Chapter Text
Seonghwa woke up slowly, the world still soft around the edges, sleep lingering at the corners of his mind, coaxing him to stay just a little longer. His body felt warm, cocooned in the perfect weight of a blanket, the scent of something familiar in the air. His limbs were heavy, but not unpleasantly so. Just comfortable as if he’d slept well, deeply.
Somewhere to his right, a quiet, rhythmic snoring filled the room.
Seonghwa didn’t react at first. The sound wasn’t alarming, it was known, embedded into the very foundation of his memories. It was the sound of Hongjoong snoring. It was a sound he had fallen asleep to countless times before. It felt right. Comforting, even.
Until, suddenly, it wasn’t.
Seonghwa’s brows drew together faintly. It didn’t make sense.
They hadn’t shared a room in years. They didn’t even live together anymore.
So why did it sound like Hongjoong was snoring right next to him?
A prickle of awareness crept down his spine, and with a slow inhale, he peeled his eyes open. Sunlight slanted across unfamiliar sheets, unfamiliar walls—no, not unfamiliar. Just… not his. And that was definitely Hongjoong, mere inches away.
Seonghwa blinked.
He was in Hongjoong’s bed.
His stomach dipped.
And then—
A memory surfaced, unbidden.
Heat, dizzying and all-consuming, pressing in from all sides. The taste of something sweet on Hongjoong’s lips. Fingers grasping at fabric, at skin, at him. Hands sliding over his waist, his back, his neck, pulling him closer, closer, but somehow still not close enough. A quiet, shuddering breath swallowed between mouths, followed by a sharper sound when teeth dragged across his lip.
Seonghwa’s breath caught, his heart stumbling over itself.
Had they—?
No.
But—
The blanket was warm against his chest. His bare chest.
A slow, sinking feeling took hold of him as he reached down, hesitant, unsure if he wanted confirmation or denial. His fingertips brushed over his stomach, lower—
Oh.
He was bare. Completely.
His throat tightened, his gaze flickered to Hongjoong, taking in the exposed curve of his shoulder, assuming Hongjoong was just as un-clothed as he was.
Seonghwa swallowed hard.
How had this happened?
Yes, they’d had a few drinks last night. Maybe more than a few. But Seonghwa wasn’t a horny drunk. If anything, alcohol just made him clingy and giggly. And Hongjoong? He never let himself slip like that.
But—
Seonghwa’s eyes traced the soft rise and fall of Hongjoong’s shoulders, the peaceful slack of his lips, the way the morning light softened every sharp edge of him. His own skin still hummed with warmth, a phantom heat lingering in the spaces where Hongjoong had touched him, where he might have held him.
His stomach twisted, but not with regret. Not entirely.
How could he regret something he had wanted for so long?
The night was a blur, hazy around the edges, but the feeling of it remained, like embers still glowing beneath the ashes. Seonghwa closed his eyes, trying to chase the memories down, willing the pieces to come together.
He recalled the press of their bodies, the way Hongjoong’s weight against him felt so right. The way their bodies just fit together so perfectly. Like they were made to be together.
Seonghwa shivered.
He had dreamt of this, had ached for it in the quietest corners of himself. The thought of Hongjoong’s hands on him, Hongjoong’s lips against his skin, had been something tucked away, hidden behind locked doors in his mind, only to be indulged in late at night when no one could ever find out.
And yet, somehow, impossibly, he had had it.
Even through the alcohol-induced haze, he knew it had been everything he imagined and more.
Seonghwa had loved Hongjoong since the day they met. Maybe even before that. But he wasn’t stupid.
Relationships between members were dangerous. They were messy. If something happened, if something went wrong, they couldn’t just walk away. They were legally bound to each other through their company no matter what. If they crashed and burned, they’d have to keep standing in the wreckage, smiling through clenched teeth in front of the cameras, pretending they weren’t suffocating under the weight of what they used to be.
And that was why he had lived in denial for years.
That was why he had convinced himself that the only place he could have Hongjoong was in his mind, in stolen glances on camera, in stage performances, in fleeting moments that never truly belonged to either of them.
Until last night, apparently.
What the hell were they supposed to do now?
Seonghwa exhaled slowly, quietly, careful not to wake Hongjoong who still slept peacefully beside him. His mind still felt sluggish, but his heart was wide awake, pounding against his ribs. Because this, whatever this was, wasn’t just about last night. At least for him. It wasn’t just about alcohol or impulsivity or a mistake they could laugh off and forget.
It was Hongjoong.
Hongjoong, who had been the force that pushed him forward. Seonghwa’s inspiration, his driving momentum.
When he was just a trainee, before Seonghwa had even met Hongjoong, every late-night practice, every aching muscle, every moment he thought he couldn’t keep going, Hongjoong was the reason he did. The reason he could.
Hongjoong was the reason he was able to debut with Ateez.
Hongjoong was the person he had put his full faith in once they finally made it.
Hongjoong had been the one person Seonghwa could collapse into without hesitation. The only one who understood without needing words. And Seonghwa had been that for Hongjoong too.
It had been mutual, unspoken, a quiet agreement written into the way they just existed together. Hongjoong was Seonghwa’s escape in every way imaginable, and Seonghwa was his.
That kind of intimacy… it changed things.
They had never talked about it, but there were certain allowances they had given each other, for the sake of escape, that they would never have even thought to give anyone else.
Like the way they used to share a room, used to turn over in their beds when the other needed a moment alone, not quite ignoring, not quite acknowledging. It should’ve been uncomfortable. They should’ve just gone to the bathroom like everyone else did. But it never felt strange to let Hongjoong chase his own pleasure a few feet away. It never felt wrong for Seonghwa to do the same.
They weren’t watching, weren’t trying to push some unspoken boundary, but they also never left.
Their relationship had always been like that. Something deeper than friendship, but not quite anything else.
But last night… last night, they had crossed a line.
They had pushed that unspoken boundary.
And now, in the sharp, unflinching light of morning, Seonghwa didn’t know how to exist in a world where he had finally had everything he had ever wanted, only to know that it could never happen again.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the night to come back to him in full, desperate to piece together how they had ended up here, tangled in each other beneath the sheets.
Flashes of heat and movement resurfaced again, but the how of it, the moments that led them here, were lost in a haze.
Seonghwa bit the inside of his cheek. He had to have been the one to start it.
He knew himself, knew his heart, knew the way his feelings for Hongjoong had burned, slow and quiet, for years. He had wanted this for so long, and last night, with the alcohol loosening his inhibitions, making him reckless, of course it had been him.
Which meant Seonghwa had done this. He had taken from Hongjoong. He had let his drunken desires get the better of him, let his hands roam, let his mouth linger, let himself want. And now, he had to face the weight of it.
God. Hongjoong was going to want nothing to do with him now.
A spike of panic clawed at him at the idea of losing his best friend because of one drunken mistake.
Next to him, Hongjoong shifted in his sleep, a quiet sigh escaping from parted lips as he burrowed deeper into the warmth of the blankets.
Seonghwa froze.
He could not be here when Hongjoong woke up.
If he stayed, if he saw even a flicker of regret in Hongjoong’s eyes, he wasn’t sure he could handle it.
Carefully, painfully, he forced himself to move. Slowly, so slowly, he peeled the blanket away from his body, shivering as the cool morning air kissed his bare skin. He slid one foot off the bed, then the other, holding his breath as he carefully shifted his weight onto the floor.
Hongjoong stirred beside him, murmuring something unintelligible in his sleep, and Seonghwa stilled.
For one breath. Then another.
Hongjoong didn’t wake.
Seonghwa swallowed, his throat tight, and forced himself to keep going. Moving quickly now, he found his clothes in the dim light, hands shaking as he yanked them on. His shirt was backward, but he didn’t care. His heart was a wild thing in his chest, threatening to break free, but he couldn’t let himself panic.
Not now. Not yet.
He just needed to go.
Creeping toward the door, he cracked it open just enough to slip through, wincing at the soft click as it shut behind him.
The apartment was dark, the quiet pressing in on all sides. He tiptoed past Wooyoung and Jongho’s rooms, pausing only when he heard one of them shift in their sleep. His pulse roared in his ears, the air too thick, too suffocating.
Finally, finally, his fingers curled around the doorknob. He hesitated, staring at the door, at his escape, at the threshold that would take him back to the life he’d known just yesterday, before this.
But could he really pretend it hadn’t happened?
Could he really leave Hongjoong behind in that bed, warm and peaceful in the morning light, without knowing if he’d just ruined the only thing that truly mattered to him?
His grip tightened. He cast one last glance over his shoulder, to the quiet apartment behind him, to the closed door of Hongjoong’s room.
Then, before he could change his mind, he slipped out the door and into the cool, empty hallway beyond.