their hands, by now — and Dohoon knows better than anyone that Jihoon is simply going to toss and turn until the early hours of the morning, and maybe catch a few, restless hours of sleep.
Still, it's the thought that counts, right?
"I'll try," He attempts to smile back. Instead, it comes out a little wonky, and his cheeks don't burst the same way they normally do. He knows Dohoon sees it — he's just glad he doesn't mention it, "Goodnight, hyung."
"Goodnight, Jihoon-ah," Dohoon says softly, before turning around and walking back into the bathroom.
(If Jihoon lies awake, thinking about Dohoon's hands exploring his torso once again, except, this time, with an entirely different purpose — then nobody has to know.)
It happens again. Backstage, merely a week later. That sweet, unneeded intimacy.
There's a problem: Dohoon is getting bolder, and Jihoon doesn't know how to handle it.
It's not often. But every now and then, he'll do something when Jihoon least expects it, and it'll throw him off for the rest of the day. Like lacing their fingers together on a walk to the convenience store. Or linking their arms together during dinner, smiling gleefully at Youngjae. His quiet comfort and Jihoon's silent acceptance are like a door opened, and there's simply no way of closing it now.
(Jihoon tells himself, over and over, that it's for show. His heart, though — it has trouble understanding that fact.)
He knows that he needs to shut this down. Before it spirals, snowballs into something he can't handle alone anymore. But, Jihoon thinks, it's almost too late for that. What Dohoon started, however unknowingly, isn't so simple anymore.
It's no longer about keeping Kyungmin happy. About keeping up appearances. It never really was.
Yet, there's never any time to think about it too much. It only hits Jihoon in these rare, quiet moments. Like now, hiding behind a curtain and calming his breathing before they're called for standby.
Jihoon clings to the curtain fabric with an iron-grip, other hand pressed against the wall to steady himself. The unsealed paint feels scratchy against his palm, but he can't bring himself to care. In and out, in and out, like he's been taught time after time. He focuses on the point of his shoe, and thinks of nothing but the rise and fall of his own chest.
Dohoon isn't supposed to find him here.
He does anyway.
He comes barrelling in, like he tends to do these days, pulling down all of Jihoon's walls as he does.
"Not now," The younger huffs out, frustrated, "I needed a minute. Just a minute!"
"It's been ten," Dohoon says matter-of-factly, "I had to come find you."
"No, you didn't," Jihoon spits out. Maybe he sounds a little mean. But really, he's sort of over this. The concern that laces Dohoon's face like it means anything at all, the constant badgering, all of it. It's all too much, "I was fine by myself. I can handle myself."
"I'm not saying you can't—" A hand reaches out to grab at Jihoon's neck, pinching the tense skin of his collarbone. Dohoon could've picked anywhere — his arm, his shoulder, or even his hand — but he had to choose there.
"Then go!"
Dohoon starts, as Jihoon's voice rises.
"What's up with you?"
"Nothing is up with me," His grip on the curtain tightens, and Jihoon is surprised he hasn't ripped it out of the ceiling already, "I'm fine."
"Is it about me?" Dohoon blurts out, then.
The last of Jihoon's defences start to tumble down. He's been cracking, the past month, under all of it. Things he knows Dohoon doesn't mean but affect him all the same anyway, the idea that everyone else views them that way but him. Yet, it's that blunt self-awareness that really seeps under his skin, between those fissures, and breaks them apart for good.
"Yes!" Jihoon says, finally, and watches the way Dohoon's face falls with a sick sort of satisfaction, "Yes, it's you. It's this. Whatever we're doing."
"You mean…" The older asks, trailing off. Even now, after all this, he can't just say it. Even though it was his idea, his suggestion, and entirely his fault.
"What else would I be talking about? Tell me, Dohoon, what else could possibly be bothering me."
"I don't know." He blinks.
"Of course it's about the dating," Jihoon mumbles, as he tries to calm himself down. Now is not the time — Dohoon is right there, in front of him, and they're minutes away from being called onto stage, "I mean, can we even call it that? You never do. We were never even dating to begin with."
Dohoon stills.
There's a momentary, tangible pause.
Then, he licks his lips nervously, swallowing, and says, defeated, "You're right. I guess we weren't."
His bitter acceptance makes Jihoon feel like he's done something wrong. He knows he hasn't. But looking at Dohoon's despairing face, he no longer feels like he's speaking his mind. Only that he's lashing out, that he's hurting him, and he doesn't know how to stop it.
Jihoon laughs, awkwardly, "That's not what you wanted, anyway. Right?"
"Well—" Dohoon rushes to say. But he's cut off, rather brutally.
Of course, the staff start calling for them then. Of course, the minute Dohoon shows just an inch of vulnerability, they have to put on that front again. To smile in front of thousands of people and move their bodies like they're not running on three hours of sleep, and pretend like everything is okay and nothing is falling apart at the seams.
But Jihoon has done this a thousand times over. What's one more to boot?
"We'll talk after," He says quickly, before Dohoon can continue with whatever he was about to say. It may have been something important, or it may be entirely arbitrary — Jihoon doesn't really care. All he knows is he can't be thinking about Dohoon when he's on stage, any more than he already does.
Whatever it is, Dohoon has to save it for the quiet, lingering tension of their dorm room.
"Okay," Dohoon agrees readily, already moving to put in his in-earpiece and move to the stage door. Jihoon isn't far behind him, "Afterwards. I'm holding you to it."
They don't talk afterwards. Or in the green room, post-performance, or the car home.
Instead, Dohoon grabs his hand once he's slipped his shoes off in the dorm entryway. He doesn't even have a chance to wave goodbye to the others: Dohoon is pulling him along and down the familiar hallway. He shuts the door with his free hand, slipping his bag off his shoulder and onto the floor and says, all at once:
"How do you know that's not what I wanted?"
Jihoon feels lost, "What? Dohoon, I don't—"
"Backstage," His voice is tight and hoarse again, and it brings Jihoon right back to that first misunderstanding, when everything had started tumbling downhill, "You said I didn't want to date you in the first place."
"I guess I did," Jihoon breathes out, "Why are you so mad about that? It's true, isn't it?"
"I'm not mad," Dohoon retorts, focusing on all the wrong things, "I'm just so… confused."
"You're confused?" The younger laughs, "Imagine how confused I was, when you brought that up all of a sudden. For no reason."
"It wasn't for no reason."
"Then what was it for?"
"I thought it was my only chance." Dohoon's voice is no longer tight. Instead, it's thick with unshed tears, quivering, and his hands drop from Jihoon's side like they're burnt, "I just… I said it, because—"
"You wanted to mess with me?" Jihoon asks, biting his lip, "Is it fun for you?"
"No," Dohoon insists firmly. He's stepping closer now, and as he does, Jihoon starts to back up, "It's not like that."
"Then tell me!" Jihoon almost yells, as his legs hit the edge of the bed, and he stumbles.
Dohoon's hands find his waist, holding him in place, grip so firm that his knuckles are turning while. His face looks pained, as he looks at Jihoon in his arms. The string snaps, like that, and he blurts out, "It's because I like you."
Jihoon's hands fist into Dohoon's sweater, and even though he's all wobbly and isn't sure that he's hearing him correctly, he can't stop himself from asking, "You what?"
The tears really hit Dohoon then. His cheeks are wet, and Jihoon's really never seen him cry like this. He forces his words out like he's scared, "I knew, I really knew, that there was no other way I could be close to you like this. So I just lied, and then said I didn't know why I lied because, really, so selfish, and I'm sorry Jihoon-ah, I'm so sorry—"
It's like everything clicks into place at once, and he's no longer listening. Dohoon's pressing insistence, his wandering hands, lingering intimacy that felt so unnecessary and so unreasonable. Jihoon doesn't have the patience to hear Dohoon out anymore; He's waited, he's waited so long, for this, that his body is moving on its own, and—
Jihoon kisses him. The way he's always wanted to.
His hands find the back of Dohoon's neck and pull him in. It doesn't matter that he's mid-sentence, or that he's snotty and shedding tears everywhere. Dohoon stumbles, as their chests press together, and Jihoon breathes all of him in. Then, he lets out the prettiest whine when their lips finally, finally slot together.
Jihoon moves his mouth frantically, sloppily, and holds Dohoon so tightly he thinks he might break. His lack of experience doesn't matter, now — he makes up for it all with determined enthusiasm. That, and the fact that it doesn't take Dohoon long to get the hint.
He leans into it, the minute Jihoon's hands tighten their grip on his nape, and finds his footing. He moves so greedily, pressing into Jihoon and opening his mouth, feeding him little whines as they drink each other in. Then, he runs a curious tongue over the bottom of Jihoon's lip until their mouths are sliding slickly together.
It happens like that, for a few, breathless minutes.
"I thought you'd never want me like this," Jihoon says, all too quickly, when he has a moment to breathe. He wipes a stray tear away with his thumb, cradling Dohoon's face gently in his hands, "I was just so sick of pretending."
"Me too," Dohoon mumbles back, taking the opportunity to press them back onto Jihoon's bed. The younger lets himself fall back, easily, as Dohoon straddles him with a needy sort of insistence. He leans forward, lips grazing over Jihoon's ear, as he replies earnestly, "I just wanted it to be real. This. All of it."
Jihoon leans in again, peppering his face with a thousand kisses. Like he can't believe it, like if he doesn't, Dohoon will disappear. It still feels all too hazy, electricity thrumming beneath his fingers and following him everywhere he touches. It sets him alight, getting to hold Dohoon like this, and have it mean something.
"It is. It always has been," He admits.
Dohoon sighs happily, and laughs wetly, "Every time you looked at me like… like that. When I tried to act all couple-y. It was so ridiculous, because we always act like that — I mean, according to Shinyu-hyung at least — but it was suddenly like you didn't want to be near me. I kept trying, to make it work, and then today, I told myself it was over. That it never would."
His confession lingers in the air for a second. Then:
"You're so stupid," Jihoon mouths against his collarbone, smiling faintly, "I acted like that because I liked it."
"What?"
"I liked it too much, hyung," He admits, finally moving back to look Dohoon in the eyes, "It was killing me."
Dohoon's lip quivers. He deflates, almost, before he buries his face into Jihoon's chest and blubbers out, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to— I mean, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me anything? God, I'm so—"
"That's the first and last time I'll let you apologise to me," Jihoon says sternly, "Ever."
"Okay," Dohoon mumbles, sniffling, "Okay."
Jihoon wraps two arms around Dohoon's chest, at his acceptance. Then, he pulls them both down until they're lying side by side, and Jihoon can really take in every part of Dohoon like this. The strong slope of his nose, those plush lips and the redness rimming his eyes.
"I hate seeing you cry," He pouts dramatically, squishing Dohoon's cheeks between his hands as Dohoon tangles their legs together childishly.
Again, he's hit with that feeling — nothing has changed. Not the way Jihoon holds Dohoon in his bed, the way Dohoon curls into him, no sense of personal space. Or Jihoon's teasing words, never letting up, even as the older cries happily.
Maybe it was always meant to be like this. Maybe, all they had to do, was say it.
"'M sorry," Dohoon says under his breath. His hands curl into fists in the space between him, as if he's holding everything there — his words, his apologies, and his feelings.
Jihoon shakes his head vehemently, "I won't let you be."
"What?" The older barks out a laugh, "If I want to be sorry, I'll be sorry."
"Then I won't accept it," Jihoon insists, "You have nothing to be sorry for."
Dohoon pauses.
"Then, neither do you." He leans forward, just a little, and closes the aching gap between them again. Presses a kiss against Jihoon's lips — this time, soft, gentle and full of unspoken words.
They have all the time in the world, now, to say these things. The feelings stuck behind Jihoon's heart, all wet and sticky and caked in insecurities — they'll show themselves, in time. It might take a few days. Maybe a few weeks. Even a few months — he knows Dohoon will wait for him. Now, everything pouring out between them and holding them steady, it feels more real than ever.
So, he holds Dohoon's face in his hands once again, and kisses him like he means it. And in the stillness of the night, between mellowed presses of lips and sweet, murmured confessions, Jihoon and Dohoon unfold.