Chapter Text
Hongjoong maybe sort of has a thing for Seonghwa. He just didn’t think it would take the older picking up a new hobby for him to realize it.
It starts after they’ve had an exceptionally busy period, at the tail end of comeback promotions for their newest album. They haven’t had time for hobbies or sleep or a home cooked meal, all dragging themselves through the days and worn more than a little thin. When they finally have a day to breathe (and everybody has awoken at noon or later), Seonghwa announces that he’s sick of takeout and cheap ramyun and promptly does something about it.
Hongjoong tags along with him to the market by their dorm, because he’s been wanting more of those disgustingly sweet gummy snacks anyway, and watches Seonghwa pick out everything from fresh fish to rice to spices to produce. It’s nearing dusk by the time they get back, helped none by Hongjoong dragging his feet and being a general nuisance for the latter half of the trip.
They enlist help with bringing up bags of groceries, the members rolling their eyes but helping good-naturedly. Seonghwa seems excited; there’s a bounce in his step and a smile playing at his lips as they put away their spoils. When he announces that he’s cooking and inquires about dinner plans, the couple that made plans cancel in favor of spending time together around Seonghwa’s cooking.
Hongjoong thought he would have had enough of his roommate for one day, but the moment the other ties on an apron, he can’t seem to look away. Hongjoong hops up to sit on the counter, pulling out his phone under the pretense of playing a game while he secretly watches the vocalist cook. He finds that Seonghwa moves with a sort of gracefulness in the kitchen that makes him seem right at home amongst the pots and pans and uncooked cabbage, like it’s his domain and anyone else would need permission to enter. He looks… serious, with his mouth set in a firm line of concentration and hands moving deftly, surely.
It’s a side of Seonghwa he doesn’t see often, the older usually preferring to play around with the others and make himself as nonthreatening as possible. It’s enrapturing, though, seeing him in his element; it makes something warm curl in his chest, his breath hitching softly at the feeling.
Hongjoong only realizes he’s been blatantly staring when Seonghwa catches his gaze.
“Thinking about something?” he asks, eyes turning back to the batter he’s mixing. “Or did you want to help?” His tone is light, but Hongjoong sees that he’s offering an out, in case he doesn’t want to talk about whatever is troubling him. And nothing is troubling him, not really, but he’ll keel over before he admits that he almost thought about his roommate in a sexy way just by watching him cook, so he gladly takes it, shoving the thought out of his mind.
“What do you want me to do, boss?” he teases, coming over to wash his hands. Seonghwa huffs at the jab but directs him anyway, telling him how small to mince things (“That’s a chop, not a mince Joong-ah”) and what temperature to set the burners (“I said low, look it’s boiling not simmering”). Hongjoong supposes he should bristle at being bossed around like this, but Seonghwa never means any harm, would never shame him for not being as well-versed in the kitchen as he is. Instead he finds that warm feeling nudging its way back in as the older guides him, intensified when they brush arms or when Seonghwa places a hand on the small of his back to ensure Hongjoong doesn’t move while he carries something hot behind him.
And later, when they’re eating delicious okonomiyaki with miso soup, Hongjoong looks around at seven faces he loves, and lingers on one.
~~~~~~
Seonghwa makes a habit of it.
Over the following weeks, it’s rare to find their fridge and freezer void of leftovers as Seonghwa explores more recipes from all different cultures, and continues to make enough food to feed a small army each time. He doesn’t cook feasts every day, but Hongjoong is beginning to think Seonghwa might have a bit of an obsessive personality, as he’s always watching cooking videos or perusing novelty kitchenware online.
It’s not at any detriment to them, quite the opposite in fact; he and the other members have been basking in the wealth of healthy food readily available. Seonghwa makes a variety of foods so there’s always something to either grab and go or sit down and eat, and in the event that what he makes doesn’t turn out the way he’d hoped, the members will stop him from throwing it out in frustration with promises that it’s really not so bad.
It kind of warms Hongjoong’s heart, how Seonghwa cares for them so much. He’ll cater parts of some dishes to suit the tastes of those he’s cooking for, like super spicy for Jongho and omitting radishes for Yeosang. He has a new excuse to drag Hongjoong away from the studio now, too, asking him to sample this or that, and he finds himself spending more time with the rest of them because of it. Or when Hongjoong is really on a roll, and inspiration has left him without food for too long, Seonghwa will pop in to leave a container of the newest experiment, some words of encouragement, and then he’s gone.
His mind lingers on those days the most. He finds that he doesn’t mind being doted on if it’s Seonghwa.
It’s a lazy afternoon when Hongjoong catches himself thinking about it. They’re home in between practices, the few free hours spent lying in a heap or bothering each other. Hongjoong has a tarp spread out on the floor of their room, stark white pair of converse ready to be decorated. He had to kick Wooyoung out for this; he didn’t want the younger accidentally spilling paint by roughhousing Seonghwa too hard.
The older was (trying to) browse recipes on his phone sitting on Hongjoong’s bottom bunk, but in the wake of Hurricane Wooyoung he’s left flat on his stomach, a bit winded and hair tousled. After Wooyoung is shooed away, Seonghwa raises his head enough to shoot Hongjoong a grateful smile, and his heart does a little flip. It seems to be doing that a lot around Seonghwa lately, he thinks absently, sending a salute back. The room returns to silence once again save for R&B hits playing softly from his phone.
“Hey Hwa,” Hongjoong starts innocuously, prepping shoe number one for painting and diligently avoiding eye contact, “do you really enjoy cooking that much?” Maybe he could have phrased the question better, but he was a bit nervous to ask it and he can’t take it back now. Luckily Seonghwa doesn’t take it the wrong way.
“It’s just kind of how I relieve stress these days,” he answers sheepishly, hand coming up to fiddle with the hairs at his neck as he shifts to sit up. “But yes, I do enjoy it,” he finishes with a small smile.
Hongjoong doesn’t know what he could possibly have to be embarrassed about, when his new hobby is keeping them well fed and healthy. He wants to say something else, maybe something encouraging, but Seonghwa has sat up and the wide neck pastel purple sweater he’s wearing dips this side of too far down his chest, pulled further off kilter by Wooyoung earlier, and suddenly his head is empty.
“Well don’t stop on my account,” Hongjoong blurts, glad he was able to say anything at all and hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. That seems to be sufficient for Seonghwa though, because the older huffs a small laugh and an “I won’t” before turning his attention back to his phone.
Hongjoong keeps watching him for a moment. His eyes catch on the small amount of shoulder exposed, trailing up over the smooth skin of his collarbones and neck, hands twitching with the desire to fix the sweater. Seonghwa must have found a recipe he wants to try, because he’s looking at his phone intently, eyes lit up and lips repeating the ghost of words he reads on screen. His hair is freshly blonde, and Hongjoong still isn’t used to seeing him like this when it was formerly stark black, but he’s certainly no less attractive for it.
Yes, Hongjoong knows his groupmates are attractive. He knows he’s attractive too; as much as he hates vanity, it’s just kind of a fact blurred to the back of his mind in the wake of more important things. There’s something about Seonghwa, though, that’s been drawing him in recently. Sometimes he’ll catch himself following the older to the kitchen like a lost puppy, then claiming to need a glass of water and veering back to their room once he’s realized his mistake. If Seonghwa has noticed, though, he hasn’t said anything. Hongjoong can only hope that the glances the blonde gives him with sparkling eyes don’t mean he’s being made fun of.
~~~~~
A month and a half later, Hongjoong finally admits to himself that he’s completely enamored with Seonghwa.
There was no big revelation, but he did have somewhat of a lightbulb moment after a particularly exhausting day of schedules. Nothing seemed to go right that day; they had a hard time picking up new choreography, leading Yunho to be frustrated that he couldn’t work on self improvement, having to make sure everyone got the basic steps down first. San, Wooyoung, and Yeosang got into an argument about something or other, leaving the atmosphere charged and tense for half the day. Then Mingi kept trying to drape his tall form over Jongho, who after refusing him gently a few times, became frustrated and bodily shoved him away.
And of course, on the last run-through of the day, Seonghwa twists his ankle. There’s a collective wince as Seonghwa hits the deck after landing a jump awkwardly, the oldest giving a grunt of pain and surprise, but sitting up quickly so as not to worry them. Hongjoong and Yeosang, the closest to him, go to help him up, but he waves their hands away, clearly upset with himself. Seonghwa is able to muscle through one more run fueled by spite alone and they call it a day, piling into the vans and for the most part, ignoring each other.
It’s days like these that make Hongjoong feel like a shitty leader. He knows he can’t mediate every conflict, but today was just exceptionally bad, and Hongjoong doesn’t know if he needs to scream, cry, or sleep first. He doesn’t end up doing any of those things, because when Seonghwa gets out of the van, his ankle gives and he’s falling again, managing to catch himself on the car door at the last second. His eyes are clenched shut and Hongjoong knows he hates others seeing him like this, wants to be their pillar of support but refuses to accept help himself.
Hongjoong silently nudges Seonghwa’s arm out of the way, looping an arm around his waist to take some of his weight, and it must be a testament to how worn down he is that he accepts with only one muttered protest. They’ve just made it inside the door, trailing slowly after everyone else, when Seonghwa fully slumps against him, wrapping both of his arms around Hongjoong in a proper hug. His heart squeezes, the older’s weight like a balm against him. They both needed this.
“Thank you,” he whispers, voice tight with emotion, and Hongjoong understands. He hugs back fiercely, trying not to concentrate on the way the other’s breath comes in uneven bursts; Hongjoong has always been empathetic, so if Seonghwa cries, he cries. Luckily he doesn’t, just pulls back and offers his leader a watery smile before gingerly taking off his shoes and limping off toward the rooms. Hongjoong doesn’t offer to help this time, knowing it was a lot for him to accept the first time and not wanting to hurt his pride further. He does go grab an ice pack, though, because he knows the older’s ankle will thank him for it later.
When he moves to their room, he’s surprised to find that Seonghwa isn’t there. He does hear low voices coming from another room, and shuffles quietly to the door ajar at the end of the hall. He hears four distinct voices, obviously trying to keep quiet but flaring up slightly every now and then, and Hongjoong realizes that Seonghwa is conflict mediating between the three who fought today. There, standing in the hallway with the ice pack freezing his fingers half to death, he realizes two things.
One, Seonghwa would do anything for them. He’s dead tired and his ankle is probably bothering him, but he prioritizes the group above all else. As the oldest, he likely feels some responsibility for the group’s wellbeing, so he’s usually the one giving out comfort or advice when the others need it most.
And two, Hongjoong wants to give that back to him. His heart lurches so strongly in his chest that he places a hand over it, body thrumming with the urge to protect, to hold, to wrap Seonghwa up in a blanket and never let go. He’s sure now, that he can’t brush off a feeling that runs this deep, means this much to him. The question is just what he’s meant to do with it.
~~~~~
Hongjoong is zoned out at the table again, watching their Food Fairy flit around the kitchen one afternoon. Normally he would be in the studio producing, but today had been a rather vacant day for him mentally, so he chooses to indulge in his newest hobby knowing he wouldn’t have gotten much done anyway.
Seonghwa had gotten used to his presence while cooking, sometimes teasing him about not helping, but quickly realizing it’s relaxing for Hongjoong to just watch. So he allows him the simple pleasure, sometimes putting on a show for the younger’s entertainment, like when he made Hongjoong time how fast he could dice an onion, or turned off the lights so that he could flambe something with extra pizzaz. Sometimes the others join Hongjoong in observing, making sure to clap (or scream, at the fire) appropriately, but most of the time it’s just the two of them, and Hongjoong thinks it’s nice.
Seonghwa’s little tricks never fail to take his breath away, and maybe it’s the way the other’s skill and confidence had been steadily improving over the months, or maybe it’s that fact that Hongjoong is so incredibly smitten with him that it’s frankly disgusting. As it is, he’s barely keeping himself from recording everything Seonghwa does like a freaking helicopter parent.
In the way that he wants to take care of Seonghwa, maybe he also has a thing for being taken care of, he thinks, noting the other’s happy smile as he lifts a lid to perfectly steamed dumplings. Seonghwa has readily admitted in the past that he’s primarily the one who takes care of Hongjoong, backed up by teasing from the members that the two of them are like a married couple. Hongjoong never paid it much mind, biting back with quips that they’re his disrespectful children, but not taking it seriously.
But now he finds his mind wandering to dangerous territory, dangerous, domestic territory as he wonders what their relationship would be like if he wasn’t so damn emotionally constipated when it comes to the oldest. It’s true that he doesn’t freely give affection to Seonghwa like he does to some of the others, even if the older has tried to be touchy with him first. Back then… He used to be intimidated, he thinks, watching his muse accidentally touch something too hot and pull back his finger with a hiss. But how could he? Seonghwa is really like an affectionate cat, a cute black one, maybe, that looks scary but just wants love (he almost coos aloud at the thought). He couldn’t see it back then, but he does now that they’ve all grown closer.
But now, with his heart and hands yearning for contact, he still can’t bring himself to do it. He pictures himself hanging off of Seonghwa like he does to Yunho sometimes, and grimaces slightly. It feels wrong. It would feel vapid, in a way, if he were to now drape himself over Seonghwa all the time for fanservice or playfulness and he finds himself stuck in an awkward back and forth between wanting to be affectionate and not wanting to.
He’s brought out of his thoughts by a plate of cute little dumplings clacking onto the table in front of him. He looks up at the dumpling bearer in surprise, and Seonghwa’s smile is blinding.
“Stop thinking so hard Joong, you’ll give yourself an aneurism,” he jokes lightly, taking the seat next to him.
“Ah, sorry, were you saying something?” he asks, hoping to derail Seonghwa from asking what he was thinking about. “Are these for me? They almost look too cute to eat,” he tacks on, voice trailing off to a murmur at the end of his sentence. He leans in closer to inspect them, and they really do look perfect, the tops sealed in little twists without a hint of filling poking out. Seonghwa has even included a little dish of dipping sauce with ginger, and Hongjoong’s heart squeezes at the effort put in.
“I gave you the best-looking ones,” Seonghwa admits with a small laugh and the squeezing in his chest intensifies. Stupid caring Seonghwa. “And no, I wasn’t saying anything. Anyway, there’s no use just staring at them, try one,” he urges, eager eyes trained on Hongjoong. So try one he does.
Except when Hongjoong places the mini dumpling in his mouth and bites down, he almost spits it back out.
Not because of the taste, no, it’s actually one of Hongjoong’s favorite Seonghwa Experiments. It’s because the dumpling contained a bubble of hot soup alongside it’s meat filling that catches him completely off guard when it explodes in his mouth and punches him in the throat. He makes an unpleasant sort of choking sound, slapping a hand over his mouth and looking up at Seonghwa in surprise, afraid he might be offended by his reaction.
The older throws his head back and laughs, deep and genuine from the chest, and Hongjoong almost chokes again from the pretty picture he makes. Light catches the right side of his face, making his skin glow, long curve of his neck fully on display. He looks ethereal. Once Hongjoong’s brain comes back from vacation he notices there isn’t a hint of insecurity on his face, like he knew Hongjoong might have reacted this way, and it makes something equal parts indignant and fond swell in his chest. When his mouth is finally clear, he swats Seonghwa on the arm.
“What the hell was that?” he asks dramatically, the other’s giggles starting up again. It makes a smile quirk on his lips in turn. “You gave me an exploding dumpling—which tasted fantastic, by the way—and it almost choked me!” he exclaims, unable to stop the full toothy grin growing on his face from the way Seonghwa is thrown back into another fit of laughter.
“Aww, poor Hongjoong,” he croons, residual giggles still springing from him. “It’s xiao long bao, they’re supposed to burst in your mouth, you dumpling,” he laughs, gesturing for emphasis. Hongjoong doesn’t know whether to feel pleased or offended at the new nickname. “I’m glad you like it, though, they were a pain to make,” he finishes softly, resting his chin in his palm, like he plans to take the rest of the day just to look at Hongjoong.
“’M not a dumpling,” he protests weakly, though quietly basking in the other’s attention on him. Hongjoong averts his gaze back to the plate of xiao long bao and pokes one with his finger. Squishy.
“Hm, I suppose you aren’t just any old dumpling,” Seonghwa concedes, fiddling with a chopstick. “You’re my dumpling.”
And Hongjoong promptly panics, because hey, that sounds a lot like flirting, and though Seonghwa’s tone is teasing there’s an undercurrent of something else in his voice, something soft.
Hongjoong doesn’t know what that means, can’t know where the other stands when his heart is on the line, so he chooses to play it safe in case he’s misread the situation.
“Share the rest of these with me?” he asks abruptly, willing his heartbeat to calm down after the surprise attack. If Seonghwa is thrown at the conversation whiplash, he doesn’t show it; there’s just a small flash of a frown on his face before he’s humming in agreement and doing just that.
~~~~~
Hongjoong can’t say he loves reality shows. He likes watching them, sure, and they’re funny most of the time, but filming them takes so incredibly long. He’s sitting on a stool, backside aching slightly from being stationary for so long, and trying not to fall asleep to the fifth take of the story of how Yeosang and Wooyoung met. It’s touching, but he’s heard it somewhere near thirty times now and doesn’t feel bad tuning it out. Suddenly everyone around him is clapping, so he claps too, forcing a natural smile onto his face.
He curses his tiredness, but there’s only himself to blame; he had stayed at the studio practically all night working on a new idea. It isn’t much yet, but he’s proud of it. He had realized that Seonghwa hadn’t been coming to the studio to drag him home as often, but despite the twinge in his chest, hadn’t expended too much energy on thinking about why that may be. It makes him a bit moody, not being the object of Seonghwa’s attention quite as much as before, but he doesn’t let it affect the group, or their image. It’s easy enough to hide, and he is a professional, after all.
It seems that they’re moving onto some kind of relay freeze dance thing, a competition split into hyung line versus maknae line, and Hongjoong knows this is the part where he’s supposed to act super confident, so he nudges Yunho and nods, as if to say ‘we got this, easy.’ They’re definitely going to put some inflammatory comment over that in editing.
The relay dance is going well, hyung line is up two points and everyone is having a good time, so Hongjoong’s mind begins to drift again. It isn’t until he’s dancing, and the MC yells “freeze!” that his body keeps moving without his permission, and he loses them a point. Seonghwa, having been right behind him about to dance next, thumps his back with a:
“Pay attention, you dumpling!”
The comedic timing is so good that the other members and MC burst into shocked laughter, but Hongjoong freezes. Seonghwa hadn’t called him that since that day, what— three weeks ago?— but the memory burns right to the forefront of his mind, all soft smiles and cute dumplings and beautiful Seonghwa. Longing suddenly and forcefully punches him in the chest, and he pretends to double over in shame at being called a dumpling rather than the shock of yearning that sparks through him. They eventually finish the game, but he has a hard time meeting Seonghwa’s gaze for the rest of the show.
He didn’t think he was being too obvious about it, but the older corners him in the dressing room after filming.
“Look, Joong, I wanted to apologize for calling you a dumpling,” he starts abruptly, deep voice sounding sincere, but also a bit embarrassed. The sudden apology catches him off guard, as it’s a bit of a weird thing to be apologizing for. “I know it made you uncomfortable the first time I said it and I shouldn’t have—"
“What? No, it’s okay,” Hongjoong rushes to say, because it’s not really Seonghwa’s fault, but the other doesn’t seem to be convinced.
“Are you sure?” he asks, a small furrow appearing on his brow. At Hongjoong’s assent, he asks, “then why were you avoiding me after I said it?”
And he doesn’t sound too hurt, or even remotely angry, but the question still makes Hongjoong feel ashamed. The problem is just how to explain to Seonghwa why he was so stupidly affected by being called a dumpling. “Sorry Hwa, I was just embarrassed is all,” he lies, eyes skittering away to a lone shoe underneath a chair against the wall.
Seonghwa’s voice is soft when he speaks again. “I won’t do it again,” he promises, hand coming up to grip Hongjoong’s bicep gently in reassurance.
And then, Hongjoong’s stupid mouth decides to betray him. “No, you can… you can call me dumpling,” he says without a single thought in his mind, eyes hesitantly coming up to meet soft, open, dark ones. Ah wait. “Maybe just not on camera,” he amends with a small smile.
Seonghwa’s eyes positively sparkle, and he wraps Hongjoong up in a giddy sort of hug as he tests out, “so we’re okay then, dumpling?”
Hongjoong has to stop himself from making a strangled noise, color flooding his cheeks, because he is so incredibly okay right now while simultaneously being the furthest thing from okay, but he manages to squeak out a ‘yes’ regardless. If this is going to be a regular thing, he doesn’t know how he’ll survive.