Chapter Text
Day 31.
Seunghyun was like the moon—close enough to admire, yet always just beyond reach. His cool glow was soothing, pulling Jiyong in with a quiet promise of comfort, only to remind him, each time, how distant the warmth truly was.
Their cycle of confusion had only begun a month ago, yet Jiyong already felt it, deep in his chest—if he tried hard enough, Seunghyun might come to love him.
5 hours before the incident
"Hyung, wanna come with me to a party?" Jiyong asked, sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to his phone, ignoring the text that buzzed in his hand. Seunghyun glanced up. "What about the others?" he asked, referring to Youngbae and Daesung.
"Dae said it’s too late, something about his schedule. Bae’s got a date," Jiyong answered, finally looking up from his screen.
His heart skipped a beat as their eyes met, something in Seunghyun’s gaze pulling him deeper. He couldn’t admit it, but he loved Seunghyun. He didn’t know when it started—maybe during the late nights writing songs, or when they laughed together in the car, or in the quiet conversations about life.
He couldn’t love the moon, no matter how much he studied it. Because even when you know about the moon, can you ever truly know it?
"Alright, I’ll go with you," Seunghyun said, his smile small but enough to send Jiyong’s heart racing. Then, he was called away for a touch-up.
He shouldn’t love him. Or more truthfully, he couldn’t. Everything they’d built up until now—everything they’d worked so hard for—couldn’t be lost over something as fragile as a crush. He couldn’t let it show.
50 minutes before the incident
They arrived together, stepping out of the Uber with the quiet understanding that neither trusted themselves to make it home sober. Jiyong needed a drink tonight—had needed one for months, ever since the weight of his feelings settled in, turning a fleeting infatuation into something heavier, something real.
Love.
He hadn’t dressed to impress, not really (perhaps for Seunghyun, but he wouldn’t admit that, not even to himself). Black fitted flared jeans that clung just right, a striped black-and-white tank that framed his collarbone, a denim jacket draped over his shoulders, a scattering of accessories, polished black dress shoes. Effortless. Thoughtless. Perfect.
Seunghyun, on the other hand, was effortlessly stunning (Jiyong would allow himself that much; it was just an objective fact). A light blue button-up, a brown jacket, matching trousers, his hair tousled in careless waves. He looked warm. He looked good.
Jiyong rushed ahead to greet familiar faces, Seunghyun trailing behind, echoing his greetings in that quiet way of his. Soon, they were settled at a table with friends, the conversation flowing as freely as the drinks—work, the new album, relationships, everything and nothing all at once. Jiyong rambled, slurred syllables spilling without thought, his own words slipping away from him before he could catch them.
A warm hand pressed against his back.
"Are you drunk?" Soohyuk’s voice, amused but concerned.
Jiyong turned, unfocused. Seunghyun shook his head, already moving.
"I’ll call a taxi. I’ll take him home."
Jiyong groaned but didn’t resist. He felt Seunghyun’s grip tighten around him, steady, certain. He let himself be pulled up, let himself be led.
5 minutes before the incident
Seunghyun struggled under Jiyong’s weight, half-carrying him out of the taxi. He muttered quiet apologies to the driver, slipping him extra won in gratitude—for the patience, for the water, for tolerating Jiyong’s incoherent rambling.
They hadn’t gone back to the dorms. Jiyong vaguely remembered Seunghyun murmuring something about Daesung, about not wanting to wake him. Instead, a hotel. The details blurred, but he felt Seunghyun’s arm secure around his waist, guiding him through hallways, into an elevator, up, up, up.
Their room was simple—two beds, just in case. The door clicked shut behind them, the air thick with exhaustion and something unspoken. Seunghyun let out a sigh before unceremoniously tossing Jiyong onto one of the beds.
Jiyong landed with a bounce, laughter bubbling up from deep in his chest, light and breathless. Seunghyun just shook his head.
Seunghyun crouched, fingers brushing against Jiyong’s ankles as he slipped off his shoes, slow and careful. Jiyong only watched, taking in every sharp angle, every softened edge of the man before him. Seunghyun moved to his own shoes next, standing at the foot of the bed, distracted by his phone, his features cast in the dim glow of the screen.
Jiyong sat up, his jean jacket slipping from his shoulders, the strap of his tank top falling with it, baring more of his collarbone, the curve of his chest. He tilted his head, eyes heavy, voice like a breath.
"Hyung."
Seunghyun glanced down. "Do you need to throw up?" His gaze flickered to the room, already searching for a trash can.
Jiyong shook his head. "I like your eyes."
That caught Seunghyun off guard. He stilled, attention snapping back to Jiyong, who looked utterly wrecked—flushed from the alcohol, his skin warm, his hair a mess. Yet, beneath it all, there was something steady in his gaze.
"I like your lips, too. When you smile."
Jiyong let his eyes go soft, looking up through his lashes, letting his tongue dart out to wet his lips, gaze flickering down to Seunghyun’s mouth. "You look really attractive when you smile."
A giggle slipped from his lips, and he offered Seunghyun a small, lopsided grin. He wasn’t drunk enough to forget this come morning, but he was just drunk enough to be brave, to let his body speak where his heart had always hesitated.
Seunghyun looked away, as if the weight of Jiyong’s gaze was too much, or maybe—just maybe—because it wasn’t unwelcome.
Silence stretched between them, delicate, uncertain. Then, finally—
"I like your eyes, too."
He said it quietly, not meeting Jiyong’s stare. But Jiyong felt it anyway, felt it in the way his heart clenched, in the way his breath caught.
"Seunghyun."
His name left Jiyong’s lips like a prayer, soft, barely there.
Seunghyun looked at him then, really looked at him.
"Can I taste the stars on your lips?"
A pause. No answer. Just the space between them, shrinking.
0 minutes before the incident
Jiyong didn’t wait. He grabbed the collar of Seunghyun’s brown jacket, tugging him forward, their lips crashing together. Seunghyun stumbled, a knee pressing between Jiyong’s thighs, his hand bracing against the mattress, the other finding its way to the back of Jiyong’s neck.
And then—he pulled him in, deepening the kiss, pressing closer, as if drawn by gravity, as if Jiyong was something he had been orbiting all along.
They pulled away, breathless, the space between them bridged by a delicate thread of saliva. Jiyong’s gaze burned with hunger, and in Seunghyun’s eyes, he saw the same fire—smoldering, unspoken.
Seunghyun shrugged off his brown jacket, letting it fall somewhere forgotten on the floor. Jiyong lay back against the sheets, waiting, inviting, and Seunghyun followed, hovering above him. For a moment, he only looked—Jiyong couldn’t tell if it was admiration or calculation, if Seunghyun was memorizing his face or already deciding what time he would slip away before morning.
Jiyong didn’t want to think about that. Instead, he pulled Seunghyun down, arms wrapping around him, lips finding his once more. His fingers tangled in Seunghyun’s hair, tugging just enough to feel him shiver against him. Seunghyun exhaled against his skin, brushing stray strands of hair from Jiyong’s face before his lips traveled downward, pressing slow, lingering kisses along his jaw.
Jiyong closed his eyes, heat pooling beneath every touch, every breath.
He wondered if the moon was this warm to the touch.
But just like the earth, the moon shifts with time—burning under the night sky, freezing by dawn.
And when morning came, Jiyong woke to nothing but cold sheets, empty space, and regret.
Day 31.
"You okay?" The makeup artist’s voice pulled Jiyong back to the present, startling him just enough to make him blink.
He met her gaze in the mirror, offering a small, sheepish smile. "Yeah, sorry. Zoned out."
Behind him, Daesung let out a chuckle from the couch, and Jiyong shot him a half-hearted glare through the glass. The stylist only nodded, returning his smile—an unspoken understanding passing between them. It was exhausting, being an idol.
Then, a sudden commotion. The waiting room door swung open with force, laughter spilling into the space before the figures behind it did—Youngbae, doubled over, his voice bright with amusement, and Seunghyun, his face buried in his hands as if he could disappear between them.
"Oh my god!" Youngbae wheezed, clutching his stomach.
Daesung shot up from his seat, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "What happened?"
Youngbae barely managed to speak between his laughter. "Hyung—Hyung, okay, listen. A girl came up to him, right? Asked for his number." He paused, gasping for air. "And he freaked out and told her he didn’t have his phone—" he broke into another fit of laughter, "while holding his phone in his hand!"
Youngbae collapsed onto the couch, Seunghyun following suit, shaking his head, surrendering to his own embarrassment.
But in the mirror, just for a second, Seunghyun's eyes found Jiyong’s.
And Jiyong looked away first.