Chapter Text
Approximately half past ten on a cold October evening, Kim Hongjoong realizes that he is in love with Jeong Yunho.
They’re at their agency’s halloween party on the night it happens, right inside the banquet hall of a hotel booked for the event. The theme for this year is something along the lines of ‘Fictional Characters’, giving everyone free reign to decide whether to be spooky, silly, or seductive, or anything in between (As long as it doesn’t violate the terms of their company handbook, Hongjoong supposes).
As it goes, every artist and staff member is dressed up according to personal preference, and the open bar is being maximized to its full potential.
Hongjoong decides not to drink much, though. The group already got wasted enough during their anniversary party just a week ago and he doesn’t want his liver screaming for any more help.
Which further indicates that his realization is one reached in a moment of sobriety.
In any case, the thought of it has been circling in his mind for a long while now, static at the back of his head which very so often would rise to the surface when Yunho would say something silly with that dopey smile of his, entirely too pleased with himself, or get a little too touchy for Hongjoong’s sanity.
Suffice it to say, Yunho’s behavior really isn’t helping him get over these feelings. These stupid feelings that he shouldn’t be having for his bandmate and good friend for the better part of the last decade, really, without things potentially becoming complicated or just really fucking awkward.
It also doesn’t help that Yunho is apparently cosplaying a goddamn heartthrob tonight, and Hongjoong isn’t even that familiar with the reference— a dark navy tight shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks, hung up by brown suede suspenders pressed oh-so-nicely against his chest. He’s also got black gun holsters strapped around his waist and each thigh, and leather gloves on each hand. A vision straight out from Hongjoong’s fantasies (The type he keeps buried deep at the back of his mind, so far back enough that no one would ever assume they were even there).
“Hyung? What are you doing back here?”
Hongjoong blinks hard, suddenly aware that Yunho is actually walking towards him, long and easy strides in those pants that are doing him all the favors. He’s surprised Yunho found him, honestly. The focus of the party’s on the dancefloor— he can even see Yeosang spinning hand-in-hand with Seonghwa in the middle of it, while Jongho approaches them with a new set of shots that’s bound to cause the worst type of hangover the next morning. Meanwhile, he’s here lurking at the other end of the hall by the snack table.
“Oh, just taking it easy,” he responds when the younger man stops right in front him. He rests his back on the wall, shifting his gaze to anywhere else but right in front of him. The very picture of nonchalance. “Nice outfit, by the way. Don’t know who it is, though.”
“Oh! It’s Leon S. Kennedy,” Yunho explains sheepishly, but his eyes are bright. He readjusts the holster strap on his right thigh, and Hongjoong does his best not to peek through his periphery. “He’s in the Resident Evil franchise. Decided to try somethin’ else this time.”
“Ah, the name seems familiar. You’ve mentioned it a few times already, I think.”
“How about you, hyung? What’re you dressed up as?”
“Just a rip-off version of Dr. Frank-N-Furter,” he replies smugly, the pads of his fingers tapping on the chains and enamel pieces pinned to his leather jacket, down to his black latex shorts. He’s honestly proud of his outfit, but admits he could walk with even more confidence, fitting for who he’s supposed to portray. Though he’ll cut himself some slack because it’s his first time wearing fishnets. “Ever watched Rocky Horror Picture Show, Yunho?”
He catches Yunho’s eyes scanning him thoroughly, probably still curious and processing what he’s wearing. It could very well be shocking to anyone who isn’t very much familiar with the American cult classic. “No, not yet at least. Watch it with me?”
This makes Hongjoong snort. He cups his own cheeks, tipping his face forward teasingly. “Sure, but you might get a bit scandalized. Already warning you.”
“Come on, hyung,” the taller man huffs, leaning closer and looking into his eyes with pure determination, a coy smile on his lips. If they aren’t such close friends it could be mistaken as flirting. “You underestimate my tastes.”
“Fine, but the moment things get more provocative, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Latex and golden booty shorts are the more tame parts of the show.”
“Would you wear golden booty shorts, hyung?” He snickers, and Hongjoong finds it annoyingly hot.
“Don’t even joke about that, I will fight you.”
Yunho throws his head back and laughs, crescent eyes and toothy grin, and all. Here they are, away from the music and dancing, but Yunho looks at him like he’s like the life of the party anyway.
It does something to his heart, and Hongjoong thinks, “Well, shit.”
Because he can’t deny it anymore. He really is in love with him.
oOo
Hongjoong survives by distracting himself for the next few weeks, with preparations for their new album well underway. It helps that he can lock himself away at the recording studio without any further questions. The other members know how fixated he can become when working on a new set of songs, so they usually leave him to it. That is, until they realize Hongjoong hasn’t made an appearance in a while and needs to be pulled away from the confines of his desk, with force if absolutely necessary.
The members would then take turns reminding him that he still needs to eat properly, or get some sleep, or do other things necessary for human survival.
Since the universe likes playing tricks on him, it’s Yunho who pays him a visit this time. Hongjoong knows who it is the moment he hears a knock on the door and a soft “Hyung?” behind it.
So much for hiding.
“Door’s unlocked,” he calls out, smoothing down his hair and patting his face. An attempt to regain some color on his cheeks and get some semblance of life in front of the man he’s been pining over for the past several months now. Maybe a few years, if he were to count the time he was in pure denial.
He sees the knob turn and the door push open, Yunho stepping into view. He doesn’t go in right away though. Instead, he peers at the state of Hongjoong’s studio slash makeshift office to assess how much of a hermit he’s become these past few days. To be fair, it isn’t that bad. He’s got papers with scribbles of lyrics and notes all over the desk, and his trashbin is full of disposable cup noodle containers and a few energy drink cans, but that’s it.
Hongjoong clears his throat, feeling a little self conscious. “As you can see, I’m alive.”
“If that’s what you call it, hyung,” Yunho replies, eyes narrowing. Doubtful.
“Hey, it’s not that bad! Appreciate the concern, but I promise I’m still taking care of myself.”
This makes Yunho frown. “Well you weren’t replying in the groupchat,” he mumbles, feigning sulkiness. “Not even my texts.”
(“Not even my texts.” Like he’s figured out Hongjoong’s little secret. Like he knew he was the exception to the rule. Hongjoong would have panicked more if not for the playful expression on Yunho’s face right after he says it.)
“I got carried away while working on a song,” Hongjoong explains, leaning back on the couch and raising his arms to stretch. “But I’m sorry for not replying to everyone.”
“A new song? Can I listen?”
“Nope. It’s a secret.”
“Fine. I won’t pry… for now.”
Yunho leans against the doorframe with a cocked hip and folded arms, a half smile tugging on his lips. Hongjoong gives him a once over, out of instinct or lack of control. (Inadvertently, he would say to himself. This, of course, is an excuse.)
His gaze trails Yunho’s bare face slowly, and Hongjoong thinks it should be impossible for a man to be this beautiful. Though he tries not to look at his lips for too long. Dangerous territory. He looks entirely too kissable right now.
But his resolve folds when his gaze moves down to the other man’s body. Now, Hongjoong had gotten used to seeing Yunho in all kinds of clothes, or lack thereof, for a good while. They lived together through their adolescence after all, at a time when they were still scrawny teens who had yet to grow into their features. Everything was innocent back then.
But now, it all seems different. He sees Yunho’s shirt, something well-fitted, clinging to his torso. His shoulders look more broad and his arms more toned than the last time he’s looked.
Hongjoong doesn’t remember when he started noticing, though. He doesn’t let himself admit the times he’s appreciated the view of it, either.
“Hyung, you look like you got something on your mind. Is everything okay?” Yunho asks, stepping past the threshold and walking towards him. Hongjoong doesn’t let himself think about the door clicking shut behind him, or the fact they’re alone in Hongjoong’s studio. His soundproof studio— that thought slips through anyway.
“Everything’s fine,” he says, patting the space beside him and prompting the other to take a seat.
(“I want you in more ways than I’m allowed to,” he doesn’t say. He feels guilty even thinking about it.)
Though the guilt doesn’t stop him from letting his eyes get a better look of him up close, raking over him like he was free real estate or something. Like he was definitely checking him out. He’ll blame it on the lack of sleep, or some other reason since he’s gotten pretty good at coming up with them anyway.
Instead of going straight to the couch, Yunho walks over to the water dispenser and fills up a glass.
“Here, drink this,” he tells Hongjoong, handing it to him as he sits down. It’s more of a demand than a suggestion.
Hongjoong obliges, taking the glass and finishing it in a few gulps. He didn’t realize he was thirsty. “Thanks,” he breathes, before placing it on the table in front of them. Turmoil over his personal feelings aside, maybe he does need this.
“Did you have dinner yet?” Yunho asks, turning to face him and tilting his head slightly. He scoots a bit closer, to inspect Hongjoong’s state at a better distance. (Better, for inspection purposes. Worse, for Hongjoong’s heart.)
He hums absentmindedly, stretching his fingers before curling them into a fist. A habit he’s formed over the years when he feels like his hand is about to cramp up. “Not yet, but I had some soondae from a kiosk nearby earlier.”
Yunho sighs at that, reaching over to take one of Hongjoong’s hand in both of his— his thumbs sliding over his palm before massaging circles over the surface of it. “That’s not a proper meal.”
He tries not to let his mind wander when it comes to the way Yunho’s fingers envelope his hand. He tamps down the image of them pressing down on him, pinning him in place, sliding up the expanse of his back—
What the fuck?
Hongjoong is startled by his own thoughts, blinking in quick succession before dropping his eyes to the floor in shame.
Yunho, thankfully, appears to misconstrue this as remorse for him not eating properly, and squeezes his hand gently as a form of reassurance. “Hey, have dinner with me?” he asks, undeniably fond.
“Whenever we eat together, we tend to splurge a little,” he responds teasingly, hoping the strain in his voice isn’t too obvious.
“That’s not a bad thing! You work really hard, hyung. I worry about your health too.”
“Pft, I suppose. I do need to make up for lost sleep soon, and eat regularly again. Gotta make sure I’m all pretty for the comeback.”
Yunho hums in response, tilting his head. “You’re always pretty.”
Hongjoong stills at this, his face warming up as soon as the words leave the other man’s lips. Always pretty. He notices the absence of pressure on his hand and lets his gaze settle on Yunho’s face— he sees his eyes widening just a bit when he realizes what he said, a blush reaching his ears like they often do when he’s flustered.
Wait, Yunho is flustered?
For a fraction of a second, there is a palpable shift in the mood. Yunho chews down on his lower lip, his thumb brushing over the middle of Hongjoong’s palm up to his wrist. It feels too affectionate, too intimate to be entirely platonic. The latter gulps, unsure if he’s imagining things.
But then the moment is over. Yunho’s face relaxes and he lets out a light laugh, shaking his head. To save himself from any false hope, Hongjoong convinces himself that it’s all his imagination after all.
“Let’s go, hyung. Dinner’s on me.”
oOo
Sometimes, at the end of a long and tedious month, the group makes a plan to wind down together at one of the members’ apartments chosen by majority vote.
Today is one of those days, and the winning (or losing?) venue ends up being Yunho and Yeosang’s shared unit. It’s the best option, if they were all to be honest. It’s one of the bigger apartments, and basically complete in the essentials for a boys’ night in. All the good snacks, videogames, and an alcohol stash for consumption. They have it all to themselves too, since their manager has other plans for the night.
Hongjoong is the second to the last to arrive, since he stopped by their usual chicken shop first to buy a carton of the group’s favorite order, and with Mingi still on the way from another schedule.
It’s Yeosang who greets him at the door, taking the box of chicken off his hands and explaining that the others are already locked in on some new game release. Inevitably, it’ll be a conversation topic during dinner.
As he slips out of his shoes, he can already hear San and Yunho yelling in the living room about that game they’re in the middle of playing.
“Oh god,” Hongjoong groans, but without any seriousness to it. “I’ll dissociate in no time.”
”You’re really not into videogames huh, hyung,” Yeosang hums as he walks into their kitchen space, Hongjoong trailing behind him.
“Depends on the game? I’m down to play when others are, but it’s never been my go-to hobby,” he replies, heading towards the sink to wash his hands. “The only reason I know any niche game reference is because of you guys… especially Yunho. I think I can name every valorant agent by now. He got me to read up on their lore too. And just the other day, he sent me a link and I thought it’d be work-related but it was actually a clip from a tournament he’s been watching—”
It takes a split second before he realizes he’s been rambling, and the rest of the sentence dies on his lips. He clears his throat as he pats his hands dry with a paper towel, mind going a mile a minute as he thinks up an excuse. Anything.
“Wow. You took time to read the lore?” Yeosang asks before he can save himself, smiling understandingly. With what seems like too much understanding that Hongjoong feels something constrict in his throat. Yeosang has always been perceptive, even if he doesn’t talk about it much. “That’s sweet of you, hyung.”
”Yeah, well, I wouldn’t just ignore him. He’s really into it,” he mumbles, but at least he can be honest about this part of it. Regardless of everything, Yunho is his friend. One of his closest people. Heck, for him, all the members are.
This seems to get through to Yeosang, who nods earnestly and turns his attention back to unpacking the food order that Hongjoong brought.
“You can head over there already, Hongjoong hyung. I’m just gonna get this ready with the rest of the food quickly before joining.”
Hongjoong has a feeling Yeosang is giving him a chance to go before he says something that compromises him further. He takes it graciously, and pats the other on the shoulder before slipping away to greet the others.
What he finds in the living room is a sight to be expected: Jongho and Wooyoung huddled together, watching what he assumes are tiktoks on Jongho’s phone. Seonghwa lazing on the sofa, watching the television screen intently, while San and Yunho are on the edge of their own seats tapping away on console buttons at a rapid pace.
(Yunho also looks incredibly gorgeous. But that's neither here nor there.)
It looks so domestic, and Hongjoong feels warmth spread through his chest as he watches them fondly. He’d never want to lose this.
But then Yunho’s eyes shift from the screen over to Hongjoong, and they light up as his face breaks into a radiant beam.
For just a fraction of a moment, it’s like one of those scenes in movies where person #1 spots person #2 from across the room, and then the camera shifts focus until person #2 is all the other can see while the rest of the screen turns into a blur.
Hongjoong’s breath catches in his throat, but he tries to keep his cool, makes sure he doesn’t blush outright just from the way Yunho is looking at him. Why is Yunho still looking at him?
Using a fair amount of his willpower, Hongjoong snaps himself back to reality as he says his hello’s and makes his way over to them. While he does smile back at Yunho because he can’t help himself, he retreats to the other end of the couch to sit beside Seonghwa. A safe enough distance, he assesses.
The rest of the evening goes relatively smoothly, with the real get-together starting as soon as Mingi walks through the door. And as always, it’s a hell of a good time. They play a few card games, catch up over their respective schedules, and talk about some of their plans while eating. The food’s great, and the alcohol’s even better.
To everyone’s benefit, Wooyoung’s new hyperfixation happens to be mixology, and he crafts some pretty good cocktails for the group. In support of this new endeavor, and also very much in his own interest, Hongjoong decides to drink tonight.
It doesn’t seem like a bad idea at first. They’ve all gotten drunk together countless times, after all. But what he fails to consider is that unlike all those previous gatherings, he’s now dealing with having to actively suppress his realized feelings for Yunho, the ones that are likely unrequited and wholly inconvenient for him.
As the evening progresses, the soda-to-alcohol ratio in their drinks becomes virtually nonexistent when they discard the last cola bottle in the trash, yet the free flow of drinks continues. Hongjoong accepts each cocktail-but-not-really handed to him without much thought. He’s probably downing just straight up hard liquor at this point.
In his intoxicated condition, he still catches a few glimpses of what’s happening around him: Yeosang and Seonghwa are taking blackmail-perfect photos of San who’s passed out by the sofa. Mingi and Wooyoung look like they’re debating something by the kitchen counter, with Jongho seemingly instigating their discussion even further.
Meanwhile, Yunho is nowhere to be seen. Hongjoong nurses his glass in his hands, his body leaning back and becoming one with the couch cushions as he scans the room looking for him. But he isn’t in the common area with the rest of them, which is so unlike Yunho who usually joins in and matches energies with whatever anyone’s doing.
Soon enough, Hongjoong’s curiosity gets the better of him and he pushes himself off the couch to search for the younger man. He wobbles over to the hallway separating the common area from the bedrooms, one hand on a wall to steady himself as he peaks around.
Well, there are no signs of him in the bathroom there at the end of the hall. Maybe he’s in his room? With his decision-making now effectively impaired, he finds himself walking towards the bedrooms and knocking on what he remembers is Yunho’s door.
“Yunho? You there?” Hongjoong calls out, knuckles tapping on the wood mindlessly, purposefully loud and offbeat to hopefully elicit a reaction. At this point, he’s doing his best to keep himself standing upright, but everything in his head is spinning and any moment now he’s bound to lose his balance.
Just as he feels like he’s about to stumble forward, the door to the bedroom slides open and he’s met with Yunho’s surprised face. His bewildered expression looks a little silly, and it overrides whatever embarrassment Hongjoong would usually feel in this sort of situation.
“Wa- is everything okay, hyung?”
“Ah. Yep,” he giggles, popping the ‘p’ as he says it. His hand reaches for the doorframe to keep himself from falling, but he tries to play off the move as something suave. “Heh. Found you.”
“I didn’t know we were playing hide and seek,” Yunho teases, an arm looping around Hongjoong’s torso to keep him from tripping. The next thing he knows, he’s being ushered into the bedroom– his legs thankfully moving along despite the definite lag in his brain. “You look like you’re about to pass out. You can take a nap here if you’d like. I’ll check in on you again after helping clean up.”
A nap sounds appealing, he thinks to himself, but all his mind can focus on are the arm holding him up like he’s weightless and the sweet scent of perfume clinging onto Yunho’s shirt. It’s somehow more dizzying than the alcohol.
“Stay,” is all Hongjoong whispers, and it’s not really responsive, but it’s honest. A little too honest, and vulnerable, for his liking.
Interestingly, Yunho doesn’t question it. Instead, he leads him to the bed and allows the other to get comfortable on the mattress. Hongjoong plops down with a sigh, curling up as Yunho dims the lights and rolls his gaming chair over to the side where he could be closer to him.
“Why’d you run off?” Hongjoong says, smushing his face against the soft linen of the duvet. Everything smells distinctly like Yunho in this room. He lets himself get lulled into the comforting familiarity of it, even for a short while.
“Just needed to charge my phone. I was gonna head back out right away.”
“Oh. Didn't see you in the living room so I thought I’d look for you.”
“I was gone for like five minutes.”
“Oh… but it felt longer?”
“Pft. You’re either hyperactive or clingy when you get drunk, hyung,” Yunho murmurs, digging his heels gently against the wooden floor. His tone is soft, but also somewhat restrained. Like he’s being careful with his words. “Sometimes it’s both. Most of the time, I don’t know how to react to it.”
“Is this you telling me you don’t like it?” he responds, peeking an eye open. Something in his gut doesn’t like where this conversation is going. His gut feeling is usually right.
Yunho shakes his head, hand moving over to cover Hongjoong’s and squeeze it lightly. “Never said that. I like it when you get clingy, especially with me.”
His gut is usually right, but he doesn’t know what Yunho is trying to get at. He says things like this all the time, and it always creates some false hope in him which he quickly needs to tamp down anyway. Because he expects Yunho to just be kidding around, like he usually is. Because it’s already hard as it is pretending he’s not in love with him.
If he were sober, he would like to think he’d react more rationally. In his current state, all of this simply translates to overwhelming frustration.
“You’re being mean,” Hongjoong sputters before he can stop himself, voice low and barely there. He closes his eyes for a bit, tries to stop the room from spinning in his head.
Though he can’t see it, his words make the other man’s eyes widen, then blink hard a couple of times. ”Huh? What made you say that?”
Even without looking, he’s known Yunho long enough to decipher the little lilts and inflections in his voice. He can tell the younger man is already slightly panicked.
Ah, shit.
All at once, Hongjoong settles in the regret of drinking too much this time. The chemicals do too good of a job flooding his brain and lowering his inhibitions. Before he can stop it, he feels the fastenings keeping his mouth shut loosen, all his secrets already threatening to spill out. God, what did Wooyoung put in his drinks anyway? Whiskey or some type of truth serum?
“You keep saying this shit to me when you don’t even mean it, Yunho,” Hongjoong sighs, rubbing his face with his free hand before fluttering his eyes open to look at him.
Yunho furrows his brows at that, lips spreading to a thin line. Still, he doesn’t pull his hand away. “I don’t understand… what do you think I’m saying but not meaning to?”
“Are you aware of how much of a flirt you are?” Hongjoong asks instead of answering the question, but he doesn’t move his hand away either. Yunho’s touch is torturing, a reminder of what he can’t entirely have, but it’s also his lifeline.
“Am I making you uncomfortable? Is that why?”
“Yes– wait, no. Not in the way you think. I don’t hate it.” He doesn’t know how he can explain himself without giving everything away.
“Oh, I was worried for a second there,” he breathes, looking relieved.
Hongjoong laughs at that, but it’s sad, and tastes a bit bitter on his tongue. “How could I? You drive me crazy.”
There it is. In a way, it’s an admission. He shuts his eyes closed, waiting for Yunho to say something. Anticipating the inevitable gentle let-down, or at least for the other man to pull away since whatever touch they’re sharing is suddenly colored with the mess of his not-so-hidden emotions.
Hongjoong doesn’t expect to be met with mere silence, pierced only by his own unsteady breathing, his heart hammering in his chest as he buries his face against the duvet covers he’s lying on top of. Everything feels like Yunho in this room and it’s starting to suffocate him. He wishes he could just sink into the mattress, or shrink so small under his clothes until he’s subatomic and incapable of human perception, or any other scenario where the Earth can swallow him whole so he doesn’t have to think about Yunho’s eyes on him right now.
But then he feels the grip on his hand tighten just a bit. Just enough to draw Hongjoong back.
Finally, Yunho speaks, words slipping out of his mouth slowly, uncertain. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
Hongjoong doesn’t respond, he can’t get the right words out of his throat. Instead, he adjusts his hand slightly so his fingers could curl around Yunho’s, pressing their palms together. Maybe he will understand this way, if his stutter-stop heartbeat is any further indication.
“Oh,” he hears Yunho whisper, but there’s no repulsion. There’s no aversion to their clasped hands, nor his sudden confession.
He finally looks up at the other man, meeting his gaze. They don’t speak, but maybe, just maybe, they are at some point of understanding.
Kiss him. The words consume Hongjoong’s punch-drunk brain like a chant, like some sort of command, or desperate plea from the deepest recesses of his chest. Yunho’s palm rests gently against his own, thumb brushing over the back of Hongjoong’s hand curiously. Testing the waters, perhaps. Even with his hazy vision, Hongjoong sees a certain intensity in Yunho's eyes he’s never noticed before.
Those intense, bright, yet gentle eyes. Yunho is warmth on a cold October evening, an anchor pulling him back home when he loses himself in his work, a reassuring hand in his when his nerves get the best of him. His thoughts persist, convincing Hongjoong that if he tells Yunho all the ways he wants him, there’s a chance he might accept it.
Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.
His headspace falls squarely into a spot where what he wants and what he needs are aligning so completely that he can’t just resist it anymore.
Hongjoong sits up, venturing past his lightheadedness and reaching over to cup Yunho’s cheek. He lets his forefinger and middle finger toy with the other man’s earlobe, thumb grazing over his cheekbone. If he leans just a bit closer, it’ll change everything.
It’s taken them nearly a decade to get to this point, from being two teenage trainees practicing together in their company’s basement dance studio, who learned to rely on each other because for a while nobody understood except them, to being bandmates, best friends, something akin to family with what the eight of them have created– and now, possibly even more.
It’s taken them nearly ten years to get here, but it can take ten seconds for it to fall apart.
He wishes he noticed sooner. If he had paid more attention, he would have realized that Yunho didn’t lean into his palm. He would have felt him stiffen at the touch instead.
“What’re you doing, hyung? Yunho asks, the strain in his voice slicing through whatever delusional fantasy Hongjoong conjured up in the last few minutes.
Hongjoong startles at his tone, and he finally looks into the other man’s eyes. Whatever moment they just had together appears to have ceased, leaving only this stifling tension. Yunho looks terrified.
“I thought…” he begins, but the words die on his lips. “You don’t want this?”
Yunho flinches, jerking back when Hongjoong’s fingers graze the side of his neck by accident, like his touch could actually burn him. “I don’t— We shouldn’t—” he stammers, pulling away and getting up from his seat. “I don’t know.”
The silence is a living creature between them, slithering into their space, smothering, painful, leaving the air to hang empty.
Immediately, Hongjoong feels himself sober up. He can see Yunho open his mouth again, ready to say more but he doesn’t want to hear it. Fear creeps back into his chest and he sits up, gaze fixed on the floor as he smooths down his clothes.
“Of course you don’t,” he mutters, clearing his throat and using his remaining energy to get up on his feet. “You can forget all about this, Yunho.”
“Hyung…”
“Please don’t.”
“We can’t–”
“I know that!” Hongjoong snaps, but winces when he hears his own voice. He grasps the headrest of Yunho’s chair to find his balance, bracing himself against it as he watches hurt spread across Yunho’s face.
His frustration morphs into shame at the sight of it, though it still doesn’t outweigh how dejected he feels. Why does Yunho need to explain the obvious to him? Of course he knows they can’t. It’s what he’s been telling himself this whole time.
That is, until tonight.
I’m so stupid, Hongjoong thinks to himself. And I’m hurting Yunho because of it, too.
Before he can fuck things up any further, he pushes past Yunho and stumbles out of the bedroom. He pretends he doesn’t hear Yunho call out to him, finding his way to the kitchen to tell the others he’s done for the night.
He thinks he’s pretty good at pretending. It makes him sick to his stomach.
oOo
As Hongjoong had foreseen, things do get fucking awkward. Though it isn’t Yunho who initiates this strain in their interactions. It seems childish, but Hongjoong needs a moment to sort out his thoughts and the little pieces of this silent heartbreak before finding the courage to talk it out with the other man.
It was easier when he was coping with his unrequited feelings within the confines of his own heart. He doesn’t know how to deal with the mental image of Yunho clearly showing he doesn’t want him, regardless of whether there was any chance between them or not. It triggers a sort of rejection sensitivity he wasn’t aware existed.
And, in his defense, Hongjoong isn’t outright ignoring him. He texted Yunho the day after their encounter that evening, apologizing and letting him know he needs some space to think. (Yunho, being who he is, accepted it all without protest.)
Now, it’s been two weeks since that fateful night and he still hasn’t confronted him about what happened between them in Yunho’s bedroom. Partly because he has, in fact, been busy. Mostly because he’s honestly scared shitless. At this rate, he’s become a master on how to ignore the very real, very pressing issues plaguing his heart in real time.
So yes, he would say he’s doing fairly well with it, the whole avoiding thing. (As long as Yunho isn’t in the same place as him, or mentioned in conversation, or makes an appearance in his thoughts when his mind starts to wander. So he’s really only good at it for a fraction of each day.)
Inevitably, the universe has different plans for him. Well, the universe in the form of two of his members barging into his room at three in the afternoon on one of his days off for the week.
To be fair, barging in is an exaggeration. Rather, he’s woken up unceremoniously from his afternoon nap with a loud knock on his door and the voices of two friends calling out his name.
“Open up, Hongjoong-ah!”
Hongjoong registers that it’s Seonghwa screaming from behind the door, even whilst still bleary from his rudely-interrupted slumber. Or maybe it’s a sleep paralysis demon that sounds exactly like him.
“What the fuck!” he croaks out, flopping over to his side as the banging on his door finally, effectively jolts him awake. (Okay, demon might not be far off, actually.) “Who let you in the apartment, Hwa?”
“Both Wooyoungie and Jongho would let me in at a moment’s notice. You know that.”
He knows it’s true, but Jongho left early that morning for a whole-day schedule so there’s only one correct answer to his question.
“Delivery for one Kim Hongjoong!” he hears Wooyoung yell this time, right on cue.
Fucking bullseye.
Hongjoong groans, halfheartedly punching his pillow once, twice for good measure before sitting up. With a sigh, he gets to his feet and saunters over to the door, opening it ajar to simply peek an eye through. “Give me a second to get to my senses. Then I’ll let you in.”
Seonghwa grins, and sing-songs “Sure thing, Captain.” It makes Hongjoong roll his eyes, albeit playfully. He heads back to organize his pillows and tuck his duvet back on top of the mattress.
“Should I expect something serious?” he asks, stretching his arms a bit and taking a final sweeping look at his room to confirm everything looks decent enough for visitors. “Like an intervention or something?”
“Sort of. Maybe we can call it an emergency meeting but you're the emergency, hyung,” Wooyoung states matter-of-factly. Hongjoong whips his head around and squints.
He sees Wooyoung place his face between the gap of his door, smiling like a menace as if he’s ready to shriek “Here’s Johnny!” at any moment like in that one scene from The Shining. How foreboding.
“You’re insufferable. Come on in,” Hongjoong mutters, beckoning them to enter as he crawls back on his bed.
He hears the door fling wide open, with Seonghwa and Wooyoung ushering through. He sees the younger of the two holding a carton with three cups of coffee secured neatly on top, likely a peace offering for this so-called emergency meeting.
Wooyoung sets the coffee down on the desk and takes his seat on the only available chair, while Seonghwa plops down on the edge of the bed. Hongjoong eyes them warily as they collect themselves, looking at each with a nod before clearing their throats.
Feeling vulnerable, he grabs one of his pillows to squeeze against his chest, to function like some sort of tangible barrier between them while he’s uncertain of their intentions. (Simply a defense mechanism, though. He trusts them with his life.)
“Okay, explain yourselves. What’s this meeting about?”
“I think you’re the one who needs to do the explaining.” Seonghwa’s voice is calm, but there’s a sense of knowing with the way he’s looking at him. Like he’s just waiting for Hongjoong to come clean.
“About what, exactly?”
“The last time all of us hung out.”
“Wasn’t that three days ago? During that show recording. Nothing seemed weird about it to me.”
(This is a lie. Every interaction with Yunho felt off that day, unsurprisingly. And every non-interaction felt misplaced.)
“No, we mean out of work.”
“The company dinner we had after?”
“Hyung,” Wooyoung grumbles, exasperated, and wastes no time in interrupting their exchange. He rolls his seat closer to the bed, hands clasped together. “Y’know what we’re talking about. It’s You and Yunho.”
Hongjoong stiffens, realizing quickly that he’s cornered, with no viable options on how to escape.
“We were gonna ease into that, Wooyoung-ah.” Seonghwa sighs and swats the younger’s arm before facing him again. “But now that it’s out there, that’s exactly why we need to talk to you.”
“What do you guys know?” Hongjoong asks weakly, entirely too exposed. “Who told you?”
(Despite everything, he doesn’t suspect Yunho. He trusts him, and knows he wouldn’t divulge whatever happened between them to anyone. But where did he go wrong?)
“We noticed it ourselves,” Seonghwa explains. “We saw you leave his room. You might’ve been too out of it to realize, but you looked like you were about to cry when you almost crashed into us in the kitchen.”
“Then Yunho appeared a few minutes after you left looking like a kicked puppy,” Wooyoung adds, frowning to himself. “Looked like he cried too, but wouldn’t budge no matter how many times we asked him what happened.”
The weight of their words is a suckerpunch to Hongjoong’s chest. He shrinks into himself, throat beginning to burn, his heart burning too. Somehow, knowing he made Yunho cry feels worse than his own heartbreak.
“I’m scared,” Hongjoong confesses, breath shaky. He wouldn’t dare look into his friends’ eyes. “I’m so scared and I hate that I hurt him.”
Wooyoung softens, worry creasing his brows. “You looked hurt too, hyung. It might’ve been a misunderstanding…”
“Why’re you scared?” Seonghwa questions, voice just as gentle, cautious. He reaches a hand over, and Hongjoong takes it to hold. Belatedly, he realizes that he’s been trembling.
“I’m in love with him.” With a sad smile, he faces them directly. In a way, it propels Hongjoong to finally, finally, confront himself a bit more as well. “I’m in love with Yunho. Have been for a while now.”
“Joongie hyung…”
It appears like the two are at a loss for words, and he wonders if this revelation isn’t exactly what they expected. So Hongjoong shakes his head, freeing his hand from Seonghwa’s grasp to wave off any idea they’re forming in their minds about the nature of his relationship with Yunho.
“But he doesn’t feel the same way,” he clarifies, with a shrug that can hardly be called nonchalant. Even now, he still pretends it doesn’t sting— mostly as an act of self-preservation.
“Did he say that?” Wooyoung is the one to ask.
With downcast eyes, Hongjoong replies. “He rejected me that night. I thought we were gonna kiss, but he pulled away…”
For a few seconds, another resounding silence.
Seonghwa blinks at him, mouth hanging open. He considers for a moment, before speaking slowly. “Joongie, you’re one of the smartest people I know. But I didn’t know how fucking dumb love makes you.”
“Huh?” This makes him look back up at them.
“Even if you wanted to kiss him, even if there’s a possibility Yunho wanted to kiss you too, you were drunk!”
Hongjoong feels something click in his head, as a searing sensation settles in his chest, his heart thumping painfully against it. “He didn’t explain that, though. He just said he didn’t know, he just said we couldn’t.”
“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you.”
“Sure, I can understand why he wouldn’t kiss me…” he relents, abandoning the pillow to press his palms over his temples. Why are they being so insistent anyway? He tries to recall the events of that night, but all he gets are snapshots— one of which is Yunho’s face when he pulled away. “It sure felt like he didn’t want to either way, with how he looked at me after.”
“Maybe he’s just as scared as you are,” Wooyoung offers gently.
No one speaks as the cogs in Hongjoong’s brain begin to shift, his friends allowing him the time to come to this realization on his own. The seconds scrape by, like descending grains of sand in an hourglass.
And then, a moment of clarity.
Oh. He didn’t even give Yunho a chance.
“When did you get so wise, Youngie?” Hongjoong sniffles, smiling even as he processes his own absurdity.
“You gotta give me more credit, hyung,” Wooyoung beams, leaning back in his seat. “You should talk to him.”
Hongjoong falters a little. “I should.. I will. After all of this, I wonder if he’ll forgive me.”
“He misses you, y’know?” Seonghwa admits. “He hasn’t told me anything about what happened between you two. But he said it, and I told him I’d let you know.”
Hongjoong’s eyes widen. Despite everything, Yunho misses him, and he knows Seonghwa’s being honest about it. He lets his shoulders sag, finally allowing himself to yield.
God, he misses him too. He doesn’t want to lose Yunho. Wasn’t that the entire point?
“I’ll tell him,” Hongjoong says, feeling lighter, like he’s finally let out a breath he’s been holding for too many days now. He just needs to figure out when he can get some time alone with him to explain himself, to hear the other out. If it were up to him, he’d go running to him right away.
“Okay, good,” Seonghwa smirks, and taps Wooyoung’s shoulder with a silent request to hand over their coffees. “And it’s perfect, because there’s still a lot of time tonight.”
“Tonight?” Hongjoong perks up. He can tell by the glint in Seonghwa’s eyes that he got him figured out, like he’s a goddamn angel sent down to Earth to fix Hongjoong’s love life.
“Yunho’s alone at the apartment. Just so happens that Yeosang and I scheduled a gym date later, and we’re forcing manager-hyung to join us too.”
This makes Hongjoong laugh, in equal parts shock and admiration. “Hwa, I wasn’t familiar with your game. Just– wow. Thank you, guys. Really.”
“Please, this is nothing. Imagine being Youngie’s wingman. That’ll require a real covert operation.”
“Yah!” He hears Wooyoung yell, and Seonghwa is probably quick to retort, but it’s all soon drowned out by the new plans brewing in Hongjoong’s head.
Tonight. He’ll see him tonight. This time, he’ll stop hiding.
oOo
Kim Hongjoong is no stranger to the rewards of a good plan.
He’s been reaping the benefits of good plans for the better part of the last decade. So much of it is methodical, rehearsed, and tirelessly practiced. Ideas diligently formed and refined for months. Though, his experience probably doesn’t apply to love confessions. (Forgive him, it’s been a long while since he’s thought about real romance at all.)
In any case, luck favors the prepared mind (or however that quote goes). On most days, this goes without saying. Tonight, though, is different because well, there’s just so much that needs to be said.
First, there’s the conceptualization. Words and sketches on a whiteboard. Letting Yunho know how he feels, in clear and categorical terms.
Now, this has always been part of Hongjoong’s expertise. He’s a writer, an artist, through-and-through. He can compose a whole demo track in as fast as three hours, give or take. Which makes it even more frustrating that he can’t quite find the right words now, when it matters most. He can’t find them, even for himself, even with no one else looking, no yardstick to measure.
He thinks of the first day they met all those years ago, the way Yunho teased him for assuming that him joining the agency was a prank. He thinks of the endless late night practices and convenience store runs when it was just the two of them. Sneaking into Yunho’s room past midnight during their tours, under the guise of just wanting to play some videogame, at times to have a drink with him, or simply relax in the presence of a person he requires no pretense with.
The way Yunho was always by his side, as quiet support and encouragement, even when their team was slowly being formed. A cornerstone of his youth, of his whole life. He imagines what it would have been like if he figured out his feelings sooner, if he could have loved him before the world got in the way.
If he knew this was love from the start, would things have been different? If he confessed when they were trainees, or rookies, as they were sharing a room in hotels in America, could Yunho have shared he felt the same way? If Hongjoong leaned in for a kiss when he was sober, would Yunho have kissed him back then?
All these things he can’t encapsulate into a mere sentence without falling short in some shape, or form.
(Perhaps it’s because words haven’t caught up to the feeling, he’s not sure if they ever will.)
Second, the logistics. Ekangmo Dorm, as they affectionately call it, is in the neighboring building, but he has to wait for Seonghwa to pull Yeosang and their manager out of there first. Even more importantly, he doesn’t want to appear empty-handed.
Hongjoong, ever so sentimental, wants to give Yunho some sort of token. He’s reminded of a time when he was a child, when his father burst through the door of their family home with a bouquet of flowers and an apology over something he didn’t understand then. When he asked his mother a few years later what it was about, she just shook her head and laughed, saying it was only something trivial. His father just has a flair for the dramatics.
It’s in his nature, he supposes. A characteristic passed down to him by his own parents. He’s a weeper, a soft-hearted man who will always keep searching for the proof. And proof is what he will give to Yunho, one way or another.
Third, he needs to tie up loose ends. He needs to be brave, and accept whatever decision Yunho will make when it comes to their friendship— whether he asks if they can remain friends, or whether he enforces boundaries on their professional relationship, or by some miracle tells him he loves him back.
It still terrifies him, of course. It’s a live wire of a thought and Hongjoong has felt the sting of rejection once already. But he owes it to Yunho, he owes it to himself, to follow through.
So now, at approximately seven o’clock on a rainy evening of August, Hongjoong rings the doorbell to Yunho’s apartment. His fists clenched, heart in his hand.
It’s a solid minute of quiet stillness in the hallway of the apartment complex, no response from the other end of the door. Hongjoong isn’t sure if he appreciates or detests the silence. On one hand, he could see it as more time to collect his thoughts. On the other, it could be a clear sign that he’s not welcome.
Just as Hongjoong starts entertaining the latter, more upsetting thought, Yunho pulls the door open in one go without so much as a warning. It catches him by surprise, and he takes half a step back.
“Hongjoong hyung,” Yunho breathes. He looks just as much in shock, eyes wide and ears red, his cheeks reddening too. He slides his fingers over his unkempt hair, in a sorry attempt to fix it somehow. Telltale signs he really isn’t expecting visitors today.
“How’d you know it was me?”
“Ah, I checked the camera on the door first,” he rushes the words, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry for not saying anything on the intercom.”
Hongjoong can’t help but chuckle, and he scrunches up his nose as a wave of fondness washes over him, as it always does when it comes to Yunho. “You’re so silly. Meanwhile, here I am, trying to be serious.”
There’s a hint of a grin that tugs on Yunho’s lips, and his eyes soften. He seems relieved and it gives Hongjoong a small burst of hope. “Is it okay that I’m silly?”
“Always. But I do need to talk to you, if you’ll have me?”
“Always,” the taller man echoes, opening the door wider and holding out his hand. Even without saying anything, he already feels forgiven. Hongjoong takes his outstretched palm without hesitation, and allows himself to be pulled inside the apartment.
Inside, the two don’t speak as they settle themselves to sit in the living room. Hongjoong does his best to appear calm, despite the frazzled nerves bunching up at the base of his spine, buzzing on the tips of his fingers.
Yunho makes no such attempts at disguise. Ever so earnest, to a fault. His heart on his sleeve. Hongjoong knows him, he can tell even by his slightly tightened jaw, and the little scratches he makes to his left index finger, that he’s likely just as nervous.
(In a way, their shared sentiment is comforting. An indication that this matters to him, too.)
“How have you been?” Hongjoong asks first, partly to fill up the space, and partly because he genuinely wants to know. Because, even if this was all his fault, he really fucking missed him. Two weeks apart can feel like ages for people who have spent the better part of their lives together.
Yunho smiles weakly. “Um, I won’t lie to you. I haven’t been doing great.”
“I’m sorry…” Hongjoong exhales hotly, feeling his heart sink. Even with all his preparations, he doesn’t know how to handle the shame of making Yunho feel this way. He notices the dark circles under the other man’s eyes, the downward turn of his mouth. Like a light that’s been forcibly dimmed. “This is why I came here today. I need to apologize—”
“No, I should be the one apologizing, Hongjoong hyung,” Yunho interjects. His voice sounds strangled, so painfully vulnerable that it catches Hongjoong off guard.
When their eyes meet, Hongjoong sees the younger man’s frightened gaze— his own fear reflected back at him. With his hunched shoulders, he looks so much like a wounded animal. Of course Yunho blames himself. Sincere, selfless Yunho, who lifts everyone else up but keeps his own baggage locked away so as not to be a burden. Yunho, who will offer Hongjoong a way out even if it eats through his own heart. Somehow, they’re both walking contradictions.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened,” Yunho continues, averting his gaze to the floor, hands curled into fists on his lap. “I know I messed up that night. I understand why you reacted that way, too.”
“No,” Hongjoong protests, pressing forward, even as he knows one more look at Yunho will crack his chest wide open. “It’s on me. It really is. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, or left you like that.”
“I was worried you were drunk, and even if you weren’t, what if you’d still regret it after? I kind of freaked out,” Yunho’s words spill out, barreling out and tripping over themselves. “I should’ve cleared things up with you.”
“No, Yunho,” Hongjoong stops him, surging closer and cupping the other’s cheeks to ground him, partly to steady himself too. “We’re allowed to be confused. You’re allowed to be scared. I should have given you the space to be, that night.”
Yunho considers this, eyelids closing shut as he nuzzles his cheek into the touch.
Hongjoong sighs, and hopes that he’s getting through to him in some way. At the very least, his shoulders appear less tense. “So let me be the one to say I’m sorry. Please.”
“You’re forgiven.” The response is so comically instant that it does a good job of piercing through the heavy atmosphere between them.
A small laugh escapes Hongjoong lips and he clicks his tongue. He can already feel his chest lighten as he finds Yunho smiling again too. “Yah! You’re throwing around those words too easily.”
“But I already decided it,” Yunho says stubbornly, but there’s something else in his tone, another sort of persistence. “There’s something I need to tell you.”