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Chicago
“Admit it. You’d rather be with me than have your own room.”
“With you? And your snoring?”
“I do not snore!”
“Do too. You need to make noise even in your sleep.”
Beomgyu’s face cracks in an exaggerated crying face, and he lets out the shrillest, whiniest baby cry that Yeonjun has ever heard. Well, that he’s heard since the last time Beomgyu made that noise.
“Yah, quiet,” Yeonjun scolds, and Beomgyu immediately shuts up. He keeps making the face, though, crying silently instead, and Yeonjun can’t hide his smile. It’s scary, the way Beomgyu can pull the most annoying shit, and somehow make it cute. Yeonjun can’t quite explain it.
He focuses on the hotel room door instead. His key card keeps making the door turn red, and it might be because he’s too distracted by Beomgyu’s face to line the card up properly with the reader.
“Hyung, allow me,” Beomgyu says in a faux-fancy voice, unceremoniously elbowing Yeonjun to the side. He slides his own key card over the reader, and the door immediately blinks green. “See? Sometimes you need a little help from your dongsaeng.”
“My knight in shining armor,” Yeonjun smiles as Beomgyu pushes the door open, holding it wide and gesturing through it like a butler. “Full service?”
“It’s your lucky day,” Beomgyu says. “Oh — damn. This must have been meant for Soobin.”
Yeonjun steps into the room with Beomgyu at his tail, and there’s only one bed. King-sized.
“Lemme call him and see if he got a room with two beds,” Beomgyu says quickly. “We can swap.”
Yeonjun feels a flare of panic. “No— nah, Beomgyu, that’s fine. We’ve slept in smaller, haven’t we?”
“I guess,” Beomgyu says, frowning. “But I kick. You always say I kick.”
Yeonjun wants to slap himself. Why the fuck did he say that? It’s true, but that was some serious self-sabotage.
“I’ll kick you back if you kick,” he says, turning to haul their suitcases out of the entryway. “Really. Soobin said he was going to crash as soon as he got to his room. Don’t wake him.”
“There’s no way he’s asleep already,” Beomgyu says, sounding confused.
“This is starting to feel personal. Are you too mature to sleep with your hyung these days?”
“No,” Beomgyu says immediately, far too kind to let that insult stand. “I’d share any bed with you.”
“Then we’re sharing this one,” Yeonjun says, clenching his shaky fingers in a fist behind his back so Beomgyu won’t notice.
New York
See, the problem is with Yeonjun. There’s absolutely no excuse for him to be having the thoughts he’s been having. The persistent, haunting, intrusive thoughts. The thoughts about Beomgyu.
Yeonjun is an excellent hyung, and he prides himself on it. It’s the whole reason Soobin was chosen for leader instead of him — so that Yeonjun could focus his attention on serving a different role for the group, the parental, caring, concerned-for-your-wellbeing role of mathyung. He helps Kai tie his ties and reassures Taehyun through all his anxiety flare-ups. He’s a steadfast ear for Soobin to vent to when the company pulls some nonsense with their schedule or their housing or their comeback plans.
He’s not supposed to be anything more than that for Beomgyu, either. He’s a partner for Beomgyu’s hijinks, the straight man in his two-man comedy act. He’s an older brother to smack Beomgyu when he acts up and hug him when he gets sensitive. And that’s it. That’s it.
But the problem isn’t just with Yeonjun. The problem is Beomgyu is big, dark eyes and fluttery eyelashes, a heart of gold within one-eighty centimeters of long limbs and soft skin. He’s gentle and unassuming and still the life of every party, feisty enough to set Yeonjun’s nerves on edge and then calming enough to soothe him back down. And Yeonjun can’t stop thinking about him.
Yeonjun thought it was just Beomgyu’s looks at first; that wolf cut was dangerous. But then the wolf cut went the way of the stylist’s chair, and the thoughts remained. After that, Yeonjun thought it was just the year-and-a-half drought that it had been since the last time he got laid, pent-up horniness making his brain break a little. But then he nearly went home with one of their choreographers after the Hybe holiday party, and the moment their lips connected in the man’s elevator, he felt sick to his stomach. It was the wrong pair of lips. He took a cab home instead, and work was awkward for a week or so, but it was still worth it. He doesn’t want to kiss any lips that aren’t Beomgyu’s.
These problems might not be so bad if Beomgyu wasn’t…Beomgyu. If Beomgyu was one of his other friends, Wooyoung or Changbin or even Soobin, Yeonjun would probably just tell him — he’s not usually shy about his affections. And they could laugh it off together, or indulge a little bit to burn off that energy; a couple of make-out sessions might take care of the tension. But Beomgyu isn’t someone Yeonjun can just casually make out with. Beomgyu is a romantic; he’s drunk-rambled enough about how badly he wants to fall in love for Yeonjun to know more than enough about the depth of Beomgyu’s idyllic fantasies. And he’s…well, innocent, for lack of a better word. His experience is limited to a few childish kisses, and not much else. If he knew the kinds of things that Yeonjun has been thinking about him, he’d probably be horrified.
It’s not that it’s all bad things. It’s a good thing to worry about your dongsaeng, to look forward to their smiles, to go out of your way to take care of their comfort and safety. Yeonjun does all those things for Beomgyu, because he’s an excellent hyung. But he also wants to tuck him in bed every night, lay down beside him and weave their fingers together, ask him about his day and fall asleep listening to his rich, deep voice. He wants to touch him, to stroke his hands up his back and feel the divot of his spine curving up to his slender neck, to feel the warmth of his breath on Yeonjun’s lips and the weight of his body pressed into his lap. Fuck. See, those things are bad things to want, and Yeonjun can’t stop wanting them.
“Two beds here,” Beomgyu declares, flinging the door open. “So no need to worry about the kicking.”
“You didn’t kick in Chicago,” Yeonjun says, peering into the room to confirm for himself. His heart sinks. Two beds.
“I know I didn’t, because I never kick. You must have felt a phantom kicker all those other times.”
“It must have been you. You have distinctive feet.”
“Distinctive?” Beomgyu is already trying to set up his suitcase, struggling to haul it up onto the luggage rack, and Yeonjun rushes forward to help him lift it.
“Tiny,” Yeonjun says. “You have tiny little baby feet.”
“Baby feet for a baby,” Beomgyu smiles. “Eungae.”
All things considered, Chicago was totally uneventful. A king-sized bed is huge in Korea, and it’s even more massive in the States, so they fit in their bed with room to spare. They were jetlagged and exhausted, and both of the nights they were there, they conked out the minute their heads hit the pillows. Yeonjun never would have known that Beomgyu was in the same bed as him if he hadn’t sat up at his alarm and seen a messy head of frosty bleached hair tucked in to his ears next to him.
In one respect, sleeping in the same bed as Beomgyu is a nightmare. The potential for a three-A.M. wet dream about Beomgyu mysteriously lacking his pajamas is disastrous. But on the other hand, any chance Yeonjun has to be close to Beomgyu is a blessing, and no matter how incredibly platonic the whole arrangement was, when he closed his eyes, Beomgyu was in bed with him, his steady, light breaths filling the room with white noise. It’s the closest thing that Yeonjun’s ever gonna get to what he really wants.
But here, in New York, there was no room mix-up.
“So, which one do you want, hyung? Window side?” Beomgyu points at one of the beds in their New York hotel room. The decor is sleeker here, silver accents instead of classic wood ones.
“Whichever you don’t want,” Yeonjun says, unzipping Beomgyu’s suitcase for him.
“Window side, then,” Beomgyu says. “I like to be closer to the bathroom. Did you know I have a grape-sized bladder?”
“You do not have a grape-sized bladder.”
“Well, my mother says I do. Are you calling my eomma a liar?”
Beomgyu gasps, fake-shocked, and Yeonjun pulls a random item of clothing out of Beomgyu’s newly-opened suitcase, swatting it at him.
“No invite to Daegu, then,” Beomgyu cackles, escaping to the bathroom.
“When are you gonna—” invite me to Daegu? The bathroom door is already closed. Kai got to go, and Soobin got to go, and Yeonjun desperately, desperately wants to go, although he thinks he’s been playing it appropriately cool.
“Only if you earn it on this tour!” Beomgyu bellows through the bathroom door. “But don’t ask me how you do it! Figure it out yourself!”
It’s a busy afternoon of sightseeing and stuffing their faces with New York pizza and arguing about whether the deep-dish Chicago version was better than the thin-crust (it’s not). After that comes a walkthrough of the theater, and a marked run-through of the show, and a traffic-filled cab ride back to the hotel. The jet lag has mostly worn off, but Yeonjun is still thoroughly beat by the time he crawls into his bed on the window side of their room, and he assumes that Beomgyu must be even more worn out. Yeonjun has a stronger constitution for these kinds of days than Beomgyu does, and he swears that his dongsaeng is looking a little under the weather. But ten minutes after they turn the light off, Beomgyu is still tossing around in bed. Like, violently tossing his body back and forth, as if struggling to get comfortable.
Yeonjun wants to respect his privacy, but his worry gets the better of him. He hauls his head up, his eyes finding the shape of Beomgyu’s body in the dark.
“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice cracking the darkness. Beomgyu isn’t always a good sleeper, but when he gets insomnia, he usually just lies still, scrolling on his phone. This is different.
“Yeah,” Beomgyu says unconvincingly.
“Is something wrong with the bed? Should we switch?”
“No, hyung. You’re too nice.”
“I wouldn’t mind. You need to sleep.”
“It’s just this bruise on my hip. I crashed into a door, and now it hurts when I lay on that side, but it feels too weird to sleep on the other side. I never sleep on my left side.”
“Sleep on your back, then,” Yeonjun says, relieved. Nothing is seriously wrong.
“It feels too weird,” Beomgyu complains.
“So try your stomach.”
“How can people sleep on their stomachs? It makes me feel like I’m gonna choke.”
“Yah, Beomgyu. Have a little faith in your lungs.”
“My lungs are trash,” Beomgyu says. “I can’t hold a note for shit.”
“You have a beautiful voice,” Yeonjun corrects, and he can practically hear Beomgyu roll his eyes in the dark. “What? You do, Beomgyu-ya.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes my gums feel bloody when I dance for too long. Doesn’t sound like good lungs to me.”
“What does that have to do with your lungs, exactly?” Yeonjun asks, and Beomgyu hesitates. “Nothing, see? You have excellent lungs.”
“You don’t have to compliment my lungs, hyung. I’m fine with the lungs I have. Trash as they are.”
“So I’ll compliment something else,” Yeonjun says.
“Spleen. Say something nice about my spleen.”
Yeonjun wishes he could see his face across the cavern between their beds. It’s probably perfectly impish, and he wants to pinch it.
“If you can tell me what a spleen does, I’ll compliment your spleen.”
Beomgyu groans. “Who fucking knows what a spleen does?”
“Taehyunnie absolutely knows what a spleen does. So tell me. What’s one thing a spleen does?”
“Hyung, my hip hurts,” Beomgyu whines cutely, to get out of it. “It hurts.”
“Why won’t you just lay on your left side?”
“Don’t make fun of me if I tell you.”
Yeonjun holds his hand up high enough for Beomgyu to see it even in the dark, a solemn pledge.
“I won’t,” he promises.
“And you won’t tell Soobin-hyung. Because he will make fun of me.”
“I promise I won’t tell Soobin why you won’t sleep on your left side, Beomgyu.”
“You swear—“
“Beomgyu!”
“I feel like there’s a ghost behind me when I sleep on that side,” Beomgyu says in a rush. “Um, I don’t just feel it. I know it.”
Yeonjun sits up straight.
“You…think there’s a ghost. Behind you.”
“When I sleep on my left, yeah,” Beomgyu says, and his voice is so sincere that Yeonjun can’t bring himself to laugh at it. He promised he wouldn’t, anyway. “Ever since I was a kid. It started when I stayed at my aunt’s, and I had to sleep in this little attic room, and my cousin told me it was haunted. And I was sleeping on my left, and I felt this hand on my shoulder, and I swear, I swear it was real, there must have been a ghost there, and now I—”
“Beomgyu-ya,” Yeonjun interrupts. “Do you need me to tell you ghosts aren’t real?”
“No,” Beomgyu says, a bit crossly. “But you can tell me a trillion times, and I’m still not gonna sleep on my left side. I never do.”
Now that Yeonjun thinks about it, Beomgyu does always face to the right in his bed back at the dorm. This is a strange problem to encounter, especially halfway across the globe. Yeonjun can’t help Beomgyu sleep if he’s afraid of ghosts. Because ghosts aren’t real. But all he ever wants to do is help Beomgyu. Among many other things, but that’s neither here nor there.
“Um, if you need to sleep on your left, I can…watch out for ghosts for you,” Yeonjun says, feeling very dumb and extremely pathetic. He can’t watch out for ghosts, but he’s long accepted that he’ll tell Beomgyu just about anything to make him smile. “Just until you fall asleep.”
“That’s sweet, hyung,” Beomgyu says. Yeonjun can hear his smile. “Um, I guess I can try it. But you need to sleep.”
“I can stay up a bit. Lay on your left, give it a shot.”
Yeonjun reaches for his phone, lighting the screen up, and in the glow he sees Beomgyu roll to face away from him. He pulls Twitter up on his phone to keep himself awake, but he stares at Beomgyu’s back instead, at the slow rise and fall of his shoulders under the blanket. His hair is tangled up in the back from all the rolling around he’d been doing on his pillow, and Yeonjun feels a compulsive urge to lunge across the gap between their beds and stroke out all the knots. Run his fingers through Beomgyu’s soft hair, brush his thumbs along the nape of his neck, tracing his hairline.
“Hyung,” Beomgyu says softly, and Yeonjun jumps. He has no idea how long he’s just been staring at Beomgyu’s back.
“What’s up?”
“You nervous for tomorrow?”
Yeonjun wasn’t expecting an actual question.
“Um, I guess not,” he says. “But it’s okay if you are.”
“I know it is,” Beomgyu says. He flips onto his back, and Yeonjun can see his face now, softly illuminated by the blue glow from his phone screen. His eyes look bleary, even though he hadn’t been sleeping. Yeonjun imagines himself kissing the puffiness out of his undereyes.
“Are you nervous?”
“Yeah,” Beomgyu says. “I worry about the English bits.”
“You have everything memorized. You’ll ace it, like you aced it in Chicago.”
“And I worry about being big enough.”
“Big enough?”
Yeonjun’s phone screen times out, turning off, and he doesn’t light it back up.
“If you’re not big enough, then what does that make Taehyunnie?” he tries to joke.
“I don’t mean size-wise,” Beomgyu says seriously. “I mean space-wise.”
Yeonjun has never understood this about Beomgyu: his inability to see himself as every bit as perfect as he is. Sometimes Yeonjun wishes he could seize him by the cheeks and force him to stare at his own reflection, look how stunning you are! Look how clever you are! But he worries that it would only hurt, that Yeonjun himself is sometimes part of the reason for Beomgyu’s insecurities. If he could, he’d make all those gossip websites call Beomgyu the fourth-gen It Boy instead, but it’s not up to him.
“Beomgyu, your personality is enormous. You fill up every space you’ve ever entered.”
“Thanks, hyung.” Beomgyu is quiet for a moment, and Yeonjun’s mind races through all the things he could say to make it better. He knows Beomgyu has been insecure about his role in the group in the past, but it’s not a conversation they’ve had for years. By now, all five of them have well-established roles, dynamics that they fit into, and more than enough fans to give them self-confidence boosts when they need it. None of that makes the insecurities go away, but it all sure helps.
But before he can say anything more, Beomgyu speaks again.
“What if I don’t feel enormous tomorrow?”
His voice sounds tiny. Yeonjun would give up everything he owns for it to not be so dark in this room, for him to be able to see Beomgyu’s face.
“The fans love every side of you, Beomgyu-ya,” Yeonjun says. “Whatever side you show tomorrow, they’ll love you. And we do, too.”
“We?”
“The members and me.”
“Okay.” Another moment of silence, and Yeonjun wants to pounce on his body and hug him, desperately, but maybe charging into Beomgyu’s bed to squeeze him in the dark would be crossing boundaries.
“Are you going to be able to sleep?” Yeonjun asks instead.
“I dunno,” Beomgyu says. “This bed feels really haunted.”
“More than the bed in Chicago?”
“Well, you were in that bed. The ghost won’t bother me if I have a bodyguard.”
Yeonjun really should think more before he speaks, but something about being with Beomgyu always destroys his common sense.
“Do you want me to sleep in your bed?” he asks.
Fuck. He absolutely did not say that the right way. He should have used his hyung voice, his Beomgyu, can I help you in a loving, respectful way? voice. And what he used instead was his needy voice, a please, tell me you want me far too evident in his tone. Beomgyu will notice, and Beomgyu will probably think it’s weird, and Yeonjun will have to scramble to cover for himself. Or Beomgyu will tease him instead, which isn’t better. Tomorrow he’ll go tell Soobin that Yeonjun-hyung needed a snuggle buddy, and Soobin will do his little aww, hyung is such a maknae thing.
It’s only been a half second since Yeonjun’s said it, and in his brain, it’s already a disaster.
“Yeah, that would probably help,” Beomgyu says, and his voice is weird, too. It’s kind of…breathless.
Oh. “Really?” Yeonjun can’t hide his surprise.
“I feel safe with you,” Beomgyu says. “Could you sleep behind me, so the ghost can’t sneak up on me?”
Behind him. Yeonjun imagines them spooning, the way they used to when they were trainees and fantasizing about being famous together in Yeonjun’s bottom bunk. And then he imagines what might happen if they spooned, and no. No spooning tonight, for his own sanity. He’ll sleep a respectful arm’s distance from Beomgyu.
“Of course,” Yeonjun says. “And I go to the gym these days. No ghost is getting past these arms.”
“Hyung, stop with the arms,” Beomgyu complains. Yeonjun can hear the rustle of bedding, the sounds of him scooting over to make room. “I see too much of your arms. I don’t need to hear about them too.”
Yeonjun hopes it’s dark enough that Beomgyu doesn’t see how quickly he springs out of bed.
“If you let me take you to the gym, I’d give you arms too. And it’d be good for your stamina if you worked out. Good for those trash lungs, remember?”
“Okay, dad,” Beomgyu says, and Yeonjun’s stomach twists. That’s the absolute last thing he ever needs Beomgyu to call him. Well, outside of a certain context— oh god, no. Absolutely not the time to think about that.
Think about what Beomgyu said before. He feels safe with him. Yeonjun makes Beomgyu feel safe, and that’s all it should be.
Yeonjun slides into Beomgyu’s bed. It’s a smaller bed than the one in Chicago, and he can feel the warm spot that Beomgyu left behind as he rolled towards the other side. Beomgyu is kind of a furnace, another thing that Yeonjun thinks he complained about back before sharing a bed with Beomgyu became intensely desirable. Yeonjun should probably rectify that mistake with some kind of compliment.
“You retain heat very poorly,” is what his overwhelmed brain comes up with.
Beomgyu snorts.
“You’re weird,” he says, and under the covers, Yeonjun feels soft, narrow fingers lacing themselves into his hand, giving it a quick squeeze.
“Thanks?”
“Anytime,” Beomgyu says, and the hand in Yeonjun’s disappears. “Gonna face the other way. You’re on ghost duty?”
It’s light, jovial. The way Beomgyu always is with Yeonjun; a little ball of energy, flashes of vulnerability hiding behind his mischievous facade.
“Ghost duty,” Yeonjun repeats. “Sleep well, Gyu-ya.”
Yeonjun wakes up first, and thank god he does. Beomgyu is cuddled into his chest, as if he had sought out Yeonjun’s warmth in the middle of the night, and Yeonjun usually wakes up with morning wood. He leaps so far away from Beomgyu that he effectively falls out of bed onto the floor, and he sprints for the bathroom before he can find out if the noise woke Beomgyu up.
Yeonjun takes a very long, very thorough shower, stroking himself frantically to the lingering feeling of Beomgyu’s warm body on his own, and he stifles any hint of a groan by biting down far too hard on his fist. It’s only the second tour stop. The worst is still ahead of him.
Atlanta
“Tell me the instant you’re not feeling well.”
“I’m fine, hyung. I promise.”
“Fine isn’t enough for me. I need you to be thriving. I need you to be flourishing.”
“Hyung, too much,” Beomgyu complains, but he’s grinning.
“No such thing as too much care for my Beomgyu. Need a foot rub? A back scratch?”
“What I need is soup,” Beomgyu says. His grin has only grown more dazzling.
“You stay right there,” Yeonjun says, making a big show of tucking the blanket up to his chin. He sits on the edge of Beomgyu’s bed, his hip just barely brushing up against Beomgyu’s legs under the covers. “I’ll get you soup ASAP. Straight from my kitchen.”
“From the room service menu, you mean.”
Yeonjun shrugs. “It’ll be much better than anything I could make, anyway. I’m no Taehyunnie.”
Beomgyu settles deeper into the fluffy hotel pillows. Their Atlanta hotel is even sleeker than the New York one, with a dark-stained wooden headboard in an asymmetric shape. Beomgyu’s silvery, bleached hair glows against it.
“Wish I could have real home cooking,” he says sadly. “Or, like, anything Korean.”
Yeonjun purses his lips.
“Don’t you dare,” Beomgyu warns. “Don’t you dare spend a billion won on delivery for me.”
“You mean, like, a few thousand won. And we’re in America, anyway. It’s dollars here, Gyu-ya.”
Beomgyu sighs and makes a face.
“I’m serious,” Yeonjun says, pulling out his phone. “I’m finding a Korean restaurant that delivers, and I’m getting you anything you want. And don’t you dare complain. I’m still recovering emotionally from that scare.”
“I’m so—”
Yeonjun cuts him off, leaning in to press a finger to Beomgyu’s lips exaggeratedly. “That wasn’t an excuse to apologize. Don’t you dare apologize for not feeling well, Beomgyu-ya. The last thing I want is for you to feel sorry about needing a little extra support.”
He expects Beomgyu to push his finger off and keep complaining, but instead Beomgyu just sits there, staring at him, his lips soft and plush under Yeonjun’s touch. Yeonjun stares back for too long, until his phone buzzes, and he snaps out of it like he’s been hit. It couldn’t have been more than five seconds, but it feels like longer.
The text is from Soobin, and Yeonjun forces himself to refocus. He’s getting off track here.
csb
Going to the convenience store w hyuka
Is he still pretending he’s feeling better?
me
Ya. Obviously
I’m ordering him food
Maybe get him some chocolate
It’ll make him smile
csb
Cute
me
???
csb
Are u really saying u dont think that’s cute of u
me
No?
csb
Cute
me
i'm done with you
Yeonjun locks his phone and flings it onto the other bed. He hangs his head back for a moment, exhaling. It’s been a hell of a twenty-four hours. Beomgyu had mentioned that he didn’t feel great after the New York concert, but he chalked it up to just general tiredness after another exhilarating performance. Yeonjun should have known better. Beomgyu always hides his pains, never wanting to be an inconvenience, despite the fact that he could never inconvenience the rest of them.
But there’s a fine line between taking care of someone and babying someone, and Yeonjun has prided himself on skirting that line very carefully with all his dongsaengs. This time, he should have babied him. If only he’d listened to his gut and not Beomgyu. He might have been able to get him out of that Rolling Stone interview, instead of having to watch him suffer through ten minutes of it before bailing.
Traveling to Atlanta with a sickly Beomgyu hadn’t been fun, either, but he made it through the flight without throwing up or passing out, and Soobin and Yeonjun had held his hand all through the drive from the airport to the hotel. Now, he’s safely tucked into bed, and Yeonjun feels like he can breathe again.
The only good thing about the last twenty-four hours had been another night in Beomgyu’s bed. No touching, no cuddling. But Beomgyu had said his bruise was still bothering him after the concert, and Yeonjun was more than happy to provide another night of ghost-patrol duties. He wonders if Beomgyu will need him again tonight, or if his illness will keep the ghosts away.
Beomgyu stays quiet as Yeonjun scrolls through all the Korean restaurants on Ubereats, finding one that looks like it has a decent samgyetang. He orders two of them, so he can eat with Beomgyu and not risk bringing in any smells that might upset his sensitive stomach. Nothing is allowed to make Beomgyu’s recovery harder, not when Yeonjun’s around.
“Should be here within the hour,” Yeonjun says, looking up.
Beomgyu’s eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted. His hands are loose on top of the blanket, his phone limply falling out of one of them. Yeonjun can’t tell if he’s truly sleeping, or if he’s just beginning to doze off, but his face looks peaceful. His long eyelashes are firmly closed, the light on the endtable casting feathery shadows across his cheekbones.
Yeonjun exhales. No one this perfect deserves to be in pain. Well, not that anyone deserves to be in pain. But Beomgyu has worked so hard for this tour, casting aside so many insecurities to step up and be the performer Yeonjun knows he’s always strived to be. He’s worked himself to the bone to bring his choreography to the next level, and spent hours sharpening up his English to be able to better communicate with the American Moas. It makes Yeonjun ache to think about Beomgyu missing out on even a little part of this tour, even one tiny opportunity, like half of an interview. And god forbid he misses a whole concert. Yeonjun won’t even think of it.
Plus, he’s just…he’s just so beautiful. Yeonjun can’t help it. He wants to fold him into his arms and keep him safe from anything that might hurt him. He wants to kiss those shadows on his cheekbones, tuck his hands into Yeonjun’s palms and warm his fingers. He wants to inch toward him in the bed until his body is cradled in Yeonjun’s, his slim hips flush with Yeonjun’s thighs, his firm chest wrapped up in Yeonjun’s strong arms.
Yeonjun looks away. Not the time. It’s never the time for those thoughts, but right now is not the time. He’s gonna need to pay a therapist a premium to deal with all of his guilt when he gets back to Seoul.
“You’re the heart of us,” Yeonjun tells him. “You’re the best part of us. They’d all agree.”
“I’m not,” Beomgyu sniffles. “I wasn’t there.”
Empathy. Beomgyu is nothing but empathy. Yeonjun can appeal to his empathy.
“How would you feel if Kai needed to sit out for a few songs? Would you be upset at him?”
“Hyung.”
“Would you?”
“No,” Beomgyu murmurs to the pillow. “Of course not.”
“Would it bother you to take care of him?”
“God, this is so heavy-handed.”
“You know it wouldn’t,” Yeonjun insists. “You’d fight me hand over fist to be the one waiting on him. And that’s how we all feel about you.”
“All of you?”
“All of us,” Yeonjun says, stroking Beomgyu’s hair. “Especially me.”
“Why especially you?”
Yeonjun closes his eyes, making the dark room even darker. He can’t tell him.
“I’m your hyung, jagiya,” he says, intentionally light. “I was born to take care of you.”
“But you’re supposed to be the star out there, and instead, you’re…you’re worrying about me.”
“I can worry about you and still be a star. I’m a good multitasker.”
Beomgyu laughs, wetly.
“They’ll love you no matter how many songs you sit out, Beomgyu-ya,” Yeonjun says. “And I do too.”
It’s as close as he can get to telling him.
Beomgyu snuggles in closer under the blanket, his clammy forehead tucked into Yeonjun’s neck. He’s running a low fever, and however much of a furnace Yeonjun thought he was before, it’s doubled.
“Love you too, hyung,” he whispers. “No ghosts tonight?”
“No ghosts for the rest of the tour,” Yeonjun says. “I’ll be here every night.”
It’s not the way he dreamed it would be, but it’s still Beomgyu drifting off in his arms, and Yeonjun will take whatever he can get.
Dallas
Beomgyu absolutely loves the Texas barbecue.
Watching him sink his teeth into a piece of brisket is healing content for Yeonjun’s soul. Is that pathetic? It’s probably pathetic, but whatever. He’s beyond beating himself up about it at this point. He’s living and breathing for Beomgyu’s wellbeing, and luckily, taking a break from some of their non-concert commitments has done wonders for Beomgyu’s health and energy. It meant that Beomgyu powered through their Dallas concert, no problem.
“Do you want to know the science behind the smoke ring?” Taehyun says.
“The what?” Beomgyu garbles it with his mouth full, and Taehyun scrunches up his nose.
“The smoke ring. The pink ring around the meat. See?”
Yeonjun watches Taehyun poke around at Beomgyu’s food, and Beomgyu listens with his eyes big and curious, making appropriately impressed sounds as Taehyun rambles about the benefits of a particular kind of smoker. He must have gone on a Wikipedia binge, and Beomgyu is more than willing to be an attentive audience, even though Taehyun has gone far beyond what any normal person needs to know about the pigments in a slab of meat.
“Taehyunnie, he’s probably tired,” Yeonjun says, when the brisket is long gone and Taehyun seems just about out of steam. “Mind if we call it?”
“Yeah, no worries,” Taehyun says. “You kicked butt at the concert tonight, hyungs. Both of you. But especially Beomgyu-hyung.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Beomgyu demurs. “Just me being gorgeous and talented, as always.”
Yeonjun feels like a past version of himself would have complained about that particular brag, played into the banter, but he doesn’t feel like hiding anymore.
“True,” he says, and Beomgyu flaps his hand at him, aw, shucks. “Come on. You’re still my patient. Go get ready for bed so I can tuck you in.”
“Adorable,” Taehyun says. “You should take Advil, hyung. Or Tylenol. I bought a full set of meds at the drugstore when you got sick. I’m fully stocked.”
Beomgyu turns down all of Taehyun’s meds, hauling himself off to the bathroom to shower as Yeonjun helps Taehyun clear up all the take-out packaging. Their room might smell a bit like brisket, but he’s glad that Beomgyu had a chance to socialize tonight, instead of just crashing in their room right after the concert. He might be a borderline introvert, but Beomgyu still recharges from time with his friends, and he’s been alone far too much lately.
Halfway through wiping down the desk they were using as a table, Yeonjun realizes that he’s been talking to himself about the fan signs they saw at the concert, instead of having a conversation. Taehyun has gone weirdly silent.
“Something up?” he says, pausing with his napkin still poised on the table.
“Nope,” Taehyun says, unconvincingly.
“Okay, spill.” Yeonjun leaves the napkin on the table, crossing his arms. “Still beating yourself up about that tiny voice crack?”
“Nope.”
“So?”
“Did you get housekeeping today, by any chance?” Taehyun says carefully.
Yeonjun furrows his brow.
“Um, no,” he says. “Jisoo-hyung told us we should put the Do Not Disturb sign up. Better not to have people poking around our things, just in case some sasaengs pay them off, remember?”
“Yep. That’s what we’ve been doing, too.”
Taehyun’s eyes trickle past Yeonjun’s shoulder, over to one of the beds, and Yeonjun’s gaze follows them across the bed with crumpled-up, slept-in blankets, over to the untouched one. The untouched bed that remained untouched for the whole night that they’ve already been here. Because they’ve been sleeping together.
“Ah,” he says quickly. “Yeah, we’ve been sharing. Beomgyu…he’s felt better with someone closer since he’s been sick.”
He has a feeling Beomgyu won’t appreciate him telling the ghost story.
“Yeah, that makes sense,” Taehyun says lightly. “I figured it was something like that. That’s a good excuse.”
Yeonjun’s eyes snap back to Taehyun.
“No,” he says. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Taehyun says, infuriatingly intuitive, as always.
Yeonjun sighs, grinding his palms into his eyes.
“Please, please don’t make me talk about this,” he says. “I’m not ready to talk about this.”
“He has no idea,” Taehyun states, like he already knows the full story, and Yeonjun just nods.
“Let me figure it out myself, okay? It might…it won’t go anywhere. I’ll take care of it.”
“I don’t think he wants you to take care of it.”
Yeonjun drops his hands.
“What?”
For the first time, Taehyun looks surprised. A bit rattled, actually, his mouth briefly opening in a little O.
“I’m gonna go,” he says suddenly. “I’ll take the trash out with me.”
“Taehyun-ah…”
“I saw nothing,” Taehyun says. “I saw two very slept-in beds. Night, hyung.”
“Taehyun! God—”
The door slams.
Damnit. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Beomgyu has never, ever even hinted at anything with Yeonjun. Never a flirty look, never a blushing cheek, never anything. Yeonjun’s teased him about at least three cute little crushes that Beomgyu’s had over the years, innocent flirtations that have never come to anything, and not once has Beomgyu ever given Yeonjun a hint of any sort of interest in him. Yeonjun is his protector, his partner-in-crime, his friend, there to build him up when he’s down and pull him back to earth when he gets over-inflated. And with one little sentence, Taehyun just absolutely destroyed Yeonjun’s head.
Could Beomgyu…
Yeonjun hears the shower turn off.
“Hyung?” Beomgyu’s voice calls out. “I left my towel by my suitcase, could you…”
“Yeah, of course,” Yeonjun calls back, spotting the white towel draped over the back of the luggage rack. He grabs it, hurrying over to the bathroom, and Beomgyu opens the door a crack, sticking his hand through it.
His arm is dripping wet, beads of water trailing down his slender wrist. Something about it is achingly sensual, pale and delicate and attached to Beomgyu’s naked body just behind the door. Yeonjun jams the towel into his hand, scurrying back to the unmade bed and flinging his face into the pillow as fast as he can. He absolutely cannot be near a naked Beomgyu right now, not when his mind is in disarray. Not even through a door.
“Thanks!” Beomgyu hollers after him, shutting the door again.
Yeonjun wonders if Beomgyu can tell something is up that night. His mind keeps wandering to Beomgyu’s pretty arm, to the trail of water that he could have licked up, to the soaking wet body just behind that door. He’s lingering on the precipice of springing a boner, and he absolutely cannot do that when Beomgyu is cuddled under his arm, his hand pressed up against his chest.
And when did it become normal for them to sleep like this, anyway? When this all started, that first night of him protecting Beomgyu from his ghosts, he had been so paranoid about crossing boundaries, but a week in and Beomgyu rolls right into him in bed as if their bodies are magnetized. It’s become an instinct over the last few nights, so much so that Yeonjun’s barely thought about it other than worrying about Beomgyu’s wellbeing and whether he’s felt feverish in his arms. Now, Taehyun’s metaphorical raised eyebrow has him thinking twice about it.
When Yeonjun gets sick, when he runs a fever, the last thing he wants is for his sweaty body to be all up in someone else’s business. He wants a wide berth, so he can feel disgusting on his own. But when Beomgyu fell ill, he wanted the absolute opposite. He wanted Yeonjun closer.
“How’re you feeling tonight?” Yeonjun murmurs. The lights are all off, and it feels weird to talk at full volume.
“Much better,” Beomgyu whispers back. “You’re a good nurse.”
“A good career option if this idol thing doesn’t work out.”
Beomgyu laughs.
“You were born to be an idol,” he says. “I can’t imagine you any other way.”
“I can. I can imagine me as a househusband.”
“You?” Beomgyu pulls his head off Yeonjun’s chest for a moment, and even in the dark Yeonjun can see his incredulous look. “You, the most ambitious person in the group, the last person in the practice room every night?”
“Are you knocking househusbands? You think it’s easy to run a household?”
“No,” Beomgyu says, dropping his head again. “I’m just saying you’re full of shit.”
“Imagine if I was your househusband,” Yeonjun says. “You could be the star, and I could have dinner ready for you every night.”
Beomgyu snorts.
“You’d have to be a better cook for that,” he says.
“I’d learn. I’d keep you well fed.”
“See, now we’re back to the nurse thing. You’re just a born caregiver. You’re the most caring person I know.”
“Not the most.”
“The most.”
The compliment warms Yeonjun’s belly. He knows there are a lot of things he can be proud of in his life — his achievements as an idol, his growing reputation in the fashion world — but privately, he cares much more about being a good friend. If he can make his loved ones happy, that’s what counts the most. And Beomgyu is…well, he’s more than a loved one.
“I’m just glad I could help you feel better. Even if it was just a little bit.”
“It was more than a little bit,” Beomgyu says. “It wasn’t just you. Soobin was great, too. Basically doting on me.”
“Yeah, he was a sweetheart.” It was convenient that Soobin was so worried about Beomgyu, too. It made Yeonjun feel that his own actions stood out less. If Soobin was taking care of Beomgyu as a friend, then Yeonjun could as well. Just as a friend.
“But you were the best,” Beomgyu continues. “You were here at night.”
His hand is closer to Yeonjun’s belly than his pecs. When did it drop? Beomgyu probably hasn’t even noticed. It must have been an accident. He’s not thinking about this like Yeonjun is, but if Yeonjun tells him to move, or adjusts his hand, he’ll just reveal that his own mind is wandering to those intrusive places. He absolutely can’t do that.
“Here for the ghosts,” Yeonjun says. His voice sounds a bit choked.
“I don’t think the ghost is here anymore. I think you scared it off.”
“Oh, I did?”
“Yep. Too many nights of a big, strong hyung by my side.”
Yeonjun’s chest expands.
“I mean, not that strong,” Beomgyu continues. “It’s all glamour muscles.”
“It’s absolutely not, brat.”
“Yeah? Prove it.” Beomgyu’s hand flies to Yeonjun’s abs, just below his belly button. Holy shit, think unsexy thoughts, think very, very unsexy—
“Lemme feel your abs,” Beomgyu says.
“Beomgyu…”
“What? Scared Taehyunnie’s are better?”
Well, that won’t stand. Yeonjun flexes his abs, and Beomgyu whistles, his thin fingers basically groping the lines of Yeonjun’s baby six-pack.
“One day, this’ll be me,” he says, and Yeonjun relaxes.
“Come to the gym, then.” Beomgyu at the gym, sweaty and pink and panting— fuck, that’s not helping with Yeonjun’s…dilemma. Yeonjun grabs Beomgyu’s hand, tugging it up towards his chest again. “Let’s stop talking about me. Let’s talk about you.”
“Yeah? What about me?”
Yeonjun rolls to face Beomgyu, sliding him off of his own body. He thinks Beomgyu looks a bit disappointed, but he doesn’t want to get his hopes up.
“You kicked ass tonight. You bounced back with a vengeance.”
“Naw,” Beomgyu says.
“You know how you said I’m a caregiver? That caring is my thing?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re selfless,” Yeonjun said. “You put everyone first.”
“What does that have to do with me kicking ass?”
“Because I know you pushed yourself out there so you wouldn’t let us down. Or the fans. You wanted to give them everything you’ve got, even if it burnt you out. Right?”
“And are you gonna scold me for that?” Beomgyu says it defensively, ready to bicker about it, but Yeonjun just squeezes his hand.
“Not if it makes you happy. Not if it makes you feel good out there.”
“It does,” Beomgyu says. “It’s why I do it.”
“Then keep doing it. Burn yourself out, and I’ll help put you back together.”
Beomgyu exhales slowly. Yeonjun hears it before he feels it, but their heads are so close that Beomgyu’s breath warms Yeonjun’s lips. They’re on the same pillow.
“It’s when I feel the strongest,” he murmurs. “When I believe that I’m…”
“Big enough?”
Beomgyu nods, the shadow of his head moving in the dark.
“You’re always big enough,” Yeonjun says. “But it only counts if you believe it.”
He feels Beomgyu’s fingers twitching in his own.
“I think I did tonight,” Beomgyu whispers.
“Then it was the best concert of the tour so far,” Yeonjun says.
Beomgyu doesn’t speak again right away, and Yeonjun isn’t sure what to say either. Nothing he said is anything he wouldn’t have said in the daylight, in separate chairs, feet apart. Nothing he said crossed any boundaries. All of it was perfectly good brotherly wisdom, a pep talk from Beomgyu’s hyung. But he knows that’s not all that it was, and if Taehyun could see through him so easily, maybe Beomgyu can too.
“I think I needed that really badly,” Beomgyu says, finally. “To hear all of that.”
“That’s my job,” Yeonjun says. “To cheer you up.”
“Yeah,” Beomgyu says. “Yeah.”
His hand is being moved under the covers. Beomgyu is pulling it into his own chest.
“Hyung. Tonight, do you think…”
He pauses.
“Maybe you cuddle me tonight? Like…I hold you?”
Beomgyu says it like it’s as easy as breathing. Of course they’ll cuddle tonight. It’s only a matter of how, and Yeonjun won’t say no. He’ll cuddle him however he wants. The tour is half over, and he’ll take whatever he can get.
“I might smush you,” he says, already scooting over in bed. All that heartfelt talk has deflated his semi, or else this would be a complete impossibility.
“You’re not that big,” Beomgyu scolds. “I’m tough as shit.”
“For such a little guy, maybe.”
Beomgyu flicks him in the nose, except it’s dark, so he almost hits his eye.
“Fuck! Gonna blind me!”
“Just cuddle,” Beomgyu whines, tugging at Yeonjun’s leg. He guides it towards him under the covers, and in a moment Yeonjun is settling in around Beomgyu’s body, his leg slung over his hips, his head tucked into his neck. Beomgyu leans his cheek into Yeonjun’s scalp, his arms hugging him around his broad shoulders, and Yeonjun can’t remember the last time he felt this…safe. He always thinks of Beomgyu as small, as young and delicate and needing his care, but right now, Beomgyu is a fully grown man, holding him close in bed. And fuck, it feels incredible.
“You fit so well,” Beomgyu breathes.
“Yeah.” Yeonjun’s palm is flat on Beomgyu’s chest, over his t-shirt, but he wants more. He creeps it up towards Beomgyu’s neck, towards his bare skin, and in a moment his fingertips graze Beomgyu’s collarbone.
He feels Beomgyu flinch.
“Sorry,” Yeonjun says. “Just wanted…”
What’s his excuse? He has none.
“It’s okay,” Beomgyu whispers. “It feels nice.”
Yeonjun can’t move. Beomgyu’s hands are knitted together around him, but one of his thumbs is stroking slowly, up and down, up and down Yeonjun’s shoulder blade. It feels like something…something it probably isn’t. Beomgyu is inexperienced, he’s innocent, he’s trusting. He’s hugging his hyung, something comfortable and calming. Yeonjun’s the one causing the problem here.
It’s only when Beomgyu’s thumb slows that Yeonjun realizes he’s fallen asleep. It’s sweltering hot here in Beomgyu’s arms, and Yeonjun’s forehead is sticky from the warmth of his skin against Beomgyu’s head. None of it matters. He’d rather sleep here than anywhere.
Houston
“I slept well last night,” Yeonjun says, sliding his feet into bed.
“Mhm,” Beomgyu says, perched on the other side. He’s plugging his phone into the outlet with much more care than Yeonjun thinks he needs to be paying, looking closely at the plug as if it’s broken.
“You’re giving that quite the inspection.”
“Yeah, well, this hotel is less nice than the last one. Might get a short.”
Yeonjun looks around the room. It looks exactly the same as the last one.
“Wanna use my charging pack instead?”
“Nope, I’m good,” Beomgyu says airily. He settles his phone down on the nightstand, finally, and crawls up the bed, slipping so neatly under the blankets that he barely disturbs them. “Lights out?”
Something is off about this. Every night, Beomgyu has been chatty at bedtime. Even on his sickest day, he wanted to fret about the day ahead.
“Wait,” Yeonjun says, as Beomgyu reaches for the light on his side of the bed. “Beomgyu.”
“What?” Beomgyu doesn’t look at him, and Yeonjun grabs him by the shoulder. Whatever this is, he needs to head it off.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“When?”
“Beomgyu, look at me.”
Beomgyu does, grudgingly. He flickers his eyes up to Yeonjun’s and back down to his lap. His eyebrows are a tight line, betraying his tension.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Tired. Tour is exhausting.”
“Nope,” Yeonjun says. “Try again.”
Beomgyu rolls his eyes. “So bossy. I’m fine, hyung.”
Yeonjun lets go of his shoulder, surveying him, and Beomgyu immediately flops down in the bed, rolling to face away from Yeonjun. He shoots out a hand for the light.
“Night night,” he says, pulling up the blanket like he’s settling in.
“Okay, what the fuck is going on?”
“What?” Beomgyu says. His voice is terse.
“I mean…you really think this isn’t weird?”
“I’m sleeping.”
“Yeah, but you’re over there. And I’m over here.”
“Because all the cuddling is probably weird, hyung,” Beomgyu says, and Yeonjun feels a weight sink from his throat through his heart.
It is. It is weird, probably. Night after night of cuddling like…lovers, when Yeonjun is harboring the secret he’s harboring? If it’s not weird, it’s a terrible, terrible idea.
“Oh,” Yeonjun says. “Should I go to the other bed?”
“No, just…just, you know. Probably none of the cuddling.”
“I mean, I might as well just go to the other bed.”
Beomgyu is quiet for a moment.
“Yeah, okay,” he says.
Yeonjun pulls his feet out of bed, replacing the blanket neatly in place. He steps across the canyon to the empty bed, the one that’s stayed empty in every room they’ve slept in since New York. It’s cold between the sheets, no Beomgyu there to warm it.
He turns out the light and beats back the feeling in his throat: something heavy and sharp. He doesn’t deserve to feel sad about this. He had a blissful week and half with Beomgyu in his bed, Beomgyu in his arms, and that’s more than he ever thought he was going to get.
Taehyun was wrong, for once, and Yeonjun was just too optimistic.
And really, he should be glad that it ended this way — without a disaster. He escaped scot-free, with Beomgyu suspecting nothing. No inconvenient boners, no revelatory sleep talking incidents. He can just tell Taehyun that he dealt with it, and that’ll be the end of it.
Yeonjun rolls over to face the wall. He doesn’t want to open his eyes in the middle of the night and see Beomgyu alone in bed, not when he’s gotten so used to his own place being beside him. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, anyway, not with his thoughts racing and anxiety filling his bloodstream. Maybe he ruined something. Did they ruin something? No, they can’t have. It was just a little cuddling.
San Francisco
It’s not weird after they stop sleeping together, because Yeonjun forces himself to act normally. Just friendly, caring interactions during the day, and a little polite conversation across the cavern between their beds at night. He has to, for the sake of their friendship, and Beomgyu seems pretty normal too; a bit distant, maybe, but otherwise normal. The main problem is that after so many nights of embracing him, Yeonjun doesn’t sleep as well without Beomgyu in his arms. He wakes up at slight noises, worried that they’re Beomgyu fretting about his ghost, and his dreams are filled with Beomgyu’s voice, as if he’s beckoning him back to his bed.
That must be what it is when he hears Beomgyu’s voice in the middle of the night, during their first night in San Francisco.
“Hyung,” he hears. “Hyung, I’m so sorry.”
Something warm is wrapped around Yeonjun’s face.
“Whuh?” he mumbles
“Hyung, can I sleep with you again?” Beomgyu whispers, his hands tight around Yeonjun’s cheeks.
“Beom…”
“Are you mad at me?”
Yeonjun blinks his eyes open in the dark. Beomgyu’s face is a foot away from his, hovering anxiously. He can make out his eyelashes in the bare light streaking in through a crack in the black-out curtains.
“You…no. What?”
“I’m sorry. I was being dumb.”
“Beomgyu. What’s going on?”
“I’m lonely,” Beomgyu whispers. “I hate sleeping alone now. These past few days have been the worst.”
Yeonjun’s brain is half working, but he knows that’s a very, very good thing to hear.
“Get in,” he says. “Lemme hold you.”
Beomgyu exhales. “Thank you, thank you,” he says, and Yeonjun feels cool air as the blanket is pulled back. He lifts his arm just in time to receive Beomgyu’s body, his warm core sliding into Yeonjun’s embrace, and Beomgyu sighs against Yeonjun’s neck.
“What happened?”
“Bad dream,” Beomgyu says. “No, not really. That’s a lie.”
“A…a lie?”
“I just wanted to be with you,” Beomgyu whispers. “I hope that’s okay.”
Beomgyu wants to be with him. Yeonjun feels like he’s been jolted awake by an electric current.
“Why?” he asks, clutching Beomgyu closer.
Beomgyu doesn’t answer.
“Beomgyu, why? Tell me.”
“Just feel safe here,” Beomgyu mutters. “Feel like I fit.”
Yeonjun works a hand into the back of Beomgyu’s hair.
“You do,” he murmurs. “You fit so well here.”
He’s too drowsy to hide anything. It’s true. Beomgyu fits perfectly on his chest, in his arms, and he’ll tell him as many times as he needs to until he really, really hears it.
Beomgyu lifts his head, Yeonjun’s hand going with it. His eyes are wide, their dark irises catching the light.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’ve been…I’ve been pushing it. The cuddling, and that night in Dallas, it just felt…felt like I used you.”
“What?”
“I shouldn’t have done it. You’re just being so kind to me, and I…I didn’t want it to end. You don’t have to share a bed with me again after this.”
Cogs are turning in Yeonjun’s brain, creaking to life.
“Beomgyu,” he says slowly, dragging out the syllables to buy himself more time. This can’t be happening to him. It must be a dream. “Why do you really want to share with me?”
Beomgyu just looks at him, big-eyed and beautiful.
“I want it too,” Yeonjun says. “I want it so bad.”
“No,” Beomgyu whispers.
“For so long.” Yeonjun twines his fingers tighter in Beomgyu’s hair, gripping like he’ll never let go. “So long, Beomgyu.”
“I thought…you were just…”
“No.” Yeonjun shakes his head. “God, no.”
He lifts his head, and Beomgyu meets his forehead with his own.
“I missed this,” Yeonjun breathes. “I missed you, Beomgyu.”
“Hyung.” Beomgyu’s whisper is so tiny that Yeonjun can barely hear him, even in their silent room. “Hyung…I don’t believe in ghosts.”
Yeonjun closes his eyes. Scratch everything he’s ever said about Beomgyu being innocent. He’s a demon.
“Next you’ll tell me you weren’t really sick,” Yeonjun says, his voice all dry, and Beomgyu laughs, a high-pitched, nearly hysterical laugh. This must be a dream.
“Can I do something else?”
Beomgyu asked, but he doesn’t wait for permission. His perfect, pretty lips find Yeonjun’s, his fingertips digging into Yeonjun’s cheeks. He presses Yeonjun’s head back into the pillow, and it’s all Yeonjun can do to keep from grabbing him and flipping him over, devouring him, growling into his lips and sinking his nails into his skin. He works his tongue through the seam of Beomgyu’s lips instead, and his tongue is as searingly hot as the rest of him.
“‘Ung,” he grunts into Yeonjun’s mouth. “Mm…”
Yeonjun pulls himself off of his lips. Everything is wet, and it’s perfect.
“Don’t try to talk,” he pants. “I need to kiss you too badly to let you talk.”
He rolls them over, and Beomgyu practically melts, flinging his legs around Yeonjun’s waist and moaning into him. He’s everything Yeonjun had dreamed of, pliant and warm and gentle to touch, but as strong as Yeonjun has always known him to be, his fingers firm and sure as they bite into Yeonjun’s neck.
They have a day of interviews and tech rehearsals and media appearances ahead of them, but Yeonjun could kiss him all night. If this is a dream, it’s the best one he’s ever had.
Los Angeles
“So,” Beomgyu says.
“So,” Yeonjun smiles.
“Did you tell Taehyunnie?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh really.”
“Yes, really.”
“Then why,” Beomgyu enunciates, “did he text me a Naver search link about American condom sizing an hour ago?”
Yeonjun nearly chokes on his own saliva.
“Yeah,” Beomgyu says, satisfied. “Thought so.”
“He’s just psychic,” Yeonjun coughs. “I swear to god, Beomgyu. I said nothing.”
“Wishful thinking, anyway,” Beomgyu says loftily, prancing towards the bathroom. “You’re not getting this ass that easily.”
Where the fuck did he learn to talk like that?
“Where the fuck did you learn to talk like that?” Yeonjun calls after him, but all he can hear is Beomgyu whistling in the bathroom.
Everything that Yeonjun thought about Beomgyu has been thoroughly thrown out the window in the last three days. Well, not everything. Not anything that matters. Just everything about…his sweet, innocent, wholesome soul. It’s not that he’s not sweet and innocent and wholesome. He’s every bit as inexperienced as Yeonjun thought he was, and all they’ve done in the past few nights is frantically, manically, vigorously make out. The most incredible make-out sessions of Yeonjun’s life, to be fair, but nothing more than some extremely heated humping.
But Beomgyu certainly doesn’t seem alarmed about the feelings his hyung has been harboring for him, and if Yeonjun had only known what it sounds like when Beomgyu moans the word hyung as Yeonjun licks a line down his neck, he’d have felt a whole lot less guilty about lusting after him for months.
Beomgyu likes him. He hasn’t quite said it yet, but he doesn’t have to for Yeonjun to feel it. And more than that, Beomgyu wants him, and the thought of Beomgyu trusting Yeonjun with all of his firsts is frankly terrifying. Too much responsibility, even for the best hyung the world has ever seen.
Yeonjun collapses back on the bed, beating off the exhaustion creeping in from their travel day. His eyes are closing, but he can’t fall asleep. He has no idea what Beomgyu has planned, but he said it involved exploring. And Yeonjun is very, very excited to explore.
“Hyung,” Beomgyu’s voice says. “Go wash up, don’t fall asleep. Don’t you want to explore?”
Yeonjun’s eyes fly open right as Beomgyu’s body collides with his own. He’s totally winded, but he barely has time to gasp. Beomgyu is already kissing him, as if they’ve wasted far too much time already to not have their lips pressed together as much as possible.
“Beom—”
“Shh,” Beomgyu whispers.
“Don’t shush me.” Yeonjun grabs his face, turning his head to kiss the corner of his mouth instead. “That’s no way to respect your elders.”
It’s then that he notices that Beomgyu is only wearing a hotel bathrobe.
“Oh my god,” he groans.
“What?”
“You’re…”
“It seemed dumb to get dressed again,” Beomgyu giggles.
It was only a week ago that Yeonjun lay on a bed just like this one, absolutely tortured by the concept of Beomgyu naked and fresh out of the shower, and here he is, naked and fresh out of the shower. It’s almost unfathomable.
“I get to look at you?” Yeonjun says, dumbly. He thumbs his hand down Beomgyu’s neck, across the hinge of his shoulder and down to his collarbone. The lapel of the bathrobe falls just an inch away, and Beomgyu shivers.
“You’ve seen me naked, you do realize,” Beomgyu says. He’s trying to sound tough, and it’s so cute. “At the onsen. And in the shower. And—”
“Very, very different,” Yeonjun interrupts. “Now you’re naked for me.”
“And I’m expecting a little reciprocation,” Beomgyu says pointedly, tugging at Yeonjun’s shirt.
Yeonjun shakes his head.
“That comes later,” he says, wrapping his arms around Beomgyu’s back and rolling them over. Beomgyu squeals, and Yeonjun groans again.
“What?” Beomgyu laughs.
“I’m weak. I’m so weak for you.”
“For my little noises?”
Beomgyu lets out a horrific baby noise.
“Not that one. All of them but that one.”
“Hyung,” Beomgyu says. “Is this gonna feel good?”
Yeonjun’s heart is pounding so fast it might explode. There’s so much trust in those five words, so much care and excitement and vulnerability. Beomgyu is trusting Yeonjun with himself, and Yeonjun wants to prove to him that it was worth it.
“What do you think?” Yeonjun teases.
Beomgyu purses up his lips, and Yeonjun crawls over him, hovering on his hands and knees around his body. He looks tiny in his bathrobe, swallowed up by all the soft terrycloth.
“My theory is yes,” Beomgyu says. “I have a theory that it will feel good when you suck my dick.”
Yeonjun fake gasps. “Quite the theory.”
“I know. It’s really—ah…really wild.”
Yeonjun is kissing down the center of Beomgyu’s chest, down the flat plane of sternum poking out from his bathrobe, and Beomgyu sucks in a breath.
“T—tickles.”
“Tickles?”
Yeonjun crawls down his body, loosening the tie of his robe. He won’t look yet, or he’ll just dive right for it, and Beomgyu deserves more foreplay than that. But he pulls his robe far apart enough to reveal Beomgyu’s navel and presses his thumbprint to it.
“Ah!”
“Tickles more than this?”
He replaces his thumb with his lips, kissing it, and he feels Beomgyu’s belly tense up under the light pressure.
“Stop, hyung,” Beomgyu breathes. He doesn’t sound like he wants him to stop.
“You’re the softest,” Yeonjun murmurs. “Softest person in the world.”
“Have you touched all of them?”
Yeonjun brings a hand to Beomgyu’s thigh, pinching it through the robe, and Beomgyu squeals again.
“Do you want me to?”
“No,” Beomgyu says. “No, hyung, only—only touch me.”
Yeonjun could scream it to the whole of Los Angeles. Only touch me. He only wants to, ever. He slides his hands up the sides of Beomgyu’s thighs, underneath the robe this time, and the loosened knot isn’t enough to hold it together. It falls open, all of Beomgyu’s body spread out beneath him.
“Oh my god,” Beomgyu breathes, clutching his hands to his face. He’s barely trembling, the muscles in his stomach and legs quivering as he gets accustomed to the feeling of cool air on his still-damp skin. He doesn’t make to cover himself, though. Yeonjun can feel the want radiating out of him, almost as strongly as he knows it’s pouring out of himself.
“Baby,” Yeonjun murmurs, drinking him in. Sure, he’s seen his body before, but it was nothing like this. Now, he’s for Yeonjun. And he’s glorious, long limbs and flushed skin, tan nipples and the barest hint of abs. His cock is pink and quivering above his stomach, a perfect handful, thick enough to fill the circle of Yeonjun’s fingers and then some. Yeonjun doesn’t even try not to stare. His hands fly to it, cupping its base, where it’s nestled in a soft crop of wispy brown hair.
“Fuck,” Beomgyu chokes.
“Am I the first?” Yeonjun asks. His voice comes out deep and rumbly, even deeper than Beomgyu’s normal low tone.
“Yes. Yes, for everything.”
“Here, too?”
Yeonjun nudges Beomgyu’s legs an inch apart, gently tapping on one of his inner thighs, and Beomgyu spreads them easily.
“Duh,” Beomgyu gasps. “Why would someone—not touch my cock, and touch…”
“Just checking,” Yeonjun says. His eyes settle between Beomgyu’s legs, one finger dragging down Beomgyu’s perineum to find his tiny, tight little pucker. He can feel it tighten up even more under his gentle touch, seizing up, and feels a sudden rush of affection even beyond what he already was drowning in. Beomgyu is going to let him have this, the very first person he’ll share himself with, and Yeonjun doesn’t know if he’ll ever feel worthy. “Not today. But when you’re ready.”
“Yes, today,” Beomgyu says, and Yeonjun thinks he blanks out for a moment. “Not sex. But I wanna feel it, what it feels like.”
“We’ll take it slow,” Yeonjun murmurs. “It’ll feel good. I promise.”
Yeonjun is getting ahead of himself. He pulls his hands away, leaning his lips down instead, kissing circles around Beomgyu’s thighs and down the seams of his groin. He licks a line across Beomgyu’s perineum, spreading his thighs wide with his hands under his knees, and snorts air across his dick when Beomgyu nearly kicks him in the face at the feeling of a tongue on his balls.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he chokes out.
“Not my fault you’re deadly sensitive,” Yeonjun counters. “And don’t say that yet. Save that for later.”
“For…”
Yeonjun drops one of Beomgyu’s thighs, working a hand up to his nipple instead.
“This,” he smirks, bringing his lips to Beomgyu’s cock.
It’s been a while since his last hookup, but Yeonjun knows he gives good head. And for Beomgyu’s first time, he’s going to give the best fucking head of his life. He draws it out, working slowly down his shaft, holding his breath as he feels its round tip squish into the back of his throat, and the noise that Beomgyu lets out is absolutely devastating. High, clear, and Yeonjun can only hope that the walls are thick in this hotel, because he thinks the maknaes might have ended up next door. Their loss. Nothing could make him go easy on Beomgyu tonight.
Beomgyu holds up admirably. He shudders and moans, his hips bucking prettily under Yeonjun’s grip, his sounds growing more and more desperate as Yeonjun speeds up and tightens his suction on the head of his cock. He can feel him growing closer, his breath getting choppy, and he circles one fingertip around Beomgyu’s rim. If he wants to get a taste of that feeling, he’s going to give it to him.
“Y-yes,” Beomgyu stutters. “Please, pl-please, put one in me…”
If that’s what he’ll sound like during sex, Yeonjun won’t last at all. He pulls off his cock for just long enough to slick up his fingertip in his own mouth, and dives back down, finding Beomgyu’s rim and just barely darting a finger into him.
“Fuuu—uck,” Beomgyu wails. “Fuck. Gonna—”
Yeonjun doesn’t press in far. Just to the second knuckle, just far enough for Beomgyu to get a shadow of fullness. He’s vice-tight, and Yeonjun wonders if he’s ever taken anything. Then he has to stop wondering it, for his own sake. He can’t nut in his pants. Beomgyu would murder him. He wants to learn how to suck dick after this, and shit, that just makes Yeonjun feel even crazier.
The thought makes Yeonjun moan, a throaty sound muffled in Beomgyu’s cock, and something about that does it. Beomgyu’s breath hitches, and his hands grab into Yeonjun’s hair, forcing his head down and holding it there. In a second, Yeonjun tastes him spilling into his throat, a tiny, stuttering whine escaping the O of his lips. He slowly pulls his finger out, feeling Beomgyu’s hole clench up as it slips out of him, and Beomgyu whines one more time, his hips still jerking.
“Mmm,” he whimpers. “Hyung. Oh…”
“Good?” Yeonjun pants. He has a crick in his neck, and his knees ache. A trickle of cum definitely escaped his mouth. He probably looks a complete mess.
“Hyung, hyung.” Beomgyu’s voice is dreamy, floaty. He cracks his eyes open again, and his smile is radiant. “Oh my god.”
“Sounds like that means good.”
“Beyond. Best feeling of my life.”
Yeonjun crawls up the bed again, slinging himself along Beomgyu’s body, and Beomgyu flings his hands around him, the sleeves of the robe still draped over his arms.
“Don’t you dare make fun of me,” Beomgyu says.
“For what?”
“Saying this.”
Yeonjun slaps a hand over Beomgyu’s lips.
“No,” he says, staring into Beomgyu’s wide eyes. “I get to say it first. Don’t you dare.”
Beomgyu shakes his head.
“I love you,” Yeonjun says in a rush, and Beomgyu lets out a terrible groan. “Beat you, fool.”
He can feel something wet on his palm, and he whips his hand away before Beomgyu can lick him again.
“Not fair,” Beomgyu whines. “I’ve loved you for so much longer. I should get to say it first.”
“Not true! Wait. Um. How…”
“For ages. Since we were trainees. I had the biggest crush, hyung.”
Yeonjun’s jaw drops.
“You’re joking. That long?”
“Well, now I feel pathetic,” Beomgyu says, trying to hide his eyes in the sleeve of his robe, but Yeonjun grabs his face.
“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me?”
“I love you,” Beomgyu says, slightly cross. “Still not fair that you beat me.”
“Hyung rights,” Yeonjun beams. “I’m selfish. Forgive me.”
“And I’m selfless, so get on your back,” Beomgyu says. “Teach me your ways?”
Chicago (Again)
Yeonjun shuts the door behind them and takes a deep breath, steadying himself. He stares at the back of the door for a few seconds, drawing strength from the map of the hotel’s emergency exits printed on it. He can do this.
“Hyung,” Beomgyu says. “I have something for you.”
“Oh?”
That’s a good distraction. Yeonjun needs a bit of time to gear himself up before he can do his thing.
“Yeah. Could you…close your eyes?”
Yeonjun furrows his brow at the door.
“Okay,” he says warily.
He hears a shuffling noise behind him from somewhere in the room.
“All right,” Beomgyu’s voice says. It sounds a bit shaky. “You can look.”
Yeonjun turns around and opens his eyes.
Beomgyu is standing in the middle of the room, holding a single red rose.
“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “So. Hyung…”
Yeonjun’s brain comes to a screeching halt.
“Absolutely not,” he says, rushing forward. “You are not allowed to—”
“Hyung-will-you-be-my-boyfriend,” Beomgyu says in a rush, breaking into a wide smile.
“No!” Yeonjun nearly shrieks. “I mean. I mean. Yes. But no, I was supposed to—”
“Victory!” Beomgyu cries, thrusting the flower towards him. “I knew it, I knew I had to move fast to beat you—”
Yeonjun fumbles in his pocket, almost dropping the little envelope he had put the ring in. “How the fuck did you know?”
“Intuition,” Beomgyu beams. “And a spy. Soobin saw you stop at the jewelry counter in Saks in LA.”
“I even took it out of the box,” Yeonjun says, sadly. “So you wouldn’t see it in my pocket.”
“Well, I won,” Beomgyu says, wagging the rose at him. “Admit defeat.”
They stare at each other for a second, Beomgyu’s tongue darting out obnoxiously, Yeonjun’s arms firmly crossed.
“Wait,” Beomgyu says, letting the rose droop. “Yes?”
“Oh,” Yeonjun says. “Yes, baby. Oh my god, of course.”
“Yeonjun-hyung,” Beomgyu beams, letting the rose fall to the ground as Yeonjun dives for him. “My boyfriend.”
Yeonjun envelops him, the envelope with the stupidly overpriced ring falling from his hand to the floor next to the rose.
“My Beomgyu,” he breathes, tucking his nose into his ear. “My boyfriend.”
“Is this too fast?” Beomgyu asks, and Yeonjun pulls away to look at his face. He’s already smiling, like he knows Yeonjun’s answer.
“I’ve known you forever, Beomgyu-ya. I’ve wanted you for so long,” Yeonjun says. “How can this be too fast?”
“I mean, we slept together before we even kissed,” Beomgyu says. “That was pretty fast.”
Yeonjun does a double take. They haven’t—oh.
“Beomgyu, you’re such a brat,” he complains.
“But it was a good scheme, right?” Beomgyu smirks.
It was an excellent scheme. Maybe there was never a problem. Not with Yeonjun, not with Beomgyu. The only problem was that they weren’t together, and, well, that was nothing a little ghost story couldn’t solve.
And after this is all done, when they’re back from the tour and figuring out their new normal back in Seoul, Yeonjun thinks he’s earned his trip to Daegu.